chest and cleared the slumber from his throat in a futile attempt to sound awake. “No, Alexander, I was up grading some papers. What’s up?”
There was a slight pause, then: “I was hoping that Max might be there. I know it’s a Tuesday and you guys usually play poker on weekends, but I was just thinking that he might have stopped by.”
“I don’t understand. Is Max missing or something?”
“He’s not answering his phone. I’ve been trying to get ahold of him for a couple hours now. I just thought I’d call a few of his friends and see . . . well, it was a year ago today that Jenni died.”
“Oh.” Boady sat up, slipping his legs over the side of the bed.
“We had lunch today and he was acting strange.”
“Strange?”
“I don’t know, what’s the word . . . morose maybe? He couldn’t concentrate. Kept losing his train of thought. Hardly touched his lunch. Finally, I came out and asked him what the hell was wrong. That’s when he pointed out that today was the first anniversary. I felt like an idiot for not remembering.”
“When’s the last time you heard from him?”
“I called him around five. He said he was going home for the night. I thought I’d drop by there to check up on him around ten, and he wasn’t there. I thought maybe he might have contacted you or . . . I don’t know. I mean he’s a big boy. He can take care of himself, but he seemed so out of sorts at lunch.”
“So, what now?”
“Well, Max isn’t the kind of guy to go out to bars all by himself, but there are a few places he and I go to have a beer. I thought I’d check around and see if anyone’s seen him. Maybe he can’t hear his phone ringing.”
“Would you do me a favor?” Boady asked.
“Sure.”
“If you find him, can you call me and let me know.”
“Sure, Boady.”
Boady hung up and walked to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and grabbed a small handful of carrot sticks out of a bowl of cold water. As he nibbled on the carrots, he thought about his wife, Diana, asleep in the bedroom. How would he react if he ever lost her? How would he handle the anniversary of her death as the years passed?
Boady went back to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed next to Diana, the movement stirring her from her thin sleep. “Max is missing,” he said.
“I heard,” she answered. “Are you worried?”
“No. Max isn’t the kind of guy that needs looking after.” Boady rolled back into his nest and pulled the comforter up around his shoulders.
Diana turned onto her right side, her face nuzzled into her pillow, her eyes closed, her words still half-asleep. “If I ever lost you, I’d probably never leave the cemetery,” she said.
Boady let a heavy sigh leave his chest. Of course , he thought.
He slipped out of bed, put on a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, and sneakers, and headed out the door.
On the drive to the cemetery, he tried to remember where Jenni Rupert had been buried. Lakewood Cemetery was two hundred and fifty acres of rolling hills riddled with thousands of grave markers, everything from small, bronze placards to large statues of angels. He got lost trying to drive out of that cemetery after Jenni’s interment, and that was in broad daylight. He held little faith that, at night, he would be able to find a single, brown-marble stone tucked away in the heart of that enormous labyrinth. But he went anyway.
He remembered that, as they gathered around the casket, there’d been a small lake to his back, a basin of still water for mourners to gaze upon as they contemplated their sorrow. Boady also seemed to remember a moose—no, it was an elk, a life-sized bronze elk about a hundred yards from the grave site. The elk had been facing in the general direction of the ceremony. And then there was the silver maple tree, one of the largest Boady had ever seen. He stood in the shade of that tree as they lowered Max’s wife into the ground.
Boady tried to remember these markers as he pulled up
There was a slight pause, then: “I was hoping that Max might be there. I know it’s a Tuesday and you guys usually play poker on weekends, but I was just thinking that he might have stopped by.”
“I don’t understand. Is Max missing or something?”
“He’s not answering his phone. I’ve been trying to get ahold of him for a couple hours now. I just thought I’d call a few of his friends and see . . . well, it was a year ago today that Jenni died.”
“Oh.” Boady sat up, slipping his legs over the side of the bed.
“We had lunch today and he was acting strange.”
“Strange?”
“I don’t know, what’s the word . . . morose maybe? He couldn’t concentrate. Kept losing his train of thought. Hardly touched his lunch. Finally, I came out and asked him what the hell was wrong. That’s when he pointed out that today was the first anniversary. I felt like an idiot for not remembering.”
“When’s the last time you heard from him?”
“I called him around five. He said he was going home for the night. I thought I’d drop by there to check up on him around ten, and he wasn’t there. I thought maybe he might have contacted you or . . . I don’t know. I mean he’s a big boy. He can take care of himself, but he seemed so out of sorts at lunch.”
“So, what now?”
“Well, Max isn’t the kind of guy to go out to bars all by himself, but there are a few places he and I go to have a beer. I thought I’d check around and see if anyone’s seen him. Maybe he can’t hear his phone ringing.”
“Would you do me a favor?” Boady asked.
“Sure.”
“If you find him, can you call me and let me know.”
“Sure, Boady.”
Boady hung up and walked to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and grabbed a small handful of carrot sticks out of a bowl of cold water. As he nibbled on the carrots, he thought about his wife, Diana, asleep in the bedroom. How would he react if he ever lost her? How would he handle the anniversary of her death as the years passed?
Boady went back to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed next to Diana, the movement stirring her from her thin sleep. “Max is missing,” he said.
“I heard,” she answered. “Are you worried?”
“No. Max isn’t the kind of guy that needs looking after.” Boady rolled back into his nest and pulled the comforter up around his shoulders.
Diana turned onto her right side, her face nuzzled into her pillow, her eyes closed, her words still half-asleep. “If I ever lost you, I’d probably never leave the cemetery,” she said.
Boady let a heavy sigh leave his chest. Of course , he thought.
He slipped out of bed, put on a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, and sneakers, and headed out the door.
On the drive to the cemetery, he tried to remember where Jenni Rupert had been buried. Lakewood Cemetery was two hundred and fifty acres of rolling hills riddled with thousands of grave markers, everything from small, bronze placards to large statues of angels. He got lost trying to drive out of that cemetery after Jenni’s interment, and that was in broad daylight. He held little faith that, at night, he would be able to find a single, brown-marble stone tucked away in the heart of that enormous labyrinth. But he went anyway.
He remembered that, as they gathered around the casket, there’d been a small lake to his back, a basin of still water for mourners to gaze upon as they contemplated their sorrow. Boady also seemed to remember a moose—no, it was an elk, a life-sized bronze elk about a hundred yards from the grave site. The elk had been facing in the general direction of the ceremony. And then there was the silver maple tree, one of the largest Boady had ever seen. He stood in the shade of that tree as they lowered Max’s wife into the ground.
Boady tried to remember these markers as he pulled up
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