The Fives Run North-South (14 page)

Paul was near the door; Ben was certain he’d been hanging there to be one of the first to intercept him.

“You okay?” Paul asked.

“Stupid question.”

“Can I get you a drink?”

“Stupider question.”

“Okay. Do your thing. Mingle. Show off your legendary charm, wit, and uncanny ability to always have fresh breath.”

Ben looked at the crowd, many of whom were looking at him, either directly or in their peripheral vision.

“I know,” Paul said as he started to move toward the bar. “Lots of folks. From my count, one hundred percent of those invited showed up. And despite our security, I’m sure there are a few clever uninvited guests that made it in.”

14

Uninvited Guest #1

H
e felt like everyone was staring at him. As if they all knew he didn’t belong. Never being known as a vain person, he did realize how silly he looked. He’d borrowed a jacket from his brother, Van, who had played football. Which is all you need to know about how different they were as brothers. No way he’d have ever set foot on a football field. Neither would he care to, if given the opportunity. Stupidest thing in the world, football.

“If you gave it a chance, you’d like it,” Van would say. “There’s strategy. Those who think it’s just dumb guys running into each other haven’t taken the time to learn about the cerebral side of football.”

“Strategy?” he’d ask his brother.

“Yes.”

“So you’re saying that dumb guys strategically run into each other.”

“No, the strategy isn’t like that.”

“But they are running into each other, right?”

“Yes. But with strategy.”

Van had been the only person he could get a dark jacket from on short notice, so he’d promised to watch one game with him on TV next week. As he’d looked at himself in the mirror wearing the jacket earlier that morning, the image that had come to mind was of that robot from that old TV show
Lost in Space
.
Big, bulky chest, and skinny, floppy arms. Now as the reception was underway, he hoped they were staring at him because of how funny he looked, not because he didn’t belong.

He had freshly shaved his head, and had removed his earrings. Respect and all that. The service had been pretty cool. He’d never been to a funeral. He’d been sick when his grandmother died, and she’s the only person he’s ever known who died. And to be honest, he hadn’t known her all that well. He’d been eight when she’d gone silly, and none of the memories you pick up before eight really stick, do they? Mom had always said that Gran wouldn’t want us to remember her as she’d been the last four years of her life. So he took that as permission to not pay much mind or lose much sleep over the old lady.

So his first real funeral was Rob Keaton’s. What a trip. None of his friends had believed he’d try; he wasn’t known for his daring (not daring, not vain, not a football player…wow, here he was writing his obituary, and really, it’s a bit sad to think it’s easier to think what he
isn’t
rather than what he
is
…that’s one for the journal). And if any of his friends had envisioned him daring to sneak into Rob Keaton’s funeral, none would suppose he’d be successful. (Another “not” for the obit: not successful). It had been shockingly easy. He’d read about some guy that got into all the Super Bowls. “Act like you belong there” was his secret. It had worked. Though his heart had been beating like Thor’s hammer (good thing for the oversized,
robot
-
like
jacket…had he been wearing anything tighter, he’s certain that his heart was beating so fast it would have made his clothes jump in time, giving him away). While walking in, he had fallen in close to another group of
somber
-
but
-
respectful
-
looking
people. He’d even come up with a ruse. Just as the group had gotten in sight of the security people, he’d asked one guy near the back for the time, and had parlayed that into what appeared to anyone paying attention to be a
full
-
length
conversation between acquaintances.

“What time is it?” he’d asked.

“About nine thirty.”

“That’s what I thought. I flew in from LA and I can’t keep time zones straight sometimes. Say, that’s a nice watch. What kind?”

Blah blah blah.

Now he was sipping a beer (imported!) and chewing on small triangular sandwiches, smiling and nodding like some Dr. Who bobblehead doll. He tried to constantly stay on the move so that no one would have the chance to study how out of place he was. He was slightly disappointed that no other celebrity had bothered to show. Not that he’d ever heard that Rob Keaton had any particularly famous friends, but one had to think it possible.

Finally, he saw the entrance door open and Rob’s son entered. Now his plan could begin. His heart began racing again, and suddenly he lost his appetite. It had seemed much easier last night as he’d run through his plan with his best friend Kiper. But it was important, and he’d gotten this far. Too many people were depending on him having to make this happen. He didn’t want to move too quickly; didn’t want to raise an alarm. It would have to appear as if he were simply one of the crowd, moving in slowly waiting for an opportunity to extend his condolences.

He took his first hesitant steps in the direction of Rob Keaton’s son.

Uninvited Guest #2

It helped that she was no stranger to social gatherings. Even funerals. The key is that really, anyone you chat with would rather talk about themselves, so it only took a short
made
-
up
bio to get started. Then it simply took a few questions to prime the pump and anyone she came upon would talk to her for hours. As long as it was about themselves.

And at funerals you had the added benefit that everyone is always eager to talk about how connected they were to the deceased, as if it were some contest of worthiness. People would go on and on about their relationship to Rob Keaton. She was beginning to see a pattern: the less they knew Rob Keaton, the more they had to talk about their relationship with Rob Keaton.

Quick comments: “I don’t know. But I’ll tell you now, Rob would have hated half the crap on the food table.” Knew him.

Drawn out comments: “He was such a warm, caring person. Always had a smile, even on the bad days. There was that time at the grocery store. I thought I didn’t need a basket. You know how it is, when you go in thinking you need two things so you can just carry them. But there’s always a special you can’t ignore. And sometimes it’s two for the price of one. And before you know it, your arms are just loaded up. And I dropped a soup can. I was just about to scream and there he was. Let me put my stuff in his cart and we talked and talked all the way through checkout.” Didn’t really know him.

She had no proof, because frankly she hadn’t been invited and didn’t know him in the least. But it was a fun game to play to pass the time while she looked. For what? She couldn’t really say. But she had run out of places to look. There were no other trails, and she was growing more and more afraid that the mysteries that kept her awake most nights, that rotted her stomach from the inside out during the day, and that had robbed her of her smile, her friends, and most of her sanity were going to remain unanswered forever.

So here she was. Working the room, scanning the faces.

Though she hadn’t expected it, she also found that she was having fun in an odd sort of way. Too many days and nights in a large, empty house had dulled her. Getting ready for
this
—
from
the salon appointment for the works on her hair and nails, to combing her closet for the
just
-
right
black dress and
shoes
—
had
been a return to a comfortable and enjoyable routine. Leaving the house this morning, she’d looked at herself in the mirror and had seen a sad beauty that was both familiar and strange. Exciting while at the same time making her want to cry.

The service had calmed whatever nerves she’d had. It’s easy to sit and listen, slowly melding into the group. She’d listened to the stories about Rob Keaton and found herself growing as emotional as those in the congregation who’d actually known the man. It seemed evident that he’d been a good guy. Lord knows those were rare, so the loss of one is worth mourning. She’d nearly even cried for him. Particularly when Rob’s son had spoken. She’d rooted for him to hold it together and found herself clinging to each of his words with a mixture of envy and admiration. It didn’t hurt that he had an odd, disheveled handsomeness.

She saw heads turning and realized that Rob’s son had just entered the hall. He was only ten yards away from where she was standing. She had been speaking with a man who had been going on and on about how good a neighbor Rob was, though his lawn care skills left a lot to be desired (neighbors, maybe, but definitely in the didn
’t
-
know
-
him
-
well
box). She wanted to extract herself from this clown; his droning on had set off the little alarm clock in her head. Midnight was here. She’d been here long enough to recognize that no answers would be found. She’d enjoyed
it
—
more
than
expected
—
but
it was time to bounce her way out of this. Go home. Box up the shoes, hang up the dress, let the silence muffle the echoes of the day and the past.

She glanced one more time at Rob’s son, who happened to be looking in her direction. Their eyes locked. She had a sudden, sharp involuntary intake of breath. Then, with a snap, he moved his eyes deeper into the crowd, and she faded back behind the man in front of her, speaking about species of shrubbery.

She had to get out of there.

Unnamed emotion was forming in her stomach. She didn’t know how it would manifest itself. Laugh? Cry? Puke? The events of the last few months burst the bubble, and the room seemed to tilt. She was an uninvited guest at a party of strangers, pretending to be pretty in a dress that should have stayed buried in the darkness of her closet.

Uninvited Guest #3

Thi
s was crazy. Crazy and stupid, he thought. It was pretty much the story of his life. What had his father once said? “I never knew someone more oblivious to the concept of consequences.” Maybe that was true, but he’d had more than his share of consequences. Right now, those consequences were pretty good, a rare thing. Free food. Free beer.

He was on his fifth helping. Standing on the edge of the crowd, or as he liked to call it: living in the margins. He’d sat in the back, the darkest corner of the church, keeping his head down the entire time as if deep in prayer. Slumping low, he’d hidden in the crowd as it had moved like a crippled wave into the reception hall. As he’d eaten, he’d kept the same
low
-
profile
pose. Checking out the lighting, he had always stood where the shadows started. He had kept his expression blank and morose, not unexpected at a funeral. He was surprised how few people in the crowd matched his expression. Much of the conversation seemed livelier than he would have guessed. There was even a fair share of laughter; muted, but present.

He finished his small plate and moved slowly to a wastebasket. With his head down, he lifted his eyes to scan the crowd. All these people, lost in their own little worlds. It’s so easy to be invisible in a world of
self
-
centered
,
cell
-
phone
,
super
-
stimulated
people. They were all so predictable as they raced around checking their little
to
-
do
boxes. Until they ended up like Rob Keaton. Snapped rubber bands, tossed into little crates with return to sender notices stamped in stone. Amazing, when you think about it…

He froze. In scanning the crowd he thought he’d seen…yes…someone staring at him. He turned away, acting interested in something up in the cove above him, then looked back. The man,
red
-
haired
with a mustache, was looking back over again. He began to feel uncomfortable, his invisibility diminished. Then the
red
-
haired
man joined the crowd looking over at the entrance door. Rob Keaton’s son had walked in.

He dumped his empty plate into the trash can and turned toward the back entrance. This had been a mistake. He knew it. And he
felt
—
as
he often
did
—
that
the room was shrinking quickly, closing in on him. Though he knew they probably weren’t, he had the strong feeling that all eyes were on him, angry in their stares. They were accusing him, rightly, that he didn’t belong. Not just at this funeral, but in this town, this country, this world.