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Will laughed and John did, too, stretching out his legs and relaxing a bit. Will thought about offering some fatherly advice about college and careers. He wanted to ask about his friends and find out what his plans were, but he thought better of it. He was grateful for the company, and had been the designated bad guy in John’s life for so long that he didn’t want to spoil the moment.
“I’ve partied up there,” John said. “But the kids are so stuck up.”
Will knew that could be true at one of Ohio’s “Public Ivies.” Time to change the subject.
“Those are nice shoes.”
“You think so?” John said. “I bought ’em in Portland. They’re called Drainmakers.” He pointed to the lime green soles.
“How are you?” John asked.
“I’m okay. It’s been a long day.”
“But the cancer’s gone, right?”
Will wearied of explaining the betrayal his body had carried out a few months after he turned forty-one. The doctors had discovered a tumor inside his spinal cord. It was a very rare condition. Luckily it had not been cancerous. They called it “malignant by location”: it would have left him paralyzed. Fortunately, they seem to have gotten it all. He ran through it for John patiently. There was no reason to expect Cindy would have told John the details.
“So it won’t come back, right?”
“Unfortunately, there’s no guarantee of that. Every day’s a gift.”
“You’ve turned into one mellow dude, Will. Letting me have a beer, not even ragging my ass about the pot.”
He was trying to get a rise, but Will remembered being that age, when small things loomed so huge, when a young man’s pride was everything.
“Come on, John,” he said gently. “That was a long time ago. Your mother and I were concerned for your well-being, doing the whole parent thing. You’ll be there someday.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I guess you heard about Kristen Gruber.”
“Yeah.”
“You remember meeting her?” Will had taken John to the party thrown by the show’s producers to mark the completion of filming for the first season of LadyCops: Cincinnati. It was the last time Will had attempted to draw John out of his shyness. Kristen had worn one of those little black dresses that night.
“I remember.”
“I’m the lead detective on the case.”
“Back in homicide? Good for you,” John said.
They fell into silence and Will’s mind was back on the case. Henderson had taken her evidence back to Kentucky and Will had stopped by a Skyline Chili to grab a late dinner and update the online police blotter. The Enquirer’s Web site had a long story about Kristen, but also another one about a double-homicide on the Miami University campus. A suspect was in custody and a knife had been used in the attack. He made a mental note to call the police in Oxford in the morning.
“It’s really bad,” John said in a low voice. “Her being killed.”
“Yes.” Will never talked about the ugly details of his work with his family.
“So you like doing the whole TV thing? ‘Police spokesman.’ You’re a celebrity.”
“Not really. It’s the job they let me do. It’s not like I can chase the bad guys any more. So I’m grateful for it.” Will shook his right leg and wondered why John was there. He hadn’t seen him in months. Coming by to check on him was a mature thing. That was good. Will set aside his suspicious cop thoughts, looked into the lights of the Kroger Building, and let his mind swim across memories of Cheryl Beth.
“So are you seeing anybody?” he asked.
John started to speak but only shook his head. Then: “I’ve tried to do scamming, but the girls don’t really go for me. They, like, want to be friends. Not friends with benefits, you know? Like ‘friends’ means get lost. Don’t want to dance with no pants. They save that for the dangerous ones, the alpha dudes. Then they complain because they turn out to be pricks.”
“I’ve been ther
e,” Will said, wondering what “scamming” meant. “At your age. It’ll change.”
“I don’t know.” John chugged the beer and put his feet up on the railing. Metal clattered onto the floor. It was a folding knife.
John scrambled to retrieve it and slipped it back in his pants pocket.
