AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Great. So, hop in and we’ll give you a ride to the station so we cantalk.”
“Does it have to be the station?” he asks. “I mean, can’t you come to my house? It’s only a few blocks away. I don’t really want to go into the station with only a pair of shorts on and sweaty likethis.”
“I guess that’s reasonable,” I say. “Comeon.”
“I’ll just lead the way. You can follow,” hesays.
It’s not ideal. I’ve learned over the years when you want to question someone, you keep hold of them. You don’t give them freedom that could mean they bolt. But Mike isn’t under arrest right now. He’s not even a suspect in anything. I don’t have the grounds to compel him to get into the car or to force him to go to the station.
He picks up with his jog as the officer follows behind at a snail’s pace. Mike isn’t slow, but he’s no match for a car, so it feels like we’re creeping along to keep with his pace. I imagine to a casual onlooker it looks like we’re trying to pull him over. I’m almost tempted to have the officer turn on the lights just for the effect.
Mike turns onto the sidewalk of a tiny but well-maintained house and we pull into the driveway beside it. He’s on the porch when we get out of the car.
“Come in,” he says.
It’s less an invitation than it is a resigned acknowledgment, but I thank him anyway and climb the two short steps onto the small cement stoop before crossing the threshold of the open front door into the house. It leads right into a small, neat living room that smells like lemon floor cleaner.
“Can I get you anything?” Mike asks as he makes his way through the living room toward the back of thehouse.
I can see a tiny dining room through an arched doorway from the living room and I’m guessing the kitchen is right off of it. A hallway to the other side must lead to what I would guess would be two bedrooms and a bathroom. It’s a cozy little starter house for a young family or the perfect grandma’s house. It’s the kind of place that should be filled with life and laughter or constantly smell like warm baked cookies and comforting meals. Mike just hasn’t gotten the family part yet.
“Water would be great,” Isay.
He doesn’t respond but comes back with three bottles of sparkling mineral water. It’s a trend I haven’t caught on to, but I thank him and accept the bottle anyway. He hands the other to the officer, who eagerly takes it, twists the bottle with a satisfying spritz sound, and takes aswig.
“You can go ahead and sit down. I’m going to rinse off and change,” Mikesays.
He doesn’t wait for any kind of response, just saunters down the hall. The officer immediately takes the invitation to sit on the couch pushed up against the wall facing the front door, but I walk around the room taking in the details. There isn’t much here. It definitely doesn’t look like he inherited it from someone unless he went through and removed the decor they had up. The entire place feels streamlined and if not cold, minimal.
The mantle over the fireplace has a picture of a several years-younger Mike standing next to a grinning man. They’re both holding fly fishing rods and wearing rubber waders. A box of matches sits in one corner. When I look into the fireplace, I see that it’s swept clean and fresh logs are piled on the andirons. Either the fireplace is so rarely used it’s primarily a decorative focus point of the room, or Mike is extremely conscientious about keeping it maintained during the hot summer when he’s unlikely to get the logs going.
I hear a shower running and my thirst gets to me. I open the bottle of water and take a sip. The mineral taste and strange carbonated sensation just doesn’t sit right with me. If I’m going to drink something bubbly like this, I want it to be a soda or sparkling wine. If I’m drinking water, I just want it still and plain.
Leaving the fireplace, I go to the stereo system set up under the front windows. A case to the side holds an impressive collection of cassettes. Most of them are professionally labeled, but I notice quite a few with handwritten titles, probably mixtapes he made for himself or was given by admirers. There’s also one with a band name across it. I’ve never heard of it. I’m crouched down with my fingertips on the tape when Mike comes back into the room, freshly showered anddressed.
“Music fan?” heasks.
I straighten and turn to him. “No more than the next person, I guess. You seem to have a pretty impressive collection, though.”
He nods. “I was raised listening to music all the time. There was always something playing in the house. Either the radio or my dad’s old LPs. He even had some of my grandfather’s stuff from wayback.”
“Do you play an instrument?” Iask.
“No. That’s the talent I didn’t get from them.” He gives a short laugh. “The rest of the family plays at least one instrument. Not necessarily fantastically, mind you. My sister’s harp sessions aren’t something you’re going to want to sit through on a regular basis. But she can play the clarinet. And my brother played the drums. My father played the guitar, the drums, and the keyboard. My mother plays the piano and sings.” He points to the picture on the mantle. “That’s my dad. My brother hated fishing, but I loved it, so that was the special thing we got to do together. He could play music with George and fish withme.”
“It sounds like there could be a whole family band situation happening,” Isay.
He lets out another chuckle. “Something like that. I just never picked anything up. I was an artist. My mom used to say that I got all of the ability to draw that the rest of the family was supposed to get and so there just wasn’t any room left for anything musical. That made me feel better when I was little. But I still really loved music, so I started collecting cassettes. I want to transition over to compact disc, but the equipment is just soexpensive.”
“How about this one?” I ask, pointing back at the tape I was looking at when he came into the room. “I’ve never heard of them.”
“Oh, What Now? They’re pretty new. That’s a demo tape from one of their first shows. It’s not bad if you’re into alternativerock.”
“I don’tknow.”
“Anyway,” Mike says, dropping down onto the couch. “You said you wanted to talk tome.”
“Yes. I wanted you to tell me about yourself,” Isay.
