“You know, their coffee isn’t actually half bad,” Jonathan said brightly. “When Peter told me that, I laughed. And we got into a fight about me being a snob. I don’t know, maybe I am. Anyway, Peter was right about the coffee. The people who work there are nice, too. Unfortunately, not everyone in Kaaterskill is so friendly to weekenders.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, unable to resist reaching in to check my phone for a reply from Bates. Nothing yet.
“The locals aren’t the most progressive bunch, that’s all, and weekenders, myself included, can be demanding and tone-deaf. Like this car.” A flicker of emotion passed over Jonathan’s face. He shook his head. “Driving it up here is kind of like waving an asshole flag.”
“At least you’re up here spending money,” Stephanie said diplomatically. “They’ve got to want that.”
“They’d like the upside without the downside. Like everybody,” Jonathan said. “Anyway, we’re not far from the house now, and it is charming, Stephanie. Wait until you see the fireplaces.”
“Okay, but you better have snacks,” she said. “And if I spot one MAGA hat, I’m hightailing it out of Dodge.”
We turned left down the main street, lined with charming shops— Perch Pilates, Patisserie Lenox, De Marchin Antiques, TEA: A Salon. The wood-frame storefronts were brightly painted and had cute, funky signage. But in between there were darkened doorways and boarded-up storefronts, cropping up more frequently as we drove on, like an infection beginning to spread.
“This downtown is adorable, Jonathan,” I said. “We should come back later and walk around.”
“Will the scenic tour be before or after we stuff Keith in the trunk and drive him to Bright Horizons?” Stephanie asked, her tone more sad now than sarcastic.
“Come on, we did it before without resorting to force,” I offered. “And if we can’t get Keith all the way convinced, there’s always next weekend, right? At least we’ll have opened up a dialogue.”
“Oh, no, no. Keith has to go, this weekend,” Jonathan said nervously. “By Monday. Otherwise, my dad’s calling back the loan. If he does that, Keith will lose the gallery— you get that, right? He thought the loan was ‘criminally indulgent’ before he found out Keith was an addict. Now he’s beside himself. As far as he’s concerned, it’s shameful for me to even have a friend like Keith. It’s even more shameful for me to let my dad be taken advantage of in this way. The only way he might hold off is if Keith’s in rehab.”
I wasn’t surprised that Jonathan’s father was angry. I’d be angry, too. Keith was definitely using some of Jonathan’s money to purchase drugs, either directly or indirectly.
“Maybe your dad is right,” Stephanie said. “Keith is a bigger mess now than I’ve ever seen him. It’s like he’s trying to kill himself.”
“Are you really surprised?” Jonathan asked.
“It’s been ten years— how long is Alice going to be Keith’s excuse for everything?” Stephanie asked.
“I don’t know,” Jonathan said. “Forever?”
“We all loved her,” Stephanie went on. “And we all feel awful about what happened, but there has to be a line somewhere.”
“Yeah, but Keith was in love with her,” I offered. “Kind of makes sense that he’s in the worst place.”
“And is Alice our excuse for enabling him?” Stephanie asked. “We feel so guilty that we’re killing Keith with kindness?”
We all stayed quiet for a long time.
“Rehab,” I said decisively. “We just need to get him in, and then we can let the professionals take over. This time it’ll take.”
And I truly believed it might. The last time we talked Keith into it— or I talked Keith into it— was probably too soon. It was only about a year after graduation, eighteen months after the car Alice was driving had been spotted abandoned near the Kingston-Rhinecliff Bridge. Sixteen months after her death was officially declared a suicide, though her body had not been found. I pictured it now, a skeleton, bright white and worn smooth, wedged forever between boulders at the bottom of the Hudson River. I shuddered.
“Maeve is right,” Jonathan said. “We just need to get Keith into Bright Horizons. That’s all. And we can do that. I know we can.”
The sunset was streaking the sky orange as Jonathan slowed the car at a tall, perfectly manicured hedge. Beyond it were the tops of dozens of towering trees. It wasn’t until we turned down the gravel driveway that the house itself finally came into view: a stunning Queen Anne, complete with spindle-topped turrets, second-floor balconies, and a massive wraparound porch. Four perfect wooden rocking chairs sat on either side of the hunter-green front door. My breath caught.