“They blame me,” he whispers.
“Do you blame you?”
“Yes.”
“Why? Sleepwalking is sleepwalking. It’s not like you wanted to get lost in the woods in the middle of the night. Or meant for Tim to head off in search of help and never be seen again.”
Scott doesn’t answer for so long, it is its own kind of answer. Guilt trumps logic. Always has.
I give him another moment, then I start walking again.
“Tell me about Tim,” I say, peering along a fallen log, studying a low clump of vegetation. This particular area has an almost ghostly feel with its sickly trees and barren ground. It keeps me on edge as I try to sharpen my gaze, pick apart the colors and shapes around us.
“Tim’s that guy,” Scott says at last.
His voice is rough. Clearly, while I’ve been looking, he’s been thinking.
“Smiling, happy, life of the party,” he continues. “People noticed him, that whole girls-want-to-sleep-with-him, guys-want-to-be-him thing. Saint Timothy, we called him. Because the heavens opened and choirs sang every time he walked into a room. Nickname pissed him off, but he couldn’t deny it. He had presence. Knew where he was and where he wanted to go. And man, his thirst for living. A guy with his looks and smarts could’ve been a complete arrogant asshole. But he didn’t want to own the world; he wanted to experience it. All of it. Let’s kill this exam. Let’s crash this kegger. Let’s take off into the woods for a weekend. He led, we followed. We were just so excited to be along for the ride.”
“Dudeville,” I comment.
Scott laughs. “Miggy tell you that? Those were the days.” But then his laughter fades, and a different, more painful emotion flickers across his face. Because those days didn’t last and would never be again.
“My family lives in Connecticut,” he says now. “Didn’t make sense for me to travel all the way back east for the shorter holidays, so I’d go home with Tim. Thanksgiving with his folks, three-day weekends at his house. Patrice and Martin always made me feel welcome, any-friend-of-Tim’s sort of thing. Tim and his dad were clearly close, but Patrice, she was the center of their shared universe. The two of them doted on her. Tim brought her flowers, would pull out her chair when she sat at the table. Martin was always fussing, offering up extra food, grabbing her favorite sweater. They were the first family I ever met who seemed to actually like one another. It blew my mind, while adding to Tim’s luster. He was the perfect guy; of course he had the perfect family.”
“I take it your home crew in Connecticut are different?”
“My parents divorced when I was five. I have one full sister, two half sisters, and one half brother. Households are many and varied. Holidays numerous and scattered. I gave up tracking it all years ago.”
I think I spy something near the trunk of a tree. I head closer, tossing over my shoulder, “I hear congratulations are in order.”
“You mean on my wedding? Or that Latisha and I are expecting?” A pause, then: “Who told you?”
“Does it matter?” Upon closer inspection, my visual target is nothing more than a clump of fallen moss. I straighten, look around, and realize we’re truly alone now. Like isolated and possibly lost in the middle of a forest, straight out of a scary movie. Nope. Don’t like it. I head to our right, hoping that’ll bring us back to the others.
“Miggy and Neil are just jealous.” Scott falls in step behind me.
“Of you and Latisha?” This is interesting.
“If you ever met her, you’d understand. Latisha has this smile . . . One look and all you want is to make her smile again, just so you can feel the glow. She used to volunteer in the children’s cancer ward. Needless to say, she was the kids’ favorite. She’s generous like that. Warm, genuine. Not to mention successful, smart, and gorgeous.”
“How long have you been in love with her?”
“From the first moment Neil brought her home.”
“But she took to Tim?”
“Everyone takes to Tim.”
“And you were okay with that?”
“I accepted that. I was happy for them. Truly.”
“And the others?”
Scott doesn’t answer right away, which, of course, makes me wonder. “Tim had this thing,” he says at last. “He was a good guy, a great guy. But he could also be a total jerk.”
“Thank God. The Saint Timothy thing kinda freaked me out.”