Losing Gabriel Page 15

  “Hey, look!” one of the group called. “Fireflies!”

  Allison let out a giggle. “I want one.”

  “Your wish…my command.” Stuart staggered up and grabbed for one in cupped hands. Soon all were standing, lurching around the site, chasing fireflies, stumbling, laughing, and capturing only air.

  As a child, Sloan had chased fireflies because she believed they were fairies, bright winged beings who came at night for all to see, especially lonely little girls in trailer parks. Now she was all grown up. She was somebody! She felt her eyelids growing heavy, and when no one was paying attention, Sloan slipped away, heading toward the Blue Beast. Tomorrow back to reality, but tonight was magical. How she longed to stuff it in a jar and keep it close to her forever.

  Someone was shaking her shoulder, forcing Sloan awake. She shoved at the offending hands. “F off…”

  “Wake up, Sloan. It’s important.”

  She forced her eyes open. Sunlight bounced through the bus’s windows. She squinted through layers of interrupted sleep. “Bobby? I just barely got in bed. Leave me alone.”

  “Can’t. You got to get up, Sloan. I have to tell you something.”

  She groaned but scooted upward in the cramped bed created from two bus seats and a thin foam mattress. “Okay. I’m up. What the hell’s so important?”

  “Cops are outside. They want to talk to us.”

  Still groggy, she pushed a hand through her hair, lifting it out of her eyes and saw that Bobby’s face was bone white. He had her attention. “Why?”

  “It’s about Jarred.”

  She went cold all over. “What about Jarred?”

  “They found him this morning. He OD’d last night. He died, Sloan. Jarred’s dead.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Death is messy. Death by an overdose of illegal drugs at a music festival and with police involvement was messier. While RVs, campers, vans, buses, and cars exited the Manchester farm fields, Sloan, Bobby, Hal, and Sy faced the police. Their bus and all their belongings were carefully searched and they were questioned. For a long time. Sloan was numb, hardly able to function. Didn’t the cops get it that one of their own had died?

  In the police tent, filled with equipment and with the AC pumped high enough to make Sloan’s teeth chatter, the band faced the head detective, Carter. He was big and broad-shouldered and looked very weary, with bags under his eyes. “When you kids going to learn that drugs kill?”

  The four of them were over twenty-one, not exactly “kids,” but who was going to correct the man?

  Other cops stood around, a few who truly looked to be in their teens. They weren’t. They were undercover narcs, both male and female, who cruised the festival to confiscate drugs. They had missed Jarred’s buy, Sloan thought, because the search hadn’t turned up any illegal drugs in the Beast. He’d bought his drugs on-site, and after he’d left her standing alone in the middle of the crowds. Damn you. She started shaking and Bobby put his arm around her.

  “My friend’s in shock—” Bobby started, but the big cop ignored him.

  “We’ve had four OD deaths this year, and about thirty who had to be treated so they wouldn’t die. All the deaths included ‘dabs,’ this year’s bad boy of the drug world. Also called ‘wax’ and ‘shatter.’ ”

  “I…I…we don’t know about dabs. Never heard of it.” That was Bobby. He looked to the others, and they shrugged. “We’re not users. We came to perform.”

  “Any of you willing to pee in a cup to test the truth of that statement?”

  No one volunteered. Sloan realized the few hits she’d taken last night with her fans would show up. Maybe the others had also smoked, but even at Sy’s house, at the all-night parties, they were careful about drugs. They had jobs and some of their employers drug tested.

  “Didn’t think so.” Carter continued with his lecture. “For the record, dabs is super-potent concentrated oil—THC—pulled from high-grade weed. Gives a super-high.”

  “People smoke it in water pipes,” another cop said.

  “Your pal used it in an electronic cigarette.”

  “And it killed him?” Sloan blurted the question.

  Carter nailed her with a look. “He mixed it with crack. That’s what killed him. And stupidity. As if there’s not enough of this drug shit out there, now we got to track dabs.” He jammed his hands into the pockets of his khaki pants, skewering each of them with a cold stare. “You can go for now, but don’t leave the site just yet.”

  “How long we have to stay?” Sy asked.

  “Till I say you can leave.”

  Sy’s jaw worked as if he wanted to speak, but he kept quiet.

  The three got to the front of the tent before Carter called out, “Any of you know how to get hold of his family? A mother and father have lost a son. They should be notified.”

  Lani found Dawson sitting out on the patio with a beer and quickly realized that something was chewing at him. She came closer. “Gabe finally zonked out, after I read him three books. I think he’s taking longer to go to sleep because it’s still daylight at his bedtime.”

  “Summer turns around next week. The year’s half over.”

  Time was flying, but Lani wanted to stretch out the days as long as possible. The summer would be over and she’d have to leave the job. And Gabe. And Dawson.

  Dawson shoved a patio chair toward her with his foot. “Join me.”

  She sat, staring out on the backyard and a sky stretching rosy pink with a setting sun.

  “How’s it been having my dad around for the past few weeks?”

  Lani propped her feet on a nearby railing. “Fine. He mostly stays in his upstairs office. Comes down for lunch with Gabe. They share notes.” She leaned forward. “Gabe shows him his coloring book and your dad usually gives Gabe some pictures to color he’s downloaded from the Internet. Dinosaurs, of course. Oh, and if Gabe and I are doing a project”—she pointed to a row of paper cups on a nearby ledge—“well, Dr. Berke makes a big deal over it. He’s a great granddad.”

  Dawson stared at the cups. Gabe had told him, “Daddy, I prant widdle seeds” the week before. Now tiny green shoots were poking through the dark dirt. He wished he’d taken better notice. Lani went on to tell Dawson that Franklin took two walks a day and accompanied her and Gabe to the park if they went. Dawson nodded, but thought back to what his father had told him the night before. When Lani said, “I’m surprised he hasn’t returned to work yet,” he interrupted her.

  “That’s not going to happen, Lani.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “Not if he wants to go on living.”

  Lani blinked. Dr. Berke wasn’t a hundred percent—that was for sure. Since the surgery and his release from the hospital and rehab, he’d lost weight and tired easily. Not the total recovery she’d expected. “What do you mean?”

  “Lopez said his heart isn’t up to the stress and pressure of the hospital job. He made it very clear to Dad that the surgery and his medications made corrections but couldn’t fix the underlying problem—stress. His heart’s permanently damaged and he’s got to make lifestyle changes.”

  “H-he’s quitting?”

  “Dad’s only fifty-two. He can’t and won’t quit.” Although Dawson was aware of the financial hit such a change would make, it was the hit to his father’s psyche and emotions that would damage him the most. Franklin Berke was a doctor. The job was absorbed into him like water into a sponge. Dawson also knew that Franklin held on to the house for Dawson’s and Gabe’s sakes. He had told his dad last night he’d move, find a better job, drop fall classes, but Franklin would hear none of it.

  “What’s he going to do? He’s an icon at the hospital.”

  “He’s taking a job at the University of Chicago Medical Center. An old friend on staff there called and offered it months ago, before his heart attack.” Dawson flicked a mosquito from his arm. “He said no at the time but has now agreed. He’s moving up next week to find a place and prepare for c
lasses. It seems the Med Center is very interested in his Step-Prep program.”

  “It’s a fantastic program, but how’s that going to be less pressure on him?”

  “He’s only designing the program, won’t have to implement it like he did here. He’ll have a staff up there, and he’ll also be teaching a few courses to med students. He says he’s looking forward to the change, but I’m not sure I believe him. It’ll be a huge difference for him. For all of us.”

  Lani’s heart did a stutter step. “Chicago. What about you and Gabe?”

  “He says we’re welcome to move up too. I can look for another job, take classes at the University of Chicago. The city’s only an hour by air from Nashville. Hope to go up for Christmas, look around.”

  Relocate. Lani felt a lump in her throat, swallowed it down. She reminded herself that her time with Gabe would be over by the holidays anyway. She struggled to keep her voice cheerful. “Chicago has snow. Gabe will love snow.”

  Chicago weather would be so different. Dawson hadn’t thought of Chicago since…He couldn’t remember. He took a long swig from his beer bottle. He had wanted freedom to live his own life, but now that it was staring him in the face…Maybe if he and Gabe had been the ones leaving. Maybe if Franklin was in great health. Maybe if— He gave Lani a sidelong glance. Her profile was etched in a sidelight from inside the house. Maybe if she had never come into his life. Dawson stood abruptly. “I’m keeping you from going home, aren’t I?”

  “I don’t mind.” A part of her felt as if she were at home.

  “No. Your day’s over. Go do something fun. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Fun. What she had to look forward to was a flurry of texts from Ben about him feeling neglected. She stood, forcing a smile. “See you tomorrow.” She walked through the house, through the front door, and out onto the driveway to her parked car, where she began counting the brevity of all the tomorrows she had remaining with Gabe. And Dawson Berke.

  “Did you know he was using, Bobby? Did you know and not tell us? Did you?” The four of them were standing outside the bus. Sloan peppered Bobby with questions.

  “I didn’t know. Swear to God!” He looked to Hal and Sy to rescue him from Sloan’s fury. “Did you guys know?”

  Sloan spun to face the others. “Did you?”

  The others shook their heads. “I never saw him use,” Sy said.

  “You were sleeping with him,” Hal sniped. “If you didn’t know, how could we?”

  Sloan rushed toward Hal, but Sy caught her before she could rake her nails down his face. “Shhh. Calm down. This isn’t helping. None of us knew, Sloan. My guess is he just did it on the fly. He hooked up with some dealer and bought himself some junk and paid for it with his life. Shit happens.”

  She couldn’t hold back the sobs fighting to get out. Sy folded her in his arms, let her cry herself out. After the storm of tears, she pulled away, saw how the others had tears of their own. The loss of Jarred was sinking in and they were all unraveled. Heat radiated from the outside of the bus, the metal hot enough to burn bare skin. Sloan blew out a lungful of air, struggling to regain control. “Sorry, Bobby. I shouldn’t have—”

  “Not a problem. We’re all wrecked.”

  The sun beat down without mercy.

  “What now?” Hal asked.

  “Soon as the cops say we can leave, we’ll go back to my place…regroup.” This from Sy. “For now let’s get back on the bus. Hot as hell out here.”

  Hal cranked up the generator to get the AC going. Sloan took a seat, leaning her forehead against the warm glass of a side window. She gazed at the flat fields, the trampled brown grass, empty of Bonnaroo fans but spotted with crews of maintenance people cleaning up the site, where soon, like her dreams, all debris would be hauled away to the trash.

  CHAPTER 30

  “Pops go bye in plane?” Gabe asked, looking bewildered.

  Standing in the Nashville airport, near the TSA line where only ticketed travelers were allowed to pass through, Dawson held Gabe for a last look at his grandfather. Minutes before, Franklin had told his son and Lani goodbye, kissed Gabe, waved from the far side of the security checkpoint, and disappeared into the flow of passengers. Gabe had seen no airplane, so Dawson understood why he was confused. “Yeah, little man. Pops is going on the airplane.”

  “No plane! Gabe want Pops.”

  Dawson watched Gabe’s face begin to crumble into a good cry.

  Lani, standing next to him, came to his rescue. “Hey, Gabe. How would you like a special treat?” She pointed to the place selling miscellaneous goodies to departing travelers.

  Gabe’s face lit up. Dawson lowered Gabe and Lani took his hand, and together they walked into the grab-and-go, where Gabe selected a bag of gummy bears.

  “Thanks for the save,” Dawson said as they walked toward the escalator. “He was about to have a meltdown.”

  “Distraction. A potent weapon.”

  Dawson nodded, but deep down he was as disconcerted as Gabe over saying goodbye to his father. The last week had been a whirlwind of packing up boxes of books, papers, clothing, memorabilia, and keepsakes that would be shipped to Chicago from both Franklin’s home and Windemere hospital offices. Franklin had rented a place to live, arranged by a Chicago broker and seen only through photos online. The loft he’d chosen was a modern spacious two-bedroom near the Medical Center. A new way of life for all of them.

  Once in the parking garage, Dawson asked, “What do you say we go find some dinner? I mean, since we’re in the big city. That okay with you, Lani?”

  “Love to. I’m starving.” With last-minute details, the rush to get Gabe up from his nap—which left him cranky—and the fifty-plus-mile drive to the Nashville airport, Lani hadn’t taken time to eat since breakfast. Once they’d piled into the SUV, she’d sat in the backseat with Gabe strapped in his car seat and read to him during the trip.

  “Eat!” Gabe yelled. “Chicken nuggets.”

  Dawson rolled his eyes. “Don’t want to go any place where we have to read a menu off a wall. Your thoughts, Lani?”

  “Let’s just drive until we see a place that we like.”

  Dawson opened the sunroof, remembering how Franklin had handed him the keys and said, “Don’t need it in Chicago.” The year before, Dawson had traded in his old car for a pickup, and although Gabe’s car seat fit snugly in the truck’s rear seat, the SUV was far more comfortable. Another gift from Franklin he couldn’t repay.

  Dawson turned out of the airport and headed into the sprawling city. A plane taking off roared above the SUV. Gabe, looking up, waved. “Bye-bye, Pops!”

  They settled on a Western-styled restaurant chain known to be kid friendly and took a booth by a window with a view of the evening sky. Gabe sat in a booster chair, enthralled watching his dad shell peanuts from a bucket on the table and drop the shells on the floor.

  Lani shelled a few nuts and gave the husks to Gabe, who tossed them downward and leaned over to see where his shells landed. “Must be a guy thing.”

  “Hope he doesn’t carry the habit home.” Dawson flashed her a grin.

  They ordered and when the waitress dressed in a blue T-shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots, brought their food and set down the plates, she smiled and said, “Y’all have the cutest little boy.”

  “Oh. I—” Lani started to correct her.

  Dawson shrugged it off and said, “Thank you.” The waitress hurried away. To Lani he said, “Why explain? We do have a cute kid with us.”

  Lani busied herself with cutting up the restaurant’s version of chicken nuggets for Gabe, enjoying the simple pleasure of the three of them.

  Dawson thought she wore contentment like some girls wore new clothes.

  She felt Dawson’s eyes on her. Wondering if she had food caught between her teeth, she glanced at him self-consciously.

  Gabe grabbed a french fry, brandishing it in the air like a sword. Dawson parked his fork on his plate of barbeque ribs. “Lani, there�
�s going to be some upheaval in the house for a while.”

  She looked up, wary, wondering what “upheaval” meant for her.

  “I’m trading in that shoe box–size bedroom on the other side of Gabe’s room for the bedroom Dad was using.” When he had turned his high school basement bedroom into Gabe’s playroom, Dawson had moved into the third upstairs bedroom, a space barely big enough for a bed and dresser. The middle room, the former guest room, was Gabe’s, his crib replaced by a toddler bed shaped like a train engine and with side guards so he wouldn’t roll off but that he could easily exit. Gabe loved it.

  The basement now held a sleeper sofa, a craft table and chairs, and walls lined with cubbies for toys, puzzles, and books. Riding toys were scattered for play on rainy or high pollen days. “I’d like to paint the room before I move in, but I’m wondering about the best way to deal with the smell and how it will affect Gabe.”

  “Don’t worry…we’ll figure it out.” Lani was relieved that the upheaval was something simple and only involved sweat equity. Her job would remain the same.

  The child looked up. “I paint too, Daddy.”

  Dawson tousled Gabe’s hair. “Probably not this time, buddy.”

  By the time they were finishing their meals, Gabe was nodding off. Dawson put the boy in his car seat and drove to Windemere, trading a mix of music from his and Lani’s phones on the SUV’s audio system. At the house, Dawson carried Gabe upstairs, settled him in his bed, and turned on the bedroom’s night-light and air purifier.

  When he came downstairs and onto the porch, Lani rose from a wicker chair. “Did he wake up?”

  “Never blinked.” Sounds of tree frogs and crickets filled a night scented by summer jasmine. “I kept you too late.”

  “No way. I wanted to come with you. Your dad helped me go after my dream of becoming a nurse, and I’ll always be grateful to him. I hope he’ll be happy in Chicago.” Now that they were alone and she was to leave, she thought of the waitress thinking she was Gabe’s mother. She had to accept that she was Gabe’s caregiver, nothing more.