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  Right before I passed out I still had enough of my mind about me to realize that I still didn’t want to live. I wanted Dan Dawkins to be no more. Without Amy, there was no Dan. And that’s the way it was always going to be. Fading out I replayed the bits of Jenna’s voicemail in my head.

  Deadline…………Jackson Hugh…………Call me.

  "Jackson," I whispered to the tiled floor. Then I was gone.

  Chapter 21

  Ralph and Minnie might have been heavy enough sleepers to not be disturbed by the loud creaking of the barn door, followed by my rummaging in their kitchen, and ending with my sequence of events in the bathroom, but Ralph’s prostate and bladder were apparently right on schedule and worked together to wake him up for a midnight piss. He’s the one who found me. He told me he only yelled my name once before he kicked in the door. I woke up with him splashing some cool water on my face--directly out of the suicide bath I had drawn myself--and patting me lightly on the cheek. When I opened my eyes, everything was fuzzy and blurred, but my memory was clear. I tried to sit up, but Ralph pushed me back down, saying, "No, no, no, son. Stay right there. Ambulance is on the way."

  My head was throbbing. Ralph had put a towel under the back of my head and when I reached up once to rub the back of my neck my hand came away sticky with blood. We sat together in the bathroom that way in silence until we heard the siren of the ambulance approaching. Ralph had sent Minnie downstairs to wait on them while he sat with me on the bathroom floor.

  When we heard the doors slamming as the paramedics jumped out of the ambulance, Minnie yelled up the stairs, "Ralph, they’re here! Melissa Feder is driving. I can’t tell who the other two are yet."

  "Open the door and let’m know where we are!" Ralph hollered back down. And then, leaning down close to my ear, "Dan, I put the toaster back down in the kitchen when I ran down to call 911. No sense in making this more difficult than it need be. We can talk about that later."

  Ralph had busted into the bathroom and, drawing from his many years of police experience, had quickly assessed the scene before him and figured out--at least for the most part--what had happened. He knew I was going to kill myself, and for the time being he was willing to keep that fact between us.

  Good ole Ralph, was my last thought before I passed out again, just as I heard loud footfalls coming up the steps.

  I spent two nights in the hospital with a mild concussion and a gash on the back of my head that required five staples to close. Pretty pathetic considering my goal had been death and all I managed was a flesh wound, and a tiny one at that. Oh, and a tiny chip on one of my front bottom teeth. They stuck an IV in my arm, shot me up with pain killers, and pretty much left me alone. I slept a lot, with not much else to do, and when I wasn’t sleeping, I was thinking. I thought about those last few moments in Ralph and Minnie’s bathroom, what I had thought right before I passed out--for the first time, before Ralph had found me--and relished at what a great idea it was. Crazy? Oh yes, it was. But would it be effective? I was going to find out.

  I had failed at killing myself. So, I was going to give this a shot.

  When I was released from Jacob’s Bluff Community Hospital, Ralph came by in his Oldsmobile to pick me up and take me back to the Sanderson Homestead. The car ride was short--much like every car ride in Jacob’s Bluff--but it was long enough for Ralph to ease his mind with me, and long enough for me to work out a deal with him.

  He spoke first. "Feeling all better? Head not botherin’ ya?"

  I reached up and touched the knot that was now much smaller than it had been twenty-four hours before. "Still feel a little weak, kinda…off. But head’s ok. Little swelling left."

  "Good, glad it wasn’t more serious. I gotta say there was an awful lot of blood on that floor when I first went in. Scared me, and it takes a good bit to scare me. I’ve seen a lot ya know."

  "I’m sure," I said, waiting for the topic that I knew was unavoidable.

  Ralph stopped at a red light and then turned to look at me, one hand on the wheel and the other scratching his head. "So… Do you want to tell me why you thought it would be a good idea to kill yourself in my bathtub?" He said it with a little grin, trying to make light of the situation I suppose, but I knew that deep down, under the facial expressions, he was concerned, wondering if I needed more help than just the physical kind.

  I took in a deep breath and let it out. I had prepared my answer while I lay in the hospital bed, watching the closed-captioned words of a rerun of Friends.

  "It was a stupid thing to do."

  "Damn right it was," Ralph said. The light turned green and we went on.

  "I guess… I don’t know, I came out here, just driving and trying to get away from everything, Ralph. And I had been doing a pretty good job at pretending that nothing was bothering me and that I was moving on after my wife’s accident." I turned and saw him nod, as if he knew this was going to be my explanation.

  "But then we started talking at The Saw Horse the other night and--"

  "Sawmill."

  Does it fucking matter, I thought. "Sorry, Sawmill. We started talking that night, and you told me the story of how Minnie almost passed away a few years ago. Ralph, the way you told it I could just see how much you love her. How much you are consumed by her, and it just reopened all the doors I had been trying to close and lock."

  "Dan, I never meant to--"

  I held up my hand. "No, no. Don’t blame yourself. I was the one who lost it for a while. You were just trying to help… I guess. I don’t know, when you were done I just sat there and all I could think about was Amy. The way she smiled, the way she smelled, the way we made love together. It all just smashed into me and it was just… too much, Ralph. I hated it, it made me absolutely miserable, and yes, I wanted to die that night."

  Neither of us spoke as we sat at another red light, and then when we started moving again, Ralph asked, "So what happened? You’re still alive obviously."

  This is where I fibbed. Because, if things had gone the way I had hoped, if Cunt on the Hunt Jenna hadn’t called, I would be dead. Not sitting in an early model Oldsmobile with Ralph Sanderson having to explain myself.

  "I chickened out at the last second. I just couldn’t do it. I threw the toaster and jumped out of the tub too quick and that’s when I slipped and fell. I guess you know the rest."

  We pulled into the driveway of The Sanderson Homestead and started up the hill towards the house. "I don’t know if this is the right way to say this, Dan," Ralph said, parking the car and killing the engine. "But, did you get it out of your system? Because if you think this kind of thing will happen again, there are a number of options for help you could--"

  "Ralph," I put a hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eye with the best don’t-you-worry-about-me face I could summon. "I’m ok. Really. I won’t do anything stupid like that again."

  "Are you sure? It just doesn’t seem like something you just bounce back from and change your mind about."

  "Well, I guess maybe I wasn’t all that serious about it in the first place. Ya know? Maybe I never intended to go through with it."

  He raised one eyebrow. "I’m gonna trust ya, Dan. I like you and you seem like a bright young man. Don’t make me regret not getting you some help."

  I smiled and patted him on the back. "Ok. Well now that you know I want to live, there’s something I wanted to ask you. Sort of a favor and business deal."

  "I’ll do what I can," he said.

  Five minutes later the deal was done. I was going to be hanging around Jacob’s Bluff a little longer.

  Chapter 22

  I applied only the most delicate amount of pressure to the gas pedal and my head nearly snapped backwards as the Mercedes Coupe under me growled forward with hungry aggression, devouring the pavement for dinner. The car had everything: Heated and cooled you name it, leather seats, rich-cherry wood paneling, touch-screen satellite radio and GPS, sunroof, headlights that turned when you did, and nearly 55
0 horses under the hood. All wrapped in stunning black with chrome trim. I smiled a little every time I sat inside it.

  I was going well over the speed limit, traveling down RT 688 out of Jacob’s Bluff and into Larendale. I wasn’t worried about getting pulled over, though. In my many trips to Larendale on this isolated road I had never once seen any fuzz. Not coming, not going, and sure as hell not parked on the shoulder watching the readout from the Radar. The access to the Interstate was on the far side of Larendale and also behind me, another fifteen miles outside of Jacob’s Bluff. The no-man’s land in-between might as well not even have existed. I suppose help would come if you happened to wreck, but it would come with a sigh and a shake of the head.

  The sun was half hidden as it started its decent down for the night and as I pulled out of no-man’s land and into the city limits of Larendale it was completely gone, leaving only the lights of the city, which were plenty. The outskirts of Larendale reminded me a bit of Hillston (not a good thing), with strip malls, subdivisions, and an Elementary School with a large baseball field. But, once you got past the sugar coating, downtown Larendale was where the chocolate filling was. Although not all that glamorous, there were nightclubs, bars and even a couple Gentlemen’s Clubs, all of which started the party on Friday evening and didn’t stop the music until well into Sunday morning. The way I see it Larendale must have been the central hub for all the other Jacob’s Bluffs surrounding it. Aside from it’s own crop of twenty and early thirty year olds, it pulled in all the people of the same age from the cities around it, places where establishments the likes of The Sawmill were the most excitement those people would find.

  I navigated the square maze of downtown, and then turned and rode all the way up the main strip, going end to end, passing all the entertainment spots, revving the engine and making sure all the people walking the streets and standing in lines outside the buildings noticed me. I saw head after head turn and, now satisfied, turned right at the end of the strip and drove into a parking garage with a sign that read PARKING FREE AFTER 6PM AND ALLDAY SATURDAY AND SUNDAY. The tiny booth where the attendant usually worked was empty and the mechanical arm that swung up and down with every car that came in and out was frozen in the up position, as if it had given up and was inviting the world to come inside and park.

  Once I had secured a spot and parked, I checked my face in the rearview mirror, popped two mints into my mouth and got out, closing the door and pressing the lock button twice on the keyless entry fob. The Mercedes gave off a shrill BEEP-BEEP! that echoed of the walls of the garage. Standing outside the car, I looked at what I could see of my reflection in the black exterior. The suit I was wearing had come in only a week ago, special ordered--and more expensive than I dare say--and this was only the second time I had worn it. The first being only to try it on once it had arrived.

  I adjusted my collar, brushed a tiny piece of lent off my jacket sleeve, and then headed out of the parking garage and down the strip, expensive shoes clacking against the sidewalk, wondering where I should start.

  My deal with Ralph had been conceived relying mostly on business and leaning a little on personal hope and compassion. While we sat in his Oldsmobile outside the house that day he brought be home from the hospital, I served him up a little story, and made him a decent offer.

  I started by apologizing again for what I had done, and told him that I had no right to try and do what I did in his and Minnie’s home. I told him I felt terrible, and I wanted to make it up to him somehow. This was true, for the most part, although ultimately I just made things much worse. When asked I had told Ralph and Minnie I was a consultant, and this lie I kept up with. But, I told Ralph that I had quit my job for the time being--explaining how I was able to just start driving around the country after my wife’s passing--and that I just needed a break, find a quiet place to try and start over. I started gushing over how perfect Jacob’s Bluff was, how ideal it was for what I needed to do. I explained that I had done well for myself financially, citing smart investments and much success in my own field, so I had set no timeframe on just how long I would be on my little soul searching scavenger hunt.

  Ralph listened to all of this, nodding his head in all the right places. He didn’t say a word until I was finished. "So what is it exactly you want, Dan? Where’s this all going?"

  I was glad he asked. I told him that if he and Minnie would have me, I’d like to rent my bedroom at The Sanderson Homestead indefinitely.

  "I’ll buy my own food, help you and Minnie out with anything you need at anytime, run errands for you if you need me to, but Ralph, I just need to get away for a while, and I think this would be a great place to try a new life on for size." I’m ninety-nine percent sure that Ralph would have said yes right then and there, assuming I was planning on paying the standard rate of fifty dollars a night. But, even in my distorted state of being at the time I realized what a burden I was laying upon that nice elderly couple, and I wanted to do what I could to show them I appreciated their hospitality. "I’ll pay you guys seven hundred a week. Twice your going rate."

  Ralph turned his head so fast some dandruff flakes flew off. "The hell you will," he said, almost sounding insulted. "You’ll pay no more than we’d charge anybody else. Hell, I was going to give you a discount for staying as long as you were, certainly not gonna make you pay extra. I’m not in the business of ripping good people off."

  He really was a sweet old man. "Ralph, come on now," I said. "With an extra person in your house the water bill will go up, the--"

  "We’ve got a well."

  I dismissed this. "The electric bill will go up, I’m sure Minnie might cook a few meals now and then that she’ll want me to eat, so I’ll be eating some of your food, plus I imagine you and I might watch a game now and again on that satellite of yours. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t like to cut that payment down a little bit."

  Ralph’s face, which had been stern, broke out into what almost could have been classified as a smirk. He scratched his head and then looked at his fingernails for a moment to see if they had found anything. "Three hundred a week and--"

  "Five hundred."

  He slumped back in his seat, one wrinkled finger tapping the steering wheel, and then sighed. "Fine. Five hundred. Might be nice to have somebody else to take Minnie around town now and again; she stopped driving a few years ago, so now I always have to run her around. Plus I’m sure we’ll enjoy the company in general. And, Dan?" He reached out and put his hand on mine. "Son, you stay as long as you need to. You won’t be no inconvenience or nothin’, Minnie and I got nothin’ but time."

  With the first part of my plan in place, it was time to move on to the second. This one would take some more time. It took three months to be exact.

  As soon as my injuries were fully healed and I had "settled in" to my new house and my new town, I started the process of developing.

  Jacob’s Bluff didn’t have a big time commercial gym, no Gold’s or anything like that. What they did have was a local YMCA--God bless those little places--that offered a surprisingly large free weight area. It would do. I signed up for a year's membership and started a rigorous routine. Every morning except Sunday I was up at 5am, eating five whole eggs and two cups of oatmeal. Those first few mornings were rough, and I felt like I was going to throw up every last few bites of the oatmeal. But after a week, it became easy. My body needed the fuel and I scarfed the food down with no trouble at all.

  After breakfast I’d turn on Ralph’s big TV and watch whatever I could find for thirty minutes or so, then once I felt I had let my food digest enough, I put on my sneakers and jogged the mile and half to the YMCA. Again, those first few mornings almost killed me. I ended up walking most of the way, tired and out of breath while I could still see The Sanderson Homestead behind me. But eventually, the jog was nothing and I started timing myself, trying every morning to set a personal best.

  I remembered a good deal about lifting weights and building up my muscles from my
days playing football, and I had researched tons of different workout routines for the team I had coached at Hillston High. I took what I knew and applied it. The addiction of weight lifting overtook me again in no time. I had forgotten how much I used to enjoy it. How much I loved to see my muscles pump up and my veins pop out after an intense set, staring intently into the mirrors surrounding me as I knocked out rep after rep, pushing my muscles to the extreme, forcing them to grow. I’d work out for an hour, occasionally an hour and a half, and then after a brief rest, I’d jog the mile and a half back to The Sanderson Homestead and quickly gulp down a protein shake.

  The time in-between getting back from the gym and when I went out in the evenings--more on that in a bit--I spent doing as promised, helping Ralph and Minnie if they needed it. I’d help Ralph cut the grass, weed eat and whatnot. And every now and then I’d take Minnie in to town and let her run her errands; a trip to the bank, the grocery store, the pharmacy. We went to the pharmacy about as much as we went to the grocery store. You know, old people and their meds. I painted the roof of the barn, something Ralph said he had gotten too old to do long ago and he seemed truly grateful, saying over and over again that he knew it was terribly hard work and he hated that he had even mentioned it. It wasn’t that hard, and I tried to tell him that, but you know Ralph.

  Once my chores were done for the day I’d go upstairs, take a nice long shower and then do one of two things: write, or go to Larendale. I’ll touch on writing later.

  The first thing I did on my first few evening trips into Larendale was explore and learn the city. I drove all around it, taking note of what it had to offer and where things were. I learned where the mall was, the Wal-Mart, the big two-story Barnes and Noble, the restaurants, the bars, the movie theater, everything. Once I had everything and its place memorized, I started being productive. For starters, I got a new wardrobe. My style changed from small-town-boy casual--t-shirts and cargo shorts--all the way up the ladder to I’m-rich-and-shallow expensive. Everything--including my socks and boxer shorts--were now emblazoned with names the likes of Ralph Lauren, Tommy Hilfiger, Armani and Gucci. I know what you’re thinking, and no, not all of it came from the mall in Larendale. I’d take my laptop to the Barnes and Noble, hook up to their Wi-Fi and do some serious, hardcore online shopping. My credit card was getting more action than a swinger’s orgy.