Benson.
I was fully prepared to turn tail and run—there was no way I was breaking the news to more of Kirtz’s friends—but they caught
sight of me, and one look in their eyes told me they already knew.
It wasn’t that they were crying or anything, just standing there looking totally helpless and sucking on cigarettes like the
butts supplied oxygen instead of carbon monoxide. When I got over to them, I realized that Trish Stilwell was standing on
their far side, so small and slight I hadn’t seen her. She wasn’t crying, either, but she’d obviously just stopped; her eyes
were dazed and red, lids puffy and lashes clumped together.
“You heard?” Billy asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “Do you know if Lauren’s all right?”
“She went to lay down in her tent.” He reached up to take another drag on the cigarette, and I noticed his hands were shaking.
It was hard to reconcile this version of Billy with the hipster from the day before; he came off as a whole lot younger and
way less cocky. “She asked us to look for Tom and tell him to come stay with her. You seen him?”
“No. Sorry.”
“I just can’t believe it,” Dorrie said, wrapping her arms around herself so tightly the cigarette seemed to sprout from her
left shoulder. “This is like some nightmare, you know? Poor Shaun.…”
“Poor Cindy,” Trish whispered.
“Poor Cindy,” Dorrie echoed. “You think she’s gonna be okay?”
“I’m sure she’ll be fine. She was probably just in shock.”
“Of course she was in shock,” Dorrie said. “Can you imagine how awful that was, watching Shaun—” She cut herself off. “Of
course she was in shock,” she said again. “Wouldn’t you be?”
Billy shrugged, then parked his eyes on my reporter’s notebook. “You gonna put this in the paper.”
“You mean Shaun dying?” He nodded. I nodded back. “It’ll be in tomorrow.”
“You mean, like, with his name and all?”
“I assume so. The only reason we wouldn’t run his name is if the cops can’t notify his family in time.”
I girded myself for a lecture about how much newspapers suck, but none of them seemed particularly pissed about it. Dorrie
tilted her head so she could take a drag off the cigarette without unfolding her arms. “You mean, you won’t say his name if
they don’t tell his mom first?”
“Nobody wants somebody’s family to find out they’re dead from reading the newspaper.”
“Oh,” she said. “That’s good, I guess.” The other two nodded vaguely.
“Listen,” I said, “I hate to ask you this, but I’m gonna have to write a story about Shaun for the paper. Do you think you
guys would mind talking about him?”
Billy looked at me like I’d just grown a pointy nose. “I thought you said you weren’t running his name unless—”
“We’re not, but my guess is his folks have already been notified. Unless they’re out of town or something—”
“It’s just his mom,” Dorrie said. “She’s probably at her store in Gabriel. That’s where she usually is.”
“Oh. So listen, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. It’s just that I have to write what we call a news obit,
talking about Shaun and what kind of person he was, what he liked to do and everything….” I was starting to feel like a ghoul,
a title I arguably deserved. I decided to plow ahead anyway. “It’s better if I can talk to his friends than somebody who barely
knew him, you know? That way you get a realistic picture of a person.”
Billy didn’t look convinced. “And you want to do that now? Like, right here?”
“Not necessarily, but I figured you guys would be leaving soon and I didn’t want to bother you—”
“Huh?” He looked to Trish, who’d been staring at the ground for the past few minutes. Then he tried Dorrie, who rewarded him
with a mirror image of his own cluelessness.
“Leave?” she asked. “Why would we leave?”
“Um, I just figured that
I was fully prepared to turn tail and run—there was no way I was breaking the news to more of Kirtz’s friends—but they caught
sight of me, and one look in their eyes told me they already knew.
It wasn’t that they were crying or anything, just standing there looking totally helpless and sucking on cigarettes like the
butts supplied oxygen instead of carbon monoxide. When I got over to them, I realized that Trish Stilwell was standing on
their far side, so small and slight I hadn’t seen her. She wasn’t crying, either, but she’d obviously just stopped; her eyes
were dazed and red, lids puffy and lashes clumped together.
“You heard?” Billy asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “Do you know if Lauren’s all right?”
“She went to lay down in her tent.” He reached up to take another drag on the cigarette, and I noticed his hands were shaking.
It was hard to reconcile this version of Billy with the hipster from the day before; he came off as a whole lot younger and
way less cocky. “She asked us to look for Tom and tell him to come stay with her. You seen him?”
“No. Sorry.”
“I just can’t believe it,” Dorrie said, wrapping her arms around herself so tightly the cigarette seemed to sprout from her
left shoulder. “This is like some nightmare, you know? Poor Shaun.…”
“Poor Cindy,” Trish whispered.
“Poor Cindy,” Dorrie echoed. “You think she’s gonna be okay?”
“I’m sure she’ll be fine. She was probably just in shock.”
“Of course she was in shock,” Dorrie said. “Can you imagine how awful that was, watching Shaun—” She cut herself off. “Of
course she was in shock,” she said again. “Wouldn’t you be?”
Billy shrugged, then parked his eyes on my reporter’s notebook. “You gonna put this in the paper.”
“You mean Shaun dying?” He nodded. I nodded back. “It’ll be in tomorrow.”
“You mean, like, with his name and all?”
“I assume so. The only reason we wouldn’t run his name is if the cops can’t notify his family in time.”
I girded myself for a lecture about how much newspapers suck, but none of them seemed particularly pissed about it. Dorrie
tilted her head so she could take a drag off the cigarette without unfolding her arms. “You mean, you won’t say his name if
they don’t tell his mom first?”
“Nobody wants somebody’s family to find out they’re dead from reading the newspaper.”
“Oh,” she said. “That’s good, I guess.” The other two nodded vaguely.
“Listen,” I said, “I hate to ask you this, but I’m gonna have to write a story about Shaun for the paper. Do you think you
guys would mind talking about him?”
Billy looked at me like I’d just grown a pointy nose. “I thought you said you weren’t running his name unless—”
“We’re not, but my guess is his folks have already been notified. Unless they’re out of town or something—”
“It’s just his mom,” Dorrie said. “She’s probably at her store in Gabriel. That’s where she usually is.”
“Oh. So listen, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. It’s just that I have to write what we call a news obit,
talking about Shaun and what kind of person he was, what he liked to do and everything….” I was starting to feel like a ghoul,
a title I arguably deserved. I decided to plow ahead anyway. “It’s better if I can talk to his friends than somebody who barely
knew him, you know? That way you get a realistic picture of a person.”
Billy didn’t look convinced. “And you want to do that now? Like, right here?”
“Not necessarily, but I figured you guys would be leaving soon and I didn’t want to bother you—”
“Huh?” He looked to Trish, who’d been staring at the ground for the past few minutes. Then he tried Dorrie, who rewarded him
with a mirror image of his own cluelessness.
“Leave?” she asked. “Why would we leave?”
“Um, I just figured that
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