Eyes Wide Open by Andrew Gross Page A

single mound of volcanic rock dominating the coastline, six hundred feet high.
    We could see it from miles away, before we even reached the quaint coastal town. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. Partly because of its vast size. And partly because of what happened there.
    “This is crazy,” Gabriella said, hiding her face in her hands and glancing toward Charlie. “I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. Going to the spot where my son died.”
    The massive rock was situated on a narrow strip of land, overlooking the tiny fishing bay. Sherwood had said to drive all the way to the parking lot along the south side of the rock, then go through a chain-link gate and across the shoals. A narrow path snaked up the rock face there. He said to look for a ledge about a hundred feet up, above the jagged rocks.
    The place where a couple of early-morning clammers had found Evan.
    My heart poured out, thinking of Evan being drawn to the site as he walked there, alone and confused, voices clashing in his head.
    “Now you see, you see what my poor boy climbed?” Gabby turned to me. “In the fucking dark. You have to be crazy to do that, right?”
    I didn’t answer, but there was nothing in me that disagreed .
    We parked the car and walked out onto the rocky shoals in the shadow of the mountain. A handful of people were milling around. Fishermen tossing out lines, tourists snapping photos, a few makeshift souvenir stands. The breeze picked up, and Charlie and Gabriella seemed to waver.
    My brother said, “Maybe he went up there to see God. Evan was like that. Maybe that’s what he wanted to do.”
    I had heard about as much of this “Evan was Jesus” stuff as I could bear. “The kid was disturbed, Charlie. He wasn’t looking for God. He was sick.” I heard myself echoing Sherwood. “What the hell do you think he was doing up there anyway?”
    “I don’t know if I can do this,” Gabby said, suddenly white as a ghost.
    I went over and put my arm around her. “You don’t have to, Gabby. We can go back.”
    “No, I do. I do have to.” She brushed back her hair and fortified herself with a breath. “Let’s go.”
    We walked, Charlie trailing, until we found the chain-link fence Sherwood spoke of. There was a gate to walk through, but also a sign: NO VISITORS PERMITTED PAST THIS POINT .
    There was no park ranger around, no one stopping us. Sherwood had said to keep going as far as we could walk.
    “I think it’s over here!” I shielded my eyes and looked up. A craggy overhang protruded high up the cliff face, nothing in its way to break a fall to the rocks below. I noticed a loose path winding up the face and another sign that cautioned against climbing.
    Gabriella looked up, tears massing in her eyes. “I can’t believe this, Charlie, I really can’t. I can’t believe our boy would do this.”
    Charlie leaned against me, his long hair whipped by the wind. “He didn’t kill himself. I know it. Don’t you see, that’s why they never found the other sneaker. He slipped somehow, climbing up. Maybe it lodged in the rock. It’s up there somewhere. He wouldn’t have jumped. I have to believe that, Jay, you understand?”
    I wanted so much to tell him, Stop it, Charlie, just stop. Evan’s dead. Like Sherwood said, accident or suicide, what did it even matter now? Instead, I just squeezed his shoulder and nodded. “I understand.”
    Gulls cawed, flapping in the breeze. We stood there for a while with my arms around both of them, solemnly staring at the place where Evan had fallen. Pain was etched in their drawn, anguished faces as they relived the image of their son’s backward descent, picturing him landing hard onto the unforgiving rocks. They had seen the photos: the blood on his face, his spine shattered.
    Having to think of him lying there all night. The surf washing against him. Gulls picking over his body.
    I remembered Gabby’s words: Your brother feels responsible, Jay .
    Of course he feels responsible .