The Wildman by Rick Hautala Page B

expect?”
    “ Yeah, but … still, just wait ‘till you see it. It’s so freakin’ weird to be back here.”
    “ It looks a lot smaller than I remember,” Jeff said simply.
    “ Of course it does. Everything was bigger then because we were kids. I swear to God, there are times when I’m out there, I half-expect Bloomberg to come running down to tell me to get my butt back to the tent.” Evan’s eyes took on a distant glaze as he looked out across the water and sighed. “Remember Mark Bloomberg?”
    “ Who could forget him?”
    Jeff gave him a twisted smile. The only image that sprang to mind was the look of worry and near panic he had seen on his counselor’s face the afternoon he told his campers Jimmy Foster was missing. Even then, Mark must have known—as Jeff had known—that something terrible had happened.
    “ I wish he was still alive so he could have come, too,” Jeff said. “Would’ve been nice to see him.” He shivered and knew it wasn’t just from the chilly breeze. “I can’t believe he’s dead. It seems so … I dunno … surreal.”
    “ I know,” Evan said as a dark frown flashed across his face. “I Googled him and found his obituary.”
    A strange tightness constricted Evan’s voice and grabbed Jeff’s attention. He assumed it was because Evan was as upset as he was about the death of someone who had meant a lot to all of them back when they were so young and impressionable.
    “ He never got married and was living in Lowell, teaching phys ed. at the high school. His obit said he was really active in Boy Scouts, too.”
    “ Makes sense,” Jeff said with a shrug. “He was a great counselor. I’m not at all surprised he ended up working with kids. How’d he die?”
    “ I’m not really sure,” Evan said. “The obituary said he “died unexpectedly,” which I’ve always assume means either suicide or overdose or something. You know, it’s either that or ‘died after a courageous struggle with cancer’ or whatever.”
    “ Shit,” Jeff said, lowering his gaze and shaking his head.
    For some reason, the thought that Mark Bloomberg was dead was really getting to him. Granted, Jeff had only been twelve years old the last time he had seen Mark. He figured his counselor must have been—what, maybe eighteen or nineteen years old that summer? But Jeff and the other guys in the tent had idolized Mark, and the idea that even someone like Mark Bloomberg was mortal sent a shiver of frisson through him … especially, God forbid, if he had killed himself or overdosed. It just goes to show how you never really know.
    “ Count no man happy until he is dead,” Jeff said.
    “ What’s that?”
    “ Something from Oedipus Rex. ”
    “ Yeah … Well. Whatever,” Evan said, rubbing his hands together against the chill as an excited glow lit up his eyes. “You have a ton of stuff to carry?”
    “ A fair amount.”
    “ Then let’s get going.”
    “ Did you check the weekend weather forecast?” Jeff asked as they walked back to his car. He popped the trunk open and started to grab stuff.
    “ Haven’t had a chance for the last few days,” Evan said. “Why?”
    Jeff shrugged. “They’re saying we might have a storm coming through later in the weekend, Saturday night. That’s what they were predicting for the Portland area, anyway. They said there’s a chance of showers that might be heavy on into Sunday. You know what that means.”
    “ What?”
    “ We might get snow this far north.”
    “ In October?” Evan scowled and waved his hand dismissively. “I doubt it. And anyways, we’ll be fine … as long as you brought snowshoes.”
    When Jeff drew back and gave him a funny look, Evan swatted him on the arm.
    “ I’m just fuckin’ with you,” he said, but Jeff couldn’t help but think how strange this whole encounter was. He couldn’t deny the odd dissonance he felt, trying to relate to Evan as an adult while all he could do was try to see the twelve-year-old boy he