Turn Signal by Howard Owen Page A

“have you been true to the code?”
    â€œI haven’t thought about the code in about two lifetimes. It was a kids’ game, something friends do.”
    He’s lying. He opened the yearbook, searching for some trace of who he used to be, the day he got back from that last long-haul trip. Looking back was not something he was prone to do. The book opened right to the page with the football team, and the code.
    He thinks about Milo, well-off enough but still jumping from flower to flower at 48; about Cully, rich from all his real estate deals, but a guy even an old friend couldn’t truly and whole-heartedly trust; about Mack, who he hopes isn’t an alcoholic; about Ray Bain, who was going to join the Navy with Jack and then just didn’t show up that day; about Puffer Sensibaugh, who is supposedly now living somewhere in the New Orleans area and has made a point of disappearing from all their lives; about Bobby Witt, who never had a chance to betray the code.
    And, of course, Jack Stone, Most Likely to Succeed, who stopped long before he hit the top.
    â€œWell,” Gerald Prince says, “I’ve developed a code, too. I might have come up with mine about the time you and your buddies were inventing yours. Here’s mine: Look out for Gerald Prince, because no one else is going to.”
    Jack wants to tell him that he’s got it pretty good, that from where he’s standing, it appears he’s done all right for himself. But he remembers the boy in grammar school, standing to one side, too shy to ask if he could play, too inept to be asked. He remembers all the teasing, books slapped out of his hands, lunches ruined or stolen. He remembers half-heartedly coming to his aid, just enough to keep him from getting killed. Not nearly enough.
    Yeah, Jack Stone thinks to himself, that might be the code I’d have come up with if I’d been Jerry Prince.
    â€œAre you all staying at your mother’s tonight?” Jack asks.
    â€œAh, no. We’ve gotten a room at the Hyatt, out by the interstate. Some place where we can have our own bathroom. We’re taking Mother to lunch tomorrow, and then we’re going to head back north. Got to get back to the kids.”
    Jack tells him about his family. He says he’s sorry Gina didn’t come tonight, that he would have liked for them to meet.
    â€œSome wives have all the luck,” Caitlin’s voice comes from behind him.
    â€œTime to go,” Gerald says, looking at what appears to be a Rolex.
    They walk outside together, the three of them. Jack stops and says he’ll send his manuscript soon, and Gerald says that’ll be fine. As the couple walk somewhat unsteadily across the parking lot, Jack can hear Caitlin’s laughter.
    He goes back inside, where Martha Sue, whom he hasn’t seen standing still the entire night, is trying to orchestrate the clean-up detail.
    By the time Jack crawls into bed, it’s almost 4 a.m.
    Ray Bain came back to the school sometime after 2 and tried to get him to join everyone at the party, which had migrated to Cully’s new house, but he begged off.
    â€œWe’ve poured enough coffee in Milo that he can just about remember his name now,” he told Jack. “And Susan’s getting her second wind.”
    Jack, who was putting some folding chairs back in the storage room, said, “Nah, I think I’ll head on home. I just can’t keep up with you young people any more.”
    â€œI could use some help in here.” Martha Sue’s voice drifted across the empty cafeteria.
    Ray Bain made an exaggerated effort at tiptoeing out the door he’d just come in.
    They finished up sometime after 3:30. When Martha Sue gave him a thank-you kiss for being such a help, she surprised him by opening her mouth and exploring his with her tongue. Gina, he realized, hadn’t kissed him with that much enthusiasm in some time.
    In Jack’s years on the road,