the same thing.
Jacy. Vanished from this very island. Memorial Day weekend, 1971.
* * *
—
IT WAS STILL EARLY when the ferry docked in Vineyard Haven on Friday. Lincoln was supposed to have gotten there the night before, but thunderstorms at O’Hare had put him into Boston late; by the time he’d picked up his rental car and driven to Woods Hole he’d missed the last boat. He thought about calling Mickey, who lived somewhere nearby, but he’d mentioned his band had a gig that night, so there was nothing to do but check into a motel near the ferry landing. After e-mailing Anita to let her know he’d arrived safely, he considered walking into town to see if there was someplace still open for dinner, but he was exhausted, and his lower back was stiff with travel, so he decided instead to go to bed hungry. More weary than sleepy, he lay awake in the musty room, wondering what further ravages merciless time had wrought upon his friends and, sure, how he’d look to them. It’d been—what, a decade since he’d last seen them? No, not quite, because everybody at the Minerva reunion had been discussing the astonishing fact that America had elected a black president. Thank God for name tags, he remembered thinking. And for Anita, who never had any trouble recognizing people across eternities, though it was possible she’d followed them on Facebook or Googled them in advance. Every time she introduced Lincoln to one of her Theta sorority sisters, it was all he could do not to say, You’re kidding. Really? The men seemed to have fared better, though the years had punished them, too. The athletes in particular had gone to seed. At the last sighting Teddy was still trim, his face unlined except for crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes, but his hair had thinned and his face appeared gaunt after an illness he seemed reluctant to name. No surprise there. He’d always been protective of his privacy. Mickey still had a head full of dark, curly hair that was only just starting to fleck with salt, and he still wore it relatively long, but he was working a beer gut that would’ve been his defining physical characteristic if he hadn’t been nearly six foot six. His good looks had always been of the rugged variety, but to Lincoln it looked like he’d been in a series of bar fights. And maybe he had been. Though usually the gentlest of giants, his temper would inexplicably flare up, and when it did, watch out.
Like that time they’d gone over to the SAE house. What, junior year? Three SAE pledges, as part of some initiation ritual, had crashed their hasher party with the Thetas that Friday afternoon, and in gratitude for not being tossed out they’d invited the whole crew to a bash at their frat that evening. Mickey had advised against going. “If we do,” he warned, “there’ll be trouble.” Which made no sense. The SAEs hadn’t caused any problems that afternoon, and their invitation had sounded genuine enough. But Mickey, who’d already drunk so much beer that he kept dropping soapy pots on the kitchen floor, would not be talked out of his mark-my-words prophecy. In the end, despite his dark misgivings, the others had convinced him to go along, just in case he was right and there was trouble. If things headed south, it would be smart to have Mickey on hand.
To screw up their courage Lincoln, Teddy, Mickey and the other hashers had returned to their apartment and drained the rest of the keg before heading over, en masse, to the frat. Only Teddy had stayed behind, claiming that Cook’s disgusting beef Stroganoff had set his stomach roiling, though Lincoln suspected a more likely cause was the possibility of a brawl. The SAE’s front door was flanked by two large stone lions, and Mickey, swaying on his feet, had set an empty beer can on the head of the nearest one. They could hear loud music pumping inside and wondered how anyone would be able to hear the bell when they rang it. Someone did, though—happily a pledge who’d been at the party that afternoon. He was a big kid, almost Mickey’s size, and looked like he’d been drinking ever since. It took him an inebriated moment to place them, but then he flung the door wide open and cried, “Gentlemen! Enter!” At which point Mickey stepped forward and punched him