The Lakeside Conspiracy (2 page)

CHAPTER 3

Max pulled his truck onto the highway to head home. It was 6:45 p.m. Practice had ended at noon and the coach’s meeting was over by 2:00. It still gave his coaches and players time to enjoy a cookout or a few hours on the lake. Three years ago, Max would have left at 2:00 with everyone else, but there was no point now. He doubted Michelle even expected him home before 7:00 p.m.

At the stoplight, he pulled his phone from his pocket and realized he hadn’t looked at it all day. He swiped his finger to unlock it and saw the picture of Dante’s wrecked car. He’d broken the news to the coaches and players that morning. Dante was a popular guy, so there were lots of tears.

They’d all agreed to go ahead with the day’s practice. Max only felt mildly guilty about manipulating them into that consensus. He knew it was best for them. Yes, they would need time to grieve, but life had to go on. They might as well learn that now.

After he’d broken the news, a captain led the team in a prayer and everyone agreed to dedicate the season to Dante. Max was glad someone else had offered to pray because it sure wasn’t going to be him.

The light turned green and Max set his phone down. Michelle had texted him around 5:00 and asked what time he’d be home. He felt bad he hadn’t replied, but surely she knew by now how crazy his schedule was during football season. She couldn’t expect him to drop whatever he was doing to respond every time she wanted something. Of course, that was only an excuse and he knew it.

He passed the scene of Dante’s wreck and slowed to take a look. Other than a scraped up tree and some skid marks on the road, you’d never have known there’d been an accident. If he hadn’t seen it this morning, he would never have known this was where his best player had died.

Max knew life was more than football, but he was concerned about replacing Dante. He was the best wide receiver on the team, by far. Last season had been his first at Lakeside after moving from Birmingham, Alabama. Max never did get the whole story on why he and his mom had moved to Lakeside. It had something to do with her job, he thought. It didn’t really matter. He was just glad to have him.

Dante had been an all-state player as a sophomore in Alabama. Last season at Lakeside, he’d broken the single season state record for receptions and receiving yards. He was named to the all-state team and was ranked as the top junior recruit in the state of Arkansas.

He’d already verbally committed to Northern Arkansas State soon after moving to Lakeside. The University of Arkansas, Arkansas State and many other schools wanted him. Max had never understood the decision to go with NASU, but didn’t press Dante or his mother on it. It was their decision, not his. It wasn’t that NASU didn’t have a great football program—they just weren’t in that upper echelon of programs.

As he pulled into the driveway, Max thought about the talk he’d had with Jack Murphy that morning. He’d been able to put it out of his mind until now. He shut the truck off and replayed the conversation. Clearly, Jack expected a championship. And he’d gone on and on about the team coming first. And the last thing he’d said was that he hoped no one else got hurt.

Jack Murphy was a busy man. And as much as Max hated to admit it, he was an important man. Jack had influence. He got things done. He made things happen. The stadium was evidence of that. The school district didn’t have the money for a new stadium, so Jack raised it. Every penny. All $23 million of it.

There was something going on that morning. Jack Murphy just wasn’t the kind of guy who dropped by at 6:30 for a friendly pep talk. He had a message for Max. Championship. Team first. No one getting hurt.

Max was trying to make sense of it all when his phone buzzed. He picked it up and saw it was a text from Michelle. “Are you coming in?”

CHAPTER 4

He smelled dinner the moment he walked through the door. Michelle was a great cook. She’d grown up on the New Jersey coast and had learned how to cook seafood and Italian and had then gone to school in Louisiana where she learned to cook gumbo, ettouffe, jambalaya and other great dishes.

One of Michelle’s college roommates was from Magnolia, a small town in southern Arkansas. After graduation, the two of them moved to Magnolia and taught elementary school together. Magnolia high school was where Max got his first teaching and coaching job.

A mutual friend introduced them to each other and after dating for just two months, Max proposed. They were married four months later and soon found out they were pregnant. Sarah was born soon after their first anniversary.

Cooking together was something they’d enjoyed for much of their marriage. It was tougher during football season, but during the off-season, they’d try one new recipe a week. They’d learned to appreciate many exotic spices and cooking methods. Friends never turned down an invitation to join them for dinner. Everyone knew it would be a culinary adventure whenever Max and Michelle were in the kitchen together.

It had been a long time since they’d cooked together though. Sometimes Max missed it, but not enough to do it again. It had stopped being fun. Everything had stopped being fun.

“Hi honey,” she called from the kitchen. “Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes.”

Most of their recent fights resulted in two or three days of silence, so he was surprised to even hear her voice. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. He turned the corner to the kitchen and saw Michelle standing at the stove stirring a pot. She was wearing a pair of tight, faded jeans. The ones with the rip in the back pocket. She had on a white tank top and her long blonde hair was in a ponytail. He loved this look. And she knew it.

“Hey,” she said with a smile. “I know you had a long day, but feel like stirring the sauce while I fix the salad?”

“I don’t think so,” he said. “It’s been a tough one. I’m just gonna sit down for a few minutes if you don’t mind.” He could see the look of disappointment on her face.

He grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and sat down on the sofa. He quickly drank half the bottle. It felt good to just relax. He took another drink and tried to put the day’s events behind him for a few minutes. Maybe tonight would be different. Maybe tonight they didn’t have to fight. Maybe it could be like it used to be.

“Almost ready,” she called from the kitchen.

He flipped the television on to catch the end of the local news. He was just in time to hear the end of the story about Dante’s accident. The reporter must have gotten there just after he’d left the scene. She was interviewing a police officer who said it looked like the driver had fallen asleep, left the road and hit a tree. They couldn’t release the name of the deceased until the next of kin was notified.

The newscast cut back to the studio where the female anchor said they were now able to confirm the deceased was Dante Jones of Lakeside. The police were ruling it an accident. “Looks like he fell asleep at the wheel and lost control,” said Terry Cook, the Lakeside police chief.

Michelle set two plates on the coffee table and said, “I’m so sorry to hear about Dante.”

“Thanks,” Max said. “Rough day.”

“Just fell asleep, I guess,” she said.

Max flipped off the television and thought about what he’d just heard. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess he just fell asleep.”

“You don’t sound convinced,” she said.

“Huh?” Max said.

“You don’t sound convinced he fell asleep.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “I stopped at the scene this morning. I got there right as the ambulance arrived.”

“That must have been awful,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

Max was replaying the scene in his mind. He thought about what Jimmy had said about the police doing their job. “Yeah, I wish I hadn’t seen it.”

The dinner was delicious. Michelle’s spaghetti always was. They talked about her school schedule for the following week. She asked about how practice went. It was all very pleasant.

Max didn’t bring up the conversation with Jack Murphy. He’d decided to just let that go for now. He’d drive himself crazy trying to figure out what Jack was trying to tell him.

“I’ve got open house on Thursday night,” she said. “I should be home by 9:00.”

“9:00?” Max said to show he’d been listening. “Yeah, okay.”

Max tried again to remember what their fight had been about, but couldn’t, which meant it had really never resolved. And that always made him feel anxious. He really didn’t have the energy to get into whatever it was, but knowing the other shoe was about to drop was sometimes worse.

Like most guys, he wasn’t the most perceptive when it came to relationship issues, but he usually knew when something was about to go seriously wrong. And he was starting to have that feeling.

“Honey, I know the timing isn’t great, but I think we need to talk,” Michelle said.

The knot in Max’s stomach pulled tighter.
We need to talk.
Those words were never followed by anything good. Not once, had those words ever been followed by…
we need to talk about getting tickets to a Cowboys game.
Or,
We need to talk about a new sex position I’d like to try
.

“Did you hear me?” she said.

“Yes, I heard you,” he said with as little enthusiasm as he could muster.

“Really?” she said. “Is it that bad, Max? Is it really that awful to talk to me?”

He knew she wasn’t asking much. Things had just been so tense, for so long now, that nothing good seemed to ever come from talking. “No,” he said. “You’re right. What do you want to talk about?”

“Saturday is the anniversary,” she said.

“Damnit,” he said to himself.

“We have to talk about it,” she said.

He knew they should. The counselor had said so three years ago. But Max hadn’t listened then and he didn’t want to listen now. Talking didn’t change things. Actions did. And actions could have changed what happened. But the one who could have acted just stood by and did nothing.

“Max?” she said.

“What?” he said through gritted teeth.

“Why can’t you talk about it?” she said.

“What would you like me to say?” he said. “Is there something I can say that will change things? Let me answer for you. There isn’t. There’s not a damn thing I can say that will change anything.”

Max got up to get another beer. He glanced at Michelle and saw tears filling her eyes. “I need to talk about it,” she said. “I can’t keep pretending like it didn’t effect us. I need us to work through this. Together.” Max slammed the refrigerator door as Michelle finished. “Are you even listening, Max?”

The lump in Max’s throat prevented him from speaking. The feelings were as fresh and raw as they were three years ago. The desperation. The confusion. The loss. The pain. The anger. It was all there. Gnawing at him.

“Max, I’m hurting, too,” she said. “And I’ve carried it for three years. Alone.”

A whisper was all he could manage, “I know.”

“Max, tell me what you’re feeling,” she said. “Talk to me.”

She wanted to know what he was feeling. Okay, then he’d tell her. She wouldn’t like it, but if it’s what she wanted, then it’s what he’d give her. “Give me a minute,” he said.

He could feel the anger rising inside like he’d felt on the football field with Jack Murphy. It wasn’t really directed at Michelle. Or Jack. It was directed at
him
.

“Where the hell was he, Michelle? Huh? Where was he?”

She sat quietly. Tears still spilling from her eyes.

“Why didn’t he help?” he said, his voice growing louder with every word. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” she said through her tears.

“And neither do I,” he said. “But I’m supposed to trust him? Where was he? Where was he when we needed him? Where was he when our eleven year old daughter needed him?”

Michelle was crying harder now.

“How many times did we pray?” he said. “Hundreds? Thousands?” Max slammed his fist on the coffee table. “Did he do anything to help her? Anything?”

Max got up and began pacing. His rage was out now. And it felt good. “Where were you? Why didn’t you help her? What kind of a God are you? How could you allow an innocent little girl to suffer like that?”

After a couple minutes, Max sat back down. He felt better having let it out. “Here’s what I learned three years ago, Shelle,” he said, “when it really matters, God can’t be counted on. And if he can’t or won’t heal a little girl from leukemia, then I don’t want anything to do with him.”

Michelle was quiet for a moment, then said, “Max, please, let’s go talk to someone.”

“Talk to someone?” he said, getting loud again.

“Yes, someone who can help us,” she said.

“A counselor?” he said. “Is a counselor going to bring Sarah back?”

“Max, we need help,” she said. “We can’t keep doing this.” She was quiet for a moment. “It’s not working. If not a counselor, then let’s talk to a pastor.”

“A pastor?” he said. “Are you serious? A pastor? What’s he going to tell us…that it was God’s will? That Sarah’s in a better place?”

“Do you have a better idea?” she said. “Or is this it? Is this going to be our life, Max? I feel so alone in this. And you just keep getting angrier.”

Max was silent.

“I can’t keep doing this, Max. We never talk. I don’t know when we last even held hands. And I can’t remember the last time you came to church with me.”

“The Sunday before Sarah died.”

“This is no way to live, Max. No way to have a marriage.” She looked at him and waited for a response, but he said nothing. “I guess there’s nothing left to say then,” she said.

Max watched her walk to the bedroom and quietly shut the door behind her. He wondered if he was watching the door close on his marriage.