Page 6 of Head Room
“They bought the cabin and moved here eight years ago.”
“Not exactly an easy spot to visit for an Army officer crisscrossing the country and beyond,” I filled in what he hadn’t said.Staying in touch had been sporadic.“Your career’s kept you busy.”
“It has.And family.Three kids.Two still in college.The oldest’s getting married next year.”
Should I express sympathy for the wedding plans ahead of her?Maybe not.Some people enjoyed it.
He continued, “Jardos and Irene came to a couple events and the wives stayed in touch.But, no, he and I didn’t talk or write regularly.”
“And yet, you’re here now, saying he’s missing.”
“He is.No doubt.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“He did not respond to my wife when she wrote to him.”
“Doesn’t sound like he’s a clockwork communicator.”
“For this, he would respond.My wife started a drive for a nursing scholarship fund in Irene’s name.She messaged to tell him about the first recipient.Sent him video of her acceptance remarks.Thathe’d answer.No matter what.Then she called, several times, yesterday.Got messages about the phone being out of service.She checked online and found an article from your local newspaper—”
“TheIndependence.”
“—and a report by your station of a fatality in the cabin.”
“Which both identified Frank Jardos as the cabin owner—”
“But did not say the dead man’s identity was confirmed.I juggled things and came here.”
“Let’s go back to why you believe he wouldn’t have committed suicide.”
“I know him.”
“Since he retired, you didn’t communicate a lot—”
“With some people that doesn’t matter.You know that.”He pinned me for two beats.Until he saw my acknowledgment that I did know that.“After Irene died, I came here.The first night we drank.A lot.Next day, first light, we went up trails he chose.Until we lost light.Drank the second night, then out again the next morning.That night, we didn’t drink as much.Next morning we went up, but only for half a day.I had to leave.”
He hadn’t wanted to leave.
He hadn’t been sure about leaving.
Was that why he’d come here now?Wondering if he’d left his friend too soon?Shoring up his stance that Frank Jardos had to be missing, because he couldn’t have, wouldn’t have committed suicide?
“What does your wife say now about Frank Jardos?”
He didn’t pretend he didn’t comprehend the context behind that question.“She sent me here.She knows he couldn’t have committed suicide.”
“What makes you so sure?”He could take thatyouas singular or include his wife in it.
“He said...When I was here last fall, he said he’d promised Irene he wouldn’t bug out before his time.”
I heard emotion under the control in his voice.
The control was nearly as strong as the certainty when he added, “He would never break a promise to her.He did not commit suicide.”
“Why missing?He could have been killed or—” No matter how even I kept my voice for this next part, he’d see it as provocative.“—he could have killed someone else and be on the run.”
“No.”
