“Ted Thatcher!” A loud voice boomed so near to him he started.
The man standing there was looking down at him with a crooked, ironic grin. He had sleepy brown eyes, and his graying hair had receded back to the top of his head. His thick frame looked lumpy and was at least one size too big for the out-of-fashion three piece blue pinstripe suit he wore.
Ted had no idea who the man was, and his faced showed it.
“Bill-- Bill Frank,” he man said jocularly. “Says so right on the nametag,” he added, pointing a sausage-like finger at the tag on his chest.
It took a moment for it to set in. Billy Frank, of course, how could he have forgot? Billy was about the closest thing he had to a friend during the upper grades. He was the class clown, often slapped across the knuckles with a rule by the nuns but never crying, never letting it all get to him. A little levity was worth a crack across the knuckles. He never shied away from Ted after the Adam incident-- the only one, it seemed.
Before Ted to ask him to sit, Billy settled his bulk onto the folding chair, which creaked in complaint.
“Long time, sport,” he said. “The good news is we both survived, right? We survived this place, and life too-- so far, anyway. Couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the invitation. A reunion! For this place? It's sort of like having a reunion for a state pen. It's so incredibly sick, I just had to come.” He guffawed so loudly heads turned at the other tables. He pulled a ragged white handkerchief out of his suit coat pocket, and mopped the sweat off his forehead. When he noticed that Ted was still sitting there in a quiet, hangdog way, he said, “Ted, you have to laugh. This evening is a perversion of social entertainment. Hey, is that your wife?” he asked, tossing his head in the direction of the bar, where Alicia was waiting for the bartender-- probable the current janitor working overtime-- to fill a couple Dixie cups with mixed drinks. “I saw you walk in with her.”
Ted simply confirmed that she was indeed his wife.
“Hot, very hot, sport. I'm impressed, and that's not easy. Who'd have thunk you'd end up with such a looker. My wife-- I had to leave her home; it's a crime to take her out in public. However, what she lacks in looks, she makes up in other things-- cooking and spawning kids. My kids, all five of them, are all beautiful. Every time I look at them I think there must be some mistake. You have any kids?”
“No,” Ted said. “Not yet, anyway.”
“You still have time, but don't wait too long.”
Just then Alicia returned. She set the two Dixie cups on the table, casting a baleful eye at Billy.
“What took you so long?” Ted asked.
“The bartender seemed to have forgotten the recipe for gin and tonic,” she said.
She sat down, and Ted introduced her to Billy.
“Well, I think this place is just awful,” she said to Billy.
“Oh, it sounds like you just found that out,” Billy boomed cheerily, and then said to Ted, “You're kidding, right? You mean you never told her?” When Ted didn't answer, he went on, “Aw, come one, sport, you don't mean you're still going on about that kid-- what's his name?-- that Adam kid. My God, that was nearly thirty years ago. I didn't expect you to still be carrying that around. Them--” jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the other tables-- “yeah, sure. Believe you me, they're still gossiping about it, but that just proves the whole thing was stupid-- people just don't like to let stupid things die. The kid slipped-- it was an accident-- accidents happen. It's all that simple.” He paused to pat his brow dry. “What they did to you was a-- a-- a sin, that's what. Kid falls out of the tower and gets himself killed, and it has to be somebody's fault, right? You know why? Because if they don't blame somebody, then everybody is going to wonder why they didn't seal that doorway years ago-- or at least put a lock on it. Besides, it's not like it was the only time it happened.”
“What do you mean?” Ted asked, frowning.
