Tell No One Read online

  Tell No One

  Title Page

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter 5

  Part 2: Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Epilogue

  Tell No One

  A Novel by Jeff Vrolyks

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2012 Jeff Vrolyks

  Prologue

  Theo wasn’t surprised when he pulled up to his parent’s house to find the driveway full of cars and both sides of the street lined with cars. In San Francisco parking was hard to come by, but this wasn’t the reason, not today. There was one spot open, undoubtedly reserved for him, and that was beside his father’s old F-150 on the driveway. He parked his Mustang. Upon shutting off the engine he could hear the party. Loud music and laughter, loud conversations. Someone spied him on the other side of the living room window and exclaimed, “He’s here!”

  Theo adjusted his neck-tie with a grin, combed his fingers through his hair and jaunted up the step of the porch, opened the door. He was the center of attention, the main attraction; everyone clapped. A large banner stretched across the living room wall reading Congrats Theo! Go Stanford! On the seventy-inch Plasma TV was the game, The Fiesta Bowl, where Stanford had bested Oregon mightily 39-17, a game that Theo played in less than twenty-four hours ago.

  His mother hugged him, kissed his cheek and pulled back, stared at him as a proud mother would, and said she loved him.

  “Thanks, mom, for this. I love you, too.”

  His father was next. James shook his hand first, gazed admiringly at him, and then pulled him into an embrace, patted his back. “Congratulations, son.”

  His best friend Chad Ziegler, affectionately referred to as Zee, handed him a beer, raised his own and said amid the crowded living room, “To the country’s premier quarterback, Theo Graham, who punished those rotten Oregonians, and who will undoubtedly be drafted in the first round next year.” He looked at Theo conspiratorially and said under his breath: “Or maybe this year…? May you have a long and illustrative career in the NFL, my friend.”

  The cheers and applause were deafening in a room too small for the abundance of people. Theo swigged his beer and couldn’t stop grinning. This would be a memory taken with him for the rest of his life. The room quieted down in anticipation of a speech of sorts.

  “Thank you all for coming. This is truly a big surprise. Zee, I love you man.”

  “I love you too, bro!”

  More applause.

  “You should have been there with me, Zee. We would have been great together. For any of you who don’t know Chad, or Zee, he was the best tight end I’ve ever had the pleasure of playing with, shattered his knee last year and now has a promising career as my cheerleader.” He raised his beer to his dear friend. “Zee, here’s to you.” They drank from their bottles.

  “Did you all enjoy the game yesterday or what?”

  The cheers and applause suggested they did.

  “I’m glad you are all here with me right here, right now. I have been giving my career a lot of thought these last few days, especially having beaten Oregon, and have made a decision which I will share with all of you right now. I have decided to forego my senior year at Stanford and enter the NFL draft.”

  The screaming, clapping, whooping lasted for minutes.

  “I have reached this decision in part because of Zee. Had he not injured himself, he’d no doubt be up for the draft this year, and instead will have to rely on his Stanford degree to earn him a living. I’m truly sorry, Zee, it breaks my heart both for you and for the game, as the league will be without a tremendous tight end.” He glanced around the room, meeting eyes with friends, family, and acquaintances. “If I choose to play my senior year, who knows what might happen. Maybe I’ll sustain a career ending injury. My agent thinks I’ll make quite a substantial signing bonus, so I don’t want to pass that up. There is another reason why I’ve decided to enter the draft this year. The best annalists in the land speculate I’ll be the second QB picked, behind Dante Allister.”

  There were some boos.

  “No, he deserves to be picked ahead of me. He doesn’t throw as well, if I do say so myself, but man can that dude scramble out of the pocket. Tennessee is looking for a QB like Dante, and will probably pick him. St. Louis already has a good QB so they’ll probably go with one of the good running backs up this year, which leaves San Francisco, who has traded-up to get the third pick. Anyone who knows me knows how much I love the Niner’s. It’s been a dream of mine for as long as I can remember to play for Frisco. To be on that team, a quarterback for the Niner’s, among a list of greats like Joe Montana and Steve Young… well, it’s a dream come true. If I don’t enter the draft this year, there is little chance of fulfilling this dream. So that’s my decision, my big announcement.”

  * * *

  The house was in a shambles. Confetti on the floor, empty beer bottles everywhere, greasy pizza boxes littering nearly every table and counter. Theo welcomed the silence. He sat on the couch, bare feet on the coffee table, a nearly empty bottle of beer in his hand, head back on the cushion. His mom was making a pot of coffee and his dad entered the room from the den wearing his reading glasses and toting a photo album.

  “Son, I thought we could look at some old pictures. I put together this album a little while back, thought you might get a kick out of some of the photos.”

  Theo sat up, put his beer down. “Sure.”

  His dad sat on the couch beside him, flipped open the cover.

  “You don’t think I’m making a mistake, do you Dad?”

  “Entering the draft?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t. Your mother would like to see you get your degree, but she understands. Who needs a degree when you’re making millions a year, eh?” He smiled at his son.

  “Right. It’s just that… it can all go away so easily, just one injury and it’s all over. Zee would have made millions a year too, if he didn’t shatter his knee. Now he’ll be submitting resumes and be lucky to make fifty grand a year.”

  “I know, son. It’s a wise decision.”

  His mother Lea entered the room with two mugs of coffee, sat them on coasters before the guys, pulled a chair up behind the coffee table and sat down. “Did you ask Theo about the trip yet?”

  “What trip?” Theo wondered.

  “We’ll get to that later,” he said and pointed to a picture. “Remember when we caught that seven foot sturgeon in Rio Linda?”

  “Of course. That was awesome. Dang that’s a huge fish.”

  “Your arms got tired from fighting it so I had to work on him for awhile, remember?”

  “Like it happened yesterday. I loved fishing Rio Linda. Some big stripers, too.”

  “Yep, like this one.” He pointed at the picture at the bottom of the page. Theo was holding a forty pound striped bass with both hands, struggling under its weight. He
might have been eleven years old.”

  “Are these all fishing pictures?”

  “Mostly, yes.”

  “The man loves his fishing,” Lea said with a warm smile.

  “I know he does.” Theo took the coffee mug and sipped from it. “What trip, Dad?”

  He flipped the page. There were three pictures. The top photo was of nine-years-old Theo holding his bait-rod, standing in the moving water of Fallbrook River, Montana. He was looking at his father (who had snapped the pic) over his shoulder, giving a look. The look said, ‘Really, Dad? Are we here to fish or take pictures?’ The second picture was taken on the same trip, and this time Theo was holding a trout, maybe ten inches, and happier than hell to have caught it. Theo’s smile was ear to ear.

  “I remember catching that trout,” Theo said thoughtfully. “And I even remember eating it, that night. At the cabin.”

  “Yep.”

  The bottom picture was his father fly fishing, with Theo standing at his side watching, admiring his father.

  “Who took this picture?”

  “I did,” Lea said. “Remember your sister and I would fly out for a week of your month-long trip with your father.”

  “That’s right,” Theo said.

  He flipped through a few more pages, looking at the various fish he and his father had caught in various places. There was the time they went deep sea fishing and caught halibut and ling cod. He was maybe ten or eleven in that picture. There were two pages with no fishing pictures and that was when they went to Yellowstone National Park for a week. There was fishing done there, Theo was almost certain of it, but he couldn’t remember for sure. Well, if his father was there, of course there was fishing. Theo flipped the page.

  On the front side of the final page were three pictures taken in Montana, but not at the same time as were the pics near the front of the album. Theo was about a year older, maybe two, and was holding a fly rod. He wasn’t looking at the camera, probably because he didn’t see his father holding the camera, and was mid-stroke casting the fly across the wide river. The pic below it was Theo holding a large brown trout.

  “Did I catch this?” He asked.

  “No son, that was mine. You’re just holding it for the picture.”

  “I caught something then, I’m sure of it.”

  “Sure you did. A couple that trip. A nice rainbow, a couple browns. All with flies. I was so proud of you, Theodore. You picked it up so quickly.”

  “What can I say? I had a great teacher.”

  James met eyes with his son. They were the eyes of a man so proud of his son that his words cannot properly convey that pride, that love, that adoration. His son had become everything he had hoped he would. A good looking young man with the world on a leash. A promising career, a level head, a good polite boy, respectful not just of his parents, but of everyone. He’d meet a woman and fall in love and give him grandchildren in the coming years, and he couldn’t wait for that. He couldn’t wait to teach his grandson how to fish. His father would teach him football, but he’d teach him the fly-rod.

  “It’s so good to have you home, son. I love you so much.”

  “It’s good to be home, Dad. I love you, too.” He flipped to the back of the final page.

  There were three pictures, and it was the bottom picture that caught his breath. The top photo was taken by Theo, and it was of his father holding up his sixteen inch brown trout at the clearing they had made in the grass on the bank of the river. The second photo was inside the cabin, the main room. The camera was on a timer. James had his arm around his son, both were grinning. The final photo he hated seeing, and closed the album.

  “Who were they?” Lea said from across the coffee table.

  “Nobody,” Theo said and leaned back on the couch.

  “The Handles,” his father said. “It was the last year that Theo went with me to Montana. We met a nice guy and his daughter fishing near us, and later met their family; Mormons, I believe. Very nice people.”

  “Theo…?” his mom said concernedly. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, why?”

  “Hon,” James said to his wife, and shook his head. Leave it alone, his eyes said.

  There was a moment of deep silence in the room before Theo said, “I’m sorry, Dad. I know how much those trips to Montana meant to you. I hope you were able to enjoy yourself there without me.”

  “Oh, I did! You bet! The great outdoors, fishing, relaxing… so very peaceful. I’ll never stop going. I wish you could have seen the spot I found the following year. It’s where I fish now. It’s up-river about three miles. A guy at the Conoco station recommended it to me, said there were twenty-plus inchers up there. He was right. I caught a friggin twenty-three inch rainbow trout!” He shook his head at the thought, relishing the memory. “Wish I had taken a picture of it.” What his eyes said were, ‘I wish you’d have been there with me to take a picture of it.’

  “Have you ever run into what’s-his-name again? Since that year? My last year there?”

  “Uh… no I haven’t. What was his name? The Handles, but for the life of me I cannot recall that man’s name. Oh yeah! George. No, I don’t ever see him. But like I said, I moved a few miles up-river.”

  Lea slid the photo-album toward her, placed it on her lap and flipped to the last page. She scrutinized it. “Oh, now I remember. Wasn’t…?” she said in a high tone, grasping for recollection, “Wasn’t this the girl…? Did Theo have a crush on her?”

  “It doesn’t matter, Mom, it was a long time ago.”

  To his wife, James said, “They got in a fight and that was the end of it. The end of Theodore fishing with me.” There was just a tinge of resentment in his voice, resentment toward the girl in the photo perhaps. Maybe she didn’t make him dislike fishing, but it amounted to the same thing. Since that trip, he never wanted to return to Montana. He wasn’t even interested in fishing around the bay area anymore.

  “I just grew out of it, Dad. That’s all. It was fun when I was a kid, but my passion is football. I hope I didn’t disappoint you. Or don’t disappoint you. I love you, Dad, really; I just don’t want to fish anymore.”

  “I know, son. You’ve said so many times, I know. Of course I’m not disappointed in you. Are you kidding me? I’m so damned proud of you it hurts. But am I disappointed you don’t spend a month with me every year in Montana? You bet. Only because I love you so much, enjoy spending time with you. But I understand. I have always understood. Whether or not you want to admit it, or whether or not you even remember it, that girl broke your heart. I know she did. I didn’t think it was possible for an eleven year old to fall in love, but damned if you weren’t head over heals in love with that girl. I can’t even recall her name. Candy? Jenny?”

  “I don’t remember,” Theo said.

  “Whatever her name was, you were in love with her. I suppose at that tender age it wasn’t love but curiosity or I don’t know what you call it. But I dropped you off at her house one evening and when I picked you up everything had changed. You were distant, not in the mood for fishing. You buried your head in your video games, that football game of yours. I know she broke your heart, and it’s ridiculous to be saying that about a couple of kids who hadn’t even reached puberty yet, but it is what it is. The result of that pain she caused you is a retirement from fishing, at eleven. Never again. I’ve accepted that and I don’t love you one iota less because of it.”

  “Thanks, Dad. I know you do. You’re making me feel bad.”

  “Then I’m sorry. I’m a bit of an ass at times, as your mother will attest to. I suppose I showed you this album to try to persuade you to fish again, by showing you how happy you were back then. And the final photo, well, that is the picture the Handle’ wife had taken one night you were there, and she emailed it to me. I printed it and put in the album. I was hoping seeing her would affect you, turn on some kind of switch in you. The switch that is Theo-loves-to-fish. That girl had turned it off.”

  Jam
es took a deep breath, patted his son’s leg, and stood up. “I’m beat. I’m gonna call it a night. How long are you staying for?”

  “School starts back up in a week but I have a lot to do. I’ll stay tomorrow, probably leave the day after.”

  “Great. Good night, Theodore.”

  “Night, pops.”

  Once he was out of the room, Lea rounded the coffee table and sat beside Theo. She took her husbands mostly-full cup of coffee and sipped it.

  “That was really cool of you guys to throw me a party today.”

  “I thought you’d enjoy it. It was mostly your father’s doing.”

  “I wish Jessica would have been here.” She was his only sib. “How’s she doing? I haven’t spoken with her in awhile.”

  “Straight A’s, still. She wanted to come but she had a prior engagement with her boyfriend. Or should I say fiancé.”

  “Yeah, she told me about that. Good for her. I want to meet the guy. I heard he’s a nice guy.”

  “He’s a sweetheart.”

  Theo thought his mom looked pensive. He asked if something was wrong.

  “Your father’s birthday is coming up. His fiftieth.”

  “Fifty…” Theo said, and whistled. “Any plans?”

  “Sort of. I know what he wants more than anything in the world.”

  “What?”

  “You know, Theodore.”

  “I suppose I do. To go fishing with him.”

  “It doesn’t have to be in Montana. Anywhere. He misses you so much since you went away to college. He talks about you to everyone. Everyone, Theo. A more proud father there is none. He feels like you two have drifted apart a little, but that’s just because you moved away and have such a hectic schedule. Anyway, your father had a pretty good year selling his paintings. We’re sitting on a comfortable amount of money right now, and I thought I would spoil him for his fiftieth. Our F-150 is fifteen years old. I want to get him a new truck. But that in itself isn’t much of a present. He needs a new truck, you know? I found a company online that hand-makes fly-rods. Supposedly they are world-class, the best there are. Fourteen hundred dollars they cost. I bought him one, it’s in the garage up in the rafters. A new truck and new fly rod. There’s only one thing missing… a fishing partner.”