Chapter One/ Honey Latte Christopher Charles Carver was seventeen when I first met him.  Extremely likeable, he was very clever about most things, like how to impress his teachers and friends’ parents; however, there was a naiveté about him.  He was particularly vulnerable to beautiful women, and could never tell when they were telling him the truth.  His charm could win the finest heart.  Unfortunately, he never seemed to choose “the finest heart“. His mother, Wanda, called him C.C.  She and I were close friends through his high school years, and I felt particularly fond of him, enough so that I worried with Wanda about where his choices in women might lead him. As is often the case, life leads people who are close to each other down different paths.  The Carvers, both Wanda and C.C. moved to the East Coast, and since then I’d had only sparse news about their lives for nearly eight years now.  C. C had completed school and was doing something in sales, and Wanda was happily remarried and living a pleasingly vagabond life in a lovely motor home with her new husband.  I missed  the evenings Wanda and I shared  and what we referred to as our D C/D C nights, drinking coffee/discussing Christopher.  Imaginably, I was both delighted and surprised to answer the door on a Sunday evening to find C.C. full twinkle in his eye and overnight bag in his hand, standing on the other side. We spent the next several hours drinking honey latte and reminiscing.   The warmth of the coffee and memories was delightful and comforting.    It wasn’t until 2 AM that the conversation  experienced even the slightest pause. With that pause, the sparkle in C.C’s eyes glistened with tears, and  I noticed for the first time that his face seemed to draw shadows that his youth never knew.  I encouraged him to share what was troubling him, but he assured me that it was just the memories and the hour that had made him maudlin.  I showed him the spare room and we parted to sleep with plans to talk further the next evening when I returned from work.  He would grill steaks, and we’d kick back and “talk about the serious side of life”. Our reunion was nearly two weeks ago.  He was gone when I returned from work with the wine and the steaks for our supper.  There was no note, no call , and since then I’d heard nothing from him.  I was concerned, but assumed that he really didn’t want to talk about what seemed to be troubling him.  I tried phoning Wanda, but the number I had for her was an old one, no longer working.  I proceeded with the routine of my own life and wondered what even had  brought him to my door.