by CJ Love
Dr. Montgomery was an African American woman with lots of freckles on her fifty-year-old-ish face. She wasn’t as tall as Delia, and her white coat hung loose on her slight shoulders. She turned her dark eyes from Lily to Delia. “Don’t you have another sister?”
“Amelia,” both Delia and Lily said simultaneously and in the same tone: flat with dislike. Lily swung her black hair over her shoulder and explained, “Amelia said whatever I decided was fine with her. That is what you’re asking for, isn’t it, Dr. Montgomery, a decision?”
Delia frowned. Was this an end-of-life decision?
“Well, yes,” the doctor said, turning her mouth down, too, as if she’d thought the same thing as Delia. “We’d like to try a different medicine on Geoffrey. It’s an experimental drug that requires family signatures.”
“Why do you want to change the meds?” Delia asked, setting her purse and box of cookies on the chair near the door. She glanced behind her and saw her father sitting by the window and staring out.
Looking at him was like watching a popsicle melting on a sidewalk. Loose skin draped on either side of his upturned nose. His beefy shoulders slumped forward, and his biceps had atrophied.
“Geoffrey is a good candidate because he still has plenty of lucid moments.”
“He does?” Lily asked, glancing at her father, too.
Dr. Montgomery nodded. “He does.” She turned to Delia. “You are here the most. What do you think of the idea?”
A few butterflies flitted into her stomach. “I’m not sure.” She glanced at her sister and then to the doctor. “What’s this new drug supposed to do for him? I thought what you’re giving him now is supposed to slow the disease.”
Her dark eyes brightened. “Actually, Madulheim seems to reverse some of the effects of Alzheimer’s disease.”
Delia lifted her brows. “Really?”
“How much?” Lily asked in a suspicious tone. “Are we talking about him remembering our names or something less than that? Like, your name?”
That was just so like Lily to speak to people in that manner. She was kind of the human equivalent to a chicken breast in the litter box.
Dr. Montgomery plastered a smile on her lips that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Everyone has different chemistry. It’s hard to know how your father will respond until we try. We’re asking for your approval. If you don’t trust the idea, just say no.”
Lily waved one hand. “I don’t mind one way or the other.” She gazed at Delia. “Thoughts?”
“Plenty,” she said and turned to the doctor. “What are the side effects?”
“Good question,” Dr. Montgomery said, nodding. “Nausea, headaches. Death.”
Delia leaned backward. “That was a big jump.”
“He’s dying anyway,” Lily reminded her.
“We don’t need to hurry it along.” To the doctor, Delia said, “What’s the mortality rate?”
Lily crossed her arms and leaned a little left to eye the doctor anew.
“Low. One in seventy.”
“That’s low?” Lily asked.
“Since there have only been seventy people tested, yes, that’s low.”
Lily dropped her hands to her side. “Do it.”
Montgomery turned her eyes to Delia with lifted brows.
“It doesn’t matter what Delia thinks. She’s in the minority. Amelia will do whatever I want.”
“I’d still like to know what you think,” the doctor said, eyeing Delia.
Lily spun away and walked toward the window.
Ignoring her sister, she turned to the doctor. “I think, yes.”
Montgomery put a hand on Delia’s forearm. “Good. We’ll start the new drug this afternoon. Please stop by the administration office to sign the paperwork.”
Delia turned, picked up the box of cookies, and put it on the dresser across from the bed. “I brought you some goodies, Dad.”
He didn’t answer.
Lily lifted her blue eyes. “You’ve lost weight. Do you have a new man in your life?” She leaned against the windowsill and put one leg in front of the other. She wore tight blue jeans on her slender hips and a snug-fitting pink sweater.
They didn’t look much alike, Delia and Lily. Delia didn’t look like her other sister, Amelia, either. Both sisters were in their forties now, good-looking, as their mother had been. However, Delia looked much more like her own mother, Emma, with golden-blonde hair and green eyes.
“No new man,” she answered.
“You could use some makeup, though.” Her features didn’t change. Lily had only one expression anyway: quizzical bitchery. “You’re so pale.”
“I didn’t come here to find a husband, Lily,” she said, lifting her voice a little. “I just wanted to bring Dad some cookies.”
Geez, a little snarkiness felt good. Vive la révolution!
Lily’s expression broke into a grin. “You’ve really come into your own, haven’t you Delia?”
What does that even mean?
Her sister uncrossed her legs and stood. “I’m going to sign the papers. Are you coming?”
“No, I’ll stay here awhile.”
“All right,” she said, making it sound like it’s your poison.
Delia sat on the edge of the bed and faced her father. She didn’t expect him to say anything. He had that vague look on his face. It was something she had grown used to over the last couple of months. The Alzheimer’s was a beast. Some people were different —as Dr. Montgomery said —had different chemistry. Geoff Leary had quickly fallen prey to the disease.
But maybe there was a little light in this dark cave. Perhaps the new drug would help her father.
“I miss you, Dad,” she told him, touching his forearm and the heavy mat of hair there. “I hope you can come back for a little while.”
* * *
Delia drove past the exit for the Cheery Cherry.
Because I don’t need sweets nor comfort. I’m not a child.
Delia felt the stress in her chest, though. The last several days had started to take a toll. Mate was out of jail, Jeanette had been murdered, and now she’d had to speak to Lily.
Of all things.
Seeing Lily always brought up ugly feelings that were better left buried. Delia remembered reading once that if you metaphorically put hurt feelings into a box and dump them in the sea, they won’t bother you again.
It had never worked for her.
I need ice cream.
No, I don’t.
To escape the lure of chocolate swirl, Delia pressed the accelerator and tore down the highway to the Propinquity Lane exit. She tapped the brakes a couple of times to make the curve on the ramp. Finally, she pulled into the gravel lot and parked. It was near one o’clock.
Why is everyone here?
There was Thomi’s burnt-orange Aztec parked next to Eddie’s black Mustang. Delia looked farther left and saw Sanya’s white Honda parked closer to the recycle bin at the end of the driveway.
Maybe they’d all just learned about Jeanette, though it was a day and a half later. Perhaps Jeanette’s husband called Sanya to let her know. Or, maybe he didn’t. Perhaps he was on the run to Canada right now or hiding in the woods like that Uni-bomber fellow. Mr. Loring was on the lam.
Or he’s at home tearing his hair and crying.
She was on the second-floor landing when she thought to check on Thomi. Would she be home, or perhaps in Eddie’s apartment consoling him? Delia moved down the hallway and tapped on her friend’s door.
“What do you want?” Louie said on the other side of the door.
“It’s Delia,” she said, leaning in and speaking into the doorjamb.
“You’ll have to come in. I can’t see.”
He’s using his blindness for all it’s worth…
A surge of guilt washed over her. Louie had only been without his sight for a couple of months. If Delia ever found herself blinded, well, there isn’t enough ice cream in the world.
She opened the door and stuck her head around the corner of it. “Hi Louie, it’s Delia here.”
“I heard you the first time,” he told her, slumped in his wheelchair, with his face toward his lap. He was still in his maroon robe and blue-print pajamas. “Thomi’s not here. She’s never here. She leaves me.”
Delia stepped all the way into the apartment. “She has to work, Louie.” It smelled like Pine Sol and vinegar inside the room. It reminded her of her father’s room at Mountain Ash.
“She’s not always at work,” he corrected, lifting his chin. His unfocused eyes stared off behind Delia’s shoulder somewhere, and he had a scar across his left cheek. The poison was what blinded Louie, but Mate had beaten him badly, too. The man didn’t look like himself at all anymore. Louie had always been a vibrant man with bright eyes and tanned skin. Now he was pale and looked like he was in his eighties.
“Is she with Eddie now?”
“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” he repeated. “I don’t like him.”
Delia stepped all the way into the room. “I don’t either. Why don’t you like him, Louie?”
“He’s sneaky.”
“Right?” she asked, sitting on the wobbly couch next to his wheelchair. “What has he done that’s sneaky?”
He shrugged his shoulder. It was only a slight movement. “Maybe he just reminds me of someone I don’t like.”
“Who’s that?”
“Someone I used to know, that’s all. I never trusted him. He tried to turn me away from everyone I loved.”
Delia frowned. “How could he do that? And, why?”
“Because he was a manipulative bastard, that’s why. I’m sorry I met him. Things would’ve been different between Thomi and me.”
“Are you talking about Eddie?”
“No, Eddie’s too young,” Louie snapped, as though Delia should know what he meant.
Sheesh.
But Delia touched the old man’s hand anyway, as she felt a wave of pity for him. She’d known Louie since she was a little girl. His hand felt cool and wrinkled. “Who are you talking about, then?”
“It doesn’t matter. I won’t ever see him again.” He moved his hand from beneath Delia’s. “Literally. I will never see him again.”
She had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. “Louie, have you found an assistant yet? Or is Courtney Kent going to help you with the business end of things?”
“Courtney, bah! She wasn’t a great secretary in the first place. She’s a receptionist. You know who was good at helping me was Mate Oswald.”
Delia sat back, her mouth dropping open. “Mate beat you, poisoned you, and left you for dead.”
“Did he?” he asked, staring off again, toward the kitchen this time. “I don’t remember.”
Delia leaned toward him. “You don’t remember speaking to someone before they hit you? Oh, and where was your bodyguard?”
Louie’s pale brows lifted. “Demetri?”
“That’s right, Demetri. Where was he?”
He shook his head. “I have no idea … But, you know, he never came to the hospital, either. I haven’t thought about it much, but I’ve never heard from Demetri since all of this happened.”
“Really? Have you ever mentioned that to Detective Montague?”
Louie let out a long breath, making his nose whistle. “Probably. I don’t remember.”
She switched the subject back to the matter at hand. “Perhaps you should put out an ad in Indeed.com or one of those online job-finder sites. I’m sure there are plenty of people who could help you run Tipsy Louie’s.”
“I’d rather have you,” he said, pressing his back into the chair and lifting his chin so that he stared at the ceiling. He’d turned his head slightly as though he waited to hear what she’d say.
“Can’t, Louie, I already told you.” She got to her feet, and moved toward the door. “I’ll go see where Thomi is and tell her you need her.”
“Do that,” he said, his chin dropping to his chest again.
In the hall again, Delia made her way up to the next floor and paused on the landing. Voices came from Eddie’s apartment, and the door was ajar. She pushed on the wood and poked her head inside. “Knock, knock.”
The front room was decorated in dark tones with leather furnishings and dark wood. Near the kitchen was an aluminum sign reading Bar with little lights spelling it out. Beneath was an oak and metal cart with all sorts of liquor bottles lined up on it. On another wall were graphic art posters framed in black. One depicted the devil, and beneath it, it read El Diablo.
That’s about right.
Sanya was near the window behind a table. She’d been gazing out into the parking lot but turned when Delia spoke. Her ombre hair was up in a messy bun, and, of course, she was in yoga pants. Today they were pale pink with black stripes. Sanya worked for a florist company and designed funeral arrangements —or so Delia imagined. Maybe she did weddings, too.
Eddie sat on the sofa, and tears shone in his eyes. Thomi sat beside him, holding his hand. She still wore her blue smock jacket from her job. She worked at Helping Hearts as a social worker.
And that’s what was needed here, some social work because there was dysfunction happening in the room. Sure, Eddie was upset after learning a family member died, but why were Sanya’s dark eyes glaring daggers at him?
And just to throw in a mean little thought, why was Eddie that upset? Jeanette was his cousin, and of course, he loved her —but Eddie showed signs of more profound grieving than someone who’d lost a barely-cousin, as Jeanette had called him. It was like he’d just lost his wife.
Thomi rubbed his back. “It’s okay to cry, Eddie. You loved her dearly.”
A little too dearly from what I remember; at the pier for instance when they’d locked lips…
To compensate for the guilt she felt over her negative thoughts, Delia stepped all the way into the room. “Eddie, I’m so sorry about Jeanette.” She glanced at Sanya. “My condolences.” She covered her heart with her hand and then motioned outward with her fingers. It was an attempt to fling compassion about the room. After all, it was horrible that Jeanette died; she would never deny that. But, unfortunately, Delia was just too suspicious of Eddie and Sanya to believe what they were throwing down here.
Sanya’s eyes leveled on Delia. “Really? Your condolences?” She stood straighter and walked around the table with her arms crossed in front of her. “What I’d like to know is why everybody dies around you.”
Delia stiffened. “Um, I don’t think that’s true.”
“Oh, really? Reg died in your apartment.” She jabbed a red-taloned finger. “And now my beloved sister is dead because of you.”
Thomi jumped from her seat on the sofa. “This is not Delia’s fault!”
It was so lovely to hear Thomi stick up for her. Plus, now Delia knew she could jump behind her bestie if things got any uglier.
“She didn’t kill Reg, and I’m sure she didn’t kill Jeanette.”
Feeling more confident with Thomi on her side, Delia said, “And since when was Jeanette your beloved anything? Last I overheard you, she said she’d kill your face, and you were going to hit her with a brick.” Once the words came out of her mouth, Delia froze in her spot again. She couldn’t even blink.
I’m having an out-of-mouth experience. I’m standing here, and words flew off my lips, but I didn’t say them. I … I thought them, yes.
Sanya dropped her hands to her sides and leaned her upper body away —as though Delia’s words were a wave pushing her out to sea. “Excuse me?” She said it scary, too, in a low voice and with a great deal of calm.
“That didn’t come out right,” Delia admitted. “I’m very sorry.” She glanced at Thomi.
The girl had been caught in the beach’s wave, and she leaned away from Delia, too. Her chin had dropped, and her dark eyes were as round as … Delia glanced around. As the a in the BAR sign. She said, “Delia?”
“I’m so very sorry,” she said again
and glanced through her eyelashes at Sanya —the woman who lifted tires for fun. “I just saw my own sister, and my mouth just won’t stop running … It’s-it’s a coping skill.”
Eddie rose from the couch and shouted, “Oh, will you all just SHUT UP?”
Delia’s stomach dropped. He means me. He means me.
All of them stared at Eddie. Thomi was the first to respond. She reached for her purse on the floor beside the sofa. “Let’s give him some time alone, all right?” Then, turning, she took Delia by the arm and propelled her toward the door.
“I’m not going,” Sanya said. “I’m not the one talking stupid.”
Delia and Thomi turned back around.
Eddie glared at Sanya and came around the coffee table. “Get. Out. Now.” He pointed toward the door.
Sanya blinked her eyes a couple of times and worked her mouth up and down. “We’re family …”
“If you don’t move your bony butt out of my apartment right now, I will throw you out.” He took a step toward her, with his dark head down and his eyes locked in on hers.
For about one second, Delia didn’t think Sanya was going to move.
I can’t either. I’m absolutely riveted.
Apparently, so was Thomi. She had her hand on Delia’s arm, but it had turned to stone.
What Sanya did instead was scried. Scream-cried. She opened her mouth, and the most incredibly high-pitched wail came out of her. Delia had never heard a Banshee, but she imagined it sounded something like what Sanya just let loose. Tears sprang out of their ducts and wet her entire cheek area in a split second. Then Sanya moved, straight at Delia and Thomi —like a blind swordsman, swishing her taloned fingers back and forth, most likely telling them to move.
“We’re going to die,” Delia whispered. She couldn’t move fast enough.
Thomi didn’t do any better. She tried jumping away, but Delia slammed into her first, and they tumbled onto the leather chair in the corner. A book on a side table fell onto the floor. Scratch that, the side table and the book —and corner lamp fell onto the floor.
Sanya ripped open the door and flew out into the hallway like a tire-flinging, bat out of hell.
Thomi crawled toward the lamp and set it aright. Next, she reached for the book.