The Cornelius Saga Boxed Set
Page 5
"Where have you been?" She asked before he barely stepped inside.
"I had to drop off some documents after work," Michael passed her, heading over to the couch.
"Don't they have a messenger for that?"
"Sure, but I decided I would take the documents to the vendor myself." He looked up from the chair—eyes reprimanding her for having the nerve to conduct that line of questioning.
"I was worried that something might have happened to you," Sara said, wanting to ease the rapidly building tension.
"Why? Because I got home an hour later than usual? Come on, Sara! That's crazy!" Michael kicked off his shoes. "Next time I decide to make a quick stop after work for any reason at all, I'll make sure to call; okay?"
Choosing to ignore Michael's sarcasm, Sara said, "I'll get your dinner now."
"Um… that's okay. I had a late lunch, so I don't need anything right now." He got up and walked off.
Sara stood there watching as he retreated to their bedroom without even bothering to check on the children.
Around midnight, Michael shot up in bed suddenly. His scream had awakened Sara who immediately sat up beside him.
"What's wrong? You had a nightmare?" She asked.
"Yeah," he returned in a soft whisper before slowly bringing himself to lie down again. His eyes, by then, had lost all desire for sleep.
6
_________________
"You look terrible!" Dwight Bridges handed Michael a file.
"I feel like a twenty-ton truck ran over me," Michael said from behind his desk.
"Preston McAffee's coming in at 10:30, so I suggest you grab yourself a cup of coffee or something… and quick? Wouldn't want the C.E.O. to see you looking like that. Would you?"
"I'll be fine," Michael's voice was almost dragging.
"How are Sara and the kids?"
"They're doing well," Michael rubbed his neck.
"That's great! Give them my love and I'll see you at the meeting," Dwight pointed.
Michael took Dwight's advice and had his secretary, Lima, bring him in a hot cup of cappuccino. For the most part, it seemed to have done the trick. Around 10:25, he grabbed his coat from the rack and headed out to the meeting. Stepping inside the conference room, he noticed that most of the executive board was already present—Dwight included—and Hollie was seated right next to him with legal pad in front of her and a pen fixed firmly between her slender fingers. Michael glanced her way, careful not to pique anyone's curiosity.
Taking a seat a few chairs down from Dwight, Michael looked at Hollie again. She was now looking back, but cautious also not to arouse suspicion.
As the meeting commenced and the C.E.O., Preston McAffee, a lean, bald sixty-year-old spoke, Michael's mind was occasionally distracted by thoughts of Hollie and their romantic rendezvous the evening before. They had both taken off from work a couple of hours earlier—Hollie's excuse was an impromptu doctor's visit and Michael didn’t need one.
Hollie was just as distracted, but fought harder to focus since she was responsible for recording the minutes of the meeting. The whole affair thing was new to her and definitely a first, and she wasn't so sure how to feel. She did know that she was attracted to Michael and decided she would have to see how it all progressed.
After the meeting, Michael hinted by a slight shift of the head for Hollie to follow him. She trailed him down the hallway and off into a long, narrow corridor that led to the janitor's closet and some restrooms. Michael stopped short of the restrooms and pulled Hollie into the vacant janitor's closet where he held her closely and locked his lips onto hers.
"Did you think about me last night?" He soon asked, caressing her face.
"Just all night," Hollie replied, reaching up to kiss him again.
"I just had to hold you. It's all I thought about in the meeting."
"Me too," Hollie said.
"Can we get together later?"
"Can't. I promised my sister I'd watch my nephew tonight. I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry." Michael smiled. "We have plenty of time to get to know each other better. We'll see how tomorrow goes."
"Okay," Hollie responded, feeling the tingly sensation she remember having one time ago—this time, with a slight mixture of guilt.
After one last smooch, Michael peeped out into the corridor before walking out into the main area. Hollie followed a few minutes later after freshening up in the restroom.
* * * *
There was a knock at the kitchen door. Mira, who had been watching TV in the living room, got up to answer it.
It was Monique Constantakis—the grand-daughter of one of their neighbors. She was a skinny fourteen-year-old with long candy curls and a few freckles spotted her cheeks.
"Hi, Mira," Monique said, hands shoved inside the pockets of her shorts.
"Hey. Come inside." Mira led the way to the couch as Monique shut the door behind them.
"So what're you doing?" Monique sat next to her friend who had both feet in the chair.
"Just watching TV."
"Where are your folks?"
"At work." Mira was not a very good conversationalist and Monique had pretty much accepted that fact. "So you're here for the weekend?"
"Na. Mom's picking me back up this afternoon. She had to run a few errands, so I got her to drop me off by Nana and Papa until she's all done. I wasn't into all those boring stops she said she had to make."
Mira re-focused her attention to the television screen. Bonanza was on and she so loved Miss Kitty.
"I wanna be as beautiful as Miss Kitty when I grow up," Monique said.
"Yeah. Me too… and classy," Mira replied.
The girls sat quietly for a while watching the program until Wade came out of the bedroom. He hailed Monique briefly and headed into the kitchen. Sliding open the top drawer, he pulled out a used plastic bag.
"What are you doing?" Mira asked him.
"I'm going to pick dillies and mangoes over at the Ferguson property. Wanna come?" Wade said.
Mira shook her head. "No. I'm staying here."
Monique looked at Mira. "Why don't you wanna go? Come on! I wanna go."
"Well you two go then. I'm staying home," Mira was mercilessly firm.
"She's not coming, Monique," Wade said, knowing his sister would not be swayed after all that had happened. "If you wanna come, you can."
"Okay. I'll see you later, Mira." Monique stood up to leave.
Mira looked at Wade. "Wade, can I see you for a moment in the back?" Her voice was stern.
Monique watched them disappear down the hallway.
Mira walked into her parents' room and Wade behind her. She closed the door quietly and looked her brother squarely in the eyes: "Don't mention a word to her about what happened. You hear?"
"Sure," Wade answered, knowing that Mira meant business.
"If you ever tell anyone about that, I'll never speak to you again, Wade Cullen." Mira attempted one last threat to seal the deal.
"Stop tripping, girl. I won't tell anyone," Wade said before leaving the room.
Monique was still standing in the living room when Wade re-emerged a minute later. "Ready?" He asked.
"Yes!" She said, following him.
The children slowly walked the short distance to the Ferguson property where Monique gladly took over Mira's role of holding the bag while Wade dropped the fruits down from the tree.
"Why didn't Mira wanna come?" Monique asked him as he threw down the dillies.
"Don't know. Guess she doesn't like coming here that much anymore," Wade answered.
"You guys going to the carnival this year?"
"I guess me, Mira and my mom will go—we usually make it there before the carnival leaves."
"Not your dad?" Monique asked.
"My dad doesn't go much of anywhere—mainly to work and home. He isn’t into too many things; you know?"
Monique nodded.
"Are you and your parents going?" Wade asked.
"And now?" Wade dropped another dilly which Monique had to lean over and pick up off the ground.
"Now… not so much. I still like going, mind you, but it's not the same hype that I used to have about it before."
"I know what you mean." Wade started down the tree and headed over to another.
* * * *
3:32 am
Michael was awakened by a loud whisper at the tip of his earlobe. He slowly opened his eyes and what he immediately saw consumed him with such dread that he thought his heart would instantly fail him. A woman dressed in white was floating above his bed with arms extended widely. The look of terror filled her dark, veiny eyes that were stark wide and piercing him with a raging glare. Michael found himself speechless as the apparition hovered over him for what seemed like forever. He couldn't recall the words that had been whispered to him—that had awakened him—and now silently, he watched as slowly and progressively, the woman floated farther and farther away until she completely vanished into the eastern corner of the wall. The whole time, her eyes stayed on him. Michael was glued to the bed with the realization that it was the same ghastly figure that had awakened him the night before. Only, this time, upon seeing her, no voice would escape. He looked over at Sara who was lying on her side fast asleep. There was no way he could tell her that now he, too, had seen a ghost in their house.
He was afraid—very afraid—and just as the night before, sleep would not easily come.
Mira was in a deep sleep. The dream was unlike any she had ever had before. The land was huge. Cotton and other crops were being harvested by mostly young and middle-aged colored men and women. Some of them sang quietly, most didn't sing at all—almost none seemed happy. The women wore some sort of head-cloth on their heads, many of which were dingy and spotty in parts.
A young man stood out: Dark skin, rather muscular, of average height—very handsome—somewhere in his twenties. He was chopping wood a good distance away from most of the others. His large, muscular arms wielding the pick-ax made his job look easy.
The door of the large house opened. A young, colored lady with perfectly sculpted facial features, shoulder-length, black hair, and a slender physique stood in the doorway looking over at the handsome, young man. Their eyes met, but only for a moment, before someone called out from inside the house and the girl shut the door again quickly.
The tall, white, rather plain-looking lady, whose face was caked with make-up, had called out to the young woman. She was standing at the top of the stairs, telling the girl to fetch her bag, upon whose orders the young woman quickly ran up the tall stairway to heed. While passing the woman who had given the orders, she paid careful attention to slow down a bit in order to pay the respect that was seemingly due. The older woman, on the other hand, returned a look of utter contempt. The bag was handed to her and she was soon transported by horse and carriage away from the house and into the distance.
Then the dream shifted. A tall, domineering figure of a man with white hair was leading the young, colored woman—who seemed reluctant to go with him—into a large bedroom at the top landing of the house. He shut the door behind them.
* * * *
The next morning, Sara was up early preparing breakfast. Michael, still in pajamas, joined her in the kitchen.
"Morning. Any coffee?" He asked tiredly, sitting on a stool.
"You're not drinking your herbal like you usually do?" Sara asked. "Want me to put on a pot of coffee instead?"
"I really need coffee right now," Michael replied. "Otherwise, I don’t think I'll have the energy to even dress for work."
"Didn't sleep that well, huh?" Sara started making the coffee.
"I couldn't get to sleep for hours," Michael said, sliding a hand through his hair.
"Oh, my. I'm sorry, honey. I'll mix this batch a little strong so you can get a good perk up, okay?"
"Thanks," Michael answered, appreciating Sara's concern.
"Morning, Mom and Dad." Mira entered the kitchen.
"What? Mira… is that you?" Sara was shocked. "What are you doing up so early?"
"I don't know. I couldn’t sleep much longer. I know it's weird," Mira replied.
Michael looked at his daughter wondering if she, too, had seen what he had witnessed the night before.
Mira sat on a stool next to her father.
"You slept okay?" Michael asked her.
"Yes," she replied.
"Breakfast's almost ready," Sara said.
Michael wanted so badly to speak with Mira about the strange woman who had now appeared to both of them, but he dreaded even the thought of bringing it up. Sara handed him his coffee and he sat there quietly sipping it. Mira said very little as well as she watched her mother move around the kitchen. Then suddenly, standing directly behind Sara, almost touching, was the woman in white. Her head was extended approximately six inches above Sara's and Mira could tell that as her mother stood there buttering a slice of bread, she was oblivious to the fact that someone was standing right behind her. The unwelcomed visitor looked at Mira and uttered in a deep, guttural voice, "Have…you…seen…him?"
Nearly falling off her stool, Mira cried: "Mom!" The stool tumbled over sideways and Mira darted off into the living room. On turning, she was relieved to see that the apparition was gone, but now her parents were looking at her in awe.
"What happened?" Michael asked.
"Honey?" Sara said, butter knife still in hand.
"Uh… nothing." Mira was still shaken, but at the same time not wanting to rehash any talk of ghosts with the unsettling probability that her parents might think she was losing her mind. "I'll… I'll just sit here." She sat down on the couch.
"What was that all about?" Sara probed, knowing that her daughter would not react in such a manner for no reason.
"It was nothing, Mom. Just don't worry about it; okay?"
Sara, neither Michael was convinced that it was nothing, but they also knew their daughter: Once she shut down on you, there was no way of getting her to open up. That happened only when Mira was ready.
Feeling more energized now that he had his coffee, Michael got up. "I'm going to get ready for work," he said, leaving the counter.
Sara just looked at Mira who was sitting in the living room now staring into space. She was starting to worry about her—her precious sweet pea who always tried to solve everyone else's issues, but who was also so good at keeping hers to herself.
* * * *
"Hey, Freedom Queen!" Sherlong exclaimed the instant Sara walked through the door. "How are we feeling today—as you often say?"
Nurse Jennifer Styles was in the process of giving him a sponge bath.
"We're doing fine." Sara stood aside, allowing Jennifer ample room to move around. "I see that Nurse Jennifer's taking really good care of you."
Sherlong looked up at Jennifer. "Yeah, Jenny here's doing a good job, but how about you give her a li'l well-deserved break and take over? My lower half hasn't been touched yet."
Jennifer shook her head and smiled. "You're a naughty old man; you know that?"
"Sure, I know," Sherlong responded proudly. "Freedom Queen over there knows just how I get down."
At that moment, a stocky, elderly lady with short hair and a round face entered the room.
"Good morning, Mrs. Sherlong," Sara said.
"Morning," the woman answered as if it took almost everything out of her to do so. Agatha Sherlong was a no-nonsense woman with a quick temper and just plain bad ways. The nurses were accustomed to her walking right past them without even bothering to hail. They thought old Mister Sherlong's philandering had probably turned his wife that way and so they didn't take her crude behavior personally.
"Did you get his pee pee yet?" She asked Jennifer out of the blue—not even bothering to hail her own husband.
"I'm getting to it, Ma'am," Jennifer replied, wanting to laugh out loud.
"You don't have to get to it nurse. That pee pee is mine and while I'm here, I'm gonna wash it!" Mrs. Sherlong was loud and direct, and Jennifer dared not protest.
"Mrs. Sherlong…" Sara intervened, "Nurse Jennifer will take care of that; there's no need for you to do it."
Agatha Sherlong swung around, her eyes glaring at the Head Nurse with undeniable ferocity. "How dare you suggest, young lady, that another woman washes my husband's pee pee? Have you lost your damned mind?" She walked briskly over to Sara. "That old coot in that bed," she pointed, "…is my husband. I am his wife. As long as I'm around when he is getting bathed, I will wash his pee pee! You young girls just want what I've got. I know it ain't much lying on that bed over there, but it's still mine and I had better not ever hear you tell me again that another woman should wash my husband's pee pee. That pee pee bore me six children and that pee pee gave me much joy—so you had better know your place when it comes to my husband's private business!" She turned around and practically knocked Jennifer out of the way with her huge, rotund hips and took over washing her husband.
Sara did not mention another word about the matter and Mister Sherlong held his tongue as well. No one knew Agatha better than he did and he had learned after forty long years that you were better off not back-sassing his wife.
Sara left the room wanting to burst with laughter. She waited for Jennifer just outside the door and they both started walking and giggling together as quietly as they could.
"That pee pee gave me much joy…" Sara blurted softly.
"She called her husband a coot!" Jennifer added, holding her belly from the explosion that wanted to erupt. "Girl, I don't know how Mister Sherlong deals with that woman."
"And I don't know how Mrs. Sherlong deals with him," Sara replied.
The unusual episode lightened Sara's spirit. Earlier that morning, she had arrived at work feeling a little despondent about everything going on in her life, but Agatha Sherlong—unbeknownst to the crotchety, old woman—had lifted her out of that despondency - at least for a while. The less Sara thought about her problems, the better she felt and the more productive she could be on the job.