[Nightmusic 01.0] Serenade

by Heather McKenzie

  “Why?” I asked, even though I knew I wouldn’t get an answer.

  Anne crinkled her nose, her voice slightly rising in pitch. “We’ve discussed this. Your mother made me promise before she died and Henry can never find out about it. She said it was ‘insurance’ and that you’d know what to do with it someday. Now take it off.”

  The poor old broad looked like she was about to crack. Stephan’s ragged breathing and limp body covered in tubes was enough stress for the old woman. I felt horrible. “I’ll be more careful. Dad will never see it, I promise,” I said as I flipped the necklace around so it was under my hair and hanging down my back. The cold silver with Mom’s initials etched on the backside was now resting between my shoulder blades. Someday, I’d figure out why it was so important to keep this strange piece of jewelry hidden, but now wasn’t the time. I’d just keep pretending it had superpowers, housed a tiny universe, or was the key to a spaceship Mom buried in the garden.

  Anne sighed heavily, eyeing Oliver’s looming shadow next to the window. “Take her home now,” she ordered, clearly still angry. “I’ll look after Stephan. Neither of you are needed here anymore.”

  I was about to protest, but then I heard the voice I had been longing to hear all day.

  “Yeah, go home, you assholes,” Stephan croaked. “This attention is really pissing me off.”

  I lunged toward him and almost tripped over his heart monitor to plant a kiss on his damp forehead. His voice, no matter how grumpy, was a blessing. I held back tears, feeling relieved. “I love you, Stephan,” I said, “you’re going to be all right.”

  “Well, of course I am—I’m made of steel, remember?” His words were strong, but his delivery was weak. “How ‘bout you, my sweet petunia. You okay?”

  “I am perfectly fine.”

  “Good. Then get your butt home.”

  “No. It’s my turn to look after you for a change.”

  He sighed heavily. The look in his eyes was one I’d seen a million times—no matter what the argument, I wasn’t winning. “Now is not the time to be stubborn, okay?” he said softly. “I’m not asking—I’m telling. Go home.”

  He was hurting. I wanted to take away his pain or lessen it somehow but the only thing I could do was leave so he wouldn’t worry about me. I hugged him for as long as he would tolerate, told him I loved him, and then said it again close to his ear so his beard brushed my cheek. It was difficult to leave the room, but knowing he was safe in Anne’s bossy but capable hands made it a little easier. She’d never admit it, but she cared for him, maybe as much as I did.

  Once out in the hall with Oliver glued to my side, I felt it necessary to ask him something important that was weighing on my mind. I also needed to break the tension between us before we both snapped.

  “Hey, Oliver?”

  “Yeah,” he answered, sounding sleepy while we waited for the slowest elevator in the world to come to our floor.

  “Can you promise me something?”

  He turned to face me. “I’ll promise you anything,” he said eagerly with a slight hint of anxiety in his tone.

  I considered telling him that when he said sweet things, stared at me too long with his dreamy brown eyes, or put his hands on my cheek… it was inappropriate. It was unwanted. And I was trying desperately not to like it.

  But I couldn’t.

  “Promise me that no matter what, you will never allow me to wear matching polyester pant suits like Anne’s— ever,” I said in complete seriousness.

  He laughed with relief, clearly not expecting this request. “Hell, yeah. How about this: I promise that when we get old, I’ll buy you a whole bunch of those nice stretchy, velvet pants with the elastic waist and the zippered jackets to match. You’d rock that look with a granny bun, sittin’ on the balcony knitting for our grandbabies.”

  I stopped dead in my tracks. Our grandbabies? Did he see a future for us… him and me… together?

  Suddenly quiet, he reached for my hand as the grey doors of the elevator opened. My mind reeled as he pulled me ahead. Would I grow old with my bodyguard—with Oliver—living out my days confined to the estate? I couldn’t imagine being with him that long, but then again, I couldn’t imagine being without him. In fact, I couldn’t picture the future at all; it was nothing but an empty, blank space. Past today, it was just blank.

  Just… blank.

  For five days, Oliver and I spent every waking moment at Banff General Hospital. The room was dreary and always cold, but that wasn’t why I was shivering. Today, the doctors were explaining Stephan’s surgery while he lay there nonchalantly, like he was about to get a haircut. Apparently, angioplasty was a common and rather non-invasive method of opening blocked arteries to increase blood flow, but it sounded absolutely dreadful; a tube with a deflated balloon was going to be threaded up through an artery in Stephan’s leg to where the blood flow in his heart was reduced, then pumped up to widen the area.

  I was going to have a breakdown if I didn’t leave the room.

  Stephan’s replacement stuck to us like glue as Oliver and I made the short walk to The Derrick Bar. The sun was shining on the bustling streets of Banff as busloads of tourists and locals flocked to the many boutiques and world-class restaurants. The sweet aroma of chocolate drifted out from the candy shops, and the gem store windows sparkled with locally mined jade and ammolite. Oliver held my hand, his grip tightening when we passed a street vendor selling scarves, but it was purely professional. We hadn’t broached the “you’re all I’ve got” statement he’d made the first night Stephan was in the hospital, so I just acted as if I hadn’t heard it. And that was just fine with both of us.

  The summer air wafting in through the open patio doors of the bar calmed my mind. Thankfully the new guy, Stephan’s temporary replacement—emphasis on temporary—stayed outside on the patio to smoke—I’d threatened to choke him with his Iron Maiden T- shirt if he didn’t. Dumping six packets of sugar into my coffee because I could, I pretended to enjoy it while the pink haired, overly tattooed waitress, whose name we now knew was Angela, flashed her signature mega-watt smile.

  “Don’t you guys ever get sick of this place?” she asked, handing over the plastic menus, “I mean, biking, canoeing, hiking, fishing… tree hugging… I’m dying to do something that doesn’t involve a backpack and running shoes. In no way are laces, or anything with Velcro, fashionable.”

  Angela was so likeable and different from anyone I’d ever met. I felt drawn to her even though she kept trying to flirt with Oliver—he was so disinterested it was embarrassing.

  “You guys into live music?” she asked, straightening her fifties-style skirt that was completely out of place in the rugged bar. “I hear there’s a club down the street where indie bands play.”

  Oliver had become focused on a woman a few tables away. “Why don’t you ask that broad glaring at us? She looks like she could use a night out,” he said irritably.

  Angela turned to see an older woman with crisp brown hair and hideous orange lipstick who looked like she was trying to shoot daggers at us with her eyeballs. “Ugh. That’s Karen, the boss’s girlfriend,” she said, shoulders slouching. “That woman is a huge pain in the ass and she hates me.”

  “Well, if her nostrils flare any wider, her entire face might cave in,” Oliver said.

  Coffee—now more like syrup—shot out of my nose, and I couldn’t contain the snorting laughter that escaped with it.

  “God, I love it when you smile,” Oliver said, and suddenly it was as if everything in the room had faded from existence and it was just him and me. “I just want to make you happy all the time,” he added.

  Angela lifted an eyebrow and backed away, giving Oliver the opportunity to move his chair closer to mine. Now side by side, thighs touching, he twisted around to face me and reached for my cheek—a move he’d been deploying too often lately. What the hell had gotten into him? I had been completely ignored for days and only receiving Oliver’s business side, and now
he was staring at me as if I were a roast beef sandwich and he hadn’t eaten for days.

  “So pretty…” he said.

  Was he high? Had he gotten into Stephan’s pain meds? Had he been drinking? “What the hell, Oliver? Stop it,” I said harshly.

  His hand fell from my face and he looked completely crushed. When he realized they were watching—our undercover posse only sitting a few tables away—a slight tinge of red flushed his dark cheeks. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. It’s time to go,” he said with a break in his voice.

  “Oliver, I just meant…” I felt terrible. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings and was about to apologize when Angela returned with coffee pot in hand.

  “Refill?” she asked tentatively, sensing the tension.

  Neither of us replied.

  “Okay then,” she said. “Well hey, why don’t you guys come by and visit me Saturday night? We’ll go dancing.” She playfully swung her hips. “I’m off at nine if you’re interested.”

  Oliver wasn’t listening. He clenched his hands into fists, turned away with a huff, and marched off, leaving me alone with my new friend who looked entirely defeated.

  “Um, I think you might have made him blush.” I lied.

  Angela sighed. “Yeah right. I know it’s probably a complete waste of time, but I just can’t help it. He’s stunningly gorgeous—solid muscle head-to-toe…”

  I nodded my head in agreement.

  “Wait a minute… you’re not with him, are you?” she stammered, “I mean, I just assumed… I’m sorry… but, you’re not together, are you?”

  “No. We’re just good friends,” I said.

  She exhaled in relief. “That’s what I thought. He’s got a thing for you, though. You know that, right? I mean, I’m wearing my one-hundred-percent guaranteed man-catching dress, but he couldn’t take his eyes off you for even a second, and I was workin’ it.”

  “I think he just forgot to put in his contact lenses… and it’s kinda dim in here… and you know how it is with men and fashion… there’s also a lot of… sandwiches and… other distractions.”

  Angela laughed, causing her silky pink hair to swish around her face. “You’re adorable,” she said with a wink. “Come by Saturday. We’ll have a good time, I promise. But leave Mr. Serious behind; we’ll have way more fun without him.”

  I didn’t get a chance to reply. Mr. Serious had returned to possessively grip my arm and guide me toward the door. “That will never happen,” Oliver said.

  Back at the hospital, Stephan loudly exclaimed that he was sick to death of all our faces, so while he bathed, Oliver, the new guy, and I occupied the sitting room nearby. I settled into a decrepit old chair while Oliver paced in front of a viewless window and watched me out of the corner of his eye. Both of us were pretending the metaphorical elephant stomping around in the room was just a little furry mouse. He had let his guard slip, and it was clear that his increasing devotion and possessiveness of me wasn’t because of a paycheck. Truthfully, I was beginning to feel something for him too… and whatever that something was, it was getting harder to deny, so I had to keep reminding myself that besides Stephan and Anne, guards and nannies came and went. Allowing any emotional attachment to one of them would just be setting myself up for heartbreak—because at some point, Oliver would leave too.

  I turned on an ancient TV and leaned back to numbly listen to an articulate voice predict that the coldest winter in years was just around the corner. A news anchor from the town’s local station reported the most recent hockey scores, the upcoming election, the increasing price of chairlifts and resort fees… and it was all static in my ears until an all too familiar name caught my attention; Henry Lowen… medical breakthrough… Eronel Industries… They were talking about my dad and his company.

  I sat up straighter, giving the images flashing across the TV my full attention. It showed a massive factory on fire and emergency crews moving frantically around the structure, battling black plumes of smoke billowing out of windows. Sirens could be heard in the background as a reporter narrated the scene:

  “Today in Montreal, a protest organized by The Right Choice Group against the medical giant Eronel Industries turned deadly when a fire broke out. The blaze has claimed the lives of at least eight employees and has left five unaccounted for. The cause of the fire has yet to be determined, but three suspects have been detained for questioning. The Right Choice Group has been actively demanding the recall of Eronel’s fertility drug Cecalitrin, claiming that the drug causes damage to the brain, resulting in psychosis and sometimes death. However, all further investigations are inconclusive at this time. Henry Lowen, CEO of Eronel Industries, addressed reporters during a press conference this afternoon.”

  And there he was—smiling as lights flashed and field reporters hurled questions in rapid fire. Polished and effortlessly captivating, Dad spoke and the crowd grew quiet. His charm and good looks were weapons that he knew how to use effectively. The sound of his lilting voice turned my stomach.“An alarming number of women are unable to conceive naturally, and the number is steadily increasing,” Dad said, running a jeweled hand through his jet-black hair. “Cecalitrin is a safe treatment that has allowed many women to conceive when they otherwise would not have been able to do so. The accusations claiming that our company would put women in danger are ludicrous. Eronel was created by my late wife’s brilliant father, John Marchessa, and has been a family owned and operated business helping people all over the world for over fifty years…”

  Although the name John Marchessa rolled off his tongue easily enough, I could clearly detect the hatred. Dad and my grandfather were enemies of epic proportions.

  I couldn’t continue to listen to any more of his lies, so I clicked off the TV.

  “Hey, I was watching that,” said Stephan’s replacement, who I would only refer to as New Guy—he wouldn’t be around long, so I wouldn’t bother with learning his name. Sprawled out in the plastic chair next to me, his leg bounced up and down while his jaw worked at a glob of gum. He looked more like a wannabe rock star than a guard with his tattooed arms, his long hair in a ponytail, and a smug smile that I found wildly irritating.

  “Well, you’re not watching it anymore,” I said shortly. I was rude, but I didn’t care.

  “Don’t you want to hear what your dad has to say?”

  I didn’t need to hear his speech to know what he would say: business—lies—business—lies—repeat. It was all my dad ever said.

  “Nope,” I said defiantly and marched back toward Stephan’s room with Oliver and New Guy in tow—I was—eager for my best friend’s company whether he wanted it or not. But when I arrived at his door, I could tell something wasn’t right; the guards posted outside were standing and on full alert, and my undercover entourage wasn’t even trying to be undercover. The large man who had been pretending to be a golfer—still in the same clothes from nine days ago—ushered us quickly inside the room and shut the door.

  The room was filled with daisies. Hundreds of perfect, yellow-and-white blooms dangled on thin stems in pretty vases. They were everywhere. Glass containers overflowing with the delicate flowers were set on the floor, the windowsill, taking over every available space and lighting up the room. They were stunning in comparison to the mint-green walls and Stephan’s completely horrified expression.

  “Stephan, do you have an admirer?” I asked, but I was ignored.

  His hair was sopping wet and his jaw was clenched in agitation. I turned to Anne for answers, but she was in the corner mumbling to herself and twiddling her thumbs. I noticed she had on mismatched shoes and a crazy pantsuit the color of key lime pie; I patted my chest to make sure the necklace was concealed.

  “What’s going on, Stephan?” Oliver asked.

  “The flowers were delivered a few minutes ago. The delivery boy was questioned but knew nothing.”

  “And what’s wrong with getting flowers?” I asked, but I was ignored yet again.

&nbs
p; Stephan sat up a little higher on his bed, wincing. “Oliver, backup will be here to assist you in getting Kaya back to the estate, which you must do immediately.”

  The veins around Oliver’s temples pulsated as his whole body tensed. I had to laugh. This was ridiculous. What were they worried about? They were just flowers. As I picked up a bouquet of the pretty yellow petals, key lime pie came flying at me from the corner. Anne lunged at the vase in my hand and knocked it to the floor, slicing open my palm as the glass shattered. Blood instantly gushed from my sliced skin.

  “What the hell is wrong with you, Anne?” Oliver yelled as he dove to my side.

  The wound stung wildly, but I was mostly in shock. “Anne?” I said, staring at my old nanny’s white face, and then at the shards of glass embedded in my skin. Her cheeks had turned paper white and her eyes had glazed over.

  Next to me, Oliver was seething and so filled with anger I thought he might explode. Through gritted teeth, he yelled for a nurse while gripping my wrist like a vise.

  “I’m okay, Oliver,” I said feebly.

  Anne made a move toward me. “I’m so sorry,” she said as Oliver protectively stood in front of me, staring her down until she backed away. New Guy calmly took Anne by the arm and guided her to a worn recliner in the other corner while she kept mumbling and repeating her apologies. Had she lost her mind? Had the Alzheimer’s progressed that fast? As she sank down into the leather-upholstered chair, I started to worry about her sanity more than the drops of blood seeping from my wounds.

  Soon, a smiling, young nurse was next to me cleaning and removing the shards of glass from my hand. A janitor tossed all the flowers in a bin and swept up the broken vase. His broom left red streaks on the floor and the sight made me woozy—I didn’t do well with blood, especially my own.

  “You okay, my butter bean?” Stephan asked.

  He was so frail and now appeared to be so worried about me I thought he might faint. The majority of the tubes were gone but the IV line in his arm remained. He was still sick. I was supposed to be looking after him and here I was bleeding all over the place. “I’m fine,” I said with as much reassurance as I could muster.