Diced

by Deany Ray

  “Need some help?” I asked.

  “Charlie!” she said. “How lovely. I was about to set out some new blooms. Sure you can help.”

  I learned something new that day: I liked working in the garden. My mother told me how to carefully place each plant into the ground, loosening the soil so the roots could easily take hold, adding nutrients and packing the dirt in firm.

  I looked with pride at the delicate red flowers that we had placed around the fountain in the center of the yard. I hoped that they would do well – plenty of sun and hopefully enough rain. Or else, I’d make sure to water them. I felt…well, almost motherly toward the little blooms.

  The garden had filled with color. My mother stood back to survey our work. “Well, look at you and me. Didn’t we make something pretty?”

  “That we did,” I said. I linked my arm through hers. The breeze stirred up the sweet scents of the garden in a cool rush toward our faces.

  My mother broke the spell. “Now, Charlotte, we should hum.”

  “Hum?”

  “You’re twenty-nine years old. Don’t you know how to hum?”

  “I know how to hum,” I told her. “I just don’t know why I should.”

  I was afraid that she would tell me if I didn’t leave soon. Perhaps I should see what was up with Brad and the freeloading dude with the dirty socks.

  “A hum is like a little prayer.” My mother put her arm around my shoulder. “To ask the spirits of the garden to help the flowers grow. Oh! I should get my spray. These flowers are so young. The blooms are so delicate. Bad energy of any kind absolutely will not do. Charlie, I should spray your hands, too, since these are the noble hands that put new life into the ground.” She took my hands and stared down at them. “I hope you’ll paint your nails, dear, before your young man comes.”

  “I don’t have a young…”

  But my mother couldn’t hear me. With her eyes closed tightly, she’d begun to hum. She produced the dreaded bottle of magical herbs with the spray device on top. Where had that bottle come from?

  “Charlotte, hold your hands out.”

  “Mother! Please. Just don’t.” What if the neighbors saw? This was ridiculous.

  “It will only take a second.”

  “But I’m headed to the shower. It will wash right off.”

  “Mother Nature doesn’t care. Mother Nature will remember.”

  “Sorry. Got to go.” I hurried toward the house. So much for finding peace among nature’s blooms.

  After a long, hot shower, I ventured into the kitchen, hoping my mother had forgotten her nature mumbo jumbo. I was getting antsy. I needed to have a task. Setting the table, maybe? Surely we wouldn’t have to hum over the knives and forks.

  “Can I help you in here?” I asked.

  “Oh, your father’s helping me tonight,” she said. “Dinner will have the expert touch of the man who is the genius behind Springston’s favorite diner. You just make yourself look pretty for your nice young man.”

  “I don’t have a…”

  But she wasn’t listening. “Your job is just to wow him with your girlish charms – with your seductive, but understated, don’t-you-want-me vibes. Our job is to wow him with our fine cuisine. We’ll have that part covered.”

  “He’s just a guy I know from…uhm…work. Alex is absolutely not…Oh, just never mind.”

  I went upstairs into my room to work on my vibes. My mother thought I need assistance with that. She came into my room to help me choose my clothes. She pulled some things out of my closet. The first thing that she held up was a bright flowered dress. Was that really mine? It looked like a grandma dress for a game of Bridge.

  My mother tried again, holding up for my inspection the ugliest plaid skirt that I had ever seen. Had it come out of my closet? No wonder I’d had trouble attracting guys at school.

  “Mom, I can dress myself. I know you have things to cook.” For a woman intent on having her daughter bag a man that night, her choices were way too frumpy. Hardly the kind of outfits that gave out don’t-you-want-me vibes.

  Not that I wanted that – no way. But I didn’t want to send out run-away-screaming vibes. I could make myself look decent. I sent my mom back downstairs.

  I settled on a blue dress with a V-neck and some cute sling-back shoes I’d bought on sale the year before. I brushed my hair until it was soft and pulled it back in a loose ponytail. I polished my glasses and made sure they were straight, wishing for once for contacts. Or, better yet, good eyesight.

  Soon, I heard the doorbell.

  “Charlotte, can you get it?” My mother called up to me from downstairs.

  “On my way!” I called back.

  Let the games begin.

  After taking a deep breath, I opened the door to Alex and (surprise!) my older brother, Sam. They were laughing about something as if they were old friends already.

  “No way,” Sam was in the midst of saying. “The Red Sox are on fire this year. The pitchers are superb.”

  “Yeah, but what about…?” Alex began to ask then he turned toward me. He smiled and handed me a bottle of wine. Great. Like we need more alcohol.

  He wore pressed jeans and a dark blue button-down. His jacket wrapped his broad shoulders and his cologne was a sultry mix of sweet and spicy.

  We headed to the den, where my mother had set out appetizers: sausage balls, artichoke dip with crackers, and a plate of cheese and grapes.

  “Alex!” My mother swept into the room and greeted Alex with a hug. “It’s so lovely you could come.”

  He smiled. “My pleasure. Thank you for inviting me.”

  “Alex Spencer! So glad you could make it,” my dad said. There was no need for introductions. My dad knew all the cops. The cops all loved the diner. In fact, some waitress always called the station when there was apple pie.

  Alex shook his hand. “Honored to be here, sir.”

  My mom turned off the TV and nudged Brad to sit up straight. “This is Charlotte’s brother, Bradley.”

  Brad mumbled something that sounded like “hello”.

  “Please, Alex, try a sausage ball – an old recipe that I’ve used for years,” my mother said. “We have some delicious cheese, too.”

  “My wife makes the best sausage balls in the whole state,” Dad said.

  “In the whole state?” my mom eyed him.

  Dad laughed. “Okay, okay, in the whole world.”

  Brad reached for some cheese and crackers. “Thank you, Mom. Oh, yum.”

  She did not mean you, you doofus, I thought as I watched him shove food into his mouth.

  My mom sat down beside my brother. “Everyone, please take a seat. Now, Alex, tell us all about yourself. Tell us about your family. Where did you grow up? Did you always have an interest in detective work?”

  Sheesh. Slow down, would you, Mom? One question at a time.

  We all settled in and poor Alex began to narrate his life. Surprisingly, I found myself truly interested in what he had to say. He came from a big family: two sisters and a brother. Lots of uncles, aunts and cousins. He grew up not quite in Springston, but just outside the city limits in a house where his mom and dad still lived. And, yes, it had been his childhood goal to put away the bad guys.

  “That’s right, Barbara. I’m living out my dream.” He took a cracker with some dip.

  “Isn’t that just lovely?” my mother said, piling a plate high with sausage balls and cheese and crackers and handing it to him. Sheesh. Who could eat all that?

  “Do you own a home?” she asked, as if this were an interview: Are you worthy of my daughter?

  He handled it with grace, for which I was very grateful. “I rent an apartment in a new complex not too far from downtown.”

  My mother smiled. “Isn’t that just lovely?”

  Apparently, everything Alex said was lovely for my mother.

  Hmm. Two sisters and a brother, a childhood dream to be a cop. This was a real person, not just the pesky officer that seemed t
o somehow show up when I worked a case. He was a pretty nice guy to boot, who was making a valiant effort to eat all the sausage balls on his tiny plate so as not to insult the hostess.

  “Son, I have a question.” My father’s laughter filled the room, which was always the first warning: bad joke on the way. My father always laughed before the punch line, sometimes before he’d even begun to tell the joke.

  Brad and Sam and I shot each other wary looks, then we braced ourselves.

  “What’s the difference between roast beef and pea soup?” my father asked his frowning audience.

  We all looked down in silence before Alex, like a good guest, joined in my father’s game. “I have no idea,” he said. “Tell me. What’s the difference?”

  “Well, you see,” my father said, “this one falls right into my line of expertise. I am a restaurant man. What, again I ask you, is the difference between roast beef and pea soup?” As if the question was so intriguing that we had to hear it twice.

  Everyone waited for an answer.

  “Anyone can roast beef,” my father said, “but nobody can pee soup.” He rewarded himself with guffaws while the rest of us studied the floor and Alex managed a smile that was confused but still polite.

  “Okay, who’s hungry?” my mother asked brightly, eager to change the subject.

  Probably not the guest of honor who had just eaten twenty sausage balls.

  The dining room looked gorgeous, I had to admit. My mother had dimmed the chandelier and lit candles on the buffet table. The table was set with my grandmother’s rosé and blue fine china. I was feeling hopeful. We’d had some good times at that table. In the center of the table was an exotic seafood plate, my father’s specialty, filled with shrimp and lobster. It did smell good, and I suddenly felt hungry.

  “So,” my father said once every one had dug in. “Barbara tells me you two are an item. How long have you been dating?”

  I almost choked on a bite of sweet corn while Alex looked at me, amused.

  I tried to change the subject. “How’s it going, Alex, with the investigation?” It was all that I could think of. And I had to think of something.

  He seemed to think my question was as funny as my father’s. He chuckled; he was having a good time. “I’ll tell you if you tell me.” He reached for another shrimp. “This meal is fabulous.”

  “You can have as much as you want, there’s plenty of food,” my mother said.

  “Thank you, Barbara. You and Jack are wonderful cooks,” Alex said.

  That got my mom and my dad to blush. Sheesh.

  Alex took another mouthful then stopped to cough. “So sorry. Please excuse me.”

  “Watch the shrimp tails there,” my father said.

  “Alex, I’m so glad you like the dinner,” my mom said. “Wait till you see what’s next. Charlie might have told you that I have a way with cocktails.” She winked at me across the table. “I might even do some tricks.”

  Please, no. Had I died and gone to hell? I glanced out to the garden. Those spirits of my mother’s, were they really there? If I hummed softly, would they come to rescue me? Pretty, pretty please?

  Alex coughed again. I saw him frown and put his hand up to his neck. His face was all red. He wasn’t looking well.

  “Are you okay?” I asked him.

  “I’m good,” he answered weakly, but something wasn’t right.

  My mother studied him and frowned. “You aren’t by any chance allergic to shellfish?”

  “Not that I know of,” he told her, still coughing. “I don’t often have the pleasure of eating fine food from the sea.” He was still just so polite.

  I looked at my mother in confusion, then I heard a gasp from Sam’s end of the table. I wheeled around to Alex. His bottom lip was swollen huge, and so was his ear.

  Chapter Nine

  We spun into action all at once.

  “The phone!” my mother screamed. “Someone get the phone.”

  Sam stood, his mouth agape, dropping a fork onto his plate with a clink of silver against china.

  As for me, I looked at Alex, horrified. “What’s wrong? Alex! Can you talk? Alex, please say something.”

  “The phone. Where is the phone?” My mother’s voice increased in pitch with every syllable, as she looked around the room.

  “It’s where we always keep it,” my father said. A touch of urgency seeping into his voice – which never, ever happened.

  “Where is that?” my mother cried. “Where do we always keep it?”

  “I don’t know!” my father yelled. “Where do we keep the phone?” He ran smack dab into my mother as they both hurried toward the kitchen in a frantic search.

  “I’ll get mine,” I said. I checked my purse and my jacket pocket. Where the heck was my cell phone?

  I turned to look at Alex again. His breath by now was ragged; his face was getting redder.

  My father hurried back into the room and stopped to stare at Alex. “Well, would you look at that?” he asked. “That boy is really swelling up.”

  Only Brad sat still, staring at us as if this was just another family drama on TV. This dinner wasn’t going well. This was way worse than I thought.

  Sam, who had run out of the room sometime during the commotion, came back with some pills. “Should we give him aspirin? What is wrong with him? We should do something fast!”

  “He needs an ambulance!” I screamed. “Can’t someone find a phone?” Wasn’t that the definition of a modern family? Always glued to their cellphones? Just another way, I guessed, we stood out from the crowd.

  Alex, gasping even harder, was the one to finally save himself. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, punched a number on his speed dial, and shoved the phone into my hand. “Tell him to call for help,” he said in a raspy voice.

  Or at least I thought that’s what he said. His tongue was swollen, too. I took his phone and held it to my ear. The panic rose inside me as I listened for an answer. Pick up! Pick up! Pick up! I didn’t even stop to wonder who it was that I was calling.

  Soon a gruff voice answered. “Hey, Alex. What’s up?” I’d heard that voice before. Another cop, perhaps?

  “This is a friend of Alex. Please send help now,” I told him in a rush of breath. “Send an ambulance! And hurry.” I gave him the address – which almost slipped my mind, as panicked as I was. Stupid! Okay, stay cool, Charlie. Stay cool. Help is on its way.

  Five minutes later (although it felt like hours), loud sirens let us know the ambulance was there. My dad threw the front door open before they could get out with their bags. Three guys rushed inside toward our beleaguered dinner guest. I was kneeling beside Alex, holding his hand, telling him to breathe, and pretending to be calm, for his sake if not for mine.

  They gave him something with an IV. “This will stop the swelling,” one of the paramedics said to me.

  I had so many questions. “What is wrong with Alex? Could it be allergies to seafood? Seafood! He ate seafood. Will he be okay?”

  “We’ve got him stabilized for now,” the youngest paramedic told me as he put some kind of monitor on Alex. Then the young guy frowned. He looked really worried. Maybe he should check my heart rate. My heart was beating way too fast.

  “We need to take him in; he needs to see a doctor,” the paramedic said.

  The older of the three put his hand upon my shoulder. “We’ll take good care of him, ma’am. He’s in good hands.”

  The paramedics put Alex on a stretcher and rushed him outside. I stood up and followed. “I’m coming too,” I said. “Can I ride with him in the back?”

  My mother ran out after us as they loaded him into the back with the red lights flashing.

  “Please do come again!” she called out inanely. “Next time we’ll do a lovely pot roast. Thank you for the nice wine. I’m so sorry, Alex. So, so sorry.” Her voice was filled with tears.

  ***

  I spent about ninety minutes in the waiting room, trying to distract myself with anc
ient magazines and my cell. How crazy that my cell phone had been in my purse all along – although I’d dug around in all the pockets in the first rush of panic.

  I tried to play some word games that were loaded on my phone, but it was hard to concentrate. I found no satisfaction in putting big words on the Scrabble board to see how high my score would go. At that point, I was so worried I could barely spell my name.

  Besides, the texts kept coming in from my frantic mother.

  You still haven’t spoken to a doctor? What are they saying now?

  A nurse had come out once to confirm it was food allergies that had made Alex get so sick. She also spoke a lot of mumbo jumbo that told me…well, not much. Things like stable and making him more comfortable…working on him now.

  “But will he be okay?” Sheesh. Cut to the chase, already.

  She kept talking without answering. Good doctors…medication. Was this some bizarro kind of new world? Where answers were related to the questions but failed to tell you anything, anything at all? I felt like I might cry.

  Around 10 p.m., the answer came at last, in the form of Alex, making his way slowly toward me, a doctor by his side. I could finally breathe. He looked tired, but fine.

  “Oh, thank goodness you’re okay.” I stood up to greet him. “I’m so, so sorry, Alex.” I turned to the doctor. “So he was allergic to the seafood? Was he in a lot of pain? Tell me he’s okay.”

  Alex smiled a little. “This is Charlie, Doc. This girl, she loves the questions.”

  The doctor, an older man, gave me a reassuring smile. “He’s going to be just fine. You did a great job getting help for him fast.” Little did he know. It had been lucky that the patient had his act together enough to grab a phone.

  “Yes,” the doc continued. “It was a seafood allergy, and it was severe. It can be traumatic and, in worse cases, lead to death.”

  Well, gee. My heart began to race again. Perhaps I preferred the nurse and her mumbo jumbo.

  Alex must have seen my panic. He placed his hand on my back. “I was not the worst case. It’s okay. I’m fine.”

  “He’s absolutely right,” the doctor reassured me. “I’ve given him some papers, and I’ve told your boyfriend…”