Sweet Paradise

by Gene Desrochers

  Talking to him now, it all seemed so logical and yes, what a realist would do. So I asked why he didn’t do what a realist might do next. “Why not run?”

  “Gertrude. They’ll take it out on my daughter if I don’t do something about it. I done lost everybody else in my life to this curse I got, I’m not losing my daughter. ‘Sides, I’m too old to go trying to hide from these bloodhounds. Do I look like James Bond?” He spit again. “I’ll figure something out. Always do.”

  “What will you tell her about what happened here?”

  He turned back one last time. “I’ll tell her the truth for a change. It’s what she wanted all along, for Junior to know, but she still loves Herbie despite everything. She never felt it was right to tell him herself. This way, everyone got what they wanted. Everyone ‘cept me. That cursed secret was my meal ticket. Now I gotta deal with my shit.”

  “We all do eventually. Don’t they have Gamblers Anonymous?”

  “I’m not a joiner.” He shook my hand and headed into the terminal. “If you’re ever in Decatur, look me up. I dig your style, Boise.”

  Chapter 35

  Ispent the next couple days on lockdown in my room, drinking and eating and watching bad soap operas since the cable television was on the fritz again. Somehow those people’s disturbed lives made me feel better about this ordeal.

  I needed to venture forth and collect my investigation fees. Rent and bills would soon be due.

  My phone had been silent except for Leber calling to get answers to questions for his report. I texted back my observations on our adventure, then stole back under the covers.

  The Virgin Islands Archery Championship finals were coming up. There was little doubt that Isabelle LaGrange would easily qualify, so I decided to skip the early rounds. I needed to make a stop to see someone who’d been on my mind all week. Yarelle Antsy might not like seeing me, but I couldn’t get her off my mind.

  I timed my arrival at the Bacon Distillery for noon, thinking she’d take a break for lunch. She was at her station, stopping the bottles, a small, pained expression on her face. At the top of the stairs, the lights in Gilroy’s office were dark, waiting for the next occupant. For now, they mourned his death, too.

  I’d rehearsed this encounter. As soon as she punched out, I made my way over.

  “Hi.”

  “Boise. Oh gosh, Boise.”

  To my shock, she hugged me, like a friend, warm and close.

  “I’ve been wanting to call you or come by or ... ” She shook her bent head. “I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry about my father.”

  What she really meant, and I could see it on her face and feel it in my chest like a deep cut, was “I don’t know what to feel.”

  “Are you hungry?” was all I could think to ask.

  Her demeanor brightened. We were both happy to avoid the subject of Gilroy Antsy. She chimed, “I am, a little. Actually, I wasn’t, but now that you are here, I feel a pang for the first time all week. Is that weird?”

  “Want to have lunch with me? My treat.”

  We ate together at a chicken fry joint a few blocks away in a lime green building. We continued to shun the subject of her dead father. The man wanted to give her a better financial life. He wanted security. He wanted his dream. And he killed for it.

  “My next singing gig is in three weeks. I’m not sure I’m up to it.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  Her eyes cast down again, searching the empty plate for answers. I wondered then if she even knew the questions. “I guess because of what happened. I can see you’re thinking about it. Isabelle says to go back to the tasks at hand, so I’ve been trying to rehearse and work. I’ve worked overtime all week. Then I go to Anna’s to rehearse, then we go out drinking. But my voice. It feels like my vocal cords are going to snap. Like they’re pulled to the thinnest point.” She dropped her hands into her lap. “I don’t know. It makes no sense.”

  “It makes sense. My voice cracks when I’m tired and depressed.”

  “You depressed? You always seem in control.”

  That was a laugh. “Thanks, but of course that’s not true.”

  “So what? How do I get it back?”

  “Your voice will come back when you’ve healed is my guess.”

  “I didn’t even like him,” she said, a tear running down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away with a napkin. “He’s dead, but mostly I wasn’t crazy about him as a friend. He had good dad qualities. He wanted all the right things for me, but it had to be his way. He was hard. A hard, driven man.” She nodded, a picture in her mind to which only she could bear witness. “Sometimes, he ran over me.”

  Sounds from the kitchen and the street carried us out the door into the tropical heat. A man behind the counter—he seemed to know Yarey—waved while punching something into the cash register.

  The knot in my stomach grew as we got closer to separating. This was the time. We were alone and we’d just had some kind of psuedo-date I’d orchestrated by showing up unannounced at lunchtime.

  “So, uh, Yarey, I know this might be a bad time and if you don’t want to you don’t have to, but, uh, would you want to go see the archery tournament on Saturday?”

  “’Course, silly! Everyone’s going to that.”

  “Everyone?”

  “Yeah, to support Isabelle. You’re gonna sit with us, right?”

  “Right. Yes. I’ll be there.”

  “Great.”

  We had arrived at the punch clock in the distillery.

  Chapter 36

  My bed was scattered with discarded masses of clothing. “Masses” might be a strong word since I only owned a little clothing, but what I owned was on the bed, all discarded as unworthy. Everything felt either overdressed, the one suit and shirt, or underdressed, namely the shorts, t-shirts, pretty much everything I owned.

  A knock at the door.

  “What?” I bellowed. I needed to make a decision soon so I’d get there in time to sit next to Yarey. The knocking sounded again. I started to open it, then thought better and used the peep-hole despite my impatience.

  “Dana! Perfect timing. You can assist.” I pulled her inside and slammed the door. I was wearing only boxers.

  “Jeez on bread, Boise, must we constantly repeat the clothing optional entrance. You don’t even appear sauced.”

  “One beer so far today,” I said, pointing at the empty on the bedside table. “Needed the carbs to get going.” Then I remembered she was supposed to be off island. “What are you doing back, mi son?”

  “Newspaper doesn’t want to pay another night in a hotel there, so I’m back here. What’s all this?” she asked.

  “I need help with what to wear.”

  Dana picked through the options, pulling out a brown t-shirt and jeans.

  “I’m gonna be hot,” I mumbled. “What about this white one?”

  “You been to an outdoor event here lately? Dusty as hell at these things. White will be dirty in no time. You want to wear what a woman likes. She’ll prefer seeing you in jeans. Women sacrifice comfort in the name of fashion all the time, and she’ll appreciate you doing it for her.”

  “Is that what you’re doing?” I said indicating her ensemble of a halter top, cut-off jeans and her usual red cap.

  “I’m not trying to impress a woman today. I’m just little ol’ me.”

  “What about Annie?”

  “She’s off galavanting somewhere in Europe this week. So, what’s new?”

  THE SUN WAS HIGH AND clouds rolled around the heavens, welcoming us to the competition. We had about an hour before it was “go time,” so I suggested some food and a beer.

  “Boise, you just don’t stop, do you?”

  “Look at me, Dana? Do I look healthy?”

  She looked me up and down then spun me around. “Fair enough, you’ve lost weight. What are you doing?”


  “Working. Lots of working. I’m eating less.”

  “Good on ya. Where do you want to sit?”

  “What about there?”

  “Wrong answer. See that table over there? That’s the judges’ table. Who has the best view in the place?”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “Who?”

  “Judges have a good view.”

  “Who’s your queen?”

  “You, Dana. You are my queen.”

  As I moved ahead of her, she smacked my butt. “Second row, we don’t want to be too low.”

  “All right,” I mumbled. Dana could be so bossy.

  We spread out with seats between us on the hot metal bleachers. A few people milled about the field, checking this and that. A mourning dove alighted on one of the targets, cooed a couple of beats then flapped away. My eyes drooped. The end of all this madness had set in. Everything ached softly, especially my left foot and my trick knee. I wondered if that knee would ever heal properly or if it would ache forever. Probably permanent. The U.S. Army wouldn’t pay for anything except rehab, which had improved things, but had left me with pain. The pain reminded me of Evelyn. It was why we met.

  “Hi, Boise,” said a soft voice from behind me.

  I bolted upright, out of my reverie. “Hi, Yarey! I saved you a seat.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Dana’s smirk as she pretended not to notice my awkwardness.

  “Dana,” I said. She didn’t look over. “Dana!” I said more loudly.

  “Huh? Oh, Boise, did you call me?” She put her hand on her chest as if she was verklempt. “I am so entranced by this spectacle.”

  “Yes, it’s quite a setup,” Harold agreed, coming up from behind Yarey. “I’m Harold,” he said, extending his hand. “This here’s Yarey.” Harold turned to me. “What’s up, man? Why you wearing jeans in this heat?”

  Everyone scooched around to make room. I managed to maneuver Yarey next to me while Harold plopped beside Dana.

  “So what’s your sign, Dana?”

  “Did you just ask me a question from the seventies?” Dana shot back.

  “Well, yeah, it’s an ‘in’ line again, right Boise-boy?”

  Harold seemed in a chipper mood. “Sure, Harry-pal, if you say so.” I leaned close to Yarey. “Is he drunk?”

  She held her thumb and index finger together then moved them to her lips. I suggested we go get drinks. Harold had the full-court press going on Dana. Boy was he barking up the wrong tree, but Dana never let on. She enjoyed the male attention sometimes.

  Once away, I asked Yarey about her coming with Harold. “He offered me a ride when he came by the distillery yesterday. I figured why not. No one else offered.”

  My face blushed. “Oh man, I, uh, don’t own a car. Sorry, Yarey, I messed that up. I can get you home afterwards, how’s that?”

  “Yeah, okay,” she giggled. “It’s kinda fun to watch you squirm. Not driving is hot.”

  “It is?”

  She rolled her eyes. “No, I’m kidding. Why don’t you have a car?”

  “Tired of driving,” I said emphatically. “Living in L.A. can cure anyone of ever wanting to drive again.”

  “So how do you get around?”

  “I manage.”

  “You mean with your little friend?”

  “Dana? She’s just a friend. But she does give me a lot of rides.”

  “I’ll bet. You know, Harold has a point. Why’d you wear jeans?”

  “This seemed like a more formal occasion,” I said.

  She laughed and punched me lightly on the shoulder. Physical contact, a good sign. We got beers and snacks for everyone. Harold snatched a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos out of my hand. Before I even sat down, he was munching away while spitting crumbs and explaining archery to Dana in a self-righteous tone.

  “He loves to talk archery,” I said.

  Yarey nodded.

  It was already eleven-fifteen. “When’s this gonna start?” I asked Harold.

  He ignored me, still working hard on Dana, who looked like she was growing weary of the archery diatribe.

  Three people walked out and took seats at the judges’ table. Dana excused herself to use the bathroom. Without his target present, Harold’s attention returned to Yarey and me. He leaned across Yarey’s lap and stage whispered, “Dude, this is gonna be interesting right here.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “That judge in the middle. Man oh man, what a shit-show.”

  I looked at Yarey, who seemed as lost as I was. “Harold, what are you talking about?”

  “Aw, nothing. You’ll see.”

  “Hey, how’s Junior?”

  “How do you think?”

  “Why didn’t you ever tell the kid about his parents?” I asked. “You knew.”

  Harold’s gaze remained fixed on the field, but he was no longer in the present. His mind somewhere else. A dark place. Yarey winced at my blunt question. As Harold’s non-response stretched out, she became more uncomfortable until she blurted, “Harold, you were telling Dana about the archery. Anything we should be looking for?” He didn’t respond, so Yarey pressed. “Harold, what’s that?” She pointed at a block with a number on it.

  “Hey man, you ever had a family secret? Something you knew would blow the whole mess out the water like a torpedo?” Before I could answer, he spat, “Probably not, huh? So easy for dudes like you, with simple lives to point their simple fingers at us. Look at those rich, assholes, going around thinking they can do whatever they want.” He paused, recognizing that his voice was rising and a woman behind us had begun to take notice. “Mind your own business, lady,” he snapped at her.

  “Easy, Harold, she didn’t do anything,” I said.

  “Man, you aren’t my dad. You aren’t some knight in shining armor come out to rescue Junior, either. You want the money just like all the rest. They all want what we have. Well, now they got it. We ain’t got shit, and I’m sure it makes everyone happy. Mom saw to that, didn’t she?”

  “You mean the reparations?”

  “What the hell else would I mean? Man, it’s like this, we don’t have our inheritance, least not what we expected, and she kept us out of the business, even her precious Junior. And instead of doing it while she was around, she chickened out and did it after she died. Nice, huh? Easy to make decisions for everyone when you aren’t around to face the music.”

  “You don’t think what she did was right?”

  “Shit man, it’s her money. She can do whatever the hell she wants with it. I know that. But where’s the love? Huh? While she was busy with that fucking reporter Adirondack Kendal.”

  “Here’s another for you, Harold. Where were you when Francine was offed?”

  This threw him, but he recovered quickly. “Herbie. Some brother that guy is. Family. My family. You want to know where I go, Boise? Man, don’t you think I get tired of all the secrets, too? You know I didn’t kill my mother. You know that. My sibs and I were just covering each others’ backs.”

  “How could you be certain that they didn’t do it?”

  “Man, you just know. Like you know that you’re hungry.”

  “So, where were you?” I pressed.

  “I’m in a group. An anonymous group. We meet. No one talks, no one knows outside the group. I have a medical condition. That’s all I’m willing to say. We’ve got too many secrets, and I’m more concerned with how my nephew is gonna live with his.”

  I wanted to tell him that I had family secrets too. But that was the point, wasn’t it? My family secret could remain ignored as long as I wanted to let it fester in the corner. You didn’t want to expose those you cared about to that level of scrutiny. Sometimes, as in Junior’s case, it was so fundamental to who he was, his very genetic makeup, there was nowhere to run. How could he ever have a deep relationship with someone and keep someth
ing so fundamental about himself hidden? On the other hand, how could he reveal such a horrible truth and expect anyone to stick around? If you sat with that dilemma long enough, it could drive you mad. He would have no choice but to continue the lie. That’s what I would do. I’d tell everyone my mother had abandoned me. That I’d never known her. On one level, a metaphoric level, that was true, but that didn’t absolve him from living with the secret all his days. It would take a special partner to overlook Junior’s lineage.

  “Man, the short answer is, that kid is not good. He doesn’t know what to do and none of us have an answer either ‘cause there’s no answer to something like that. Is there?”

  He wasn’t waiting for an answer. Yarey looked lost, but afraid to ask what was happening.

  “And you,” Harold pointed a finger at Yarey’s nose, “you stay out of it. This is none of your concern. Now, let’s just watch these archers. They deserve our undivided attention.”

  The competition had already begun, with various competitors coming and going from different categories and age groups. The final competition would be those at the senior level competing to go on as a representative of the U.S. Virgin Islands in international competition. Isabelle had qualified for this final round as expected, posting the best score average, having the most x’s at seven, and posting the highest overall score in her category.

  The crowd had begun to really pay attention in the last half-hour as the juniors and cadets finished their rounds.

  Harold seemed to have calmed down. He leaned over after one girl who was fifteen-years-old finished her round and said, “Man, she’s got the goods. I’d like to work on her stance and sightlines, but otherwise, she’s got Olympian written on her back.”

  I was still reeling from our earlier conversation, but Dana had come back carrying more junk food. It took my mind off Junior’s woes.

  Despite all that had happened the last couple weeks, Isabelle was here and performing at a high level.

  “How does she do it?” I asked Harold as we watched another competitor finish her round, moving us closer to Isabelle’s turn.