by Trevor Scott
“They do. And all they ask is for a fair price for their cattle and for the government to leave them alone.”
“That actually sounds nice, Robin.”
“It can be. The isolation is mitigated somewhat now with satellites for television and an increase in cell towers, especially along the interstate highways. Still, I’ve done my time there.”
“And you live in a condo in Salt Lake?” her cousin asked.
“I do. The tenth floor. It’s secure for a single woman in the big city. But I can go out the door and walk to restaurants, the movies, and for groceries. My work is just two blocks away. I rarely have to drive anywhere.”
“That also sounds nice,” Christina said. “I would love to come out to visit. I’ve never been west of the Mississippi.”
“But you’ve been to Italy,” Robin said. “That had to be cool.”
“Now that we both know about relatives there, we should plan a trip and visit them.”
“I would like that. But you also need to promise to fly out to Salt Lake for a visit.”
Christina squeezed down on Robin’s knee and said, “I will. Maybe Max can bring me to his mountain cabin as well.”
“He’ll have to blindfold you and swear you to secrecy.”
“Seriously?”
Robin nodded. “Almost.”
Christina leaned in and gave Robin another hug. Without any reluctance, Robin reciprocated.
11
The power of a combat nap was unmistakable for Max. But sometimes he woke in a strange place and it could be disconcerting.
Now, he rolled over on the large bed, the spiral posts at the end of the bed rising up like spears stuck in the ground. The darkness of the early evening, combined with the storm outside, obscured his view to shadows. He could have sworn someone glided through the edge of his room and disappeared through the wall near the end of his room at the side of the bathroom door. Then he was sure he heard footsteps on the floor above his bed.
He sat up and shook his head, trying to remember the last time he had felt this way. He recalled a time in the mountains of Afghanistan, where he was dreaming one night, thought he was awake, and tried to lift his body from the hard ground inside his sleeping bag. But he was paralyzed in place, as if a demon was holding him to Earth while the Devil himself tried to force his soul from his body. He was helpless, the feeling the most frightening he had ever experienced, because he couldn’t even fight back. Couldn’t use his strength and his weapons to force the Devil away from him. It wasn’t until much later, after he was working as a special agent with the OSI, that he discovered this dream or nightmare was a common occurrence among those under traumatic stress.
He heard voices now from somewhere outside of his room. Max found his 9mm Glock on the nightstand, which he clipped instinctively to his right hip and covered it with his oversized T-shirt. He felt a pain in his groin and realized he had been laying on an object in his pants—the thumb drive given to him by his Aunt Jackie that morning. He had not had a chance to view what she had given to him.
He found his bag and pulled out his laptop, opening the screen and logging in his password. Then he put the thumb drive in, scanned it for viruses out of habit, and found a single folder, which he transferred to his desktop. Clicking on that, he found a large group of PDFs and JPEGs. He made the icons larger so he could glance at them without opening each file. Most of the photos were old, and Max saw immediately that they were of his father and mother in their youth. There was even a couple of images of his father in his Marine Corps uniforms—both his camos and his dress uniforms. Wow, he made a mental note to contact some of his old friends to get his father’s military records, from his DD-214 to his decoration citations. Then he opened one of the PDFs, which was named based on the date. These were old newspaper clippings dealing with what had happened back in the day. It would take some time to review all of these files. Now he noticed something interesting. The dates all of these files had been produced. Aunt Jackie had obviously spent a lot of time scanning these files the night before, since they were all created the night before. Jackie must have kept all of these photos in a scrap book somewhere. But why? He’d have to ask her. But he would also have to thank her, since he really had no images of his parents from their youth. When Max had asked them why that was, his parents had obviously made up a story about the movers losing their box of photos.
More voices came from downstairs.
His gut was rumbling now, so he closed his computer, put on his hiking shoes and left his room.
Outside his room, the voices became louder as he rounded the corner and descended the stairs. When he got to the first floor, he saw the young woman at the small desk in the foyer. The voices were coming from the living room.
Max said, “How many rooms do you have on the third floor?”
“Just four,” the manager said. “The others are under renovation. But we don’t have anyone staying up there at this time.”
Max must have given her his confused look, because she stood up quickly and looked concerned.
“Did you hear someone up there?” she asked.
He waved his hand. “I think I was still sleeping.”
She got up from behind her desk and came to him. “Did you see something?”
Was this woman serious? “Like I said, I think I was still asleep.”
“Over the years, a few guests have reported seeing strange things,” she said. “It just means that you might be one of the fortunate to see those who have not moved on yet. It’s a gift.”
He didn’t want to buy into her delusions, but he had to admit to himself that over the years he had seen some strange things. Gift or not, these visions made him question his own sanity. But he simply tried to ignore them.
“I ain’t afraid of no ghost,” Max said, mocking a movie from his youth.
She smiled at him. “Good to know. Your sister and some of the Borelli family are in the parlor.”
Max thanked the young lady and started to head in that direction. Then he stopped and asked, “I understand dinner will be served here tonight.”
“Yes. Your cousin Bobby arranged it. The chef is working on it now.”
He left her in the foyer and went to the living room, where his sister sat on a sofa with his cousin Christina, and his aunt was in a matching chair near the fire.
“He lives,” Jackie said, raising her highball glass to him.
“Looks like your fire needs some help,” he said. He found a log in a bin to the left of the fireplace and he set it on the coals. Then he took a metal poker and stirred the fire to life by allowing some air to feed the flames.
“We have an expert,” Jackie said.
“He has a cabin in the mountains,” Robin explained. “The wood stove is his only heating source.”
“He lives like the Unabomber?” Jackie asked.
Max turned to defend himself. “Officially I live in my parents’ old house in town. I built the cabin as a retreat.”
Christina tapped the seat next to her. “Take a seat. Would you like some single malt Scotch? I have an extra glass, since your sister won’t join me.”
“Sure,” Max said. “What is your mother drinking?”
“Sandinista rum,” Jackie said.
“Radical dictators really know how to make good alcohol,” Max said.
“Freedom fighters,” his aunt said.
If Daniel Ortega believed in freedom, Max guessed the guy wouldn’t have pulled his country into such a repulsive dictatorship. Infinite power always led to destruction, he thought.
Max went with the 18-year-old Scotch, which he sipped slowly. “Very smooth,” he said to his cousin.
“I thought you were more of a beer guy,” Christina said.
“I have a cooler of beer in the back of my truck,” Max said. “I need to replenish your father’s supply after last night. Where is he?”
“Good question.” Christina pulled out her phone and texted her father. Then sh
e said, “He’ll get back to me in a couple of days.”
Max swirled the aged Scotch around in the highball glass. Then, instead of sipping the last of it, he sucked down the remaining amber liquid. “Alright. I’m off.” He stood up and saw that his gun had caught on his shirt, so he flipped the cloth back over his Glock.
“You still carry a gun everywhere,” Jackie said. “What are you afraid of?”
Max smiled. “Not a damn thing.” He walked toward the foyer and Christina caught up with him, grasping his arm to stop him.
“I should go with you,” his cousin said.
“I’m just going to the truck to get my beer,” he said.
“I know. But I’ve been trying to get in touch with my brother, Bobby. I’m a little concerned. Would you walk with me down to his place?”
“Sure. The rain is still coming down hard, though.”
Christina picked up a long, black umbrella from a stand by the door. She smiled and Max held the door for her.
Once they got outside, Max felt only light rain tapping his exposed skin. The real problem was the wind, which would gust at times and threaten to knock them over.
She grasped his left arm for support as they wandered down the slight grade toward one of the smaller brick buildings beyond a large dormant swimming pool. With the wind, she didn’t even try to deploy the umbrella.
They got to the second brick building and Christina knocked on the door.
Nothing.
She knocked again and said, “Bobby. It’s Christina.”
Still nothing.
“Is his car here?” Max asked.
She turned and saw that a truck sat down the parking lot a short distance away. “That’s his truck.”
Max tried the door and found it unlocked. He shared a look with Christina. “You should go in.”
She nodded and went inside, clicking on the overhead light.
The place was trashed.
Max drew his Glock and swept the room instinctively, moving through the small living room and into a back bedroom. The bedroom was equally destroyed. Finally, Max checked on the small bathroom. No cousin.
Putting his gun away as he wandered back into the living room, he turned to Christina. “Someone really did a number on this place.”
Christina giggled. “No, no, no. This is normal for Bobby. He’s never been organized. You should have seen his room when we were growing up. I swear, I didn’t see his floor for five years.” She laughed again.
“Then why’d you let me sweep his place with my gun?” he asked.
“Seriously? It was hot.”
“You do remember that we’re cousins,” he said.
“Hey, in the old days, cousins used to get married.”
“Still.”
She moved closer to him and dropped the umbrella. “I’d jump you right here in the clutter. I haven’t had a real man in forever. Maybe never.” She touched his exposed biceps, feeling the strength in them.
“You’re an attractive woman,” Max said. “But again, we’re cousins.”
“Until a couple of days ago, if we had met in a local bar and gone home, nobody would have been the wiser. You could have just taken me hard without repercussions.”
She was right, of course. “But now we know.”
“It’s not like I want your children,” she said. “I just want sex.”
There was a sudden buzzing and Max thought it might be his phone. “Not me,” he said, after checking his phone.
She pulled her phone from her pocket and read the text. “It’s my Papa. He just got here. He wants me as a buffer from my mom.”
Christina turned to go, but Max grasped her arm and said, “Listen, I’m sorry. You’re a beautiful woman.”
She shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. I should have never put you in this position. I’m a bad person.” A tear formed in her eye. “I haven’t even had enough Scotch to blame that.”
He wiped away her tear and said, “You’re not a bad person. Maybe I’m the bad person. Perhaps I put off some signals I shouldn’t have; some level of arousal that you picked up on.”
“Can we start over?” She reached out her right hand and said, “I’m Christina Borelli, and I understand we’re first cousins.”
Max shook her hand and turned that into a hug. Then he pulled away and picked up her umbrella, handing it to her. “You were going to help me with my cooler of beer.”
She nodded and headed out the door. He clicked off the light and closed the door.
They wandered back to his truck in silence. He unlocked the back topper, lifted the glass and lowered the bed tailgate. He pulled the large cooler out and set it on the wet gravel.
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the large metal box on the right side of the bed.
“My gun safe,” he said.
“Can’t someone just steal it and break it open later?”
“No. It’s bolted to the frame with no access to ratchet it. They’d have to take a blow-torch to it, and they still wouldn’t be able to remove it.”
“That’s some high security.”
“My military training. I keep at least one handgun locked and loaded with me at all times. But if I need more firepower, I always have it with me.”
“You should talk with my dad,” she said. “He keeps his guns loaded all around the house.”
“When I’m at home, I do the same. But these truck locks are not that secure. I don’t want my guns getting into the wrong hands.”
He locked the back end and glanced at Christina. She took one handle of the cooler and he took the other. Together, they walked back to the main estate building. As they got closer, the wind and rain picked up.
“It’s only supposed to get worse,” Christina said, as they worked their way through the double set of doors.
Once they got into the foyer, the manager came over to them with a towel, wiping off the rain from the cooler. “I just did this for Papa Borelli,” Martha said. “He’s in the parlor. You can put this next to the other one.”
“Thanks, Martha,” he said.
They carried the large cooler into the living room and found a spot on a throw rug next to a smaller cooler.
His uncle was standing near the fireplace, beer in hand, and apparently keeping his distance from his ex-wife. Robin got up and came to Max, while Christina crossed the room and gave her father a large hug.
“Is everything alright?” Robin asked softly. “You were gone a long time.”
“I’m fine,” he said. “We went to try to find cousin Bobby at his place down the hill.” No need to taint her image of her newfound cousin. “He wasn’t home, but his truck was there. Not sure what that means.”
“I think I need a beer,” Robin said.
He found a can for both of them and wiped off the water from the cooler ice. Max guessed they both might need quite a few of these this evening. Neither of them were used to family dynamics.
12
After one beer, there was a commotion out in the foyer and Max glanced back toward that doorway. Christina got up from her place on the sofa next to Robin and ran to the other room.
Pasquale nudged up to Max and said, “My sister. She’s kind of like my ex. Likes to make an appearance.”
“I heard that,” Jackie said. She was well on her way with drink three.
Pasquale shook his head and limped out to greet his sister.
Max checked out the fire and saw that it could use another log. He set down his empty can of Bud and found a nice log, placing it precisely on the fire. The coals were hot and immediately started this new log on fire.
“You’re quite the firekeeper,” Jackie said.
“I’m surprised you aren’t chastising me for contributing to global warming,” Max said with derision.
“We call it climate change now,” Jackie said and then sipped on her drink through a smirk.
“Go outside,” he said. “It’s changing as we speak.”
Even over
the boisterous talking from the foyer, they could all hear the wind picking up and the rain pounding against the windows.
“You know that I teach this at the college level,” Jackie said.
Max turned directly to his aunt. “I know. I don’t mean to mock you. I keep thinking about the Vikings in nine eighty, when they reached Greenland from Iceland. The land was so arable that they settled there and grew crops. They were there for five hundred years until they abandoned it and went back to their homeland. I don’t recall a lot of internal combustion engines around at that time.”
“You’re talking about the medieval warm period,” Jackie said.
“Exactly. Climate change might be real, but I don’t know if there’s anything I can do to change that.”
“You’re a climate denier,” she said. “You and Pasquale should get along just fine.”
“I don’t deny anything, Aunt Jackie,” he said. “All I’m saying is that we should not be alarmists. We can’t go back to traveling in horse and buggy. And it will take time to get battery-operated cars everywhere. Until then, we have no choice but to drive our vehicles. I want our environment to be clean, our food to be without chemicals, etcetera. I just don’t like to be demonized for having an alternative opinion.”
“I would give you a D for my class,” Jackie said.
“You have no class,” Max said, and left his aunt with her drink.
Robin followed him and caught him before they got to the foyer. “Thank God you spoke up. I had to listen to her lecture us on our shortcomings while you and Christina went to get the beer.”
“You know me, sis. I back down from nobody.”
She rubbed his shoulder as they went into the foyer.
Max’s first impression of his true aunt was favorable. Anna Borelli Aldo was officially 58-years-old, but she could have easily passed for a decade younger. Her hair was perfect, if not died and streaked with an expensive weave. She was shorter than her niece, Christina, but her breasts were much larger. That could have been the result of artificial enhancement, though. Despite the weather, his aunt wore high heels and black slacks, filled out by a Draconian personal trainer no doubt.