by M. M. Silva
CHAPTER 48
MOIRA ARRIVED PROMPTLY AT 6:30, LOOKING VERY PALE AND THIN, and Sampson greeted her like she’d just returned from war. In a small way, one might say she had. Sampson’s springing was brought to new heights as he jumped up to greet her, licking at her face and humming some type of happy dog-whine between jumps. When his paws would momentarily touch the ground, he’d do circle-spin moves around her before springing in arcs again.
Despite her obvious desire to not be at the apartment, Moira couldn’t help but smile. When Sampson finally took two seconds to stay on the ground, Moira crouched down and gave him a big hug. He snuggled his forty pounds into her body, and they ended up in a heap on the floor.
Which would have been cute except they were just a few feet away from where Moira had been curled in the fetal position that horrible night. I saw the horror on her face and knew I’d pushed too hard by asking her to come here.
Gently but quickly untangling herself from Sampson, Moira stood up and tears were running down her face.
“I tried,” she said softly.
“I know. I’m so sorry,” I said, shaking my head. There was nothing else to say. Doob watched from the table, and I didn’t need to look at him to know he was mortified.
“I’m going to take Sampson to Ma and Pop’s.”
Tears pricked my eyes as I nodded. “Sure. After a welcome like that, you can’t make him watch you leave.”
As I couldn’t help carry anything, I watched in helpless silence as Doob and Moira gathered up some food, bowls, toys, and blankets for Sampson. Moira organized everything in a sports bag, and Doob handed her a two-liter bottle just before she left.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“Your parents’ water is different from ours. You can mix our water and their water when you get there, just so he can transition. I did it for him when we went to Jamestown, and I think it helped.” Doob’s chin quivered, and I had to look away.
Moira took the water bottle and gazed at it in her hand, as if it were a foreign object. “Thanks, Doob. That’s very thoughtful of you. See you guys.” With that, she hefted Sampson’s bag over her shoulder, put him on his leash and walked out of the apartment.
I stared at the closed door. Doob squatted in front of my chair.
“We’ll get them back,” he said softly.
Swiping tears at my eyes, I shook my head.
He put his hands on both my shoulders. “We’ll get them back,” he repeated. “And we’re not going to sit around here and mope, so let’s decide on something to do.”
“I don’t want to do anything,” I moaned.
“Wanna play hopscotch?” Doob asked as he looked down at my cast.
“You’re not funny.”
“Movies? Museum? Mall? Restaurant? Tavern?”
“No, no, no, and no. And does anyone still say tavern anymore?”
“My dad does,” Doob said, as if that settled it. “Anyway, I saw something earlier on TV today and taped it. I was hoping to share it with you and Moira.”
“Well, that’s not going to happen,” I said sullenly.
“I think it’ll still make you feel better,” he replied, turning on the television and scrolling to his recording.
I actually cracked a smile as I watched the attractive female news anchor announce there was a possible lead in the Isabella Steward Gardner Museum heist. While names weren’t yet named, it seemed that state and federal authorities were chasing a hot tip.
Good old Gus.
CHAPTER 49
Friday, November 22nd
“MEAGAN, I’M NOT GOING TO GO THROUGH THAT AGAIN,” Moira said, her impatience coming through the phone loud and clear.
“So you’re just never coming back to the apartment? You’re just going to have me box up your stuff? You’re going to stay with Ma and Pop forever?”
She sighed. “I don’t know what I plan on doing. Maybe you can get a roommate or something. I just can’t walk in there and act like nothing ever happened—”
“Five minutes, Moira. I asked you for an hour last time; now I’m asking for five minutes. I think you’ll see things in a different light this time.”
That was one of the biggest understatements I’d made in a while. After the night Moira had become upset and left, Doob had been really quiet for a few hours. When he finally perked up, he told me he had a couple of cosmetic ideas for our apartment that might make her feel better. Since I was already staying at his place, he wondered if he could work some magic in our apartment. Several weeks prior, I would have never let Doob-The-Designer loose in my place, but at this point, I figured, why not. His mini-palace across the hall proved he had to have some taste in his disheveled little head.
Once I gave him the green light, Doob said he’d speak with his lady—yes, Doob has an interior designer lady—about making a few subtle changes and Moira and I could check it out when they were done. He went on to promise if we hated it, he’d pay for whatever changes we wanted. It was essentially a money back guarantee.
So when Doob invited me to my own apartment after the makeover, I was a little apprehensive, but I tried to remain upbeat about the whole thing. I really wanted my sister back.
Doob made me walk in with a blindfold on, and the whole thing seemed ridiculous until he told me to go ahead and take a look at the new digs. My jaw hit the floor in astonishment. Doob’s lady had created a beautiful, warm oasis, complete with earth tones accented with some soft reds and greens throughout the large room. All of our furniture was gone, and the woman had created several zones throughout the space.
“How in the world did you do this in five days?” I asked, incredulous.
“It was a busy week for my decorator lady, but money talks,” he said with a shrug, and I gave him a huge hug. I didn’t know where to look first.
One section had a lovely mahogany framed couch with two large cushions and what seemed to be a million pillows in deep brown, gold and muted red colors. Across from it were two chairs in matching material, and one had the most beautiful dark green throw over it that I’d ever seen. Nestled in between was an antique coffee table with several mismatched candles, books, and pictures of our family settled on top. A black and white one of Moira and me from last year produced a lump in my throat.
The eating area was nearly as nice as the one at the gala, with a formal dining room table and chairs made of dark wood and intricate place settings at each chair. Two crystal vases of fresh yellow roses added a perfect complement to the dark furniture, and she’d even installed a small, but appropriate, crystal chandelier over the table.
Adjacent to the dining area, the designer had somehow managed to fit a gleaming black baby-grand piano. It was stunning, and she’d mounted a tiny spotlight from the ceiling onto the instrument. Moira and I had both taken piano lessons as kids, and on more than one occasion, Moira had commented on how much she wish she still played.
Doob truly hadn’t missed a thing.
I moved on to our galley kitchen where the designer had ripped out the countertops and cabinets, and she’d even widened the pass-through. We now had sparkling black granite countertops cohabitating with fabulous white cathedral cabinets with silver hardware. The appliances had all magically been turned into stainless steel works of art, and—gasp—the refrigerator was full.
The outdated blinds had all been replaced with elegant floor-to-ceiling draperies, and the carpet had been removed from the entire area, replaced by dark, sparkling hardwood floors that were so shiny they looked wet.
As I was processing the beauty of my renovated home, Doob explained he’d only changed the main living space and had left the remaining rooms as-is. But he said if Moira liked the changes and wanted more, he’d foot the bill for that as well.
Dumbfounded and on the verge of tears at his generosity, I sighed deeply. That put Doob straight into a dither. “No water works, Meagan, for God’s sake. I did this for selfish reasons. What the heck would I do if you two moved out
on me?”
I thought about that for a second. “You’d follow us,” I said and sniffled.
“I would,” he conceded and pointed at a massive armoire back in the seating area. “You missed the best part.”
I looked over at the gorgeous piece of furniture. “It’s amazing, Doob,” I said with a touch of awe.
He went over and opened it up, revealing what I guessed to be a fifty-something-inch television.
“Good grief. We wouldn’t want you to just sit in the sitting area, right?”
“God, no,” he said. “Now call her, and let’s see what she thinks.”
So I’d placed the call, and we’d spent the rest of the day hemming and hawing about her reaction. And then we finally heard the key in the lock.
Sampson bounded through the door like an escaped prisoner but stopped short when he realized everything was different. He started sniffing all around and then trotted over and looked up at me with his big brown eyes. Cocking his head, he conveyed, what gives?
“Do you like it boy?” I asked while ruffling his ears, but we all knew that I was talking to Moira. She stood in the doorway, taking it all in. I couldn’t read her face, but she hadn’t stomped out, so that was a start.
Resuming his sniffing, Sampson lumbered over to the pantry, and Doob scampered over to get him a treat. “We didn’t move the biscuits, buddy. That’s one thing that stayed the same.”
Moira took a couple of tentative steps inside. “It’s hard to believe this is the same apartment.”
“That was kind of the point,” I said and heard my voice falter.
Doob zipped across the room and pointed out the TV in the armoire. “You want to see the remote for this bad boy? It can do everything except make your coffee, and I might even figure out how to program it to do that.”
“Speaking of, you should see the espresso machine in the kitchen,” I offered up, my voice back to normal. “Not that I’ll ever abandon the coffee house, but this thing is right up your alley, Moira.”
She meandered through the sitting area and ran her hand across the beautifully polished dining room table. Doob and I stayed in the main room and watched her examine things. I almost didn’t want to breathe. While she didn’t actually go into the galley kitchen area, she stood outside of it and nodded her head in approval.
“This place is something else,” she said and walked back toward Doob and me. “You two outdid yourselves.”
“I can’t take any credit,” I said. “It was all Doob.”
He approached and gave her the most awkward hug I’ve ever seen. “We just miss you, Moira. We want you home.” His voice cracked, and I’d never seen a more sincere, tender moment in my entire life.
“I miss you guys, too,” Moira admitted and looked around the space again. “And I really appreciate all of this. It’s beautiful.”
“We’re glad you like it,” I said, my tone hushed. How odd it was to feel this inhibited around my sister.
She glanced toward her bedroom. “Is my stuff—”
“All exactly the same,” I assured her. “Doob just changed the main area, so…well, you know.”
Moira nodded. “I do. Well, again, this looks really nice. Sampson and I should head back before Ma starts to worry. You know how she gets.”
“Pa’s worse,” I said and smiled.
“True.” She gave Doob and me quick hugs, and Doob knelt and wrapped his arms so tightly around Sampson I thought the poor dog would burst.
“Doob, unhand the dog. They’ve got to go.”
“Talk to you guys soon,” Moira said, and I watched her and my furry little buddy go out the door.
Even though she’d left for our parents’ house, I’d felt the chill had lifted just a bit. My sister didn’t hate me any longer. I don’t know if she loved me anymore; I wasn’t completely sure she even liked me, either. But she no longer hated me, and that was progress.
I looked at Doob, and he had a goofy half-smile on his face.
“What?” I asked him.
“She’s coming back to us,” he said as his grin widened. “And she’s bringing our four-legged friend home, too. The band is getting back together.” He started to do a little Doob-dance across the gleaming floors.
“Don’t jinx it,” I said but found myself wiggling around the room with him.
CHAPTER 50
Saturday, November 23rd
“IS SHE REALLY STILL IN CRITICAL CONDITION?” I asked, unable to hide the skepticism in my voice. “It’s been a week. Thanksgiving is coming up; give me something to be thankful for, please.”
“I don’t like it either, Maloney. But she went into the hospital with a massive head wound and two broken legs, and then she got shot and almost died. Her prognosis isn’t good.”
“Do they have any leads on who did it?”
“Nothing yet. Everyone who’s been questioned has been cleared. Whoever did this was a pro.”
A vision of Uncle Larry popped into my head, and I did my denial thing and continued talking. “So, if it gets to that point, how long until they pull the plug?”
“How did I know you were going to ask that? She doesn’t have a will that anyone knows of, and it’s not like she has a health care directive. She’s in her twenties. Bragginini is supposedly running the show right now, but he really has no legal say-so if it looks like she’s not gonna make it.”
“If it comes to that, is it possible Vic will be the one who ultimately has to make that decision?”
“To pull the plug? Yeah, it could possibly fall to him. He’s her biological father, however screwed up that is.”
The irony of that wasn’t lost on me. “She came back to kill him, and he may end up with the responsibility of ending her life. Ho-ly shit. Keep me posted, Burns, and thanks for everything.”
“Take care of that leg, kiddo,” he said and hung up.
I relayed everything to Doob, and he shook his head. “What a messed up situation.”
“It’s like the whole world is waiting to see if this monster is going to wake up. Will she live or die? And if she makes it, is she going to get away with murder? Literally get away with murder. Murders, plural. I can’t stand it.”
As he always does, Doob listened to my rant patiently. Then, “It’s like watching those Twilight movies.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What in the world are you talking about? Melanie’s gonna come back as a vampire?” Actually, that wouldn’t surprise me. It could even be an improvement.
“I’m just saying you’ll have to wait and see. Like with some movies or television shows or books, sometimes you have to wait until the next one to see what happens to the bad guy. Or the bad girl, in this case.”
Here’s hoping.
EIGHT MONTHS LATER
ON A LATE JULY AFTERNOON, JEFF, MARGIE, AND GUS were enjoying some margaritas on Jeff’s deck. The view of the garden was spectacular, and the ocean beyond, even more beautiful. The craziness from November had long since passed, but the memories still stirred now and then.
Gus sighed deeply and said, “You two have done an amazing job on that garden. I think there may be hope for you yet, Jeff.”
Jeff smiled and said, “Margie gets all of the credit. I just talk her to death while she does the work.”
“That’s not true,” Margie said and swatted him on the arm. “You did a great job with some of those vegetables, and I’ve never seen the begonias look so pretty. You’re a natural.”
“I’m trying. Personally, the black-eyed Susans are my favorite. I love how they stand out against all the other vegetation.”
Margie studied him closely for a moment and said, “Well, isn’t that something? Ava’s favorite was the same flower. It’s funny, though. She called them her black-eyed Sams.”
The moment seemed to freeze in time. Gus’s eyes bulged, and Jeff’s head snapped to attention. Margie looked concerned.
“What’d I say?” she asked, swiveling around as if she did something wrong.
/> “Black-eyed Sams?” Gus repeated.
“Yes, why?”
Jeff jumped in. “As in Black Sam Bellamy?”
Margie exclaimed, “Oh my God! Ava always used to say that those black eyes would watch over her and never tell her secrets.”
They sat in stunned silence for close to a minute before Gus and Jeff leapt up simultaneously.
Gus shouted, “Jeff, go get two shovels, and Margie, go get your digital camera. We’ve got some flowers to dig up!”
THE END
Thank you to my family, friends, loyal pooch, and
readers for your support and encouragement.