Pick up the Pieces

by Flo Fitzpatrick

  “Oh-kay.”

  “Bebe, my father and I had a little chat yesterday after you stormed out of Freddy’s Steakhouse.” He gave me a small smile. “Understandably stormed out. Adrian Jericho acted like a complete toad—my words—and I told him to back off. It’s my life and I will love whom I will love. I still can’t believe you let him get to you ten years ago and I’m glad you stood up to him yesterday. It’s the only way to deal with him. I don’t do it enough which is why he hasn’t learned to keep his nose out of my business.”

  “I couldn’t deal with him ten years ago. I was eighteen. Remember? Plus . . .I didn’t want to cause a rift between you and your family. Nic, I still don’t. I come from a very broken home. I’m not in the habit of trying to split others from theirs.”

  “A rift has been there since I was about two and discovered my first drum set. And I have some decisions to make but we’ll talk about those later. Right now, I’m well aware my father wasn’t the only reason you left.”

  “Oh.” I stared at the ground, unwilling to meet his eyes.

  “Yes, oh. Junie told me what you believed about the night Marigold came to visit at my apartment. And I want to firmly state I did not sleep with Marigold, who by the way, had been extremely nuts when she arrived at my place. Raving on and on about how awful things had become in her life and how she felt like everyone around her was destroying who she was and how she herself had become something she hated, so why not dive in and trash every relationship she could? Yet, she refused to say what had happened to turn her into a ranting, paranoid witch. Her only answer was the same evasive, murky nonsense about everything being ‘in the music’.”

  I hesitantly said, “I . . . I’m so sorry, Nic. I jumped to the wrong conclusionwelladmittedly after some downright lying by Marigold. But still, I should have trusted you. Or at least had the sense to ask you. I was an idiot. Of course, being told by your father I was also low-class trash wasn’t exactly conducive to me believing you wouldn’t feel the same.”

  He lightly kissed my nose. “You were a kid and I understand. I’m so sorry my father is a jerk. But Bebe, I knew all about your mom and dad. I knew you’d been raised by your grandmother. I didn’t bring it up because it didn’t matter to me and you never talked about it. I respected your privacy. I always loved you for you.”

  “I was so distrustful and so scared to stand up to anyone. I never should have believed Marigold.”

  “Marigold was a huge influence over youalthough thankfully not her often insane lifestyle. And in all honestly, Marigold was normally truthful about what she was doing. I’m aware she never came right out and said, ‘I’m sleeping with Nic’ but I’m sure her sly little insinuations were worse. Especially for anyone as young and innocent as you were.”

  I began to shake. “I was still wrong for not going to you and getting it out in the open. You’d never done one thing to merit me going off on a tangent and believing you were cheating. I feel so horrible and ashamed.”

  He entwined my fingers with his. “Bebe? While we’re talking about Marigold, there’s something else. I never slept with her. Not that nightnor any other night. Ever. Including, believe it or not, when she and I dated. Yep. Six weeks with the wildest woman in Georgetown, Texas and Nic Jericho remained celibate.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Everyone assumed. But, while I adored her as a friend, I knew damned well she wasn’t my soul mate and she wasn’t going to be my wife, regardless of what my father wanted. I couldn’t tell the great judge his pick for my ideal woman was someone who adhered a bit too stringently to the credo of drugs, sex and rock n ‘roll. Anyway, I’m old-fashioned enough to say, ‘no’ to an affair neither of us was serious about.”

  My eyes opened wide. “Are you kidding? Everyone thought you and Marigold were the hottest pair in the county when y’all were together. This is kind of mind-bending.”

  He smiled. “Shouldn’t be. Remember, I didn’t press you when we were going with each other, much as I wanted to, but you were too young. Why should holding off with Marigold be different? Not all guys are sex-starved beasts. Some of us have a ridiculous mad English poet romantic streak stamped all over us and we’re nutty enough to believe in true love and faithfulness.”

  I grinned. “No comment. Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Because it would have hurt Marigold. Having someone turn her down because he had no intention of marrying her or even going on with the relationship would have been embarrassing and hurtful.”

  I blinked. “I get the embarrassment, but why the hurt?”

  “Because according to Junie, Marigold once claimed she loved me.”

  “Oh, hell.”

  “Now don’t freak out. After we broke up, Marigold and I were fine being friends. If she’d still felt some kind of romantic feelingsand, I believe she only imagined she was in love with me anywayshe would have told me and she probably would have disbanded Pieces since she wouldn’t have been able to deal with seeing me all the time. I didn’t feel it was my place to announce to the world. And we’re talkin’ ancient history. Our brief romance took place more than a year before the woman I did and do love dropped into my life and I learned that soul mates did exist and I’d met mine in a practice room in the Southwestern music department.” His deep brown eyes, which showed every emotion without guile or artifice, gazed into mine. He murmured, “One kiss. Time, place, duration of my choosing. And while this is not the most romantic setting, I don’t care. I choose now. I choose forever.”

  His lips met mine and ten years melted. He untied the ponytail scrunchie I’d stuffed my hair into once I’d made it out of the Blue Hole Park to the convenience store and ran his hands through every wave and curl as he continued kissing me.

  He tasted a little like cinnamon mints but I could also smell the marvelous indescribable male scent that has been enticing women since the first cave dwelling man winked at his mate and grunted, “Will you?”

  I wrapped my arms solidly around his neck then pressed my hands into his back as our kiss grew in intensity and longing. Ten years worth. He stroked my cheek and neck as our mouths melded into each other.

  A light shone about twenty yards away. We drew apart, but easily, without haste or panic and smiled at each other.

  A police cruiser was making rounds in the parking lot of the hospital. The vehicle stopped beside us.

  “You two okay?” The cop driving leaned his head out the window. “Need help?”

  Nic nodded. “We’re good. Thanks.”

  “It may not be too safe hanging out in the parking lot. Could get dangerous even this early in the morning,” said his partner, a female about my age.

  Good point. Nic almost laughed. “Believe it or not, we just escaped some of that danger. But you’re right. Could be time to go, even though it’s pretty far from the Palace ballroom.”

  “Excuse me,” said the officer behind the wheel. “You’re the two who were knocked out earlier?”

  We nodded.

  The female cop squinted then asked, “You’re both in the band, right? Pieces?”

  “We are,” Nic told her.

  “We heard you the other night when we were making rounds. You’re fantastic.”

  “Thanks,” Nic responded.

  She continued, “I’m a Georgetown alum myself. Never was in a sorority but I’m planning to attend this reunion dance since it’s open to the public. I’m looking forward to it.”

  This time I was the one to say “thanks” and tell her be sure to speak up with any requests she’d like to make.

  She winked at me. “Wouldn’t mind a little Katrina and the Waves.”

  I smiled back at her. “Walking on Sunshine? Sure! Could use a little sunshine these days couldn’t we? Both weather wise and atmosphere.”

  “Most definitely. Look, you two don’t need to be hanging out in parking lots anymore. I’d suggest someplace a bit less isolated. We want to keep your band safe and solid.
We’ll see you at the dance.”

  Nic and I hopped into his SUV.

  “Are you hungry?””

  “What?” I stared at him.

  “Hungry. As in food, although more kisses would be nice. There’s an all-night joint over on Highway 79. We could get coffee and breakfast? Unless you want to head straight get back to Junie’s?”

  “Coffee’s a great idea.” I gasped. “Oh, poo. Junie. I need to call her though and tell her we’re all right. I’m sure she’s awake and pacing.”

  Nic smiled as he turned the key in the ignition. “It’s okay. Reece called her the instant you phoned from the convenience store. And by the way, Junie will be thrilledabout us. She’s wanted us to get back together since the day you left ten years ago. I’m sure she’ll even use the good orchids from the greenhouse for the wedding she’ll begin planning the instant you tell her I proposed.”

  “Which is when?”

  “Now.”

  Chapter 36

  Nic pulled up in front of the Blume mansion somewhere around eight in the morning before heading back to his dad’s place in Austin. “I’m determined to sneak in at least three hours sleep, then I have to have a few concise and clarifying words with my father regarding my future wife.”

  “Nic, look, about your father . . .”

  “You’re not changing your mind, Bebe. And I’m not asking a question. I’m making a statement.”

  I shook my head. “The question is more on the order of what about you and family and your aspirations when it comes to being District Attorney of Dallas County? Or any county. I don’t want my admittedly sordid background to wreck your career.”

  Nic sighed. “First of all, it’s not your background. It’s your mom and dad’s. Secondly, I’m more concerned you’ll get hurt by political hacks with zero understanding blaming you for your mom and dad’s misdeeds. I couldn’t stand you having to deal with that kind of crap.”

  “Hey, I’m tougher than I used to be. I can take some bad publicity if I have to if it means you end up with the job you want.”

  Nic leaned over and kissed me. “Bebe, I do not have to run for D.A. Sure it might be cool on the resume, but I’d rather keep our private lives private. There’s actually a job opening in Travis County that I know I’ll like better and I’m already in the process of applying.”

  “In the prosecutor’s office?”

  Nic shook his head. “No. This is with the Innocence Project.”

  “Oh, cool! I’ve heard of them. I have to admit I love the idea of you joining the Innocence Project but your dad will go ballistic. I’ll bet anything he’ll blame me. I do not want to be the cause of hell on earth with your family.”

  Nic stared into my eyes. “If he goes ballistic he goes ballistic. If I’m disinherited, so be it. I love you. Enough said. Truthfully? I like the idea of being back in Austin. I like knowing we can both stay with the band if Dusty and Cam are up for it. We are not going to let my father run our lives and you are not going to feel guilty because he’s living in the Nineteenth century when it comes to families. Capiche?”

  I nodded. “Capiche.”

  Nic smiled. “So, Ms. Becerra, I’ll be back around five this evening so we can grab a quick bite to eat before tonight’s rehearsal. And by the way, if I haven’t said it, I love you very much.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Nic kissed me once more before I staggered into the Blume house in a happy daze.

  We’d stayed at the diner for several hours, eating, drinking coffee and talking. We’d chatted and laughed and refused to discuss anything more serious than deciding whether blueberry, raspberry or basic maple syrup was the best topping for the multi-grain pancakes piled high on our plates. I felt happy. Light and carefree and joyous and ready to sing fifteen choruses of “Walking on Sunshine” and mean every word.

  Light. Carefree. Joyous. All terrific emotions, which made the actions I took once I reached the Blume housein a wordstupid. Because instead of crawling into the comfy king-sized bed for some badly-needed sleep, instead of getting back to work on the music for Chasm sans notebook with lyrics, or enjoying a cup of tea in the kitchen with Mickey, inhaling the wonderful scent of some kind of chicken dish being baked for brunch, I showered, brushed my teeth, slapped on some make-up and some clean clothes, went down to the Blume garage and borrowed Junie’s 1957 Bellaire Chevy. Then I drove the thirty or so miles toward the cemetery where Daria Black’s body had been discovered. I wasn’t sure if the team from the crime scene unit of the Georgetown Police Department would still be there, sifting through the area in search of any clues as to who had killed Daria ten years ago, but it didn’t matter.

  I had no plans to interfere with their work. I was about to force myself to explore a cave about a mile from the cemetery.

  This particular light bulb had gone off about three seconds after Nic had dropped me off and I’d headed into the Blume house groaning over the enormous amount I’d eaten but still delighting in the goodness of the pancakes spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg. Spices. Eleven years ago Marigold had dragged me into a cave near an old cemetery and told me it was her special hideout. She’d called it Spice Dreams when she was seven because she said it smelled like Thanksgiving Day, and it sparkled with the dark, deep colors of all those delectable spices used for the holiday meal, like sage and nutmeg and cloves. She’d suckered me into an afternoon’s outing at Spice Dreams about three months after I had joined the band.

  It had been my concept of the depths and horror of Hadesexcept it was freezing instead of burning hot. I’d begged off from partaking in subsequent spelunking adventures, firmly explaining, with teeth bared in what I hoped was a fierce expression guaranteed to forestall any arguments, “Marigold, when I want to explore the great outdoors, I’d like the exploration to actually be outdoors. Batting bats away from my face in a dark, freezing cave is not at the top of my list for how to spend my summer vacation. Or autumn vacation or Christmas or Easter or whatever.”

  Marigold hadn’t cared. She’d told me she didn’t do a lot of spelunking anymore; hadn’t since she and Stone and Junie had done the caving and crawling thing years before.

  She’d gone on to flatly state she now only used Spice Dreams foras only Marigold could phrase it “down and dirty romantic trysts. There’s a corner right inside the cave nature set up very nicely for two people. Which, of course, in this case, is dirt underneath about six blankets. It’s gritty but astonishingly seductive, especially if you’re keeping up a rep as a free-lovin’, free-wheelin’earth goddess.”

  The cave was about three miles south of where the crime scene investigators had been working. I slowly drove past the yellow tape, which bordered the entire cemetery and a good five hundred yards beyond, praying Daria and her family would soon be at peace.

  There were no vehicles other than law enforcement in sight, which wasn’t surprising since the weather had done another flip sometime during the wee hours when Nic and I had been sharing pancakes. The weatherman on the Austin station had announced an unexpected spring Blue Norther was on its way and could possibly be followed by one of those gruesome May storms. Much as I dreaded the thought of exploring Spice Dreams, at least I’d be safe from the elements. Caves generally tend to stay put during high winds and funnel clouds. The Chevy might end up in the next county, but I figured I’d be as cozy as one could be in the wee corners of a dark, dank, stalactite-shimmering rock formation.

  I parked the Chevy close to the cave just as the first raindrops began and thunder started rolling. I quickly blessed Junie Blume who was not only an earth mother of the first order, a great communicator with an amazing knack for divining relationships and talking to flowers that bloom beautifully after one quick conversation, but a woman blessed with a streak of practicality nothing short of miraculous. She had outfitted the Chevy (and doubtless all the other Blume vehicles) with emergency supplies equipped for any major crisis nature could dish out. Food, water, blankets and first
aid kits. Books, in case one was caught somewhere for days without electricity and the biggest, boldest, brightest flashlight on the planet equipped with extra top-of-the-line-go-on-forever batteries.

  I grabbed the first-aid kit, a couple of snack bars and the flashlight, muttering, “Yep. I’m wacked. Totally cuckoo. I’m about to enter a true bat cave.” I tried not to beat myself over the head with the giant flashlight for taking off into the caverns of South Central Texas by myself on a day when I should have been mooning about Nic, whom, in my defense, I tried to call three times on the drive over. I rang his number again before actually entering the cave. Voice mail.

  I wasn’t sure what I expected to find inside Spice Dreams. Admittedly, I was hoping for tablets on the order of the Ten Commandments neatly stacked in Marigold’s favorite corner with all the lyrics to Chasm explained,and footnotes to boot. Recalling how much Marigold had loved this place, I had truly believed my friend would have left breadcrumbs or pumpkin seeds leading to a lexicon providing me every clue needed to discover what had happened to Marigold in those last weeksand consequently give me the answer as to who hadand was still abducting women from the Palace Theatre. Since I didn’t fit the profile I had the feeling my own abduction the night before had been more to do grabbing the bag and stealing the notebook, plus scaring me and keeping me from singing Chasm at the dance.

  There was nothing. Nothing but dirt and several very old blankets littered with bat droppings. The corner, which had once housed a very lively love life for Marigold Blume, was now nothing more than a sad reminder she was gone. The walls were enchanting, glittering in golden and amber hues under the glare of the flashlight, but they were devoid of meaning other than God’s graciousness in creating awesome sights capable of withstanding centuries of man and nature while remaining beautiful and mysterious.