by Tracy Ellen
Anna nodded quickly, wiping under her eyes with her bared hand. “I did know how in love you two were. Whenever I’ve thought about it over the years, I still can’t believe he did it.” She smiled a sad little grimace. “I gotta hand it to you, though, Junior. You succeeded in fooling everybody, me included. I thought you got over him so quickly it was weird, but I was so pissed off at him I was relieved you did. I’m really blown away to hear how bad off you were inside. Perception is such a confusing thing, isn’t it? I wish you didn’t have to be so freakin’ strong all the time. Sometimes, it makes me feel like a whiny bitch always blabbing about my problems when you don’t, but I guess it’s just who you are.” She sighed and squeezed my arm. “Okay, I see what a dumbass I was to bring him up. Let’s go in and get that Margarita. What do you say?”
“I say you, Miss Softie, are a gentleman and a scholar.” Grateful she changed topics; I pushed open the door and entered the toasty heat of Mac’s spacious back hall. “And don’t ever call yourself a dumbass. I reserved that right, remember?”
Anna laughter trilled. “I thought you reserved the right to call me an ass pants?”
“Well duh, dumbass, that too.”
I was called a mean name and pushed from behind by an indignant Anna only to be enveloped in a tight hug by my oldest sibling. I got cheek kisses between getting harped at for wearing no coat. All this hugging today was wearing me down. I heard Anna enter behind me and close the back door. I also heard the sound of a car starting nearby.
I took my head off Mac’s big sister shoulder. “Did we scare off Diego?”
Mac held me away and gave me an incredulous look. “You’re kidding, right? Diego Esteban Tomas Dos Santos trying to escape from a house full of women?” She chuckled at the absurdity. “We’d have to force him out. No, he’s working at the new market. That would be Candy you hear taking off. She stopped by to drop off that duffle bag for you on the bench, but didn’t stay. She has,” Mac raised her hand in quotes, “a mysterious ‘man meet’ tonight. Didn’t you see her out back?”
“She must have left by the front door.” I laughed shortly, briefly pitying the man. I reached for the duffle bag thinking maybe NanaBel would feel my pity vibes across the globe and finally be pleased I pitied something.
Mac slanted me an odd look, but turned to give Anna a hug. “Hi, heard you guys had an exciting day, huh?”
Anna, still wiping her feet on the door mat, held her finger and thumb up in a little bit gesture. They laughed together, and then Annie started in excitedly catching Mac up first on the news about Cheryl Crookston’s disappearance.
I checked out the contents of the duffle while Anna was talking. The Glock appeared to have been recently cleaned. I could smell the solvent and oil. The two clips Candy had snatched along with the gun were in the bag. One ten round magazine was still full of cartridges; the other had only five bullets left. Unless she had brought her own bullets, she hadn’t shot the gun much. I idly wondered what her real motivation was for going on the Duluth getaway. Had to be man related, Candy was always chasing some unsuspecting sucker.
I took out the gun, racked the slide and verified there was no bullet left in the chamber. I couldn’t take chances with Candy that it was unloaded properly. I inspected the Glock to verify no deposits were left in the chamber from earlier firing. I don’t know why I even bothered checking, I planned to thoroughly clean the gun later again no matter what I found. I placed the handgun back in the duffle and zipped it up.
I looked up just as Mac swung her attention back to me. Dressed simply in a light blue wrap shirt and black leggings, my sister didn’t look much older than Stella tonight. Every time she moved her left hand, sparkling color dazzled the eye from the four karat diamond knob she called a wedding ring. Eyes and cheeks shining, Mac’s lovely face reflected the same light and glowed with contented happiness.
I smiled. “So, what’s on the dinner menu tonight?”
“I made Nachos,” Mac laughingly rolled her eyes when Anna and I each shouted out “Nachos” at the same time she said the word, “and Jazy’s in the kitchen right now making Margarita’s.”
Mac doesn’t cook regular meals; her idea of dinner is appetizers. Her most frequent top choice is Nachos, but sometimes she messes with our heads and it’s a layered Taco Dip or Quesadillas. We play a guessing game which of the three it will be. It’s similar to Rock, Paper, Scissors. It’s all in good fun, but she’s gently discouraged by all the family from hosting Thanksgiving.
Anna headed for the sound of the blender. I started to follow; I could hear the tequila calling my name. The minute Anna cleared the back hall doorway, Mac had other ideas. She cupped my shoulders. We were eye to eye because she was in flats and I had on high heels.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you for watching over Stella! I know you’d take a bullet for her, but on Freddy’s grave, I swear to God if you ever do, Bel, that bullet had better kill you or I will.
We touched foreheads lightly even as I snickered. I love convoluted woman logic that makes such perfect sense. “Sure, Spook, whatever you say.”
Mac snickered back. “What, Freak? You don’t think I’ll kill you? Try me.”
She pulled back. “Now, how come I haven’t met this Superman Luke, and what’s up with the Candy Coater?”
Seeing Mac’s sly, humorous smile, it hit me how much Mac and Stella look alike with their expressive, aqua-blue eyes and their matching noses; elegant with a slight bump near the bridge. Mac recently started coloring her dark brown hair a pale, golden blonde. It still took me a minute to recognize her in public. I have walked right by her on the street more than once. It looks good on her. I don’t know why she’s pissed Reg has taken to calling her Malibu Barbie. I think it’s a cute name.
My oldest sister is persnickety. She’s immaculate, from her personal grooming and stylish clothing, to her overall spotless house. Nothing falls out of her kitchen cupboards in surprise when you open a random door, and you could eat off the floorboards of her vehicles. I didn’t let these flaws stop me from adoring her. I knew it was that responsibility-driven, overachieving, first kid birth order issue she couldn’t help. Not everyone can be the well-adjusted middle child.
What Stella didn’t inherit from her mother was Mac’s clever ability to size up a situation in a glance, and her innate understanding of the words subtle and nuance. Mac took in my outfit of choice for tonight and added, “Oh yeah, and I like the innocent, cupcake look. Doing a little damage control, are we?”
Smiling broadly, I held my arms out and curtsied in obsequious response to her mental acuity. I was a sweet, feminine confection in a high pony tail, pink silk top and tight, winter white slacks. I was even wearing brown heels. No all black for me tonight; looking like a dominatrix was no way to help the cause.
I was sure the grapevine drums were beating loud along the Mohican; I’d be getting all sorts of crap from friends and acquaintances tonight. Waiting around to go out in public wasn’t going to do me any good. Mac was spot on; I was planning on showing John Q Public things couldn’t have possibly been as bad as they’d heard at Bel’s Books just a few hours before.
I skimmed over the Luke part of her question by telling her she’d meet him at dinner the next night and could decide herself if he was Superman or Jimmy. I pointed at the duffle and indignantly told her what Candy had done.
“That shit’s so weak! She’s out of control. You never mess with someone’s gun.” Mac shook her head in disbelief.
“I know, right.” I agreed, smiling tightly.
From the doorway, Jazy spoke. “Candy needs her ass kicked up between her shoulder blades. Margaritas are served, my sisters. Now, Bel can start talking.”
I moaned while following them into the kitchen. “Ah man, can’t we do a mind meld instead? I just want to eat, drink, and be happy. Then go dance and not say a word for hours.”
Jazy patted my shoulder. “Embrace the suck, Anabel. Embrace the suck.”
Mac and Jazy laughed merrily at my expression.
Kenna wasn’t joining us and I was relieved. I like my second oldest sister, but there was a constraint between us due to old history and bad blood that prevented me from fully relaxing when she was around. It may have something to do with the fact she was pals with Candy. It may have something to do with the fact that she’s changeable and unreliable. She and Mac get along like oil and water, so there’s tension there. Mac’s pretty straight and Kenna carries around her own pharmacy. You could take your pick of reasons; I was simply glad she wasn’t around tonight.
The six of us were a lively group sitting around Mac’s kitchen island on bar stools eating Nachos and drinking Margaritas. Stella and Anna took turns filling the others in on the blow-by-blow recounting of the day, so I didn’t have to talk much. I was able to kick back and mostly listen while my five favorite females excitedly dissected the mystery of the missing Cheryl Crookston and the horror story of Larissa’s ex.
I smiled in the right places, and occasionally commented, but I found myself still feeling like I was outside my own skin looking in. I wanted to relax, but I pushed away my drink. The tequila wasn’t calling my name after all. My right foot was jiggling my leg up and down like it was motorized.
I took a deep breath and tried to center in on what was causing my unrest. It was hard to determine if I was still experiencing an aftermath from today, or if I was anxious over something else. I concentrated on breathing slowly in and out, the girl’s conversation a pleasant buzzing in the background. I emptied my mind of any conscious thoughts of Luke, or any of the other people bugging me from today.
I didn’t come up with any answers, but I was ready to go when the dishes were stacked neatly in the dishwasher and Mac announced we should hit the road. I felt like a live-wire strumming with energy.
Our group walked Stella out to her studio door and said our goodnights. She was having a friend over to watch a movie. We had to tease her when she confessed it was a male friend, who was not really just a friend, yet nothing more than a friend, at this moment in time. After that clear answer, the most she would say was his name was Eric George Jasnik and he was totally cute.
Everyone climbed into the van, leaving me the front seat. I guess it was my special night.
Before I opened my door, I hurriedly whispered to the waiting Stella, “Hey, is this the dude I’ve glimpsed you waiting on so much lately in the Sci-fi section?”
She grinned, putting her hand up above her head. “He’s about so tall with blondish-brownish hair and a butt courtesy of Lacrosse?”
I grinned back. “Ah, male sports are a wonderful thing. Don’t do anything I would do, you hear?”
“When am I going to be old enough to do what you would do?” Stella laughingly demanded.
Squeezing her shoulders, I gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek. I opened the van door. “Silly girl, when you’re my age, of course.”
Stella sputtered. “You have been saying that for years, Auntie Bel, you damn brat!”
I laughingly waved and Tre J honked lightly as we left. Stella waved back before climbing the stairs to her studio. By habit, like a well rehearsed dance move, all five of us craned our heads to watch until we saw her door close and Stella was safely in her apartment.
Chapter XII
“Smackwater Jack” by Carole King
Saturday 11/17/12
8:40 PM
We were on our way to the Castle Rock N’ Roll Bar and Grill, or The Rock as it’s called by us locals. It’s about ten minutes north of Northfield and sits at the lonely junction of two county roads miles from nowhere. It’s a hot spot well known for hiring local bands great to dance to on the weekends. The Rock packed the house nuts to butts, but not until closer to ten o’clock most Friday or Saturday nights.
With all the pent-up energy I was feeling, I didn’t care if we were unfashionably early. We’d get a table and I could lose myself in dancing for a couple of hours on a less crowded dance floor.
A Colbie Caillat song came on and Anna started us off “I do, I do, I doing” from the back. Soon the van was swaying on its axles as Tre J whizzed us out of town and up Highway 3 towards Castle Rock.
It was fun to cut loose and act wild, singing to the loud music and dancing in our seats from the waist up. It didn’t take long for Mac and Jazy to start changing the words of the song to something nasty. Anna was screaming with laughter from the very back seat while Tre J pounded the steering wheel. Tre’s belly laugh is so contagious; soon we were all screaming our laughter as hard as Anna.
I don’t think any of us knew what was happening when our van was first rammed abruptly off the road, tilting us dangerously and changing our laughter into real screams of confused terror.
It was the front and back wheels on my passenger side that hit the sloping, asphalt shoulder at sixty miles per hour, causing the van to violently rock and sway at the difference in the surfaces and angle of the tires.
“Hold on!” Tre J bellowed. She did not use the brakes, but took her foot off the gas to slow us down to a safe speed to cross back up. At the same time, she fought the steering to keep the van steady and not roll or flip us as we sailed half on and half off the road. The shoulder was paved here, and not the deeper gravel that would have almost guaranteed the van rolling at this sloping grade.
Glancing in her side view mirror she shouted in enraged disbelief, “That van rammed us!”
At the word “van”, I whipped my head around. It was dark. I couldn’t see past everyone’s heads in the back, or through the tinted van windows. I could only see headlights racing up behind us again.
“He’s coming after us! Hold tight everyone!” I shouted. Tre J was scowling with concentration. “Can you get us back up on the road and go faster?”
“Oh, yeah!” She shouted back, instantly wrenching the wheel to the left.
The passenger side of the Chrysler followed and shot up over the ledge of the blacktop shoulder.
We were level on all four wheels again, but we were soon shrieking and yelling in terror because the van barreled across the middle line and into the headlights of oncoming traffic. Tre J immediately compensated by punching it while sharply yanking the steering wheel back to the right. Fishtailing wildly at first, the van straightened out. We’d made it back into our own lane right before a semi truck bearing down on us sailed past in a whoosh of blasting air with its loud horn sounding off angrily. It narrowly missed creaming us by a split second.
Swiveling to look behind, I snapped off my seatbelt while cheering on a white-faced but determined Tre J. “Go, you wild woman! He’s right on our tail—GO!”
Jazy screamed a rebel yell while Mac shouted over her, “What’s going on, why is this guy after us?”
Anna screamed frantically from the back, “It’s the man in the van from today! He’s trying to kill us!”
I had the duffle bag in my lap, but had to fall on it to keep it from flying when another smack hit us from behind as the killer van crashed into us again. The hit was on the back left bumper and caused us to swerve sharply, but not go off the road this time. Thankfully, Tre J has experience driving big rigs because now that she knew what was happening there wasn’t a better person to have behind the wheel. She didn’t panic. She held the van steady and we were pulling ahead while flying at over ninety.
Jazy yelled in warning, “Curve coming up soon!”
Tre J nodded grimly. She reluctantly eased her foot off the gas pedal and hollered, “Damn! He’s catching up again!”
There were no headlights in sight coming towards us, so Tre J kept to the middle of the road.
The three girls in back cried, “Hold on!”
The van was rocked violently from the left side, rear bumper once more. The back end tires were hopping and stuttering as they slid out to the right. Tre didn’t hit the brakes, but again took her foot off the gas and went with the slide, only lightly steering. I thought we were going off the road and would flip thi
s time for sure, but then the tires gripped and shot us out forward in the right direction.
We all cheered in noisy relief while screaming encouragement to Tre. She kept ahead of the van behind us, swerving back and forth in a random pattern to not be such an easy target. There were no oncoming headlights, but the curve was fast approaching and we couldn’t take it going this speed.
Tre was chanting furiously, “Shit, Shit, Shit!”
I had the duffle opened, and my Glock out. I slapped in the full magazine, racked the slide to chamber a bullet, and flipped off the safety. I hit the button to lower my window.
At the sudden blast of cold wind, Tre J dared a quick glance over at me. A beaming grin the size of the Mississippi broke across her tense face at the sight of the gun in my left hand.
Jazy saw it and pounded her seat. “Yes! Shoot the crazy fucker, Bel!”
Mac sat forward to see around my chair. “Get him, Sister!”
Yelling to be heard over the sound of the air screaming in through my open window and the even louder screaming coming from behind me, I instructed Tre. “Go ahead and slow down. Keep to our right to lure him. Let him almost catch up, and then I’m going to hang out the window and shoot back at him. When he gets close you have to swerve to the middle of the road so I have a better shot at him. Got it?”
Eyes on the road, Tre J let loose a war cry and shouted, “Got it!”
Jazy unbuckled in a flash and knelt between the seats and faced back. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell you when to shoot!”