Fort Lupton

by Christian, Claudia Hall

  “I can sell my store or get more renters or . . .”

  “Stop,” Aden said. “Just stop.”

  “How can I stop?” Sandy asked. “We have to do something!”

  “Not really,” Aden said.

  “What are you talking about?” Sandy’s voice rose.

  She felt her exhaustion and sorrow transform to rage. Rather than scream at him, she spun in place and went into the bathroom. She slammed the door and sat down on the edge of the bathtub. He opened the door.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “I’m hiding from you,” Sandy said.

  “Why?”

  “Because you piss me off!”

  “Why is that?” Aden asked.

  Her mouth opened and closed like a fish before she stalked out of the small bathroom. When she passed him, he grabbed her shoulders and held her in place.

  “Why are you angry with me?” he asked.

  “By your own admission, you gave no thought to your own safety or our family’s financial life,” Sandy said. “You just sprang into action to catch a shooter and save the day, leaving the rest of us to pick up the pieces again.”

  “I stopped them!” Aden said.

  “For who?” Sandy asked. “For Noelle? No, she was there bleeding on the ground while the police detained you to chat about what you’d done.”

  Aden let her go and looked down at the ground.

  “You’re off playing hero while we’re . . .” Sandy shook her head and went into the bedroom. “AGAIN!”

  “We’re?” he asked. “We’re what?”

  She threw her hands over her head and plopped back down on the bed. He stood in the doorway staring at her.

  “I can’t believe you’re mad at me for stopping the shooter,” Aden said. “How hypocritical can you be? You jump at any chance to help anyone anytime. Now you’re pissed at me for . . .”

  His voice faded, and he stared at the ground.

  “For what?” Sandy asked. “What am I angry with you for?”

  He scowled at her and tried to remember what she was mad about.

  “For risking yourself,” Sandy said. “That’s reasonable.”

  He gave a slight nod of his head.

  “For wrecking the car,” Aden said.

  “For making things harder,” Sandy said. “Everything just gets harder and harder and harder. First there’s that stupid detective and then Charlie, and now Noelle and you! Isn’t it hard enough? Aren’t things hard enough?”

  He gave her a long look.

  “We’re completely broke,” Sandy said.

  “We could use the money we get from your father’s pension,” Aden said.

  “Charlie and Sissy need that for college!”

  “Sissy’s not going to college,” Aden said. “No matter what you think, Sissy is not going to college. And we need the money now. That’s what his pension is for!”

  “And what? When Charlie gets to school, we say ‘Tough luck, Charlie. You shouldn’t have been beaten up?’” Sandy asked. “It’s bad enough that we mooch off my best friend for a place to live!”

  “We stay here because of me.” Aden shook his head.

  “Yeah, right,” Sandy snorted.

  Aden opened his mouth to argue with her but she turned away from him.

  “I can’t work more!” Sandy said. “I can’t work more! I . . .”

  “You don’t have to!” Aden said.

  “Yes, I do,” Sandy said. “You make less than half what you did when I met you.”

  “The state . . .” Aden started.

  “I know!” Sandy said. She took a breath and slowly let it out. “I know. The state, the bullies, the feds, the people who beat up Charlie, and the asshole who shot Noelle. I know.”

  She flopped back on the bed.

  “The game is rigged against people like us,” Sandy said. “They screw us and there’s nothing we can do about it. They get away with it and . . .”

  She covered her eyes as the tears came.

  “I think we should have another child,” Aden said, revealing his bright idea.

  Sandy threw a pillow at him.

  “I see you agree,” Aden said. “Would you like to get started?”

  Sandy couldn’t help but chuckle. She leaned up on an elbow to look at him.

  “People who screw people have to live with the ugly nature of their own actions,” Aden said. “They are awful, ugly people who never know the smallest moments of . . .”

  “Joy, laughter, and love,” Sandy said. She gave a slight smile. “‘Ugly, awful people never know the small, wonderful moments of joy, laughter, love, and music.’ Andy wrote that on the cover of each of her journals.”

  “She was right,” Aden said.

  “She was killed by that stupid detective,” Sandy said. “Thrown off a building.”

  “After her fondest dream came true,” Aden said.

  Sandy scowled.

  “She and I have that in common,” Aden said.

  “What?”

  “You are our fondest dream,” Aden said.

  Sandy gave a small smile. She wiped her tears.

  “I have to . . .” Sandy started.

  “You don’t really,” Aden said.

  “But . . .”

  “It can wait,” Aden said.

  Sandy sat up to look at him.

  “What?” Sandy asked.

  “We’re okay,” Aden said. “You’re okay. I’m okay. The kids are okay. Everything’s changing, that’s true. But all in all, we’re okay.”

  “Noelle’s going to have to leave town,” Sandy said.

  “Nash too,” Aden said.

  “And Charlie,” Sandy said. “At least until they testify.”

  “What about Ivy?” Aden asked.

  “No one’s said anything about her,” Sandy said. “I don’t think anyone considers her.”

  “She should probably go too,” Aden said.

  “Sissy’s going to New York,” Sandy said.

  “That’s why we need another child,” Aden said.

  Sandy groaned and flopped back on the bed.

  “What?” Aden grinned. “Why did you groan?”

  “Just because they are gone, doesn’t mean they won’t need us,” Sandy said. “They will need us more than they do even now!”

  She lay staring at the ceiling for a moment.

  “If we’re going to do this, we need to do it on our terms,” Sandy said.

  “What does that mean?” Aden asked.

  “The DA wants to meet with us tonight,” Sandy said.

  “And?”

  “We need to have the kids out of here by then,” Sandy said.

  “Can we do that?” Aden asked.

  “Just watch me,” Sandy said.

  Aden grinned.

  “What?” Sandy asked.

  “That’s my girl,” Aden said.

  “And the hopeless, overwhelmed me?” Sandy asked. “Who’s she?”

  “Oh, she’s you,” Aden said. “Learned helplessness.”

  Sandy scowled at him.

  “You can’t let the bastards beat you,” Aden said.

  Sandy grinned.

  “What?” Aden asked.

  “You think Mike will let me take his Bronco?” Sandy asked. “So cool.”

  “It’s dangerous!”

  “You should have thought of that before you wrecked the Saab,” Sandy said.

  Aden scowled and nodded.

  “Val’s Mustang is pretty sweet,” Aden said.

  “Oooh Celia’s Mercedes!” Sandy said.

  “It will be hard to be a bad ass in a diesel Mercedes tank,” Aden said.

  “Just watch me,” Sandy said.

  Aden laughed.

  Chapter Three hundred and nineteen

  Chocolate chip cookies

  Saturday afternoon — 1:37 p.m.

  Sandy looked down at her iPhone and back at the address stamped
on the curb. She couldn’t see the house through the tall juniper bushes and Colorado blue spruces that surrounded the large property. She checked her iPhone one last time. This was the address. She watched the heavy Monaco Boulevard traffic in her side mirror until there was a short break. She jumped out of Celia’s old diesel Mercedes and jogged around the car. She went to old red flagstone front walk.

  Even though the day was warm, the dark foliage of the trees cast a chilling shadow. Sandy instinctively shivered against the cold. She went to the low chain link fence gate and opened it. Stepping through the gate, she felt like she’d stepped into a foreign land. The sun was shining. The grass was at a perfect height. Even the garden beds had the look of having just been attended. to

  There was a beautiful white marble statue with a fountain surrounded by a purple flagstone patio just in front of the house. Two teak rocking chairs looked as if they’d just been set there. There was a pitcher of lemonade with at least a dozen fresh ice cubes floating in it. Two tall crystal glasses sat on the low table between the rocking chairs.

  Sandy glanced up at the house. Wearing jeans and a deep purple silk shirt, Bestat stood on the porch with her infant daughter, Neuth, on her hip. Bestat waved to Sandy. An older woman wearing the traditional dress of Bestat’s native Egypt came out of the house and took Neuth. Bestat said something to the woman in a foreign language and came down the steps.

  Bestat kissed Sandy’s cheeks before gesturing to the chairs.

  “It’s warm today, sunny,” Bestat said. “I thought we could pretend it was spring.”

  Sandy sat down in the rocking chair Bestat indicated. Her host sat in the one closest to the path. They had just gotten settled when a young man dressed in traditional Egyptian clothing brought them genuine sheep-fleece blankets, and another elderly woman came out with a plate of chocolate chip cookies. Overwhelmed by the attention, Sandy blushed and smiled.

  “Was that too much?” Bestat asked.

  “Um,” Sandy scowled.

  “Like you, I have a few very close friends. I don’t do . . .” Bestat waved her hand between them, “ . . . this . . . well, ever, really.”

  “I don’t either,” Sandy said. “But I’m glad I came. Thank you for taking the time.”

  “Of course. It is my pleasure,” Bestat said. “Cookie?”

  She held the plate out to Sandy. Not wanting to be rude, Sandy took a cookie. She didn’t really like chocolate chip cookies. She thought they were bland. Smelling something divine, Sandy sniffed the cookie and took a bite.

  “Decadent?” Bestat asked.

  “They look like regular cookies!” Sandy said.

  “They do.” Bestat nodded. “Those usual cookies — slabs of salty butter and chocolate . . .”

  Bestat wrinkled her lip and gave a shake of her head.

  “I don’t like them either,” Sandy said. “But these . . . what’s in them?”

  “Cinnamon, cardamom, love — oh, and that sugar you call ‘natural sugar,’” Bestat said. “Sugar crystals give them crunch.”

  “Great ideas,” Sandy said.

  “My cook is very good,” Bestat said. “I bring her with me everywhere I go. She has been with me all of her life. Her mother was also my cook . . . uh . . . when I was young.”

  Sandy smiled and felt a little fuzzy, almost drunk. She rubbed her forehead. When she looked up, Bestat gave her a long lashed bat of her almond-colored eyes.

  “How is Noelle?” Bestat asked.

  “Good,” Sandy said. “My husband is bringing her home from the hospital right now.”

  “She is a wonderful girl,” Bestat said.

  Sandy nodded. Needing to enjoy a simple quiet moment, Sandy focused on her cookie. Bestat poured the lemonade and let her think.

  “I need your help,” Sandy said.

  “Yes,” Bestat said.

  “Yes?” Sandy asked.

  “I will help you with whatever you need,” Bestat said.

  “Why?” Sandy asked, and then instantly felt embarrassed.

  “Because you were my Zack’s friend in one of the darkest moments of his life,” Bestat said.

  “He really saved me, not the other way around,” Sandy said.

  “You saved each other,” Bestat said. “And then, you could have taken him, kept him, but you let him go — for his benefit and for yours.”

  Sandy blushed and looked at the gorgeous white statue and fountain in front of her. There was a ribbon of marble fabric around the woman’s middle and between her legs. She held a basket above her head and the water dribbled off the side of the basket into a pond filled with koi. The fish peeked over the edge of the pond to look at Sandy.

  “He is handsome, funny, and loves you,” Bestat said.

  “He and I aren’t meant . . .”

  “Yes,” Bestat said. “It takes an old, wise soul to know something like that.”

  “I never really thought about it . . .” Sandy stopped talking when she saw Bestat smile.

  “I always help the old souls,” Bestat said.

  “And the young ones?” Sandy smiled.

  “Make sure they don’t interfere,” Bestat said.

  Sandy smiled and took a drink of her lemonade. She wrinkled her nose.

  “Good too?” Bestat asked.

  “Amazing,” Sandy said. “Not too sweet, What’s . . .”

  “Honey,” Bestat said.

  “Honey?” Sandy asked. “I’ve never thought of it.”

  “I get it from Alex,” Bestat said. “But Delphie’s is wonderful, as you know.”

  Sandy smiled and took another drink.

  “How might I help?” Bestat asked.

  “Noelle needs to leave Denver,” Sandy said. “Nash, probably, too. They are in danger here. Here they have big lives, friends, family. They need to become invisible until this trial is over.”

  “Yes,” Bestat said. “I believe you are correct.”

  “Charlie and Sissy too,” Sandy said. “But that’s another matter.”

  “Oh?” Bestat asked.

  “Sissy will start her apprenticeship at a professional ballet company in a month,” Sandy said. “She will be staying at my father’s apartment in a big anonymous city. We believe she will be safe there.”

  When Bestat didn’t say anything, Sandy pressed on.

  “We found an art school in New York City,” Sandy said. “Mike has been mentoring Noelle. He says that it’s a great school for her. My father called last night, and Noelle can start there now. She can live with Sissy.”

  “And Charlie?” Bestat asked. “He is the one in the most danger.”

  “Charlie will live with my father — um, I think you know him — Seth O’Malley?” Sandy asked.

  “I know your father, Seth O’Malley.” Bestat smiled. “That’s a good idea. Charlie will have fun with them.”

  Sandy nodded.

  “How might I help?” Bestat asked.

  “Teddy has lived with us the last two summers,” Sandy said. “I’m wondering if Nash can stay with him, with you.”

  “My son, Teddy, lives here at the house during the school year and with you in the summer,” Bestat said.

  Sandy squinted her eyes. She wasn’t sure what Bestat was saying.

  “I guess I’m confused,” Bestat said.

  “Nash needs a place to live and . . .” Sandy started.

  “Noelle is in danger,” Bestat said. “Sissy too, correct?”

  Sandy nodded.

  “Why don’t they live with me in New York?” Bestat asked. “I have a full staff there and an office at the consulate. We can make sure Sissy gets a good start at the ballet company. Noelle can get settled in her program.”

  “But . . .” Sandy started. She closed her mouth to keep from expressing her frustration.

  “Nash, yes,” Bestat said. “As you know, Teddy and Nash are boys. They can live in sleeping bags on the floor of an unheated hut for a year and think that was cool.”

  “Yes, but . . .” Sandy
started.

  “They can live with Alex,” Bestat said.

  “With Alex?” Sandy asked. “I can’t . . . I mean . . .”

  “Teddy loves it there,” Bestat said.

  “Nash does too,” Sandy said. “They work the boys like dogs, too. They have to do their homework, chores . . .”

  “Work out,” Bestat said.

  “No excuses,” Sandy said. She shook her head. “And they love it! I can’t get them to . . .”

  “I can’t either,” Bestat said.

  “Are you sure Alex wouldn’t mind?” Sandy asked.

  “She has already offered,” Bestat said. “Those Irishmen need some help with their bakery.”

  “Is that safe?” Sandy asked.

  “They should be all right,” Bestat said. “You know almost everyone in the house fought in one war or another. They keep themselves safe; the boys should be safe as well.”

  Sandy cleared her throat and drank her lemonade.

  “What is happening?” Bestat asked.

  “You have it all figured out and . . .” Sandy started.

  “Not really.” Bestat smiled.

  Sandy looked at her.

  “We want to help,” Bestat said. “That is all.”

  “Thank you,” Sandy said.

  “What about Ivy?” Bestat asked.

  “What about her?” Sandy asked.

  “They tried to shoot her as well,” Bestat said.

  “They did?”

  “Yes, of course,” Bestat said. “She is the youngest of the girls. Her testimony carries the greatest penalty.”

  “Colin Hargreaves was shot too,” Sandy said.

  “He’s gone into hiding with his family,” Bestat said. “Art Rasmussen too.”

  “Wow,” Sandy said.

  “It must be done,” Bestat said.

  “And Ivy?” Sandy asked.

  “You won’t be able to keep her safe here,” Bestat said.

  “I’ll talk to Delphie,” Sandy said.

  They lapsed into silence. The gorgeous fountain’s gentle, burbling water seemed to scream at Sandy now. She watched the placid look on the woman’s face and wondered why her burdens seemed so light.

  “You haven’t mentioned yourself,” Bestat said.

  “Me?” Sandy asked.

  “Much of what is going on revolves around what happened to you when you were a child,” Bestat said.