by Dara Girard
His cell phone rang. He glanced at the number then picked up. "Hello?"
"I'm sending you a photo," Greta said. "Tell me what you think,"
Vance looked at the picture of the Court of Neptune Fountain in DC. "Wow that's incredible."
"I know. I was browsing the internet and I saw it and immediately thought of you. I dug up these pictures I took when I was there. It’s a great fountain to see in person, up close. I wish you could see it for real."
"Me too." He wished he was there with her.
"You and Sylvie have to make plans to go there one day. I'm sending you some more pictures."
Vance looked at another picture of Greta sitting at the base of the fountain. He barely noticed the fountain--all he focused on was her. He traced her smile with his finger then he noticed how her top dipped low and he could see her cleavage. Her skin looked so smooth and soft. He still remembered the scent of her skin. He felt himself grow hard. He'd had the same response when they'd been in the jewelry store, and when she was getting ready to play her clarinet. He swore. He didn't just want to be with her. He wanted her.
"Did you get them?" she asked.
Vance rubbed his face, feeling torn. He loved hearing her voice and he didn't want their conversation to end, but it had to stop. "Yes, I have to go."
"What's wrong?"
He picked up a pencil one by one, and dropped them back into their holder. "Nothing."
"Friends are supposed to be honest with each other, right?"
"Yes."
"Then why are you lying to me?"
Vance briefly closed his eyes, searching for the right response. He really had to get off the phone, he just couldn't tell her why. "I bought Sylvie's ring."
"Are you nervous that she won't like it?"
He'd never been nervous asking a woman for anything. "Hmm."
"You'll be fine. Let me tell you what's going to happen. You're going to show her the ring and she's going to cry with joy and then," her voice cracked and her words died away.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she said in a voice too bright to be genuine.
Vance felt his heart pick up speed and he tightened his grip on the phone, wondering if she felt the same attraction he did. There was something in her voice he hadn't heard before. "And then what?" he asked in a soft tone.
"You'll get married and be very happy. Now, I'll let you go. Bye."
"Bye."
Vance tossed his phone down, depressed and annoyed with himself for feeling so. What the hell had he expected her to say? He stood and paced the room. He glanced at the corner where he'd removed the large potted plant she'd given him. He'd taken it out of his office and put it in his apartment. Every time he looked at it, he remembered the day she'd brought it to him. The day she'd come back into his life. He rested the flat of his hands on his desk and took a deep breath. This wasn't good. He knew he was in trouble.
***
Greta was glad to be home. It had been a grueling trip, but she had to admit, she'd missed Vance. The two weeks hadn't lessened her feelings for him as she'd hoped. She'd almost given herself away on the phone when she was talking to him about the engagement ring he bought for Sylvie. But she'd pressed to find out what was wrong with him. She could tell, by his voice, that something was bothering him and he'd shared the truth: He loved his girlfriend so much he was nervous about asking her to marry him, afraid she'd say no. He didn't seem the type to have that kind of anxiety, but why would he lie about it?
Greta knew then what her next step would be. She had to meet Sylvie. She had to see Vance and Sylvie together so that she could see the love and commitment between them. It would be painful, but she had to face the truth. She'd invite Vance and Sylvie over for lunch and then never call him again. Staying friend would be too painful. Greta took her luggage out of her trunk and walked up the steps to her front door. She put her key in the lock and turned the door knob. She opened the door and screamed.
Chapter Eight
Greta knew immediately what had happened. There had been a police raid. Inside her house looked like a bomb had gone off. In the living room, nothing was spared. The carpet was ripped up, and several of the wooden floor planks were pulled up. They had pulled away some of the wallpaper, looking for ‘hidden’ places. She knew the drill, she had witnessed two drug busts by the age of eighteen, while living with her mother. Her beloved couch, which she had inherited from Minnie, had been totally torn up, with all the stuffing and upholstery torn and ripped. Using crow bars, hacksaws and hammers the police had crudely pulled away some of the wood paneling she prized that covered one wall. An antique roll-top desk, where she kept her bills and papers, was open and all the contents were strewn on the floor. Even her clarinet case had been destroyed.
She rushed to the basement, where the floor tiles were dug up. They’d punched holes in the walls, leaving broken pieces of sheetrock in heaps on the floor. They must have found a stash of drugs hidden there, and decided to pry up the entire basement. Greta was too stunned to cry, as her anger continued to grow. She raced back up the stairs and ran out to the porch. They had done the most damage to the back of the house. The ceiling tiles in the covered patio had all been pulled down and broken. All the detailed original woodwork she loved so much had been pulled away and now lay in pieces. The screen door was crudely pulled off its hinges, and thrown aside.
Box cutters or sharp knives had been used to tear into the new patio furniture Greta had just bought last years, including all the stuffed pillows. They didn’t even take the time to unzip them, they just cut them open. In the kitchen, each cabinet was thrown open and items were thrown on the floor. It was apparent they must not have found any drugs there, but not before pulling several cabinets from the wall. Her bedroom was also ransacked. Only the bathroom was spared.
Fuming Greta marched into her mother's bedroom and found her lying on the bed. Her bedroom was also torn up, from top to bottom. A built-in bookcase had been pried from the wall and they had cut through both mattresses. Incredibly, her mother hadn’t even bothered to try and clean up anything. Instead, she’d just thrown a stained sheet over the mattress, which she was lying on, and had stacked her clothing on her mirrored dresser. She stubbed out a cigarette. "I didn't hear you come in."
Greta fought to keep her voice level. Her mother wasn't supposed to smoke inside the house, but evidently that wasn’t the only rule she'd decided to break. Greta pointed to the door. "What happened to my house?" Greta tried to stay calm, but couldn't help shouting.
Rita sat up and held out her hands. "It was a mistake."
"The police came here by mistake?"
"No."
"What happened? This was a drug raid, wasn't it?" She waved her hands. "That was a rhetorical question, I already know the answer."
Rita jumped up. "I have a headache and I don't want to talk about it right now." She brushed past Greta and left the room.
Greta followed her down the hall. "You will talk about it." She grabbed her mother’s arm and spun her around to face her. "Did this happen because of Terrell?"
Rita stared back, but soon let her gaze fall. "I'm sorry, baby."
"You let him stay here, didn't you?"
"I didn't see the harm in it. He was so sweet to me and he never caused any trouble."
"So, every time I had to travel for my job, you let him use my house to stash his drugs."
"I'm sorry, okay? When I gave him a key, I didn’t know he’d been coming and hiding his dope here.”
Greta’s temper flared. “You gave him a key to my house?”
“He treated me so good, baby. All he needed was a place to sleep from time to time. And you'd go away on your trips and we have the space, so I couldn’t say no to him.”
Greta's body trembled with rage and her breath burned in her throat. “And you didn't think it was strange that he always decided to stay with you when I was out of town?”
"I was too busy enjoying having the house to
ourselves. But you don't have to worry. I learned my lesson. He's being charged with drug possession, so I won't be seeing him anymore."
Greta stared at her mother so furious she could hardly speak. Her mother acted as if the drug raid was comparable to spilling red wine on a white carpet. She was clueless. Greta walked passed her. "I'm through with this. I want you out."
"I just made a mistake."
"One too many. I can't take it anymore Mom. Look around you. Do you see what they did to my house? Our house?” Her voice shook as she fought back tears. “How am I supposed to get this mess cleaned up?" She held up her fist and shook it in her mother's face. "If I didn't love you, I'd knock your teeth out." She stepped back and let her hand fall. "I'm tired of not knowing who you're with, where you're going or where you've been. I'm tired of being a parent to you. You don't like my rules, that's fine. You need to find a place where you belong. I have to live here Mom. I have to deal with the neighbors looking at me funny because a bunch of cops tore up my place. As a child there was nothing I could do when the police busted down our door looking for drugs. It was your place, and you’d let one or more of you men use our place as a ‘drop’, but I will not have that here."
Rita shoved her back. "Get out of my face."
"You're not listening to me," Greta shouted, her voice raw with pain.
"All I'm hearing is you trying to sound better than me. You think you're better than everyone. You're just like my mother. You think you have the right to tell other people how to live their lives. But you don't. You're alone for a reason. No man wants you."
"And we know what men want you for."
Rita slapped her, hard. Her ring busted Greta's lip causing it to bleed.
Greta gingerly touched her lip. "Get out." She held up her hand. "And don't say you're sorry, because I don't care right now."
Rita didn't take long to pack. She stuffed her car with her few belongings, jumped into the driver's seat and pulled out of the driveway. Greta watched her from the doorway. Her mother looked at her and gave her a crude hand gesture then drove away.
Greta wasn't offended by the gesture or the slap. She knew her mother was just angry and hurt and had to lash out at someone. She had to blame someone else for her situation and Greta had always been an easy target. She knew that in a few days, her mother would call her in tears and beg her to let her come back and Greta hoped she would be strong enough, this time, to finally say no. She'd done her mother no favors by letting her live this long without facing the consequences of her actions. Greta closed the door, then leaned against it and slid to the ground and sobbed.
***
"I'm sorry ma'am but that's not covered."
Greta felt like screaming at the falsely polite male voice on the other end of the phone. Although she had not been charged with drug possession, her mother’s boyfriend had taken full responsibility, when it came to dealing with her insurance company they refused to pay for any of the damage, since drugs were found, and as a result, the search was justified. Although Greta could provide evidence that she was unaware that Terrell had used her house as a place to hide his stash, her insurance company would not budge. She'd spent over an hour trying to explain the situation and getting nowhere.
"Thank you," she said then hung up the phone. Greta knew that the extensive damage would be too costly for her to cover, and she didn't want to bother her grandmother. Minnie had been telling her, over and over, that one day her mother would ruin her, just like she had ruined her own life. But Greta hadn’t been ready to allow her mother to be homeless.
“Greta," her grandmother had said almost as a plea. "I know you think I sound harsh, but Rita is not your responsibility.”
“If not me, then who?”
“I tried my best as a mother. Your uncles turned out fine, I don’t know what went wrong with your mother. But I do know this, she’ll keep bringing you down. You'll regret letting her move in with you to that lovely little house you bought.”
But Greta had felt confident that Rita wouldn’t try her old tricks. Since moving into the three bedroom house she had bought, Rita had promised to live by Greta’s rules. Marlene and Brianna were also living there, and for awhile things seemed to be working. She had no illusion that both Marlene and Rita were still using drugs, but at least they didn’t bring their bad habits into the house. Finally, she felt they were safe, especially Brianna. She didn’t want her niece to go through all that she had experienced. But her grandmother had been right. Her mother had filled her with regrets.
Her cell phone rang. Greta looked at the number: Vance. It was the sixth time he'd called since her return from Rhode Island and she'd ignored all his calls. She didn't want to talk to him. She didn't want to talk to anybody. She didn't want him to know about this. She was too ashamed. She turned the ringer off then put her head down on the table.
***
Vance looked at his phone and swore. Why wasn't she picking up? Why wouldn't she return any of his calls? He'd been short with her during their last conversation, but he didn't picture her as one to carry a grudge. Something didn't feel right. He decided that after work he'd stop by her place. He just wanted to make sure she was okay.
***
Greta was sweeping up some more broken glass she found under a table, when someone rang her doorbell. She wasn't expecting anyone. She groaned imagining seeing her mother on the other side of the door. But, her mother usually hit the doorbell four to five times, just to annoy her and the bell had only rung once. Greta set her broom aside and checked the peephole. She saw Vance. He was the last person she wanted to see right now. She stepped outside and closed the door behind her.
"Hi," she said with a smile.
He didn't smile back. "I just wanted to check in with you."
She kept her hand on the door handle. "As you can see I'm fine."
"I called you several times."
Greta gripped the door handle tighter. "I know, I got your messages. I've been busy."
He glanced at the door then frowned at her. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing, I'm just very busy."
"You've been crying."
She rubbed her eye. "It's just allergies."
"And what happened to your lip?" He folded his arms. "Are you going to tell me you got stung by a bee?"
"I got stung by something," she said trying to sound flippant.
His gaze hardened. "Stop lying."
Her eyes filled with tears. "Please go. I can’t deal with you or anyone right now."
Vance rested his hands on his hips. "Either you move or I move you. It's your choice."
“I don't want you to see." Greta hung her head. "I'm too tired to fight you."
"Then don't."
"Please. I don't want you to see..."
He waited.
Greta hesitated, then surrendered to the fact that he wouldn't leave. She stepped aside.
Vance grabbed the door handle then swung the door open. He stood paralyzed in the doorway.
"It was a drug bust," Greta said, answering his silent question. "Something to do with my mother's boyfriend."
"Where is she now?"
"We had a big fight and I kicked her out."
"Did she hit you too?"
"It's nothing. I just bruise easily."
He walked over to where her music stand used to be. He knelt down besides her clarinet case.
"Careful, I haven't cleaned up all the glass yet."
Vance gently lifted the case, all of the lining had been cut out and removed, the mouthpiece of the clarinet had been broken. "I'm so sorry."
The feeling in his voice let her know that he really understood what this devastation meant to her. He felt her pain. His care was too much. Greta took off her glasses and covered her eyes, wishing she could make it all disappear. Her one place of safety had been destroyed. She'd worked so hard for a place that couldn't be touched and she'd failed. "I'm so ashamed," she said in a broken whisper.
"You have nothi
ng to be ashamed about."
She heard his footsteps come up to her and then she felt his arms around her. She started to pull away, but he just held her tighter forcing her to face her despair. She wept, the weight of her sorrow racking her body. And she cried until she felt numb and exhausted. He led her over to the couch. "I want you to sit here and let me look over the rest of the house."
Greta nodded, she was too tired to respond. Once he left the room, she rested her head back on the couch and closed her eyes. She had covered the couch with a colored sheet and substituted several brightly colored mix-matched pillows she’d bought at a flea market for the torn cushions. Why did he have to see this? She was glad to see him, but a part of her wished she'd been able to maintain the image she'd initially presented to him. Greta sat up and wiped her eyes and put her glasses back on. There was no use wishing. She was a practical woman and would deal with the situation. She turned when he reentered the living room looking overwhelmed.
He swore and shoved a hand in his pocket. "You know when you see this kind of stuff on TV it never looks this bad."
"I know."
He scratched his head, looked around again then sat down beside her. "Okay, what can we do?"
She looked at him, surprised by the use of the word. We? It was probably a slip of the tongue. This was her problem, not his. "I don't know. My insurance won't cover anything and this is going to be expensive. They don’t cover damages related to criminal offenses, and since the police did find drugs and Terrell, that’s my mother’s former boyfriend, will be facing jail time, although I was not charged, I am responsible."
Vance rested his arm around Greta’s shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry, we'll figure out something."