“Who?” I asked distractedly as I studied the screen and wondered if I should include something about the meal.
“You know who.”
I looked up. “Oh… the waiter? Don’t go reading anything into that, Hon, he’s just a waiter.”
“No. Not him. The other guy.”
“The other guy...” I said thoughtfully tapping my forehead. She reached over and thumped me on the arm. “Oh, you mean the one in the park?”
“Yes him. Who was he?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“Let me put it another way. I haven’t decided yet.”
“But you wrote him into the story so you must have had something in mind when you did that,” she said with a petulant pout.
“I put him in there–just in case.”
“Just in case of what! Just in case you need an evil looking creep somewhere in the story but you’re not sure what you’re going to do with him. A devourer of small birds, and fluffy white kittens, perhaps?”
“Something like that.” I chuckled. “Did you like him?”
My sister, God bless her, looked at me as though I had suddenly sprouted a large mole on my nose, with a couple of long black hairs growing out of it.
“Like isn’t the word that readily comes to mind.”
I gave her a, whatever shrug, scrolled down the screen, and started to edit.
“Uh-hum,” my sister said clearing her throat–loudly.
I looked up, and sighed, equally as loudly. “Is there something you want?”
“Speaking of food?”
“I wasn’t aware we were speaking of food,” I resumed editing.
“Well, what do you expect? We were just in a restaurant. What else do you do in a restaurant except eat?”
“Drink wine? Talk to friends? Make goo-goo eyes at the cute waiter with nice buns?” I said and shut-down the lap-top. “Would you like me to make you some soup?”
“Something soft, so I don’t have to chew. Whenever I eat my tongue feels like it has prickles in it.”
I tried to smile–but it wasn’t easy. “How would you like pumpkin and sweet potato soup with just a touch of cardamom to give it zip? I’ll even put it through the blender to get the lumps out and spoon yoghurt on the top to make it nice and creamy.”
“Don’t crumble any crackers over it. You know I can’t eat crunchy food like that.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Okay. Just checking. Sometimes your mind goes off in a tangent, and I never know where it’s heading.”
“My mind will stay focused on the matter at hand.”
“Well I’ll just close my eyes and have a cat-nap while you’re gone.”
“I’ll wake you when the soup’s ready.” I pulled the cover around her, closed the curtains, picked up my laptop and tiptoed out of the room.
*****
Nicola looked at her watch and noticed it was almost ten. “These friends of yours keep pretty late hours,” she said.
Danny slipped his black sneakers on. “Not really. Most of them work during the day so all the deals are done at night and weekends.”
“What’s the name of the guy you’re seeing tonight?”
“Hey Man. He lives across the river in New Jersey, just outside Pennsauken.”
“Hay-man! What kind of name is that?”
“No. Not H A Y man–as in straw. It’s H E Y Man, as in Yo, what’s happening dude! Whenever he meets anyone the first words out of his mouth are “Hey man!” He probably can’t remember people’s name. In fact I’ve known him for years and I haven’t a clue what his real name is. Everyone just calls him, Hey Man.”
“What strange friends you have, Danny. What time do you think you’ll be back?”
“I promise I won’t be late tonight,” he said as he gathered her in his arms and kissed the top of her head.
“If I’m asleep when you get back, promise you’ll wake me.”
“You know I will.” Danny leaned down and kissed her, grabbed his cap, and was gone.
* * *
She stepped out of the shower, toweled herself dry and rubbed rose oil on her body. While she dried her hair in front of the mirror, Nicola wondered how long it would be before Danny returned. She slipped on a nightgown, climbed onto the bed and caught the tail end of the eleven o’clock news.
“…fifty-one-year old Dwayne Huxton, a twenty-five year veteran of the Eastlake Police Force was gunned down today by his estranged wife. Forty-five year old Lucinda Huxton then turned the gun on herself. Officer Huxton is on life support, not expected to live.” The background morphed to a group of uniformed officers standing around a chalked outline surrounded by yellow crime and black scene tape.
“The small town of Eastlake is in shock. Fellow officers in the department are stunned by the news. At this stage they are making no comment but will be issuing a statement after a full investigation has been completed.” The newsreader hesitated, and then continued, “…The body of a woman has been found…”
Nicola watched the report for a while and then grabbed the remote and surfed through the channels until she found a movie she hadn’t seen before. She glanced at the bedside clock and sighed, plumped up the pillows and settled back to watch the movie.
* * *
She was woken up by the sound of the key card in the lock and watched Danny slip quietly into the room carrying another strange-shaped object wrapped in black plastic.
“Put your toys away and come to bed,” Nicola murmured her voice husky with sleep. Through heavy lidded eyes she watched him kneel on the floor, place the plastic-wrapped object in the bottom of his bag and then shuffled the clothes on top.
“Just as soon as I get out of these clothes and have a shower. I stink of grease and oil,” he said as he zipped the bag closed.
When the bathroom door opened, Danny stepped into the light. His damp hair fell in ringlets around his face, his suntanned body shone like polished teak. Nicola noticed his shoulders were broad, his stomach washboard flat, tanned legs, long and athletic.
He climbed on the bed, kissed her passionately, and slipped the gown over her head. Without uttering a word he knew she was ready. When he entered her it was with a passion so intense it took them to a place where nothing else mattered.
* * *
Nicola lay curled up in his arms, her head on his chest. She could feel it rise and fall with the gentle rhythm of his breathing as Danny ran his fingers through her hair and enjoyed the warmth and feel of her body. In the quiet stillness they heard the ping of the elevator doors open and close. Voices filled with laughter drifted down the hall. A door closed as a light aircraft buzzed overhead.
The silence that followed left an empty vacuum in the air.
The drapes on the window were open allowing the soft glow of moonlight to fall across their naked bodies.
“Tell me about your life?” Danny said. “I want to know everything about you.”
She remembered when she first told him she grew up in the San Fernando Valley he called her a valley girl. At the time, she had laughed it off. But–that’s what she was–a valley girl. She’d lived in the valley all her life. So she told him what it was like growing up in the San Fernando Valley–and then moving to San Francisco. And she told him about the last week she spent with her parents, who were killed two years ago on the One-O-One Highway, by a drunk driver. But, when it came to telling him about the years in between it was like opening an old wound–and she found she couldn’t talk about it anymore.
While she slept the sleep of the innocent Danny lay awake, thinking about his own past littered with secrets best left concealed.
*****
Ross leaned over and closed the laptop. “I think that’s enough murder and mayhem for one night, Bethany. Come to bed,” he whispered.
The sound of my name on his lips sent shivers down my spine.
“You always did know how to sw
eet talk a gal.”
FIFTEEN
Danny locked the seatbelt in place and turned the key in the ignition. “Ready?” he asked.
Nicola fluffed up her hair, slipped her sunglasses on, and laughed. “Honey, I was born ready!”
He looked at Nicola, his face suddenly serious.
“No regrets, Nic? No wanting to turn back?”
“No, Danny. No regrets.”
When she smiled his heart thumped in his chest and he felt desire stir in his loins. It had been a long time since he’d felt this happy.
“Okay then, let’s Rock and Roll.” He laughed as he put the SUV into gear and drove out of the parking lot. When they joined early morning traffic on I-95, Danny looked at Nicola and chuckled. “Say goodbye to Philadelphia, darlin’.”
Nicola’s lips and eyes smiled as she buzzed down the window and called out in a poor imitation of Danny’s Australian accent, “Goodbye Philadelphia,” then added the word, “darlin’,” with a strong Texan accent. As they passed a newsstand, Nicola glanced at the headlines splashed across the front page of the Philadelphia Enquirer.
“Bodies OF two WOMEN Found MUTILATED!”
But her mind was on the journey ahead.
* * *
They were perusing the menu when a redheaded waitress with sharp pinched features and tired, washed out eyes sidled up to their booth.
“Hi, my name is Donna. Can I getcha some coffee while you’re checkin’ the menu?”
“You bet,” Danny said and rewarded her with a smile that would have sent most women weak at the knees but was lost on the overworked waitress.
When the omelet made from peppers, jack cheese and onions was placed in front of him, along with the side order of extra bacon, link sausage and breakfast fries, Danny picked up the bottle of Ketchup and squeezed copious amounts of the thick red sauce over everything. When he finished, he followed it with mustard and an eye-watering hot sauce. The French toast he left untouched. Danny surveyed his handiwork and started to eat.
“Mmm, this tastes good,” he said as he forked another large helping into his mouth. He looked up and noticed Nicola watching him, her face and chest slated with shadows from the blinds on the windows.
“What?”
Nicola shrugged and picked up her fork. “Nothing,” she said.
Danny pushed the plate across the table. “Here. Try some. It tastes really good.”
Nicola looked at the mixture of red, and brown, and yellow, and green, and tried not to think what it reminded her of, and pushed the plate back.
“No thank, you,” she said as she picked up a finger of toast and dipped it into the soft yolk of a lightly poached egg. “I plan to live past noon.”
In parking lot, a man in a Toyota was eating a hamburger and drinking coffee from the take-out next door. He adjusted the mirror, removed his cap, and ran his fingers through his hair. When he noticed the dark roots he made a mental note to pick up a bottle of hair-dye, replaced the cap and adjusted the mirror so he could see the restaurant entrance.
*****
Ross leaned across the bed and ruffled Cody’s hair. “What do you think little buddy, doesn’t that omelet sound good?”
Even though she was weary from another exhausting day of treatment, Rosie didn’t want to be alone so everyone crowded into the bedroom wanting me to read my latest chapter. With Cody there, I had to make sure that I chose something reasonably mundane.
Cody’s face lit up. “Yeah, Uncle Ross. Do you think you could cook me one for breakfast, tomorrow?”
I shot Ross a warning look.
“That stuff will give you terrible heartburn,” he said, and added, “but I’ll cook you a delicious Spanish omelet with mushrooms and tomatoes and a heap of other good stuff. But you don’t want to go spoiling it with all that other gunk. It kills the taste of good food.”
“Can I have some country fries as well?” Cody asked. Growing boys never seem to get enough to eat. Hollow legs my mother used to say about my brother at the same age.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Ross said and made a playful grab at his nephew.
They tumbled about on the bed for a while and then Cody said, “Can I have a look at your tattoos, Uncle Ross?”
I telegraphed a warning look as he rolled up the sleeve of his T-shirt and showed the lanky teenager the ink-blue strands of barbed wire that twined around his large upper arms. When Ross flexed his bulging biceps, Cody wrapped both hands around one of them and gawked in awe of the fact that the tips of his fingers didn’t even meet.
“Oh, massive,” he said. “Can I have one of these, Mom?”
“Of course you can, Cody,” I answered for her. Rosie smiled and waited for the penny to drop. “If you go to the gym and lift weights, in a couple of years I’m sure you’ll have muscles just like your Uncle Ross.”
“And eat lots of pizzas and KFC and McDonald’s–” Ross stopped mid-sentence when he saw the threatening look in my eyes.
“Err…listen to your Aunt, Cody,” he said.
“I meant the tattoos. Can I have a tattoo like Uncle Ross?”
“Well, then–no, Cody, you can’t have any tattoos.”
“Aw gee, Aunty Bee, Uncle Ross has got them, so why can’t I?”
“It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see the results of that. Ask me again in about ten years, but if you’re the smart kid I think you are by then you should know the answer to that question without any help from me,” I said dismissing the subject. As I’ve said before, I’d cut my teeth on a petulant daughter. Compared to teenage girls, navigating your way across the Gaza Strip during a rocket attack would be like a stroll through the park on a spring morning.
Cody hiked himself up off the bed and slumped out of the room.
“If you’re going out, Cody,” I called after him, “don’t forget to comb your hair.”
Rosie laughed. “Oh, yeah right… Well, good luck with that one.”
*****
The sun cast a warm glow across the landscape as they drove through small towns and villages built by pioneers and early settlers, where battles were fought and cemeteries were littered with ghosts, and ancient grave stones stood testament to times long gone, and people long forgotten.
By mid afternoon they had arrived at the town of New Hope nestled on the banks of the Delaware River, and checked into the Logan Inn on South Main Street.
They sipped cold drinks on the terrace as they watched angled rays of sunlight rake the landscape with long golden tines. Nicola picked up a brochure she’d got from the front desk and started to read aloud extracts of the town’s history.
“‘New Hope, founded in1681, was originally part of a land grant of a thousand acres given by William Penn to Richard Heath, and all his heirs and assigns, forever, for the yearly rent of one English silver shilling for every one hundred acres, embracing the whole of the borough of New Hope.’”
Danny let out a slow whistle. “Boy, what a great deal they must have got. Do you think we could pass ourselves off as a couple of long lost relatives?”
Nicola laughed, and continued reading, “‘The Great Spring, a natural watercourse that pours cool, pure water from a limestone ledge was used to generate grain and paper mills in the area, and was a favorite resort of the Lenape people–also known as the Delaware Indians. More recently the district has become home to many artists and literary personalities.’ In other words, you never know who you might run into walking down Main Street.”
They spent a lazy afternoon exploring the town and the narrow towpath that ran beside the river; they wandered down streets with large shade trees and clapboard houses with shuttered windows and porches out front, where lazy cats slept on wicker rockers painted in soft pastel shades of blue, and pink, and lilac, and buttercup yellow, and cottage gardens filled with perfumed flowers grew alongside white picket fences.
As the afternoon wore on and the sun dipped below the horizon sending out flashes of pink and orange and purple, Danny and
Nicola ate dinner on the terrace at the front of the Logan Inn, and watched people stroll past.
When the purple evening light gave way to darkness and lights came on all over the town, Nicola sat alone on the terrace while Danny went upstairs to change. He appeared a short time later wearing the black jeans and T-shirt Nicola had come to think of as his Harley uniform; in one hand he held his baseball cap, in the other, a rolled-up black plastic bag as he sauntered across the terrace to where Nicola sat. He leaned down and planted a kiss on her cheek.
“Hate to leave you babe, but Harley oil is pumping through my veins,” he said with a chuckle as he tucked his hair under the cap and skipped down the back steps.
“Bye,” Nicola called as she watched him head for the parking lot behind the inn.
Danny turned and gave her a cheeky grin. “Bye, beautiful,” he said, blew her a kiss–and was gone.
Nicola watched the red taillights of the SUV as it headed down Main Street and merged with traffic at the bridge. The town was bathed in the warm glow of lights that spilled out from storefronts and buildings.
When Nicola finished her wine, she slipped her bag over her shoulder and stepped down onto the pavement.
* * *
People and music seemed to erupt from every window and doorway as she threaded her way along the sidewalk past a collection of restaurants and cafes, and usual assortment of businesses found in most tourist towns. As Nicola passed Fran’s Pub people spilled out, crowding the sidewalk, causing her to step off the curb to avoid a group of rowdy revelers. A symphony of laughter drifted on the night air as people took advantage of the mild summer weather to enjoy good food and the relaxed atmosphere of the vibrant township.
Humming softly Nicola looked in shop windows of trendy boutiques where clothes adorned wafer-thin mannequins that looked like will-o-the-wisps. And bought stamped postcards for her grandparents, scribbled a message on the back and dropped them into the mailbox.
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