Montaine

by Rome, Ada

  He gazed thoughtfully into his mug for several seconds and nodded slowly. “That’s a big question. Do you have time for an old man’s sad story?”

  “I do.” I smiled and patted his hand.

  “A very long time ago, there was a girl whom I loved very much. Her name was Anya. We lived in a dangerous place with many dangerous people who wanted to do us harm. We were members of the anti-communist underground in Budapest. In those days, many idealistic young people like ourselves naively thought that we could throw off the yoke of the Soviet state and change the world. I ran a secret newspaper. We printed stories from the West and tried to expose government corruption and violence. The authorities were not pleased. They sent informants to infiltrate our ranks. We always outsmarted them. We were a close group and kept our activities hidden from all but our most trusted friends. At least, that was true for a while.”

  He paused and sipped his coffee. He closed his eyes as if retrieving a recollection long buried.

  “Eventually, the security police caught up with us. I allowed my childhood friend, Emil, into our group over Anya’s objection. She did not trust him. I thought that I knew better. I did not know that the police had turned Emil over to their cause. He joined our group and played along, all the while passing our secrets to the government. The net tightened. I received a warning that the authorities had learned of our activities and were preparing to arrest us, all of us. The penalty would be death. Anya and I formed a plan to escape. A network of underground sympathizers would smuggle us into West Germany. We were to travel separately and meet just over the border to avoid attracting attention. I kissed her goodbye under a street light on a Budapest corner. There was a light mist of rain. Droplets had settled onto her coat and her hair. I can still see her there. I loved her so much.”

  He closed his eyes again. A minute passed in silence. When he opened his eyes, the rims were pink and watery. He cleared his throat.

  “What happened to her?” I asked weakly.

  “I betrayed her. Not intentionally, of course. I thought that I was saving her. Emil promised me that he would see her to safety if I were somehow caught. He promised to watch over her in my absence. So I told him where he would be able to find her. When I arrived at our agreed meeting place, Anya was not there. I was frantic. Then I learned what had happened. Emil had sent the police to her exact location. She was arrested and interrogated. She refused to name any other members of our group or to reveal my location. She was executed six months later and buried in an unmarked grave.”

  “I’m so sorry, Miklos.”

  “So am I, my dear. So am I. I am sorry every day of my life. I have been back to that corner in Budapest where last I saw her. I have stood under that same street light, and I swear that I have felt her presence. I like to believe that she forgave me, that she knew I acted only out of love. My mistake cannot be undone. Yours still can.”

  “What should I do?”

  “You must stop Trent from this quest for vengeance. It will achieve nothing, but it may destroy him. You must show him that love is stronger than revenge.”

  Chapter 20

  The din of the crowded bar, a conglomeration of blowhard bankers and lawyers, cackling young women, and posturing tourists, drowned out my dark thoughts more effectively than the watery martini that I’d downed in two hearty swigs. The brick walls were draped in imitation Irish kitsch, and the hammered tin ceiling looked like a layer of cheap aluminum foil. I planted the glass on the thickly varnished wooden bar top and watched through the shifting crowd for any sign of Marcie or Tony.

  It was Wednesday night, and I had agreed to meet them for a drink after work, an attempt at emotional rescue on their part. Trent had so far greeted all of my attempts at communication with a deafening silence. I was slowly unraveling with each passing hour, doing my best to appear calm while my heart splintered into sharp fragments. My mind spun in an endlessly repeating reel of self-reproach and painful what-ifs.

  “Hey!” A beefy hand clamped onto my bare forearm. I jumped with the sudden contact. “Hey, you’re the chick from the video!” A sweaty, fat-cheeked man was shouting into my face. His shirt collar cut into the flesh of his bulbous neck. He stood so close that flecks of his spittle landed on my chin. He had one sausage-fingered hand wrapped around my wrist. With the other, he waved at a group of similarly unattractive young men in the standard corporate office uniform of blue-striped shirts and dull navy ties.

  “Guys, come here!” he yelled. “It’s the intern!” Their beady eyes fixed on me with predatory interest. Several other bar patrons craned their necks to see the source of the commotion.

  I pried the man’s fingers from my arm, where they had left a row of red welts, and slammed his hand onto the bar top, sending my martini glass toppling sideways.

  “Get the fuck off of me,” I hissed.

  “Don’t be such a bitch,” he seethed. His pasty nose with its canvas of sprouting black hairs was only inches from my face. His breath smelled of tobacco, whiskey, and recently digested pizza. “I know who you are. I know everything about you.” He pinched my waist and slid a palm around my lower back. “How about we make our own video?”

  I tried to back away, but he held me pinned. I pressed again his chest, my fingers sinking into his jiggling flesh.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I gasped, craning my neck away from his stinking breath as his buddies surrounded us.

  “It is her!” one of them said and lifted his phone for a picture.

  “I believe the lady told you to back the fuck off!” Marcie appeared like an elfin savior, popping up in the middle of the throng and karate chopping the man’s arm where it met my waist. He cried out in pain and massaged his meaty wrist with a petulant expression. She climbed the rungs of a bench until she loomed over the circling pack. “You all have exactly two seconds to remove yourselves from this bar or I will call my boyfriend, a police officer, and have you arrested for assault and battery. Am I making myself clear?”

  “Come on, we were just---”

  “Am I making myself fucking clear?” The men jumped at the ferocity in her tone, as did a number of other interested onlookers.

  “Bitches,” one of them mumbled as they turned and headed in a sulking queue toward the door.

  “I’m so sorry, Kat. I should have gotten here sooner.” She enfolded me in a bear hug and planted a glossy kiss on my cheek.

  “Thank you for saving me from those assholes. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t shown up.” My hand still shook as I set the martini glass upright. “And thank heavens for your boyfriend, the police officer.”

  “Yeah, yeah. A little lie never hurt anyone,” she winked. “They don’t need to know that my boyfriend is really an adorable, peace-loving magazine writer.”

  “Oh my, ‘boyfriend’ is a big word. Are we there yet?” My pulse steadily slowed to a normal rate. The rest of the bar’s customers seemed to have completely forgotten the hubbub of a few minutes prior.

  Marcie smiled cryptically. “Come on, let’s go find a table before any more shitheads bother you.” She lugged me across the bar by my wrist and hauled me down into the last booth in the back, next to a jukebox and a group of frat boys absorbed in a raucous game of pool. They were thankfully oblivious to our presence.

  “Still no word from Trent.” I set my elbows on the table and anxiously spun a cardboard coaster. “Marcie, what if he never speaks to me again?”

  “Then he’s not worth it,” she said matter-of-factly. “But that isn’t going to happen, and you know it. Trent is angry. I get it. But it won’t last. He loves you. Just be patient. He will come around.”

  “I don’t know if I can be patient. What if he’s in danger? What if he’s already found Peter? What if Kill has something else planned?”

  Marcie placed her hand over mine to stop my fidgeting fingers. “Deep breaths, Kat. I know it’s hard. This week has been awful. You’re a good person. You don’t dese
rve any of this. I’m here for you, no matter what happens. You’ll never ever get rid of me.”

  I chuckled despite the tears that threatened to flow.

  “What’s this? I don’t see any drinks. I thought we were planning to get shitfaced.” Tony edged into the booth beside Marcie and wound an arm around her shoulder. “How are you, Kat?” His tone expressed genuine concern. He leaned forward expectantly.

  “I could use another drink, I suppose.”

  “Say no more. What are you having?” He tapped a few drumbeats with his knuckles on the tabletop and rose from the bench.

  “Surprise me.”

  He clapped a hand reassuringly on my shoulder and strode toward the bar. Marcie watched him with an affectionate smile.

  I felt a buzzing in the purse wedged against my hip. My heart leapt into my throat at the thought that it might be Trent. I reached tentatively into the front pocket, withdrew the phone, and peeked warily at the screen. The text was from Esmeralda.

  Oscar is awake.

  I gasped and slapped a hand against my chest.

  “What? What is it? Is it Trent?”

  “No,” I said with a sigh of relief at the wonderful news. “It’s Oscar. He’s awake. I need to go to the hospital.”

  Tony returned with our drinks just as I swung my legs over the side of the bench.

  “What’s going on?” He placed two martini glasses and a bottle of beer on the table.

  “I’m sorry.” I pecked him lightly on the cheek and straightened my skirt over my thighs. “Oscar woke up. I have to go see them.”

  “No worries, Kat. I’ll finish your drink.” Marcie swallowed a martini in a single gulp. “I’ll see you at home later?” Her expression carried a tinge of worry.

  “Absolutely.” I bent over and wrapped her in a quick hug. “By the way, Tony, your special lady here really saved my ass a little while ago. I was a damsel in distress, and she was my knight in shining armor. I’ll let her tell you all about it.”

  “That doesn’t shock me at all,” he said with an admiring glance at Marcie, who was already sipping from the second martini glass.

  I poked my way through the bar and emerged onto the sidewalk with the crowd noise still ringing in my ears. As I hurried toward the subway, I had to admit that Oscar’s miraculous awakening was not the only thing drawing me to that hospital in Brooklyn.

  I was sure that Trent had received the same text from Esmeralda. And I was sure that he would be there when I arrived.

  ***

  I sprinted past a nurses’ station and down a hallway lined with empty gurneys. The door to Oscar’s room stood open. Esmeralda leaned over the head of the bed. She turned at the sound of my footsteps.

  “Kat! I thought you would have come in with Trent.”

  “Is he here?” My voice was high-pitched and eager. I felt instantly ashamed to be thinking of myself and my own problems.

  “He’s on his way.”

  She turned back to the bed. Oscar was awake and breathing on his own. His eyes were half-closed, but he opened them wider at our approach. He tried to speak, but no sound emerged. Esmeralda placed a hand gently on his shoulder and shook her head.

  “What do the doctors say?” I asked in a whisper.

  Esmeralda tilted her chin toward a corner of the room and pulled me after her with a hand on my elbow.

  “It’s too soon to tell much yet,” she said once we were out of Oscar’s earshot. “He’s awake, but that’s only the first step.” She winced. “He can’t move his legs. It may be temporary. We will know more within the next few days as he regains strength and the doctors run more tests.”

  The door swung open and banged into one of the plastic chairs, toppling it with a clatter. Trent appeared and walked with long strides to Oscar’s bedside. He gripped his friend’s hand.

  “Hey, buddy. Good to see you.” He glanced around the room. Esmeralda stepped forward. Trent quickly hugged her to his side with one strong arm. I remained in the shadows, holding my breath.

  Esmeralda turned and reached out a hand toward me, beckoning me to join them. Only in that moment did Trent register my presence. I hung back, my eyes locked on his. Neither of us spoke. Esmeralda looked from one to the other, unaware of the reason for the tension that flowed between us like a crackling current of electricity.

  “Hi, Trent.” My voice trembled, little more than an airy exhalation.

  He looked right through me, his eyes thoroughly cold, and turned back to the bed. I felt tears rising and blinked them away.

  “Umm, I’m going to get a drink of water,” I said, still shaky. My legs wobbled like rubber as I stepped through the open doorway and out into the hallway, unsure of my destination. I simply couldn’t face the callous expression in Trent’s eyes. I rounded a corner, heading in the direction of a row of vending machines when a strong hand gripped my waist from behind.

  “Come on. Let’s talk.” Trent’s voice growled into my ear. He steered me to a door, hauled it open, and pushed me inside. A string hit my nose. I tugged it to light a single unshaded bulb that descended from the ceiling. The yellow glare fell in a harsh circle around us. We stood in a tiny closet lined with shelves of buckets, rags, mops, and spray bottles. When I looked up, Trent loomed over me. His blue eyes were no longer blank and unfeeling. They flashed with an icy fury.

  “Trent, let me explain.” I placed a hand on his arm. He remained still as a statue, the only movement a bulging flex of his bicep under my fingers. “I was only trying to help.”

  “By betraying me? By keeping secrets? By treating me like a fucking child that couldn’t know the truth?” His words were delivered in a calm and steady tone that belied the anger behind them and sent a spike of fear into my heart.

  “I wanted to protect you, Trent.”

  “What makes you think I’m in need of your protection?”

  “I knew you wouldn’t let it rest. I knew you would challenge Hades…Peter…if you knew. I talked to Esmeralda about it and---”

  “Ezzie knew too?” he asked.

  I nodded. “She didn’t want to see any more bloodshed. Not after what happened to Oscar.”

  Trent’s shoulders slumped slightly. “Look, I get it, Kat.” He crossed his arms over his stomach and leaned on a set of metal shelves. “But that doesn’t change anything. And you’re too late anyway.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He gazed at me from under lowered brows. A lick of black hair flopped over his forehead. His cheeks and chin were shaded with a thick layer of stubble.

  “I found Peter. I challenged him to a fight this Friday night at the warehouse. This will be my chance for revenge, for Rosie and for Oscar. This will wipe the slate clean.”

  “Wipe the slate clean?” I stepped toward him. “This won’t wipe anything clean. What if he kills you? What if you kill him?”

  “Whatever happens, happens,” he said with a nonchalant shrug.

  “Trent, you don’t mean that. Don’t do this. Please.” I thought back to my conversation with Miklos at the café. “Love is stronger than revenge. Let this go. I love you, Trent.”

  My heart pounded. My pulse raced while I waited in stunned suspense for his reply.

  “I know.” He nodded and looked at the floor.

  “You know? That’s it?”

  “I can’t do this, Kat. Not with you. I was right to walk away that first night. I should have ended it there. This has caused us both too much pain already.”

  “That’s bullshit, Trent, and you know it.” His eyes met mine with a curious intensity. “You can’t spend your life running away from your feelings. Running is not the answer.”

  “I am not running away from anything. I am making a choice.”

  “No, you’re giving up because you’re scared. You hide from emotions. You think that makes you brave and strong. It doesn’t. It merely pushes away the people who care about you. It robs your life of the joy that comes only once you accept the terror of uncertainty and real
ize that total control is an illusion. If you love me, we can make this work. Who cares what the rest of the world thinks? Give up this quest to avenge the past. Pay attention to the future that is right in front of your face.”

  The gathering silence tore at my soul. A lump rose into my throat. Tears clouded my vision.

  “I’m sorry.” His voice was a strangled croak. He shook his head. “We’re finished, Kat.”

  “You don’t mean that. I know you don’t mean that.”

  “Yes. I do.”

  I backed away, my shoulder crashing against a sharp metal corner that sank painfully into my flesh. A choking sob escaped from my lips. I turned and fled from the closet, blinded by a curtain of tears as I ran through the hallways, past a waiting room filled with nervous patients and family members and out through a set of automatic doors into the embrace of a warm summer night.

  The air was tinged with the salty taste of the sea. I wandered block after block, over broken pavements and past scrawny sidewalk trees growing within rusted steel cages. The whipping breeze dried my tears and flapped at the edges of my flared skirt. I headed toward the water, defined at this distance only by an absence of light over its black expanse. The streets were mostly empty at this hour, only the clip-clop of a fast-moving set of heels or the rolling thump of a heavy footfall now and again revealing the presence of another person. I closed my arms over my stomach and hunched my shoulders against the wind, lost in my own thoughts. Trent’s words echoed in my brain with a painful finality.

  Within minutes, I stood on a parapet facing the water, a few widely spaced street lamps illuminating the path in snatches of overgrown weeds and lopsided paving stones. The briny air was a tonic to my nerves. For the first time since I’d sprinted through the hospital doors, I felt capable of assessing the situation with a cooler head and a steadier pulse.

  I did not believe that Trent had tossed me aside easily or casually. I’d heard the anguish in his voice. He knew this was wrong. We loved each other, and our love mattered more than the judgment of the world, the schemes of a psychopath like Kill, or the quest to avenge a past that could not be changed regardless of our wishes or our efforts. Vengeance would not bring back Rosie. Vengeance would not raise Oscar from that hospital bed.