“He’s not a gangbanger, Mom. In fact, he rented a motorcycle and didn’t have much experience riding one, especially in the rain.”
“Not too bright, that one. I hope you’re not planning on trying to save him too.”
I placed a fork into Mom’s hand and pressed the tray of rolls toward her. “I don’t have time to save him when all my time is spent trying to save you.” It wasn’t the nicest thing to say, but I was reaching the end of my patience. We’d get to this point where I was sure she’d turn the corner, and then she’d revert back to the pill-popping alcoholic she’d become over the past several years.
“I’m a shit mother.” She dropped her fork and lowered her head.
“Yes, Mom. You are now, but you didn’t use to be, and you don’t have to be one anymore. You could be that mother who bakes cookies and asks me about my day. You could come to the diner and join me for coffee or tea. You could take a quick trip to Boulder and visit Stacey.”
She shook her head. “You don’t know what it’s like to be scared. You’re strong and independent. I’m broken.”
You’re wrong. Broken and scared were two conditions I knew well. Add lonely, despairing, and abandoned, and I had a royal flush in the card game of life. I didn’t have someone to put back the pieces for me like I tried to do for her. Moms were supposed to be there for their kids, and mine was simply absent.
My buried resentment caused me to snap at her. “You’re not broken, you’re complacent. Get up and fight. If you can’t fight for yourself, then fight for Stacey and me. We still need you.”
Mom’s face turned a shameful red, her failure once again shining for all to see like a neon light. “I’m trying.” She drank the last of her coffee and left the empty mug on the table. Walking away, she said, “I’m going back to bed.”
Figures. If she couldn’t numb her pain, she’d sleep it away.
“I’m heading out to see a friend,” I called bitterly to her retreating back. It was funny how moments ago, she sat at the kitchen table across from me, and yet I had to seek out someone else for motherly advice.
“I knew you couldn’t resist my lemonade.” Mona lifted her dark glass and shaded her eyes with her hand. Last night’s storm had blown over and left us with a lovely late spring day.
“How did you know it was me?” Mona patted the wicker seat next to her. I sank into the floral cushion that had seen better days. There were several empty glasses sitting on the table. I wasn’t sure whether Mona kept them at the ready just in case someone showed up, or in the hopes that someone would.
She picked up the pitcher and filled a glass while she spoke. “I see in shadows, and what I’ve lost in my eyesight, I’ve picked up in other senses. You couldn’t be Ana or Grace because they both carry babies, which makes their silhouette larger. Besides, they smell like baby powder or baby poop—both scents stick in your nose hairs like glue. Ryker and Silas are built like oak trees, so they cast a shadow on the porch long before they reach it. Marty uses a cane, so he has this distinctive clip-clop that follows him up the walkway. And now that he’s getting a little bump and tickle, he whistles a lot.”
I took a sip of the tart drink, squinted my eyes, and let the shiver run down my body. I wasn’t sure whether it was from the thought of Marty and Mona doing it, or from the tartness of the lemonade. One thing was certain, though, those two doing the deed was not what I wanted to see when I closed my eyes. I didn’t need that image adhering to my brain cells.
Better to focus on more pleasant things. “The lemonade is great.” She was right; it was the best I’d had in a long time.
“I know,” she said. Anyone else saying something like that would have come off as cocky and arrogant, but it was Mona, and she had a way about her that allowed her to say just about anything and get away with it.
“How’s your mom?”
I shrugged. “It’s a good day.” At least it had started out a good day. It was still early, and things could change.
“That’s good. One day at a time, they say.” She looked out over her yard. At least a dozen plastic pink flamingos dotted her grass.
“You like the pink birds?”
She leaned forward toward the yard. “How many are there now? I swear the damn things are breeding.”
I counted fourteen in a quick scan of the yard. “They’re definitely breeding. You’ve got more than a dozen. Soon people will describe you as the crazy bird lady.”
Mona chuckled. “I’ve been called worse.” She rose from her seat and walked down the sidewalk. She stopped at the edge of her yard like she was counting for herself. “I got one as a joke at a Bunco game thirty years ago, and since then they’ve kept showing up.”
“It could be worse. Someone keeps dumping trash in my neighbor’s yard. It was run-down before, but now it looks like the city junkyard.”
She grabbed the handrail and dragged herself up the steps and back to her seat. “We really need someone to come in here and clean up this town.” She looked far away like she was dreaming of another time. “You weren’t here back then. But this neighborhood was full of families. The grass was cut, and the flowerbeds were full. I kept a pitcher of lemonade on the table there for anyone who wanted a glass.”
“I’ve heard the stories.” Horror stories, to be specific. Now that I’d made friends with Ana and Grace, I knew exactly what this town had gone through before Mom, Stacey, and I showed up. We weren’t natives, we were transplants, drawn to Fury years ago because it was cheap to live here and an easy commute for my mom to get to her job at Boulder General Hospital. “Last night this guy came into the diner and said something about brokering a deal between the Savages and a development company.”
“They were talking about trying to get someone to come in and breathe life into the neighborhood.”
I looked around at all the abandoned houses. “We need more than a breath. We need full-on cardiac support and maybe intubation to survive.”
“I thought you were studying to do social work.”
“I was, but since I left school, I’ve been digging into Mom’s nursing books. If I ever get the chance to go back, I think I might look into becoming a nurse.” I thought about the satisfaction I felt of cleaning up Dex’s wound. “Mom says I’m good at fixing things.”
“Have you ever been on a plane?” Her question came from Pluto.
“Yes. Once. Mom took us to Disneyland. Why?”
“I was just thinking about you and your family, and how you’ve given up everything to make sure they’re okay, but who’s there to make sure you’re okay?”
The old woman in pin curls and smudged orange lipstick was making no sense. “What does that have to do with flying?”
“At the beginning of the flight, the attendant gets up and demonstrates how to use the safety equipment. At one point, the mask drops down, and they say to put your mask on first and then take care of the child beside you.” Mona turned to me and grasped my hand. “Hannah, your mom is the child right now. Isn’t it time you put your mask on first?”
Chapter 4
Decker
Of course, Dad would be in the boardroom when I arrived. He looked at his watch. A pricey Patek Philippe that cost more than the median income of an average Colorado resident.
He leaned over and whispered, “You’re late.”
I didn’t have a forty-thousand-dollar watch to keep me on time. I had a new smartphone, and its digital display proved I was early, but not early enough for Dad.
Leave it to the man to finish chemo and rush right over because he didn’t trust that I could hold this meeting without him. I was twenty minutes early and still in trouble because our clients had arrived before me.
I buttoned my jacket and straightened my tie. “Good morning.” I walked with false confidence to the large wooden table where the Savage brothers sat, and I shook their hands. Thank God I shook right-handed because I could hardly lift my left arm. “I’m Decker, but everyone calls me Dex.”
> Both brothers smiled like I’d told them they’d won the lottery. Weird, but whatever.
“I’m Ryker,” the larger man said before turning to the other man. “This is my younger brother, Silas.”
“Nice to meet you. Can I get you coffee or a soda?” I gave Dad a look that said, you failed to make our clients comfortable.
“No thanks,” Ryker said. Silas shook his head as well.
“Shall we get started?” I grabbed a notepad and pen and sat across from the men. Dad took the seat at the head of the table. Despite his pale complexion and his withering physique, he still had that alpha air about him. That better-than-everyone attitude that always made me uncomfortable. Like somehow, no matter how hard I tried, it would never be enough. Did his take-no-prisoners arrogance make clients uncomfortable too? I’d bet my life on it.
Ryker and Silas seemed unfazed, but then again, making the Savages comfortable wasn’t high on Dad’s priority list. In fact, this meeting was a waste of time, according to him, because the brothers didn’t have any money. Dad allowed the meeting because he thought it would be good practice and low risk. The only thing we lost was time, and mine had no value.
The Savages were interested in finding someone to develop their neighborhood—a neighborhood that died decades ago with several dozen townsfolk. I took the meeting because I’d done some research. Fury’s history was a tragedy that could be turned around. With the right investors, the town could thrive. It was a perfect bedroom community for the ever-growing town of Boulder, which meant it had untapped potential. Even though Dad didn’t see it that way, deep inside I knew it to be the truth.
One extended breath filled my lungs, and I was as ready as I could be. I was raised with a take-no-prisoners attitude, but inside I was a prisoner. Real estate was my cell; my father, the warden.
We discussed the population, the amenities, the taxes, and the abandoned properties. I didn’t confess to driving through Fury yesterday. I didn’t want Dad knowing I’d rented a Harley. He was dead set against bikes. His belief was that anyone riding motorcycles lacked sophistication and brains.
Dad rose from the leather throne at the head of the table and walked out with a nod to Ryker and Silas. “My office when you’re finished.” His clipped and tight voice confused me. Short of not being an hour early, everything had gone well. I asked the right questions. I got the answers I needed to move forward.
Once the brothers were gone, I approached Dad’s office with trepidation.
I barely had one wingtip shoe in the door when he started in on me.
“Where the hell were you last night?” He slammed his coffee on the desk, the liquid spilling over the edge. “I left several messages that went unanswered.”
I lifted my new phone. “My old one shattered, and I couldn’t retrieve messages.”
Dad pushed back from his desk and stood. Despite his sickly appearance, he was still intimidating. He never hit me with his hands, only his words.
“You think you can just come in here, wearing yesterday’s suit and looking like you haven’t slept at all, and run a company?”
I pulled on my jacket. It was the same suit I’d worn yesterday, but there wasn’t a thing wrong with it. My shirt was freshly pressed and my tie perfectly matched. Feeling tight in the throat, I tugged at the knot so I could speak my mind.
“Seems like I did just that. There isn’t a thing wrong with what I’m wearing.” It was rare that I mouthed off at Dad, but time for us was running out. Opportunities to voice my opinion were scarce.
“Don’t play with me, son. Are you using again?” He stepped into my space, breathed in my air. “My life’s investment rests with you, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to leave it in the hands of a spoiled boy with substance-abuse problems.”
Rage boiled under my skin. “Then keep it,” I said. “Keep the whole damn thing.” Out the door, I walked.
It had been years since I’d had even an aspirin. One bad year in college, and I was labeled as a habitual offender in Dad’s eyes. Cocaine and vodka had been my drugs of choice, but one stint in rehab and a twelve-step program had straightened me out.
It pissed me off that he threw my past in my face and never acknowledged his. The man was dying from pancreatic and liver cancer because twelve steps weren’t enough for him.
I marched across the street to Dudley’s Diner. Whereas a few years ago I might have run straight for a martini, these days I settled for coffee and pie.
At the counter, I pondered my life. At twenty-three, I’d done everything my parents had asked of me. I had a degree. I passed my realtor licensing exams. I was studying to get my broker’s license. What my life felt like most was a lie. These weren’t my dreams but Dad’s. Everything he built would be mine, and the funny thing was that it didn’t feel right. I didn’t want it.
I wasn’t cut out to wear suits and broker land deals. I ripped at the knot at my neck until the noose was loose and I could breathe again.
“You’re becoming a regular, sweetheart.” The redheaded waitress leaned on the table with her pad in her hand. “Coffee and pie?”
“Sounds good.”
She stared past me to beyond the window. “You’re out of place here. Most suits like you dine at Trivoli’s across the street.”
Yep, my Brooks Brothers ensemble was a stark contrast with the average diner patron’s jeans and T-shirt. This wasn’t a new problem for me; I’d always felt out of place like I was in the wrong skin or something. “Nope, I’m an apple pie and coffee kind of guy.”
“Make yourself at home then.” She scribbled my order and disappeared around the counter.
A piece of me hated myself for being such a big disappointment to my dad, but his condition had taught me a valuable lesson. Life was short and uncertain. Dad loved his business more than his family. He thrived on the deal, but each day I pulled on my trousers, buttoned up the crisp shirt, and folded myself into a jacket was another day where I died to get out and be free.
“Here you go, doll.” She pushed the pie and coffee in front of me and went on to the next table.
I settled into my seat. For whatever reason, I felt comfortable on a stool at the counter, which I gathered wasn’t a common reaction. The only thing that could make it better would be a little blonde wielding a butter knife. I liked her. I liked Fury.
I picked up my phone and dialed John. “That girl at the diner last night. I need information. You know what to do.” John was more than a driver. He was a friend. He was also the go-to man when anyone needed the 411 on anything, and I wanted to know more about Hannah.
Chapter 5
Hannah
Tall, dark, and handsome was definitely my type, but once you got past those three attributes of his, Dex failed to resemble anything I’d dated. I’d glommed onto arrogant assholes my whole life, but the man I bandaged up last night wasn’t an asshole. He was nice. Definitely not my norm, but wasn’t it time for a change? I’d been a jerk magnet long enough. Too bad I’d never see him again.
I walked into the diner and went straight to work. On Thursdays, I had the short afternoon shift, and it was all about cleaning, which meant I’d spend more time on my knees than my feet. Usually, I considered that the worst shift, but today it didn’t bother me much.
I shined the stainless steel bases of the stools and smiled when I got to the end. It was the stool Dex had sat at when I bandaged his arm. When I got to the leather benches of the front booths, I didn’t even mind digging stray fries out of the crevices because this was the booth where we’d drunk coffee and talked like normal people.
The bell above the door rang. My shoes stayed on the floor, and my heart stayed in my chest. It was a glorious day.
“What’s got you smiling?” Marty leaned his cane against the table and helped Mona into the booth I’d just cleaned.
She reached over and cuffed the back of his head. “I told you she met a man last night.” Mona scooted in, and Marty slid next to her. They were cute i
n an odd couple kind of way. Marty was gasoline, and Mona was fire, but somehow their combination wasn’t combustible. Mona simply burned up Marty’s fuel, and he was happy to keep her flame going.
Of all the things we talked about, Mona remembered my mention of a man. “It’s meatloaf today,” I said.
“Two specials and two soda pops, please.” Marty always ordered for Mona. It wasn’t because she couldn’t see the menu. She had it memorized. It was more of a chivalrous thing. He proved he knew what she liked, and she proved that she trusted his choices. It was like a dance, where Marty had two left feet and Mona two right, but together they made a perfect pair.
A lot can be learned from watching couples interact, I reflected as I placed their order and delivered the sodas.
“Who’s this man, young lady?” Marty folded his napkin into a perfect square and placed his Coke on top of it. He reached for Mona’s napkin and did the same.
“Just a guy that needed some help. He crashed a motorcycle and cut his arm up pretty bad. I bandaged him up and sent him on his way.”
“Remember what we talked about this morning?”
“I couldn’t let him bleed to death at the diner door, so I put his mask on first.”
Marty looked at us like we were speaking Polish.
“Hannah is a do-gooder, always fixing other people without taking care of herself.”
Marty plopped a straw in his drink and then Mona’s. He took care of his stuff first and then took care of hers next. I would have considered that selfish, but after Mona’s airplane lecture, I saw it differently: Once a person’s needs are met, they are more capable of serving others.
He turned toward Mona as if I weren’t there. “I don’t know if I’d call her a do-gooder, dear. She did come late to the party when Ryker and Silas were on trial.”
Delivering Decker Page 3