Vegas Sunrise

by Fern Michaels

  Sage struggled to take a deep breath. He lost the struggle and was forced to take little puffing breaths that left him exhausted. He knew he was climbing because his legs protested each step he made in the thigh-high snow. His heart labored each time he pulled one foot out of the snow. He stumbled and landed facedown. He cursed ripely, the snow blistering his face. What the hell happened to his damn scarf? He was on his feet again, his mouth full of snow, trudging forward. At the rate he was going he would be lucky to make a tenth of a mile in an hour. Impossible. He wanted to call out to Metaxas to see how he was faring. He negated the idea immediately. Calling out would take energy and time. He had to hunker down and keep moving. Maybe what he needed to do was come up with something he hated and feed off that hatred so it would keep him moving. The only problem was, he didn’t hate anyone or anything. Oh, yes, I do. I hate this goddamn fucking snow. I hate these goddamn fucking drifts that are up to my thighs. His knees buckled and he was facedown again. There has to be a better way. Snowshoes. Why hadn’t anyone thought of snowshoes? Probably because they wouldn’t work in snow like this, he answered himself.

  A violent gust of wind slammed into Sage, driving him backward. He rolled over twice before he landed on his back in a deep drift, losing all the momentum he’d gained. He cursed again with words he hadn’t used since his college days when he’d tried to blend in with the rough-and-ready crowd on his dorm floor.

  “Up and at ‘em, boy. No time to play in the snow,” Mataxas bellowed.

  “Go to hell,” Sage said as he struggled to his feet.

  He trudged on, his breathing labored. If he survived this night . . . morning or whatever time of day it was, he would devote the rest of his life to never, ever, setting eyes on snow again. He continued to curse as he struggled to pull his foot out of a snowdrift. The effort left him exhausted. He wondered what time it was. Surely it must be close to dawn. Perhaps things would improve with daylight. Even he knew it was a stupid thought. For some reason his head felt heavy, his eyes heavier still. His eyelashes were frozen, and snow was piled high on his ski cap. If he pulled the ice off his eyelashes, would they come out by the roots? What would he look like without eyelashes? Iris loved his eyelashes. She said they were thick, double what most people had, and curled upward. Eyelashes any girl would kill for, she’d said. Birch had the same thick eyelashes. Girls, women, grandmothers always commented on his and Birch’s eyelashes. Here he was contemplating pulling them out. “Like hell,” he muttered.

  Numb with cold, Sage squeezed his eyes shut and plunged forward. He was beyond all feeling, his thoughts wild and chaotic. He needed to go to another place, another time. A place that was warm and safe. He tried to think as his gloved hands pawed at the snow in front of him.

  He was eleven years old walking next to Birch in the desert, sweat dripping down his face. His St. Louis Cardinals baseball hat was yanked down low on his forehead. “I hate this mission. I want to go home,” he snarled.

  “Me too. Let’s sit down and rest. I need a drink,” Birch said.

  “We can’t sit. Dad gave us a deadline. He said we had to complete this mission in four hours. He’s waiting.”

  Sage rebelled, his heavy work boots digging into the sand under his feet. He looked around for a tree or some scrub that would afford him a little shade. There was nothing. Defiantly he sat down, Indian fashion. “My legs hurt, my arms hurt from carrying this backpack. I don’t even know why we’re carrying all this junk. I’m boiling hot.”

  “We have to survive. Dad said so. He’s testing us on this mission. Do you want to disappoint him?” Birch demanded.

  “I don’t care if he’s disappointed or not. Mom doesn’t care if we know how to survive in the desert. I’m never coming out here again, so I don’t care. Nobody else’s father makes them go on missions. Me and you aren’t in the navy. My blood’s boiling, and my eyeballs are on fire.”

  “You’re whining, Sage,” Birch said, his lower lip trembling. “Are you going to cry?”

  “I can’t cry because my eyeballs are so hot they’re drying my tears. I’m going home. I’m not going on this mission. So there!”

  “We can’t go back. It’s too far. We only have another hour, maybe a little more, till we get to the end. Think how good that cold soda pop is going to taste. We can do this, Sage. We practiced going up and down the mountain. Let’s go, Sage. The sun is getting hotter.”

  “Kiss my ass, Birch,” Sage said with an eleven-year-old’s bravado.

  “If I kiss your ass, will you get up and move? Pull down your pants. We’re frying out here. Sunny could do this with her hands tied behind her back and blindfolded.”

  “Shut up, Birch. I don’t want to hear how good Sunny is. First of all, she isn’t stupid. We’re the stupid ones because we’re here. I don’t see Sunny, do you?”

  “She could do it. She’d beat Dad at his own game. He knows it, too; that’s why he didn’t make her come with us. He wants us to be tough like her. I heard him tell Mom we were sissy wimps. He said he won’t tolerate that in a son of his. He made Mom cry. She said we were sturdy, strong boys, and she called him an asshole. To his face.”

  “He is an asshole, Birch. I hate him. Don’t lie and say you don’t either. I’m going home. I don’t care how far it is. You can stay and finish this shit mission or you can come with me.”

  “Sage, it’s twice as far.”

  “Then that’s our mission. I say we can make it. My tongue is bigger than my mouth. How do you suppose that happened?”

  “Take a drink.”

  “I don’t want to take a drink. I just want to go home. Shhh, what’s that noise?”

  “Oh, jeez, it’s a rattler. Oh, no, it’s three of them. Oh, shit! Don’t move.”

  “Shit is right. I can’t remember, what are we supposed to do?”

  “We’re not supposed to panic, Sage. When you panic fear takes over, and you lose the battle. Dad told us that a hundred times. Don’t move your feet. Sit just the way you are, and I’ll get the shovel out of your backpack. I tied mine to my belt a while ago. When you have it in your hands and I have mine in my hands, we’ll strike. We’ll get two of them, and the other one will go away.”

  “I know what to do if we get bitten.”

  “That’s good because I forgot,” Birch said. “On the count of three, you slide backward and strike downward. Go for the head.”

  “One. Two. Three! Yoweeeee! We got them! We killed them! There goes the other one. We did it! We did it!” Birch screamed at the top of his lungs.

  Sage forgot his pain, his discomfort, his dry mouth, and his burning eyeballs as he gouged out a hole in the sand. Birch buried the heads of the two rattlesnakes. He bent down to pick up the snake Birch had killed. “Put it around your neck. That’s what I’m going to do with mine. When Dad finds us, he’ll see we’re survivors. If he doesn’t like it, then he can kiss my ass, too. So there!”

  Birch linked his arm with his brother’s. “Yeah, he can kiss my ass, too. If Mom heard us, she’d put soap in our mouth. Bill Waters says ‘fuck’ out loud all the time. Did you ever hear him? He calls his dad his old man. He’s allowed to do anything he wants to do. He never gets punished.”

  “Does he know how to survive? Could he kill a snake? I don’t think so. I hate him. He’s dumb as dirt and as ugly as this snake I just killed. I wish I were in the pool with Sunny dunking me. I wish I had an ice-cold cherry Popsicle. I wish my underpants were full of ice cubes. What do you wish, Birch?”

  “I wish Dad was here to give us a ride home in the Jeep. I wish I was covered from top to bottom with Mom’s homemade banana ice cream. I’m glad you’re here, Sage. It’s good that we can always count on each other. Bill Waters doesn’t have anyone he can count on. That’s why he’s a big bully. It’s good that we’re twins. I think old Bill is jealous of us.”

  “Dad’s going to be rip-roaring mad when we don’t show up at that spot he marked on the map.”

  “Yep.” Birch whipped his
arm around his brother’s shoulder. “Maybe he’ll see that there is more than one way to survive. He won’t speak to us for about two months, you know that, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. So what?”

  “As long as we have each other and Sunny in our corner we’ll do okay. Let’s swear now that we’ll always help each other and listen to what our heart says, okay?”

  “I swear,” Sage said solemnly.

  “I swear, too,” Birch said just as solemnly.

  “Let’s give these rattlers to Sunny as a present.”

  Birch grinned. “That’s a great idea. She’ll love them.”

  “Jeez, I’m hot. I bet our blood is almost boiling. I think I can hear it pumping in my body. Which is better, being hot or being cold?”

  “I’ve never been as cold as I am hot. How do you think ice cubes in your underwear will feel?” Birch asked.

  “Really good. Better than good.”

  “He won’t acknowledge the snakes.”

  “I know. Sunny will though. Let’s do that ice-cube thing when we get home to see how it feels,” Sage said.

  “Okay. Keep going. We’re gonna make it, Sage.”

  “I know we will because we aren’t sissy wimps. He’s going to punish us pretty bad for disobeying a direct order.”

  “So what?” Birch said.

  “Yeah, so what? I think cold might be better.”

  “Nah. When you’re cold, you can’t get warm. When you’re hot, you can cool off,” Birch said. “Maybe someday we’ll get to test the cold thing. Dad might take us to the mountains and make us trudge in snow. We’ll remember this day then. That’s when we’ll really know.”

  “I hope that doesn’t happen, Birch. Cross your fingers and say, ‘I hope that never happens.’”

  Birch did as instructed. “If it does happen, I hope we’re together like we are now. What would be even better is if Sunny is with us. Let’s hold out for Sunny if Dad decides to do the mountain thing.”

  “Okay.”

  14

  Fanny Thornton Reed walked over to her car parked in the driveway, coffee cup in hand. Another few minutes and it would be light out. A new day. The urge to slam her fist through the windshield was so strong she backed away. She returned to the small front porch, to the His and Hers rocking chairs Marcus had insisted they buy. She sat down to finish her coffee. When the cup was empty, she would climb into the car and drive to the medical center, where she would sit in the waiting room and knit. “I’m sick and tired of knitting. I’m sick and tired of going to the medical center. I’m sick and tired of everything and everyone. I’m damn sick and tired of feeling like this,” she mumbled.

  “Then do something about it. You’re whining again, Fanny. When was the last time you did something worthwhile? Something that made a difference in someone’s life?”

  “Are you here again, Ash?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think you’re nuts is what I think. You’re dead, so stop minding my business. So what if I’m sick and tired of things? I’m entitled to feel the way I feel. What would you say if I told you I plan to go to Calcutta to join up with Mother Teresa?”

  “I’m not touching that one. Did you get my wings back yet? That was a direct order, Fanny.”

  “Screw your orders, Ash. I don’t have to listen to you anymore. I’ll do it when I’m damn good and ready. It was my mistake, and I’ll take care of it.”

  “When?”

  “When I’m ready. Let’s get down to business here. When is it . . . what I mean is, when is Marcus . . . if you’re going to take him then take him. I can’t stand this.”

  “There’s been a change in plans. I came to tell you. He got a reprieve.”

  “What exactly does that mean? If he isn’t going to die, that means he’s going to live. That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?”

  “You need to make plans, Fanny.”

  “Why? What kind of plans? If you can’t talk sense to me then go away.”

  “I wish I were there to help you, Fanny.”

  “I don’t need your help, Ash. When were you ever around when I needed you? Never, that’s when.”

  “You are so cold and bitter these days, Fanny. Where’s the old Fanny I knew and loved?”

  “You killed her. You ruined her life. If I could have one wish, it would be that I never had gotten off that bus in Las Vegas. I should have kept right on going.”

  “You don’t mean that. You’re upset because things aren’t going right. In the end, what will be will be. You can’t swim against the tide, Fanny.”

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Pull up your socks and set a steady course. Get my wings back. I’m getting tired of telling you what to do. I hear a car. think you’re getting company.”

  “Don’t go, Ash. I want you to explain about Marcus.”

  “I have to go, Fanny. The kids need me.”

  Fanny snorted. “Like you were ever there for them.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “Guess what, Ash, so am I.”

  Fanny shook her head to clear her thoughts. Would she ever in this lifetime be free of Ash? She looked up when a car door slammed.

  “Mom? Mom, I . . . Oh, Mom . . .”

  “Billie, honey, what’s wrong?”

  “Everything. Oh, Mom, I’m so glad you’re here. I wanted to come out here so many times. I need . . . Mom, I screwed up. Big time.”

  “Then we’ll just have to unscrew whatever it is. Do you want to go inside and have some coffee?”

  “No. I like sitting out here watching the sun come up. You and I used to do that a lot when we lived at Sunrise. Do you like it here? It’s so different living in the desert after Sunrise and then the penthouse. I’ve been gambling, Mom. Not just a little either. Before I knew it, I was hooked. I’ve used up half my trust fund. I cut corners. I betrayed the company, Sage, and Ruby. Ruby was really nice about it, but she was angry. She had every right to chew my head off. Sage . . . Sage looked so . . . disappointed in me. I’ve been lying, cheating, and stealing. Me Mom. I’m sick inside. I don’t remember the last time I slept through the night or when I had a good meal. Sage said I looked like shit, and he’s right—I do. I broke Dad’s cardinal rule. I know he’s up there somewhere shaking his head at what I’ve done. I’m not even a good gambler. I wore disguises, Mom. I tried to cover it up a hundred different ways. Someone took pictures of me and gave them to Sage. I wanted to die. I need you to help me, Mom. I know you have other things to do and Marcus is in the hospital. I need you, Mom.”

  “I’m here, Billie. For starters we’re going inside. You are going to shower and change into fresh clothes. Go through my closet. We’re pretty much the same size. Then I’m going to make you a big breakfast. After that we’re going to the medical center because I have this strange feeling something is going on where Marcus is concerned. We’ll talk on the way and figure out the best way to deal with your problem.”

  “Are you mad, Mom?”

  “With myself. I always thought your father and I were lucky when none of you developed gambling fever. If your father had a particular fear, that’s what it was. In regard to everything else he was totally fearless. It was inevitable, I suppose. I’m angry with myself that I didn’t see what was happening to you, honey.”

  “Mom, if I told you the lengths I went to conceal what I was doing you would be so disgusted with me you’d break down and cry. I can’t seem to help myself. You have to help me.”

  “Billie, I can’t do it for you. You have to want your life back. In order to do that, you are going to have to fight this addiction. After your father died I found out all the good things he did. Do you know he helped to fund an organization for people like you? It’s on the same lines as Alcoholics Anonymous. You go to meetings, you have sponsors, you join support groups and discuss your addiction and, Billie, it is an addiction. The casino still funds the organization and will continue to do so. Sometimes I marvel at his insight, at
the way your father did things. It was almost as if he knew. I still dream about him. We carry on these imaginary conversations. I always feel so much better after I have one of our . . . little talks. I don’t tell that to too many people, Billie.”

  “I didn’t get one minute of pleasure out of it. I always had the feeling Dad was watching me. Then I’d get belligerent and hit the tables big time. Defiance was my middle name. I started after Dad died. I do have an appointment with a shrink tomorrow. I decided that was the place to start.”

  “It’s a very good place to start. It shows you’re still in control and that you want to get a handle on it. It’s not going to be easy. You realize, don’t you, Billie, that you have to repay the firm and make good on everything. Will repayments wipe out your trust fund?”

  “Just about, Mom. I’m prepared for it all. I’ll have a very small nest egg left. It won’t get me far in this world, but it’s better than nothing. Some people don’t have any kind of savings at all. They gamble away their houses and their lives, and then they cry. The thing that makes me feel the worst is I didn’t listen to Dad. This may sound stupid to you, but I think it had something to do with him never remembering my name. I’m not blaming him. I take full responsibility for what I did. Do you know they have special classes in the schools now? It’s a major thing for young people today. It’s a question of probabilities. A person stands a one-in-two-million chance of being killed by lightning. The odds of me winning a jackpot are one in 12.3 million. I knew that, Mom, and I still hit the tables. That doesn’t say much for me, does it? God, Dad must be spinning like a top over this.”

  “Billie, he’s the one who fought with the school board to put the gambling classes in the schools. No one in the family knew any of that. All these strangers kept coming up to me at his funeral to tell me the wonderful things he did anonymously. In many respects he was more generous than Sallie was. I guess it was his legacy to us.”

  Billie buried her face in her hands and howled her misery. All Fanny could do was whisper and croon to her daughter the way she had when Billie was a little girl. “Let’s get that shower while I make us some breakfast. I imagine Billie and Bess are up by now. I’m going to tell them they can leave today. It’s time for me to take charge of my life too.”