by Abigail Keam
My eyes turned to the marble fireplace where above the mantel hung a Frank Duveneck. My fingers rushed to my lips. It was the same Duveneck portrait that I had given Brannon on our last anniversary before we separated. It had cost me a whole year’s pay. Now I knew what had happened to it. He had turned around and given it to his girlfriend. I felt a sudden giggle rush up my throat followed by an awful taste of bile. I thought I was going to be sick, hoping to vomit on the antique carpet, but then one of the doors slid open.
In stepped Ellen. She gave the room a quick glance before resting upon me. I didn’t rise. I was not in the mood to go out of my way anymore. There she stood, slightly quivering before making her way towards me.
Still fresh and beautiful in her last remaining years of youth, her brunette hair perfectly coiffed, she sat opposite me – silently disapproving.
“Why are you here, Josiah?” asked Ellen. She was tense. I wondered if she thought I was going to slap her or something stupid like that.
I nudged one of the shopping bags towards her. “Inside these bags are things that belonged to Brannon. I thought the boy might want to have them. I put together an album of pictures from Brannon’s youth until his death. Also there is his letter jacket from high school, his college ring, some letters – just bits and pieces of his life that the boy might want to keep as mementos.”
Ellen tilted her head like a dog trying to comprehend.
“Inside the pocket of the letter jacket is a letter from your son’s sister with a telephone number. If he wishes to see her, he may leave a message at that number. If she does not hear from him, the number will be disconnected on his twenty-first birthday and the offer will be rescinded – forever.”
I stood. “You may read the letter if you wish. I know that you and I will never see eye to eye on this, but the children don’t need to suffer. He’s the only sibling my daughter will ever have.”
Ellen stood as well. “I don’t know what to say. This is very decent of you, Josiah.”
“I have my moments.” Not knowing what else to convey, I started to leave. Suddenly I turned. “That’s a nice Duveneck you have.”
Her face became clouded as though she was both pleased and puzzled at my remark. “Yes, Brannon gave it to me when I learned that I was pregnant.”
I gave it one last glance. “It is really a nice painting. Brannon always did have such elegant taste.”
Ellen smiled wistfully while glancing at the painting. “Yes, he did,” she said softly.
I turned and left the house. Asa got out of the limo and helped me step up into the vehicle.
“How did it go?” she asked.
“I think she might let you see the boy,” I answered. “Just give her some time to think about it. You should send him a gift this Christmas to start the ball rolling.”
My daughter nodded and gave the driver instructions to drop us off at the Bluegrass Airport. There we boarded a chartered plane, which flew us to New Orleans, where we were met by Brannon’s two surviving siblings. The four of us ventured out into the delta on a rented boat where we poured Brannon’s ashes while playing his favorite piece, Robert Johnson’s Cross Road Blues.
Afterwards, my in-laws promised to visit Kentucky with their families and bade a quick farewell while leaving Asa and myself to dip our beignets in café au lait at Café du Monde on Decatur St. There we silently watched the tourists and lovers stroll by. I couldn’t wait to get out. New Orleans was always a city of death to me with its above-ground graveyards, neglected mausoleums and mansions bathed in parasitic vegetation. I could tell Asa was tense too. Too many unhappy memories of us visiting Brannon’s relatives, and he disappearing almost the entire time to visit “friends.” No, New Orleans was always a city of disappointed trips and unchallenged lies. Brannon, like his hometown, promised much but in the end conveniently forgot. Brannon was one of those careless people of Fitzgerald’s.
Finally it was time for me to catch a plane back to Lexington and Asa to fly to Washington for her next assignment.
I did not feel forgiving. In fact, anger had been simmering ever since I glimpsed that painting. I would have to talk to Matt about this. He would give me a new perspective on it. Maybe I would talk about it with Jake, but I already knew what he would say. Let it go. Let it go. Not worth the anger. Anger is bad for healing.
But I would hang on to my anger, letting it whiten to a soft scar, hardening over time into a sinewy sliver.
Lexington was having one of its ferocious late spring thunderstorms, the kind that carries tornadoes with them, when Jake met me at the baggage area. He was sporting a big smile. I was surprised that my heart sped up when I saw him. He said he wanted to have a private talk with me, so we went to out to dinner even though I was very tired. I could see that he had something on his mind.
I told him how the meeting with Ellen went. He seemed pleased that it went well. Fidgeting with his silverware, he opened his mouth several times only to close it.
“Look, Jake. I’m going to fall asleep in about fifteen minutes regardless of where I am, so if there is something on your mind, you better tell me now.” I took a sip of my water.
“I signed my new contract. It has been renewed for the next nine months after October.”
“So you’re going to stay,” I said, suddenly frightened that I came close to losing him.
“If you want me to, I will. But there have to be some changes,” Jake stated.
“Like what?”
“Now that your dead husband no longer lives in your closet, I thought you might be willing to move forward.”
I sat looking at him, waiting.
Jake coughed, glancing about the room. “There is a powwow for the Choctaws in Mississippi next week. I would like to go and take you with me.”
I pulled out my planner from my purse. “I take it that this is going to be on a weekend. I think I can get Charles’ daughter, Bess, to look after my booth at the Farmers’ Market.” I marked the calendar with a pencil. “If I can get her, then I can go. She’ll take care of everything for me.”
Jake grabbed the pencil out of my hand. ‘I don’t think you understand.”
I shrugged. “What do I not understand?”
He struggled to find the words. “Not like with Matt but with a man.”
“Matt is a man.”
“What I mean is not like a friend.”
Realization dawned upon me. It was what I had hoped for but now the fantasy had to end.
“This is ridiculous. I’m too old for you.”
“Aged like fine wine,” he smiled.
I shook my head no. “It’s impossible. I haven’t thought that way about a man for years.”
“You think that way about Matt. I’ve seen you look at him.”
“Not that it is any of your damn business, but I love Matt. I love his beauty. I love his good manners. I love his loyalty. He was my only friend when everyone else turned their backs on me.”
“I’m loyal.”
“You’re paid to be loyal.”
“So don’t pay me.”
“How can I not pay you?” I lowered my voice as people were turning to stare. “I’m not healthy. My goodness, I can barely walk. I might have a deranged cop after my head. My childbearing years are past. There are just too many negatives with me. You need to be with a young woman. Someone who is whole and has energy. Someone who will make you a good wife, a good partner.”
Jake moved his plate out of his way. “Look, I’ve thought about this. I’ve seen everything you’ve got, so there are no surprises with the body.”
I could feel the blood rushing to my face.
“Here’s what I see. Yes, you’re a little worn down around the edges but there is something about you that I just like. Don’t ask me why. You’re bossy and sarcastic. Maybe I just like a woman who’s full of sass. And yes, you’re struggling, but who isn’t. Your face is not bad to look at either since the docs lined your cheekbones back up.”
I leaned towards him and whispered into his ear. “I don’t know if everything works. You understand?”
“You let me worry about that,” Jake said with a lopsided grin on his face. His arm reached over and he began to stroke my arm. His touch made my arm hair stand to attention.
I tapped the table. “This is serious. That part of my life may be over for good. The thought of any kind of weight on my legs make me apoplectic. I don’t think I can respond.”
“Well, if you don’t find me attractive, then we can end this conversation right now,” muttered Jake, pulling away.
“I never said that. You know that’s not it,” I whispered, looking to see if people were still staring.
“What? Can’t hear you. Speak up.”
“I said that is not the case. I think you are very handsome . . . for being you.”
“Okay, let’s just go to Mississippi for the powwow. We will take it slow. We’ll eat lots of fried bread, listen to the storytelling and buy crappy souvenirs. No expectations. We’ll just have a good time. Separate rooms.”
“Would this sudden interest in me have anything to do with the fact that I am now financially solvent?”
“It sure doesn’t hurt.”
“Who’s paying for this trip?”
“I am, but the next one is on you. I have a hankering for Venice.”
“What if we get serious and then you want children? What are we going to do then?”
“Already crossed that bridge. Have children.”
“You do? Oh, are you married?”
“Nope. Divorced. The kids are going to be at the powwow. Jake rose while throwing three twenties on the table. “Well, you look plumb tuckered out,” he said looking at my stunned face. “Let’s get you to bed. You’ve had a long day.”
Picking up my purse and walking stick, he offered me his arm. After hesitating for a moment, I took it and leaned on him as he led me out into the lightning storm that lit up a greenish sky that told of a coming tornado.
EPILOGUE
I never saw Moshe Goren to thank him for saving me nor did he respond to my notes left at the beehives. My daughter checked his cave and found it had been abandoned. At this point, we are assuming he went back to New York. That is being verified.
My walking is better. I stumble less. Jake decided I needed to take square dancing lessons. It has helped immensely with my coordination. I even bought one of those flouncey dresses to wear. We dance by ourselves as I am not coordinated enough to dance with the others, but I am getting there.
The medical bills are just trickling in now. I go to see doctors about once a month and those are the leg, hearing and head doctors. I’m finished with the plastic surgeons, dentists and the urologists.
It took Shaneika two weeks to go over the existing medical bills and pay them. She discovered $32,000 of overcharging, but luckily for me, no one argues with Shaneika Mary Todd, descendant of some of the most prominent families in Lexington. In her veins runs the blood of slaves and masters, frontiersmen and washerwomen, statesmen and indentured servants, soldiers and runaways. Since she didn’t take a percentage of the award money, I gave her a check for $25,000 and bought her a new baby goat.
I still can’t get medical insurance.
After settling with Matt with his expenses on the cottage and paying all my other outstanding bills, I still owed my daughter. We fought over this. She didn’t want any money back, but I knew through Jake that she had had to take out loans to cover costs with me. I finally got her to agree to a four-year payment plan with interest. I wrote a check and deposited it into her account, which I had opened when she was a teenager. She still used it for private concerns.
Out of $1.5 million first payment, most of it was gone after a few months of bill paying. I put $40,000 in my checking account and what was left put in CDs. I don’t trust the stock market anymore. Thank goodness I had a good honey harvest this year. It’s enough to see me through to the next payment from the city, which will be quite small in comparison to the first. I am still wondering if I should sell the Butterfly while she still looks good. I knew that I couldn’t keep her up to her current standard. Oh, well, like Scarlett O’Hara, I’ll think about that tomorrow.
My recurring pain is the only downside to what was a miraculous recovery. Things were looking up for me, so when the phone rang I didn’t even bother to check the ID. According to Jake’s protocol, I was only supposed to answer numbers I knew. Otherwise, the machine was to pick it up.
“Hello.”
“Did you enjoy your beignet at Café du Monde?” The caller laughed, “What a gloomy pair you and your daughter make.”
“Who’s this?”
“I watched with binoculars from the shore. A touching ceremony dumping your husband’s ashes out at sea.”
“O’nan?”
“I’ll be seeing you, Josiah.”
Click.
BONUS
AN EXCITING CHAPTER
FROM
DEATH BY BRIDLE
PROLOGUE
A door slammed.
Nine-year-old Lincoln Warfield Clark Todd was sleeping comfortably atop several bales of hay next to the stall of his mother’s Thoroughbred stallion, Comanche, when the horse began pawing and snorting.
He thought little of it, as the black stallion was always restless and skittish. It wasn’t until the horse began kicking his stall door that Linc sat up from his makeshift bed and rubbed his sleepy hazel eyes. “Whoa, boy. Nothing’s gonna hurt ya while Linc’s here,” he murmured softly to the horse. “Go back to sleep.”
It was then that he heard two loud voices coming from deep within the race-training complex. He looked at his cell phone. It was 2:30 in the morning. Linc crept over to soothe the horse by rubbing his velvety muzzle.
“Quiet, Comanche,” Linc commanded the big Thoroughbred.
Both horse and boy strained to listen. Comanche’s ears lay flat against his gleaming black coat. Linc held on to the horse’s bridle as he wondered where the night watchman was. Probably watching TV in the owner’s office.
A chair scraped across concrete. The voices became louder and more argumentative. A man called the other a “son of a bitch” and said “you’ll ruin me.”
The young boy, heavy with excitement, crept forward among the hanging tack, leaning rakes, stacked bales of hay, and black plastic buckets stuffed with brushes, combs, and hoof picks. Peeking around the corner he chewed on his lower lip, a habit his mother was trying to get him to quit.
At the far end of the stable corridor, two men stood facing each other like gunfighters. He couldn’t see them very well as only one yellow light glowed feebly from the ceiling. Horses poked their shaggy heads out of their stalls, their walnut eyeballs wide and glassy with foreboding.
A washed-out-looking man drew his fists up, crying, “I’ll kill you if you tell. I’ll kill you. I swear I will.” A single light, dangling from a worn-out cord, swung slightly from a light breeze, creating eerie dancing shadows on the man’s gray flesh. He fumbled towards the other man, who raised his arms in defense.
A spike of fear ran up Linc’s back. He rose from his crouching position, gasping.
Both men swiveled, staring at him with dumbfounded irritation. One of the men thudded towards Linc. The young boy ran in the opposite direction, but fell over a feed bucket, cracking his head on the concrete floor. His world went black.
It stayed black for a very long time.
1
Shaneika called at seven that morning, relating that Linc was in the hospital and asking me to come right away.
“I’ll be there,” I mumbled, wiping the sleep from my eyes. Pushing away Baby, my fawn English mastiff, I untangled myself from the bed sheets but Shaneika hung up before I could ask any questions.
I called my best friend Matt at his law office, informing him of the morning’s call. Both he and Shaneika were my lawyers, often working together. Matt asked that I keep him apprised of the situation. He replied that he
had to go after I heard someone calling his name.
A woman. Hmmmm. I recognized that friendly sexy tone of voice and knew what it meant, but couldn’t bother to think of that now.
Looking for Jake, I found him swimming laps in the heated infinity pool. Jake had been my bodyguard/physician’s assistant since my fall from a cliff when a rogue cop tried to kill me. That’s a long story, one that I want to forget, but the cop is still on the loose.
My daughter assigned Jake to me. He really works for her.
Somewhere along the line, I crossed the no-no boundary and fell in love with Jake. But I have nothing to offer. I’m much older. My body is put together with glue and wire. I don’t think it could survive a younger man’s attention. What little money I have is tied up in paying medical bills and keeping my farm afloat. So when his contract is up this October, I’m going to send Jake away.
By the way, my name is Josiah Reynolds. My grandmother named me after a Hebrew king known for his righteousness.
I’m known for other things, not all of them nice.
Previously an art history professor, I now keep honeybees and sell honey at the Farmers’ Market in Lexington, Kentucky. It’s enough to get by on if I live on the cheap. I’ll never get rich on honeybees. It’s more a work of love.
I clutched my robe at the throat while leaning over the steaming water to get Jake’s attention. He rose up like Nix, the Norse god of lakes – water streaming from his long, blue-black hair and down his ruddy, muscular body. “What’s up,” he asked, wiping hair from his eyes. He looked at me from under thick, dark eyelashes.
The pool wasn’t the only thing steaming.
“Shaneika called. Said her boy was in the hospital. Wants me to come. Can you drive?”
“Sure thing. Why’s he in the hospital?”
“Don’t know. Just told me he was and asked me to hurry.”