Peggy's tone stayed serious. “Nice, I don't get on you often but listen, this is a miracle. Let that place sink. Your employees suck. They’re the worst. And your Dad is a grown ass man. You have to live your life. Stop living for everyone else and start living for you.”
“Oh god, Peggy, what did you get that off of? A Lifetime movie somewhere? This is real life. I have responsibilities!”
“And it's your life! That you can finally start living! I've watched you breaking your back for that place since you were twenty years old. The last six years! Just walk away from it. And don’t look back. Ever.”
She started to argue, but then stopped. She closed her eyes.
Would losing this place really be that bad?
“Look, I've still got a little time. I'll think about it. Okay?”
“Fine. And while you’re at it, go by the drugstore and pick up some Plan B.”
“Peggy!”
“What? I'm just being practical. Alden seems like a nice enough guy, but we've known him for five minutes.”
“I will take care of my own reproductive health, thank you.”
“I gotta go, Nice. It's almost five. I have to pack up so I can get home. I'll call you back tonight.”
“Oh shit! You're still at work. I'm sorry!”
Peggy made a dismissive sound. “Whatever. You know I don't give a shit about this job.”
Laughing softly, Nice said her goodbyes and hung up the phone. She looked around the office, thinking about Peggy and how carefree she was. Wishing she could be like that.
Her eyes caught the package from Alden that she still had yet to open. Sighing, she reached over, pulling it off the desk and on to the cot with her. A tug at one end of the ribbon caused the whole knot to come loose in a shower of silver and green. Nestled inside was a binder. Plain, black, nondescript. She pulled it away from its tissue paper confines and turned it over in her hands. No title, nothing to explain it.
She opened it to find a notebook page filled with tight slanted handwriting. She flipped quickly through and saw all the pages were the same. Page after page of letters in the same handwriting.
She turned back to the first page and started reading. Dear Bernice, it started. It was an apology. A very stark and formal apology. It ran through the details of her brother's death. What an upstanding man he had been. All the things Alden had said when he saw her on the first day. And then signed, very formally with his name and rank.
The next was much the same. And the next. But then something started to change. His handwriting was the same, but the letters were more personal. There were pictures attached to some of the letters. The first was of Alden in the hospital. He was smiling, but his green eyes held no light. He was covered in stitches still and his hair was starting to grow back.
Dear Bernice, changed into Dear Nice, and then just Nice. She smiled as he detailed getting the puppy. My parent's got me a dog. I guess they thought it would get me out of bed and not paralyzed? They meant well, but I thought about telling them that if they had gotten him when I was five maybe I would have never left for the Army. It's not true but it's hilarious when Mom starts feeling guilty. She does this full on fainting routine. Clutching at imaginary pearls and all. But still, the dog is nice. He's quiet. And it's someone else’s job to clean up after him. I think I'll name him Roscoe. He's such a little guy.
Attached to the letter was a picture of him with the dog. The scars on his face were still noticeable, but the stitches were all gone. The dog was small. A fluffy mutt, mostly gray with some white spots.
He detailed his physical therapy. Apologizing for how short the letters were but explaining that he was exhausted. I wonder if it was like this when I learned to walk the first time? Probably not. It was all new then. Now I have to relearn everything. This all feels like a lost cause. It hurts and my body doesn't listen to me willingly anymore. It's like I'm fighting myself at every turn but everyone keeps saying I'm doing better and talking about hope. But I don't feel any different. It feels the same as it felt right after the accident. When I wasn't dead.
Nice squinted at the page. These were Alden's words. All of it. They were his thoughts and he had been writing her at least once a week for almost three years. And she understood how he felt because she felt like that now. All the time. The pictures were few and far between, but they showed him getting better. From bed, to wheelchair, to walker, to cane. His hair grew out into loose ringlets and a beard. The dog got bigger, from a tiny puppy into a massive hound with heavy paws and please forgive me eyes.
He talked about his work. Managing the family business. His parents passing off more and more duties in an effort to keep him occupied until finally he was in control of the whole business. He wrote about it, covering the basics in bits and snatches of information. Manufacturing soap of all things.
She pulled out the last picture he had sent. He smiled in all of the pictures. But his eyes never lit up. He never looked at the person holding the camera the way he looked at her. She pulled her knees to her chin and stared at the picture in her hand. The man in the picture was not the man who had held her that morning. He was not the man who had stood next to her urging her to smile so he could capture her picture. The man in the picture was haunted. His green eyes were cloudy and dull.
She tapped the picture against her lips and laid down on the cot, closing the binder. She wondered where he was, what he was doing. Looking at her phone she saw it was almost nine and she had missed five calls. They were all from him. He hadn't left any voice-mails for her. She stared at the phone, unsure what to do next. It vibrated in her hand.
“Alden,” she said slowly, letting his name roll off her tongue.
“You finally answered! Are you avoiding my calls? I know you're scared but-” Nice interrupted him.
“I read your binder,” she said softly.
“Okay. So, now what?” he asked, his voice losing its earlier bravado.
She laughed, a small sound. “You gave me this whole big box with one binder and tissue paper. I couldn't get any of the wonderful soap you make?”
He laughed, the sound filled with relief. “You can have all the soap you want. A lifetime worth of soap. I'll have my secretary send you a gift basket tomorrow if you want!”
“The blonde one?”
“Yeah, the blonde one,” he replied.
She sighed. “Alden, why didn't you send these? You knew where I was. Why did you just keep them?”
He was silent for a moment before beginning. “I didn't know where you were. I had an idea. I knew the town.”
“You knew the bar.”
“I found the bar after I started writing you letters. And by then I had really started to write you. I didn't just want to apologize to you. I wanted to get to know you. But most of all I wanted…”
“Someone to talk to?” she prompted.
“Yeah,” he said.
Nice could imagine him, pushing his hair back, like he did whenever he was uncomfortable.
“Oh god, you probably think I'm some sort of stalker. Again.”
She laughed, looking at his picture. “No I don't think you're stalking me. I think this is weird though.”
“Weird? Yes, it's strange. But does that mean it's not real?” Alden's voice was shaky.
She blew air through her teeth. “I don't know. I'm really bad at all of this.”
“Where are you?”
“What? Why?”
“Because I'm coming to get you. If we're going to have a talk, we're going to talk. Face to face. Besides, you probably haven't eaten since I dropped you off. “
She rolled her eyes. “I can't keep running off with you every night.”
“Too much too soon?”
“Definitely too much! I just met you and now this. With the bar, I can't deal with it all at once.” She realized her mistake as soon as the words left her mouth.
“The bar? What's wrong with the bar? Nice, if you're in trouble, tell me, I can help you.�
�� His voice was earnest. She felt her walls go up and pushed them back down.
He's here! He's real! She shouted to herself. Out loud she said, “Never mind. None of this is your fault. It's not your problem, Alden so don't go there.”
“If I had been here for you sooner then maybe this wouldn't have happened. Whatever is happening.”
“Oh no. Don't do this Alden. This is not your fault. This is just, my life,” she finished lamely.
“Baby?” he asked, the smile in his voice. She felt the blush return. “You're at the bar aren't you? I'm coming to get you. Let me take you to dinner. I'll even get you Chinese if you want it.”
“Alden. . .”
“And then I'll take you home,” he finished.
“Fine,” she relented. “But I'm not spending the night!”
Chapter Seven
Someone pounded the door so loud that it rattled the glass in the frame. She left the back room, dread filling her belly. The pounding at the door was insistent.
She’d forgotten that her father would be home. And that he sometimes still took time to read the mail. She turned on the light in the bar. She recognized his form through the glass. As she approached, he pounded the door again. She let her hand hover over the lock until the rattling stopped. She unlocked the door and opened it in one swift motion.
Her father stood, huge and dark in the doorway. He pushed past her, the smell of alcohol stronger on him than the bar on its busiest night. She closed her eyes, shutting the door and locking it behind her. “Dad, what are you doing here?”
He paced the room, back and forth like an animal. He shook his head and pointed a finger at her. “I thought you were better than this Bernice. I thought you were stronger.”
He slurred his words together, already piss drunk, which was normal but there was something else.
“What are you talking about? Dad you should go home and lay down.”
“Lay down? Lay down! What and let you lose what I worked so hard to build?” When his eyes locked on her, her breathing sped up in her chest.
“Dad, it's not what you think. It's not as easy as you think. Just calm down,” she held her hands up. “Please.”
“Easy? It's not easy! You were supposed to handle this! You were supposed to take care of this! All of this!” he shouted, motioning to the bar around them. “And just look at it. Look at what you did. It's filthy. What did you do with all the money?”
She hugged herself and looked away. “What money? There’s no money. There never was. I tried to keep the bar going, but you left everything a mess! I've been trying but-”
His fist shocked her into silence. The sound rang out in the empty room. He had actually hit her, not a threat but a real hit. She touched her eye, pain blooming under her fingers. “Okay, you have to get out. You have to get out of here right now.”
“Or what?” he sneered. “Or you call that little white boy you've been parading around with? You didn't think I knew about that? People talk Bernice! People tell your daddy when his little girl is out being a whore when she should be working!” His voice was low and angrier than she’d heard in a long time.
His words shocked her, cut her. She closed her eyes. “Please leave, Dad.”
His hand on her throat shocked her, his grip on her crushing her windpipe. He moved her to the bar, dragging her feet across the floor. She fought against him, kicking and scratching at his hand. He threw her against the bar, knocking the wind out of her, clamping his hand over the back of her neck. “This is where you were supposed to be! This is where you should have been! If you’d taken care of this place like you were supposed to the bank wouldn’t be calling now.”
He screamed at her over and over. The front door was rattling again. She pushed the noise to the back of her mind and struggled to get loose from her father, to breathe. Her father held the back of her neck pushing her against the unyielding wood of the bar. His voice filling her head. Her hand scrambled for something, anything to throw off his attack. Her fingertips found a bottle and with the last bit of strength she grabbed it, pulling it to her. Gripping the bottle by the neck, she swung it around to meet the side of her father's face.
The bottle shattered against his cheek. He paused for a moment, releasing her. Nice stilled, breathing hard. In the back of her mind she heard her name being called through the door. She looked down at the broken bottle in her hand and dropped it to the ground. “I'm sorry, Dad, You have to go. You're drunk.”
He grabbed her shirt, dragging her off the bar and pulled his arm back. Closing her eyes and bracing for the hit, she heard glass shattering, and then before a hit landed, her father's heavy presence was pulled away. Her feet slipped on the wet floor, dropping her to the ground. Her hand landed on the broken bottle, pressing glass into her open palm, slicing it open.
She turned away from her own injury to see Alden pulling back his fist to land another punch on her father's face. She tried to call out to stop him, but she couldn't catch her breath. Alden's fist landed squarely on the side of her father's face. She scrambled to her feet, slipping on the glass shards, cutting her hands and knees. Alden's face was a mask of anger. His green eyes were almost black with rage. She tried to call out to him, but her voice was lost.
She made it to her feet and leaped onto Alden's back, wrapping her arms and legs around him, pulling him back with her weight. He couldn't redistribute his own weight fast enough to catch his balance. He used his arm to keep from falling onto her. She felt the impact vibrate through both of their bodies. He grunted in shock.
“Stop! Alden! Don't! That's my Dad!” Her voice was tiny in his ear. She listened to his breathing. She could feel his heart beat pounding against her arm. She looked up at her father. “Get out of here now Dad or I'll call the cops.”
Her father looked at them on the floor and then spit on her. “You're just like your brother.”
She felt Alden tense up underneath her. She pushed her face into his neck. “No, don't. Baby, please just don't. I'm fine, I'm fine!”
She could feel his rage, his anger under her hands. Her father stomped out of the bar, crushing glass under his feet before slamming the door shut behind him. She let out the breath she hadn't realized she’d been holding.
“Jesus, Nice!” Alden shouted.
She started to make excuses, but he pulled her hand away. “Oh my god! Your hand!”
“Don't worry about it. I'm fine. Are you okay? I'm sorry about making you fall. I didn't know what else to do to get you off him.” She unwrapped herself from his body.
“Nice! Look at your hand!”
She pushed herself to her feet and immediately felt lightheaded. She tried to steady herself on the wall, but her hand slipped. “Oh!” she said, looking at her hand for the first time.
Alden struggled to his feet. The blood was flowing down her hand, puddling in pools in the creases of her wrist before dripping onto the floor. “I hurt myself,” she said looking at Alden. “Where's your cane?”
He shook his head, taking her hand. Her blood was all over his shirt. “We have to stop the bleeding, Nice.” He pushed her face up, searching her eyes. “I think you're in shock. I'll call an ambulance.”
His words spurred her to action. “No! I'm fine! See? I don’t have insurance.” She broke away from him. She moved quickly, knowing he couldn't keep up. She stepped into the kitchen leaving a trail of blood behind her. She wrapped her hand in a clean towel.
Alden followed her into the kitchen. His face was pale and his eyes were full of worry. He had found his cane and was leaning heavily against it. She smiled weakly, “I'm fine.”
He crossed the floor awkwardly to her and touched her face. She flinched away from his fingers. “He hit you.” His voice was choked, strained.
She reached out with her good hand, “Baby, please don't. I'm fine. I want… I need you to not get upset. Just sit down…your leg.”
His fingertips were searching her face, tracing the line of the bruise. “I'm cal
ling 911.”
“No! I can't afford that. I'll be fine.”
The blood had already soaked through the dish towel. He shook his head. “Then I'll pay for it, but you have to go.”
“Alden, I told you. I'm fine!” She tried to put strength in her voice.
“Stop!” he shouted at her, startling her, “Don't Alden or baby me! You are hurt badly and I need to get you to someone that can help you! I need to get you to a hospital!”
“Don't yell at me!” she shouted back and immediately regretted it. He cared about her. His anger wasn't with her. “I'm so sorry. I need to lie down.”
He shook his head. “No, come on. I don't care how mad you get, but you are going to the hospital. Trust me on this.” He grabbed her arm gently and pulled her. She stumbled. “Nice, I need you to walk. I can’t do it for both of us right now.”
She nodded and willed her feet to move. He half dragged her out of the bar. Pulling out car keys, he unlocked the car door. She noticed through a haze that he’d switched rental cars. He settled her into the passenger side of the Kia and shut the door.
He slid stiffly into the driver’s side, grunting softly. When he started the car, hot air hit her in the face.
“Tell me where to go. Where's the ER?”
She shivered. “It's cold in here.”
Alden grunted as he twisted and pulled a jacket from the backseat. He covered her with it. “You’re going into shock. It’s at least ninety-six degrees in here. Where’s the ER?” he asked again. She looked at him blankly. “Fine. I told you, I’m taking you whether you like it or not.” He pulled out his cell phone and searched for the nearest hospital.
She watched him, the line of his jaw tense. She reached out and pushed the phone down. “Look at me, Alden.” His eyes flicked up, lingering on the blood soaked towel and then higher to her eyes. “I can't afford to go to the ER. I can't. Please understand. I'll be fine.”
He touched the screen on the phone and placed it on dashboard. His voice was soft. “I can't afford to lose you. Either you can tell me how to get there or the phone will.”
To Hold and to Heal (BWWM Interracial Romance) Page 7