White folks were as dull as they were predictable, Serenity thought, stifling yet another yawn. She summoned up a smile as she reached the car window. “Hello. Happy birthday, ma’am.” She held out the party bag.
“Serenity, I appreciate this so much,” Elizabeth murmured, uncomfortable and feeling conspicuous. She felt the girl’s amused eyes.
“Yes, ma’am. Anytime.” She strode away to find her grandmother.
Elizabeth gulped a ragged breath. Now all she had to do was deliver this to Adrienne’s without incident.
She put the car in gear and slowly pulled out.
Anger was a ribbon around the box that contained Michael’s emotions. He got into his car and drove to the cottage to talk to his wife, to tell her he’d do whatever she wanted him to do.
He was prepared to beg. He had all sorts of scenarios playing in his head as he drove the hour and a half to get there. The only problem was, no one was home.
So he waited. He made coffee and checked the refrigerator.
It was two hours later when he heard the front door open. Elizabeth was just walking into the kitchen; she had seen the car and was not pleased. “Michael.”
“Elizabeth. We have to talk.” His voice was urgent. Hers was cool.
“You should have let me know you were coming. I have plans for tonight.” The brightly colored bag she had left on a table in the foyer contained the reason she wanted to be alone.
Stunned, he looked closely at her. He couldn’t believe it. “Can’t you cancel?” Incredulous, he saw her shake her head. “Elizabeth, we have to talk, we can’t let things stay like this—”
He stopped as she held up her hand. “We both need some time apart to . . . sort things out. Michael, I know you’re not happy. You haven’t been for a long time. Well, neither am I. I need this time alone. And so do you. Good Lord, it’s only been a week. Go. Let it be. Because”—and she started turning away—“because there is really nothing new to say right now.”
She walked out of the room, leaving him there, angry, alone, and scared.
Now it had been over a month.
Elizabeth was still gone, had not once called and it had shut him down emotionally. The only way he could function was to pour his concentration fully into business during the day, go home to eat, and then go to the gym to work out, tiring his body so he could go home and sleep.
Routine kept him from having to think beyond the moment but, eventually, it wasn’t enough. He arranged to travel as often as possible, taking trips with senior sales executives even when he wasn’t needed.
He was running away from the only situation he had no control over—his wife. Of course, it didn’t help that Virginia Mae stayed upset about her daughter, didn’t understand anything, but blamed Michael for it all. She had taken to calling him often at night and fussing so much he had finally left the answering machine on, letting it screen the calls.
Finally, after one restless Saturday when he seriously considered driving out again to the river, begging her to come back or at least tell him what the hell he had done that was so wrong, he came to a conclusion: Enough was enough. He put on casual clothes, called on some friends and went out, determined to have a good time. And he did. The food was good, the company easy, and he consciously put Elizabeth out of his mind. By the time he got home, he felt as if he had finally turned the corner; now he would start living his own life. She had made her choices, and he was finally learning to tolerate them. He would be all right.
Later that night when he entered the kitchen, the heavy sigh was as dark as the night when he saw the red blinking light of the answering machine. He was more than certain who the one phone call would be from—who else but Virginia Mae? He flicked on the switch, hunkered down in a chair to listen, finger poised to punch the erase button, when he heard Carol’s voice. Chills ran over him as he got the shock of his life.
Each time Elizabeth received the merchandise from Serenity, she drove slowly and carefully to Adrienne’s house. The others would come there throughout the next few hours to pick up their share and then Elizabeth went home. The next morning she would travel again to Adrienne’s house, and out on the back deck they would light up and smoke for the twenty minutes it took to finish just half a joint. Then they would bag the unfinished portions, and Ian would collect the tiniest scraps and flush them down the toilet. “No evidence is good evidence,” he would quip. He was always there to ensure things went right.
During and afterward, Adrienne and Elizabeth waited. Hoped. Tried to feel a difference, tried to move legs and feet, wondering if what happened to Sandra Little would happen to them.
Then Elizabeth would take the smaller joint home and take little puffs throughout the week, always outside and always alone.
One thing Elizabeth could say was that filling her lungs with smoke produced a lot of coughing, but when it was over, a hazy peace floated over and through her, as if she belonged right where she was. There was no worry, just a delicious hopeful joy. A kind of . . . serenity. She grinned at the word.
Adrienne had described much the same, but was dismayed at how much her appetite increased on the day they did their main experiment.
“If I keep this up, I’ll be a round ball and won’t need this bloody cart because Ian can just roll me from one place to another,” she snorted one afternoon, trying hard to sneak another pastry to her plate.
“Not to worry; I’ll starve you for the next few days,” Ian promised, taking the plate off the table altogether.
“Have you felt . . . anything change for the better?” It was the end of the fourth week, and Elizabeth’s hopes were dimming. What happened to Sandra Little had not happened to her. At the same time, her spirits were up, so she knew she felt better and sometimes she thought she was moving better, but . . . not like Sandra. Would it be more gradual for her? Or was she deluding herself? Hope was a rare commodity in her world and she shared it only with the other support group members.
Sandra was the benchmark for all of them. Carl Sanders had reported relief from the pain, so he was more than satisfied. Claude Nolan also reported relief, but the smoke was clogging his sinuses, so as far as he was concerned it was a wash.
Albert Stoddart said that even if it was helping, the tension he felt each time he inhaled the illegal drug was overstressing him. Whatever happened for Sandra Little just was not happening for them. Ethel Carden had taken one sniff of the pungent sweetness and never came back. She said she’d never smelled such a stink before and knew there was no way she could inhale it.
Elizabeth looked at Adrienne. “She’d rather inhale tar and nicotine?”
“She’s scared,” Nolan said, who seemed to know the family quite well. “Her husband’s got a controlling nature and a god-awful way of looking at right and wrong. I’m surprised she’s been able to come to this as many times as she has.” Carl took over buying her portion, too.
Pearl Smith loved it but could barely afford it. “Ask that little girl if she can get me some cheaper ones. I can’t hardly lay my hands on so much money each week.”
“But Pearl, is it making you better?” Adrienne asked, a little concerned. This was a potentially addictive drug, but she had to admit the woman was smiling a lot more and the fibromyalgia didn’t seem to be hurting her as much.
“I feel better,” Pearl snapped, “and that’s all you need to know.” She counted out the money, first in two ten-dollar bills, two five-dollar bills, then the rest in dollars and change.
Elizabeth and Adrienne frowned at each other. Could this cause more problems than it seemed to be helping? It was a thought that remained unspoken as each hoped the miracle of Sandra Little would somehow be re-created.
Serenity had twelve hundred dollars in an envelope pressed between the mattress and box springs of her bed. Although she knew she’d be adding another three hundred dollars to it Friday morning, she was not happy. She had figured these people would keep her busy forever, but that wasn’t going to happen. Nope
, it was over this Saturday. She would never get a job making this much money again.
Greed was quickly replaced by revenge. The grievances were plenty: This woman, after all, had once fired her. It seemed to her that Elizabeth Whittaker, who had never known a rough place in her life, should be shown what life was like for the rest of the real world. It didn’t matter the woman was sick—or that a bunch of her friends were sick. They were adults who were supposed to play by the rules and not use a poor teenager to make illegal deals for them. Serenity felt righteous indignation start to smolder.
She had come to dread the Friday night adventure. She was getting a rep for hanging out at that intersection. It was a place where more than one white (and black) man offered to be her sugar daddy. Of course she had glared and said no, but she couldn’t leave until she got what she wanted and sometimes they wouldn’t leave either.
Serenity gave a great deal of thoughtful consideration to Saturday’s ending. She had enlisted two of her most trusted companions to help her make this scene happen as she so directed.
Soon. It would be soon, she thought, exiting the school bus that had pulled in front of the little concrete house, feeling the wind on her back pushing her toward the future.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Saturday morning, Elizabeth was sitting in the parking lot of the supermarket, eyes closed. So absorbed in hoping for a miracle like Sandra Little’s, she had never thought to specifically pray about this. Would it make a difference?
She was going to find out.
Thoughts flickered in and out as she talked with God. Please let it be different for all of them. Maybe this time nerves and muscles and magic would somehow click into place. A smile curved her mouth as her imagination soared along with her hopes.
Her eyes were still closed when Serenity rapped the window. The girl smiled with bright energy and handed Elizabeth the pretty bag. She left, and Elizabeth slowly pulled out of the parking lot, not seeing anything else.
Serenity walked toward a group of people huddled at the picnic tables under the cover of maple trees. It was chilly on this blustery March day, and Serenity knew precisely who was there. She stopped about ten feet short, turned slightly and flicked the side of her nose, the cue for action. Immediately someone got up and headed for the public phones.
Serenity then walked to the other side of the building, stood motionless for a second and then flicked her hand up to her brow in a quick military salute. Immediately a person sitting in an old convertible Mustang picked up a cell phone and punched in some numbers.
Elizabeth was nearing the turn toward Adrienne’s house at Newman’s Neck. There had been no traffic, but she had still driven well below the speed limit, wanting to be invisible.
She reached down and turned up the radio and when she raised her eyes she was jolted by what she saw in the rearview mirror.
A sheriff’s deputy was right behind her, no sirens but with lights flashing. Her heart started pounding. What had she done? Hands shaking, she pulled slowly off the road, praying she wasn’t the one wanted, that the car would pass her in pursuit of someone else.
He pulled in directly behind her. He slowly got out of the car. Instinctively, she pushed the colorful gift bag to the floor of the car, frantically trying to remember if her state tags were current. She knew the car had been inspected recently, she could see the current city decals on the windshield, even as she racked her brain. What did he want?
“Ma’am, I need to see your license and registration.” He was a young man, looked younger than Kellan. She tried to keep her face relaxed.
“Of course,” she murmured, fumbling with her bag and having trouble getting her license free. It took even longer to open the glove compartment and find the registration, which was tossed casually in with a mix of papers. Finally, she turned and handed them to him, with what she hoped was a puzzled, innocent smile.
He took the documents back to his car, radioing in the information. She sat, waiting, wondering, and trying to think calm thoughts. She kept glancing at the rearview mirror, wondering what the protocol was in a situation like this. She had not a clue.
He finally came back, handed her the documentation, and for one fragile moment she thought it was that simple and sagged with relief.
“Ma’am, we got a tip; someone called to let us know they had seen a drug transaction involving this car. May I have your permission to search this car?”
Her heart was slamming so hard in her ears she thought surely she had heard wrong. “You got a what?”
“A tip, ma’am. I repeat, may I search your car?”
She was trembling. Suddenly she had never felt so tired in her whole life. “Officer”—she passed a hand over her eyes—“I am not feeling . . . well. Could I go home and rest and then you’d be welcome to come and search my car.” She really did feel like she was going to collapse—pins and needles were engulfing her legs; she didn’t think she could walk.
“Wait here.” She dropped her head back against her seat and wondered what on earth she should do? If she had been schooled in the ways of dodging the legal system, she could have tossed the bag out the window, but it never occurred to her. In the emotional state she was in, Elizabeth could barely connect one thought to another.
Then the officer was back. “Ma’am, since you won’t give me your permission to search your car, I’ve called for a drug-sniffing dog.” He looked down the road at a brown-and-gold police vehicle with its lights flashing its suspicion for all to see.
“A drug-sniffing dog?” Elizabeth’s voice was faint. Never in her entire life could she have imagined herself in a situation like this. She had never even had a speeding ticket! Good Lord, what was going to happen to her? And it was all so innocent . . .
She watched the massive golden retriever barrel out of the car, lunging full throttle against the leash its handler held.
Immediately it went to the driver’s side door and lunged, barking to let its handler know it found a hit.
The other officer nodded and started pulling Bud away as the first officer instructed Elizabeth to get out of the car.
“Why? What’s wrong, Officer?”
“I now have probable cause to search your vehicle, ma’am. The dog has detected an illegal substance. Ma’am?” He held the door open.
Trying hard not to dissolve into absolute terror, Elizabeth turned and shakily reached into the console to pull out a new collapsible cane that she kept neatly folded in a small, dark leather case. The top of the sleek handle was the only thing the officer saw—a glint of dark steel; the curve of the handle looked ominously like the butt of a gun.
When she turned back to the open door, it was to see the barrel of a gun pointing directly at her. “Drop it; get out of the car, hands on your head, NOW!” he barked, both hands stretched out, the gun leveled straight at her.
“All right! All right, I’m coming, I’m coming,” she screamed, panic making her movements jerky and awkward. She was trying to put her hands on her head, at the same time struggling to get out of the car, unsure of what was happening, all among the backdrop of a fierce dog barking and growling. She tried to move quickly, which only made things worse but she didn’t want to do anything to antagonize this clearly demented young man. And what if the other one let the dog go?
She struggled to get out of the car. She had to lean against the door for stability but he ordered her to turn around, which she did, again almost losing her balance. When she tried to speak, he ignored her, intent on cuffing her hands behind her back. “Officer, you can’t—I need my ca—Why, you can’t do this! Please, will you just listen?”
He was turning her around just as a news photographer jumped out of a car and started taking pictures. The sudden movement knocked Elizabeth farther off balance. She was shaking so hard, her legs were like jelly; she started falling even as the officer tried to pull her back by jerking up on her arms.
Instead, the force propelled her back into him, and they both began
teetering awkwardly from one side to the other, Elizabeth yelling and the officer cursing. For a long, horrible moment they floundered against gravity but ultimately lost.
Elizabeth fell forward with the officer inches behind still standing, trying to pull her away from the road. Just as the side of her face grazed the asphalt, a series of pictures was captured that would go over the AP newswire later that day. The pictures would be published, not because of what happened, but because of her name. It was the very last thing in the world she wanted.
Father Wells could have told her, you don’t always get what you want, but with God you always get what you need. At that moment in time she would have considered him a damn fool.
After the sheriff’s deputy helped her up, apologizing, he took her to the station, administered first aid, and then charged her with drug possession with intent to distribute. And on top of that Elizabeth heard she had paid four hundred dollars for ten joints worth one hundred dollars. But wait, hadn’t Serenity explained all that? She was too shaken to think clearly.
Ian had come and picked her up as soon as she called. Adrienne stayed home to alert everyone not to come and why. Ian waited as the warrant was issued and charges filed. She was released on her own recognizance.
Ian served tea and an ice pack, setting both in front of Elizabeth. “Are you sure you won’t go to a doctor, Elizabeth? It looks wicked. Something could be broken.” He tried not to wince as he looked at her.
“I don’t want to go anywhere, Ian. My face is just bruised and skinned. The deputy almost was able to pull me back before I hit. It really looks much worse than it is.”
“What was that young man thinking of when he pulled a gun on you like that?” Adrienne shook her head, disgusted.
Elizabeth tried to sip the tea and grimaced at the movement. “Could I have some aspirin?” She waited while Ian got her several.
A Sundog Moment Page 28