Graveyard Shifts: A Pat Wyatt Novel

by Laura Del

  I shook my head, closing my eyes to the red-hot rage that was threatening to bubble over if I’d let it. “Why did you do it?” My voice was surprisingly steadier than my insides.

  He rubbed my arm, and for a fleeting moment, I felt like strangling him. “Do what, my love?”

  “Why did you marry me when you knew how he felt?” I asked, and I knew I didn’t need to clarify who “he” was. Samuel knew.

  “I wanted you in my possession,” he said matter-of-factly. My eyes shot open in terror and rage. “That came out wrong,” he backpedaled, but it was too late. He’d already said it.

  “You know what?” Ugh! I had no reason to explain anything to him. I was livid.

  I got up, grabbed my clothes, and put them on, making sure all the pieces were on the right body part. Everything was just so infuriating.

  “What are you doing?” he asked after a long silence.

  I rushed out of the study, making my way to the front door. “What do you think I’m doing? Leaving! Nimrod!”

  “You cannot leave,” he screamed, wagging his fist at me.

  “Watch me!” I hissed, and as I opened the door, he slammed it shut.

  “You will not leave,” he commanded, and when I looked into his eyes, everything seemed to go fuzzy, and a cold wind washed over me. “Let me explain,” he whispered. I tried to look away, but I just couldn’t. “When I saw you sitting there in the diner, I was drawn to you, and I fell in love with you. So I had to have you as my wife.”

  That was a lie. And I sure as heck didn’t believe him. “I believe you,” I said. Wait. What? I didn’t understand why I told him that. It was not what I was thinking, and it was not what I wanted to say.

  “Do you feel bad for Mike?” he asked, and his eyes seemed to go on forever.

  Yes, I do, my mind echoed the thought. “No, I don’t.” What was going on? I thought one thing and said another. This was strange for me. After all, I usually say whatever comes into my mind. But it seemed agreeing with him was all my mouth could do.

  “Do you love me?” He cocked his head, the coldness making my fingers go numb. And as I stared at him, I realized it was his eyes.

  I willed myself to look away, but even that was harder than it seemed. “I—I…” I don’t know. The voice in my head was rational. “I…” I don’t know! My mind screamed at me. “I—I d—do.” That wasn’t right. Why was I saying that? Why couldn’t I tell him how I felt? That’s when I realized I was saying what he wanted.

  “Take off your clothes,” he demanded in a purr, and I obeyed—just not willingly.

  My mind struggled against every fiber in me, but it only hurt when I disobeyed him. The coldness spread to my chest, and I could feel myself shiver from the outside in. As the cold went through to my shoulders, I felt my mind and body doing two different things. Then the coldness went into my lungs, and my breathing became rough and shallow. And as if my body couldn’t take it anymore, I blacked out.

  I woke up Thursday morning, feeling very nauseous. It felt like all the blood had drained from my body. And the only thought that came to my mind was, What happened?

  I swung my legs over the side of the bed, and when I stood, I fell right back down. My head was spinning like a top, and for the life of me, I couldn’t understand why.

  Did I have a hangover? No, the thought popped into my pounding head. I didn’t have anything to drink. I also didn’t have anything to eat, which was probably the reason for the headache.

  A gentle squeak of the door alerted me to someone coming in. “Good morning, Pat,” Charlie said with a smile, bringing a tray of food in with him. “Did you sleep well?”

  No. “No,” I said, feeling dizzy again.

  “Why not?” he asked, but he didn’t seem too surprised by my answer. I was missing something.

  Your boss. “Your boss.” Was there an echo in here? It felt as though my brain hadn’t quite caught up with my mouth yet.

  “Are you all right?” Now he seemed concerned.

  I held up my hand so my mouth could catch up with my thoughts. Absolutely. “No, I’m not. Something very strange went on last night. I was leaving, and then…ahhh!” Pain shot through my skull. I couldn’t remember. No, I couldn’t talk about it. I knew what happened, but it hurt to tell him.

  “Pat,” Charlie’s hands hovered over me, trying to soothe the pain, “are you hurt?”

  “Headache,” was all I could say, even though “brain ache” was more like it.

  He shook his head at me. “That was no headache.”

  I wanted to tell him, but something in me told me not to. “I’m just hungry,” I said as everything in the room spun, including me. “I didn’t eat last night.”

  Charlie looked confused. “Don’t you remember having dinner?”

  Dinner? “No.” The lack of memory scared me, but I just chalked it up the pounding of my brain against my skull.

  “Well, you did,” he said, his eyes searching for any sign of memory. “I think I should call the doctor.”

  “No.” My voice was too loud. “No,” I recovered, “I’ll be fine.” The last thing I needed was a doctor sending me to the psych ward. “There’s no need to involve medical personnel.” I was babbling. “And speaking of calls…” Well, that was a leap. “Could I have the phone? I forgot to call my editor.”

  “Certainly.” He nodded and reluctantly walked out of the room to fetch it for me.

  He brought it in, hooked it up, and left in a hurry.

  I punched in the numbers for the office for the millionth time and got Eddie. She was one of the receptionists, and I liked her. But what I really loved was the way she answered the phone. “Howdy there. This is Edwina Forest speaking. How may I direct your call?” Her Georgian accent was adorable, and she twanged it perfectly every time.

  “Hey there, Eddie.” I couldn’t help but smile into the receiver. “It’s me.”

  “Well, butter my biscuits.” I told you she was adorable. “If it isn’t Miss Patty Duke herself. How ya doin’, sugar plum?”

  That was what I liked about her: she was always a pleasant voice, and she loved calling me Patty Duke. Besides, she wasn’t only a pleasant voice. In person she was just as wonderful. Every time I saw her, she always had a bright smile on her dark face. Her gray hair was always swept up into a neat French twist. And the older she got, the younger she looked. The woman was an angel.

  “Good, Ms. Eddie. And you?” I asked, even though I knew the answer. But my mother always said, “When someone asks you a polite question, you ask one back just to even the keel.” The Wyatt women are very competitive and not surprisingly very sarcastic.

  She laughed. “Sweetie, you know I’m always peachy keen when I hear your voice.” I could see her smile. “So, what can I do for you today?”

  “I need to speak to Joey.” My voice wasn’t above a whisper. I felt a wave of pain shoot through my head again, and if I spoke any louder I might’ve fainted. “Is he in?”

  “Honey lamb, he’s always in,” she said, as if I’d asked the strangest of questions. “You just hold on now, darlin’. He’ll be on faster than you can say Jiminy Cricket.” I loved this woman.

  She put me on hold, and I waited a whole nanosecond before Joey’s Bronx “hey” came over the line. He always tried to make it sound like The Fonz. It never worked.

  Joey was a nice, middle-aged, balding man, and he was as tall as he was wide. And did that man have a great sense of humor and a personality that just made you want to hug him. The real thing that made him stand out was his way with women. I had never seen a man who had so many girlfriends in my life, and none of them had complained. Not once. So whatever he did to keep them happy, more power to him. Many a man could use him as a role model.

  “I hear congratulations are in order,” he said after a moment’s pause.

  That threw me for a loop. “Congratulations?”

  He laughed at me. “I heard you got married.”

  I rolled my eyes. Tina
must have told him. She never keeps her mouth shut. “Oh,” I said as the smile dropped from my face. “Thanks.”

  “Gee.” He laughed again. “Don’t sound so excited.”

  “What did you want, my sweet?” I perked up, because no one—and I do mean no one—could resist that man’s laugh.

  “Now that’s more like it,” he said, and his chair squeaked in the background. He had me on speaker. I just knew it. “What do you think about working here full time?”

  I shook my head. “I told you before, Joe. I do freelance because I love the spare time.”

  “I know that,” he huffed. “Would you let me finish? God.”

  “Get to the point, please.” I waved him on even though he couldn’t see me. He always drags everything out. He considers it suspenseful. I consider it annoying.

  “What if you worked for the magazine full time and still kept your ‘hours’?” When he asked, I could see his stubby fingers air quote the word “hours.”

  Okay, I was excited. Who wouldn’t be? “That would be amazing. Could you do that?”

  I could see him shrug. “I gotta talk it over with the higher-ups next week, but it’s not impossible.”

  I bounced on the bed. “Joey Styles, if you could do that I would love you for the rest of my life.”

  “Then,” he paused, “consider it done.” Suddenly, I was feeling a lot better. “All right, sweetie,” he said. “You take care now.”

  I couldn’t help smiling, even though he’d called me sweetie. “You too, Joey.”

  “Ciao, bella.” I loved when he said that.

  “Bye.” Still grinning, I hung up. “Charlie?” I yelled, my heart pounding I was so excited.

  He came in the room again, and I realized he must have been outside the whole time. “Yes, Pat?” he asked with a smile.

  “I’m going out,” I told him, and I stood without difficulty. I was on a mission.

  He looked stunned by my miraculous recovery. “Where?”

  “To see a friend,” I answered, kissing him on the cheek, and I skipped out of the room.

  I was washed and dressed in a hurry. Then I put on my low-rise jeans, an ACDC long-sleeved shirt, and my black, red, and white Converse with star laces. I pulled a brush through my wet hair, making sure there weren’t any tangles, rubbed product in my hands, and gently scrunched it in order to give it volume.

  Finally I went downstairs, made a quick phone call, and before I left, I put on my black zip-up hoodie, placing my bag over my shoulder as I ran out of the door.

  I was in front of the old building in no time.

  He was waiting for me, as I knew he would be, and when I saw him, I pointed to the corner, and he nodded.

  I met Mike at the door to Potters and hugged him so tight that he told me he couldn’t breathe. So I backed off and noticed that he looked really nice. He wore a black polo shirt with the buttons open and a pair of khakis. And as we walked into the café, he asked for the same booth.

  The goth hostess (whose name, I found out, was Jen) showed us to our seats, smiling. Theo was our waiter yet again, and he took our orders and promptly scurried off.

  I took off my hoodie and placed it next to me along with my bag. I was so excited that I couldn’t hold it any longer. “Mike, I have great news.” My lower lip was about to bleed. I was biting it so hard. “My editor called, and they want to put me on full time.”

  He smiled. “You’re kiddin’! That’s great. I’m so happy for you.”

  When I spoke, I could finally breathe. “Me too. I finally get the chance to do what I want, when I want, and how I want it. And the best part is I don’t have to worry about what might happen next.” I sighed. “It’s such a relief.”

  “Yeah.” He didn’t sound too thrilled. “That’s great.”

  My brows pulled together. “What’s wrong?” I asked, noticing that he didn’t look well. His face was paler than normal. “Are you okay?” I wanted to know. He was beginning to worry me.

  “Sam doesn’t want me to see you anymore,” he said, shrugging like it was nothing.

  My jaw clenched and unclenched. “It’s a free country. And last time I checked, Samuel isn’t God. You can do whatever you want. Within reason.”

  He closed his eyes, shaking his head. “You don’t know Sam.”

  “I’m beginning to catch on.”

  “I didn’t expect it would be so hard,” he said, reaching over the table to take my hand. Our fingers were wrapped together, and in that moment, I lost myself.

  “What would be so hard?” I asked, loving the way his eyes sparkled in the dim light.

  “Not seein’ you,” he replied, pressing his lips to my fingertips. I swear if this hadn’t been a public place there’s no telling what I might’ve done. “When he called me last night panickin’,” he continued, “all I could think was that you were dead and that I wouldn’t ever see those hazel eyes, those pouty lips, or that slightly crooked smile ever again. It hurt so bad I thought I might’ve died. But then he said you were there, and I was…”

  “Relieved?” I offered.

  He blinked at me. “Yeah.”

  Then I realized these feelings I was having weren’t normal friendship feelings. They were so much more than that. And it scared me. “Mike,” I whispered. “I think we’re getting ourselves into a lot of trouble.”

  He nodded, frowning ever so slightly. “I know we are.”

  “But I don’t care,” I amended, and his eyes were a bit brighter. “I like you.” It felt surprisingly good to admit it. “And I say to heck with the consequences.”

  “You already know how I feel.” Even though he’d never said it aloud, I knew. Then he leaned forward, kissing me on the cheek, and when he pulled away, his lips grazed mine. It took all I had not to lean forward and kiss him.

  “Did you feel that?” he asked, his face just inches away.

  I gulped, breathing slowly and deliberately. “Feel what?” I answered his question with a question.

  He smiled at me. “The world stopped turnin’; the air stopped flowin’, and the moon stopped orbitin’, all because I’m with you.”

  “That was…” I paused, feeling the edges of my mouth tilt up into a broad smile. “The cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard,” I laughed at him. “You are such a girl.”

  He nodded in agreement. “True. But that doesn’t make it any less heartfelt.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered, and we leaned away from each other. “For the sentiment.”

  “You’re welcome, bébé,” he said, kissing my fingers again.

  My heart jumped into overdrive when he said that. “Bébé?” I asked, biting my lower lip.

  “It means baby,” he shrugged. “Would you prefer I call you chér?”

  I shook my head. “No, I like it. It means I’m in your heart.”

  “It means you are my heart,” he said, letting go of my fingers, so he could pull me forward and place my hand on his chest. “Do you feel that?” he asked in a whisper. “It’s going Pat, Pat, Pat, Pat.”

  It was the corniest joke I’d ever heard, but I laughed so hard my sides hurt. “Okay,” I breathed, “now that, was the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard.” He started laughing with me, all deep and wonderful.

  Samuel was right about one thing. My life was not boring.

  At least not anymore.

  chapter

  EIGHT

  When I got home, Samuel was waiting for me.

  I’d spent a good part of the day and night with Mike. Mostly we just talked about our childhoods—you know, what we liked and disliked. I learned that he had dogs growing up, and he learned that I had cats. But even with these small differences, we had a ton in common.

  We both loved rock n’ roll but didn’t care for the death metal or hardcore rap. Both of us grew up in a neighborhood where everyone knew our names. And even though he didn’t have a sister, he did have a cousin. Jeff (the cousin) had lived with him and his parents for a while, until one day they g
ot into a fight over Mike’s girlfriend (at the time). Jeff wound up stealing her away from him in order to dump her only two weeks later. That ended their good-natured cousin relationship, and Jeff moved out after the fall out. Mike told me almost everything about himself, unlike Samuel, who told me a grand total of nothing.

  “Where have you been?” Samuel asked, as I walked in the house. He stood in the foyer with his arms folded, tapping his foot impatiently. For a moment I thought he looked a little like me when I get angry, so I laughed at him. But when I did, he seemed to get more annoyed.

  There was no need for him to be annoyed with me. He was acting ridiculous. And when I got myself together, I said, “You don’t need to know.”

  “You are my wife!” he yelled, his face lighting up with anger.

  “But not your slave,” I bit back, knowing that it would hit him below the belt. “You don’t need to know.” When I repeated it, I said it louder, just in case he was deaf.

  He looked at me, eyes blazing for a minute, and then he sighed. “I do not wish to fight with you.” That made one of us. “Besides, I have a surprise for you.”

  I do not like surprises Sam, I Am. Sorry for the Doctor Seuss moment. “What kind of surprise?”

  “We are throwing a party tomorrow night,” he said, “in order to celebrate our union.” That sounded dirty. “I have invited everyone I know and everyone who matters to you.”

  “What do you mean by that?” I asked, and that’s when he dropped the bomb on me.

  He shrugged, and I felt like hitting him in the chest. “Your father and sister.” I prayed I had heard him wrong. “I had them take the early flight out here, so they could be here by tomorrow night.”

  “What did you say?” I asked, wanting to hear that again. You know, just in case my mind was playing tricks on me.

  “I said we are having a party—” he began, as if I was stupid.

  “No, no,” I interrupted, mouth tight. “That thing about you inviting my father and sister.”

  “I called your father and—”

  That was it. The last straw. “You did what?” I screamed at the top of my lungs. He couldn’t have been serious about this. “What did he say?”