What Lovan never understood was why those things involved what he now knew were drugs. He knew even as a child that his father drank, but the “special med’cine” his father took?
He’d had no idea what it was until an older friend of his clued him in.
The group of people waiting in the lobby grew as Lovan waited. To his left sat what looked like a family of five waiting to visit with a loved one… a mother with four young children. To his right, a rather large old white woman, hair unkempt, most of her teeth gone, dirty skirt and suit jacket, and rancid scent.
If it weren’t so rude and there were another place to sit, Lovan would have moved. But he knew, had Grandmama been there and he moved, she’d have given him a look so fierce it’d smack him from across the room.
“Alright,” a guard announced. “Will the following people please step forward?”
Lovan, thankfully, had arrived early enough to be in the first set of people to head through the metal detector and visit.
The sooner I be out of here, the better, he thought as he waited for the old woman who’d been on his right to go through the metal detector. The woman emptied her pockets, clumsily removed her half-inch heels, and headed through, only to set it off.
The guards suggested she try it again.
And again.
Finally, the female guard asked the woman if her bra was underwire. At the woman’s nod, the guard gave her instructions on how to pass through… slowly, with minimal movement… so the detector would refrain from its duty.
“Next time, forget the underwire bra, ma’am. Otherwise, we’ll have to send you back home without your visit. This is a one-time pass,” the officer told the woman, frowning.
“Some people,” Lovan heard the woman mutter as he made his way through the detector without incident. “Alright, you’re fine; step to the side and get in line.”
Once the group was all processed through and the guards were ready, they followed the pair through first one locked door, then a second, and finally a third before being escorted to one of two different visitor’s areas: either face to face, or glass-barrier.
Today, as much as he wished he could just speak to his father through the glass, he was led into the larger room to meet with him face to face.
Rows of empty chairs greeted him, and he moved toward the back, making sure to follow the guard’s instructions for seat color. Each set of rows was made up of two colors, and they were instructed to sit on the left side, leaving the right for their loved ones.
A system Lovan was already used to, but which bothered him every time he’d visited… first in Salem and now in Pendleton.
Lovan watched as more visitors trailed in, and as inmates began to file out, one at a time in sporadic groups and individuals. After fifteen minutes, he became frustrated. After half an hour, he was ready to leave, he was so upset, but he remained.
This was for his grandmother.
It sure wasn’t for his father’s benefit.
Finally, after nearly an hour’s wait, he heard the inmate door opening again, and there he was: Quentin Quimby. His father had grown out his hair. As the man approached, Lovan could tell that it was braided down past his shoulders, tight against his head and kept close to his body the rest of the way down.
When Quentin stood in front of him, an expectant look on his face, Lovan finally rose to hug him. He kept it as brief as possible and, once they’d sat, finally said his hello.
“So,” Quentin said. “I got your Grandmama’s letter. How is she?”
The words were stilted; they sounded practiced… but before replying, Lovan noticed something he was sure he hadn’t seen in a long time: Quentin looked like he’d recently been crying.
It was such a rare occurrence, Lovan hadn’t even bothered to look at the man’s face that closely. He had always kept all emotion aside from anger to himself around his son.
“She could be better,” he finally replied.
He sure wasn’t going to be the one to tell him about what happened with Grandmama.
Save that for someone else.
“So, she’s still alive?”
“Um…”
Quentin’s eyes widened, then narrowed at him.
“Um?”
“Well, it’s not for me to tell you what’s happening. She made me promise not to…” Tears began to form in his eyes, and he pushed his glasses back a bit up the bridge of his nose.
“What did she make you promise? Not to tell me if she’s alive or not? That’s ridiculous!”
A guard hushed them, then came up and spoke with Quentin a moment before pulling him aside.
Lovan held his breath and began to pray.
So, were they telling him now, or waiting until he was safely gone from his father’s presence? Would they seriously tell him Grandmama was dead while they were in the middle of their visit?
He waited… and waited.
Within a few minutes, he saw his father being escorted back through the inmates door, and the guard from the desk on the other end of the room came up to him.
“Listen, Son. The inmate you were visiting with, a Mr. Quimby? Well, he just received some bad news. He asked if you could give him a couple of days and then come back.”
What could he say to that? That he was supposed to return back the next day and couldn’t wait? That he was still a kid in school and couldn’t be traipsing across a town he hated; a town he loved because they kept his father far from him. Loved because his father wasn’t in it to mess things up for him on a daily basis there, like he had in other places?
Or should he call home and let them know he’d have to stay, and wasn’t sure how long? Hope that he could still get a ride back when Quentin Quimby had spoken his peace?
And what would Grandmama’s friends think of him staying two or three extra days? Never mind the homework that would load up while he was gone.
Lovan stood, shaking, and nodded.
“I’ll have someone come get you in a few minutes to take you to get your things. Sorry the visit didn’t go as planned, but these things happen, right?”
Lovan nodded again; headed for the snack machine. Mechanically, he bought a couple packs of M&Ms with the tokens he’d exchanged cash for, and sat back down to eat them while he waited.
Actually… it had gone almost exactly how he thought it would. He was just thankful not to be the bearer of bad news.
Twenty Nine
Portland, Oregon… June 10, 2020
Edward stepped inside the Burgerville, his stomach growling, glad there wasn’t much of a line. He could smell the hamburger grilling, the salted fries, the freshly cleaned floors, and pulled his phone out as it rang.
Paloma.
“Hey, I was just getting ready to call you,” he said in greeting. “Right after ordering lunch. I’m three people back in line at the Burgerville near work. My turn to order for everyone.”
He pulled the list from his pocket as Paloma replied.
“Well, if you want to talk later, instead…”
“Could we?”
“Well, I’d rather not, since it’s sort of important, but if you need a few minutes…”
“Well, just… wait on the line when I get to the counter. Talk to me,” he said, inching up in line by one.
“Chosen got into another fight at school. I’m sitting in the parking lot, dreading what I’ll hear from the principal. Usually, I just talk to the secretary, but when the principal calls you, you know it’s…”
Edward moved up one more place in line.
“Did they say what happened… anything at all,” he asked, now distracted from his notes and the menu. Why did Chosen have to get into fights? It seemed that the more he tried not to, the more it happened, even during summer school.
“Well, I haven’t gotten to see him yet; as I said, I’m still in the parking lot. All I know is it was with someone who was in Cherish’s class last year. They didn’t say anything more.”
He could hear a
sob in her voice, and his throat closed in anguish. How was he supposed to respond to that?
Had he taken the day off, as he’d planned, he could have gone to deal with this. She’d insisted he go ahead; that things would be fine.
“Can I help you, Sir,” the girl at the counter called to him. He nodded and stepped forward.
“Just a sec, Hon,” he said before quickly placing the office order. Once he had paid and gotten his number, he moved to sit down. He’d get ketchup and napkins on the way out, with the soda.
“Sorry about that; I’m back. So, what are you going to do? You can’t just sit there in the car all afternoon avoiding it.”
Sobs met his ear again, this time, less controlled. He could just see her there, forlorn and crying in the van in the middle of the parking lot, getting strange looks from other parents. Finally, with a hitch in her voice, she spoke.
“I just… I don’t know anymore. I thought…” She hiccupped. “I thought being a parent was going to be joyful, and don’t get me wrong, a lot of it is, but… Jason and I never got into fights, and most of my friends didn’t either, back when we were growing up. I just can’t imagine what…” She paused again. “I can’t imagine how it is that the boys get into fights… so many fights; especially Chosen.”
“Number twelve,” Edward heard someone say.
His tray was brought out to him, along with a bag containing Malik and Jason’s meal. It was helpful that they knew the men of Rutherford Research enough to know that whoever came for the food ate here, and brought the rest back for the others. It saved time, and stress.
“Thank you, Doug,” he told the server quickly, even as he watched him walk away.
Doug had worked at their Burgerville for a few years now, and Edward always delighted in seeing him; in interacting for the few minutes that they saw each other.
He was a good server, and a sweet soul. One of few people Edward had ever met with Down’s syndrome, Doug always shared a smile, his round dumpling of a face glowing with joy.
And in the light of bad news about his son’s fight, as he listened to his wife sobbing over the phone, he was torn between a sense of helplessness and one of utter joyfulness at seeing his friend.
“You’re welcome. Have a wonderful day,” Doug told him as he slowly moved back toward the front of the restaurant.
It was their routine; their rhythm to talk a few minutes when Edward came in, but considering he was on the phone, Edward was glad his friend was so understanding.
“Listen, why don’t you go see what’s going on, and we’ll talk tonight. I’ll talk with Chosen about a punishment after the others have gone to bed,” he said, reaching for his Sprite.
“Well,” Paloma replied, sniffling her tears away. “I guess there’s nothing more to say about it for now, then, is there?”
Edward took a sip of his soda; unwrapped his double cheeseburger. “We’ll get through this,” he said. “We just have to keep trusting God with the kids. If we can trust Him to keep me alive,” he said in a near whisper, “I’m pretty sure we can trust Him with their lives.”
He took a bite, savoring it, as Paloma replied.
“I guess so.”
“Well, I’ll see you tonight, then,” he told her, relief flooding through him. “And hey, Honey?”
“Yeah?”
“We can do this.”
“I know… it just…”
“Exactly.”
Thirty
Seal Beach, California… July 19, 2020
Calico followed her husband, Romeo, out onto 10th Street as they exited the First United Methodist Church. Though they’d been late to their regular 9:30 AM service, they had made it in time to hear the pastor as she spoke on a passage from 1 John 4 about God’s perfect love.
The final words of the passage still rang in her spirit:
“Beloved, since God loved us so much, we also ought to love one another. No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God lives in us, and his love is perfected in us,” the pastor had read, finishing up a much longer reading. “By this we know that we abide in him and he in us, because he has given us of his Spirit.”
It had been a wonderful service, and she was thankful for it; any day now, she would be giving birth, and who knew when she’d feel up to leaving the house after that?
She was already four days past her due date, now.
Calico sighed as she glanced back at the robin’s egg blue double, gabled doors of the entryway once she’d traversed the stairs, wishing they could stay until service was over.
Though she was used to leaving ten minutes earlier than everyone else – first in Anaheim, and now here in Seal Beach – it still made her feel like shrinking inside. She knew they couldn’t risk being followed to work, or home, and so it had been a set requirement if they were to stay with HUVA after she was out of their main client system.
Romeo held out his hand to her, and she took it as they walked along the side of the church, past a handful of palm trees, and turned left. Their car was parked a few doors away, for which, today, she was thankful.
“So, what about some lunch,” he asked, surprising her. “We could hit Angelo’s, or Subway, Cap’n Jack’s, Papalucci’s, the Magic Lamp, Domenico’s, Open Sesame, Roman Cucina, or even Le Creperie? Whatever you want. I insist.” He smiled down at her, and the sun behind him reminded her of a halo as it hit the shorn red cap of his hair.
“Really, you’d go all the way to Sunset Beach with me for French Onion soup, Potato Skins, and a Veggie Burger? Even though I’d probably have to bring half of it home?”
The thought of lunch at Cap’n Jack’s was too good to pass up, despite how full she felt with the baby. How long had it been since they’d visited and just had a nice time out in a restaurant?
And one that was outside Seal Beach?
Even better.
Cap’n Jack’s was just a couple blocks from the beach itself – as well as Huntington Harbor – maybe if she felt up for it after lunch, they could even take a walk. The change of scenery could do her some good, and as it was finally a day they both had off, why not?
“You well know I’d go anywhere with you,” her husband said as visions of soup and potatoes ran through her head. “Besides,” he continued. “Brice asked me if we could pick a few things up from Macy’s over in Huntington Beach today, since we had some time on our hands. If you don’t go into labor… and you can sit in the car while I run in. Just some clothes for Roscoe Judd.”
Of course.
It had to come down to work, didn’t it?
Even when she couldn’t work now, for a while; even when she could go into labor any minute?
“But hey,” he told her, lifting her chin with a finger and pausing long enough to kiss her. “Maybe we’ll have time to stop some other places, too. Somewhere a bit more… fitting to our time alone together.”
Well, there was that.
And she certainly couldn’t argue with his kisses, now could she?
He took her hands in his, kissed them, and apologized. “I know I should have asked you first, and I meant to… it’s just… Brice and Melody have a lot on their plate, too, not in the least of which is Roscoe Judd Ballard.”
“So we can go to Costco and Trader Joe’s, then? Stock up?”
“If that’s really how you want to spend our time together after lunch… you bet.”
“Good… we haven’t been in months, and who knows when I’ll be able to get back in there after this baby’s born,” she said with a smile, smoothing her hands over her burgeoning belly. “I think we should definitely take the time, whether my feet appreciate it or not. Besides,” she added with a chuckle. “Maybe this little one will take the hint and come, already.”
Her mind reeling with everything they could get done for the day, she walked the rest of the way to the car, thankful that, at least for the time they ate, she could rest her feet and have true one-on-one time with the man of her dreams.
Yes, she
thought. The irritating, wonderful, spontaneous, strong, and sometimes forgetful man of my dreams.
Thirty One
Paris, France… July 19, 1702
Maurice flew up the stairs, late for work.
How can I have slept in? This has never happened before, he scolded himself as he made his way toward the Marquise’s quarters for his daily order. Not once, even in a storm!
The Marquise Françoise had given him strict orders never to be late, and until this day, he had not once disappointed her in this.
She understood when the King usurped her authority and found other things for him to do, but in essence, Maurice worked for her and obeyed her commands, doing his all to fulfill her requests as was possible. Sometimes, even when it was impossible; that did not stop the request or demand from occurring, and he’d gotten quite good at being creative in his problem solving.
“A word, Monsieur Beausoleil,” he heard someone say from behind him.
It was a familiar voice, and he shuddered before calmly turning around.
Jacques-Jerome Sauvageon stood in the doorway that led to a linen closet, wiggling a chubby, wrinkled finger at Maurice as though he were a dog. “The Marquise will have to wait,” the man said again, his fat little lips pursing quickly once he’d finished speaking.
Sauvageon… the leader of the guards who had tried to kill James Francis, King of the Jacobites.
Sauvageon, a fat sausage of a man who never quite fit his breeches and waistcoat.
Sauvageon, the man who had done his all to discredit not only he, Maurice, but the other two men who had helped foil the twisted plot of those who were loyal to neither country nor King.
Sauvageon, who lived next door to Roisin’s best friend, Babette Aucoin and her husband, a mere mile away from their home.
“I do not have time for this foolishness,” Maurice told him, hoping the man couldn’t tell he was shaking inside. “I am late, and we have no more words to speak.” He quickly turned and continued down the hallway and prayed… prayed hard… that the man would not follow.
The Angels' Mirror Pack 2: Books Four through Seven Page 17