Loving Constance

by Lyn Cote

  “Troy was up to his eyeballs in debt.” Rand flung these words in her face.

  She refused to be intimidated. Talk was cheap. She clenched her jaw and demanded, “How?”

  “Gambling. Your good old buddy Troy—Mr. Perfect-husband-andfather—was betting way over his head.”

  Connie gawked at him.

  He returned her regard. He kept his hands folded in front of his face as he spoke. Was he saying this just to mock her?

  “Explain this to me.” Connie gripped the edge of the counter to keep herself from lunging at him.

  “Your…friend…Troy—” he paused to emphasize each word as if she didn’t understand much English “—needed cash to pay gambling debts—if I’m not mistaken. And I rarely am. He showed all the signs of a gambling addiction out of control.”

  “But—”

  “Let me explain to you the finer points of the dangers of gambling,” he said in an annoyingly patronizing tone. “Loan sharks give two types of loans. The first is the ‘knockdown’ where weekly payments include principal and interest. It’s like borrowing two thousand dollars and making fourteen payments of two hundred each. In the end, the poor borrower pays back twenty-eight hundred dollars.”

  Connie glared at him.

  “The second type of loan is the ‘vig.’ That’s a six-for-five loan where a loan of five dollars on a Friday incurs a payment of six dollars the next Friday.”

  Connie made a dismissive sound.

  Rand ignored her and went on. “But the worst of loan sharks, besides their resorting to violence, is that if unpaid, the loan is not considered paid until both the interest and principal were repaid together. In this way, the poor borrower will pay off the original amount many times before the debt would be considered paid. That’s the hole I think Troy Nielsen dug himself into.”

  Fuming, Connie tried not to snap at him. “That’s your explanation then?” she asked in a stiff tone.

  “Yes, that’s my explanation of the facts surrounding Troy Nielsen’s abandoning his family.”

  She turned her back to him. He’s baiting me. I won’t give in and give tit for tat. She put the pan back on the burner and whisked the vegetables and chunks of chicken around inside the pan. They sizzled and gave her a reason to face away from him.

  “So you won’t take my bait?” he taunted.

  “You’re upset—”

  He muttered something under his breath. “I sure am. Didn’t today teach you anything? This is a nasty world, where punks rob liquor stores and shoot anybody who tries to stop them. A world where men gamble money away and ditch their cute little wives and children.”

  She refused to answer him. The vegetables and chicken hissing in the sauce, she slipped the frying pan off the burner again. Rand said no more and she sifted his words over and over in her mind, trying to get to what they really signified. From a cabinet, she lifted down two plates and divided the stir-fry mixture between them. From a drawer, she pulled out cloth napkins and tableware.

  Turning, she placed the plates on the bar—one in front of Rand and one on the place beside him. She reached in the fridge and took out a pitcher of iced tea. She poured two glasses and then sat down beside him—all without looking into his eyes.

  “Don’t have any answers for me?” Rand’s voice sounded jagged, unsettled.

  “I hear a lot of wild and unpleasant speculation, but no proof.” She held her fork over her plate, her reluctant appetite bailing on her. “Do you know for certain that Troy was gambling?”

  “No, but—”

  “Do you know for certain that Uncle Lou has ties to organized crime, not just suspicion?” She forestalled him with an upraised hand. “But real proof?”

  “No, but—”

  “When you have proof that Troy did more than bet on an occasional football game or proof that Uncle Lou has a connection to the mob, then I’ll believe it.” Connie laid her fork down and rubbed her tight forehead. This has been a dreadful day, Lord. “Now eat your stir-fry before it gets cold.”

  He made a sound of disgust. “You are one stubborn person.”

  “It takes one to know one.” A hint of dark humor crept into her tone.

  “Don’t try to get around me,” Rand warned.

  “I never try to do the impossible.” She closed her eyes. “Eat your food. We’re both tired.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, we’re both tired.” She opened her eyes and dragged in air. “And hungry.” She followed her own advice and forked in a mouthful of food. Her stomach seemed to sigh with relief.

  He finally picked up his fork and began eating.

  She finished her first mouthful and sipped her iced tea. The time had come to face her fears. “I think you’re right though. I think we should check out Uncle Lou and see if anything was going on at that job site that might have put Troy in danger. He might have seen something he wasn’t supposed to.”

  “How do you fit,” Rand asked her, still obviously resisting her effort to soothe him, “all the other evidence we’ve uncovered about Troy with Lou’s job site?”

  “Everything will fit when we’ve found out the connection. Not before.”

  He humphed. “Maybe in your life everything fits together neatly, but not in the life I know.”

  Chapter Ten

  The next Monday morning, Connie sat behind her desk. Floyd Sanders once more sat across from her. She’d followed up on every point that Ed Cudahy had suggested. She’d contacted the police about possible gang activity in the warehouse area and asked about any previous acts of arson or serious vandalism there also. Nothing had popped up as promising.

  One question nagged at her that she had to ask Floyd Sanders. Or did she? Her stomach churned. Do I really want to know the truth?

  “Yes, indeed.” Her client rubbed his hands together. “Things are coming together. The D.A. isn’t going to be happy when he hears Cudahy testify, is he?”

  Connie stared at her client. She just wanted to lay her head down on the desk and weep. The district attorney would indeed be unhappy to hear Ed Cudahy’s testimony. But in the long run, she might be even unhappier if anyone found out that Floyd Sanders had indeed paid for the man’s testimony.

  Mr. Sanders, did you pay Mr. Cudahy…to prompt his memory? That was a version of the question that hovered in her mind, making her miserable. I didn’t know I could be such a moral coward. Why didn’t I ever seriously contemplate that I might be asked to defend someone I think is guilty? The glib discussions in law school about this hadn’t gone deep enough, hadn’t portrayed how awful this actually felt.

  “I told you that fire marshal didn’t know what he was talking about. Arson.” Floyd Sanders made a sound like a tomcat spitting. “I’ll give him arson. If it was arson, I didn’t do it. And I’ll be happy to take the stand and tell the D.A. so.”

  Did you pay the teen Ed Cudahy described running away to start the fire? Or was that just the most believable explanation you could come up with?

  Her client didn’t seem to notice her silence. He rubbed his hands together again. “Well, if that’s all, I’ll be off. Having lunch with a friend of yours.”

  Connie looked up. “What?”

  “Lou Rossi.” Floyd Sanders actually straightened his lapels. “Wants to use me as a supplier for lumber for that new subdivision he’s bankrolling out west of town.”

  Stunned by this news, Connie rose—with effort—and offered Floyd Sanders her hand. “I’m happy to hear you’re doing so well in spite of your losses.”

  After their handshake, he pointed his index finger like a pistol at her and smiled. “You get me off this arson charge and everything will fall into place. I’ll come up smelling like a rose.”

  Connie tried to smile.

  He leaned forward and claimed her hand again.

  Involuntarily, she drew back.

  “There will be a little bonus for you when you get me off. Don’t worry,” he lowered his voice, “your partners don’t need
to know anything about that.”

  He left whistling.

  As if on cue, Maureen walked by Connie’s office and waved at her through the glass. She can’t be watching me. She’s just going about her business as usual. I’m being ridiculous.

  Connie sank into her chair, folded her arms on her desk and laid her head on them. “This is just too much. God,” she muttered, “why is all this happening? Troy disappearing, Chuck getting shot, my getting stuck with the worst first client in history—why?”

  She propped one elbow on the desk and hoisted her chin up onto her hand. I have to get out of here. Now.

  She leaped up, clutched her shoulder bag and zipped out the door. She was down in the lobby before she gave any thought to her destination. Walking to her car in the nearby parkade, she decided she knew where she wished to go.

  Within minutes, she was striding down the hospital corridor to Chuck’s room in the hospital. She slowed, wondering what she’d say to him, why this was the place she wanted to be now.

  Rand’s pretty, young-looking mother shot out of Chuck’s room and nearly collided with Connie. “Oh, hi!”

  Connie smiled with effort. Why hadn’t she guessed Chuck’s mother might still be here? “Hello, Mrs. O’Neill—”

  “Call me Dorcas, dear. After all you did for our Chuck yesterday, you’re very dear to us.”

  “But I didn’t do anything—”

  “The doctor told us that Chuck wouldn’t be getting out so soon if you hadn’t known how to administer first aid.” Giving an affectionate smile, she squeezed Connie’s arm.

  Connie blushed with embarrassment.

  “Anyway I’m glad you’re here. My husband went to work this morning as usual. So I’m here alone with Chuck. And now, Molly was just admitted downstairs!” Dorcas danced on her toes with excitement. “She went into labor early and I have to take her little girl home with me. And now Chuck needs a ride to his place and I can’t be in two places at once. I tried to call Rand, but he’s not in his office.”

  Connie’s head reeled with all this information. “Fine. You go ahead. I’ll take care of getting Chuck home.”

  “Thanks.” Dorcas hugged her and then laughed. “Everything happens all at once.” She hurried off toward the elevators.

  Connie felt like calling after her, “You said it.” Instead, she walked into Chuck’s room.

  “Hey, beautiful lawyer!” Chuck greeted her.

  “Doesn’t anything dampen your spirits?” she asked wryly, moving over to his bedside.

  “Well, I could be dead today. That puts everything into perspective, doesn’t it?”

  She sank into the bedside chair. “I had a nightmare last night that you had.”

  With his good arm, he reached toward her. “Hey, I’m fine. Molly’s having her baby and Larry’s going to be happy about that. He told me last Sunday that he didn’t know if he would last if Molly went past her due date.”

  “He wouldn’t make it?” Connie exclaimed.

  “Yes, you’ve only met Molly once. Believe me, she’s got what it takes to make a strong man shake in his shoes.”

  In spite of herself, Connie laughed out loud. “How can you make me laugh when yesterday I saw you shot? What does it take to get to you?”

  Chuck sobered before her very eyes. “Mom and I were talking about you late last night.”

  Connie sat up straighter. “Me?”

  “Yeah, you probably can’t see it because you haven’t known him for very long, but you’re having an effect on Rand.”

  “Me?” she repeated.

  Chuck nodded with a solemn set to his lips. “He isn’t quite as distant, quite as grim.”

  Connie shook her head. “You’re right I didn’t know him before, but he’s still distant.” And grim and…wounded.

  “Just don’t give up on him, okay? You’re good for him.”

  Connie wouldn’t answer Chuck directly. “I hear you need a ride home. I have wheels.”

  “As soon as—” Chuck broke off. “Oh, here he comes.”

  A young doctor breezed in, clipboard in hand. “No complications. Everything looks good. A nurse will visit you at home daily for the next week to change your dressings. Any questions?”

  “Are you sure he’s ready to go home?” Rand’s gruff voice came from the doorway.

  Recognition shivered through Connie. She looked past the doctor and glimpsed Rand framed by the door. His face was cast into shadow. But then that was always the case. His face, his eyes, always appeared in eclipse.

  “Yes, your brother is a healthy, strong young man. He’ll be off work for a week and then desk duty for another. Then he should be fine.”

  Rand nodded like a stern schoolteacher.

  The doctor chatted another few moments about two prescriptions he was writing that Chuck needed to have filled, and then the physician trotted out the door to the next patient.

  “What are you doing here, Connie?” Rand asked, walking toward her.

  In spite of his rude question, Connie’s unruly pulse sped up at Rand’s approach. The desire to take his hand nearly overwhelmed her.

  “That’s what’s so wonderful about my brother,” Chuck chimed in. “He’s always ready to give a cheery welcome to all.”

  Rand merely gave his brother a dark glance.

  “I wanted to see how he was.” Connie gave the safe alibi, forcing herself to breathe normally. In a show of strength, she lifted her chin, silently telling Rand not to try to intimidate her.

  “She’s going to drive me home,” Chuck informed Rand.

  “I came to do that,” Rand said. “And I brought you clean clothes from your apartment.” He handed Chuck a white plastic grocery bag.

  “She’s cuter. I’ll ride home with her.” Chuck accepted the bag and in turn, handed Rand the prescription scripts the doctor had left. “You can stop and get these filled and then meet us at my apartment.”

  Rand grasped the slips of paper. He gave Connie an unreadable glance and then relented. “Okay.” He turned to leave.

  Again, Connie nearly reached for him. Didn’t he realize how his actions revealed his need for comfort, for…some affection?

  “My brother, always a charmer,” Chuck said, grinning.

  Connie tried to smile for Chuck’s sake. Rand was acting as if she were responsible for Chuck’s wound, which only yesterday he’d objected to. Had he assumed for himself that guilt today?

  Not very logical. But it seemed that Rand had an irrational desire to assume responsibility for everything. And realizing this—more than anything—had begun releasing her from any feeling of guilt. She rose. “Chuck, I’ll step outside and let you get changed.” She retreated into the hall, closing the wide door behind her.

  Rand stood in the hall. “I’m sorry if I sounded rude.” He managed not to sound sorry at all. “I just didn’t expect to see you here this morning.”

  Me, neither. Connie managed a half smile, though her mouth was parched. “I had to see that he was all right. I couldn’t stay away.” I couldn’t stand another moment at my office.

  Coming down the hall, a pretty redhead hailed Rand. “Hi, is that Chuck’s room?”

  “Hi, Sheila,” Rand said. “Yes, he’s just getting dressed to leave.”

  “Oh.” The young woman looked disconcerted. “I didn’t know he’d be getting out this soon—”

  “Sheila!” Chuck opened the door a crack and beamed at her. “Come in. I need help getting into this shirt.”

  The redhead walked past Connie but with slow, reluctant steps. “Are they sure you are well enough to go home?”

  “I have two eyewitnesses.” Chuck nodded toward Connie and Rand. “Doc says I’m good to go.”

  “Well, okay.” The redhead blushed, taking a step back. “Guess you don’t need me.”

  “I sure do. Come in and help me with this shirt.” Chuck winked at Connie. “And then you can drive me home. Rand and Connie were just leaving to go pick up my prescriptions.” Chuck gave
them each a telling look. “They’ll drop them off at my place.”

  Rand appeared stolid, watchful. Sheila still looked hesitant.

  Connie forced a smile. “Yes, please take Mr. Cheerful off our hands. He’s just about to gag us with all his…his jollity. Maybe you can convince him that getting shot isn’t a picnic.” Since Rand looked frozen to the gray linoleum, Connie took his rock-solid arm and piloted them both away. “See you later, Chuck.”

  Though she sensed resistance, Rand allowed her to lead him to the elevators. They got in and Connie pressed the ground-floor button. The doors closed. She and Rand did not look at each other. What should she say, do? Offer to leave and let him deliver the pills?

  “You can come with me to the pharmacy,” Rand conceded, surprising her.

  “I—I…fine.” She didn’t want to be with him. She didn’t want to be parted from him.

  Outside the hospital, the day was heating up. White gulls from distant Lake Michigan screeched over the parking lot. Unbroken blue, unmarred by clouds, stretched edge to edge on the canvas of the sky. In silence, they walked from the hospital to Rand’s car. The heat of the day settled over them, suffocating.

  He opened the door for her and handed her the seat belt. His behavior was formal, overly polite—an attempt to keep his distance from her? Did he feel the thread that connected them becoming taut? He got in on the other side and off they went.

  “I’m playing hooky,” she confessed to his profile. “After last night, I just can’t concentrate.” I don’t want to think about Floyd Sanders or Chuck getting shot or Uncle Lou—or you.

  “I’m a little out of it myself,” Rand admitted.

  She let this pass without comment. “Did anyone tell you that your sister is in labor?” she asked, trying to keep the conversation away from emotional potholes.

  “No.”

  “Your mother went down to get their little girl and take her home so Larry could stay with Molly.”

  “I see,” he said.

  What a conversation. “That redhead was Sheila? The one Chuck wants us to double-date with?”

  “Yeah. So he asked you, did he? What did you say?”