Love Me If You Must

by Nicole Young

  I’d know soon enough.

  Strands of hair got trapped in my lips as I concentrated on my chore, reminding me that I’d have to visit Tammy at the Beauty Boutique again soon.

  I’d taken a ten-year hiatus from powdering and primping. It felt good to be treating myself special again. Mom would be proud of any interest I took in my personal appearance. She’d gone through a lot of trouble dressing me up when I was a kid.

  It hurt to remember.

  “Try this one, Tish.” Mom held up a pale blue dress that my seven-year-old self couldn’t resist. I grabbed at it, beaming.

  “I’ll be as pretty as you,” I told her, modeling the spring dress in the department store mirror.

  “You’re always pretty.” She knelt down close to me.

  “Yes, but on Easter, I feel pretty.” I spun around. The skirt opened like an umbrella around me.

  Mom stepped back and gave a nod. I could tell by the smile on her face that I made her happy. She liked being my mom. We didn’t care that my dad never came around. We were happy, just the two of us.

  A tear dropped onto my wrist. I set the hammer down and wiped my face. I was such a baby. How many years had it been? Twenty-six? I should be over it by now.

  I took a deep breath and smashed the chisel with the hammer. A chunk of cement went flying.

  But I hadn’t felt pretty that Easter.

  “You’re not wearing blue to your mother’s funeral,” Grandma said, pulling me down the aisle of yet another store. Spring hadn’t been a good time to find sad colors. Grandma had to buy me a white sailor dress. Only the trim was black.

  I hated it.

  After the priest was done talking, I snuck up to the front and stared at my mother. They told me she was dead, but I was happy to see her anyway. I had been staying with Grandma, and I didn’t know where Mom was that whole week. Grandma wouldn’t tell me. Just said Mom had to fix some things before I could see her again.

  I don’t know if she got to fix things or not. I think she must have died first, because things sure felt broken.

  I held on to the edge of her casket. I was glad the fabric inside was silky. She liked silky stuff. Mom was dressed in a pretty pink blouse with ruffles down the front. I wished I had my blue ruffled dress on instead of the sailor dress. Then we would have been matchies.

  Mom’s face had a pushed-in spot on the forehead. Someone tried to make it look better, but I could tell it must have hurt bad. I reached out to touch it.

  “Patricia Louise Amble,” Grandma said behind me. “Come away from there. Let somebody else get a turn.” My arm hurt when she pulled me away. She sat me in a corner by a smelly bunch of flowers. People I didn’t know walked past my mother. They shook their heads and whispered. Sometimes they looked over at me and shook their heads and whispered some more. I played with the black scarf on my sailor dress and pretended I didn’t notice.

  “What’s my darlin’ doing here all alone?” My grandpa came and sat next to me on the metal chairs.

  I giggled. “Grandpa, your breath smells like beer.”

  “You sound just like your mother, darlin’.” His eyes were red and watery, and I knew he felt sad just like me. He smoothed down my hair and I felt prettier for a minute.

  Grandma came down our row. “There you are, you old drunk. You’re supposed to be at the door, thanking people for coming.”

  Grandpa winked at me. He stood to attention. “Aye, aye, Captain.” He marched like a soldier across the room.

  Grandma slapped at him. “Stop that. You’re embarrassing me.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” Grandpa said and kept marching.

  I laughed until tears ran down my cheeks.

  In the cellar, a smile crept over my face at the memory. I held the hammer suspended, not wanting to shatter the vision.

  Good old Grandpa. What had I done all these years without him?

  The faint ringing of the doorbell floated down the staircase.

  I stiffened, debating whether or not to answer it.

  If I didn’t, there was a good chance whoever it was would come in anyway. Nobody paid attention to closed doors in this town.

  I set down my tools, clicked off the flashlight, and climbed out of my cubby. By the time I got to the front of the house, I was breathing hard.

  I pulled open the door.

  “Oh, hi,” I said. A vaguely familiar-looking man in a brown leather bomber jacket and blue jeans stood there.

  He nodded. “It’s been awhile. Do you remember me? I’m Rick Hershel. I used to live here.”

  My eyebrows went up. “You look different with your beard shaved off.” Should I ask him in? Should I throw him out?

  He smiled. “Yeah. Things were a little crazy last summer. Life’s starting to come back together now.”

  I nodded in sympathy, leaning against the doorframe so he couldn’t push his way through. I didn’t want him thinking he had any rights to my house. He’d signed it over to me. From the dust balls in the attic to the body in the basement, the whole place was mine.

  I waited for Rick to speak.

  He shifted his weight back and forth, clasping and unclasping his hands. What was he so nervous about?

  He cleared his throat. “You probably remember that I wasn’t too happy to sell this place.”

  Cry me a river, Rick, I thought. I ain’t giving it back.

  “I heard something like that,” I said.

  “Well, a couple of people told me you’re fixing it up pretty nice. I thought maybe I could get a tour.”

  I crossed my arms. “It’s not done.” Sorry, Rick. No mercy.

  He gave a laugh. “Oh, no, that’s no problem. I just wanted to see how far you got.”

  “Not very.”

  His smile vanished. “I would really appreciate a tour.”

  “I’m sorry, there’s nothing to see.” I reached for the door and started to close it.

  He held up his palms, as if pleading. “You don’t understand. I feel really guilty for leaving a couple things undone. I was hoping I could take a look around and see where I could help out.”

  “I’m not hiring right now.” Of course, I might change my tune if I didn’t get a call back from Lloyd in the near future.

  “No. I’m not looking for money. Seriously. I’m going crazy because I didn’t have time to finish some of the projects. If you let me help out a little, I would sleep a lot better at night.”

  Free labor. One of those things in life that was too good to be true. I couldn’t help but wonder about his ulterior motive.

  “Which projects concern you the most?” I asked, just in case he was a godsend.

  He hesitated. “Look. I don’t want you to think that I’m going to camp out here and fix up the house for free. There were a few details that I’d like to finish up. You know, like waterproofing the basement. I wrote on the seller’s disclosure that we had completed the project, but it’s only mostly done. If I don’t finish it, then come spring you’ll be taking me to court. I don’t need that. Believe me.”

  I had to agree. With all the hype the waterproofing project had gotten, I’d be miffed when March arrived if there was even a hint of water in my basement. The whole rec room idea depended on the walls downstairs being absolutely watertight.

  “What’s left to be done?” I asked.

  “I can show you.”

  I swallowed, thinking of my tools in the cistern. How would I explain that situation?

  “You know, today really isn’t a good day. Can you come by tomorrow around the same time?” I said.

  He gave a slow nod. “Sure. Tomorrow it is.” He turned to go, but stopped himself. “By the way,” he said over his shoulder, “if you’re ever interested in selling this place, let me know.”

  “Sure thing.”

  I watched him get into his brown coupe and drive off. Odd that scruples should be catching up to him at this late date. Of course, I knew firsthand the power of a guilty conscience. Either right the wron
g or go crazy thinking about it. At least Rick had the opportunity to make things right. Some of us had to settle for going crazy.

  I locked the front door, determined that if the doorbell rang again, I’d ignore it. I put myself on a twenty-four-hour deadline. If I didn’t unearth a body by this time tomorrow, I’d hand the basement over to Rick and tell him to finish the waterproofing project.

  But if I did unearth a body . . . water in my basement would seem a minor problem.

  41

  Dorothy’s soup and my mid-morning snack had quit working. The stove clock read 12:45. I was famished. And the only thing that could fill the giant hole in my stomach was a greasy, juicy Coney from Sam’s.

  I locked the back door and jumped in Deucey for the trip uptown. As I bounced across the tracks, I caught David in the rearview mirror pulling out of his driveway and onto Main Street behind me.

  I pressed the accelerator hoping to make it through the intersection at Main and Maple. No such luck. I stopped for the red, tapping on the gas pedal as I waited for the light to change.

  I looked in the mirror. I couldn’t see David’s face through the reflection on his windshield. That feeling of déjà vu crept over me. He was following me again. But this time I felt certain there was more at stake than a nylon strap hanging out of my trunk.

  The light changed and I floored it. Deucey hovered in place while she gathered enough oomph to blaze ahead. I could almost picture David having to hit his brakes while my vehicle hesitated. I topped out at thirty, not wanting to attract attention from the authorities. Some car chase. I made it through the light at Rawlings Road and pulled into the strip mall.

  David’s car turned in behind me.

  I gripped the steering wheel, angled into the space nearest the door, and bolted inside. Maybe David was heading over to Goodman’s for groceries. He couldn’t possibly be going to Sam’s diner the same time I was.

  I dove into a corner booth, as far from the door as I could get. In walked David, checking out the clientele. I scrunched down and pretended to look at the menu.

  No good. He beelined for my booth.

  “Hi,” I said as he approached. I tried to keep my breathing normal but ended up sounding like an asthma sufferer.

  “May I?” He gestured to the seat across from me.

  I swallowed. “Sure. Of course. Why not?” Under the table, my foot started jiggling uncontrollably.

  “Have you dined here before?” David asked, perusing the menu that had been tucked behind the silver napkin dispenser.

  “One time,” I said, wishing he’d quit stalling and get to the point.

  “Any recommendations?” he asked.

  “I’m having the Coney Deluxe with everything.”

  He nodded with eyebrows raised. “Really? I had you pegged for the Chef’s Salad.”

  Both legs bounced. “I’m expanding my horizons.”

  “Good. That’s very good.” He caught my gaze and held it. “It’s important to have an open mind.”

  I gulped, wide eyed.

  “Hey, Tish.” Samantha smiled at me as she walked up to the booth, order pad in hand. “David.” She gave a terse nod in his direction. “What can I get for you?”

  “Two Coney Deluxe and a chili fry.” David smiled at me. “I’ll split the fries with you.”

  Sam wrote down the order along with our drink requests and disappeared into the kitchen. Obviously, she missed my eye signals, pleading for help.

  David crossed his hands on the table between us. “I think you’ve been avoiding me, Tish.” His British accent took on a Transylvania twang.

  “Avoiding you? Absolutely not. Just busy, busy, busy.”

  “I went to your house today.”

  “Did you? You know, I’ve been out campaigning for the open slot on the Historical Committee. I must have been gone when you came by.”

  “You were home for Brad Walters. And Rick Hershel.”

  “Who can explain it?” I tittered.

  “Have you thought any more about my proposal?”

  I paused, framing my answer with care. “Yes, I have. I’m honored and flattered that you would consider me wife material. But that’s just not where I’m at right now. I’m sorry, the answer is no.”

  He shook his head. “That answer will only cause you grief later. You don’t know enough about me to make the correct decision.”

  “I trust my instincts,” I said.

  His blue eyes held mine captive. “If you marry me, I will make all your dreams come true.”

  I squinted at him. How could he know what my dreams were? I didn’t even know. “Not sure that’s possible. Thanks anyway.”

  “I’m serious, Tish. Whatever it is you want, just ask. I’ll get it for you.”

  “Legally?”

  “Just ask.”

  I sighed. “You’re a really great guy, David. You’re not the type that should have to bribe someone to marry him. Why does it have to be me? What about Tammy?”

  He leaned forward and touched my hands. “It’s you I love. Since the first day I saw you. I’m not bribing you. I just want to be with you.”

  Thankfully, I wasn’t born yesterday. Had I been a notch more naive, I would have fallen into his arms, swooning. “Come on,” I said. “I dumped my salad all over the vestibule that day. My hair was a mass of frizz. How could you have fallen in love with that?”

  “You don’t see yourself the way the rest of the world does, do you?”

  “I don’t?”

  “You’re everything beautiful and lovely and pure. There’s not a blemish on your heart or in your soul. You’re radiant. Vivacious. You’re even quite funny. Believe me, you are like a fresh spring morning compared to what I’ve lived with.”

  “Wow. Thank you.” I could take another forty years of compliments like that.

  I snapped out of it as Sam arrived with the Coney dogs and drinks. She set them down without fanfare and left without a word.

  I looked down at the hot dog mounded with chili and cheese. Today it looked and smelled greasy, ruined by the stomach-twisting table conversation.

  “Aren’t you going to eat?” David asked, digging in without reservation.

  “Mmm. Uh-huh.” I picked at a bean with my fork.

  “So what is it you want, Tish? What gets you out of bed in the morning?”

  I twirled my fork and collected cheese and onions. “I guess the Victorian. Knowing all the stuff that has to be done before she’s top-notch and ready for sale.”

  “What if I could help you get your asking price for the house? What if I could help you get all your inspections passed and a great appraisal too?”

  “I just have to do the work, David. There’s really no way around it.”

  “Open your mind, Tish. Imagine cashing out of that house with triple your investment. You could go back to college, or quit working altogether and have a family. You could start your own business or become a cable show host. What would you do?”

  “I’ve never really given my life that much thought.” I stirred my diet drink. “It’s not as if I have a road map for the future. You know, first complete my current home, then move on to Such-and-Such City, then run for president. I have plans for the Victorian and that’s it. Come May, I’ll rent some furniture. Then I’ll start looking for my next project.”

  It wasn’t about personal goals and stepping up some ladder of life. It was about eating and having a roof over my head for the next year, without having to be a corporate slave or working with people who were perverts, or demeaning, or had no manners. Maybe I didn’t think highly of myself in some areas. But I required dignity in my life. And the best way to accomplish that was to be alone. I never wanted to treat anyone the way my grandmother had treated Grandpa. And I never wanted to feel subhuman again. I couldn’t control what anyone else did, but by golly, I could control myself and my actions.

  “David, I don’t want to marry you. That’s just how it is.” How could he misinterpret that?
>
  David chewed and swallowed. “After your foray into my garage this morning, you need to reconsider that answer.” He paused.

  Not bribes, threats. I got the picture.

  “We can be a team, Tish. As your husband, I can apply for citizenship. I can get out from under corporate sponsorship. And I can go after some of my dreams.”

  “Why didn’t you do all that with Rebecca?”

  “She divorced me before I was eligible to apply. Without a corporation backing my green card and an American wife, I have to leave the country. Don’t make me go, Tish. We’ll have a wonderful life together, I promise.”

  And if I didn’t marry him? I shuddered, picturing a cold, damp grave next to Rebecca’s.

  I had to admit, however, that David made a convincing liar. If I hadn’t stumbled across the documents on his desk and out in his garage, I’d have almost been persuaded that he did love me.

  “Hello, Tish.” I looked up to see Officer Brad standing next to our booth. My mind played the William Tell Overture. Salvation had arrived.

  “Brad. Hi. Sit down. There’s plenty of room.” I scooted over to the wall. Brad sank into the seat next to me, his broad form taking up most of my elbow space.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Brad gave David a showdown stare.

  “Not at all,” David said, dabbing his lips with a white paper napkin.

  “Great. So, Tish, how’s the renovation coming?” Brad snared my eyes.

  “Not as fast as I’d hoped,” I said, forgetting everyone but Brad. “I’m working on the rec room idea again. I’m hoping to get around the system by filling the slot on the Historical Committee.”

  “Do you think that’s a good idea before your trial?” Brad asked. “Kind of cements your motive for killing Dietz.”

  “For allegedly killing Dietz,” I said.

  “You know what I mean. A jury is going to see motive and opportunity. Whether or not a murder weapon is recovered, they’ll put you away on circumstantial.”

  I flicked my eyes toward David, hoping Brad would get the hint that the killer was sitting in the booth across from us. “I’m working on that,” I said. “I’m convinced the real murderer will be captured before I’m in danger of being convicted.”