by D. M. Webb
The light flickered to life. His eyes squinted against the harsh onslaught. In the mirror, the bruise taunted him. He ran his finger across the angry red that blossomed over his chest.
He sank against the cool edge of the sink. It could have been his heart. His body shook and shivered. Oh, man, what if he’d died last night? He buried his head in his hands. His prayer of thanks shot to heaven. Only the hand of God kept that bullet from completely penetrating his vest.
The door clicked. He bolted upright as Sarah stepped up to him. She stared back at him in the mirror.
“You’ll be okay, honey.” She kissed his shoulder, her hand rubbing up and down his back.
“I know.” He tried to smile at her. A small knot lodged in his throat, and he swallowed it. “I was blessed to survive. Thinking back on it, I can’t shake the feeling how close I came to dying. And I realized I wasn’t ready yet.”
Sarah wrapped her arms around his waist. He pulled her closer, watching her in the mirror as she kissed the red bruise with gentle lips. “You might not have been ready, and neither was I. God kept you safe.” She met his reflection. “I pray for you every night, when you leave for work, when you call me, before I go to bed. I pray for you when I’m cooking dinner.”
Tears spilled from his eyes. He brushed at them and looked up, his chin trembling. His dear and wonderful wife. He brought her to him, pressing his lips against her wild, tangled hair. His beautiful wife.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Her voice was muffled. “You just had a brush with death. It’s expected.” She pulled away and reached up to caress his cheek. “Your training taught you this. Go speak with your dad or Uncle Johnny, if you have to. You are fine now.” She rose on tiptoes and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Take a shower while I get breakfast ready. I’ll let Dennis drive the car to school today. We’ll just curl up, watch old movies, eat popcorn.”
Jeremy smiled and pressed his forehead against hers. “That’s all?”
Her eyes gleamed. “Or whatever else you may think of.” She gave him a small pat on his bottom as she left the bathroom.
He leaned his elbows against the sink. It would take a while, but he’d manage to get past the feeling that death had a hand on him. He would have to.
He turned on the cold water and splashed his face, scrubbing away the grit and sticky morning feeling. His toothbrush clattered as he dropped it into the sink. He needed to get a grip. With fingers that danced with a mind of their own, he managed to get the toothpaste on the bristles. Man, what he wouldn’t give to be able to find his cigarettes.
: : : : :
David walked out of Jack’s Express Cafe and headed across the small street to the shop with the little pink awning. He promised Maggie the coffee–creamer, two sugars, strong. Not him. Black and strong or nothing.
The bell above the door clanged twice as he entered. Smells of sugary confection drifted around the store. The musty odor of books mingled with the oily residue of paint. Clothes hung on racks throughout the store. To his right was the register and the glass casing holding vintage jewelry and sparkling baubles.
He bumped into an old Wonder Horse with one spring gleaming brightly in contrast with the other three black-coated ones. She must’ve repaired it. A small black stool with a painted espresso cup on it stood near the counter. He settled on its varnished surface and waited.
Her voice spoke at the back of the store. “I got the first three, but the fourth and fifth of the series are not here. I have yet to be able to find them on the Internet.”
An older woman’s voice spoke next. “I’ll still take them. I love this series, and I know my granddaughter will love it for her birthday. Do you think you might be able to find the other books?”
Her voice drifted closer. “I am not sure. I’ll check a few online auctions and see. If I do, I’ll give you a call.” When she reached the front of the store, her eyes met his, and a smile drifted across her face.
He raised his brows at her clothes. A light pink tunic shirt flowed over a pair of patchwork pants. His eyes traveled to her feet and found a pair of pink jelly sandals. This woman definitely didn’t belong in this decade.
“Thank you, Maggie. Can you hold these for me until tomorrow? I’ll have my daughter swing by to pick them up.”
“I will.”
David greeted the older lady as she went by. Maggie slipped behind her counter and set the books on the shelf behind her. She pulled a sticky note off a pad and labeled the stack. Once done, she turned to him and leaned against the counter. The scent of cotton candy drifted over to him.
“So, you came.”
“I came.” He pushed her coffee toward her. “Hot and strong.”
She grinned again, her eyes sparkling brighter than the baubles under her elbows. “Thank you.”
He took a sip and grimaced. “Ugh. Hold on, this one is yours.”
She laughed as he switched the cups. “What’s wrong with mine?”
“Cream and sugar.” He took a sip. A sigh escaped him. “I don’t know if this is going to work or not.”
She sipped her coffee and wiped her lip. “What do you mean?”
Her fingers pushed a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. He could have done that for her.
David shrugged and leaned back against the wall. Weariness had seeped into him. He ran on sheer willpower now. “Long shift.”
“Lots of fires?”
“Just one. Last night.” David twirled his coffee around. He didn’t know her. Not by a long shot, but he needed to speak to someone. “Got there and found out that a suspect that Jeremy had been chasing burnt the place. After, apparently, beating the sh–” He coughed. “–stuffing out of his grandmother.”
Maggie sat down on her stool. Her eyebrows rose. “The poor woman. Is she okay?”
“She’s in the hospital, but that wasn’t the worst.” He took another sip of his coffee. It left a small, foggy ring on her counter, and he trailed his finger through it as he spoke. “Jeremy was shot. Found out when I got there.”
He held up his hand to halt her question. “He’s fine. The bullet didn’t penetrate. But. . .” His voice faltered. His brother could’ve died, yes. What if . . . he pushed away that thought. A harsh laugh escaped him. “Actually, I wasn’t planning on saying anything. I really don’t know what to think about it.”
Maggie placed her hand over his, her cool, soft skin soothing against his. “It doesn’t hurt to tell a sympathetic ear. And mine are the most sympathetic in this town. At least, that’s what my dad always says.” She smiled. “Have you had breakfast yet?”
David shook his head. A yawn threatened to escape him. “But I’m not hungry. Actually, as much as I want to stay here and talk to you, I find that it’s taking everything I have to stay awake. I think I only got in about four hours of sleep.”
Maggie rounded the counter and stood in front of him, her legs barely brushing against his knees. Her eyes stared deeply into his. Somewhere in those blue pools, he saw a chance. She liked him. “Then go home. I’ll take a rain check, if you want.”
He rose to his feet, coffee in hand. Was she asking him out? “A rain check? Like a date?”
She shook her head. “No. Like a friendly coffee or breakfast.”
David bit at the inside of his lip. Apparently, she drove in the slow lane. He could play that game. “Okay. I’m actually off come Saturday. Breakfast?”
“Don’t you remember? Saturday is the zoo day for the children at church.”
He didn’t remember. He thought a moment. “Monday, then? Can’t promise I’ll be good company. I work Sunday, so I can’t do breakfast. And I’m filling in for the B shift captain Monday. I can make time for dinner Monday evening.”
Maggie smiled as she walked him to the door. “Okay. Jack’s?”
David nodded. “Jack’s it is. About six.” He held the door slightly open and gazed at her. The freckles were out in force today. He wanted to touc
h them. He wanted to lean in and kiss her, to feel those shiny pink lips against his. It would make all the worries go away, at least for a short time.
She reached up and patted his chest. The spell broke. “About six, then. Sorry you have to work Sunday.”
He bit back a groan. “No choice.” He smiled. “But it’s usually only two Sundays a month. You can always drop by for a visit.”
The door opened under his hand, and he stood to the side to allow a dark-haired woman and her child inside. Maggie greeted them before turning to him. “I just might. Then, dinner Monday.”
His heart skipped a beat at her smile. He beamed at her as he pushed past the door, the bell once again clanging above his head. His smile stayed plastered to his face as he retrieved his motorcycle from the firehouse and rode out of the bay.
He turned onto the main road, zipping through the traffic. Buildings blurred. He weaved through the four green lights along the main strip. His bike banked dangerously around the last right turn past town and flew five miles down the old country road.
He stopped at the stop sign and then shot straight. Soon his parents’ mailbox loomed ahead. Gravel flew up from the driveway as he sped down it. He skidded to a stop inside the garage, his tires leaving a black mark. The exhilaration of the ride boosted his energy. It had to be enough to make it up the stairs. He stretched as he stood. The aroma of cinnamon greeted him as he entered the house.
His dad sat in the kitchen at the bar.
“Morning, Dad.”
“Morning, Son. You look beat. You okay?” His dad set his paper down and stared at him.
“Yes.” David barely made it past when his father reached out and laid a hand on his sleeve.
“You sure?”
David sighed. “Yeah. I’m fine. Exhausted.” He leaned against the counter. Whatever energy he had rushed out of him. His legs wobbled. He jutted his jaw forward. “Seeing Jeremy like that, then Sarah yelling, plus there were two more calls last night. It’s taken its toll, is all.”
His dad squeezed his shoulder. “Have you called your brother?”
“Not yet. I need sleep first. I’m dead tired.” David pushed away from the bar. He called over his shoulder as he walked to the stairs. “Tell Jeremy I’ll bring him his cigarettes later.”
He heard his dad chuckle.
The shower hummed as he topped the stairs. Great. He’d have to wait until his Mom finished before he could get clean. He slipped into his bedroom and locked the door. His feet almost sighed in relief as he pushed off his work boots. Clothes fell to the floor until he was clad only in his boxers.
The room darkened as he shut the blinds and pulled the curtains close. He sat heavily upon the edge of his bed. Fine time for sleep to elude him. He scrubbed at his face.
The sight of Jeremy in the ambulance popped into his mind.
It needed to go away.
He yanked open the nightstand drawer. The bottle of Glen Livet stared up at him. Pain throbbed in his head. His gut churned with anger, anxiety, and fear. The shaking returned. He twisted the cork out and upended the bottle. It burned. It flooded his bloodstream.
He fought down his rebellious stomach.
Another drink, and the image of Jeremy and the fire faded. One more swallow. The pain in his head receded. David held the bottle in his hands. Only a couple more mouthfuls were left. He shrugged. The liquid rode the fiery trail into his gut. He needed the sleep, and this was the perfect aid.
He replaced the empty bottle in the drawer and closed it. Cool sheets caressed his hot skin as he rolled over and pulled a pillow to his chest. He grinned. Slowly, the room disappeared into a black haze. His mind drifted away. A dreamless sleep would be his sanctuary soon.
Chapter 7
THE TRUCK DRIVER UNLOADED the last of the boxes into the garage. The head mover held out the clipboard. David scanned the paperwork, scrawled his signature on the paper, and turned to his meager possessions.
Only ten boxes, one green plastic tub, and a blue plastic tub stood in the garage with him. His headboard and bed frame leaned against the wall. He’d have to buy another mattress. A large, brown leather recliner that had seen better days was the only other furniture he had. Less to move, less he had to pay, less he had to remember.
As the moving van rumbled out of the driveway, he pulled a few boxes to him and rummaged through them. His clothes, a few books, movies, CDs, and other small items. He pushed the box to the side with his foot and grabbed the blue tub. Maybe it was in this one.
The lid popped off easily, and a stack of albums greeted him. His grandfather’s old vinyls. He flipped through them, looking for that certain record. His fingers paused over the Moody Bluesbefore he pulled it out. It wasn’t the one he was looking for, but it would do. He flipped through some more and found an old Foreigner album. He slid it out of the tub.
Laying them to the side, he spied a red Bible lying on top of the covered knick-knacks. His hands shook as he picked it up. His fingers traced the embossed cross on the smooth leather cover. A lump lodged deep in his throat. He swallowed against it. His hand shook even more violently as he opened it. Get a grip!
“That’s not very many boxes.” Jeremy’s voice echoed in the garage.
David dropped the Bible into the box. With a flick of his wrist, he flipped a pillowcase over the book and stood.
“No. Just packed the essentials. Sold the rest.” He kicked another box to the side. His pots and pans, by the sound of it. “What are you doing here?”
Jeremy raised an eyebrow. “Parents live here.” He sidestepped Fat Tom and fingered one of the boxes open to peer inside. David hopped over a larger box and slapped the flaps closed. Jeremy laughed. “Porno? Seriously?”
David moved the box to the side. “Bother someone else.”
Jeremy lowered himself into the recliner and sighed. “Wow, now this is comfortable. Broken-in in just the right places.”
David glared at him as he stacked another box to the side. Did the man not have somewhere else to go? “Why are you really here? Thought you were cleared to go back to work.”
“I am. Go back tomorrow. No more pain. Nice, ugly green bruise.” He crossed an ankle over his knee. “Dad told me that your stuff from St. Louis was arriving today and that you broke the news to them that you were moving out come Wednesday.”
“Yeah?” He pushed the last box to the side. Jeremy sat in his chair, eyes narrowed, waiting for more of a reply. Well, he wasn’t going to get one.
“Why? You’re welcome here. Surely it couldn’t be the rule about church.” His brother wiggled farther down in the chair, the leather squeaking under his weight.
David picked up his albums and walked out of the garage. “My reasons are my own.”
The bright sunlight hammered into him. Finally, the weather had agreed to give them spring. He opened his truck door and laid the albums on the bench seat. Old albums, old Chevy truck. When he turned around, Jeremy stood behind him, arms crossed.
David flinched. “Sheesh, don’t you ever make a sound?”
“Guilty conscience?”
“Nothing to be guilty of.” He pushed past his brother and headed for the house. “Dad ask you here to talk me out of it?”
“No. Mom did.”
His steps faltered. Figures. He altered his direction, heading for the pond. Jeremy followed. No one would know his reason. No one could be allowed to know his reason. Jeremy still hounded his heels.
“David, come on! Stop and at least talk.”
David lengthened his steps. The hedgerow needed clipping. Sprigs stuck out at odd lengths. The grass was ankle deep now. It would need cutting soon. Jeremy grabbed at his arm and pushed him around.
Anger flared within David. He lashed out, his hands hitting Jeremy full force in the chest. Jeremy winced and staggered back a step.
Jeremy snarled. “Hot headed–”
“I told you, my reasons are my own. Can’t a man just make a decision and not be questioned?” David
stepped up to Jeremy, meeting him straight in the eyes. “I don’t care if Mom or Dad or God himself tells you to find out why. You will not know. You will never know.”
Jeremy’s blue eyes flashed. Red anger whirled around in them. Fury rose within David. He clenched his hands and jutted his jaw forward. “I’m only ten minutes away. Not to mention closer to the station. Works out for the best.” His control was slipping. The shaking was returning. David backed up a step. “Just go away.”
Jeremy’s scowl burned into him. “What’s your problem? I only came to placate Mom and Dad. Why are you so worked up?”
David headed for the pond. He had to distance himself. It had been too long. For the past few days, his family had bragged on his brother. Jeremy this. Jeremy that. So what if he caught a bullet in the chest? He didn’t die. It didn’t permanently hurt him.
David tried to control his breathing. What was wrong with him? He needed a drink. His chest heaved. Sweat trickled down his back and into his waistband.
His brother needed to just leave. Disappear back to his happy little family.
Jeremy slid in front of him. David skidded to a stop and turned his face away. “Get out of my face.”
“Not until you listen.” Jeremy stepped closer. A muscle worked in the corner of his jaw. “I’m not here to change your mind. Mom wanted an answer. One that you refused to give her.”
“I told you. Closer to the station.”
“Not that answer. Wrong question.”
David narrowed his gaze. He shoved his fists into his pockets to keep them still. “What question?”
“Why are you suddenly behaving like this? She said Thursday you locked yourself inside your room. You skipped out on a family lunch today, claiming exhaustion. And now you inform them you have an apartment.” Jeremy looked away and pressed his lips together. Heavy moments hung between them before he spoke again. “She asked me to come and find out what’s wrong. You won’t talk to anyone.”
David refused to retreat. He stared hard at Jeremy. Jeremy’s condemnation sent waves of anger through his gut. The perfect son.