by Sharon Sala
“You are my forever love, too, Jack McCann, and it fits, just like you fit me. How am I ever going to live without you?”
Then she took off the ring and put it back in the box, gathered up the note and took all of it to her room. The king-size bed with the tufted turquoise spread was nothing but a reminder that she would never make love with Jack again. So many things would never be done again. She set the note and the jewelry box on top of the dresser, then walked away. There would be ugly reminders of his absence all over the place, and there was nothing she could do to hide them. He had been the only family she had left in the world, and now there was no one.
Her steps were slow, her feet dragging as she finally made the glass of iced tea and took it with her to the kitchen table.
She sipped it as she went through the mail like it was just another day, and only now and then did the tears well, but when they did, she covered her face and sobbed. In a way, part of her was already putting grief into its own compartment so she could function. She was seriously considering not telling anyone at work and just showing up on Monday as if nothing had happened. She never talked about Jack, so it was not as if they’d know the difference. And she had a feeling that sitting here alone in their home with nothing to do but remember and imagine would be worse. She’d give it more thought tomorrow, but today was for her. She didn’t want to see or talk to anyone. She didn’t want to hear people say how sorry they were, or hear the platitudes that would come later. She didn’t want anyone to see her so beset with grief that she couldn’t function. Jack was hers, and today she didn’t want to share him.
But what she wanted and what she got were two different things. She was still going through mail when her doorbell rang.
“No,” she moaned, and didn’t move.
It rang again, and then like before, whoever it was began knocking.
“Go away,” she whispered. “Go far, far away.”
Finally, the knocking stopped, and her phone rang.
“Hello.”
“May I speak to Shelly McCann?”
“You already are,” she said.
“Ma’am, this is Harold’s Florist. We are at your house and we have a delivery for you.”
“Leave it on the porch,” she said, and hung up.
She heard someone moving about outside the door and then heard a car starting up. She waited until they left before she got up and went to the door and looked out. There was a huge vase of flowers and a card poked out among the blooms.
She picked it up and carried it inside, pausing long enough to turn the dead bolt, then took the vase as far as the dining table before she removed the card.
It was a sympathy card from Charlie and Alicia. She left the card lying on the table beside the flowers. The longer she looked, the more resigned she became. This was really happening. She could hide from the world, but evidently not for long.
* * *
Jack was sitting in a lounge chair on Paul’s back deck, shaded from the heat by the large roofed porch with an icy glass of sweet tea in the cup holder on the arm of the chair, and eating what was left of his ham sandwich. Paul was out in his garden picking tomatoes and stopping every few minutes to curse the heat before he bent back over to continue. Jack finally swallowed the last bite and washed it down with a big drink, then leaned back and closed his eyes.
Immediately, he thought of Shelly. Today was their anniversary, and if the gift he’d gotten her two weeks ago had been delivered, he was guessing the timing of its arrival had come on a bad day. He didn’t have to ask to know if she’d already been notified of his demise. He knew how the Bureau worked.
His gut knotted, knowing what her reaction would be. He’d broken a promise to her. In her mind, he didn’t come back like he said he would, and he could only imagine what she was going through. He needed some kind of update about Adam Ito before he could move forward, but he didn’t know who he could call. This whole situation sucked.
* * *
For Shelly, the day passed in a blur of visitors. People from the Bureau came knocking. A chaplain showed up to pray with her. She told him no, thank you, and shut the door.
A couple of hours later Charlie called. She saw caller ID and let it go to voice mail. Then Alicia called. Shelly knew she was due to deliver almost any day, and rather than give her something else to worry about, she answered.
“Hello.”
“Oh, honey... We’re so sorry. Charlie and I want you to know how much we love you.”
“Thank you,” Shelly said.
“Is there anything we can do? Do you need help planning services?” Alicia asked.
“Services? Why would I have any kind of service? I have no one to bury and no family to grieve with. Neither one of us did. Thank you for calling,” she said, and hung up.
There were other callers within a couple of hours—all from the Bureau. She let them go to voice mail, then got in the car and headed for Beach City on Galveston Bay. It was as close as she could get to Morgan’s Point. It was where the divers had been searching, so she had to assume it was where Jack had died. She needed to see it for herself and face the fact that God saw fit to leave him there, because right now she was having all kinds of trouble accepting that decision.
Her rage stayed with her all the way to Beach City, and then once there, she became sidetracked trying to find a place to park. Once she did, she put on sunglasses and walked down to the shore. By the time she got there, she was carrying her sandals, and despite the warm sand through which she was walking, she was shivering.
There were people swimming, and even more talking and laughing, and children were everywhere, running through the crowded beach like runaway puppies, but she’d never felt more alone. The wind was brisk, and as she started down toward the water, it caught and tugged at the loose curls in her hair until she gave up and let it down to blow freely.
Everyone down here was in swimwear, while she had on white denim shorts and a pale pink T-shirt. She walked all the way into the shallows, then stood with her feet apart, bracing herself against the ebb and flow of the ocean.
The water was cold. She imagined Jack falling into the depths and hoped to God he’d been unconscious when it happened. She stared out across the glittering, wind-driven water decorated in foam-curled ruffles along the edges of the waves and wondered how anything this beautiful could be so deadly. The ocean gave up her shells, her fish, even driftwood and sea glass. Why wouldn’t she give up Jack? He didn’t belong to her.
“He belongs to me,” Shelly said, then took a few steps farther into the water. Now it was halfway between her ankles and her knees and for the first time she could feel the power and the danger. “He belonged to me,” she shouted, unaware she’d said that in past tense. “Damn you! Damn you! He belonged to me.”
A man came up behind her. “Ma’am, are you okay?”
Shelly jumped at the sound of his voice, then looked up at him through a film of tears.
“No, no, I’m not okay,” she said, and ran out of the water, and all the way back to her car.
She was out of breath and sobbing when she finally got inside. She tossed her shoes on the passenger seat and started up the car to let it cool off.
“God! I would hate You for what You’ve done, but it wouldn’t bring him back,” she cried, and then grabbed a handful of tissues and swiped at her face in short, jerky movements.
By the time she pulled herself together enough to drive home, it was almost 6:00 p.m. It would be after seven, maybe later, before she got home. Going out to dinner on Saturday night was a ritual for many Houstonians, which meant more traffic than normal—if that was even possible. But there was no way to get home without going through it, so she put the car in gear and drove away.
It was almost eight o’clock by the time she drove the car into the garage and hit the remote to close the door. She sat
until the door was down, then got up and went into the house, still barefoot and carrying her shoes.
She disarmed the alarm and then checked her phone and was shocked by the number of missed calls, then thought, so what? She was in no mood to see who they were from. She was windblown, sand between her toes, and slightly sunburned.
She headed for the shower and shampooed her hair first, then clipped it up on top of her head so she could finish her shower. It took every bit of energy she had left to blow dry her hair before putting on clean clothes.
As always, the cool hardwood was grounding as she went into the kitchen. She stood in the doorway, looking at the stainless steel appliances and the black gas cookstove, trying to imagine life without Jack. Her shoulders slumped. And yet in the middle of despair, her stomach growled, demanding to be fed.
Her eyes were bright with fresh tears as she put a piece of bread in the toaster and then began to scramble a couple of eggs. Within a couple of minutes she was standing at the stove eating eggs from the skillet, chasing bites with buttered toast and cold milk.
Her phone signaled an incoming call, which she chose to ignore, and as soon as she finished eating, she rinsed the dishes she’d used and put them in the dishwasher. The food settled her nausea. Now to check the calls.
She spent the next hour returning calls, leaving messages, deleting some without feeling the need to respond, and ignoring another call from Alicia. They’d said all that needed to be said to each other.
When she finished with the last call, she put her phone in the pocket of her shorts and then locked up the house, set the alarm and headed to her bedroom, turning out lights as she went.
Tomorrow was Sunday. She had a decision to make about work and was already leaning toward going back. She couldn’t tell them her husband had died without lying about all the rest. No one at her work knew he worked for the FBI. She’d only ever told them he worked at the state level in a government position. They’d never met him. And if she told them he was gone, then they’d want to know about the funeral, and she would have to lie again, or tell them he was the body they’d been looking for and didn’t find in the bay, and that would give away his ties to the Feds. It seemed simpler to keep quiet, but she still wasn’t certain.
* * *
Adam was on his way to his father’s estate in an exclusive part of Tokyo. He’d been summoned, which made him a bit nervous. Despite Adam being in his midforties, his father, Ken Ito, was still the head of their family and had an equal share in the import/export business Adam ran. His brother, Yuki, who worked in the Tokyo office, had not only known but had helped Adam hide the fact that they were pocketing a bigger cut of the money from the smuggled items than their father knew. However, the FBI bust had ended more than the arms dealing. It had also brought the import/export business to a halt, which would obviously impact more than just their family business. There was the cartel to deal with, as well.
He arrived at the family home on time but was startled to see so many cars there. Adam had been expecting his father would want to see him alone, that he would be furious and ready to tear into him about what he’d let happen, yet all of these vehicles signified some sort of gathering. He parked and got out, glad he’d chosen a black silk shirt to wear under his white suit and tie, reflecting dignity, as opposed to casual comfort.
He strode to the door with his chin up in a quiet gesture of defiance and knocked. One of their servants let him in and directed him to the dining area. He entered confidently but stopped midstride when he realized who his father had invited to their home. He looked at the stern faces of the men sitting at the long table, and it was suddenly very clear to him the danger he was in. He didn’t know what to say or how to react. His brother, Yuki, was standing at the end of the table but wouldn’t look up at him. When Adam tried to make eye contact with his father, Ken held up a hand.
“Do not look at me!” his father barked. “Move to the end of the table beside your brother.”
Adam felt their judgment. “But there is no chair there,” he said.
His father’s face was emotionless, but the rage in his voice was evident. “That is because neither of you are guests. Stand and accept your punishment!”
Adam moved to stand beside his brother, and when he did, he saw the frantic beat of Yuki’s pulse in a vein down the side of his neck. He took a deep breath, then looked into the faces of the men sitting around to judge him. They were crime bosses from all parts of the world, he knew, and some of the most dangerous men on Earth. He felt sick to his stomach wondering if he and his brother were going to leave this house alive.
“We have already voted,” Ken Ito said. “It is due to my compatriots’ consideration for me that neither of you will be executed.”
Yuki swayed on his feet, obviously from relief.
Adam bowed his head. “Thank—”
“Do not speak!” Ken said.
The power and rage in his father’s voice was something he had never heard. It took everything Adam had to stand his ground.
“My sons have destroyed everything I worked years to grow. You have destroyed the links that we here at this table used through that business, and all because of greed and stupidity. You had a traitor in your organization and didn’t even know it! And during an audit of our now defunct business in Houston, Texas, you and Yuki were also traitors to the cartel...and to me! You have been stealing money from me, from all of us. Now you have nothing, and all of your employees, and your last client and his employees, will soon be in prison, likely for the rest of their lives. We also know that the man who betrayed you is still an unknown. His body has not been found. You do not know if he’s alive or dead. This list of mistakes is long and unforgivable. And so we have decided your punishment.”
Adam took a deep breath, waiting...staring straight into his father’s gaze.
“You are both banned forever from Japan. If you come back here again, I will kill you myself.”
Yuki moaned. He was shaking to the point of being unable to stand.
As for Adam, the vow was a gut punch he hadn’t seen coming, but his father was not finished.
“But I am not a heartless man. Adam, you also ran out on your men and left a job unfinished, so you will return to the States and make sure the man who betrayed you is dead. If he is not, you’ll do whatever it takes to draw him out—if that means finding and threatening his family, so be it. But if you don’t, I will come to Houston and I will kill you myself. Now get out and take your brother with you. I no longer have sons.”
Then every man at the table, including his father, stood up and turned their backs on him.
Adam walked out of the room, too stunned to let emotions color his reactions, while Yuki stumbled along behind him. Their mother was standing in the hallway, sobbing. When Yuki would have run to her, she dropped the suitcase she was holding and ran away.
Yuki picked up the suitcase and followed his brother. He put the bag in the back seat, then got into the passenger seat and put his hands over his face.
As for Adam, reality finally hit as he was driving away. He would never see his father or mother again, or the snow-capped mountains of his mother country. Would his longtime friends even know what happened to him? Would they forget he’d ever existed? What had he done? What the hell had he done? He’d talked Yuki into doing this, and now neither of them would ever be able to return home again. Right now he could honestly say it had not been worth it. Getting back into the United States without being arrested would be almost impossible after the mess of the bust, but they’d given him no choice.
By the time he got back into the city, he’d gone from sorrow to regret, from rage to determination. And since he would never set foot in Japan again, he and his brother went straight to their bank and had everything transferred to respective numbered accounts in Switzerland.
Finally, Yuki began to talk as Adam dro
ve back to his Tokyo residence.
“What are we going to do?” Yuki asked.
Adam glanced at his younger brother, then shook his head. Where Adam was slender and handsome, his brother was stocky and his features coarser, less refined. Yuki looked like their mother’s family. Adam looked like their father. And the intelligence level was the same. One a follower. One a leader.
“We are going to avenge the family name to stay alive, and then we...you and me...are going to become men to be reckoned with. We will take down those old men, one dynasty at a time. The first to go will be our father. What’s his will be ours.”
Yuki’s eyes widened in utter fear at the thought of taking out the heads of the cartel, but he had nothing different to offer, and so he rode in silence, wondering how long he would survive in the harshness of the underworld.
When they reached Adam’s home, he dismissed his brother with a wave of the hand.
“Occupy yourself for a while,” Adam said, and began packing important papers and clothes before he got on the phone and chartered a jet with a flight plan to Mexico. Afterward, he called all of the household staff together, told them that he was closing up the house and wouldn’t be back. He gave each of them what amounted to six months of their respective salaries and thanked them for their service.
Their shock was evident, but manners were everything, and so they bowed, thanking him for his consideration. He should have returned the bow. It was tradition, but he’d been exiled, and his growing rage superseded cultural niceties.
Within the hour, a limousine arrived. The driver loaded up the brothers’ luggage, then seated them before heading to the airport. Yuki was crying without sound. It both hurt and aggravated Adam. His brother was behaving like a child, but there was nothing he could say that would make it better.
As for Adam, he couldn’t help but look at the city through which they were passing to remind himself to be grateful he was still breathing.