Souls Estranged (The Souls Trilogy Book 2)

by Anne B. Cole

  When she regained her senses, she retched again from the sight and odor in front of her.

  A minute later she crawled out. The crack of a gun sounded behind her. Jumping to her feet, she spun around to find nothing but the pink porta-potty door. Images of guns, swords, pirates, and a burning ship filled her mind.

  Her back bumped against the door as she sank to the ground. She hugged her legs and pressed her forehead against her trembling knees, not sure if she wanted to cry or heave.

  Chapter 6

  Bottle Caps

  Gretta

  “Purple Shorts.”

  A smooth, gentle voice beckoned. Tony squatted in front of her, holding a bottle of water in his hands.

  Tears of fright, embarrassment, and shame threatened to fall. “What’s wrong with me?” Gretta whispered. The words tripped out unintentionally for the second time that day.

  Tony pulled a blue shop towel from his back pocket and poured a little water on it. Her heart sped as he offered it to her.

  Clean. She needed to be clean. With a shaky hand, she accepted it and wiped her face and hands.

  Safe.

  Gretta repeated the word over and over in her head.

  “Water?” Tony handed her the bottle. “I had my bell rung playing football years ago, threw up every day for a week.” He uncapped it for her.

  She stared at the bottle and took a sip, spilling some over her chin.

  “Better?” Tony stood and offered his hand. He slowly raised her to her feet and let go.

  She didn’t want him to let go, didn’t want him to leave. “Thanks, Theo.” Her voice rang clear, grateful.

  As Tony frowned, Sam appeared from around the corner, without the usual grin on his face.

  Tony eyed them both. “You two should be at home, in bed,” he cautioned.

  “We, uh.” Gretta regarded her sneakers before glancing at Sam, whose face had turned shark-like with what seemed like jealousy.

  “I meant, Gretta should be in bed, and you should hit the couch. Want to sit in the back of my truck for the race?” Tony draped a friendly arm around Sam’s good shoulder. “I have the full setup. Comfy couch, stocked cooler, absolutely no smoke, and a trackside view without butt crack.”

  Gretta felt her face break into a grin.

  “We’ll take it. Thanks, Tony.” Sam caught the keys Tony tossed to him before disappearing into the garage area.

  They wandered through the infield to Tony’s pickup parked near turn four. A beat up, dark green sofa sat in the truck bed along with a cooler, an assortment of tools, a hard hat, and several crumpled McDonald’s bags. Together they pushed the couch to the end of the tail gate, completing Tony’s ‘full setup.’

  “It’s not a suite,” Sam said, as they sank onto the musty couch.

  “It’s perfect.” Gretta eased into Sam’s side.

  The announcer asked everyone to rise for the playing of the National Anthem. She held her hand over her heart as Sam took off his ball cap. A naval academy guard presented the colors.

  Gretta stared at the three men in uniform. Her inner core trembled. She shut out her surroundings and focused on a flashing memory.

  He didn’t want her to watch him leave. It was his duty, and he promised he would come back, a promise she knew he was unable to keep.

  The trumpet soloist began, returning Gretta’s attention to the present. Sam appeared to listen with a profound sense of reverence. She pried her attention away from him and fixated on the flag.

  When the song ended she found Sam’s hand on her hip. Instead of returning to the couch, he eased her into an intimate embrace. His touch should have surprised her, or at least sent chills of nervousness through her body. Her hands slid around him, stopping just above the backside of his nicely filled out jeans.

  What happened under the tree? Her boldness and familiarity around Sam baffled her.

  “I almost forgot,” Sam whispered.

  She cringed as he broke away and pulled two pairs of safety glasses out of Tony’s tool box. Her fingers clung briefly to his as she accepted them. Strange.

  Gretta had never seriously dated before meeting Sam. Now, she couldn’t stop thinking about needing to tangle up with him as close as possible.

  Do near-death experiences do this to people?

  She remembered Sam’s possessive expression when he saw Tony helping her. She snuggled closer to him as the race cars sped by for their hot laps.

  When the cars returned to the infield to prepare for qualifying, Sam opened the cooler. He pulled two amber glass bottles out of the ice and dug in the tool box for an opener.

  “How old are you?” Gretta asked as she gazed at the drinks.

  The bluntness of her question didn’t seem to bother him. He pried off the bottle tops by holding them one at a time between his knees. “I’ll be twenty-one next month.”

  She figured he knew her age from the hours of holding her hand in the hospital. The ID band around her wrist had been labeled, ‘Dobbs, Gretta F 18.’ She studied the bottle he handed her. The label had peeled off from being soaked in ice water for who knew how long.

  He chuckled at her hesitation. “Birch beer. Similar to root beer, non-alcoholic. Go ahead. Tony buys it from a distributor in Jersey, best you’ll ever taste.”

  Gretta pressed the cold bottle to her lips. The icy soda coated her parched throat and settled her stomach. She pushed the safety glasses on top of her head and relaxed into the cushions.

  “Any plans for the big day?” she asked.

  Emily had been planning her twenty-first birthday for the past two years. The soda curdled in Gretta’s stomach as she thought back to the exchange with her sister on the porch. Her fingers tightened around the cold bottle.

  Would she and Emily ever talk again?

  The bottle opener clinked on the tailgate. Sam fingered the two bottle caps in his hand. “Nope, haven’t really thought much about it. Pop, he—”

  “He’s a cop. Maybe Tony will take you out.” She watched his lips form a thin line. She respected his silence for a full minute before touching his fingers. “Can I see?”

  Sam dropped the two caps into her hand.

  The black tops sported bold white letters, spelling out ‘Boylan,’ a bottling company in business since 1891, according to the cap. Gretta fingered the edge of one and then the other as if they were precious jewels from a faraway land.

  “May I keep one?” Her voice came out sounding distant, nearly spellbound.

  Sam turned to her as if surprised. He regained his composure, shrugged, and scanned the infield.

  “I’ll keep yours.” Gretta flipped one cap in her open palm.

  “How do you know which is which?” Sam asked with sudden interest.

  She handed a bottle cap to him. “This one is mine. It’s scratched and has a little dent.”

  “Sounds about right.” Sam held the bottle cap with a glint in his eyes.

  Gretta smirked at his response. “Yours is this one, the one hard to take off, a little stubborn perhaps. Protector of the bottle’s contents.” She had declared him stubborn and overprotective when he did not want them to return to the island.

  The island?

  No doubt. She remembered something. A dream maybe, but it was definitely a memory.

  She tucked the bottle cap into the left pocket of her jeans, dismissing her crazy thoughts. “Now, keep mine safe.” She took the cap out of Sam’s hand and reached over his lap, sliding it into his left pocket. Her hand froze. She stared at the top of Sam’s jeans, where a belt buckle would be if he wore one.

  “Gretta?” Sam touched her chin lightly, lifting her gaze away.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to gawk, there.”

  Sam chuckled and kissed her
gently on the lips. Hours earlier, the first time he kissed her she had cried. She didn’t know why the single tear fell, but it did, and she had felt betrayed by it. Thinking back, she understood the tear wasn’t a sign of weakness or doubt. She had never been touched so deeply, nor experienced such an intense connection.

  This time she kissed him back.

  The roar of engines split them apart. Her lips tingled as the cars rolled onto the track for qualifying laps.

  “Tony’s in the fourth group,” Sam yelled over the thundering engines.

  “What group?” Gretta leaned closer. Warm breath tickled her cool cheek. Their lips reconnected and her fingers wound through his hair.

  With each lap, cars slid around turn four, spraying fine dirt from the track into the air. Neither noticed when qualifying ended and the dust drifted away.

  “Get a room,” a fan from across the track in the stands called.

  When the comment finally registered, Gretta found herself with one leg draped over Sam’s lap, planting kisses along his neck. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the owner of the voice. He raised a beer in the air and gestured to them. “Get ‘er done.”

  Gretta took in needed air and let Sam guide her leg off him. Not knowing where in the stands his father and Ruby were sitting, she promptly smoothed her hair and put her glasses back on.

  “I promised Ruby I’d be a gentleman.” His voice sounded apologetic, but at the same time husky and yearning.

  Gretta removed her hand from his thigh and tilted her head to him. “Sorry, I’m not usually like this.”

  But he knows. I’ve told him before.

  His all-knowing grin returned, and she wanted to wipe it right off. Why on earth did it feel so natural to kiss Sam, to touch him? Her cheeks tingled hot with embarrassment. She grabbed her birch beer and took a long sip.

  “How did Tony do?” Gretta asked as another group of cars pulled onto the track for their qualifying.

  Sam’s forehead wrinkled. “I don’t know. I was a little distracted.” The sharky grin returned. This time, Gretta laughed and leaned against him.

  They enjoyed the late model races. Tony would be in the final race of the modified cars. Sam pointed out a burnt orange car with the number forty-one in white on the door. Tony lined up on the outside of the front row. When the green flag flew, he shot forward, taking the lead on the back straightaway.

  Gretta and Sam cheered as he rounded turn four, merely inches from the wall. Three laps into the race, two cars took a commanding lead over the rest of the field. Number eighty-four sponsored by a local hardware store, stood as Tony’s only competition. After twenty-three laps, the forty-one and the eighty-four remained side by side. With two laps to go, they slid within inches of each other in turn one. The cars flew around the track with Tony pulling ahead as the white flag waved.

  One lap to go.

  The eighty-four caught Tony and dove to the inside in turn two, threatening to pass on the back straightaway. They raced side by side. Gretta stood on tiptoe as the leaders entered the final corner.

  A sudden explosion filled the air. The eighty-four lost control, skidding Tony’s car up the track. Neither car slowed. Their front tires mangled together, sending them full speed into the wall at turn four. The forty-one hit head on as the eighty-four clipped the wall and spun out of control. The momentum of the eighty-four released the forty-one from its grip. Tony’s car flipped over, coming to a stop in a cloud of dust and smoke.

  The remainder of the field sped into turn four and scattered in all directions to avoid the wreckage. The first two cars drove through, unscathed. The third car, green with the number ten, plowed into Tony’s car head on and pinned the orange car against the wall. A fire erupted beneath the wreckage.

  Within seconds, flames swept into Tony’s cockpit. The red flag waved as emergency vehicles raced to the scene. The driver of the eighty-four climbed out of his car and ran to Tony’s. He tore down the window net and frantically waved the emergency crew over.

  “Get out, Tony. Now!” Sam jumped off the truck and ran to the fence.

  There was no movement within the forty-one.

  Gretta froze.

  An explosion, flames, death. Inexplicable guilt filled her.

  The safety crew extinguished the fire, filling the surrounding air with smoke. An ambulance pulled alongside the car, blocking their view.

  “Stay here,” Sam commanded. He waved to Kenny, who had climbed from his spotter’s perch and opened the gate. Other drivers and crew members formed a circle around the crash site. Several minutes passed before emergency personnel extracted Tony from the debris.

  She sank to the couch, horrified, and buried her face within her hands and knees.

  “Gretta.” A hand touched her shoulder. Ruby and Tim stood beside her. A tow truck slowly dragged away the charred remains of Tony’s car. The last of the fans lined the exits.

  With their help, Gretta climbed out of the truck bed. Together, they left the infield. Her steps slowed as they reached the gates.

  “Where’s Sam?”

  Tim guided her forward. In his unwavering cop voice, he answered, “With Tony.” Ruby took Gretta’s elbow and led her through the parking area to the truck.

  Tim answered his phone on the first ring as he shoved the key in the ignition. “I have Gretta . . . VCU Critical Care? We’ll be there in less than an hour.”

  Gretta didn’t need to ask. She bowed her head and prayed. The words she had memorized as a child escaped her. Her mind kept circling back to a single thought.

  Tony’s accident is my fault.

  Chapter 7

  Nicknames

  Gretta

  Shifting uncomfortably in her chair next to Tim, metal legs scraped against the tile floor. The paper cup of tea from the hospital cafeteria scorched Gretta’s fingers, so she set it on the floor by her green print tote bag.

  Tim sipped his coffee. “Gonna be a hot one today.”

  “Hot and humid. Maybe storms will pop up later this afternoon and cool things off.” She checked the weather app on her phone. Zero percent chance of rain. “Nope. No rain in the forecast. You never know. The weather here changes all the time.”

  Tim stared at his folded hands and Gretta wondered if he heard a word she said. When silence became uncomfortable, she dug in her bag.

  “Sports Illustrated? I got it for Sam. I don’t think he’d mind if you read it first.” Gretta handed it to him.

  Tim grunted his thanks and flipped the magazine open from the back. A phone chirp startled both of them. Gretta picked up hers. No messages. Disappointment flooded in.

  “Must be Sam’s phone. Go ahead.” Tim nodded to the white plastic sack beside her tote bag.

  She loosened the drawstring and pulled out a pair of jeans. A t-shirt and a pair of white Hanes boxer briefs fell to the floor. A small giggle escaped her lips.

  She hoped Tim didn’t notice as she scooped up the shirt and ‘drawers,’ as Ruby called them. She found a worn bottle cap in the right pocket of the jeans. Strange. Flipping it over in her hand, she couldn’t make out its letters. After putting the old cap back in his pocket, she fumbled through the left pocket and found the birch beer cap and his cell phone. A text message lit the screen.

  Tim peeked over her shoulder. “Open it. The passcode is one, one, one, one.”

  “It’s from Tony. ‘I’m going to ask her.’”

  “Ask who, what?” Tim mumbled.

  Gretta’s smile deepened as she typed back. ‘Congrats. This is Gretta. Sam’s in surgery.’ A long minute later, the phone beeped. She held it so Tim could read.

  ‘Hey, Purple Shorts. I haven’t asked her yet.’

  Tim displayed a grin similar to his son’s. Gretta quickly responded.

  ‘Tim�
�s with me. Are we allowed to visit?’

  Another lengthy pause made Gretta wonder how Tony could text.

  ‘Floor eight. Bonnie’s here. Don’t spill my secret.’

  Gretta replied with one of those smiley faces created with a semicolon and a bracket.

  Tim led the way to the doors. “The doctor said Sam’s surgery would take about two hours. We have plenty of time to see Tony. The nurse can get a hold of me with this.” He held up a pager.

  They walked a short distance to the Critical Care building. The sun shone bright through the trees despite being just a little after eight in the morning. Gretta struggled to match Tim’s long strides.

  “You okay?” Keen, cop eyes scrutinized her.

  Gretta nodded.

  “He’s gonna be okay. Tony’s a tough guy.”

  Gretta watched the doors of the hospital open. Neither took a step forward.

  “Sam, too?” she whispered.

  Tim motioned to the elevator. “Sam, too.”

  They signed in at the desk of the burn unit. After being briefed on visitation rules, they disinfected their hands and were suited in paper scrubs.

  “Two visitors at a time. One of you will have to wait. No more than five minutes,” the nurse announced and held open the door.

  “Go ahead, Tim. I’ll stay here,” Gretta offered. An icy chill ran through her. Vivid memories flashed through her mind.