The Next Ten: Beginnings Series Books 11 - 20

by Jacqueline Druga

  Dean ignored him and closed the office door. “You do realize, for the leader of this community, you are awfully hard to track down.”

  “My schedule is posted on the community bulletin board.” Joe looked back down the work on his desk. “Just check there.”

  “Why do you post your schedule on the board?”

  “For the morons running around saying, where is Joe? Where is Joe?” Again, Joe lifted his eyes when he saw Dean pull up a chair. “What do you want, Dean? I’m a busy man.”

  “We need to talk, Joe. You know that.”

  “No, we don’t.”

  “Yes, we do. You have been blowing me off. We need to talk about . . .”

  “Stop.” Joe sat up straight then leaned back in his chair. “Before your little ass gets into the reason you’re here, I would like to interject a name.”

  “Go on.” Dean nodded.

  “Elliott Ryder.”

  “What about him?” Dean asked.

  “Nothing much. I was just thinking about him, that’s all. Thinking about his health. I saw him all morning. He looks good, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  “Pretty goddamn fit for a man whose test results dictate he should be on his last breath. It just amazes me what mind over matter can do.” Joe exhaled. “So . . . what is it you wanted to talk to me about?”

  Dean stared for a moment with his hands folded and his fingers tapping in a nervous manner. “Nothing. It’s not important. There’s just a lot on my mind, that’s all. Sorry.” He stood up.

  “Good.” Joe picked up his pencil. “For a minute there I thought you wanted to talk about your bitch performance last night.”

  In a halting screech of his shoes, Dean spun around. “Bitch performance?”

  “Yes.” Joe continued to work, not looking up.

  “Why . . . why would you call me a bitch?”

  “You weren’t acting it last night?” Joe asked.

  “No,” Dean snapped defensively.

  “Everyone says your mood has been pretty borderline bitchy.”

  “I resent that,” Dean said.

  “Ben from Fabrics was in here yesterday complaining about you.”

  “Did he also mention he stomped on my foot for supposedly sticking him too hard?”

  Joe slowly raised his eyes. “Sticking him too hard? Is this any of my business?”

  “With a needle, Joe.”

  “Did I say it was anything else?” Joe returned to work. “He came in, said he paid you a compliment and you got violent.”

  Dean grunted and gave a flinging wave of his hand. “He’s over reacting. He took me by surprise. I slipped.”

  Joe gave another raise of his eyes at Dean.

  “Joe . . .”

  “Dean.” Joe slammed his hand on the desk. “I have work. I don’t know what your problem is lately but last’s night’s performance totally reiterates what people are saying about you.”

  “What performance?” Dean tossed his hands up in defeat.

  “Oh, you don’t think you threw a hissy fit last night? What was the shit you were doing about the Christmas lights?”

  “Joe, in my defense, your sons and Sgt. Ryder had no business putting those lights up on my house.”

  “Ellen said you couldn’t reach.”

  A long growl of frustration escaped Dean. “Ellen is full of shit. I didn’t want them up.”

  “If my daughter wants her goddamn house to light up for miles around, then let her house light up. What the hell do you care?” Joe said with edge.

  “They had no business putting them up. None.”

  “So you said! Why!”

  “Because it’s Frank’s thing. It’s . . .” Dean shook his head slowly. “It’s Frank’s thing. That’s all.”

  “Dean . . .”

  “No, Joe.” Dean’s voice dropped. “Have you ever seen him doing that? He loves it. He spends days planning those lights, getting them ready, and trying to do something better than the year before. And . . . and he sings those really stupid songs when he does it. How about the year he blew out the power box for the entire row of houses? Or . . . or, the best. Two years ago, just to irk me, he made the chimney into a giant penis of lights.”

  Joe tilted his head with a reminiscent chuckle. “That’s was funny.”

  “That was Frank. It’s his thing. He’s gonna be up and moving by Christmas, I guarantee. That’s why he’s getting the Salicain. I just wanted him to have that. It didn’t seem right having the light ritual without him.”

  “Dean,” Joe spoke softly. “You’re coming across awfully concerned for Frank. Is there something about my son’s health you aren’t telling me?”

  “No,” Dean replied. “There’s nothing about his health you don’t know. I don’t know what it is. It’s probably just all the stuff I have on my mind.”

  “Did you need to talk about it?”

  “You know what? Yes, yes I do.”

  “Good. Letting it out is best and you’re in luck. Your very own wife is Community Counselor. I’m sure she can make time to talk to you today.” Joe’s head lowered to go back to his work.

  Dean’s mouth dropped open. “My wife? My . . .” Dean hurried and looked at his watch. “Shit. My wife. Oh, shit.” He hurried to the door. “Shit.”

  Looking up at the sound of Dean’s exit, Joe smiled. “Whatever gets the job done?”

  ^^^^

  The realization that he had blown it came to Dean the second he heard Ellen’s laugher seeping from the lab. Stopping to straighten his hair that was tossed about in his run back to the clinic, with one hand in his pocket, Dean entered the lab with an apologetic look.

  Ellen didn’t even hear him. She leaned into the main counter Elliott was across from her. A huge smile crossed her face as she giggled like a schoolgirl while watching a small dancing hula girl.

  “I had that in my possession forever,” Elliott told her. “I thought you may need that to cheer you up, so it is yours. Happy Birthday.”

  Dean close his eyes. ‘Elliott Ryder beat him to the punch.’ “Damn it,” he spoke his thoughts out loud.

  Ellen looked up. “Hey, Dean.”

  “El . . .” Dean stepped to the counter. “Look . . .”

  “Check out what Elliott gave me. Isn’t it great?” Ellen flashed a grin to Elliott.

  “Swell. It’s just what the lab needs.”

  “Dean,” Ellen whispered his name. “I think it’s a great gift.”

  Lifting his hand, Dean looked at Elliott as if to give a silent apology. He then turned to Ellen. “So, Elliott was the first to wish you a happy birthday.”

  “No.” Ellen snickered. “Don’t be silly. Robbie was.”

  “It figures.” Dean raised his eyebrows. “Then Elliott?” Dean questioned to see where he would fall in the birthday wishes line.

  “No, then the kids,” Ellen explained. “Then Joe and Andrea popped by and Hal called. Melissa. . .”

  “Ellen,” Dean halted her. “Sgt. Ryder, I hate to ruin your knight in shining armor moment but may I have a word with my wife alone?”

  “Yes, Dr. Hayes.” Elliott grabbed his bandana from the counter.

  Ellen played with the hula girl. “Thank you again.”

  “You’re very welcome. Happy Birthday.” Before leaving, Elliott walked around the counter and leaned toward Ellen’s cheek to kiss her. He stopped before the deliverance of it when he heard Dean’s ‘don’t.’ Embarrassed, Elliott cleared his throat, smiled, and nodded a goodbye as an exit.

  “Dean?” Ellen asked in curiosity. “What is it?”

  “El. I’m . . . I am so sorry.”

  “What?” She snickered. “What for?” She lifted her hula girl. “Can I put this on your desk? It will look so cute.”

  “No. I mean, yeah, sure. I’m sorry. Your birthday totally slipped my mind.”

  “Dean, don’t be silly.” Ellen set the doll on display. “It’s just a birthday.”

  “I
t’s your birthday.”

  “So what? Did you think I was mad?”

  “I hope not.”

  “Not at all.” Ellen moved to him. “I know you’re busy. Please don’t worry about it. You have the whole day to wish me happy birthday.”

  “Happy birthday,” Dean said less than enthusiastic.

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “No,” he grumbled. “I feel bad and Sgt. Ryder giving you that hula girl only makes me feel worse.”

  Ellen whistled. “Good thing I didn’t show you this.” She lifted the chain she wore to expose the small heart diamond pendant.

  “Aw. Who?” Dean looked at it.

  “Robbie.”

  “It figures.”

  “If it makes you feel any better . . .” Ellen inched closer to him and laid her hand on his chest. “Frank didn’t get me anything.”

  “Aren’t you just funny?” Dean’s head lowered.

  “Dean, really. You are making too much out of this.” Softly, Ellen kissed him. “Why are you so down?”

  “Because finally, everything is behind us. Bev, Johnny, and the mistakes we made in those situations. Finally. Now we have this chance to be that married couple and you’re . . .”

  “Don’t say it.” Ellen’s demeanor totally changed. “Please don’t say it.”

  “There has to be something we can do. Something,” Dean said with desperation.

  “There isn’t.”

  “El, not to sound callous, but Grace handed down that decision and Grace is dead. What if we . . .”

  “No.” Ellen shook her head. “No. The punishment has to be served. Do you understand that? Not just for the sake of any future crimes, but for me, Dean. I have to be punished for me. Does that make sense? I committed a wrong. I have to . . . no, I need to pay. And if even for a short time, I believe having to leave my home, my children, and you is one way to pay.”

  “Then you’re not gonna ever pay fully.” Dean pulled Ellen closer and dropped his voice. “You may leave your home and the kids, but I’ll be damned if you’re leaving Beginnings without me.”

  “Then you’re damned, Dean,” Ellen’s voice cracked. “Because whether you or anyone else likes it or not, when I leave Beginnings, I leave one way . . . alone.”

  ^^^^

  A spit shine without the saliva and Frank stared in amazement at the weapons he had cleaned. “Fuckin unbelievable. Why can’t I get my men to do this in Beginnings? Of course . . .” He spoke to himself in the armory. “They are the ones doing it. Here, I’m the one that gets stuck. Wait . . .” He scratched his head. “Why?” Frank shrugged.”Nothing else to do I guess. Fuckin God better be happy about how I got his shit in order for him. Whoa, what if he makes me St. Frank, patron saint of weapons. Cool.” He bobbed his head and reached for another weapon, an older rifle that looked as if it was from the old west. “Oh, yeah, this must be God’s favorite piece since he looks like John Wayne. But it’s shiny enough. It doesn’t need . . .” Mid extension to return the rifle to the shelf, Frank stopped when he caught his reflection in the glimmering brass. “Oh, fuck.” Frank’s eyes widened and brought the brass before him as a mirror. “Oh fuck.” He grinned and turned his face from side to side as he looked at himself. Where were the lines on his face? The ones by his eyes, his mouth. His skin looked firmer and unworn. His eyes glistened in youth and there wasn’t a sign of the war struggles in the after-plague that he had endured. They were all gone. No facial hair, his nose was straight and no longer crooked from being busted six times. What was the most astonishing to him was there wasn’t a single scar, deep or shallow, on his face. “I’m young. Hey . . . I look like Keanu Reeves.” Frank winked at himself. “I’m pretty hot.”

  “Frank,” the soft female voice called out into the room.

  His eyes shifted and he tilted the weapon to catch a glimpse in the reflection of the woman behind him. When he did, the rifle toppled from his hand. Shaking, Frank stood up. “Mom,” he breathed out and spun around. She looked the same as he remembered her, petite with thick, long, black hair that shimmered. Her face had an olive complexion with such European beauty.

  “Frank,” she spoke peacefully and smiled. “Come here.”

  “Oh my God.” Two steps was all it took and Frank was close to his mother, a woman he hadn’t touched, seen, or embraced since he was eleven years old. He felt like a child again only entirely overrun with emotions.

  “It’s good to see you up close.” She stepped back and winked. “I’ve been watching you and your bothers.”

  “We’re doing good.”

  “No, you’re doing great.” She held onto his hands and stared up at him. “You are so tall.”

  “I grew since you’ve saw me last but I look young. I saw my reflection. I look really young now.”

  “Everyone does up here,” his mother told him.

  “This is a gift. Is that why they sent you to me? Everyone else that came in here was here for a purpose to try to teach me something.”

  “Me too.” She led him to the crates to sit down. “You’re going to be going back down very, very soon, Frank. It’s time to return.” She sat down and waited for him to join her. “Our time is limited.” Squeezing his hand, she looked deeply at him. “So before you go, you have to listen. There is something so very important I have to tell you.”

  ^^^^

  “Oh, shit.” Robbie sprang up from his seat next to Frank’s bed. “Dean!” he screamed out.

  Hal flew closer to the bed. “What’s wrong?”

  Still holding Frank’s hand, Robbie’s breath shivered. “Hal, look, look at his eyes. They’re still closed but . . .”

  Hal looked closer. “Tears.”

  “What’s going on?” Dean raced into the room.

  Robbie moved back. “It’s Frank. I think he’s waking up.”

  “Dean,” Hal added. “It looks like tears at the creases of his eyes.”

  Scurrying around the bed, Dean focused on Frank. His eyes shifted and a single tear ran down his cheek. “He’s waking.” Reaching out quickly to the night stand, Dean flung open the drawer. A prepared syringe rolled his way. As he caught it, he heard the heart monitor beep stronger, faster, and Frank heaved in a loud breath.

  “Dean?” Robbie questioned with worry.

  Dean stayed with Frank. His eyes were on him and one hand held his wrist in a pulse taking manner. The other brought the syringe to the shunt in his arm. “Stay calm, Frank. Your heart has to be calm.” He shook his head and plunged the Salicain into the IV line. “His pulse is too rapid, twenty seconds. Calm. Calm.”

  Frank took another deep breath and with it, his eyes popped open. His hand ejected over and grasped onto Dean’s wrist. His saddened eyes made a hard contact with him. “Dean,” he spoke raspy and emotional. “Dean . . . my father.”

  Before Dean could even respond, Frank’s grip loosened, his eyes closed, and his heart rate dropped to a steady slow pace.

  The Salicain kicked in. Dean couldn’t move. He was still locked onto Frank with a confused stare. What Frank meant was not conveyed verbally. The look on Frank’s face, the sound and deliverance of his words, shot through Dean in a heartbreaking understanding that somehow Frank knew about Joe. But how?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  If efforts of avoidance were cures to illnesses, Dean would be the God of all doctors. He tried, he absolutely tried to avoid going into that one specialty shop in New Bowman. He had to wonder why it was that with all the little shops, even sparingly stocked, he had to end up at that one shop.

  The woman at the candle store told Dean nothing was new since Ellen was there last. The one clothing place had only dresses and Dean tossed out of his mind the idea of jewelry. Anything that was for sale in the handmade jewelry store paled to the pendant Robbie had given to Ellen.

  Onward. There was only one place left. If Dean wanted to get Ellen something, he had to go in there.

  The Unique Boutique. It was an outlandish accessory shop with items no one re
ally needed but every woman wanted. It was always stocked and always with new merchandise. The sign out front even boasted to stop in and see the new line of Hoi-String belts.

  What they were, Dean hadn’t a clue.

  Actually, what they had in the shop, Dean didn’t know either. He had never even been in there because of one worker. Ben.

  Not that he had a problem with Ben, but recently Ben was giving him attitude, flipping him off for no reason, and singing Village People as he passed Dean, ‘Macho, Macho man. Dean wants to be a macho man. But he can’t. He’s too small.’

  Dean wondered if it was his imagination. He had a lot on his mind. Standing before the boutique, he took a deep breath as he entered. Maybe since it was the middle of the day and since Ben was the head seamstress of Beginnings, maybe Ben wouldn’t be there.

  The bells above the door did a triple ding and Dean walked in. He knew how wrong he was when Ben walked out from behind the back with a disgruntled. ‘Oh’.

  Dean nodded politely. He just wanted to find Ellen something and get back home.

  “Do you need . . . .help?” Ben asked snippily.

  “Um, no.” Dean walked to the far wall.

  “Good. Because I wasn’t going to help you.”

  Dean snapped a quick look over his shoulder at Ben, then after telling himself to just get the gift, he peered at the small, purse size photograph holders on the rack. There were not many but all were in the most God awful colors. Dean was certain Ellen didn’t have one of those. Quick gift. Quick escape.

  “Hope you plan on purchasing something.” Snootily, Ben sat down, crossed his legs, and looked at his fingernails. “I haven’t the time to waste on you.”

  Purple. Dean smiled. It was the same fabric and color as Ellen’s purse. Perfect. He lifted it and took it to the counter.

  “Will this be all?” Ben exhaled as he stood.

  “Yes.” Dean reached into his back pocket for his Danny dollar card.