The Eternal Engagement

by Mary B. Morrison

  Being a lead anchorwoman was great, but the salary increases were barely enough to cover her expenses. The money Steven had given her would help pay down her student loans. Another one hundred twenty thousand dollars to go and she’d almost be debt free.

  The private school she’d selected for Jeremiah was more than she could comfortably afford. If she didn’t get approved for a grant before Christmas, she’d have to find a sponsor for the next school year or her son would miss out on great educational and athletic opportunities.

  “Mommy, please, come on.”

  Lost in her thoughts she’d forgotten he was standing by the doorway watching her. He tugged her hand again. She pulled away.

  “Mommy promises. You’re not going to be late, baby. Go get in the car. I’ll be out in ten minutes tops.”

  Katherine waited until Jeremiah was outside. He slammed the screen door in protest. Normally she’d discipline him for that, but he had feelings too. She picked up the cordless. Dialed his number. Immediately she got his voice mail. That was a sign she shouldn’t have called him. She placed the phone on the charger. Tears blurred her vision.

  Lord, what am I doing? I can’t take on a second job. I know You’ll make a way. The extra money in her account felt good, but with so many unpaid bills it was already spent.

  Putting on her happy face, she opened the screen, then closed the front door. The home phone rang. Quickly she shoved open the door, ran inside, and answered, “Hello.” Without looking at the caller ID, she hoped it was him calling her back.

  “Hey, Katherine. It’s me, Lincoln.”

  Though she was happy to hear his voice, that wasn’t whom she’d called. “Hi” was all she got out. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She was overjoyed to hear his voice again.

  Why was she so damn happy to hear his voice? The last time they’d spoken, her mother told her to demand he pay the back child support. When Lincoln tried to explain, her mother hung up the phone, saying, “And you’d better not call him back.”

  Southern parents believed if their children lived under their roof, no matter what their age, they had to live by their rules. The princess-cut diamond earrings Steven had given her were in her jewelry box. “A man that gives a woman an expensive gift like that is after one thing and one thing only. And I’m not raising any more babies,” her mom had said. Katherine had to make more money so she could move out as soon as possible.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner. I called to say thanks for helping me out. I promise I’ll pay you back every penny. I called because I’m ready to see my son.”

  As much as she loved Lincoln, Katherine shook her head. “We’re struggling to come up with enough money to take care of Jeremiah. I mean, I have student loans I’ve got to pay. I’m still living at home with my mom. It’s hard.” She cried, staring at the gold band on her ring finger.

  “I know your mom doesn’t like me, but you can’t be doing that bad. You just sent me two grand.”

  She understood how he could conclude that. “But you have no idea where it came from.”

  “You’re right. Look, I’m trying real hard to get myself together. I’m on a good track now, and seeing my son will give me a reason to fight harder for something good. I might have a sponsor to help me.”

  A sponsor? To help him with what?

  “Lincoln, we need a sponsor. We need you to help us. You owe us almost fifty thousand dollars.”

  Katherine hated that she sounded like her mom, but if she had what he owed her she wouldn’t have to struggle. Money wasn’t what she wanted from Lincoln most. She wanted his love, tenderness, and compassion. She wanted Jeremiah to have a real father, not a photo dad. She wanted them to become a family. She wanted to be Mrs. Katherine Lincoln. And damnit she wanted to feel him inside of her again. She was a young woman with unfulfilled womanly needs. Casual dating and casual sex was fun, but that wasn’t her preference.

  “Is that all I’m good for? Money?”

  Katherine frowned. Her voice escalated. “Don’t go there with me! I just sent you”—she paused, looked over her shoulder to make sure her mom wasn’t standing in the doorway—“two thousand dollars that I could’ve used for our son’s tuition. I didn’t ask you any questions. I didn’t tell you to join the military, and I sure as hell didn’t expect you to walk away and never send me a letter or call me or nothing. You didn’t even call to find out if I was pregnant!”

  She could’ve gone on and on with a long list of what was truly Lincoln’s fault, but what would that prove. He knew he was an absentee dad.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry, Katherine. I made a big mistake. I’ve made a lot of mistakes. Forgive me. I promise I’ll pay you back and I’ll start sending you money for Jeremiah soon. Thanks to you, I didn’t have to sleep on the street last night. I got me a room at the Warwick until my apartment is available on the first. Once I’m situated, then can I see my—”

  “Momma, come on! You promised. I’m going to be late!” Jeremiah yelled from the doorway.

  “Katherine, is that him? Put my son on the phone. Let me say—”

  She whispered, “I can’t just spring this on Jeremiah. I’ve got the weekend off. I’ll try to come to Seattle to see you tomorrow. We can discuss it then. We’ve got to go. Bye.”

  Katherine typed the name of Lincoln’s hotel and the phone number registered on her cordless in her cell. She dried her tears, then smiled wide at her son. “I love you, baby.” She kissed Jeremiah, then hugged him tight. “Come on here, boy! Let’s go get this W!”

  She’d find a way to continue providing for her son without Lincoln’s help. And he could see his son. But first she had to look Lincoln in his eyes and ask a long list of “Why’s.”

  CHAPTER 39

  Steven

  November 2010

  No corpse.

  No crime.

  No charge.

  No conviction.

  How long would it take for Davis’s body to decompose? How long would it take for any possible DNA matches to vanish?

  Steven wondered how many missing persons were never found. His plan was more clever than Mona would imagine. He’d pried loose a boarded window at the back of an abandoned gray house that had been on the market for over a year. The FOR SALE sign was weather-beaten and leaning to the side. He’d dumped Davis’s body and the rug inside, then resealed the wooden frame.

  Maybe he’d make an offer the Realtor was sure to accept, record the deed in Mona’s maiden name, have the property gated off, then have NO TRESPASSING signs nailed to the fence.

  Dragging his feet, he bypassed Ms. Velma as she waved. “Hi, Steven!”

  He was too tired to respond. Entering his house, Steven shook his head. He kicked the chair to the floor. “Fuck! I knew I shouldn’t have left her ass here.”

  Oil and shit was all over his coffee table. The duct tape that should’ve kept Mona’s mouth shut was on the floor.

  Running through his house he shouted, “Mona!” knowing she was gone. What he didn’t know was how long. “Mona! Where the hell are you?”

  Steven went outside. Stared at Ms. Velma. “Where’d she go?”

  “Where’d who go?”

  “So you didn’t see Mona leave my house?” Steven stomped down his stairs, stood in his front yard, kept staring at his next-door neighbor.

  “Nope. Didn’t see her come back home.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yep. Ain’t seen her in six months,” Ms. Velma said, leaning on her column. “The turkey’ll be done by four. Come on over and watch me carve it while you tell Mama what you’re thankful for,” Ms. Velma said, going in her house.

  Liar. Ms. Velma knew something. And she wasn’t his damn mama!

  Steven went inside, slammed his door. He picked up the black bag on his coffee table. Ripping open the plastic he yelled, “What the fuck is this?”

  The staple gun from his toolshed was inside and his gun was missing.

  “All right, have it your way,”
he said.

  Steven went into the kitchen, got a bottle of whiskey, opened it where he stood. He gulped half the contents, then picked up his cell phone. This time when he dialed, he wasn’t thinking about calling Mona, and he wasn’t phoning his mom.

  “Hello, I’d like to terminate one of my numbers,” he told the customer service assistant. “Yes, the number is 334 . . .” He continued giving Mona’s number. Now she’d have to get a new number.

  “You do understand once we deactivate the number you can reactivate that same number later. You don’t have to get a new one unless your time expires. May I suggest that if you’re not sure, you temporarily suspend the number? That way it’s easier to reactivate it. Or you can call back and terminate it later.”

  He didn’t want to hear all that. “Terminate it now!”

  Ending that call, he stood in the same spot in his kitchen, downed the other half bottle of whiskey, then made another call.

  A woman answered, “Bakersfield Police Department.”

  “Yes, I’d like to report a stolen vehicle.”

  CHAPTER 40

  Mona

  November 2010

  Thank God, Mama V had taken her home.

  The wisdom of that woman should never be underestimated. Mama V had told her, “Divorce him immediately. If you need me, all you’ve gotta do is call me. Mona, you go and you stay gone. Don’t come back to this town for nothing. Don’t contact Steven and tells your people not to give him any information on your whereabouts. Any man that’ll tie you up like that will sho ’nuff kill ya. And don’t worry about me. He don’t want none of this.”

  Mona wasted no time getting in and out of her house. While she was home, she stuffed her backpack with her last book of blank checks, her laptop, charger, and a few pair of underwear. She secured both her guns inside the vented hood over her stove. Where she was headed, she’d only need protection of her heart.

  Her 4Runner was a catalyst to permanently get her away from Steven and to the airport. Not BFL in Bakersfield. Mona was almost at LAX. Her decision to depart from Los Angeles to Seattle was based on the greater availability of flights.

  Without a functioning phone, Mona felt naked and disconnected from the world. She wasn’t able to contact Lincoln nor had she memorized his number. But he’d invited her to visit him, and she was determined to get her man back.

  She parked the car in long-term parking at LAX. Mona shoved the black plastic bag with Steven’s gun in it underneath the passenger seat, then locked the door.

  Chasing the airport shuttle, she yelled, “Wait for me!”

  Eventually someone would report Steven’s car abandoned, but neither his gun nor his 4Runner was registered in her name. She didn’t care what happened to Steven. If she could’ve blown up his SUV with him in it and had no witnesses, she would have.

  “Thanks for waiting,” she said, settling in a seat closest to the driver. “Do you know of a wireless store close to the airport where I can purchase a cell phone?”

  “Yes, but it wouldn’t do you any good. It’s Thanksgiving Day, lady.”

  Damn. How soon could she get a phone? How was she going to get Lincoln’s number?

  Handing the driver a ten-dollar tip, Mona slung her backpack on her shoulder, hung her purse on the other, then exited at departures. Holiday travelers formed long curbside check-in lines that blocked the automatic sliding glass door entrance. Kids were in strollers, luggage was mounted on carts. Everybody was in the way.

  You don’t own the airport! Move, people. Move!

  All I need is to buy a ticket, she thought, eyeing longer lines inside at check-in and ticket purchase. So much for getting to Seattle by eleven. It was already noon.

  Thirty minutes later she stood in front of a ticket agent. “I’d like to purchase a one-way ticket to Seattle.”

  “What date would you like to leave?”

  “The next available,” Mona said.

  “The next flight is tomorrow at three p.m.”

  “Tomorrow! I need to leave today! I know you have something. Please, lady, check again! It’s a family emergency.”

  No way was Mona staying in Los Angeles overnight when she could spend the night in Lincoln’s arms. She’d . . . “Never mind.”

  She walked away, then hurried back to the agent. “On second thought, I’d better get the ticket for backup. One-way, please.”

  Stuffing her ticket in her backpack, Mona headed downstairs and got on the first rental car shuttle. She picked out an SUV, handed her ID and contract to the clerk at the gate. “How far is it to Seattle?” she asked.

  The guy slid his window wider, stared at her, then asked, “As in Washington?”

  Mona rolled her eyes, nodded. Her lips tightened. “No, as in California.”

  “Oh, you got jokes? I’m not the one who needs directions. Just know that according to your contract you cannot take that car,” he said, pointing at her SUV, “out of this state,” then pointed toward the ground. “If you’re going to Seattle for real, for real you need to change your contract.” He tapped on a few keys, then enunciated, “Seattle, Washington, is one thousand one hundred and forty miles, airport door-to-door.”

  Mona sat for a moment. She’d thought it was closer. Based on the distance, she wouldn’t get to Seattle until Sunday. Getting out of the car, she handed him the keys. “This doesn’t make any goddamn sense.”

  “Neither do you,” he said. “They don’t pay me enough, lady. Don’t make me stoop to scoop your poop. It ain’t happening.”

  Mona walked ten feet toward the rental car shuttle, then froze. She went back to the clerk. “Get out of the car. I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Why does that not surprise me?” he said, turning off the engine.

  If she was going to be in Los Angeles overnight, she had to be mobile.

  CHAPTER 41

  Steven

  November 2010

  “That was stupid, Steven,” he told himself. Maybe he wasn’t close to clever after all.

  “Why did you terminate Mona’s cell phone number?” That was the easiest way to track her ass. No telling where his car was, but even if the police found the car, that wouldn’t lead him to Mona. She hadn’t used his credit cards in over six months. He didn’t know where she banked.

  “Fuck!” He could only blame himself for being that dumb.

  Sitting in his recliner, he guzzled a half bottle of whiskey. His cell phone interrupted his intent to polish off the other half.

  He answered, “Hi, Mom. Happy Thanksgiving.”

  “Hey, Buttercup. Happy Thanksgiving. Your dad says the same. How you doing? You having dinner with Mona, I hope.”

  He loved his mother. Never wanted to disappoint her or his dad.

  “Ma, we talked about this two days ago. Six months didn’t cut it. Mona is gone and she’s not coming back. What am I gonna do now?”

  He felt like a child asking his mother for marital advice, again. He could transfer title of the car to Mona’s name. Nah, stupid idea.

  “A lot can happen in forty-eight hours. No use in crying over spilled milk. It’s time for you to move on. File for a divorce. That way if she starts charging up your cards, you won’t be responsible. You’ve got to protect your credit and the Cunningham family name. Once your divorce is final, get yourself another woman. I don’t understand these men sleeping around with a whole lotta women ’cause their woman done left them. You ever thought about dating that news reporter girl, Katherine Clinton? I know she’s spoiled already, but she’s raised that kid the same way I raised you, and that says a lot about her integrity. She’s the marrying kind.”

  Divorcing Mona wasn’t happening. He had too much invested to let his marriage go. Plus, Mona had his gun. Oh, shit! What if she left it in the car and the police found his bloody gun and his car?

  Steven dropped the cell in his lap, covered his ears, then screamed, “Fuck!”

  “Buttercup! Buttercup! You okay?” his mom shouted. “Don’t let that
devil grab ahold of ya. You not going crazy, are you? Answer me! Richard! Come here. I think Buttercup is falling apart! We might have to go back to California.”

  Picking up the phone, he quickly composed himself. “No, don’t do that. I’m okay, Mom. I just jammed my finger,” he lied.

  “Go rinse it off and put some Neosporin on it. You still got that job at the oil—”

  “Yes, Ma, yes,” he lied again. And what good would ointment do? “Let me call you back, Ma. I love you. Bye.”

  Steven ended the call and drove to Mona’s house. Quickly he picked the lock on the back door, entered her kitchen, then locked the door behind him.

  He’d try to remember some of the forensic tips Mona had taught him. There was no use in him dismantling the stove’s hood; he’d find nothing inside the vent. She was smarter than taking her own advice. He rolled the refrigerator six inches from the wall, inspected the back, nothing unusual. There were no secret compartments on the cabinets, inside the light fixtures, or under the grooves of the travertine floor.

  Hurrying to the bedroom, he checked the mattress, frame, headboard, and nightstand. He didn’t discover any important information. He opened Mona’s closet. There was a chest on the top shelf. As he scooted forward what he hoped to be a plethora of treasures, the wooden box slipped. A dozen or more dildos banged on his head, then fell to the carpet.

  “Fuck this.” Steven kicked the vibrators out of his way, then left the way he’d come, out the back door.

  CHAPTER 42

  Mona

  November 2010

  Thank God for credit cards.

  This time she had more credit than cash in her purse. She would’ve had a few grand in her pocket had she known Steven was going to act a fool. Didn’t expect to be in transit overnight. Holding on to the three hundred dollars she had, Mona’s hotel incidentals were charged. She had access to the room, phone, Internet, minibar, dining service, and whatever else she needed for the night.