He watched her put the card away, tucked in a random pocket in one of the jackets she wore. Deven stood and went to get another bottle of water, when he heard the front door open.
“Honey! I’m ho-ome! I know you’re still here, Deven, I saw the Tesla out front.” Charli’s voice sounded exuberant and ordinarily he would be grateful that she sounded like that with him, for him.
Deven ducked toward the front door and kissed her. He knew when Charli saw her mother, there were going to be fireworks.
“Charli, baby, wait. I’ve gotta tell you something.”
“Bet it’s not better than what I’ve got to say!” Charli was doing a little happy dance, and Deven was sicker than ever. He didn’t want to have to utter what he was about to.
“No, baby, I know it’s not. It’s just that—”
“He’s trying to tell you that I’m here, Charlene.” Geraldine had emerged from the kitchen and stood to the side of the open archway Deven blocked with his body. He felt the moment Charli realized who was in her house. She went from a lively, willing woman in his arms to frozen stone in an instant.
* * * *
She looked at Deven and knew the sorrow reflected in his eyes was pity for her. Charlene hated the idea of another person ever pitying her again. She swore she wouldn’t let anyone see her weak enough for that to happen. The inevitable outcome was what happened seconds later.
Charli lurched away from Deven, skidding backward at least three feet across the floor in her haste. “What the hell are you doing in my house? I want you”—she pointed at Geraldine—“gone. Now. I don’t know why in the world, after abandoning me for nearly twenty years, you step foot in my house. You have some nerve to think that I want anything to do with you. Or be near you.” Charli opened the door, and the broken junkie shuffled out. The motions were dejected, and no hope lived in the footsteps sidling out the door.
When Geraldine left, Charli looked at Deven, and she saw red.
“How dare you let anybody in my damn house! You have some kind of nerve, and I hate you for this Deven... I can’t even express how disgusted I am with you. I don’t want a damn thing else to do with you. Never again!” Deven’s face crumpled, but Charli refused to back down, even as her heart sank with the knowledge of what she was doing.
“Look, Charli, I knew that you would be upset. But I think you should at least speak to her. She may have something you would—”
“Where the hell do you get off defending her to me! You have cojones, pal. What do I want to hear from a junkie hooker? How to suck a dick? I think I figured that out on my own, or rather you taught me. Know what? I want my key back.” Charli pulled the carabineer with Deven’s keys off and flung them, hitting him square in the chest.
Deven wasn’t giving up. “Charli, stop it! Damn it! Listen to me.”
* * * *
“No, Deven, there isn’t anything you can say to me. I just want you out of my house now.” She opened the door and waited. Deven walked to the kitchen and slipped on his shoes. When he looked at the cake, it made him want to cry. It was the tangible representation of his hopes and dreams, and showed his intentions were honorable, no matter her background.
Deven left and drove until the Tesla ran out of power. He was someplace, but didn’t know where. He didn’t care either, and as luck would have it, there was a hole-in-the-wall bar just a mile back the way he came. Deven climbed out of the car, shut the door, and walked stiffly back up the road. He’d call someone to get the car later, but for now he was going to drink until he felt numb. He reached the tiny shanty and walked inside. The bartender had the look of man who had seen much and not all of it good. His face was weather beaten, and he sported a full beard of mostly gray hair. His bald head gleamed, the only thing in the dingy space that sparkled, except maybe the glass he rubbed to a shine with a short cloth.
Dev took one of the gritty stools and pulled out his credit card.
“Gimme the strongest liquor you’ve got, on the rocks. And keep ’em coming.”
The bartender took the glass he was polishing and added a few cubes of ice.
“Woman problems, huh?” The bartender’s voice was pitched low, tones of a man who didn’t say much.
“Yeah, how’d you guess?”
“Well, a man that looks like you doesn’t seem to lack for much. You probably have a nice job, home, drive a nice car. Only thing that can run a man who has everything ragged is a woman.”
“You’re good.” Deven wasn’t surprised. The man had an alert look about him. He might have been a veteran, with that hawk-eyed gaze of men who had seen war, famine, and pestilence. The man introduced himself as Bill.
Deven took the glass of liquor and tossed it back. It burned all the way down and promised to smolder worse if he let it come back up. He sipped the next, and another. Deven lost count of how many he had, but when he looked up, the hole-in-the-wall was jumping with activity. He looked at Bill and pointed at his glass. Bill gave him refill, and when Dev tasted it, he sputtered. It was water.
A glance at the front door had him squinting. It was dark outside. Damn, he drank way too much. Deven dug his phone out of his pocket. Maybe he should call somebody. But his hands wouldn’t cooperate. Bill leaned over and took the phone.
“Who you trying to call?”
Deven mumbled, but his lips were numb and irritated, he managed to scribble his brother’s name on a napkin.
Bill looked in the address book and dialed the number matching the name on the paper.
Chapter Eleven:
Bitter Coffee and Burning Moonshine
When Deven left her house, Charli slid down the wall and sobbed in her hands. She felt so ill, like she wanted to vomit, and as the thought came to her, she did, but there wasn’t anything to bring up but coffee. The hours-old brew burned worse than bile, and the bitter aftertaste never left her mouth. She did the only thing she could, stripping her blue suit off, her Hermes scarf flung to the floor. Grabbing a bucket and scrub brush, she scrubbed her hall way in her panties. But when she finished the wall and floor, she couldn’t stop.
Four hours later she made it to the kitchen and saw the seat her mother used. Charli kept scrubbing and emptied water for fresh, washing everything her eyes saw and her hands touched. She scrubbed the walls and floors, beat rugs, washed clothes. Charli opened the fridge for a glass of water and saw the cake.
Fresh tears sprang to her eyes, and Charli pulled the single slice of plated and wrapped cake from the fridge. Sitting on the freshly mopped floor, she took the slice and sniffed it. It even smelled the same. When she took the first bite, Charli moaned and cried harder. She nibbled on the cake, eating bits with her fingers. When she got to the fattest section of the cake wedge she felt... something. Licking crumbs from her lips, she pinched at the cake, looking for a stray eggshell. But as the cake crumbled in her fingers, Chari saw the glint of metal. Her heart sank. It couldn’t be—but it was.
An engagement ring.
Charli washed the ring off and looked at it. The ring was beautiful. The setting was antique, delicate rosy gold in a fragile wide-lattice pattern, dainty enough to remind her of lace. And the diamond in it was amazing, oblong, and nearly three perfectly flawless carats. Charli felt the urge to hurl again and leaned over the sink. But she was able to keep down her cake, and the nausea passed. In her bedroom, Charli put the ring in a Manolo Blahnik shoe box. There was no way she could face the ring without the man.
The cleaning spree continued, and by the time she looked up, it was nightfall. Charli spent the night crying and hugging herself, and she didn’t sleep. Couldn’t sleep. She hadn’t slept alone in months, and her body needed him to rest. He kept her warm and close, safe in slumber.
The next morning Charli woke to her bedroom door slamming closed.
“Charli, what the hell is going on?” Makenzie had swooped in, and it was barely past dawn.
Charli was barely there, her mind worn through from exhaustion. She rolled in the genera
l direction of the door.
“Whadda—”
“I mean why in the hell did Dev get drunk at some hole-in-the-wall outside of Charlotte.”
“Geraldine came back... Makenzie.” It was all she was going to say.
“Oh... So I take it didn’t go well. Since the house smells like Clorox and Ajax got in a fight and all.”
“Yeah, you could say that.” Charli rolled back over, pulling the blanket around her in a cocoon. She just wanted to sleep. If she could sleep until the pain went away, that would be so much better.
Makenzie took her shoes and put them on the floor and climbed in bed with Charli, hugging her until they both fell asleep.
The next time Charli woke, she heard her cell ring. Sliding her hand over the nightstand, hoping against hope it was him, she managed to find the phone and squint at the touch display. It was the bank.
Charli bolted upright and cleared her throat, climbing out of her bed, where Makenzie still slept on oblivious.
“Hello?”
“Hello, is this Charlene Anderson? This is Al Palmer.” The loan officer from the bank, she had forgotten he was supposed to call her. She hadn’t even thought about it after the debacle when she came home.
“Yes, I remember. How are you?”
“Well, thank you for asking, and you?” Wasn’t that a loaded question, how was she? ‘Half-dead’ as an answer wouldn’t cut it.
“I’m well, thanks, Mr. Palmer. Did you have some good news for me?” Please god, let him say yes, it would be the only good thing to happen to me in the last twenty-four hours.
“Actually, it depends. I know you requested fifty thousand, but the bank can do 60 percent of that. If you want the full requested amount, the bank would need collateral.”
“But that’s only thirty thousand!” Charli needed the entire amount. The twenty thousand she was now finding herself short of was crucial for her first year in business, could determine the success of her venture. She couldn’t dig any deeper into the stashed money. She was planning on matching her requested amount from the bank with personal funds, but taking too much would be suspicious. Great, she thought.
* * * *
Deven was lying in puddle of sweat and hung over from his day of extravagance. He knew he was sotted and even now the liquor hadn’t fully left his system. He didn’t know where he was or even what time it was. He heard several noises all at once, the sounds all loud in volume, a cacophony ringing around him, and he clenched his head in his hands. Damn, if he didn’t feel like shit. When he opened his eyes again, he could finally focus. He was in his brother’s house, in one of the first-level bedrooms, the blue one. He could smell the liquor on himself, and the bedding beneath him was damp with sweat reeking of stale liquor.
Charyn must have picked him up from the bar. He didn’t remember much from yesterday, just the fact he ended up stranding himself when the Tesla ran out of battery power. When he stood, he noticed that he was stripped to his underwear. Charyn must have heard him stirring and, moments after he pulled on the dank denim from last night, tapped on the door.
“Hey, brother, want something?” Charyn offered Dev a tray, which contained some BC Powders, coffee, and toast. He took the BC dry, two packets, both equally bitter. The coffee was hot, black, and doubly strong, and Dev gulped the brew down even as it burned his mouth. He didn’t feel like eating, so he merely placed the tray to the side.
“Thanks, little brother...”
“Deven, what happened?” Charyn asked, although his face showed he had some idea from the drunken ramblings Deven muttered in the ’cuda last night.
“What do you know already?”
“Well, Bill called at eight and said you were too drunk to walk. That you wrote my name on a piece of paper and he found my number in the phone. When we were on the road, you mentioned Geraldine. Then you said that Charli needed to forgive her.”
Deven told his brother the full story, how Geraldine had come over. He gave him an edited version of the details he was given. The entire sordid tale, and by the time he finished, Dev felt sick again. He walked away from his brother with the plaguing thought that he sorely needed a shower. Charyn must have thought so as he left some towels, clean clothes, and a razor for his big brother on the bathroom sink. Thirty minutes later, Dev found himself wondering where he went wrong. But the answer was simple. When Charli’s mother showed up, there was no way he could control or change the situation at hand. He couldn’t do anything more than what he already did.
He knew that seeing her mother would bring the response it did. But even if he sent the woman away, Geraldine would still lie between their happiness. But it didn’t stop him from wondering what he more he could have done. Deven wondered if Charli had found the ring he had secreted in the cake yet and what she did with it if she had.
Showered and in clean clothes, Deven briskly rubbed a towel over his hair and shook the bulk of it out of his face. By the time he’d sat back on the fresh bedding, his phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number, but answered it anyway.
“This is Deven.”
“Did you really mean it when you said you would help me?” Deven recognized the voice on the other end of the call, speak of the devil.
“Yeah, I did, still do. Do you really want my help? I can do a lot of things, but I can’t get you clean. Only you can do that.”
“I don’t want to draw my last breath as a junkie. I know that I’ve made mistakes, but I want to live whatever time I have left as a whole person.”
Deven could respect that and asked her, “Where are you now, so I can come and get you?”
“I’m at a Shell gas on Market Street, just up the street from a McDonald’s.”
“I know where that is. It will take a half hour to get to you though.”
“I’ve waited twenty years. Another half hour won’t kill me.”
Deven smiled grimly and disconnected the call. Only problem was he just remembered his car was on the side of the road, hours away at that. He rushed through the house. His brother would just have to pony up the Hummer. Charyn must have heard the commotion as he ran down the stairs meeting him halfway.
“Damn, Dev, where’s the fire?”
“I need your car.”
“Why? Yours is out front. I charged it and everything.”
“Little brother, you make a damn good man.”
“You still haven’t answered my question, you know.”
“That was Geraldine. She accepted my offer to go in for treatment, and I’m about to send her to the rehab facility today.”
Charyn looked shocked. “How about I ride shotgun and we can take the Hummer.”
Deven didn’t respond, just walked to his brother’s garage and climbed in the driver’s seat. The ride was silent, and by the time they reached Market Street, he saw Geraldine seated at a bench with a plastic statue of Ronald McDonald as her only companion. The tableau struck him as sad, pitiful. He stopped and activated the emergency flashers and hopped out, opening the rear passenger door. Charyn was texting when Deven climbed back inside.
Deven decided to call his aunt, a therapist, to get a placement at the best available program. He stopped at the mall, since he knew that he couldn’t send her to rehab with the clothes on her back and nothing else. He left her and Charyn in the car and went inside, walking in the first store he saw. It was a Banana Republic. Deven purchased a fistful of everything. He knew Charli and her mother were probably built similarly, but the drugs made her stature frail. He knew Charli wore a size small, and her jeans were a size five. So he picked up clothing one size smaller. Just a few things, but he needed to get her at least a week’s worth of clothing.
Deven never thought how much went into one outfit. When he bought one thing, he’d see something else she would need to accompany it. There was a jacket he found for the chill spring evenings, shoes, plus some socks that were an impulse buy. They reminded him of Charli, with little monkeys and bananas. Ignoring the streak of pain
in his chest at the thought of losing her for good, he finished making purchases. Most of the choices were made so quickly that within fifteen minutes he walked out with a fistful of bags plus five hundred dollars and change lighter in the pocket. Lugging the bags to the back of the Hummer, Deven tossed them inside the trunk. Before he could get inside, his phone rang again. This time he knew the number. It was his auntie Jen.
“This is Deven.”
“Hey, Deven, it’s Jen. I found a program she can go to in Florida. They will have a placement for her tomorrow. The way I’m looking at it, I can get us both a commercial flight and I’ll drop her at the clinic. I want you to bring her to me today. I’ll keep her at my place and administer a round of meds for the DTs. That way she doesn’t have to suffer from the bends too badly tonight. When can you bring her by my house?”
“Well, now is fine with me, but to be honest... she needs a bath. If I give you the money, can you make sure she gets what she needs for the clinic? I already bought clothes, but it’s only enough for maybe a week.”
“That should do just fine. She probably needs a suitcase though. Aside from that, we can put some money in a canteen account so she can have some extras on demand. From the message you left, you’re paying for the entirety of her treatment?”
Deven understood what she was asking, as his normal environment wasn’t conducive to meeting addicts, or sponsoring one.
“She is related to someone very important to me.”
The good doctor went silent. “As long as I have known you, Deven, you’ve never given anyone that much standing…Whoever she is, she is one lucky woman. Will I get to meet her?”
“Really, Aunt Jen, I don’t see that in the cards right now.”
“Yeah, Dev, I don’t think that I believe that yet.”
“Bye, Auntie.” Deven hung up the phone. He didn’t have time for all the extras. Shit, even with the shower he was still rank to the bone from over indulging yesterday.
Willows, Jennifer - Lust for Life [The Moreland Brothers 2] (Siren Publishing Allure) Page 16