The Cuban finished his drink and poured another, then turned his gaze back to Chico. “You think you’re ready to take the next step up my corporate ladder?”
Chico fought to keep from shifting his weight under the intense scrutiny. “Yeah, Boss.”
“Yes, Sir.”
The reprimand was issued softly, but it rang so loud in Chico’s mind he had to swallow a surge of fear that rose like bile.
“Yes, Sir,” he repeated when he found his voice.
The Cuban ambled over to an ornate Wrought-Iron patio table and sat in the shade provided by the umbrella. He didn’t indicate that the other men should sit, and Chico shot another quick glance at Frank for a cue. The other man stood expressionless at the edge of the shade. Chico stayed with him.
“So,” the Cuban said, directing his focus on Frank. “What little task should we have our boy do?”
Chico read the real message behind the ambiguous words, and this time he couldn’t stop the slight shift of weight as the significance hit him. The Cuban was dangling the carrot, but Chico would have to pay one hell of an entry fee to join the race. Did he really want to?
Getting in this deep had never been part of his long-range career plan. He just wanted a couple of good years running enough pushers to make a nice nest egg. Then he’d be on the first plane heading for a destination at least a thousand miles from here.
“We got that little problem in Denton with Johnny,” Frank said.
“Maybe Chico here can teach him a lesson.”
Again the message clamored behind the harmless-sounding words, and Chico remembered the ill-fated chess game a few weeks ago. There was a new man running the Denton franchise and nobody knew for sure where Lazano had ended up. Some thought he’d been shipped back to Cuba. Others speculated that he’d never survived the ocean crossing.
And now there was a problem with the new guy?
Chico didn’t trust himself with words. He gave a slight nod.
“Take care of it.” The Cuban waved a limp hand in Frank’s direction.
“Yes, Sir.”
The Cuban smiled at Chico. “See how nice and polite he is?”
Chico did his best to match the Boss’s smile as a cold, stone of dread settled in his stomach.
~*~
Jenny sat at her desk with the phone pressed to her ear.” I think that whole thing was a test,” she said. “And I passed when I—”
“Don’t even say it. As far as I’m concerned that never happened.”
Suppressing a laugh as she imagined Steve putting his hands over his ears, Jenny continued. “They’re letting me move more stuff. I think I should go for the big score soon.”
“Don’t rush it.” Steve said.
Noticing that Mitchell had walked into the back room, Jenny hunched over her desk and lowered her voice. “I can see the end of this looming. Let’s just finish it up.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to the rest of the team. Don’t do anything until you hear from me.”
“Sure.” Jenny hung up and turned to see Mitchell still standing there. His expression indicated he had more on his mind than just getting supplies.
“I’m worried about you, Jen.”
“What’s to worry about?” She tried to brush past him, but he stepped in front of her.
“This has gone way beyond grief.”
Jenny moved back to the work table and picked up a bunch of zinnias and plucked broken stems, hoping if she just ignored him, he’d give it up. But she should have known better. Mitchell, for all his effeminate ways, was not one to back down.
“It’s not like you have to confide in me about everything. But don’t shut me out.” He stood next to her and leaned one hip on the edge of the table. “Something weird has been going on with you. And that scene with Scott a couple of weeks ago was something else. You did an admirable job of blustering through, but you never did answer his questions.”
Jenny concentrated on wrapping the orange and russet flowers in tissue.
“You’ve had an uncanny way of avoiding questions of late, Jen.” Mitchell’s voice had lost the edge of challenge and softened with a touch of concern.
Feeling boxed in by his proximity and his worry, she sidled to her right. She needed to think. What could she possibly say that would satisfy him? An outright lie was not an option. She’d never been able to pull that off with even a casual acquaintance, let alone someone she’d worked with for years.
Quickly discounting the few fabricated scenarios that flashed through her mind, Jenny finally decided on a piece of the truth.
“You have to promise that what is said here, stays here.”
“Sounds pretty serious.”
“It is.” She took a step toward him. “And you can’t tell anyone. Not even Jeffrey.”
“We don’t have secrets.”
“You have to this time, Mitchell. Or I say nothing more.”
He picked up a roll of green tape from the table and spun it slowly on his fingers as he seemed to debate his ability to comply. Finally he gave a curt nod.
“I’m working for the police.”
Shock brought Mitchell’s head up. “You’re shittin’ me.”
“What? Is it so inconceivable that I could?”
“No.” He shrugged. “It’s just not what I expected.”
“It was easier to think I was involved with drug dealers?”
“You know better than that.” The look he shot her raised a twinge of guilt for being so sarcastic. “So what is it that you’re doing for the cops?”
“That’s the part I can’t tell you.” Jenny pushed scraps of stems, ribbon, and discarded blooms into a pile on the table. “But hopefully it will be over soon. Then everyone will know all the sordid details.”
“You aren’t doing anything dangerous?”
“Of course not.” She concentrated on sweeping the pile of debris into a trash can. If she didn’t look at Mitchell, maybe she could get that lie past him.
“Were Scott’s friends right when they said you were hanging with drug dealers?”
Jenny set the trash can down and faced Mitchell. “Please don’t keep asking questions. I can’t give you any more answers.”
Watching an expression of frustration play across his face, Jenny knew the amount of restraint it took for him to stifle his curiosity. He was an intellectual sponge, always needing to soak up every detail about things. Ambiguity drove him nuts.
She laid a hand on his arm. “Just trust me on this, Okay? Soon it will end and I can tell you everything.”
Mitchell nodded and then turned to leave. Watching his stiff back as he walked through the doorway, Jenny sighed. Would she live to regret telling him? Or worse, would she not live to regret it?
But, God, how she hated the lying.
A long forgotten quote floated through her mind. O what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive. She’d never lied so much in her life. Nor made so many promises she wasn’t sure she could keep; first Scott, then Carol, now Mitchell. There was no way she could guarantee that this would soon be over. And how long before Carol pressed her for more answers, and she had to give her another little piece of the truth. How many pieces could she give out without being in danger?
~*~
Thanksgiving Day dawned bright and clear and Jenny stood on the back porch with her coffee, watching the birds that had decided to winter here flutter around the bare branches of the elm tree. They filled the morning with their bird chatter, as if wanting to proclaim to the whole world what a glorious day this was shaping up to be.
Glad she had her bulky Terrycloth robe to keep the chill wind at bay, she warmed her hands with the mug. The weather had cooperated last year, too. After everyone had stuffed themselves on turkey, mashed potatoes, yams, and six different flavors of pie, the boys had piled out of the house to play football in her mother’s huge front yard.
The memory was so vivid Jenny could hear the shouts and laughter and taste the cinnamo
n sweetness of the pumpkin pie her mother had brought out to the porch for the cheering section.
Remembering pierced the armor she’d so carefully wrapped around her heart, and the pain of loss came rushing in like a rampaging river through a broken levee. For almost three months now she’d made a conscious decision every morning not to think of Michael. She’d ignored the urge to go into his room, which was still the way he’d left it that awful night. And she’d fought every intrusion of unwanted memory.
Not that she was trying to pretend he never existed.
She was still trying to pretend that he wasn’t really dead.
A tear trickled down her cheek, and she raised a hand to wipe it away. You cannot cry. Crying weakens. You need to be strong.
The scrape of the door opening startled her, and she turned to see Scott, hair tangled and eyes still puffy with sleep. She offered him a faltering smile. “You’re up early.”
“Damn birds woke me up.” He waved an arm toward the tree.
“They are happy, aren’t they?”
“Glad somebody is.”
Searching his face, Jenny wondered if the puffiness around his eyes was from sleep or something else. She longed for the closeness they’d once had so she could ask him. Or did she dare anyway?
“You okay?”
He shrugged.
Jenny sighed and took a sip of coffee, which was now almost as cool as the breeze. Should she push Scott to talk some more or let it go? They’d been treading some fine line of civility for the past week, and she’d barely gotten him to agree to the plans her mother had made for dinner today. Perhaps it would be wiser not to do anything that would upset the delicate balance.
“I miss Michael.”
The words were soft, barely a whisper, but the anguish in her son’s voice screamed at her.
“Oh, Scott.” Jenny put her coffee-cup on the empty plant stand and opened her arms.
It was like an instant replay of that first morning when the grief had seemed to ebb and flow between them like currents of electricity. Scott cried in soft shudders of sobs, and Jenny ran her hand across his back in a gesture she hoped was soothing.
This very act of holding her son for the first time in weeks, managed to take the edge off the lingering pain of her grief. Holding him felt so good, so right, she wished she could stay in the moment forever. No more lies. No more deceit. And no more walks down the dark side.
Scott pulled away first, using the tail of his rumpled tee-shirt to wipe at his face.
“Scott, I—”
“It’s okay, Mom.” He glanced away, then sighed. “I’ll go see if Alicia wants to watch the parades.”
Jenny wondered if he was truly okay. Would anything ever be okay in their lives again? But she filed the questions away for another time. They just had to get through today whatever way they could. And if that meant pretending, well, they’d all gotten quite good at pretending.
She smiled at her son. “That would be nice. She’d like that.”
He hesitated just a moment, almost as if he was debating saying something, then shrugged and turned to open the door.
After he left, Jenny turned her face to the warm touch of the sun. Maybe it could reach clear down to that horrible, cold, empty hole that had been gouged out of her heart.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
As the waiter cleared the dishes from the main course, Scott looked at his grandmother and asked. “Did Mom tell you she’s hanging around with drug dealers?”
Jenny choked on her water and her mother went so pale, Jenny was afraid she’d have a heart attack. “Scott, please. Not here.”
The waiter gave her a strange look before hurrying away, and Alicia tugged on the sleeve of Jenny’s dress. “What does he mean, Mommy?”
“Nothing, Honey. It’s nothing.”
“Is that true?” Helen asked.
Jenny shot her son a look that she hoped would hold him in check. What had precipitated such an abrupt change since this morning? And what on earth was she going to say to her mother? Whatever it was, she’d better do it fast. Stalling was always the fist indication of the lie coming.
“No, I am not ‘hanging out’ with druggies.” Jenny tried to keep her tone light and dismissive. “Scott got this crazy idea because some friend of his saw me by the Dairy Queen one night. Drug dealers apparently show up around there. But how was I to know? I just wanted a sundae.”
Scott stirred in his chair, and Jenny froze him with another look.
“Why on earth did they think you were with those hoodlums?”
“I don’t know, Mother.”
There was a moment of awkward silence, and Jenny couldn’t hold eye contact with her mother. She glanced at her plate and tried to resume eating. Maybe it would all pass. God, please let it all pass.
“Don’t fight anymore.”
Jenny turned to Alicia whose eyes were wide with confusion and fear. “I hate it when you and Scott are yelling.”
“I know, Sweetie.” Jenny touched her daughter’s shoulder. “But it doesn’t mean anything. Lots of people yell, but they still love each other.”
Alicia didn’t look convinced, so Jenny offered a weak smile. “Trust me. Everything’s fine.”
Scott stood so abruptly Jenny didn’t have time to try to stop him. “Everything is not fine,” he said, the tone hard and cutting. “You sit here acting like we’re a normal happy family. Well, we’re not. And I’m sick of pretending.”
He threw his napkin on his plate, shoved his chair out of the way, and stormed out.
For a moment Jenny sat frozen. She didn’t know what to say or what to do. People around them turned back to their food offering a courtesy of feigned nonchalance. Alicia still looked like a rabbit caught in headlights. And her son was... God, she didn’t know where he was going.
“I need to—”
“I know,” Helen said. “Go. I’ll take Alicia home with me.”
Jenny turned to her daughter. “I know this is scary. But please believe me. It will be okay.”
“Are you going to find Scott?”
“Yes.”
“And make things okay with him?”
“Yes.” Jenny hugged Alicia, wishing that she felt as confident as she talked. “You go with Grandma and I’ll pick you up later.”
Rising, Jenny glanced at her mother and murmured a “Thank you.”
“When you finish, we need to talk.”
Jenny nodded and hurried out. Damn. The last time her mother had used that tone of voice Jenny had been sixteen and had sneaked out with Carol to meet some boys. She’d paid dearly for that indiscretion. No telling what would happen now.
Outside, Jenny saw no sign of her son. She checked the parking lot, but he wasn’t by her car or her mother’s. Think. Where would he go? He had some money. But how much? Enough for a cab?
Walking toward Preston Road, Jenny tried to figure out where Scott would even find a cab. Or what he would do if he couldn’t. The thought that he might try to hitchhike sent a cold tremor through her, and she tried not to think of all those stories she’d heard about teens being abducted.
Traffic was light along the normally busy road, but that was no surprise. Most folks were home celebrating the day with family. But she did notice a small group of kids at the park on the next corner. Then she spotted the bus stop across the street. There, on the bench, was Scott, distinct in his red windbreaker.
Jenny let out a sigh of relief and crossed over. He didn’t even look up when she approached, but she knew he was aware of her presence. “The bus doesn’t go to Little Oak.”
“It goes to Frisco. I can walk from there.”
“It’s ten miles.”
“So?”
Still so rigid and unyielding, as if his body had been carved out of the same stone as the bench. And that surly tone. He was goading her, but she suppressed the knee-jerk reaction and sat down next to him. “Please let me take you home.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere wi
th you.”
Her first impulse was to slap him. Her second was to ask why he was treating her like the bad guy. But she knew why. She was acting like a bad guy, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.
He shot her a quick look, then glanced away. “I’m going to call Dad. He said I could come live with him if I wanted to.”
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