Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015

by Melinda Curtis

  "I'll be back to pick up the tray. If you need anything in the meantime, push the button."

  "Yum, these mashed spuds are delicious," she said with a mouthful. "Right, I'll ring if I need anything."

  Kelli pivoted and headed for the door, talking over her shoulder. "Catch you later."

  She spit the potatoes into the napkin, covered the plate with the lid and rubbed her forehead.

  That's how Dr. Handler found her minutes later. He lifted the lid to her plate. "Not hungry, huh?"

  "Oh, hi. Not right now but I can always ask Kelli to warm it up later."

  "Speaking of Kelli, she said you had a visitor…your uncle."

  "Yeah, he left about thirty minutes ago." You will not cry, you will not.

  He almost whispered the words. "He's not your uncle, is he?"

  She looked at the floor and next the ceiling.

  "And your name isn't Madison Ames, is it?"

  A lone tear slid down her cheek, she felt it. "Please, no more questions. Don't ask me to explain. This is all so way beyond anything you can imagine."

  "He threatened you, threatened you or your family, and that isn't a question, it's a statement."

  "Listen to me, please listen. They took everything from me, everything I loved, family, hope for my future, almost my life. They are not, do you hear me, not getting the baby."

  "Let me help you."

  She shook her head. "You don't know these people. They'll stop at nothing to keep me quiet now. God, how could I have been so naïve? They wanted something from me, something they knew I'd die for before handing it over to them. They said, 'Okay, you die.' By some divine providence I didn't, but they'll come again and again unless I fade into the bowels of the earth."

  "Hecla is almost in the bowels of the earth."

  "What?"

  "Hecla, the town by the ranch."

  "I can't…." She closed her eyes. "You've shown me nothing but kindness, been here for me when I had no one to turn to. Don't ask me to drag you and your wife into this."

  "Look, Mag and I are entering our golden years, without children, without grandchildren. We want to know what it's like to answer their endless questions, scrub their muddy footprints off our white-tiled floors, wipe sticky handprints from our windows and watch the wonder in their eyes when we read Goodnight Moon to them."

  "You and your wife have talked about this…the muddy footprints and all?"

  "Yes, and I've spoken to her about you. I don't know what will happen when I tell her, 'I did my best but,'" he shrugged, 'we might as well box up Goodnight Moon with all the other junk we've collected over the years and haul it to the storage shed.'"

  She hung her head. "Foul. Hitting below the belt."

  A clanging sound echoed in the room when he tossed something onto the tray. "There's a red Toyota in the parking ramp. Level one, front row. You can't miss the map in the front seat. We expect to see you pull into our drive one day soon. No questions, no expectations, just safe harbor for you and the child."

  "You've got to be an earth angel, a savior sent by God."

  "Nope, just a silly old man."

  He walked from the room, leaving her alone with her tumultuous emotions and the mind-blowing decisions she had to make.

  ~*~

  After signing all the appropriate discharge documents in the business office the following morning, she left the hospital and headed for the parking ramp. She stared at the red Toyota and circled it a half a dozen times. "You don't have the scratches and dents that Pearl had but I kinda like you." She hit the unlock button on the key ring and slid behind the wheel. "What do you think of the name Stella?"

  She hit the first McDonalds she saw, cruised through the drive-through, and left with a large order of fries, a cheeseburger and a Coke. Then she patted her stomach. "I promise, baby, after this it's vegan all the way."

  When the Gateway Market appeared on her right, she pulled into the parking lot, put Stella into park and climbed out. Inside, she filled the cart with raw vegetables, fruit of every variety, apple juice, orange juice and personal hygiene supplies. Passing the sodas in aisle ten, she put her nose in the air when the cartons of Coke all but jumped off the shelf and grabbed her arm. "No! You're off limits. At least for now."

  She filled Stella's back seat with her purchases and pulled back onto the main road. Signs from several hotels shouted at her. She decided on the Days Inn and booked a room for three nights, enough time to sort through everything and make her final decision.

  In the following days, she pigged out, showered often, watched TV, wore out her brain from thinking too much and caught up on sleep. And she dreamed. Rann came to her every night, those luminous eyes watching her every move, those sensuous lips whispering her name. Once she awoke in the middle of the night from a nightmare. A devil with green horns and a long, black robe stood at the bottom of a steep cliff. He crooked an arthritic finger, beckoning her…'Come Season, your death carriage awaits.'

  On the fourth morning, she found Stella waiting for her right where she'd left her. "Guess it's Hecla for you and me. Hope you know the way in case we get lost."

  Chapter 24

  And for every gypsy woman old, a maiden's fortune will be told.

  Rann walked around the condo for six weeks in a fog. It became his tomb, a cold and friendless place without her. Summer had come and gone, and fall blew in with a wind that howled like a banshee at night, adding to his forlorn state of mind.

  Most nights, he staggered up the stairs to take a shower, believing the hot vibrations of water pounding his body would revive him. It hadn't, not one night. He shuddered to think nothing in the world would take away the pain, the utter despair of the last month and a half.

  He didn't know how long he stood under the shower head this night, but when the water turned cold, he stepped out, wrapped a towel around his body and wound his way down to the kitchen. The first vodka gimlet burned his throat, the second went down smooth and the third merely dimmed the roar in his head and the ache in his heart. Sprawled out on his bed an hour later, he thought again about a future without her, his grief so overwhelming, he'd need to empty the entire bottle to dull it.

  He realized he had morphed into a robot, using the bathroom only when necessary, eating only to survive, taking care of Rook's basic needs and drinking in excess. No one would think it plausible that after knowing her for such a short time, anyone, man or woman could succumb to this depth of heartache. Thus, he didn't bother talking about it or try to explain. Hell, he didn't understand it.

  He only knew he heard her voice at every turn, in the bedroom, 'What time frame are we in...pre-sex or during?' in the kitchen, 'Please, pretty please come to Minnesota and stay with us,' even in the driveway, 'We went over the map ten times, you filled the gas tank this morning, and no, I won’t talk to strangers when I stop to pee.'

  He saw her face every time his bloodshot eyes looked into the mirror, every time he stared into Rook's dark brown depths, and God help him, every time he saw the back of a woman's head on TV.

  Charlotte had hounded him by phone during his temporary state of insanity, bombarded him with text messages and threatened one hundred times to call his father, insist he come home from Costa Rica to find out what demon had invaded their only son's body.

  Matt stopped by every week to offer support, asked if there was anything he could do, and last week, before he left, suggested taking him to the mental care unit at the hospital. That's when he got pissed, not at Matt, but at himself for falling into a cesspool he might never crawl out of. What if she wasn't gone forever, what if she hadn't died? If there was a tiny glimmer of hope that Officer Cruikshank had been wrong, how would he ever find her in the state he was in?

  Calling forth all his strength, he called his mother, set up a lunch date for the following week, checked in on Duna with a commitment to visit him soon, and he called his father in Costa Rica, promising to get his shit together. None of the conversations lifted his spirits
much but at least he'd become part of the living again, in a pseudo-defacto sorta way.

  About the time he thought about delving into work again, meeting his friends on Friday nights for a few drinks and a round of Quarters, the next blow came. His phone rang at three in the morning, jolting him from a sound sleep. He didn't recognize the number.

  "Hello."

  "This is Officer Fell from Chicago's Seventh District Police Station. Am I speaking to Rann Brogan?"

  Thump. Thump. Thump. "Yes, this is Rann Brogan."

  "I'm sorry to have to break the news to you like this but your mother passed away last night."

  "What?"

  "We just left her apartment and they've taken her to the Cook Country morgue on North Clark Street. You can call them to make burial arrangements."

  "My mother died?"

  "I am sorry."

  "Who called you?"

  "Actually, she made the 911 call. We were there within six minutes but she was already gone. We got your number off her cell phone."

  "What did she die from?"

  "Looks like natural causes. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The doorman said he saw her around six p.m. walking to the elevator. Are you alone, sir?"

  "Yes."

  "Is there someone I can call for you?"

  "No, no...thank you."

  "Would you like to write down the phone number to the morgue?"

  He flipped the light on, grabbed a pen and positioned it over his hand. "I'm ready."

  The man rattled off the number. "Call the Seventh District Police Station if we can assist in any way."

  "Thank you. Goodbye."

  ~*~

  Must have been over five hundred people at the funeral. Rann sat through Amazing Grace, Climb Every Mountain (so apropos for his mother) and some rendition he didn't recognize, compliments of the funeral home director. He shook the hands of relatives he hadn't seen in years, friends of Charlotte's he'd never met and business associates far and near. Martin Dick-him sent flowers and when him and his seedy-looking thugs made an appearance the day of the service, Rann had the overpowering urge to punch the small-time crook in the face. He'd never liked the man, wondered briefly why his mother allowed the scumbag into her life. She'd never professed to loving Martin, much less being fond of the man, but he knew she relied on him to tie up loose ends she didn't have time for or couldn't handle.

  One face he did recognize through the haze of shifting bodies and moving lips, the family lawyer. Aaron Benedict clasped his hand at the cemetery. "I'm sorry about your mother, Rann."

  "Thank you." God how many times had he said those words today?

  "Can you drop by my office next week? We need to go over Charlotte's Will and I believe she left a letter for you."

  "Yes, fine. I'll call and make an appointment."

  Benedict tipped his hat, offered another apology and walked toward the copious cluster of vehicles parked along the road.

  Rann waited until all the mourners dispersed and headed for their cars, with the exception of Matt and Bernadette. He placed his hand on the coffin. "You can rest now, Mom. They say there's no competition in heaven."

  Bernadette and Matt draped their arms over his shoulders and they walked from the cemetery.

  Chapter 25

  Where the needle goes, surely the thread will follow

  Aaron Benedict met Rann in the lobby of his prestigious downtown office with an extended arm and a warm smile. "How are you, son?"

  "Hanging in there."

  "Glad to hear it. Let's go into my office and I'll let you know where everything stands."

  Benedict nodded him into a chair across from his massive desk and then settled into his chair behind it. "I have the file right here." Papers shuffled. "Here we go. As you probably know, your mother asked to be cremated upon her death. Although she didn't have any known health issues, everything looked kosher, the police report, the autopsy findings and the notes from her last doctor appointment."

  "Yeah, the Death Certificate said probable heart attack."

  "I reviewed that and also spoke with the medical examiner. He couldn't find any specific heart disease but thought she died from sudden cardiac arrest."

  Rann shifted in the chair and wished Benedict would get on with it. He didn't expect any surprises in his mother's Will, and he didn't care about the money, the company, the assets, or any facet thereof. Money to him was a vehicle to sustain life, or get from one destination to another. Offers had already come in on Charlotte's condo and he had no idea what to do with Terra-Care. Matt had agreed to step in and help his mother's assistant with the business for as long as he needed him. Perhaps he and Rook would take off for Costa Rica for a little rest and relaxation.

  Benedict buffed the small space of skin between his nose and upper lip, an idiosyncrasy Rann had witnessed on prior occasions. "I made a copy of the Will for you. I'm sure you know she left everything to you, business and personal. If you have any questions after reading the financial portion, by all means call me."

  "Thanks, Mr. Benedict, for everything throughout the years. I know my mother held you in high regard."

  "One more thing. She mailed this letter to me days before she died." He slid it across the desk. "Her note said I should hand-deliver it to you upon her death."

  Rann picked up the envelope and began tearing one corner.

  "Maybe you want to read it in private, son."

  "No, I'm here now. I better read it in case I have any questions.

  When Benedict offered a benevolent nod, Rann finished tearing open the envelope and opened the letter.

  Dearest Rann,

  If you're reading this, I'm no longer here. It's just as well because I've really mucked things up this time. I don't know where to turn.

  You were always such a gentle soul, the kindest little boy. I should have let it be but I had to be sure you could stand up for yourself in this cutthroat world.

  I've watched you fall apart in the last eight weeks and racked my brain for answers. Bernadette went to Matt and she finally told me what happened.

  Yes, I asked Martin to pressure the landowners, secure the Pine Bay project, but never, in my wildest dreams did I think Martin could or would take my wishes to such an extreme. You must believe me when I tell you I kept my promise to you, Rann. I told Martin Terra-Care was abandoning the project, but apparently too late for whatever damage had been done.

  As it became evident the girl would not miraculously reappear, and you continued to spiral downward, I hounded Martin night and day. I begged him to tell me if he had any involvement in her disappearance. One night, after drinking far too much, he went on a tirade, told me to stop harassing him, said whatever he did, he did for me, and then he cursed God for intervening that night.

  I'm terrified, Rann. He's told me far too much for my own good and yet not enough to find her. She's alive, son. I feel it in every bone of my body. I pray that will be enough to bring you peace. You must leave if something happens to me. Go to your father in Costa Rica.

  May God forgive me. I love you,

  Mother

  ps: You were right, Martin is involved with The Outfit.

  Rage, so potent it cut off his breathing, surged up his chest.

  "Rann, is everything all right?"

  He folded the letter, placed it back into the envelope and looked up at Mr. Benedict with a smile. "Yes, fine. She wanted to make sure I knew where to look for her jewelry."

  "Oh, thank goodness. Your face turned ashen while reading the letter."

  "Stomach's a little upset today." Rann came to his feet. "Well, thanks again for everything. I'll be in touch about moving some of her assets."

  Mr. Benedict rose and shook his hand for the second time. "Call me anytime. Have a good day, son."

  Rann walked to his car, unlocked the door and sagged into the seat. Through the windshield he watched a hawk soar by overhead. Oh, to be free, to fly with the clouds, oblivious to man's evil taking place beneath m
y wings.

  Full battle armor required. Armageddon.

  ~*~

  When darkness fell, Rann parked the Cayenne in front of a meter and crossed the street to an apartment building in the Warehouse District. Last night had been a bust but tonight, the air snapped with tension. A good sign.

  Dressed in a black, hooded sweatshirt, dark jeans and matching sneakers, he loitered near a cluster of elms and watched the branches sway in perfect sync to a brisk wind. A homeless man stumbled by with a half-empty bottle of wine. Lovers, holding hands, stopped beneath a streetlight on the corner and stole a kiss. People went in and out of the building, not one matching Martin's height or weight.

  A familiar voice drew his gaze...a man on his cell phone heading for a parked car in front of the building. Rann put his head down, sneaked up behind him on the driver's side and stuck the gun barrel into his ribs. "Keep walking, toward the entrance to the alley that runs behind the building."

  "Ah, shit. You don't know who you're messing with, punk."

  He pushed harder on the gun. "Do it or I'll blow a hole in your side. "

  "Okay, okay, let's don't get trigger-happy, I'm moving."

  The dark alley loomed before them. Rann prodded him along until they came to the middle, away from the noise, away from any people who might be passing by on either end. "Stop here and turn around."

  Martin swirled, and with eyes narrowed, lip curled back in a snarl, looked him in the eye. "Well, well, if it ain't the mama's boy. Thought I recognized that voice." He looked down at the gun. "A Smith & Wesson Shield...I'm impressed. Too bad you don't know how to use it."

  "Oh, I know how, been at the gun range every night for three weeks."

  Martin licked his lips. "What do you want?"

  "I'm asking the questions, starting with this one: What did you do to my mother?"

  "What makes you think I did anything to her? You read the Death Certificate. She died from cardiac arrest."