Beyond I Do

by Jennifer Slattery

  His phone rang as he stepped into the hall. He checked the screen. A gust of air expelled from his chest. Finally. “Why haven’t you returned my calls? I’ve—”

  “Richard, I need help.” her voice was barely above a whisper and carried an obvious tremor.

  His grip tightened around the phone. “Where are you?”

  “At Whispering hills apartments.” loud music—heavy metal?—sounded in the background. “My rear tire has been slashed.”

  He cursed under his breath. “I’ll be right there.” Ainsley Meadows, what have you gotten yourself—both of us—into?

  A mess, and a potentially dangerous one at that.

  There was no way he was going to Whispering Hills on his own. “Get in your car and lock your doors. I’m calling the cops.” Building locked and alarm set, he marched toward his lexus parked in a now empty lot.

  “No. You can’t do that.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” At his car, he slipped behind the steering wheel and cranked the engine.

  “I’m fine. I just need a new tire.”

  “Can you hear yourself? Or did you think the nice man who slashed the pretty lady’s tires just up and left?”

  “Please, Richard, there’s a boy here. I feel like . . . if we call the police, I’ll ruin my witness. Lose his trust.”

  Richard scoffed. “No. Getting killed is what will ruin your witness. Besides, you’ll never see that boy again.” Because there was no way Richard would let her return to that complex. “Now, sit tight. I’ll call the authorities, and we’ll be there shortly.”

  He peeled out of the parking lot and headed east on Ward Parkway. First, he called the police, next, a tow truck. An accident backed up traffic on US 71, causing Richard to arrive later, and considerably more upset, than anticipated. Luckily the police and tow truck beat him there and appeared to have everything under control.

  Ainsley was talking to a heavy-set officer with blond hair. The man’s partner, a squat and balding man, stood a few feet away, chest puffed out, hand on the brunt of his gun. He appeared to be staring down residents who gathered on walkways and cement stairs and poked their heads out opened windows.

  Calming himself to a rational level, Richard approached Ainsley. “Are you OK?” Her left rear tire was slashed and deflated, but other than that, her vehicle appeared fine. As did she.

  Face downcast, she shrugged, looking to an upstairs apartment window. “Just a bit unsettled.”

  “And rightly so.” There was no need to tell her she brought this on herself, at least, not now. They could talk in great detail about the stupidity of her actions on the drive home. Turning to the officer, he extended his hand. “I’m Richard Hollis.” The two shook. “Ainsley’s fiancé and the one who reported this incident.”

  “Officer Hughes.” The man dropped a small notebook into his front pocket. “Like I was telling Miss Meadows here, there’s really not much we can do in situations like this.” He studied a group of teens gathered near a sagging chain-link fence. “No witnesses, least none that’ll talk.” Tucking a stubby pencil behind his ear, he pulled a business card from his back pocket and handed it over. “Have a good night. And stay safe.”

  Richard tensed, gangbanger types filling his peripheral vision. When the police left, there was no telling what the thugs would do. And he certainly wasn’t going to hang around to find out.

  “Come on.” He grabbed Ainsley by the crook of her arm and pulled her to his car. “Wait here. I’ll grab your things.” He started to walk away then turned back around. “Get in and lock the doors.”

  She glared and crossed her arms but didn’t argue. The tow truck driver waited near the rear of his vehicle wearing torn jeans and a T-shirt with the arms ripped off.

  Richard approached. “Thank you for coming.”

  The man jerked a nod and spit tobacco into a plastic foam cup. “Where am I taking this little jewel?”

  Richard gave him Ainsley’s address and his credit card numbers. After grabbing her purse and briefcase, partially hidden from view, he returned to his vehicle.

  She frowned. “Quit treating me like a child.”

  “Then quit acting like one. Really, Ainsley, what were you thinking? These guys don’t play around.”

  She sat in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead. Five minutes later, when she still hadn’t responded, he patted her leg. “Listen, I’m sorry I snapped at you, but you really scared me. They could’ve hurt you, Ainsley. Very badly, tight-lipped witnesses or not.”

  “That little boy . . . he looked so sad.” Her voice cracked.

  “That’s not your problem.”

  She turned fiery eyes toward him. “Then whose is it? His mother’s, who as we speak is recovering from being a human punching bag? Or maybe his neighbors’, most of whom appeared to be engaged in all manner of illegal activity.”

  “Listen, I know you mean well. But this isn’t your issue. Besides, with your job and our upcoming wedding, you really don’t have the time.”

  She sighed and rubbed her face with her hands. “You’re right. I know you’re right. It’s just . . . I know how that kids feels, is all. I think I could help him, maybe.”

  “Yeah, and how’s that?”

  She stared down at her hands. “I don’t know. I wish I did.”

  “That, my dear, is why you are so endearing. Frustrating at times, but endearing just the same.” Merging onto 1-29, he headed south. “Which reminds me, did my mother call you?”

  She frowned and rubbed her temples. “This week, you mean? No.”

  Richard chuckled. “You act as if she’s stalking you or something.”

  She stared at him for a moment, then gave a slight shake of her head and returned her focus to the street.

  “You know, she’s just excited about the wedding and wants to make it the best possible.”

  “I guess. I just wish she’d voice her opinions less strongly. Or become less irritated when I don’t accept them.”

  “You two are getting to know one another, that’s all.” He continued past industrial buildings interspersed with thick clusters of oaks, poplars, and ash trees filled with maroon, golden, and orange leaves.

  “Maybe.” She grabbed her purse and pulled out a tube of lotion. The scent of jasmine filled the car when she squirted a blob in her hand. “Does she need something?”

  “She wants you to join her and a few of her friends for brunch this Saturday. To discuss potential pianists for the wedding.”

  “Bummer.” She made a mock disappointed face, though her smiling eyes betrayed her. “Gina and I have a shopping date. Maybe next weekend.”

  Richard’s jaw tensed, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. Gina, Ainsley’s best friend and a woman who had made it her mission to sabotage Ainsley’s and his engagement. He’d warned Ainsley of this numerous times, expressing his concern regarding the friendship. But once they got married, things would change. She’d be much too busy with social functions to engage in such . . . counterproductive relationships.

  “How’d the meeting with Dr. Wells go?” He exited onto North Oak, a four lane roadway, and was immediately sandwiched by early evening traffic.

  “Not as well as I’d hoped.”

  “I see.” North Oak Market Place occupied a chunk of land to the northwest. Lowe’s dominated the northeast corner, and the Northland Fountain created the focal point for Anita Gorman Park to his right. In winter, the central geyser created an ice sculpture captured by countless photographers.

  “My boss scheduled an appointment for me with Dr. Senske, tomorrow at 11:00 and sent me home with—”

  “Dr. Senske?” Richard raised his eyebrows. “He’s one of the most respected and influential psychiatrists in the field.”

  “So I’ve heard.” She rubbed her face with her hands. “Mr. Holloway made himself quite clear. I produce or he cuts me loose.” She shook her head. “It’s no wonder most pharmaceutical reps at Voltex don’t last past the initial probatio
nary period.”

  “Once we’re married, you won’t have to worry about Voltex or the corporate world.” Or taking “care packages” to people in low-income apartments. Mother would find much more respectable charities for Ainsley to support. He angled the rearview mirror away from the glare of the setting sun and eased into her cul-de-sac.

  “I’ve already told you, I don’t plan on being a house—”

  “Who’s that?” Richard slowed to a stop. In front of him, two large moving vans filled the street. A royal blue pickup with California plates blocked Ainsley’s driveway. At the adjacent house, men in blue coveralls streamed in and out, furniture heaved between them. A large dumpster stood in the cracked driveway, and thick clusters of ivy climbed the rotting porch. “Looks like you have new neighbors.”

  Ainsley stared out the front window. “Oh. That was fast.”

  He eased to the curb and let his engine idle. A surfer-type guy wearing jeans and a faded T-shirt stood in the middle of the overgrown yard. The man’s dark hair was spiked like one of those GQ models. He wore faded jeans, frayed at the cuffs. He appeared to be directing the movers.

  “Excuse me.” Richard cut the engine and stepped out.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To meet your new neighbor.” He closed the car door and strode up the sidewalk. A short time later, Ainsley’s heels clicked behind him.

  Stepping over a pile of crushed boxes, he crossed the weed-covered lawn. A golden Lab splotched with gray lay on the porch. He glanced up and gave a low growl, before letting his head fall.

  From behind, Ainsley giggled. “Guess you’re neither bark nor bite, huh, killer?”

  “Hello.” The man approached with an extended hand. “You must be some of my new neighbors.”

  Richard’s eyes narrowed. “Hollis. Richard Hollis.” He shook the man’s hand with a firm grip.

  The guy gave a crooked smile. “Chris Langley.” He glanced at Ainsley. “And you are?”

  “Ainsley Meadows. I live there.” She pointed to her house. “Richard lives downtown, near the plaza.”

  Richard surveyed the once beautiful two-story home nestled by old growth trees and vibrant mums. Overgrown weeds crowded among them. Ivy clung to the stonework on the front of the house, the chimney, and two pillars supporting the covered porch. “Langley? You’re related to property owner?”

  “Yep. I’m her son.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, his feet shoulder distance apart.

  Ah, a freeloader, and clearly someone Richard needed to keep his eye on.

  Chapter 3

  oving van unloaded, Chris surveyed the clutter-filled living room. Designer furniture sat squeezed between his mother’s faded floral sofas and recliners, and boxes were stacked everywhere. He had too much junk. Way too much.

  “That’s everything.” A man in blue coveralls, sweat dripping down his face, handed Chris a clipboard and pen. He scanned the many boxes stacked from floor to ceiling. “You want the guys to help you unpack? We charge by the box.”

  “No, I got it. Thanks.” Chris signed the papers and wrote a check for the final amount, wincing at the total, then handed both over. He really should’ve gotten a few more estimates before hiring this crew.

  “All right then.” The man motioned toward the door with a jerk of his head and led his crew out.

  Chris followed a few steps behind, stopping at the edge of his porch. He gazed across his overgrown yard to the stone-covered house next door. Light poured from the kitchen window, revealing the faint outline of Ainsley’s profile. But then she stepped away, and the light went off.

  Unopened mail and business papers covered the table, Java Bean printed across the top. His pulse quickened as the reality of his decision—a decision now set in legal stone—settled like a pile of rocks into his brain.

  “So what do you think, Rusty?” His dog cocked his head, ears perked.

  “Have I gone loopy, trading in my suits and ties for an apron?”

  He glanced at the clock. His mom should be finished with her evening meal by now. He grabbed his phone and dialed, trying her private extension first. When no one answered, he called the front desk.

  “Shady Lane Assisted Living. This is Heather. May I help you?”

  “Good evening. This is Chris Langley. May I speak with my mother, please?”

  Heather sighed loudly. “The residents are just finishing up with dinner.”

  Which meant finding his mother and bringing her to the phone would sap five, maybe ten minutes, from their robotic, check-it-off-the-list schedule.

  “I’ll wait. Thanks, Heather.”

  She sighed again, more dramatically this time. “Hold on.”

  The receiver clanked against something hard before soft instrumental music came on. A few moments later, his mom picked up.

  “Hello?” Her voice had the high-pitched tone of agitation, which was normal for this time of night.

  “Hey, Mom, it’s Chris. Your son.”

  “I know who you are. What do you want?”

  Good. Today was a good day, then. “How are you doing?”

  “How do you expect me to be doing? I’m stuck in this horrible place surrounded by people I don’t know. I have no idea where your father is. He needs to come soon. I’m tired. I want to go home. Please, call your father and tell him to take me home.”

  Chris closed his eyes and massaged his forehead. Reminding her of his father’s death would only make things worse. “Everything will be all right. I’ll be by tomorrow. Sometime after 6:00, after I close down the coffee shop.”

  “What coffee shop?”

  “I sold my practice, Mom.” And so went their nightly conversation, but at least this time she remembered his name. For now.

  “You did what? Why would you do a stupid thing like that?”

  To be closer to you. To make more time for you, like I should’ve done with Dad. “It was for the best, Mom.”

  “Your father is going to be very upset, especially after all the money we spent on law school. If you think I’m going to be the one to break it to him . . . if you think . . .”

  “You don’t need to, Mom. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

  Rusty lumbered across the linoleum and sat on his hindquarters. He let out a low, sorrowful moan, eliciting a chuckle from Chris. Cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder, he pulled out a bag of dog food and poured a small mound on the floor.

  “Sorry, bud, I’ll dig your bowl out tomorrow.”

  “What bowl? I don’t need any more bowls.”

  “No, not for you, Mom. I was talking to my dog. He’s hungry, but his dog bowl is buried in my pickup.”

  “Oh, you have a dog? Do you remember the dog you had when you were in college? Rustin, or Reddie . . . What was his name?”

  “Rusty.” Chris squatted down and scratched the back of Rusty’s ears. “I found him huddled behind some dumpsters my junior year. Dad threw a fit when I brought him home.” He laughed. “He threw an even bigger fit when I came back to get him after grad school.”

  “That’s right, Rusty! I remember him. Such a lovely dog. Whatever happened to him, anyway?”

  Chris paused. “Are you cheeking your pills, Mom?”

  “Am I what?”

  “Your medication. Are you playing games with your Alzheimer’s pills?”

  Something about the nursing staff at her facility didn’t sit well with him. Not that he expected them to do a mouth check every time they dished out meds, but his mom deserved better than to be treated like a task between break times.

  He needed to get her moved, and soon. But what if the other home, Lily of the Valley, wasn’t any different? They promised a six-to-one patient-to-care ratio, but promising didn’t make it so. He’d heard, “Oh, we’re understaffed today,” more times than he could count. In the end, it came down to trust. Whom did he trust most to care for his frightened, disoriented mother?

  “Mom, I asked, are you taking your pills?”

&
nbsp; “For what? I don’t need those things. I’m not sick.”

  This was the reason he’d moved to Kansas City in the first place—to be near his mom. To make sure she took her medications.

  “Carl, I’m tired.”

  Chris, Mom. The name’s Chris.

  “I need to find my husband. Do you know my husband? His name is . . . His name is . . .” Her voice trembled.

  Chris breathed deep, exhaled slowly. “You get some rest. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “You will? Do I know you?”

  “Good night.” Love you, Mom.

  He hung up and dropped his phone on the counter. He turned to Rusty. “What do you say, old boy. Wanna watch the stars with me?”

  The dog lumbered to his feet then followed Chris outside to the porch swing. Chris slumped against the metal frame. The rusted chains creaked against his weight. A cold breeze whistled through the overgrown maple a few feet away, sending gold and orange leaves fluttering to the ground.

  He turned his gaze toward the star-filled sky, a silver moon peeking out from behind a cluster of inky clouds. Heavenly Father, hold my mom tightly tonight. Help the staff at Shady Lane be patient with her.

  He relished the peace of the cool fall evening and the soothing sound of chirping crickets and cicadas. This had been a good move. Great neighborhood, friendly neighbors. Much different than the high-rise and high-stress environment he’d left. But if his business endeavors failed, he could lose much more than his parents’ house.

  According to his sister, he was setting himself up for that very thing. He’d just have to prove her wrong.

  Chapter 4

  ichard stepped out of the elevator into a dark hall. He waved to trigger the motion-activated lights before continuing to his office. Fluorescent lighting reflected off the dark windows lining the hallway. He paused in front of his office, savoring the gold lettering tacked to the door. Dr. Richard Hollis, Psychiatrist. After eleven years of schooling, countless hours of clinical research, and enough brownnosing to induce a permanent stain, his labor was beginning to pay off. It’d been a long, treacherous climb, but well worth it.