“He left you? Who would leave you?” Martine asked.
Gloria smiled. “He had a higher calling. Have you seen the news today?”
Martine shook her head. “Everyone talks too fast on the TV. My English is not that good yet to understand what they say.”
“Well, Mick Puglisi’s father and some of his bodyguards were killed. I think Kurt might have done it, for revenge maybe, and also to get information to go after all those involved in the baby farms worldwide.”
“If you kill a wolf when he is at your throat, it is not murder. Mr. Malone is killing the wolves, nothing else. That does not make him a monster. It does not mean you should stop loving him.”
“I—”
Martine stared through her. So much wisdom for such a young girl.
There was no way to respond to that. Instead she continued with her earlier question. “Would you like to stay here with us, with Martha and me? We’d love to have you.”
Martine shook her head.
“Thank you so much for asking me, but no, I cannot stay. It is too cold here. I am going to live in Miami and go to a nursing school. I have to take some tests first and learn but then I am going to go. Doctor Tad’s money will let me find a nice place to live and hire someone to teach me and help me to take the tests. Then I can become a real nurse and get a paying job. Other girls from Maison are also going to move to Miami once their passports come in so I will have some friends.”
“Can you visit for a little while at least? A week or so. Two weeks? I’m not used to taking care of babies and I could use your help.”
Martine smiled. “It is why I came. I will stay until you are settled and can find a good nanny. And then I will go to Miami. I heard Mr. Puglisi tell Doctor Tad right before he died that he was raising a child I thought was dead, so I used some money and hired a detective. He told me Mr. Puglisi had two children. One was that child and the other was my friend Boni’s. Her real baby.”
“A Haitian?”
“Yes, full Haitian baby, which made Mr. Puglisi so mad, he killed Boni, I am sure. But he adopted her son. He named him Donovon.”
“So there was some humanity in him. What about the children? What are you going to do? Do you want my help?”
“No. I will leave them where they are. Mr. Puglisi was a bad man, the worst a man can be. But when he died, his sister was left to raise the boys. I have heard she is a Puglisi only in her name, not in her heart. She has had her own share of sorrows and raising the boys has brought her peace. She will be a good mother and make up for what her family did.”
“So many tentacles to this horrible business, it’s good to hear something good’s come of it.” Gloria kissed Martha’s smooth forehead.
Martine continued, “But I want to see the boys and to meet Angela Puglisi. I want her to know about what a good person Boni was, so she can tell Donovon someday. And I want her to tell Luke, when he is older and can understand, that I carried him. That I’ve thought about him every day for years, and am full of joy that he is alive. Full of joy that he kept the name I gave him.”
Gloria smiled at Martine. Life had been bleak for the young girl for so long and finally it was turning around. Opportunities, closure, and some control over her decisions. Martine took the baby from Gloria’s arms.
“You unpack and I will change and feed this little angel.”
“Thank you.” Gloria headed toward her car to get the rest of her things.
“There is a package outside.”
“Where?” Gloria asked.
“Outside the door where I was waiting. You didn’t see it because you came in the garage.”
Gloria opened the back door and a foot of snow fell inside. A large brown flat package leaned against the outer wall. It too was snow covered.
“I wonder what this is,” she said as her fingers gripped the damp paper.
She dragged it onto the floor then heaved it up and carried it to the island in her kitchen.
“It is large and flat! A mirror maybe?” Martine asked.
“I didn’t order anything.” Gloria set it down on the slab of black granite. She opened the junk drawer and fished around for the scissors without taking her eyes off the package.
There was no return address but the postmark told her everything. “Conch Republic.” Key West. It was something from Kurt’s artist friend Joe, brownie baker extraordinaire.
Her heart raced as she carefully cut the paper. Please Kurt. Let there be a note in here somewhere, a clue to where you are and when you’re coming back. You have to come back. I’m in love with you. Under the brown wrapper was plastic. Too thick to see what was underneath. Couldn’t cut the covering off fast enough.
When Gloria finally revealed the painting, tears poured down her face. Daises. A field of daisies. Hundreds of shards of bottle caps painted white and yellow embedded in a field of green. Too many shades of green to comprehend. Too many daisies to count.
Gloria cried and Martine leaned in. “There is no note?”
She shook her head. “Love never dies. Daisies are Kurt’s way of saying that without words.” She grabbed a tissue and wiped her eyes. “It means he’s watching me. Us. Martha and me.”
“Will he come back?”
Gloria wiped her eyes again because these tears of relief weren’t going to stop anytime soon. “Maybe not now, but one day.” She carried the painting to the bare space above the fireplace that had been patiently waiting for years, for the perfect piece of artwork. Whenever I look at this, I’ll remember that you’re with me.
“You will wait for him?” Martine asked.
“You waited for your Dr. Tad for years because you loved him. Do you regret it?”
Martine’s dark skin blushed. “His was the greatest love I ever had, and I never even gave him a real kiss.” She smiled. “No, I do not regret a day.”
Gloria took her hand. “Then you understand. I can wait. Distance doesn’t matter. Someday we’ll be together again. Knowing he’s out there thinking of me is enough.”
Gloria looked at the picture situated on the mantle, and then to Martine and Martha. Her heart fluttered.
Things would be all right now. Maybe not in the way Gloria would have intended, maybe not the way she’d always dreamt, but everything had turned out all right. Maybe the love of her life was out of reach, but not forever.
3.
Small Apartment, Poughkeepsie, NY, several months later, afternoon
Kurt walked through an apartment in Poughkeepsie, New York with the stubby unshaven landlord. The guy’s flannel shirt was untucked and his nails were chewed to the quick. His curly black hair was a mess. He wasn’t the type to pay attention to detail. Good.
The place was on the second floor which was a plus. It was a big enough one bedroom with peeling linoleum kitchen floors and worn wall-to-wall carpeting everywhere else. The walls were tenement-special off white. Tan. Maybe they’d be white if Kurt took a sponge and some bleach to them and wiped off the smoke residue that smeared itself on every surface. He’d need a lot of bleach but he’d cleaned up worse things than nicotine in his lifetime.
Kurt turned on the shower and the water flowed strong and hot after a few seconds.
He walked outside with the landlord and stood on the sagging front porch.
It wasn’t a nice place but it made a fine hideout while he figured out his next steps. Nondescript three-family. Peeling blue lead paint on the outside, relatively low income neighborhood but not dangerous. People would come and go quickly in areas like this. No one would stay around long enough to ask questions or pry into his personal business.
He knew he could get this place without a credit check and that was key. Poughkeepsie was a big enough town to get lost in, but not a major city where someone might know him.
As he gazed down the street littered with a mix of Mercedes, BMWs, and old Sentras and Reliants he thought about Gloria and sighed. Shit.
He really loved her. He hoped she knew that, tha
t the painting would say it all. He’d find a way back into her life, but it would take time.
He was still winding down from the Puglisi business and wasn’t fit to be near her and the baby. He wondered what she’d named the little girl . . .
He closed his eyes and tried to extricate the images of the last few weeks from his mind.
Kurt wished he could have had the pleasure of killing Tommy, the ex-husband, but the Puglisis must have done that for him. He cracked his knuckles. The rest of them though . . . God, he hadn’t killed like that in years. So many bodies. What a lot of death. He hadn’t done that since before he was Kurt Malone. Before he was even Tim Perconi.
It was a few lifetimes ago that he’d had a spree like that.
The fact he was excited by it, rejuvenated instead of remorseful, reinforced why he couldn’t go back to Gloria yet. What if he couldn’t stop?
No. It had to stop. He had to rein in the temptation to kill, and settle back into a safe identity. Become a man someone like Gloria could love and trust. Someone the baby would grow up proud to call her father.
He had to become someone who helped others by peaceful means.
But that wasn’t likely to happen overnight. It would take awhile for Kurt to rid himself of the urges. It always took time. But he could do it. In the meantime, he’d hide out here and regroup.
“I’ll take it.”
“Good. I collect rent once a week on Saturdays.”
“Not a problem. Is cash okay? I haven’t had a chance yet to get a new bank account.”
The landlord smiled. “Cash is never a problem.”
Kurt handed him a month’s rent and the guy gave him a key. “I’ll be by tomorrow to move in.”
“I didn’t catch your name,” the landlord said. “I’m Mitch Mandela.”
Kurt paused. What would his name be? He thought for a minute, trying to come up with something generic. “Mike Garrick.” That was a good strong name but easy enough to forget.
“Nice to meet you, Mike Garrick.” Mitch shook his hand.
Mike Garrick walked to his newly acquired scratched up black ’97 Nissan Altima. Can’t get any more forgettable than this car, he thought.
He climbed into the car, turned the key, and headed back to his hotel. It had taken him months to locate each of the other baby factories and shut them down one at a time. That much was finally behind him, but he had a great deal more to do. There were phony IDs to make, utilities and email accounts to set up. Mike knew he’d be up all night creating a fictitious past. But that was all right. It would pay off. A fresh start was always worth the paperwork.
He was again starting a new life. Hopefully this would be the last identity he’d ever need. One that would be worthy of Gloria. This time he was going to get it right.
-End-
For more fiction by Tracy l. Carbone, please visit her webpage at www.tracylcarbone.com.
Hope House Page 30