by Kira Saito
“Pregnant?” He said the word slowly, as if hearing it for the first time. We had been together for a few months before I had dropped the bombshell on him. It had been unexpected and more than a little frightening. We had been irresponsible, but he didn’t have to pay the price.
“I know it’s early. We barely know each other. If you want to bail, I get it. I can do this on my own. I don’t mean to trap you into something you’re not ready for.”
“Trap me?” His green eyes widened as he enclosed me in an all-consuming hug that lifted me off of the ground. “The last thing you are doing is trapping me.”
“Are you sure you want this?” I asked as tears streamed down my face not exactly knowing why this man already meant so much to me and why I was in love with the tiny seed growing in my stomach when I was nowhere near ready to care for it.
“Yes, all children are gifts. That’s what I believe. Even if things don’t work out for us, I want to be here for this baby, but I know this is it. You are the one for me. If you want to head down to city hall and make it official, I’m willing to do that at this very second.”
“Hello? Kate, are you there?” Richard’s voice snapped me out of my nostalgia.
“I’ll get you those papers as soon as I get back to New York. I have to go. I have a stacked schedule.”
“Look, Kate. The quicker we move forward, the faster we can both get on with our lives. I don’t want to be the bad guy here, but I can’t dance this little tango of ours any longer.” He sounded genuine as if he were actually upset over the way our lives had turned out. I had vilified him for far too long. I was a sinking ship, he didn’t have to be.
“Yeah, I get it.” I hung up before he had a chance to say another word.
“That your man?” asked the driver eagerly.
“Ex-man,” I said the words out loud. They sounded strange, foreign, but it was the first honest statement I had expressed verbally in years.
“Oh, one of those,” she said knowingly. “We can pop into the Quarter and get a doll or a potion to take care of him if he’s giving you trouble.”
Was I really hearing the words I thought I was hearing? “Seriously? You’re joking, right?”
She peered at me from the rear-view mirror. “I’ve taken care of enough men in my time to confidently say that I am not joking. If this ex of yours is causing you problems, I know people who can make him disappear. I mean vanish without shedding a drop of blood or leaving any trace of DNA evidence.”
The offer sounded tempting and for a brief second, I bought into the Kool-Aid and pictured a voodoo doll with Richard’s face or better yet, Anita’s face. I shook my head and realized that the pills weren’t working their magic. I opened my purse and opened the orange bottle that was my lifeline. I quickly swallowed two more pills hoping that they would take away the thoughts that ran through my head. “How about finding someone?” I asked. The words came out quickly and half-blurred.
“Oh honey if you want to find a man, there are all types of potions for that too. However, it depends on what you’re looking for. Do you want a quickie? Lasting love? A man with money? A man with a sports car? A man with muscles or brains?”
“I don’t mean a man, I mean someone, anyone who happened to vanish.”
“Like a puppy?” She raised an eyebrow.
“No, I mean like …” I couldn’t say it. “Yeah, like a puppy.”
“Oh, the Quarters got all sorts of potions for that too.”
“Maybe I’ll visit there before I go back to New York,” I said hoping that the conversation would end.
“Here take my card.” She handed me a purple card with the words Poppy’s Poppin’ Portal Transport Service.
“That is quite a name,” I said taking the card from her hand.
“Marketing and all that jazz. And here we are.” We pulled up in front of a gorgeous Queen Anne style Victorian mansion.
“Damn,” I whispered as I took in the sight of the property with its giant white pillars and sky-blue shutters. My mother, being from the South, had escaped from this very world and had never looked back. After she had died from cancer, I had gone through her things and found a couple of snapshots from her childhood home. It had been beautiful almost matching the splendor of this place. I thrust some bills into Poppy’s hand and got out of the cab.
“Thanks!” She gave me another wide smile. “Call me and we can fix that man of yours.”
I shook my head. As much as I was bitter as to how Richard had moved on so fast, he didn’t deserve death. After all, he was Zoe’s father and he had given us a wonderful life before it had unraveled and gone to hell.
The moment we first met was permanently carved into my heart. I had been a college student studying literature and journalism. Richard had been a happy-go-lucky barista who had hopes and dreams that he was determined to make a reality. Despite the fact he had come from nothing, he was set on being a somebody. It was that certainty and conviction that I craved. Before I could explain how or when, my heart had a new owner and the black and blues in life had vanished. For years, our little family had given us both security and the freedom to pursue dreams that we could never fully share with anyone but each other.
“Honey, you alright?” Poppy stared at me.
“I’m fine.” I nodded forcing back tears.
“Ain’t no man worth your tears. I can introduce you to a handful that’ll take your mind off the one that is making you feel like chicken casserole that’s been left out in the July sun for far too long.”
“Really, I’m fine, thank you.” I pulled out a pair of shades and shielded my eyes.
“Call me,” she said before speeding off into the summer sun.
Chapter Five
Kate
I was expecting a mob of reporters to be waiting outside of the mansion. Instead, it was serene and not a soul was lingering on the pavement. All of the action was across the street. My phone buzzed. It was Sylvia. I picked up immediately. I wasn’t going to screw this up. “Hi Sylvia!” I put on my best cheery, well-rested voice praying that she wouldn’t detect the ugly truth that was getting increasingly hard to hide.
“You aren’t stoned, are you?” Given that she was an editor, it was surprising that Sylvia chose to rely on a vocabulary that solely consisted of a few select expletives.
“No. I’m standing outside of the B and B, but it doesn’t seem like the right place. It’s empty. I was expecting it to be full.” I fanned myself with my hand hoping to dry the sweat that had formed a crown on my forehead.
“You can’t get where I am unless you have exclusive information about your target. Madame Queenie is expecting you. The rest of the sad reporting world has no clue where Mrs. Dubois is hiding out. They think she jetted off to some Tahitian island as they haven’t gotten glimpse of her since her daughter disappeared. On the other hand, her mansion across the street is hounded day in and day out by the media circus. Mr. Dubois decided to be brave and stand his ground. Whatever you do, don’t scare Mrs. Dubois off. Befriend her and then squeeze whatever information you can out of her.”
“Got it,” I said trying to absorb the information that was coming my way.
“I’m putting my ass on the line betting on you. Don’t embarrass me. I don’t want Harold to think he can squeeze more shares out of my publishing empire.”
“I won’t,” I said.
“Good luck, Kate.”
I hung up and let out a massive sigh and mustered all of my resolve. The black iron gate that guarded the house swung open and I stepped onto the carriage stone path that led to the three-story house. A cool wind rustled through the canopy of oak trees that surrounded the property. Blooms of pink magnolias, wispy Spanish moss, white irises, bright orange zinnias, lavender pentas, and banana trees surrounded me, and I felt as if I had been thrust in some twisted alternate reality where happiness was in the realm of possibility. I pushed those feelings aside. I didn’t deserve to be happy, not until I knew that Zoe was saf
e.
The large wraparound porch was full of relaxed guests enjoying breakfast. Their faces were bright, tanned, and full of life as they feasted on the savory delights that were laid out on a long table.
Thoughts of my last vacation came rushing back.
“Mom, you’re such a boring eater.” Zoe dug into her third helping of taameya and was eyeing the plate of beid bel basturma that Richard was forking down his throat.
“Hey, kid, watch it, don’t call my girl boring. Your mom is health conscious, not boring.”
I watched them as they ate plates of fattening food that clearly weren’t vegan, organic or cruelty-free. I munched on a carrot.
Zoe let out a laugh. “If you’re in Egypt you should eat like an Egyptian. I seriously doubt that Cleopatra cared whether or not her food was organic or vegan or whatever. This stuff is so good.”
“And look what happened to her,” I pointed out.
“Yes, she died, but at least she lived. It wasn’t greasy food that killed her, it was love,” Zoe said dramatically looking at her phone every few seconds. I couldn’t help but wonder if this mysterious Jay was on the other end.
“Some of the stuff your mom ate before you were born would give you a heart attack.” Richard came to my defense. “She only wants to set a good example for you.” He gave me a wink and a killer smile.
“Thanks, Richard.” I was relieved that he didn’t seem to find the new me boring. Long gone was the girl who ate trays of brownies after a weed binge and wolfed down two Big Macs without a second thought. She was replaced by the more responsible version of me complete with a cropped haircut, mom jeans, practical beige bras, and exactly two glasses of wine on Friday or Saturday but never both. I was now the girl who cared about GMOs, chem-trails, health insurance, and saving for my kid’s college education. Most of the time, I felt like an imposter playing a role that society expected me to play—the perfect professional, devoted wife, loving mother, and concerned citizen. My dreams of being a literary superstar had flown out the window and had been quickly replaced by a steady paycheck that came from working at a respectable newspaper. All hopes of living somewhere exotic to gather inspiration similar to brilliant voices such as Isabel Allende, Mary Shelley, and Arthur C. Clarke had been sacrificed in the name of safe and familiar. I had started on a novel, but it was now collecting dust at the back of my closet. It had been long abandoned for more achievable dreams.
When I thought too long and too hard about how much I had changed, feelings of emptiness flooded me, but that was normal, wasn’t it? After all, being a grown-up came with responsibilities, didn’t it? I had been once been a fun, witty girl, but that girl was so far gone that I could barely remember why she had been relevant in the first place.
Richard’s phone rang. “I’m going to take this,” he said getting up from the table. “I’ll meet you guys at the museum.”
“Sure.” I gave him a small smile and ignored the fact that his phone had been ringing nonstop since we got off the plane. I figured it came with running a business which was becoming increasingly popular.
“Ma’am?” A lazy voice with a soft drawl pulled me back into the moment. A pair of coffee colored eyes examined me with genuine concern.
I looked at the teenage waiter in confusion. “I’m sorry, it’s the heat,” I muttered. I made a mental note that the heat would now be my excuse for every stupid move I made on this trip. Everyone was treating me as if I were a senile senior citizen rather than the semi-capable thirty-something that I was pretending to be.
“I completely understand,” he said politely as he pulled out a wicker chair for me. I could hear the low murmur of guests and felt their judgmental eyes on me. “Here have a seat. Summer’s only started, and the humidity is so thick it hurts. Can I get you some water? Orange juice? Ramos fizz?”
I sat down. “Water, I’ll have some water.” I resisted the urge to ask for a fizz. He gave me another wide smile as he handed me a crystal glass. “Here, you go.” He was so polite and cheery. He would have made a great match for Zoe unlike that thug, Jay.
“Thank you, I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“I’m Brian,” he held out a deeply tanned hand.
“Kate,” I said giving him half a smile.
“Here on vacation?”
“Yes, a friend recommended staying here.”
“You won’t be disappointed. Help yourself to breakfast,” he said pointing to the buffet table.
“Thanks.” I gave him another bright smile hoping he would leave already. He made his way towards other guests and I let out a low sigh of relief. These days, it was impossible to be around people. When Zoe had first disappeared, everyone had been so kind. Neighbors, people on the street, readers who read my weekly column, but now, it seemed that the public had lost interest and moved on. Now, the world was obsessed with Charlene and Zoe had become another statistic, another number neatly stacked in a police file, stowed away in a metal drawer. The world expected me to do the same, to neatly place Zoe in a file and move on when I wasn’t ready to pretend that life was normal or could ever resemble normal again. I was self-aware enough to understand that I was a ball of bitterness that was becoming increasingly sour as time rolled on. I should have cared, but I didn’t.
Anger pumped through me and I sent off an angry text.
I know it was you, you bastard. What did you do with her? I’m going to keep texting your ass until you confess. You drug dealing, scum bag. I know where you live. I’ll come for you. I will hunt you down like the dog you are.
The reply came in a matter of seconds.
Dear Mrs. Givens, contradictory to your belief that I am a drug dealing scum bag which seems to be entirely constructed based on the color of my skin, I can assure you that I am not what you think I am. As explained, I am employed as a cashier at a local supermarket. Yes, I was forced to drop out of school, but that is only because my dying, single mother could not take care of me and my two younger siblings without any additional financial support. I know that you know this is fact as I have seen you walking up and down the aisles listlessly. Contrary to your theory that I was Zoe’s pimp and lover, I can assure you that we shared an intense love of literature. We were not meeting to have sex and get high, we met on a weekly basis because we had formed a book club. Yeats, Austen, Gibran, Dante, Rice, Poe, and others were our choice of drugs and not all the FDA substances that you so vividly accused me of dealing and taking. I am simply a young black man who was inspired by your daughter’s intelligence. Is it so hard to believe that I have literary ambitions and am actively pursuing a publishing contract? Is it so hard to imagine that I have hopes and dreams just like you? I loved Zoe as a sister and I pray to the sweet Lord Jesus that she is found safe and sound. You claim that the color of my skin has nothing to do with your crusade against me; however, I tend to disagree. There is no other logical reason why you continue to insist that I kidnapped, raped, and did God knows what with your daughter. Because that’s what young, black men do, don’t they? They kidnap and rape innocent white girls? I’m sorry Mrs. Givens, the world is moving on, but it’s people like you who refuse to let it do so.
I didn’t buy it. He was lying. He was playing the race card. I wasn’t a racist. I had exactly one black friend, a few Hispanic friends, and I’m pretty sure that I had some Native American blood running through my veins. I wasn’t going to let the bastard think that he was going to get away with manipulating me. Without thinking I shot off another angry text to make sure he knew that I wasn’t buying into his deception.
Don’t take me for a fool, you asshole. I saw the marks on her body. I saw them with my own eyes. She was black and blue in places that only you could have reached.
The reply was quick.
Dear Mrs. Givens. The police have been camped outside of my house for three years. I have been arrested multiple times. Questioned. Humiliated. Stalked. Followed. Beaten down by those who claim to protect and serve and yet not one shred o
f feasible evidence has been found against me. I will no longer respond to your accusations. If you want to ask questions about Zoe and how we spent our time together, I will gladly be of assistance. Until then, I will leave you with words from Nobel Peace Prize winner, Bob Dylan. “Here comes the story of the Hurricane, the man the authorities came to blame for somethin' that he never done. Put in a prison cell, but one time he could a been the champion of the world.” You see, Mrs. Givens, unlike the Hurricane, I still got a shot at being the champion of my own world. Shalom.
Shalom. The little bastard had the nerve to end his message with shalom? He reminded me of Jeffrey Dahmer who suddenly found Jesus after he was arrested for his heinous crimes. I rather enjoyed how his story turned out with his head bashed in by another prisoner with sense enough to see through the monster’s façade. Sometimes, the only thought that kept me going was seeing Jay’s smug face behind bars while an eager prison mate was behind him ready and willing to give him some good old-fashioned loving.
How I had found the bruises on Zoe’s body had been by accident. The image remained fresh no matter how hard I tried to erase or numb it. I had promised to never walk into her room without knocking, but for some reason, I had barged in worried that she would be late for her math exam.
“Mom! What the hell? I know I’m late.” A naked Zoe stood in front of her full-length mirror. My mouth fell open as I took in the bruises that covered her thin back.
“Zoe, what happened?” I automatically ran to her and embraced her. She pushed me away and grabbed the wet towel that was on her bed and wrapped it around herself.
“I fell on some ice,” she said. “I was running to Zen’s Pot yesterday and I slipped. It’s not a big deal.” Every word was calm and calculated. Her best poker face was on display.
“Sweetheart, those don’t look like bruises you get from falling on some ice. I saw handprints. Who did this to you?” I pleaded looking her directly in the eyes hoping to catch a clue as to what really happened without reverting back to investigative journalist mode.