by K. J. Young
“Yes, sir.”
Roy’s brow furrows. “I’m concerned about Lisa. Alma’s health has been getting worse, and I know it’s made her job more difficult. That’s why I orchestrated a day out of the house for her. I would like the two of you to enjoy yourselves. Take your time. It would be nice if Lisa could have a break until dinnertime. Don’t worry about us. Our friends will ensure we’re covered for lunch and dinner.”
“I understand.”
Roy takes off his glasses and holds them up to the light, then pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket to polish the lenses. “If Lisa talks about quitting, please encourage her to stay. Alma won’t last much longer, and we need Lisa here. And you too, of course.”
He says it so calmly. Alma won’t last much longer. What do people say to such things? Mark comes out with, “I’m sorry to hear your sister isn’t doing well. Lisa hasn’t mentioned wanting to quit. I know she’s fond of both of you.” All lies, but what’s the difference? Anything to ease the old coot’s mind.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Roy says. “But if she does get discouraged and wants to leave . . .”
“Trust me, I’ll do everything I can to convince her to stay. I can be very persuasive.” Mark claps a reassuring hand on Roy’s shoulder.
Roy pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and looks up appreciatively at Mark. “I’m counting on it.”
“You can rely on me, sir. That’s a promise.”
When Mark gets outside, Lisa asks, “How’d it go?”
“They’re all members of my fan club now.” He plucks the keys out of her hand. “What do you say we blow this pop stand?”
After Mark slides in behind the wheel of the car, he lets out a whistle of appreciation.
“What?” Lisa fastens her seat belt.
“This car. It’s magnificent.” He runs a hand over the dashboard. “I’d give my left nut to have an Excalibur. All this power in a beautiful body. And here it belongs to an old guy about to kick the bucket.”
Lisa says, “Tell him you want it and maybe he’ll leave it to you in his will.”
“You think so?”
She shrugs. “Sure. I mean, they don’t have any relatives—not that I know of, anyway—and their friends seem pretty well-off. Someone’s going to get the car when they’re gone. Why not you? Roy’s already promised me all of Alma’s jewelry and clothing, and believe me, I didn’t ask.”
Interesting. Mark files this information away.
On the way to their first destination, Lisa asks, “So what did you think of the Whitlocks?”
Mark thinks. “The big guy and his wife? They seem . . . friendly?”
“But too friendly, right?”
Not particularly. The wife winked at him, which was a little surprising, but it wasn’t too out-there, considering what Mark has experienced in the past. When he was a teenager bagging groceries, housewives sometimes flirted with him. At discos, women routinely buy him drinks. And once he was at a family wedding and one of the bridesmaids propositioned him when he was on his way back from the men’s room. One quickie in the coatroom later and he was on the dance floor, no one the wiser. Mrs. Whitlock’s wink is tame by comparison. “Just friendly,” he answers.
“And what’s with their names? Baird and Lara. I hate that.” She shudders as if biting into something sour.
“Why do you hate their names?” Noticing a yellow traffic light ahead, Mark slows to a stop.
“Baird. Lara. So hard to pronounce. I keep wanting to say Brad and Laura.”
Lisa is really something with her obsessive fretting. It’s as if she creates things to worry about. He says, “You can always call them Mr. and Mrs. Whitlock, if it’s that much of a problem.”
“It’s just the point of it,” she says, setting her hand on the dashboard to steady herself. “Why make things so complicated?”
The morning continues as planned. At the pharmacy, Lisa double-checks the typed labels on the pill vials before paying with the cash Roy gave her. At Goodman’s Clock Shop, Mark stands idly by while Lisa chats with the owner of the store. As Mr. Goodman brings out a pocket watch and sets it on a velvet-lined tray, explaining what he did to repair it, Mark finds his interest waning. He wanders the store, drawn to the men’s wristwatches displayed in the glass cases. Funny how they keep the time the same as his Timex yet cost ten times more. Better quality, he guesses, although how that helps a person in his day-to-day life he isn’t certain. Time passes either way.
He glances over at Lisa, who is commenting on the timepiece’s newly polished finish. “I know Mr. Walgrave will be happy to see it looking like new,” she says, fishing money out of her purse.
“I’m sorry Roy wasn’t able to make it today,” Mr. Goodman says, looking over his wire-rim glasses. “I always enjoy our talks.”
As they leave the store, Lisa clutches her purse to her side and says to Mark, “I know we’re supposed to go out to lunch, but maybe we should just skip it, get the groceries, and go back right away?”
Cut the day short? Sit and talk to old people all afternoon when he could be eating at a restaurant and continue driving this fine car? Not if Mark has anything to say about it. He shakes his head while jangling the car keys. “No way, Lisa. Roy made a point to say we should have a nice lunch and that we shouldn’t hurry back. I’m not going against his wishes.”
She flattens her lips into a disapproving line but doesn’t voice an objection. When Mark suggests going to an Italian restaurant nearby, she says, “Whatever you want.” Her tone is so glum he almost laughs. She makes it seem like going out to eat on Roy’s dime is such a burden.
Once they are inside the restaurant and have ordered, he makes an effort to cheer her up with small talk. “I’ve heard the food here is great, totally authentic,” he says, looking around at the décor, which is, as far as he can tell, also authentic. Round tables with red-checked tablecloths. Chianti bottles serving as candleholders with the wax dripping down the sides. Stained-glass panels on the walls depicting grape clusters still on the vine.
Lisa nods, seemingly preoccupied. “I hope this doesn’t take too long.” She taps her fingers on the linen tablecloth. “I’m sorry. I have a lot on my mind.”
“No problem. I get it.”
“If I tell you something, can you keep a secret?”
“Of course. You can trust me. I won’t breathe a word.” Mark gives her a reassuring smile. “I keep telling you, I’m here for you, Lisa.”
She glances around to make sure she can’t be overheard. “This morning, before you arrived, I had a talk with Roy. Dr. Cross says Alma is failing both mentally and physically and that she won’t be around much longer.”
“He said as much to me as well. It’s a shame, but everyone dies sooner or later.”
“Yes, well . . .” A pained expression crosses her face. “So he told you about Alma, but did he tell you he asked me to sign some legally binding paperwork and have it notarized?” She raises an eyebrow questioningly.
The waitress, Sandra, arrives with their drinks. She sets down the cocktail napkins first, then places the drinks before them with a flourish. “A cranberry juice for the lady, and a Sprite for the gentleman.” She flashes a smile in Mark’s direction.
“Thank you.” Mark picks up his glass and takes a sip, appreciatively watching the waitress’s backside as she walks away. “To answer your question, no he didn’t say anything about signing paperwork. What’s that all about?”
“Get this. Dr. Cross is coming over tonight with Sam and Neela Burman. Sam is an attorney, and Neela is a notary.” She moves the candleholder and her drink to one side and leans across the table. She speaks so quietly he can barely make out the words over the clatter of a table being cleared, the chatter of conversations, the piped-in Frank Sinatra tunes coming through the speakers overhead. “They want me to be the executor of their will, and they also said something about me inheriting the estate.”
“And you don’t want to do this?” Is
she crazy? To Mark this sounds like one sweet deal.
“Well, no. I’m going to be quitting, remember? I’m trying my best to leave that house, but if I agree to their plan that goes out the window.” Her face tightens. “I think they can sense I’m ready to quit, and they’re trying to pull me back in.”
For the first time, Mark notices the haunted circles around her eyes, giving her the look of someone who hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in a long, long time.
She says, “Now I’ll never get out of there.”
“Are you feeling pressured?” he asks. “Because it’s okay if you don’t want to do it. Tell them you aren’t up to the responsibility. They’ll find someone else.”
“But they say they don’t have anyone else.” She looks like she’s about to cry.
Mark waves a hand. “That’s what they say, but they have their friends from the Redevine Society, right? And Dr. Cross?” He ticks off his fingers. “So that’s five people right there. Trust me, they’ll figure something out.” He leans forward and places a reassuring hand over hers, nearly flinching at the coldness of her fingers. “Don’t worry, Lisa. They can’t force you. Just tell them you’re honored, but no thanks.”
She nods as the waitress comes to serve their salads.
Mark gives a sympathetic smile, but inwardly he wants to rejoice at this turn of events. Lisa might choose to say no to this opportunity, but if and when it’s laid at his feet, he’s going to pick it up and claim it as his own. He will ingratiate himself to Roy and flatter Alma, and before long they’ll start to think of him as the grandson they’ve always wanted, and soon enough they’ll give him the same deal Lisa doesn’t want. And if that happens, he will be rich. The house, the Excalibur, and everything else, all of it his. The idea is intoxicating. He’ll sell the house, of course. There is no way he’ll want to live in that monstrosity in the worst part of town. Someone will buy it, if only to tear it down and build a warehouse or factory.
Once he is wealthy, everything will change. He’ll get a better girlfriend than Monica, for one. She’s been fine, for now, but money brings opportunities, and he’d be foolish not to explore all his options. He’ll buy his mother a new car. Not that she deserves it, but it would be the perfect way to stick it to his stepfather. The man’s words still ring in Mark’s head. Unreliable. Loser. Never going to amount to anything. The asshole got it all wrong. It isn’t so much that Mark tries to game the system. It’s more that he looks for opportunities others have overlooked. How is it fair that some people have so much more than others? It isn’t. Well, that could be rectified. Mark is more cunning than most, and in the end he is going to come out on top.
Lisa interrupts his thoughts, saying, “I hope you’re right.”
Mark thinks of Alma and Roy and how frail they are. A strong wind could knock them off their feet, and here Lisa is worried that they could somehow control her. The thought is ludicrous. “It’s going to be fine.”
Lisa gives him a thankful smile. “Thanks for listening, Mark. I appreciate it.” She tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Lately I feel like if I stay in that house one minute longer, I’ll totally lose my mind. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I have all these bizarre thoughts. Sometimes I wonder if I’m going crazy.”
“We all have those days. It might just be time to move on. No shame in that.” He says the words knowing full well that he’s breaking his promise to Roy. He is supposed to convince Lisa to continue on at Alden Manor. Instead, he’s doing the opposite.
He shrugs. A guy needs to look out for himself. Besides, Lisa’s mental health is at stake, and it’s not like the old man will know any different.
Chapter Eleven
At the end of the workday, Roy suggests that Mark cut the day short and take the Excalibur rather than ride the bus. “No need for you to walk in the rain when we have a perfectly good vehicle just sitting there.”
“Are you sure?” It’s the polite thing to ask, but Mark isn’t really objecting. He tightens his fingers around the ring of keys in his palm. Already he can see himself pulling into a space in the back of his apartment building. When Monica comes home, they’ll go out, no matter how late it is. He can’t wait to see the reactions they get driving the Excalibur in his neighborhood.
The next morning, as he drives back to Alden Manor, he is still thinking about the stares of envy he and Monica got when cruising down Highway 57 the evening before. Cars on either side of the road honked, their drivers giving him the thumbs-up as he went by. Monica was in her glory, basking in the attention and giving Mark well-deserved looks of appreciation. Driving an Excalibur speaks volumes about the man behind the wheel. It says he is a man of means with a penchant for luxury. Monica jokingly called him a show-off, but why not? He sees nothing wrong with standing out from the crowd.
When Mark arrives, Dr. Cross’s car is parked in front of Alden Manor, so he pulls in right behind him. He whistles as he makes his way up the walkway. Inside, when he pauses in the entryway to let his eyes adjust, he hears a woman’s distressed voice drifting from the other end of the hallway. “No, no, please no.” He listens intently, tipping his head forward, as if that would somehow help him to understand what is going on. Loud sobbing rises into a wail that sounds more animal than human. Good God, what the hell is going on? He’s unable to move and remains rooted to the rug, fearful of walking in on some kind of terrible medical emergency. He can only imagine what would precipitate such a horrific noise. Glancing at his watch, he sees he’s arrived ten minutes early. If he slips out onto the porch for a few minutes, maybe he can avoid the crisis altogether. Just as his hand is on the doorknob, he hears a scrabbling of footsteps and Dr. Cross’s voice calling out, “Lisa, stop. Come back!”
Mark freezes. There is no escaping now; the problem is headed right at him in the shape of Lisa, who’s running toward him, breathlessly panting, hair a mess, eyes wild. Dr. Cross is on her heels. She runs right to Mark and throws herself into his arms, clinging as if he is her sole salvation. The motion gives him such a jolt that his backside slams up against the door. “Help me, Mark!” Her eyes are wide with terror, her voice raw and guttural. “They’re trying to kill me!” Her eyes dart back and forth, first to Mark and then behind her to Dr. Cross. “You need to do something. Please! Please!”
Mark wraps a protective arm around her and calls out, “What’s going on?”
Dr. Cross ignores his question, instead addressing Lisa. “Just take a breath, Lisa. It’s all going to be fine. You’re among friends here.” He has a hypodermic needle in one hand, held casually in the way of an unlit cigarette. “No one is going to hurt you. I’m trying to help.”
She screams at the doctor, “Don’t come any closer!”
Dr. Cross halts in his tracks.
With Lisa trembling in his arms, Mark says, “Just a minute. What’s happening?”
“They want me dead,” she whispers. “Make him stop.” She buries her head against Mark’s chest. “Please. Don’t let him hurt me.”
Dr. Cross holds up the needle but doesn’t move. “Lisa has had a psychotic break. I’m trying to give her a light sedative, just to calm her down. She’s worked herself into hysterics.”
Lisa grips the front of Mark’s shirt, words spilling out in quick succession. “I need to go right now. Can I come live with you, Mark? I have money. I’ll pay rent. It won’t be for long.” Her eyes well up with tears. “I can sleep on your couch or on the floor. I don’t need much space. I’ll be no trouble at all.”
Mark imagines Monica’s reaction if he brings home a random chick to live with them and shakes his head. “I don’t think that would work out.”
Defeated, she lets out a whimper.
Dr. Cross takes a step closer. “You’ll feel better after you get some rest, Lisa. You haven’t been sleeping lately, have you?”
She gulps and sucks in a deep breath. “I haven’t been sleeping at all.”
“Why don’t you let me give you this shot? I promise
that you’ll feel better after a nap. You’re just sleep-deprived,” he says soothingly. “You’ve been working so hard. You deserve a rest.”
“I am tired.” Lisa wipes at her eyes with her fingertips and sniffs.
Mark looks from Dr. Cross to Lisa, trying to make sense of the hypodermic needle in his hand and the overall situation. Does he always keep sedatives in his medical bag? Or was he anticipating a need? Something Lisa said yesterday comes to him. Sometimes I wonder if I’m going crazy. What else did she say? Something about having thoughts she didn’t think came from her. Is that connected to having a psychotic break? He doesn’t know.
The doctor smiles kindly. “I know. I know. It’s been hard, but you’ve done an excellent job. Alma and Roy are so happy to have you here.”
At the sound of their names, Mark feels Lisa stiffen in his arms. She turns to face him and whispers, “Please help me.”
Dr. Cross continues. “Won’t you let me walk you down to your room for a rest? We can decide then if you want the shot or not. It’ll be up to you.”
“No.” Lisa shakes her head and meets Mark’s eyes. “I need to get out of here. Drive me to the bus station?” She has a tight grip on his arm. “Please! I have money. I can pay you!”
Mark sees the crazed fear in her eyes. In the dim light of the hallway, her skin looks even paler and her eyes more sunken. He glances over at Dr. Cross, who has an earnest expression, the way any doctor would in treating a troubled patient. Behind Lisa’s back, Dr. Cross shakes his head, signaling his advice to Mark. Don’t let her leave.
Mark keeps his voice low and steady. “Lisa, I don’t have a car, so I can’t take you anywhere. Why don’t we all sit down and talk about this?” Off in the distance, he hears Alma coughing, a phlegmy, choking sound. A fly buzzes around Lisa’s head. Mark whisks it away with his free hand. “We can talk it over and come up with a solution, something that will make you happy. Maybe Roy would let me use his car? Why don’t we go ask him?”