A 3rd Time to Die

by George A Bernstein

  “You and your sports jargon. Everything is not a football game, Keith. Are things really that bad?”

  “Yeah, they are. We’re playing in a tough league. Okay?”

  “I’m sorry.” She took his hands. “Just… well, we expected you for dinner. Beth drew a lovely picture at school, and Ricky’s reading a new book. They miss you… miss you sharing their excitement. These years will fly by, and you’re losing out as much as they are. They need a father, Keith.”

  “I know, but I can’t just sit on the sidelines and let the company fall apart. Show me Beth’s drawing, and you can fix me a little snack. I didn’t have much time for dinner.”

  Keith munched on a cold turkey sandwich, while he examined Beth’s crayon drawing.

  Ashley, jumping that damned horse. Why should I be surprised? I aughta be around more, so they’d be interested in some of my things. Smooth things out around here.

  But I gotta find a way to avoid that horsey party next week. A bunch of fucking dilatants, I bet. She can go to that one alone, if it’s so important to her.

  Screw it. He was a stranger in this house, with little in common with his teammates. It was Kristen filling his needs that evening… and Nicole feeding his fantasy.

  What an angel. He was awash with a sense of destiny since he first saw that magnificent Amazon. She was going to be his… be what Ashley never was. She’d have to understand about the trusts. No way he’d leave his wife and all that money, especially with the family business looking so iffy. He’d have to make it worth her while to hang around until… until what?

  Eventually, he’d have to do something about Ashley and her trusts. Let her mess around with her damn horse while he seduced Nicole. That may take time, but he can pull it off, and that should be fun.

  But Keith had no idea what really was in store for him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Ashley rolled over, turning away from Keith’s gentle snoring. She couldn’t sleep, her musing stuck in an endless loop.

  Why does Keith work so late, almost every night?

  Why is he so distant, so emotionally uninvolved with his family?

  Why don’t they have sex (much less, make love) anymore. Is she so unappealing?

  Why did he bother worming his way back into her life, after their bitter breakup?

  Why, why, why! Seems her life is filled with “why’s.”

  And most importantly, why did she let him back in, when he had tried to rape her. Memories, etched as clearly as a HD projection, bloomed in her mind: Keith, fifteen years ago, sitting in the stands with her parents during the Onwentsia Spring Novice Open Jumper Class, her first competition of the year.

  He smiled tentatively, looking very uncomfortable, and gave her the thumbs-up sign just as she began her round.

  As she started for the first fence, strange thoughts had floated into her head…

  These are nothing. I’ve jumped worse with my eyes closed. Nos aller!

  Thinking in French. Imagining what it might be like on a fox hunt. It seemed so effortless, as if she had done it all her life.

  Like now. It tasted more like a memory than a fantasy, even then.

  She had handed Lady to a groom and climbed into the stands, knowing he would still be there…

  ~~*~~*~~*~~

  They sat together, all three smiling… one big happy family.

  What nerve, coming here, joining my folks, cheering my ride, as if nothing terrible happened.

  Despite her righteous anger, her skin tingled and her heart was skipping.

  Damn, you’re still in love that unprincipled bastard, regardless of everything. Like star-crossed lovers in a stupid romance novel.

  He stood as she approached, grinning foolishly.

  "That was a wonderful ride, sweetheart,” Mama said. She had been an experienced rider in her youth and fully appreciated her daughter’s skill. No one expected her to excel so quickly.

  “There’s only two more riders to go,” her father said. You might win a ribbon today.”

  “Ashley does well at whatever she tries,” Keith said, trying to be part of the group. But he looked away and studiously avoided her eyes.

  “It was fun, despite being pretty nervous at first. But, Lady did all the work, and I just tagged along for the ride. It seemed easy.”

  “It’s sweet to be so modest, my dear,” Mama said, “but I, at least, know that there is a lot more to jumping a horse than just sitting in the saddle. The two of you are developing the synergism of a good team. I’m proud of you.”

  “Me too,” Keith braved her smoky eyes for the first time. “I think you’re terrific, Ashley. Really terrific.”

  That’s when the last nub of ice from her long-harbored anger melted. She’d give him another chance, if he showed her respect.

  ~~*~~*~~*~~

  Her restless turning interrupted the pattern of Keith’s snoring, and the room was quiet. Maybe she could sleep now, if she can just shake those haunting memories. He’d hurt her terribly that bitter night, but she could never shake that strange sense of destiny fluttered around her. Despite all that happened, she was still drawn to him.

  She made it clear they were starting over, like a first date. He agreed with an exuberance that made her feel special. Everything seemed back on a blissful path, their love reblooming like a delicate flower, nurtured into an always growing, beautiful thing.

  She sighed. That was the happiest time of her life.

  They attended Northwestern to be together, despite her parents’ plans for Vassar and his for Harvard. Keith played football, and she was, again, a cheerleader. Four years later, they graduated, he as an All-American wide receiver his final two years (despite the school's chronically pathetic football program) and she with suma cum laude honors in American History.

  They married the next summer, the Crown Prince and Princess of two influential North Shore dynasties, the perfect couple.

  But things weren’t perfect, were they? Oughta be more to marriage than this. We have no partnership in anything anymore.

  Oh, cut it out!

  I’ve got two great kids, and another little girl on the way, so I guess I’ve got nothing to complain about. Time to quit feeling sorry for myself and get on with life. This is just a rough spot, and we’ll work through it.

  But in her heart, as she finally drifted into a restless sleep, she wondered.

  And with good reason.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “Keith?”

  “I’m in the study.”

  Ashley’s snakeskin high heel pumps rat-tat-tatted down the Travertine hallway. She carried a matching evening clutch and was wearing an ivory St. John sequined strapless sheath, ending just above the knees. She was surprised it still fit, but the growing infant hadn’t made its presence visible yet.

  Swinging open the already ajar door, she found Keith in khaki shorts and gray knit shirt, lounging at the desk.

  “My God, you’re not dressed yet. We’re going to be late for the party.”

  “I’m not going. I gotta finish this budget for the new ball park. Maybe you shouldn’t go, either. Weather Station says a big storm front’s gonna blast through early this evening.”

  “Keith!”

  “Look, if you’re fixed on going, go, and have a good time. You look really beautiful. You know I got nothing in common with all those horse-lovers. I’d be in the way of all your fun. And I gotta get this done for the Board meeting on Monday.”

  “But… but I hoped this would give us a chance…”

  “Sorry, I can’t do it. Enjoy yourself. You won’t even miss me, with all your new friends to talk horses with.” His attempted smile was more a smirk.

  Ashley glared at her husband, slouched in his black leather executive chair, twirling a wood pencil between his fingers, a picture of nonchalance.

  The same old crap, she thought. This could be a chance to reconnect, but no. Not even a meager attempt to seem interested in my things.

&
nbsp; “Okay, I damned well will go alone. Not so different from the rest of our lives, is it? No need to bother your head about anything. The kids’ dinners are made, and I’ve given Maria instructions on bedtime tonight. There’s a Disney movie on TV they want to watch, which I’ve agreed to, since tomorrow’s Sunday.”

  “Yeah, whatever.” His attention was on a stack of papers scattered across the home office’s desk.

  Jesus! He can’t even feign interest in his own children. Spinning on a three-inch heel, she stalked off, gathering her matching St. John evening jacket, heading for the kitchen with last-minute instructions for Maria.

  Keith followed her departure with hooded cobalt eyes, the corner of his wide mouth twitching up.

  That worked out better than I hoped. Ashley and the goddamned horses are a pain, but this gives me a couple hours to zip down and see Kristen. Maybe the last time, if I can ever make it with Nicole.

  His grin broadened at the reverberating thump of the garage door slamming.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Craig pulled his Jag into line, behind four cars from the entrance of the Renaissance Hotel, awaiting the valets to clear the cars in front. A tropical-style monsoon pummeled his convertible with watery fists, but nothing crept past the canvas top. Looked like a good turnout for the season’s first Gala, despite rotten weather.

  Finally under the protection of the portico, he retrieved his jacket from the passenger seat and handed the keys to the liveried young valet. Craig was wearing a midnight-blue tux over a white, collarless pleated shirt, avoiding the hassle of a bow tie. A robin-egg-blue cummerbund and onyx studs completed the outfit.

  Every serious equestrian on the North Shore would be there… including Ashley Easton? He intended to look the part of muted success, both in business and as a horseman. A position he was quite qualified to represent.

  He followed two couples through the revolving doors and into the marble the upscale hotel. Owning and training dressage horses or jumpers takes more resources than the average Joe can swing, but Craig was always pleasantly surprised at the general lack of snobbery from the horsy set. With few exceptions they were a friendly bunch of people, sharing a common love. He was not at all uncomfortable over being there alone. Crossing to the elevators, he joined six other for the ride to the fourth floor, and the Grand Ballroom, where the Gala was already underway.

  He gritted his teeth and shrugged. No surprise Toni hadn’t showed up for their departure. Probably better she didn’t come. She’d get sloshed on vodka, and he’d probably have to pry her off some attractive single guy… or maybe even a married one.

  He didn’t need the distraction. He was looking for new blood for his fox hunt later in the summer… and he hoped to meet Ashley and learn from where he knew her. He just couldn’t place it, but it was so damned unlikely not to remember running into someone so attractive… and such a fearless rider!

  Craig took a glass of merlot and three baby lamb chops from passing trays. He eased against a door jamb, and sipping and munching, cased the room.

  No Ashley, but he saw four likely candidates for his hunt. Dropping the rib bones in a trash bin, he sauntered across the room, preparing his pitch. Still thirty-minutes to dinner, so maybe she’d still show.

  Craig didn’t know why meeting her was so consuming. Although she was a stunner, he wasn’t seeking an illicit affair. Cheating was Toni’s bailiwick, and he wasn’t going to sink into that morass. There was some other connection he couldn’t explain, but the need… the absolute compulsion… was there.

  Well, if not tonight, maybe at another competition. She’s certainly going to show that big sorrel gelding again soon. What a team!

  “Hey, Timmy,” he said dropping a hand on the shoulder of the thirty-something man.

  “Oh, hi, Craig. Here alone?” He looked disappointed.

  “What else?” Craig’s dark eyebrow arched, taking a fresh look at younger man as they shook hands.

  “Listen, I want to invite you guys to my fox hunt this summer…”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Ashley craned forward, squinting through the waterfall cascading across her windshield. This part of Old Willow Road was poorly lit, and the tropical-style deluge made visibility almost nonexistent. Her headlights barely made out the blacktop road against the rain-darkened shoulder.

  Damn! Gonna be late unless this cloudburst lets up pretty soon.

  Once on the Reagan Tollway, with lots of lighting and modern drainage, she’d be Okay, but she has to get there alive first, and…

  Whoa! A swale in the road had filled with water, creating a small, shallow lake. Her SUV blasted a shower of spray as she reflexively stomped on the brakes… not the best where a thick sheet of water ensconced the pavement.

  The Lexus’s wheels, no longer contacting hard surfaces, locked, hydroplaning across the puddle, spinning, slewing crosswise across the shoulder. Shuddering to a final stop, the SUV rocked and teetered, one rear wheel suspended over the drainage ditch… now filled with a two-foot deep rushing torrent. Luckily, there was no impact severe enough to deploy airbags.

  “Crap, that was close,” she muttered, swallowing her heart. She sat, knuckles white on the steering wheel, shaking and covered with a sheen of adrenaline-fueled sweat.

  Nudging the accelerator, she found the engine dead. Shifting into Park, foot on the brake (and parking brake set for safety), she punched the Ignition button, eliciting a momentary clatter, then the strong whir of the starter and… nothing. Three more protracted efforts to restart proved equally frustrating.

  Ashley slumped against the wheel, unsure what to do next. Had the engine gotten wet in that fountain of spray? She wasn’t about to drown out there, peeking under the hood, without the slightest idea what to look for.

  Damn Keith. He knew cars and could undoubtedly fix this… if he were only here. But he’s never interested in doing any of her things.

  She sighed, then lit up the emergency flasher lights, in case someone came along to help. If it were wet plugs or something, maybe they’d dry out in a few minutes.

  I’m going to the party tonight, come Hell or, literally, high water.

  Ashley grinned despite her angst, then shuddered as the car quivered. Water rushing along that drainage-ditch was buffeting her left rear tire, partially drooping into the culvert.

  Girding up courage, she clambered… the form-fitting St. John sheath hiking up to her waist… over the center console and into the passenger seat, which was closer to the road. Despite the deluge, she would be out the door the instant she felt her Lexus being sucked into that rushing cascade. Wet was better than drowning in the ditch. She pawed through her purse for her cell phone. Flipping it open, she groaned.

  Only one bar. Lousy reception out here.

  Beep. Beep.

  Damn! Low battery, too.

  She dialed the Emergency number, but couldn’t hear a ring.

  “This is… What is… emergency.” Contact, but the call was breaking up.

  “My car’s stalled on Old Willow Road, east of the Turnpike.” She spoke slowly and loudly, hoping to overcome the bad connection. “I’ve slid off the shoulder and into the ditch, and it won’t start. Can you send help?”

  “What is… name, and…” Beep. She glanced at the display: No service. Low battery.

  Shit! Hope they heard me. All I can do is wait it out.

  She leaned against the door, eyes fluttering closed, trying to relax wire-taut nerves.

  Mon Dieu! Her head snapped up, smoky eyes flaring. French? Now? What the Hell is going on with that?

  She scanned the darkness, but saw nothing but pelting rain. She sagged back against the door, working her neck, rolling her shoulders, trying to loosen tension-cramped muscles.

  What a mess! Give it a couple minutes and I’ll try again.

  Eyes flickered shut again. Just relax, and stay calm.

  She sighed.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Craig circulated throughout
the ballroom, munching baby lamb chops and coconut shrimp while sipping Merlot, as he worked the crowd. He renewed acquaintances he hadn’t seen since last Fall, added a half-dozen new names to his address book, and had hopefully convinced three new riders to join him on his fox hunts in September.

  The one thing sorely lacking was that fascinating redheaded equestrian. He checked the attendance list, noting she’d reserved two places on the roster, but so far was a no-show. It was possible that the fierce downpour, assaulting the entire northern suburbs, had engineered her delay.

  The overhead lights blinked the “dinner-bell” call, so he reluctantly headed for the dining room. He’d find a spot in easy view of the entrance, and try to hold two places at the table, in case she arrived late with whom even she was coming… probably her husband.

  Strangely, whenever he visualized her, his heart took on hummingbird wings, and his mouth went Sahara dry. She was a classic beauty, but it was the recklessness with which she and that great roan gelding soared over the course, gobbling up every fence in sight that snatched the breath from his lungs. The sense he knew her from somewhere must be fallacious. How could he forget such a magnificent dynamic pair?

  Craig settled at a table near the entrance and surveyed the room. The Northern Illinois Horseman’s Committee and the hotel’s staff had done a superb job setting up the evening’s theme.

  Two full-size artificial Thoroughbreds, regaled in jumping paraphernalia, guarded the main doorway. The salad buffet was constructed from single-bar jumps, festooned with miniature English saddles, bridles and stirrups. Crops, blue and red ribbons, and riding caps adorned black-draped dining table as center pieces, and a rainbow of banners spewed from the chandelier to all corners of the room.

  A two-foot sterling silver urn… the Horse Person of the Year trophy… rested on a table at the very center of the room. All in all, a very “horsey” impression.