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Held

Page 12

by T K Barber


  “Doesn't matter. He pushed me away tonight. Physically and emotionally. I even . . . well, he told me to go. Then just walked away. I give up. I'm not going to hold out any more hope. I got the distinct feeling he didn't want to see me anymore. So. That's it.” She flopped her hand out at Katelyn's face and rolled her eyes. “Spoon.”

  Katelyn grinned in victory and nodded.

  “I'm fresh out of ice-cream pants, but I have a pair of cookie slash cupcake ones if you want to get out of that dress.” She winked and stood up, heading to the back room without waiting for an answer.

  Nick

  “Nick, honey, talk to me. What's got you so worked up?”

  Eliza patted his knee as he shoveled another forkful into his mouth.

  She had made sure the bacon was extra crunchy today, a fact which she had proudly announced. She also had an uncanny way of waiting until the exact moment he couldn't talk to ask him to talk. Either accidentally or on purpose. He smiled around the fork.

  “Ifs rweawy nuffin.”

  “Don't you talk with your mouth full.” She pointed her aged finger at him and smiled.

  He put the back of his fork-wielding hand up to his mouth and laughed, hiding his food. The morning sun crawled around her apartment, bouncing off dust motes and cobwebs. It made the gray in her hair seem to glitter, and he smiled. She looked a little different today, though. A little paler. Maybe a little shakier. He swallowed and cleared his throat.

  “How've you been feeling?”

  She shrugged in a small motion and folded her shaky hands in her lap. Several of her knuckles were bent from arthritis, and she had tons of age spots, just like a well-weathered mother or grandmother should have.

  “Good days and bad. Just gotta keep praying for more good than bad.”

  He liked days like today where he got to spend more time with her. He knew she liked them too. She glanced over at the aged wooden mantle surrounding her radiator and scanned the pictures.

  “Thomas came by yesterday.”

  Nick choked on his bite and swallowed quickly. “He did? I thought he'd moved away?”

  She shrugged again. “He said his job finished up so he could come back. Said he was sorry he didn't come by sooner, but he was busy. His new job is out on the bay, and he seemed really happy. Happier than I've seen him in his whole life, honestly. That poor boy carries quite a few scars, bless his heart.”

  She smiled, sadness still clinging to her eyes. Nick frowned. It was so hard to see how her family treated her. At least Thomas came back.

  “What about his dad?”

  She let out a long sigh but held her smile.

  “Lyle doesn't come to see me anymore, honey. He has no time for his stuffy old mother-in-law. He pays the rent for the year, and that's it. It's a wonder Thomas could break away long enough to come by at all. Lyle's thumb is pretty heavy.”

  She patted his knee, and he scraped the last bite onto his fork before eating it.

  “Is Annalise still enjoying her trip? Where'd you say she was again?”

  Nick's eyes went wide. He couldn't remember! Did he tell her a place? He started to sweat a little and chewed slowly. Eliza waited patiently, then narrowed her eyes and frowned.

  “Nick, she's not on a trip, is she?”

  He shot her a look and swallowed. There was no safe way to answer that question. So, he didn't. Eliza eyed him a long moment and sighed.

  “I don't know what's going on, but if I know anyone strong enough to handle themselves, it's you. Just . . . be careful. Now.” She rubbed her palms together and smiled. “On to more exciting matters. When are you going to bring your girlfriend to meet me?”

  He hovered his plate just above the coffee table and blinked at her. This damn woman was too smart. Not that Scarlet was his girlfriend, or ever would be, but still . . .

  “I can tell, I'm not blind. Yet. If she's not your girlfriend, take an old bird’s advice: shit or get off the pot.”

  He raised his brows and blinked once before erupting in roaring laughter. She continued after he took a breath, grinning right along with him.

  “Tell her, Nick. You never know who you'll fall in love with, but make sure you tell her every chance you get. And show her twice more than that.”

  He took another breath and cleared his throat. That was actually great advice. For anyone else.

  “Thanks, Eliza. I'll think about it.”

  It was all he could do really. All he'd been doing. Her gaze turned distant, her face slacking for a split-second before she refocused and smiled at him. She dropped a glance to her hand and made a weak fist a couple of times.

  “Nick hon, I think I need to cut this short. I'm getting tired, I guess. My vision is a little blurry. I'm gonna go do my eye drops, you let yourself out okay? Don't forget your bowl.”

  She stood and swayed for just a second before steadying herself. She chuckled.

  “I need to be a little slower getting up. I'm not seventy-five anymore!”

  Nick smiled and stood, tugging her into a hug. She squeezed him back and patted his shoulder before toddling off to her room. He snagged the plate and headed to the kitchen.

  “Want me to clean the pan before it turns to concrete?”

  She turned back around and gave him an affectionate smile.

  “No, honey, I'll take care of that. My hands still work.” She took a breath and smiled. “You can do it next time, how 'bout that?”

  Nick chuckled and nodded. “It's a date.”

  She let out a single laugh and turned back around slowly, headed to the bedroom.

  “Eliza?”

  She turned to face him, but he froze. He wanted to tell her he loved her. Because he had grown to love her like a mother. Something he never had really. Not one worth a damn. But he wasn't sure how she'd feel about that. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable. He smiled and waved.

  “Have a good rest of your day. Same time next week?”

  She nodded and waved back. He set the plate down on the table, grabbed the orange Tupperware, and walked back through the living room. He stepped out through the door and glanced up at the ceiling as he pulled the door closed.

  Coward.

  Was she right? He blew out a slow breath. What was the worst that could come from him telling her? She'd probably have been flattered honestly. Even if she didn't look at him like a son. He shook his head as he reopened the door.

  “Hey, Eliza!” He took a few steps in and paused to listen. “Eliza, I wanted to . . .”

  She still didn't answer, so he took a few more steps into the living room.

  “Eliza?”

  She still didn't answer, and he frowned. He set the orange bowl down on the coffee table and took a few quick steps past the kitchen; then he knocked on her bedroom door.

  “Eliza, you okay?”

  Still nothing. He knocked louder. Nothing. A stone dropped in his stomach. He jerked open the door and sucked in a sharp breath. She was on the floor, close to the bathroom, not moving.

  “Shit! No!”

  His heart wrenched and stuttered as he ran over and dropped down beside her. No breath. No pulse. Eyes stinging, he dug his phone out and dialed 9-1-1.

  “Shit shit shit, Eliza,” he gulped.

  This couldn't be happening. Someone else close to him. Even though this wasn't his fault, it threatened to shatter his world.

  He propped the phone up on his shoulder and started CPR, even though it might be too late. He wasn't going to give up yet.

  The rest of the events went by in a blur.

  The 9-1-1 operator stayed on the line while he did continuous compressions until the paramedics arrived. They took over, and he dropped down onto her bed, covering his face. He watched in a daze as they failed to resuscitate her.

  He had only thought he was alone before. He hadn't been considering his time with her as a much-needed anchor in his life. He knew he enjoyed it. He knew she did.
He knew the role they filled in each other's lives, but . . . it hadn't ever really hit him how important it was. How important she was to him. And maybe him to her.

  She didn't respond to anything, but Nick knew she wouldn't. That's how his life went. That was his reality. Death. Whether dealt by him or to him, he was surrounded by death.

  The paramedics slowly wheeled her out, and Nick sat frozen on her bed, with his hands over his mouth.

  Coward.

  He blew it again. One more failure in his growing list. All he had to do was tell her, and she wouldn't have died thinking no one really cared that much. If he had stayed just another minute, he might have been able to help. If he had insisted on doing the damn dishes instead of letting her put it off . . . he might have been able to save her.

  He was still frozen in place when one of the paramedics came back in.

  “Are you her son?”

  Nick swallowed and shook his head. Those words cut him. But not as deep as the answer.

  “Are you related? If not, do you know how to get in touch with her family?”

  Nick shook his head again, sinking deeper into despair.

  “I only know their first names . . . their numbers might be in her phone or . . . something. I'm sorry.”

  He rubbed his eyes. The paramedics found what they needed and left. Nick slowly walked through her apartment with his hand over his mouth. Her quaint little kitchen, his favorite room, filled to the brim with tchotchkes, was empty and cold without her tuneless humming.

  The casserole dish still sat in her sink, with leftover bits of love yet to be scraped out. He squinted his eyes shut and swallowed. That’s what they were. That's why she did it. She didn't have to.

  He walked over and turned on her water, hearing the familiar banging of pipes the landlord kept promising her he'd fix. He swallowed another lump.

  He should have made him. Or done it himself.

  He grabbed her constantly refilled bottle of dish soap, because 'it still worked just fine' and her well-worn yellow sponge because 'there's still a good spot on it' and started washing.

  A tear dripped on his cheek, and he scrubbed his face on his arm several times before the dish was sparkling clean and in her drying rack.

  Then he washed every other dish in the sink, each one shining better than new before it found its way to the rack.

  Then he washed out the sink, forcefully scrubbing with all his might until his elbows ached, cleaning grime from who knows how long ago. He should have offered to do it before now. She probably wouldn't have let him, though.

  Then he wiped down the counters, clearing leftover bits of bacon, hidden from her view.

  Then he stopped.

  He closed his eyes and stood in the middle of the room breathing.

  She was gone. Eliza was gone.

  He jammed his palms to his eyes, sat down hard in her aluminum chair, and exhaled.

  Thomas

  “Matches. Got a new job for you.”

  Butch sat in the little office right outside the door, looking like he was about to drop dead of a heart attack. One too many cannoli's, most likely. Thomas smirked. He probably had three or four stuffed in the desk drawer, just waiting their turn to jump in the acid bath that was his stomach.

  “Yeah? Who's gonna feed the broad?”

  He worked hard to sound detached. Wonder how much longer he'd be able to keep that up.

  “Don't know, don't care,” Butch wheezed, arching his knowing eyebrows. “Take Charlie and drop this off at the hotel.”

  He tossed a thick folded brown envelope to Thomas who caught it effortlessly.

  Money crossing enemy lines. Not always easy, but nothing ever was. Especially these days. Too many enemies, not enough money. At least, if you believed the fluff that got thrown around by the guys. Thomas wasn’t so sure he did.

  “Then go check in with Anthony when you get done.”

  Thomas nodded and threw a half salute before turning on his heel. He fished his Zippo out of his pocket, flicked it open and closed a few times before spinning it between his fingers.

  The motions were almost hypnotic at this point. He'd been practicing constantly since he decided to turn his habit into something better. He was getting good too. Maybe he'd get to show her a few tricks one day.

  “Hey, Tom,” Butch called after him.

  Thomas tossed a quick glance over his shoulder at the door that held the first woman he’d ever loved before refocusing on Butch. He left his heart in that room, but he’d be coming back for it.

  Butch nearly gargled his words. “Keep Charlie from screwing up this time.”

  Thomas laughed and shrugged. “Do my best. Can't promise nothing.”

  Butch grunted, then pulled open his desk drawer, and Thomas fought a laugh as he strolled on.

  A spent shell zoomed away from his shoe over to the wall, and he sighed. Charlie was the best bud a guy could have. Been with him since way before. Was with him during all the bad and good times. In fact, he knew he could count on him for anything. But the guys didn't see it like that.

  His heart ached as he stepped through the metal roll up door and dropped down to the pavement.

  Anna Lange. He mindlessly flicked the lid as he walked. Annalise Lange. He stopped for a second. What was her middle name? Did she have one? He smiled as he started walking again. He’d find out soon enough. Whatever it was, he knew for sure it’d sound perfect between ‘Annalise’ and ‘Valentine.’ He rubbed the smile from his face, then stilled his hand and frowned. At least, once they got out. He frowned deeper. If they got out.

  “Damn bastards.”

  He rolled the lighter over and between his fingers and smirked. Maybe he should light the whole place on fire and run in and save her like some sort of knight. He tossed it up in the air before catching it and shoving it back in his pocket. Of course, something would probably go wrong. That was the whole damn reason she was still here in the first place. What if he botched it? They’d probably hurt her worse. And according to his pop, botching shit was a Thomas specialty.

  He strolled up to the car and paused a minute at the door, scanning the bay. The briny air swirled lazily around him, and he thought about what it’d be like to take Anna to the beach. The real beach. Not this dirty, trash covered excuse they had here.

  No doubt at all she’d be the single hottest gal there. A grin spread across his face. He wanted to throw a glance back at the building but needed to be careful. The guys were probably watching like they always did. She was lying down now he bet, probably on her side. She seemed to like her right one, but he'd find out for sure.

  He frowned. He hoped she didn't cry long. Her tears tore him up. They were like drops of her soul falling out, and he wanted to catch each one, just to keep them from hitting the floor. He smiled again and sunk down into the car.

  Damn. Now he was going all poetic. He shook his head and leaned back in the seat. Truth was, she was holding his heart. She just didn't know it. And every time she brushed his hand, or his arm. Or swatted her hair back over her shoulder. Or let him tuck it behind her ear. Or laughed at his dumb jokes. Or most of all kissed him with those amazing lips of hers, she squeezed it. And her grip got stronger each time.

  He tapped the steering wheel impatiently as Charlie meandered up to the car. When he finally got there, Thomas was frustrated as all get out.

  “Charlie, what the hell? What took so long, did you have to make those shoes yourself? You know we got somewhere to be!”

  Charlie sighed heavily as he fell into the passenger seat. He didn't bother looking at Thomas as he laid his head back against the seat.

  “I'm tired, Tommy.”

  Thomas grunted as his prized Beamer roared to life. Tired was an understatement. This junk was downright exhausting.

  “You aren’t the only one. When do you think Pop'll be done?”

  He threw the car around a corner and sped off toward the hotel. C
harlie blew out a slow breath and shook his head.

  “I don't know. Probably when he owns the whole town.” Charlie glanced in the side mirrors before settling his gaze on Thomas. “What are we dropping today?”

  Thomas reached back behind the seats and chucked the package at Charlie, who fumbled it, before taking a glance inside. He whistled and shook his head.

  “With this much money, we could retire now.”

  Thomas gripped the wheel and eyed him. Couldn't hurt to tell him as far as he could think. And if he got up enough nerve to break her out, he’d sure as hell need backup. Especially after. If he lived, his pop would spend the rest of his life making him beg to die.

  “Yo. Listen up. I'm about to make a real dumb decision, and I need to know you got my back. No matter what.”

  Charlie swallowed, but furrowed his brow and narrowed his eyes.

  “Tommy, what the hell. Did you even need to say that?”

  Thomas snorted. “Nah, I know. But . . . case it goes south, tell Pop . . .” He sneered. “Well, whatever the hell you want. Figure something out.”

  Charlie frowned. “No. Tell him your damn self. I ain't your go-between. I don't know how you expect to stay in the crew if you can't even talk to him.”

  Thomas gripped the wheel again and cleared his throat. Charlie's eyes nearly bugged out of his head, his mouth dropping open.

  “Tom . . . he'll never let you go. You know that!”

  “I ain’t gonna give him a choice,” Thomas growled.

  He whipped the car into the lot and jammed it into park. The startlingly clean parking lot was full of high dollar cars, pouring high dollar guests out onto the entrance walk. Early morning drunks masquerading as elite businesspeople or gambling addicts looking for their next fix.

  He ran his hand through his hair as he shot Charlie a sad look. “I got a plan. I want other things. I'm sick of this dance.”

  Charlie rubbed the side of his round face. “It's a girl, isn't it?”

  Thomas glared out the front window and shrugged. Charlie groaned loudly to the roof of the car and covered his face, before dragging his hands down and crossing his arms.

 

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