Hill: What girl?
Perry: Sam. How could you forget? You know she’d never forgive you if you didn’t show up. Put on your big boy pants, and I’ll see you there. I’m walking her down the aisle.
The thing that pissed Hill off was that she hadn’t bothered to invite him. She had asked Perry to stand in for her deceased father, but she’d never thought to invite Hill. There was a part of him that wanted to crash the wedding, but the other part of him wanted to wallow in self-pity.
Bill. Bill won the girl. Hill threw back a few more shots then paid his tab. He stopped at Macy’s along the way to buy an off-the-rack suit—black, tailored-looking—and a nice pair of shoes. He took a detour and stopped at Sports Clips for a wash, haircut, and shave, texting Perry for the time and location of the wedding as he waited, claiming he had misplaced his invitation.
When he received the venue, he nearly choked. He had just been there—the Marriott. He had designed the landscape for the wedding. He’d had no idea it was for Samantha’s wedding.
***
Samantha stood in front of the mirror, looking at her reflection. She didn’t want a traditional wedding, but Bill wanted one just so he could show off his new bride. Her dress was full lace with a six-foot train. Her headpiece was simple with embroidered pearls—no veil. She hated veils. She smoothed the front of the dress with her hands and slowly turned sideways to get a glimpse of what she looked like from behind, then faced forward again. If only her father was alive to see this day. If only Hill were the man awaiting her at the altar.
She shook those thoughts out of her head just as she heard a gentle knock at the door.
“Come in!” she shouted.
Perry strutted through the door, looking handsome as ever. He’d finally tamed his gigantic afro with a haircut. She was amazed that he’d been able to find a tuxedo to fit his massive size. A mist formed in her eyes as he hugged her, careful not to disrupt the delicate beading on the bodice of her dress.
“You look beautiful,” Perry said.
“Thank you.”
“So are you ready? Your guests are here. But I thought you wanted to keep this small.”
“Bill insisted on inviting everyone he’s ever met.”
They both chuckled, but there was a sadness in her eyes. Perry saw it and suspected it had to do with her father not being there.
“I’m sure your dad would be very proud,” he said then kissed her forehead.
She smiled and thanked him. “Let’s go.”
***
Everything looked perfect. The gazebo was perfect—like something that could be seen in the Rose Parade. The intricate details of the flowers that intertwined between the trellises of the structure and the beautiful arrangements throughout had held up well. It was the perfect day for an outdoor wedding—although the seating area was tented.
The wedding march began, and everyone stood. Hill took a seat in the back row right at the aisle. His face would be the first and the last one she saw. As he stood, he saw his father near the front row with his girlfriend. Wasn’t that something? Even his father was worthy of an invitation. But not Hill.
Samantha emerged arm-in-arm with Perry. Hill had never seen her look so beautiful—or rather, he didn’t think it was possible for her to look more beautiful. When she walked by, she didn’t even notice him. She hadn’t even looked his way. Her eyes were focused on the altar, and she was smiling at her groom as she slowly approached.
Something stirred inside of Hill. He was feeling some kind of way, but he couldn’t quite give it a name. He wasn’t hurt or angry. But he wasn’t happy, either. Maybe the right adjective would be numb. This whole experience numbed him, as if he’d been given an emotional anesthetic.
He sat silently as he watched Samantha and Bob exchange vows in what turned out to be a beautiful ceremony. Then the clergyman presented them as Mr. and Mrs. William LeBlanc. As she made her way back down the aisle, she stopped to hug Perry, and then the judge. She shook hands, smiled, hugged, and high-fived as she celebrated her way down the aisle . . . then her eyes met with Hill’s, and she nearly froze. She missed a step, stumbled a little, then continued her celebration.
As she reached Hill’s row, she pulled him into a hug.
“I’m so glad you came,” she said.
“You look beautiful. Congratulations,” Hill said.
Bill grabbed his bride by the hand, and they entered the Marriott, soon to be taken away to whatever destination they had planned for their honeymoon. Hill dropped back into the chair after the guests in his row exited. Perry, after socializing with the people he knew, saw Hill and sat in the chair in front of him with the intention of consoling him.
“Come on, let’s go get a drink,” Perry offered.
“Nah, I’m going to catch up with my dad.”
Perry squeezed Hill’s shoulder. “Alright, take care, man,” he said, patting his back.
21
The moon was out, and Hill sat in his truck, watching it for a long time. But although his eyes were fixed on it, his mind wasn’t on the moon. His mind was on his father. He’d just left his father’s house. After seeing him at the wedding, Hill knew that, except for that menacing cough, the judge was quite well. He had told Hill he was ready to retire from the bench and maybe move to the country to live out the rest of his days.
The judge had a woman in his life, a younger one, but only by twenty years, making her a ripe young age of fifty-five. She had grandchildren, which the judge enjoyed. He’d planned to take her with him when he moved to the country, and she said she was quite fine with that.
They’d had dinner together, the three of them. It was a fine southern-style meal. Hill could hardly indulge, not being too fond of eating so much starch in one meal. As he browsed the judge’s home, it was like a shrine to his mother. Framed photos of her were everywhere.
The judge said, “She was the love of my life.”
“Tell me, Dad,” Hill had asked, “were you unfaithful to Mom?”
The judge turned away from Hill’s question. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was ashamed of the answer or because he was incensed by the question.
Hill decided to expound. “A couple of months ago, when you and I were in my bathroom and I told you about a woman’s husband beating the snot out of me, you said you had that happen to you, too. To the best of my knowledge, you and mom were married until she died. You were fifty-eight years old. And an Illinois supreme court judge. Nobody was punching you at that point in your life. So unless this happened when you were in high school, I’m under the impression that you were stepping out on mom.”
“I’m an old man, counselor. Your mother and I were forty years old when you were born. You were our ‘surprise’. Your brothers and sisters were all grown and on their own by the time you went to kindergarten. I was never there for them. I was busy building my career and making a name for myself. I was a terrible father and a worse husband back then. I vowed that I’d be a better man and a better father for you.”
“You didn’t answer my question, Dad.”
“Yes, I did, son. And, your mother knew about them.”
“Them?” Hill shook his head in disgust. “Them? How many constitutes ‘them’, Dad?”
“It was a long time ago, Hill. Your mother and I worked through it. I loved your mother with every ounce of my being. And when she died, I felt like the best part of me had died with her.”
It was amazing how quickly the clouds had rolled in, covering the moon. Hill pulled the key from the ignition and stopped at the mailbox, gathering the envelopes and a package, then went into the warehouse. He tossed his keys into the key dish, dropped the mail on the table, and pried open the package. Cigars. The same brand Adam smoked. It was costly but worth it. He dropped the cigars in the humidor he’d carved, then made a beeline for the shower.
As the hot water beat against his skin, he thought about his father’s health—he was getting on in age. Hill sponged the soap on his bod
y. He stood directly under the flow, soaking his hair and face. He shampooed his hair and shaved his armpits and groin area. Caitlin didn’t like hair in those areas, and he aimed to please. He smirked as he thought of her. Stepping out the shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist.
In his room, he sprawled across his bed, unwrapped the towel, and air dried. He wanted to see Caitlin but knew Adam was back in town and would be for quite a while.
No Sam. No Cate. No one Hill could call his own. It didn’t feel good knowing that the only women in his life were spoken for by men he despised. But he didn’t despise Bill and Adam because they were with the women he wanted—even though that was a part of it. It was because they were men who could give those women more than he could.
Maybe it was time for him to focus his efforts on himself. Maybe his dad was right. Perhaps he should consider going back into law, earning a partnership at a prestigious firm, finding a nice woman who appreciates him, and settling down. Then he thought of Amelia. He wondered if she was single. She certainly felt good and wasn’t shy about what she wanted. She’d made it clear that she wanted him. Why not her? Because he didn’t want her. He wanted Caitlin. But he wanted Caitlin on his terms. Screw Adam. As a matter of fact, he wanted Caitlin right now, in his bed—not in that damned bungalow on that cheap ass mattress.
2
“To die would be an awfully big adventure.” ― J.M. Barrie
22
Hill wrapped the towel around his waist and walked into the den. He opened the humidor, admiring his handiwork, clipped a cigar, and lit it. At the window, as he stood watching the speeding train and smoking the cigar, he heard a faint knocking sound. At first, he thought it was residual noise from the passing train or traffic from the other side, but as he listened closer, it sounded like it was coming from the kitchen.
In the kitchen, he looked around, but nothing was out of place, and the noise had subsided. He looked in the cabinets, checking to see if something may have shifted or fallen. Nothing. Then he heard the knocking again. It was coming from the mudroom, and peering through the glass in the door was Caitlin. Hill hurried over to let her in.
“When did you start locking the door?” Caitlin asked.
Hill pulled her into a hug, kissing her tenderly. “I’ve always locked the door. I just left it unlocked whenever I thought I’d have company . . . namely, you.”
“I brought something for you, but I can’t carry it. You’ll have to get it out of the car.”
Hill went to the car and came back toting a large framed picture wrapped in brown paper.
“Go ahead. Open it,” she urged.
Hill put the cigar between his teeth and ripped the wrapping paper from the frame with both hands. When he finished, he was looking at the backside. He lifted it onto the counter where he could admire the portrait. It was a pencil drawing of Caitlin, nearly nude. Only a sheer, silk scarf scantily covered her breasts. Her legs were posed to conceal her nudity below the waist. It was beautiful.
“Where will you hang it?”
“Prominently over the fireplace,” he joked.
Caitlin smirked but was clearly petrified that he wasn’t joking.
“I’ll hang it in my room where you’re the first person I see when I wake up and the last when I go to sleep.”
“Good. That means there won’t be other women in your bedroom.”
Hill paused for a moment and contemplated this. Every night, she slept in the same bed with another man and spent fleeting moments with him. Yet she seemed to have an expectation of exclusivity from him. He set the portrait on the floor, leaning its face against the kitchen island.
“I have another surprise, Hill,” she said as she unwrapped her sarong dress, allowing the fabric to drop to the floor. “Right here, right now . . . in your kitchen. You and me.” She gave a toothy grin.
Hill pulled Caitlin’s naked body against his, pushed her hair from her face, kissed her, and said, “I can’t do this with you anymore, Cate. There’s no future in it for me.”
“What? Hill? What are you talking about? Where is this coming from?”
“I can’t wait five years for your pre-nup to mature so you can divorce Adam, but I also can’t ask you to give up the lifestyle you’re accustomed to.”
“The pre-nup is ironclad. I had it reviewed by an attorney,” she said.
“No doubt. But this sneaking around has gotten old and stale, darlin’. I can’t tell my friends about you. We can’t go out in public. I can’t take you anywhere nice or go dancing with you, which is something you say you love.”
“I told you, I don’t need romance. I just need you,” she said. “And I love the stolen moments, the way you make love to me. No dance floor can come close to that.”
Hill smirked. “I love your body, Cate. And while I really enjoy making love to you, I can honestly get that anywhere without all the risk and hassle.”
Caitlin sank. She backed away, bumping into one of the counter chairs. Her eyes filled with tears that poured onto her cheeks. “You can’t do that, Hill. I love you. Don’t you believe me?”
“Yes, I believe you. But we have a messy detail called Adam.”
“Adam! Oh, how I wish he were dead right now!” she shouted.
Hill, without missing a beat said, “Me, too. But he’s not. And, I don’t want to keep doing this . . . hiding like I’m a punk. I can’t do it anymore. Not even for you, Cate.”
Before she could respond, the doorbell chimed. Hill went to the closest iPad, which was installed on the wall, and cued up the front outside camera. “What’s he doing here? Shit!” He looked at Caitlin, who was wiping her tears with a paper towel. “Put on your . . . whatever that is. You have to leave. Go now, out the mudroom.”
She nodded as she wrapped the sarong skillfully around her body. “Who is it?”
“A business associate. You have to go, Cate. Now.”
“Hill,” she said, “you can’t leave me. Not now. Can’t we work this out?”
He kissed her as the doorbell chimed once again. “I promise we’ll talk about this later. Go.”
***
After tying his robe, he grabbed the cigar that was no longer lit, then opened the door. Two rather large, barrel-chested men flanked Adam Church.
“Can we come in?” Adam asked, annoyed to find Hill in a robe.
Hill was reluctant. He had no idea what had sparked this impromptu visit, unless Adam had followed Caitlin to his place. But if he had followed her, he would have entered on the rear end of the property. There were only two very distinct entrances to the property. One road led to the front. A totally different road led to the back. Anyone who knew how to access the front had no idea of the back and vice versa. So had he followed Caitlin, he would have been at the back entrance where all the security was. So if he didn’t follow Caitlin, why was he here?
“Sure.” He opened the door wide enough to accommodate the large men. “Come in.”
All three walked in, looking around. One of the men continued walking toward the rear of the warehouse while the other stood near Hill. Adam sat on the two-seater.
“Where’s he going? What’s going on?” Hill asked.
“Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?”
Hill felt his heart skipping beats. Where was his bat when he needed it? He didn’t like the looks of things and suspected Adam knew something. Did he know about his affair with Caitlin? He tried to appear nonchalant, but his mind was racing.
“Rum? Tequila? Or beer?”
Adam cleared his throat. “Beer is fine.”
Hill walked into the kitchen, followed by one of Adam’s sidekicks. He returned with three beers.
“Sit down, Hill.” Adam waited until Hill sat. “I’m looking for my wife.”
“And so you came to my place?”
Adam nodded then pulled a business card out of his pocket and slid it across the cocktail table to Hill, who was sitting on the couch across from him.
“Why did my w
ife have your home address next to our bed?”
Hill looked down at the card, recognizing his business card. He picked it up and saw his address written on the back side. He shrugged. “I don’t know, Adam. Maybe she intended to send me a ‘thank you’ note. Who knows?”
“Why would my wife be thanking you, Hill?”
“For a job well done? The landscaping. . .” Hill speculated. The other big guy returned to the living room, shaking his head. Adam nodded at him.
“Did my wife come to see you, Hill? Don’t lie to me.”
The man standing beside Hill pulled a nine millimeter Glock from the holster at the small of his back and placed the barrel at Hill’s temple. A wave of fear and fury fell over Hill, but he hoped it didn’t show, although all the blood drained from his face, leaving him pallid.
“Tell your boy to take his gun from my head, Adam,” Hill threatened.
“Not until I’m satisfied you’re telling me the truth. Where. Is. My. Wife?”
“I’m not your wife’s keeper. I don’t know where she is and I, quite frankly, don’t give a shit where she is.”
Adam signaled the second man, who began breaking Hill’s decorative items—vases, crystals, framed pictures—one by one.
“Hey, hey, hey! What the fuck, Adam? That shit cost me a lot of money.”
“Where is my wife?”
“I don’t know.”
The man with the gun at his head unlocked the safety.
“For the last time, Hill. And I want you to think hard about this before you answer. I know she’s here.”
“I tell you what, Adam. Why don’t you search the house for her then? I keep telling you, I don’t know where your wife is. So if you’re going to shoot me, just do it. Fucking do it.”
“Okay,” Adam agreed as he stood, took the pistol from the gunman, and aimed it at Hill, who stared Adam in the eyes, looking hardcore. Hill shuddered and shielded his head with his arms when he heard two pops. The smell of gunpowder filled the room. Hill closed his eyes tightly, wondering when he would feel the pain—feel the burn. But it never came.
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