by Hayes, Gayle
As soon as I hung up, I had a phone call from Jennifer at the graphic design company in Hoquarten. She apologized for not calling Monday. The office was busy this time of year. I was expecting her to say she'd never heard of Sarah. Instead, she told me Sarah worked for them very briefly and then left to freelance. She did not have a forwarding address, but she thought Sarah said something about going back to Pennsylvania. I thanked her and hung up. She was the third person whom Sarah had told about Pennsylvania. I felt better knowing she'd actually been employed there, but I could not explain why she failed to tell me she was going back home.
I booted my laptop after changing into my uniform. If I got carried away at the computer, I'd be ready to dash out the door for Twyla's. That was a definite plus to living in Sunset. There were no services, really, but my job was practically next door.
My cell phone rang as I was getting back into my plot notes. This time it was the florist. She took another look at the account and noticed the flowers were not from Michael. The flowers were for Michael. I was quiet so long that she asked if I was still on the line. As soon as I hung up with the florist, I went to the kitchen and checked the card. Michael's name had been written in script, and it was too large to fit next to either For or From. The name also was written at an angle. The person who sent the flowers must have thought Michael would know who sent them. The script did not look familiar. Perhaps Michael would have an idea.
As I was trying to make the leap from Michael to my fictional neighborhood about twenty years before, I heard Sarah and Nate laughing. My mother had invited the Duncans and the Russells over for Pinochle. Nate, Sarah, and I had gone to the family room to watch the MTV movie awards. Sarah had chugged the remains of a bottle of rum behind the bar. Nate and I watched Will Smith entertain the audience as he hovered above them like Peter Pan. Sarah emerged from behind the bar doing her impression of Alicia Silverstone in The Crush. I was embarrassed for her, but she clearly had Nate's full attention. Sarah had developed early, and her figure at thirteen was more sensuous than mine at twenty-one. The memory left me wondering whether or not I should dredge up the past for the sake of a story.
Tuesday night was difficult. One of Joel's regulars was too late to get her usual table by the window. Twyla had a policy of first come first served, but it meant nothing to this woman. Her husband had been a one-term senator in the Oregon legislature several years before. He was not popular. He'd died recently, and his widow did not adjust well to the loss. She demanded to be treated as if she'd been the country's first lady instead of the wife of a much-caricatured, failed politician. Joel knew how to handle her.
She could tell I was not the least impressed by who she hadn't been. She could not eat the endive in the salad. She insisted I take the plate to the kitchen and pick through it and then replace those greens with baby spinach, one for one. She would know if I shorted her salad. The halibut was overcooked, but she would force herself to eat it if Twyla gave her half off her next meal there. Joel had told me this was a ploy to get a cheaper meal. The entrée, no matter what it might be, was always overcooked so it could not be sent back and cooked more thoroughly. I told her I'd be glad to take the halibut back and order something else for her. Unfortunately, we were out of everything except the filet mignon, which was considerably more expensive. She could not eat beef, and she was too cheap to pay for a filet, so she "settled" for the halibut. On top of everything, she tipped less than ten percent and rounded it to the nearest dollar so her checkbook was easy to balance.
Twyla stood by while I balanced the cash drawer and prepared the deposit. She thought I could do it on my own from now on. I was closing the safe when she came in and told me Michael was waiting for me. I knew she could tell I was pleasantly surprised. I'd decided not to mention my personal life at work, but I sensed Twyla could be trusted to keep a confidence. Before I left the area of the safe, I took a few deep breaths and composed myself so I'd not betray the excitement I felt.
Michael told me he was concerned about me walking home alone. He'd bought a bottle of wine and thought we might share it. He'd not go back to Hoquarten on Wednesday. Then he told me Joel was on the verge of breaking up with Breanna when she was hurt. Joel felt he had no choice but to support her while she recuperated and was not looking forward to telling her he didn't love her anymore. I wondered how they would manage a breakup at the restaurant. I had my own problems, but I took comfort in not having that one.
Michael poured our wine into two glasses in the kitchen. I told him the florist had called to say the roses were for him and showed him the card. He did not recognize the writing. It was not his birthday, and he could think of no reason why anyone would send him flowers. He said no one knew about me, and he'd given a general delivery address to forward his mail. No one knew he was staying with Joel except Joel, Breanna, and me.
I asked him if he knew why I'd come to Sunset. We hadn't talked much up to that point, so he wouldn't have known unless Joel told him. He knew I was replacing Sarah Duncan. I asked if he'd met her. He said Joel introduced them at a house party in Nevada when he was in law school. Sarah was with another girl. He was alone. I asked if he dated her. He talked to her briefly at Twyla's one night. He said they had one date in Las Vegas, but he had to break it when his flight was delayed because of weather. He'd gone to Chicago for a mock trial competition in the dead of winter. I asked Michael if Sarah was upset. By this time, he felt like he was in court on the stand. He leaned against the drop leaf table, put his glass down, and folded his arms.
"Where are you going with this, counselor?" He laughed.
"Was she upset when you broke the date?" I asked.
"Yes. She was upset. It was a formal dance. She had a new dress, had her hair done. You know, the whole nine yards."
"What did you do to make it up to her?" I asked.
"Nothing. It was nothing I could help, and she was a real bitch about it, if you want to know the truth. In fact, I remember she said the least I could do was send her flowers. I was glad I didn't waste an evening on her."
"Sarah led me to believe she would be living and working in Hoquarten if I came here and took over her lease and the job at Twyla's. We haven't talked once. It's been phone tag for the last week. I'm sure she told me she lived on Orchard Avenue in Hoquarten, but no one on Orchard Avenue had heard of her. I talked to someone at the graphic design business she was supposed to work for and found she'd stayed only a little while and then quit to freelance, saying she was going back to Pennsylvania. She told Twyla and Joel the same thing. I think she's hiding because she saw something she shouldn't have, but her behavior's been very strange. I feel like I don't know her anymore. I thought the flowers might be her way of saying she was sorry for something," I said.
"I don't think so. Sarah was pretty disappointed about the dance. She didn't even congratulate me on winning the competition. The only thing she was sorry about was meeting me. She said so in no uncertain terms." He laughed.
Michael took the glass from my hand and set it on the table. Then he wrapped me up in his arms and kissed me. I looked into his eyes. Something told me he would break my heart, but I was powerless to prevent it. I'd never been with anyone who affected me the way he did.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
I was a day late with my period and surprised that sex with Michael the night before hadn't brought it on. Michael and I did a run on the beach early in the morning. We were sitting on the rocks where Dennis and I'd sat when he told me about the hitman who might come for him and Frank someday. Michael and I were rehydrating as we enjoyed the perfect start to the day and being together.
"So, you went to law school," I said, picking up our conversation from the previous night. "What type of law do you want to practice?" I asked.
"I don't want to be in a law office at all. I'd like to be a reporter and cover the Supreme Court, legal issues, that sort of thing. What about you?"
"I worked in my father's firm for three years and was
bouncing off the walls by the time I quit. I was good at it, but creative writing is my real love. I went to law school to please my father. Legal writing is all about following convention. I only feel really alive when I'm creating. But I can use my background in the law for my novels," I said. "Are you taking a break before you get a job?"
"Actually, I have a job. Whenever I want to do it. I should quit putting it off. I have a lot of debt, and I need to start paying it off," he said.
"I was lucky in that respect. My parents took care of everything. Did you get loans?"
"Yes. Do you feel like another run?" he asked, as if he hoped to change the subject.
We ran back to the beach house and showered together. He started brunch while I did my hair and makeup. Michael was shocked at the amount of salt I used on my food. I told him it was my only vice and I needed the salt after running.
"So what's the one thing you can't resist?" I asked.
"You," he said. He kissed my nose.
"That's not a vice." I laughed.
"I'm serious, Rachel. I don't want to rush you, but you're all I think about. I hope we have a future." He was looking into my eyes.
"I'm glad you feel that way. I think we should take this one day at a time. I don't know you very well yet," I said.
Michael pushed his scrambled eggs around as if they had to be arranged just right before he could eat them.
"I racked up a lot of debt with school. My mother says I have champagne tastes on a beer budget. I never went to a casino until I was in over my head with debt. I had beginner's luck and went back. I didn't do as well the next time, so I went back to recoup what I lost. It was a vicious cycle. I guess you might as well know. I owe several thousand dollars. It'll take years to pay it off," he said. He'd put his fork down and was looking into my eyes again.
I felt lightheaded and queasy. Michael looked vulnerable and sad. I wanted to believe it would be all right, but I knew it never would be. I got up from the table and went into the living room. He followed.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know you'd take it so hard," he said.
"Michael, my mother was an alcoholic. She was a wonderful mother, and I loved her very much when she wasn't drinking. She was addicted…like you are. It finally killed her. I promised myself I'd never go through that again."
I turned to face him, buried my head in his shoulder, and cried. He held me tightly.
"Rachel, this isn't like alcohol. I can quit. Sit down. I need to tell you something."
He led me to the futon and sat sideways facing me. I reached for a tissue.
"This is something I never planned to tell you. I hope it'll help you understand how serious I am about quitting," he said. He took a deep breath. "I was desperate about the kind of money I owed, who I owed it to, and how little time I had to repay it. You've never been in that position. I was on my own. My stepfather was killed in the Kuwait war. My mother barely made ends meet. There was no one I could go to for help." Michael hesitated and then plowed ahead. "Rachel, I made a deal I'd trade my debt for a hit on a guy who ratted on the mob and left state protection."
"Oh, god, Michael. This gets worse and worse. You're a hired killer now? An addiction to gambling was bad enough!" I realized he was sent to kill Frank, because Dennis had failed. I couldn't look at him. "Michael, please leave. Please, please leave me alone." I cried. He tried to turn my face, so I'd have to look at him. I pushed his arm away and stood up. I was screaming at him.
"Get out! I never want to see you again!" He looked confused. I turned away so I'd not be tempted to go to him.
"Rachel, please let me finish."
I wouldn't turn around or talk to him. He stood up. I heard him walk to the kitchen and close the door behind him. I felt limp and sat in my chair in front of the laptop. I looked out the window at the beautiful ocean we had enjoyed together a short time before. The tears trickled down my cheeks and then became a flood of grief and despair.
After what seemed a long time, I got up, locked the door, held a washcloth under cold water and then pressed it to my face. I had time before I was due at Twyla's, so I lay on the futon with the cold cloth on my eyes, and an afghan my mother had made pulled up to my chin. I was freezing cold and turned on my side, drawing my knees up and clasping my arms to warm and console myself.
I woke up when my cell phone rang. It was Twyla. I was overdue, and she wondered if I was all right. I apologized profusely and told her I'd not felt well and was asleep. I promised I'd be there in ten minutes. By the time I changed clothes, pulled my hair into a bun, powdered my red nose, and applied lipstick, I had five minutes to get to work. I was shaking too much to put contacts in my eyes, so I wore my glasses. They would help conceal my puffy eyes. I locked the door and walked quickly to the restaurant. Twyla was helping a customer at the bakery counter. I went to the kitchen and tried to keep my head averted so Simone couldn't see I'd been crying.
It took great effort to be welcoming and cheerful for the benefit of the customers. I was glad none of the regulars chose to eat at Twyla's. It was easier to take the orders of customers who were indecisive about the menu, distracted by the view from the windows for the first time, or involved in their own conversations. No one seemed to notice my eyes, which felt swollen and gritty to me.
I closed by myself and left after Simone. Twyla had a headache and went up to her living quarters as soon as the last customer left. She did not ask me any questions. I knew she could tell I'd been crying. I thought about what I'd tell her as I walked home. I was not looking over my shoulder. If someone had attacked me, I'd not have resisted. I drifted down the street and then sat on the bench by the stairs to the beach. I was desolate. I dreaded going into the empty house. It had been a lovers' hideaway for Michael and me. The only bright spot was I realized my regret over Nate did not compare to what I felt at losing Michael.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
After tossing and turning all night, the garbage truck woke me as it maneuvered into the parking lot and backed up. The high-pitched beep, beep, beep was followed by the drone of equipment as the dumpster was positioned on the lift and then hoisted into the back of the truck. It seemed like a fitting way to start the day. My hopes had been trashed.
To further complicate things, my period was still overdue. I was an emotional wreck.
Underlying my feeling of loss was one of guilt. I'd discarded Michael as if he'd had no further value. Yet, I could not reconcile the Michael who'd accepted a hit to erase his debt with the Michael who'd been such a tender and sensitive lover. Who was the real Michael? It was exciting to make love to him without knowing him. If only I had known. Could Joel know about Michael's deal? What kind of friend would encourage me to go out with a cold-blooded murderer? What did I really know about Joel? Had I become so desperate for affection that I lost my self-respect? On the other hand, Michael had tried to explain. It couldn't have been easy for him. Maybe he was going to tell me he couldn't do it. Was I too harsh? Or was it too much coming so soon after Dennis unloaded on me? Was Michael like the criminals my father had chosen to represent? I couldn't believe it. He seemed to be hiding something, but I could not believe he was capable of murder.
Possibly, I could wash it all away and cleanse myself as both the wronged and wrongdoer. I escaped the seemingly endless circle of negative thoughts by throwing off my comforter and standing under the running water of the shower.
I poured a mug of coffee and stood in front of the window facing the ocean. Last Thursday I woke up in Frank's house instead of sleeping in my own out of fear. A week later, I'd slept with the man who might have agreed to kill Frank. What if it was not Frank? Maybe it was someone else. Possibly, if I'd not lost my temper, I could have convinced Michael to forsake his part of the deal. It would be far better to owe thousands of dollars than to have the guilt of someone's death on his hands. I'd been too quick to be hurt, and I'd done nothing to prevent Michael from killing Frank or someone else. It might already be too late. Michael might have
fulfilled his part of the bargain and left town.
I picked up my cell phone and called Frank. I was relieved to hear his voice. I told him I was touching base and wondered how he was doing. He was just fine. He said he would like to see me if I had the time. I told him I'd buy him the lunch I promised last week. He actually preferred the Fisherman's Five at the diner to Twyla's "highfalutin" menu. I suspected Michael was Frank's hitman, so it didn't matter if Michael saw us together. I'd do my best to convince Michael it was not in his best interest to kill Frank. I'd lost Michael already. I had nothing more to lose.
Frank seemed to move even more slowly than when we first met. I was sure he was more stooped and had a more difficult time hearing me. Gloria brought a carafe of coffee to our table and took our order. The Fisherman's Five was one egg, two strips of bacon, and two pancakes. Frank ordered his egg over easy. I told Gloria I'd have the same thing with a scrambled egg. I don't like a runny egg with pancakes. Then I told her to be sure to bring me the tab. Frank had trouble opening the cream packet, so I helped him and opened a packet for myself. We were alone in the diner except for two men who sat at the counter. I didn't recognize them and thought they looked suspicious.
I mentioned Breanna was doing well after her surgery. Frank asked me about her accident. I'd not asked Joel about the details. I'd not watched the evening news because I was working. No one at Twyla's Tea Room seemed to know any details, either. I could have found the Hoquarten Herald online, but I realized I'd not cared enough to do so. Why was I so indifferent to her? She seemed to resent me because Joel had taken me under his wing so I'd be successful at Twyla's. On some level, I'd brushed off her attitude as jealousy. Joel was the same age as Michael and several years younger than I, but I supposed Breanna could still see me as a threat. Now, I wondered if Breanna had hoped to get the waitress job Sarah vacated. If Joel had cared for her, he might not have been as helpful to me. She must have sensed he did not care as much as she did, which added salt to the wound of being passed over by Twyla.