Blink of an Eye: Beginnings Series Book 8

by Jacqueline Druga

  <><><><>

  Frank stopped just one more time as he tried to make his escape from Dean’s house. His hands fell, slapping the sides of his thighs as he turned around and faced Ellen who stood with Dean. “Fine, for the love of God, to get you to shut up and quit bitching, I’ll go over there and tell him to leave you alone. Are you gonna ever tell us what happened?”

  “No, but ...” Ellen stared down at her fingers. “He has to stop telling me how much he cares, how much he misses me. It’s not easy because I love Henry as a friend, but I have to get over something first before I can even start that friendship again. If ever. You have to reiterate that.”

  Frank grunted.

  Dean, without seeing, could tell Frank was getting as frustrated as he was. “Ellen, go with Frank, that way you can make sure things are said that you need said. Okay?”

  After a ‘hmm’ of debate, Ellen agreed and walked past Frank, out of the house.

  “Dean,” Frank said before leaving. “You can’t see my face, but right now I’m irritated.” He closed the door.

  Dean laughed.

  Henry’s house wasn’t far, only a few houses, and Frank could see the lights were on. “He’s still up.”

  “You sure?” Ellen asked.

  At Henry’s house, because he was tall enough, Frank said he’d check and looked in the window. “Fuck. Um ... he’s sleeping.”

  “Sleeping?” Ellen giggled. “With the lights on.”

  “Yeah, let’s go, I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

  Ellen saw it, something on Frank’s face. “You okay?”

  “Yes.” Frank cleared his throat. “Let’s go.” He grabbed her hand.

  Ellen was reluctant and tugged her hand from him. “You ... you can’t lie to me, Frank Slagel. When you do, you look away. Look at me.”

  Frank didn’t.

  “Is he dead in there?”

  “What? No. He’s not dead. He’s on the couch.”

  Immediately, Ellen started to jump up to see if she could peek in the window.

  “Stop.”

  “No, I want to see what’s going on.”

  “No you don’t.”

  Ellen continued to jump. “Yes, I do.”

  “No, you don’t. He’s with someone.”

  Ellen stopped jumping. “With? You mean like ... with?”

  Frank peeked again. “I’d say almost. Both are not really dressed. We knock, they stop. We go ... they ... probably ... will.”

  Ellen sighed out heavily. “Who?”

  Frank looked again and winced. “Um, Bev.”

  “Fuck.”

  Frank tilted his head.

  Another heavy exhale. “Wow, shows how much he was worried about me. Huh?”

  “El, you run around saying you’re platonic. A man has needs.”

  “And you have needs, Frank. It’s been awhile. Have you been with someone else.”

  “Nah, I have needs for you.” Frank winked.

  “OK.” Ellen turned, walked by Frank, and headed to Dean’s.

  “You don’t wanna knock?”

  “No. I’m done.” She grabbed hold of Frank’s hand. He didn’t budge. “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing.” He shook his head and walked with Ellen. “Nothing.”

  She walked a few steps, paused, and looked at Frank. “Do you know this actually hurts? I don’t know why, yeah, I do. I trusted him. I really trusted Henry. And it isn’t the fact that he’s with someone else right now, that’s just one of many things. Telling you one thing and me another. Deceiving Dean about an understanding. Then the final thing that drove a wedge in our friendship. How was I so wrong?” After a shake of her head, Ellen just walked again, this time right to Dean’s house.

  <><><><>

  Frank had a plan. He needed to see for himself what Henry’s reaction would be. He knew Henry was drunk, and he wanted to see the massive amount of guilt.

  Dean had no tolerance for the situation and merely commented, “What an idiot,” after being told.

  Frank stayed with them a little longer, then informed Dean he’d be sitting on his front step ... just for a little bit.

  He lit up a cigarette and waited. If Frank was right, and he knew he was, Henry would be taking a walk.

  Henry did.

  Quietly on Dean’s front step, Frank heard the screen door and leaning forward, peeked. Bev walked out of the house and the opposite way down the street.

  Then ten minutes later, Henry walked out.

  Frank figured, Henry would probably head toward Dean’s, see if Ellen was up, stare at Dean’s house, and wallow in self-regret.

  Henry walked toward Dean’s and stopped when he saw Frank on the step.

  “Frank, you’re smoking.”

  “I am.” He hit the cigarette. “You know I smoke. Why the shock?”

  “You usually just hide it.”

  “Yeah, well, sometimes we think we can hide things but it comes out, so why hide.”

  Henry raised the corner of his mouth in a crooked smile.

  “You look like you sobered up some.”

  “A little. Still feel drunk. But more in control.”

  “Ah, well it’s been a hell of a night.” Frank nodded, staring at Henry. Did he miss something? He knew what he saw in that window. With that in mind, and deciding to push the envelope, Frank stood, cigarette dangling from his lips, and he extended his hand to Henry.

  With a quirky look, Henry asked, “What’s that for?”

  “Thanking you.”

  “For?”

  “Ending this shit with you and Ellen. For once, for all, for good. No more Henry-comparisons, no more ‘poor’ Henry.”

  “Frank, what are you talking about?”

  “One word.” Frank sat back down. “Bev.”

  “What ... what are you talking about?”

  “Are you being coy? I know,” Frank said strongly.

  “Know what?” Henry asked and when Frank just stared, Henry tossed out his hand in frustration. “Did she walk down here and say something? Because she’s lying, Frank. She’s a little liar.”

  “Henry, enough!” Frank barked. “She said nothing. I saw.”

  “What do you mean, you saw?”

  Frank huffed out. “Unbelievable. Henry, let me tell you how this night went. Ellen hates that you play on her guilt. That you keep pushing and pushing to make up, be friends again. So she asked me to talk to you. We went to you, your house.”

  Frank saw it. Henry swallowed so hard, his Adam’s apple danced.

  “The lights were on, she asked if you were sleeping. I only had to lift my head to check. I know what I saw on that couch.”

  “Then you saw wrong, Frank. We were talking.”

  “That’s an age-old-way to communicate, pal. I know what I saw. Stop this shit.”

  Henry closed his eyes. “Did Ellen see?”

  “No. I told her you were on the couch sleeping.”

  Henry heaved out a breath. “Thank you. Thank you, Frank, so much. So, she doesn’t know.”

  “Oh, she knows. Because I can’t lie to her. I told her.”

  Immediately, Henry’s face turned a different shade, and his hand cut through the air. “What the fuck, Frank. You told her? You couldn’t let it go, you couldn’t ...”

  “This is your reaction,” the words squeaked from Frank’s mouth as he stood again. “I expected you to beat yourself up. I expected more of a reaction from your mistake.”

  “I didn’t do anything wrong, Frank.”

  Frank was so stunned he laughed out an ‘Oh my God’. Then he turned. “You run around this place telling her and everyone that you love her, you push the fucking child card, you praised your marriage, platonic or not, and then you are with Bev and that’s not sending a mixed signal.”

  “I ... I was drunk, I wasn’t thinking.”

  “No you weren’t.”

  “What can I do to fix this.”

  “Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me?”<
br />
  “Why are you so mad at me?”

  Frank ran his hand across the top of his head and took a long puff from his cigarette. “You know what kills me? I have known her my entire life and I have never seen her trust her heart to anyone like she trusted her heart to you. Never! Not even me, Henry. Not even me and I deserve that more than anyone. I would never do what you did tonight! Don’t you think I haven’t been given the opportunity more than once, I have. Lots, when Ellen and I weren’t together. Did I take it? No! Did I even think about it? No!”

  Frank squinted in anger, his words taking on that high pitch with his hard accent, “It didn’t even cross my mind to consider it! Wanna know why? It’s not just because you don’t screw up what you got, it’s because I love Ellen. I have absolutely no desire to be with anyone else. None. Seven years ago I would have told you the same thing, and I can be certain with my life, that I will feel the same way seventy years from now. It makes me sick to think, that with the way I feel, you’re the one who got her complete trust.” Frank pointed again. “And that’s pitiful. You’re pitiful to me right now.”

  “Are you done?” Henry said, words shaking. “Can ... can we talk? Please. I screwed up. I did. I was angry, hurt, and I screwed up. And ...”

  “I don’t care. I really ...” Frank tossed his cigarette and walked by Henry. “Just don’t care.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  AUGUST 1

  Her anticipation for the return of her telephone was borderline greater than the impending arrival of her first child. Singing the ‘Silly’ song in her own country-music mode, Trish made her way to Mechanics. It was eight a.m. Saturday, so where was her phone? After she had dropped it off the day before, she informed Mechanics seven times that she needed her phone back. It wasn’t even one of those silly requisitions she put in either. It was a real one.

  Figuring one of two things would happen, Trish went to Mechanics. Either she would get her phone back or she would hurry them along by frightening Scott into fixing that problem.

  “Hello?” Trish called out, opening the door to Mechanics. “Scott? John? Henry? Robbie?” Shrugging, she stepped inside. No one was around. Wanting to leave them a note with a piece of her mind, demanding the return of her phone, Trish searched for paper to write it on. As her hand reached across the bench table, she spotted three phones in the ‘return’ box in Scott’s work area. Three requisitions lay on top.

  Peeking at the requisitions, she saw one of the phones was indeed hers, fixed and ready to go. But which one? They all looked alike. Using what she deducted as reasonable thinking, Trish chanted her way through ‘eeny-meany-miney-mo’ and grabbed the last one her finger landed on.

  Happy with the return of her communication ability, Trish carried the phone with her and headed back down to History before the rush, she waited for every morning, hit.

  <><><><>

  Golf.

  George was more grateful than anything to find out that not only was it a perfect sunny day, but his people had also finished with the first nine holes on the Former Quantico golf course. How long he had waited to play a round and he would get his chance, but business was first.

  “Five minutes after three.” He slammed down a paper in front of his Communications leader in command room. “Contact John Matoose starting at five minutes after three and repeat it until he picks up. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What do you have for me?”

  Turning from his Morse code area, Steward handed a stack of papers to George. “We decoded these this morning, sir.”

  “Give me a briefing on them.” George removed his glasses from his pocket, placed them on, and skimmed the reports from his outside areas.

  “Basically, sir, weather is getting bad in North Carolina. They’re expecting a hurricane to hit there within the next few days. One of our larger outdoor camps is there. What should they do?”

  “How many live there? Refresh my memory.”

  Steward gave a guessing face. “That’s not my area, sir, probably six, six-hundred fifty.”

  “Hmm.” George looked over the report. “Signal back to them to send out a scouting party farther east. Find a safer area, bolt down the camp as tight as they can get it, take supplies, and move out until the danger passes.”

  “Will do.” Steward wrote it down. “Got word from Charlotte. They have repaired the old steam engines. They’re ready when we are.”

  “Signal them back.” George grabbed a pen and began to write. “Let them know that the messenger should be arriving with our mail today. The reports on the mining crews in West Virginia, we’ll fill them in on that. Until the mining begins, we’ll go on and run a shipment of what they had in reserve coal down to them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Anything else pressing?”

  “No, sir.”

  “All right.” George pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “Between three and three thirty Montana time, you make these calls, you and your men. I need Farming Areas Three, Seventeen, and Twenty-Two, on the line with answers about where their weekly crop reports are. This is our first real harvest, and I have a load of men ready to go to that canning facility. I have to let them know what to expect in preparations for fall and winter.”

  “I’ll take care of that.” Steward took the paper George handed him.

  “What time does your shift end?” George asked.

  “Seven p.m., sir.”

  “So you’ll still be around when the answers come in.” George looked at his watch. “All right, I’m off to the golf course. Stop by my house when you’re done, with some answers for me. But one thing, Stew.”

  “What’s that, sir?” Steward started to return to his work.

  “Find me the instant you get through to John Matoose, hear?” Getting his agreement from Steward, George, glad that his business for the day was on hold, headed off to the golf course he had waited so long to play. It would feel good to get out there and not think about Beginnings, John Matoose, or anything that had to deal with the western part of the country, at least not for nine holes worth of time.

  <><><><>

  It was an unusual sight for John Matoose when he walked into his home for his Saturday morning break for breakfast with his family. Jenny, in the kitchen, was wearing a robe as she cooked. Jenny had never—not been fully dressed when they shared his break. Was she sick? Stopping to kiss his baby daughter, who sat patiently in her highchair in the dining room awaiting her breakfast as she drank from a bottle, John walked up to behind Jenny, kissing her on the cheek. “Not feeling well?” he asked as he wrapped his arms around her.

  “I’m fine.” Jenny tucked her hair behind her ear as she scrambled the eggs. “I’m a little behind today, sorry.”

  “No problem. Did you sleep in?”

  “You could say that. I think I finally fell asleep around five this morning.”

  “Why were you up so late?”

  Jenny shrugged.

  “Jen?”

  She turned off the burner, removing the pan from the hot element. “John, I just feel so bad about last night. I feel so responsible.”

  “Don’t.” John reached for the plates in the cupboard. “You tried, Jenny. You gave it your best shot to stop the situation.”

  “What went wrong? How did it get to that point?”

  “I’ll tell you how. Henry was drunk and angry. And Bev, you know the way she is.”

  “She totally took out of context what we as women have been trying to accomplish.”

  “There’s always one.” John saw how down his wife looked. “You cannot let this get to you.”

  “I can’t help it. I feel as if I were the one Henry betrayed. Maybe because I held out hope that at the last minutes they would make up.”

  “Not now they won’t, especially now that Ellen knows.”

  “Oh no.”

  “Jenny.”

  “No, John.” Jenny began to dish out breakfast. “It wasn’t right. I will
apologize to her for being there and not stopping it. She’ll hate me again, I know she will.”

  “Why do you care if she hates you?”

  “But we’ve been trying,” Jenny spoke emotionally. “We have really been trying. Ellen and I were making progress. With her being someone I have known since I was six years old, I wanted to work it out with her. I really did.” She lifted the plates. “And now, I can forget about that.”

  John watched Jenny carry the plates slowly to the dining room, sit down at the table, and wipe her hands down her face. Jenny looked as if she had just lost her best friend. As weird as it seemed to John, he had to wonder if perhaps Jenny was worried about losing someone she actually wanted to be that best friend.

  <><><><>

  There was a lump in Henry’s throat that hesitated his swallowing as he walked into Warehouse Seven. Slowly he walked, with that frightened feeling he hadn’t had since he was a child who got a bad grade and his mother sent him to speak to his father. In an essence, it was nearly the same thing at that moment walking through the warehouse, looking for Joe who had summoned him. He didn’t exactly know why. Henry could only assume it had to do with his behavior the night before. It was no longer a secret, if it had been, Bev made sure everyone knew. She acted to Henry like a schoolgirl, and they were now this ‘new’ couple.

  When Henry walked in, Joe was counting blankets on the bottom shelf. A clipboard in his hand, pencil in his mouth, he spoke to Henry without facing him, “Is that you, Henry?”