Lacy's End

by Victoria Schwimley

  “Circling?” She turned to Allen, panicked. “How am I supposed to serve and cook at the same time? I’m not equipped for this. I don’t know a thing—”

  “I’ll circle,” Lacy said, placing a hand on Brenda’s arm. She whispered, “We can do this together.” She grinned at Brenda. She turned to Florence. “An extra two hundred to circle.”

  Florence snorted but grinned. She pointed a long manicured nail at Lacy but looked at Brenda. You may be the cook, but this one here has the head for business. She sighed. “All right, two hundred to circle. I’ll see myself out, Allen.”

  Brenda and Lacy turned to each other and squealed. “I got a job!” Brenda said, dancing in place.

  “You’re an entrepreneur,” Lacy corrected. “By the way,” she said as she dove into the pool and resurfaced. “The two hundred is for you to buy yourself something nice to wear when Allen takes you out.”

  “Lacy!” Brenda exclaimed, but when she glanced at Allen, he was grinning.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Peter watched the three women leave the apartment and wondered where they were headed on a Saturday morning. Maybe shopping, he thought to himself. A sudden thought entered his head—had he canceled Brenda’s credit card? He relaxed. She knew she wasn’t allowed to use the card unless it was an emergency. In fact, he couldn’t recall a single time when she had used the card. Peter calculated how much money she would need every month and doled out only that amount.

  He followed them to some downtown diner and patiently waited while they ate. He listened to his portable police scanner—always keeping track of his unit. There were no calls for suspicious persons in this neighborhood on the radio.

  When Charlie had escorted him from the apartment to his car two weeks ago, the jerk actually had wanted to run him in for violating the stupid restraining order. It wasn’t his or anybody else’s goddamned business if he wanted to check and make sure his family was okay. Good thing Charlie’s meddling days were over.

  He thought about the meddling doctor and couldn’t decide how he had even gotten involved in this situation. It seemed as though he just magically appeared one day. No doubt, it had something to do with the volunteer work he had given Brenda permission to do. In fact, It seemed to him this was when the whole thing began. The fact that his own wife had betrayed him like that infuriated him. After all his generosity, how could she?

  Even Lacy seemed to have betray him. His own daughter! Because of that damn restraining order, he had to watch her from a safe distance. “Got to watch that restraining order,” he mimicked, thinking back to the day of Charlie’s warning. He waited across the street from the school, hoping to catch Lacy as she began her walk home. To his surprise, though, she hadn’t walked home. She sat on a brick wall waiting for someone. As she waited, she began carrying on a conversation with herself—at least it appeared no one was with her. He certainly hadn’t seen anyone with her. Then that bitch social worker pulled up and Lacy got into her car.

  He smacked the steering wheel, the memory of that day stirring his anger all over again.

  From the corner of his eye, he caught movement at the door. He looked up to see Lacy exit the diner, followed by Angela, Brenda, and then…wait a minute, he hadn’t seen the good ole doc go in with them. “He must have met them there.” A sneer crossed his lips. “You sly ole dog,” he said. Then, “Brenda, you two-timing bitch!”

  He watched Angela and Lacy get into one of the cars. Brenda and the doctor got into another, fancier car, no doubt the good doctor’s piece of gold. “Headed for your looove shack?” He drew out the word love then laughed at his own humor.

  He followed, and to his surprise, they pulled into a grocery store parking lot. He frowned in confusion.

  They were inside for nearly a half hour, and then they all came out laughing. He followed them again in his rented car. Better to play it safe and not have his car spotted, even though he was well outside the parameters of the restraining order. He laughed. They turned out of the downtown district and began driving through the more modern part of the city, then into the suburbs—the nicer part of town.

  He wished he had one of those GPS units that some of the more wealthy law enforcement branches had, but the mayor was a tightwad with the department’s budget. If it hadn’t been for Charlie Renton, he could have used department resources to track Brenda’s cell phone. Charlie had been watching him like a hawk. Charlie was gone now, but he still had to be careful with department resources while the state guys were hanging around.

  He hadn’t wanted to hire Charlie in the first place, especially as second-in-command, but the mayor and the rest of the jackasses on the hiring committee had taken a strong liking to him. The job advertisement was only for a deputy sheriff, as all the other officers were, but they had been so impressed with Charlie’s credentials they created a new position of a deputy chief. “Someone to fill in when you’re sick and things,” the mayor had explained, but Peter knew the truth: they were tired of the complaints and wanted someone to keep the sheriff in line.

  They traveled up a hill, leaving the suburbanites and entering the district of the well-to-do. “What the hell?” he asked aloud. “Where are you going?”

  He saw a garage door open and watched the doctor pull into the garage. The door shut, and the social worker pulled into the driveway. He watched them get out of the car and climb the steps to the front door. He shook his head. “So the doctor’s rich.”

  He sat in his car, daring to get closer, knowing they wouldn’t suspect he had followed them. They were in the house for quite a while when a pompous looking older woman carrying a small dog, emerged from the house next door and walked up the steps. The doctor opened the door, gave the woman a polite hug, and then permitted her entrance. She wasn’t there long before she came back out and re-entered her own house.

  After that, there wasn’t much activity at the front of the house, but soon he heard the garage door open, and the doctor’s car backed out. It appeared all four of them were in the car. They traveled down the street again. He ducked as they drove passed.

  He followed them back to the grocery store. Baffled, he almost gave in to temptation and followed them into the store. Sanity won, though, and he waited impatiently—thumping the steering wheel with his thumbs.

  Finally, they came back out pushing two carts of food. He knit his eyebrows together and wondered just how much food four people could eat.

  They drove back to the house, but they weren’t there long before the three women came back out and climbed into the social worker’s car. Peter didn’t bother following them, assuming they were returning to the apartment. The doctor was the one he was interested in the most. He sneered. “You can’t take a man’s possessions and get away with it.” For emphasis, he slapped the dashboard. Peter got out of his car and tiptoed to the front door. The large mahogany door had a center panel of stained glass. He couldn’t see through it, so he braved the bushes and crept over to a front window, keeping low in case a neighbor might be peering out a window. He knew neighborhoods like this had neighborhood watch programs. Hell, he conducted a few of the meetings himself.

  He could barely see into the kitchen—just the sink area. Occasionally the doctor would appear, carrying dishes and setting them inside. He couldn’t hear any music, but guessed there must be some because the doctor appeared to be singing and dancing. Peter grinned. “Dork,” he said. “The good Samaritan doctor is a pussy.” Soon he disappeared altogether. Peter guessed he must have finished washing the dishes.

  Three feet away, in the room to his right, a light came on. Peter jumped back, startled, rustling the bushes in the process. The curtains parted, and a dog’s nose appeared. The dog looked right at him and snarled, then barked wildly. The doctor came up behind him and peered outside. Peter flattened himself against the side of the house.

  A moment later, he heard the front door open. Peter flattened himself to the ground, trying to blend in with the earth as much as possi
ble, thankful for the low light of the moon that evening.

  He heard the dog sniffing at the bushes. As he got closer, he heard his low, angry growl. Then the doctor said, “Come on, boy. It’s probably some slimy reptile.” The dog was reluctant to leave, but eventually, he obeyed his master.

  Peter heard the door shut and saw a shadow fall across the window again. He did a belly-crawl out of the bushes and across the lawn and rose to his feet when he came to the sidewalk. If anyone happened to look out a window now, he would merely look like a resident taking a leisurely stroll.

  He got back into his car and hit the steering wheel, popping the horn button off. He picked it up and threw it at the rear window. He put the car in gear and screeched down the street.

  He ran three red lights, narrowly avoiding striking the arm of the railroad-crossing gate before he came to an abrupt stop in his driveway. Jumping out of the rental car, he threw open the front door and ran inside the house. Frantically, he ran from room to room, smashing or ripping anything that reminded him of Brenda.

  When he finished, he found himself standing in the middle of the living room, “Goddammit,” he swore. Everything was unraveling in his life. Even the goddamned state guys were now harassing him. “Thank you very much, you no good son of a bitch Charlie Renton.” He’d fixed him all right, though. He still had some pull in high places. He’d covered up a few messes by higher-up mucky-mucks over the years. It hadn’t been hard to get Charlie’s sorry ass shipped off to sin city. Charlie’s been gone to Vegas a week now, he thought, smiling with smug satisfaction.

  He pumped his fist in the air in celebration. He swayed with the effort. He looked down at his hand, noticing he was holding the whiskey bottle. He didn’t even remember picking it up. He grinned. “Ain’t no goddamned attorney general gonna trample my turf.” His words slurred. He collapsed on the couch and drank straight from the bottle. He drank until he had drunk so much that he passed out cold.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The party went well, and before the night was over Brenda had five offers of catering jobs, and others asking for her business card. At first, she declined, trying to explain that this was a one-time thing.

  However, after the third request for a card, Allen leaned across her, handed his card, with Brenda’s name and phone number written on the back. He explained, “She didn’t think about bringing cards with her tonight. Here’s her information.”

  When the guests had walked away, she said, “Allen, I don’t have any business cards because I don’t have a business.”

  He pulled her into the kitchen. “Are you really that naïve?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He smiled. “You really are naïve. How many inquiries did you receive tonight?”

  She smiled demurely. “Five.”

  He shook his head. “Granted, they all probably won’t offer you three thousand dollars, but still…you don’t even have to do the math to know that’s a lot of money on the table.” She still looked confused. He threw his hands up in frustration. “Start your own catering business.”

  “Oh, no—I couldn’t do that. I wouldn’t even know how.”

  “You did it tonight.”

  “That’s different.”

  “Why.”

  “It just is,” she said, turning away and beginning to clear away dishes.

  He pitched in and started helping clear, but he didn’t let up on the issue. “Brenda,” he said, setting some glasses in the sink, “you said yourself you need to make money. You want your own place, don’t you?”

  “Well yes, of course, I do.”

  “You want Lacy living with you instead of the social worker, don’t you?”

  A flash of anger crossed her face, blood coloring it red. “Of course I want Lacy with me. Don’t you think it kills me knowing Angela has the say-so with her?”

  He spread his arms, hands palm up. “Well, then…you can change that.”

  She sighed, puckered her mouth, rolling her eyes in a thoughtful gaze. “I wouldn’t even know how to begin. I’m sure there’s a lot of rules and regulations to obey.”

  “So, you do some research.”

  “What about money? It must take a lot of it to get a business going?”

  “How about a silent partner?”

  She gave him a puzzled look. “Who?” To his grinning smile, she said, “Oh, no, Allen. You’ve done enough. I’m not going to take money from you.”

  “You’re not taking money.”

  “Okay, I won’t borrow money from you, either. I don’t even know if I’d be able to pay it back.” She walked away, intent on picking up more dishes.

  He ran to catch up, grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around, looking into her eyes, punctuating his words. “It’s a business investment. You won’t have to pay it back.”

  “And if I’m not successful?”

  “Then I write it off as an investment loss.”

  She dropped her shoulders, knowing she was losing the argument. “Okay, I’ll think about it.”

  He picked her up and twirled her around. As she came down, he pulled her against him, kissing her passionately on the mouth. When he pulled away, he noted how happy she looked. “It’s going to happen, Brenda. Soon, this is all going to be over, and you’ll be free to do what you want.”

  She tried to smile, but her lips wouldn’t cooperate.

  Angela and Lacy entered the kitchen. Their arms were laden with dirty dishes, and they set them down with a sigh.

  Brenda sighed. “Back to reality.”

  They shared the chores. Allen and Brenda shared the news of the new business.

  Allen ordered her business cards, stationary, helped her open a business checking account using his silent partner money, and a savings account using the three thousand dollars her first catering job had produced. Allen also put her in touch with a lawyer, who helped her get a business license. He finally drew up a silent partner agreement, upon which he and Brenda had agreed. Just a few short weeks after Florence Howell’s party, Second Chance Catering was born.

  A month later, Brenda and Allen were sitting by the pool. It was cool outside, so Allen had dragged out the patio heater. They sat huddled together on the patio swing, a blanket wrapped around their shoulders. Each of them had a mug of hot cocoa warming their hands. Thanksgiving was only a week away. “Mom wants me to come home for the holiday,” he blurted out.

  “Oh?” Brenda said, stopping the swing for a moment. She hoped the disappointment in her voice didn’t betray her. Angela also was traveling home for the holiday. She had invited Brenda and Lacy, but Brenda hadn’t committed to her. She felt embarrassed going to Angela’s family home, knowing they must all know about the situation. The hearing to return custody of Lacy to Brenda was scheduled for the week after Thanksgiving, but until then she preferred to stay away. She had planned to use the holiday break to look for an apartment. She let the swing go, and it resumed its rhythmic journey.

  “I was wondering if you and Lacy would come with me.”

  The swing stopped, and they sat in silence. When she began to speak, her voice cracked with emotion. “No man has ever asked me such a question.” She fell silent again, and he gave her time, looking away so she wouldn’t feel pressured. “Allen, I don’t think I’m worthy enough to meet your family. Maybe someday—after I’ve recovered a little and have some of my pride back.”

  He turned and looked at her, tipping her face toward his. “You’re worth everything,” he said. He kissed her, and she felt a teardrop slide down her cheek. “You’re the exact girl my mother always hoped I’d bring home.”

  She laughed, choking on her tears. “What, she doesn’t love you?” She kissed him this time, the intensity rising with each passing moment. He grabbed the back of her head, pulling her as close as he could. “I want to make love to you,” he whispered.

  She shook her head. “I can’t. Not until it’s finished with Peter.”

  “Then it’s time to end
it,” he said.

  She turned away, staring down at the water, following with her eyes the ripples the filter made. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s do it.”

  He picked up her hand and kissed it. “Right after Thanksgiving.”

  She nodded. They settled into the swing, resuming the back and forth motion, content for the moment with what they had.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Brenda stood back and looked at the display she had just assembled—a large round platter with a big colorful Santa Claus in the center. It was beautiful, with an inner center of decadent fudge, surrounded by a pinwheel of colorful cookies. She was on her way to the hospital. The nurses had been kind and welcoming to her. She wanted to show her appreciation to them.

  She had been a volunteer at the hospital for several months now and regretted having had to decrease the number of hours she put in there. With the growing success of the catering business and her need to be a stronger parent for Lacy, she just didn’t have as much free time anymore. Today she would sit with the kids in the cancer ward. Allen had warned her about their strict diets, so she had just knit them all hats to cover their bald chemo-heads—pink with white snowflakes for the girls, and tan with basketballs for the boys. She made a special one for Richie Jones, Allen’s special patient.

  She had begun sitting with the boy and his mother for longer periods than she had with the other kids. She didn’t know if this was because of the empathy she felt for the dying boy, or the compassion she felt toward his mother, who would have to live on after he was gone.

  She and Taja became somewhat close, swapping recipes, laughing at stories of Richie growing up, holding each other while the other cried during periods of intense grief. It was hard to believe the boy would soon be gone, but Allen had assured her this would be his last hospital admission. She had held Allen while he cried over his defeat.

  “I hear you’re a caterer,” Taja had said to her on one of her visits. She had taken her by surprise with the question, but she had nodded in affirmation of the answer. Taja had smiled and said, “Would you do Richie’s after-party?”