No one knows where he is, and he doesn't expect anyone to figure out. His life has become only a microcosm of what it once was. He's no longer trapped in a dreary world of grays and overcast, gloomy skies. This world is bright and shining, a simmering slice of summer he doesn't want to see descend into fall.
The first few times they speak they do so over coffee. A few cups at the diner in the morning followed by another late at night. She spends the day building her restaurant. She sketches out plans for what she wants to see. Amateur blueprints and outlines. She reviews her proposals for budgets not yet born. She creatively conjures menus for the patrons who will soon visit. Her world fills with plans for her future business. Clouds of hopes and dream hang, but sunshine, not rain, pokes through.
She shares everything with him over coffee. Each day it’s a different cafe. Every morning they return to Starbucks. Keep an eye on the place that made you.
Shawn didn't think he'd commit to his dream. To be a high profile salesman, making six figures every year, appeared to be a pipe dream. Certainly his friends back home would look at him with wild eyes of intrigue. You can't make it in the industry. You're a nothing from Lowell with a criminal record. People are looking for you. No way you can avoid the grasp of the law and family. Soon trouble will catch up to you. A serious career just isn’t in the cards.
But he wanted it to be. Not for him, that was obvious. Six figures hypnotize him. But a fear lingers on him like a small spider. Money may turn him into an intransigent man who can't understand those befriend him.
But spending 10 grand like it's $10? That's a life he can get behind.
And it's really all for her. For Cassie. She's his apple. She's his muse. Keeps him driven and moving. He wants success for her and her alone.
As the days linger on, the process of making the dream work rolls forward. That's what life is about, anyway. It's not just becoming successful to boost your own reputation or to make a lot of money. Those are but perks for the true benefit of finding success. Your success impacts others around you. Your gain is their gain. Your victories are their victories.
The change hits him as he shops for more clothes. An interview awaits him at a moderate call center way off in the suburbs. It's not for another two weeks, but he might as well get a head start on the wardrobe. Good chance that he won’t find anything to wear and it'll take him almost the entire time in between to find an outfit.
A few days after meeting Cassie, he visits a store, some over priced boutique that Cassie recommends to him, and he sees clothes he would never wear in the past. Crisp collared shirts and firmly-pressed khakis of all colors. The store reeks of freshly-pressed clothes. A preppy store that plays host to the elite. A conservative dollhouse, more fitted and more expensive than liberals can afford. Has he made it this far already?
He narrows his eyes at a pair of tomato red khakis. It's ridiculous to think that anyone would wear those in public. They're as far from stylish as you can get. His friend back home would beat him up if he was caught wearing those in the streets. His credibility would fall, so easily.
It hits him then that he isn't who he used to be, and he can’t go back to the way it was before. Not if he wants to keep Cassie around. Not if he wants to win over her heart completely. Though the last three days offered a sequence of everlasting bliss, it’s not enough to secure their relationship for good. More must be done if he's to secure her love. He must do more if he's going to set the foundation for their future. It's the only way to find happiness forever.
So he can’t go back at all.
The rear view mirror awaits him, but he chooses not to look back. This is his life now. No matter what his father says. He could call tomorrow and beg Shawn to come home, but he won’t. He can’t. Trouble awaits him back home, problems and issues so dark and so large that really nothing he does will fix those issues. A dark and dreary life of nothingness awaits him back home. His future is here.
He meanders around a shelf of clothes that almost make him sick with a glance.
Sirens sound and they catch his attention. He snaps a collection of photos of the clothes he likes most. He'll ask Cassie her opinion. They're getting dinner later in the night. She’ll know what’s best.
He leaves the store and thoughts about Cassie return to him. The first few days of this — whatever “this” is — have cruised on smooth roads. The coffee date changed everything. They went from bitter frenemies to lovers, or something of the sort. He enjoys her and she enjoys him. Together they tackle the world. They haven’t kissed yet. Only one hug so far. But he can feel the heat of intense love brewing between them. Soon, they will be together. He knows it.
The commonality to domestic abuse and broken relationships draw them together, like two negative magnets they click. Like horns crossing. The pain keeps them together. They understand each other, they feel each other. Abuse is like a dark cloud that hangs above you, and once in awhile it rains. It proves much easier to wade the storm together.
His phone buzzes in his pocket. It's her.
“Well look who it is,” he says, a hint of sarcasm at the end.
“Are we getting dinner soon? I'm seriously starving. Like. Hello. So hungry.”
Just like Mary. Always hungry.
“Yeah that sounds fine to me. I'm actually done shopping so I don't mind stopping by early.”
“Yay! Ugh. You're just the best. Who knew you'd be so good to a woman. You had asshole written all over you.”
“I think I just know what's it's like to feel broken and unwanted so I want to make sure you don't have to feel that.”
She goes quiet and he knows that she's smiling. Teeth to the lip and glowing, sparkly eyes. Emotion floods her body and slews out with that warm smile. The lovely gaze that beguiles him.
“Where are we going?” she asks. “Like I have no clue where we are gonna go.”
That's just like Mary. Not knowing what restaurant to eat in.
Cassie and Shawn take turns with suggestions, but Cassie shoots down all of the ideas. Even her own. Nothing sounds good enough for what will quell her stomach’s cries. She wants something filling yet cheap, she wants to go out but also stay in, she desires a meal that will turn what's shaping up to be an average night into a glowing memory in the recesses of her mind.
He will pick her up in about an hour. He's got to run home and change into something more acceptable before they can head out into public. He figures he'll call an Uber and pick her up that way. Rather not move the Impala. They can go out to dinner and drink some liquid courage before they pass out together. Or apart. Cassie wasn't a really big fan of boys staying the night. She doesn't see it as a positive way to build a relationship. Couples grow with time. They weren't a couple yet. He'd classify them as dating. But if they were going to become something in the future, if they were going to start a real adult relationship, they needed tread lightly.
The last week soared through in a blink of an eye. He couldn't even fathom of the idea of spending so much more time together.
He sets up an Uber to pick him up on the corner beside a Starbucks. While waiting, he swerves into the cafe and retrieves a tall espresso. Something to pass the time. Just not too much. The ride through some of these California streets can take hours if you hit the traffic at the wrong time. Last thing he wants his to have to pee his brains out while he's stuck on the 405.
When he arrives back on the corner, in search of his Uber, a chill runs through the air and bites at him. An odd sensation to feel in the hot California sun. The Golden State doesn't have many cold days, let alone snappy breezes that chip away at your skin. The kind that turns your nose red.
The breeze is gone. Like it never existed.
That's a bit like life. Time takes away things, both good and bad. Shawn waits for his Uber, feels a chill. Then it's gone.
Shawn orders a coffee and drinks it. Sips it down quickly and it's gone. Like it never existed in the first place.
Shawn heads back
into the store and snaps photos of his clothes. He's a customer there for a blink and then he's gone. Like he was never there.
Shawn is dating Cassie. The winds of change ripple through like a stone against the water.
And then it's over. Like it never existed.
Massachusetts
Morning Glory
Morning comes without sleep. No darkness to shield his eyes, no rest on a wicked night. The air is stale with the scent of coffee and breakfast sandwiches. Some cops filter in, dressed in their tight uniforms with shining golden badges that reflect their authority. Clerical workers saunter in, heels clapping against the checkered floor, boots banging with each footfall. The center of the station, once still and void of sound, becomes a playpen of professionals, alive with a busy buzz of worker bees.
Hughes swipes his hand against his face to push off the crust and dust he’s collected overnight. He leans back in his chair, which squeaks as his massive body pressures its short back, and stares at the darkness of his computer screen. The search led nowhere. The faded red circle at the head of his phone sits still. An urgent call would bleed red.
A decision sits on his plate, one he must carve up before he swallows it whole. Should he stay or leave? Staying allows him to wait out the call, but it also takes away time he could be spending with his family. Family. His real family. Not the fantasy that only exists in his head. He sighs heavy because there’s no much else to do. They say that’s a Jewish thing.
Pushing his palms flat against his desk, his chair rolls a few feet from his computer. He stands to leave. But as he turns, an officer approaches. A greenhorn rookie approaches, his badge barely dusted over. Maybe just a few weeks removed from bootcamp. “SAMSON” stands on the top of the golden plate. Samson. Officer Samson.
“Sir,” he says, pulling a sheet of paper from behind him and handing it to Hughes. “I was told to report this to you.”
Hughes isn’t in the mood to deal with his. His eyes burn from the lack of sleep. His brain throbs with a desire for a pillow. Relaxation will be the only thing to cure him. But he can’t get there. Not yet. The long road ahead spirals around in a rabbit hole with no end in sight.
Hughes snatches the sheet of paper. An incident report. He’s seen enough of them to recognize the shape and size, the sketched out letters that fade as they travel down the page. The scribbled penmanship of a cop who’s too new to the job to accurately depict ongoing events. His eyes travel down the page, following the words and sentences like a map to the end of the rainbow. Only a golden treasure trunk doesn’t await him, but answers to the problem, answers to why this green rookie came to speak with him in the first place.
“Is there to point to all of this?” Hughes asks.
“You don’t recognize the name?”
Hughes doesn’t. And then he does. The quick glance distracted him at first, but then he sees it toward the center of the page. Mary. Of all people, it’s a criminal report about an incident with Mary. Only it’s not Shawn she had a disturbance with. Someone else. Someone he’s never seen before, or even heard about. Someone named Reggie. Having spent so much time on Shawn’s case, and doing his own bit of research into Mary once the two started living together, the paper surprises him. How did he not hear about this? How did he not discover this among her files?
“She’s got a history, too,” Samson replies. “That’s just one report I found.”
“It seems she does,” Hughes says, handing the paper back to Samson, who stores it in a manilla folder.
“A few years ago with a guy named Bucky. Another fight. Apparently they were dating for a few years and then events spiraled around of control. You know how they go.”
“Yeah, all too well.”
“But the interesting thing, and I am sorry that I assume differently, both reports suggest that she started the fight. Sure, they had little tiffs here and there and disrespected each other along the way in their relationship — I’m not saying he isn’t guilty. But, she started this fight. Complained about him coming home late, complained about his behavior, scratched him, pushed him. Right into the coffee table. Shattered it into pieces.”
“Hardly a perfect couple.”
“Right,” Samson replies, hands on his hips. “Hardly anything worth thinking about. But it’s an interesting find, and I thought it could help your case.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, and sir, I respect your work and I don’t want you to think I’m trying to step on your toes or take over your beat or anything like that, okay? But this is clearly a sign that she has a history with domestic issues, too. It’s not just your son.”
“Yeah, and?”
“So are we absolutely sure that it’s her blood on the walls?”
About an hour after leaving the crime scene, the thought had crossed Hughes’ mind. But he had been involved in too many of Shawn’s problems to consider it as a realistic option. He had lost so much faith in his son that he knew for sure that he had done it. Just the placement of the sticky copper liquid and the scattering of the furniture. It had Shawn written all over it.
Unless.
Unless he hadn’t done it. Could it be? Could she have been the instigator and abuser? Maybe not every time — rarely is it the woman and not the man — but the chance exists. He snatches the paper again and reviews it. Samson is right. The report states that she attacked her man with a bite, like a werewolf coming out on the full moon and seeing its prey for the first time. Think about it: a ravening hunger to rip him apart drives her to scratch up his arms and slap him in the chest. The report describes his face: beaten and puffy, thin red worms slithering down the surface. The man’s hair sticky with blood. He tripped away from the scene, the report said, a result of the attack and coffee table’s explosion.
How could Mary do such a thing? It perplexes him to even consider it. Mary was short and cute. A brunette with a sweet smile that all parents could love. She made Shawn into a better man. No questions about that. Sure, he still lingered around the dangerous parts of the town and had his eyes toward crime. But she pulled him back toward the other side, back to where he belonged, back to where he began. She was his rock, and he was hers. He gave her purpose to educate and repair, while he learned more from her than anyone. She was sweet and kind and right.
His mind flashes back to the earliest moments of her their relationship. Around Christmastime last year. He can’t remember completely, but he sees her with dark hair and a bright pink hat that reminds him of a sock, one that Snow White’s dwarves would wear. She arrives with Shawn, the two beaming from a festival holiday. It’s not Christmas, not yet, but the two decided to come over for a Sunday dinner. Chelsea said she’d make a pot roast. Hughes set the table and poured the drinks.
When Mary and Shawn arrived, hugs came first and foremost. The young girl glowed with a light of innocence and angelic swiftness. She offered her own mashed cauliflower, an offering that she too wanted to help with the dinner. Of course Hughes and Chelsea accepted it. You don’t turn away mashed cauliflower. Ever.
Small talk flooded the room until dinner. Just little things about what the couple had been up to since they had seen them last summer. Shawn was his usual quiet self, putting in his two cents just enough to open an account of his appearance, but not long enough for anyone to put stock into the memories. Mary did most of the talking. She told them stories about how she and Shawn went the supermarket together and forgot to pay when they left. She explained how a night at the movies turned into a lost adventure through the dark side of town, where drivers beside them tried to weasel out some extra dough to make their lives easier. Another story focused on a trip to the beach, where Shawn fell asleep on the sand before Mary even arrived. He went from pale New Englander to a Maine lobster.
The conversation shifted to the future once dessert rolled out.
“We’re happy where we are,” she said, “but we’ve been thinking about getting a house.”
“You two moved into
together fairly quickly,” Hughes said.
“Yeah, almost too soon,” Chelsea, his wife, replied.
“Yeah, but, we’re feeling it,” Shawn said. “We’re really going to make it work. Or at least try out best to do it. Whatever it takes.”
“So what? Are you guys going to get a house around here?”
“We were thinking one of the condos down by the pizza shop. Not New Hampshire, still on the Lowell side.”
“That’s not bad,” Chelsea said, her eyes on Hughes, almost like she wanted some sort of confirmation from her husband that it was a good decision.
“Not bad,” Hughes replied. He didn’t really believe them moving in together would be great — he had already heard from Shawn that the two were having arguments, which isn’t a good sign just before your first Christmas — but he agreed anyway. For Chelsea. Because sometimes you lie to make the person you love most smile.
“We’re really looking forward to traveling, too,” she says, sipping her glass of water. “We really want to see the country, see the world, take steps where we never thought we could walk.”
“Yeah, maybe stay in a hostel or shack up with some random people we meet on the streets.”
“We just really want to make everything perfect. We want it all really,” Cassie says. “The chance to travel and see the planet, the fenced in house with a barking dog who doesn’t want to stay out too late. A kid and another kid and a life where we both work and help each other out. It’s just, our future looks so bright and why wouldn’t you want to embrace the brightness? Why wouldn’t you want to fall in love with reality, just once? No more chances, no more missed opportunities. Just be real and accept the world. Live in a world that loves you as much as you love it.”
A little grandiose, but Hughes understood the point. Hughes smiled and raised his glass.
“Let us all live the life we love and want.”
Nessus Page 7