Love Me Love Me Knot

by Deb Lee

  Ryan shook his head and shrugged. “I can’t confirm or—”

  “Deny that statement at this time?” Red finished his sentence. “Is that what you’re trying to tell me? You’re feeding me a line? Son, I invented that line.” Red flagged the bartender to bring two more beers.

  “Just one,” Ryan said to the man. “I have to fly soon. I don’t want to be impaired.”

  “Fine.” Red wiped the corners of him mouth with his thumb and forefinger. “Let me give you a tip for free. Can I be candid?”

  “Sure.” It’s the least he could do.

  “You don’t know shit.”

  “Excuse me?” Ryan frowned.

  “Just what I said. You assume in all the years I’ve been here, news about my canning, or excuse me”—he curled his fingers together creating quotation marks—“early retirement wouldn’t reach me? We both knew even before you stepped on that plane to come here, I was on the cutting block.”

  “So, when I saw you drunk in your office, you were already aware?”

  “Hell yes, I knew. What? You think I get skunked in my office for fun?”

  Ryan held Red’s gaze. The man deserved the highest level of respect. Clearly Ryan had misread a few things this week.

  “The answer is no,” Red asserted, taking a drink of his IPA, and almost choking as he laughed. “No, actually, I had just got off the phone with my contact. And, well, let’s just say, I took a trip down memory lane. Sorry you had to bear witness. Besides, why do you think I bailed on the cruise? I had to get some affairs in order.”

  “Oh.” Ryan stared at his beer. It now seemed rude to look the man in the eye. Ryan spent so much time chasing his dream, he managed to pick up a hearty dose of egotistical misconception. “I just assumed you weren’t invited.”

  Red blew a raspberry against the lip of his beer bottle. “See. You don’t know shit.”

  “Stop saying that.”

  “Then stop acting like a spoiled child in this very adult game of journalism. Here’s another freebie: this industry is dying. People don’t want paper magazines to deliver them the news. They want their news via tablet additions and their politics via parodies.”

  Ryan knew that, which was part of the reason for the merge and why his sports app would eventually expand and cross over into all subsidiaries owned by Over the Top, Inc.

  “Anyway, like I said, I spent the past few days getting my affairs in order before I sign on the dotted line. I’m going to enjoy this pension I earned.”

  Ryan nodded, not sure what to say.

  “I called my lawyer, sold some stocks, made plans to travel to Israel. Always wanted to go there.” Red pulled his wallet from his back pocket. “But here’s my point.” Red placed a tattered black and white picture in front of Ryan. The woman in the photo was young. Her hair was short, styled just below her ears. She wore a classic 1960s-era, one-piece swimsuit, donned an open-mouth smiled.

  “She’s beautiful. Let me guess, she’s the one that got away?”

  “No, she’s my sister, Sandy. Dead nine years now.”

  Oh. “I’m so sorry.”

  Red returned the photo to his wallet. “No, the one that got away . . . we were married for eleven years. But she couldn’t handle me never being home. I guess we grew apart. Funny though. Here I am, twenty-some-odd years later, scrounging around trying to find myself, and she’s happily remarried. Living in Martha’s Vineyard, with our kids close by. Don’t blame them for staying in the Vineyard either.”

  Ryan finished peeling the label from his empty bottle and wadded it into a ball. “That’s tough, but I don’t see my life going in that direction.”

  “My sister, though,” Red continued, “she was very sweet and ever the patient one. When she got sick, I justified my long hours so I could put money toward the best treatment facilities.”

  “Cancer?”

  “Not quite. Lou Gehrig’s Disease.”

  “Ah, jeez. That’s awful. I’m sorry to hear that.” Ryan was familiar with that one. Named after a legend. Every year Sports Now ran an article highlighting the degenerating disease and what their partnership with the Lou Gehrig’s Disease Foundation did for medical research.

  “Yep, me too. I was all she had left after our parents passed away. And rather than spend the precious time we had left together holding her hand, washing her hair, reading to her or doing whatever I could do to help, I stayed safe and sound in my office, telling myself I was providing.”

  “I see.”

  “I don’t think you do, Pike.” Red threw two twenties on the bar. “But that’s all I got. I wish you well and I hope you take my words to heart—or to hell—doesn’t really matter to me. But I’m worried about Sophie, and though I didn’t support her cause near enough, I get why she fought for that café. I wish I would have fought harder for better medicine for Sandy when I had the chance.”

  Red slid off his stool and shook Ryan’s hand. “Good luck, Pike. I’m on my way to Martha’s Vineyard. I want to see my kids. My daughter is a mother now. Hmm, imagine that,” he mused. “I’m a granddad yet I’ve only seen those bouncy brunette curls on the screen of my phone.”

  Red pushed through the bar’s exit, midday light blinded Ryan for a moment, before the door closed behind him.

  “Can I get you anything else, boss?” the bartender asked as he collected Red’s forty bucks.

  “Not unless you have a conscience tucked away back there. But I do have a flight to catch. Can you call me a cab?”

  Chapter 35

  Sophie knocked on Grandmoo’s front door before unlocking it and walking inside. She brought with her the usual: roses, Bengay, and chocolates, which her diet didn’t allow, but the woman was seventy-six years old. Who cared?

  “Grandmoo?” Sophie called.

  “In here, dear.” Her grandmother’s voice still sung like a canary’s.

  When Sophie walked through the kitchen, and into the dining room, a new nurse was preparing Grandmoo’s dinner. Salisbury steak—probably no salt—what’s the point?—red potatoes, and a spinach salad.

  Sophie hid the box of chocolates behind her back. “Hi. We haven’t met, I’m Sophie.”

  Sophie pegged the nurse in her mid-forties. Stout, heavy on the eyeliner, and short, gray hair, with purple highlights streaking her bangs. “Evening, I’m Darleen. Feel free to drop those chocolates on the table, I’m sure they’re easier to eat when not tucked behind her your back.”

  Sophie stared. “Wait, is this a trick?”

  The nursed smiled and went back to preparing Grandmoo’s tray of food. “Women never joke about chocolate.”

  Grandmoo was a lefty, and Sophie liked how the nurse made sure the fork sat near her left hand. Since her stroke affected her left side, details like that mattered.

  “I like you.” Sophie tossed the chocolates on the kitchen table, where they landed with a thud. She grabbed a tiny, porcelain coffee cup, which was part of a post-World War II china set, from the cupboard—and poured herself a mug. One thing about Grandmoo, the coffee was always brewed. “Not that I’m not already swooning over Darleen, but where’s your other nurse, Grandmoo?”

  “April? She went on maternity leave three weeks ago. I told her when she was ready to come back to work to bring that baby. At least somebody is making babies for me.”

  Sophie rolled her eyes. “I didn’t realize April was that far along. And,” Sophie said, pulling a dining chair out from the table to sit, “wouldn’t you rather I be married and settled before I start breeding?”

  Grandmoo shoveled a piece of meat in her mouth and chewed slowly. “Yes, but would it kill you to put a rush on that?”

  Just a week ago, Sophie thought maybe something like that could be in her near future. But any relationship that had a prayer of lastin
g was built on trust. “I’ll say an extra prayer for that tonight, mmmkay?” She dumped three sugar cubes into her coffee and sipped.

  Grandmoo slipped a crystal saltshaker from her slacks and flavored her meat.

  “I didn’t see that either,” Darleen said. “But keep it to a simple amount. I don’t want any evidence left behind.”

  “Pretty sure I really like you,” Sophie said behind a smile.

  “Well, the feeling’s mutual. I’ll be in the living room if you need me, Barb,” Darlene said to Grandmoo.

  Grandmoo pushed her plate toward Sophie. “You want any? It’s low cholesterol, no sodium, pretty sure it’s gluten-and taste-free too.”

  Sophie eyed the food on her plate. She’d rather eat the plate. “I’m good.”

  “Me too. Let’s break open that chocolate.”

  “Great, because we have celebrating to do.”

  Grandmoo’s eyes glossed over with confusion. “I thought you told me on the telephone that Up Front was folding, you were closing the café, and moving out this weekend.”

  “I did, Grandmoo. But you know how it is. One idea has to die, be buried, get infested by maggots, and become long forgotten before a bigger idea can be born.”

  “So, we’ve murdered the café and now what?” Grandmoo’s smile was only half of what it used to be. But both eyes still glistened when the right side of her face lit up.

  Sophie set a packet of papers on the table in front of her grandmother. They included copies of already-filed forms—as of a week ago, thank you very much—with a name, articles of incorporation, request for an EIN, and a list of the newly appointed, and most fabulous, board of directors known to man. “I wouldn’t say murder. I’d say more like putting an ax to our little club, that was really hindered by the fact it was sponsored by a for-profit company.”

  Grandmoo, who’d spent her entire career working for the state attorney general’s office, opened the package. She still had ties there and knew everyone who’d worked there since the seventies—including the current attorney general, who was sworn into office just last year. “I know it’s a stretch, but I think it’ll work. I just need a little help.”

  Grandmoo stroked her tongue across the top of her teeth, most of which were still hers, reached across the table, and flipped the top of the chocolate box open. She grabbed a nuts-and-chews delight. Her eyes scanned the papers. “I see.”

  Sophie knew that “I see.” She’d heard it when Sophie decided to go to the private college rather than an out of state school, because it was closer to Grandmoo. She’d also heard it when she decided to move out of the house after Grandmoo had mostly recovered from the stroke, and then most recently, when she put together the outreach for the café. It was Grandmoo’s prelude to “Yes, let’s do it.”

  “What’s your game plan, sweetie, and how can I help?”

  A thrill of relief washed over Sophie. “Just like that. No questions about why I want to do this?”

  “Baby, you are just like your father. I raised him to make a difference, and even if his life was cut short, I had no doubt in my mind you would carry on his passion for what matters. And this matters.” She set her hands on top of the papers and looked directly into her eyes. “I ask again. How can I help?”

  Sophie wanted to fold into her grandmother. Sure, Grandmoo knew about her illness, and Sophie shared that she relapsed, but Grandmoo had never labeled her a bulimic. “I need the direct number to the attorney general.”

  Chapter 36

  Ryan stared at the office microwave as his dinner spun slowly around and around. He spent the last week eating frozen TV dinners. He didn’t even bother picking out a selection, he just randomly grabbed ten lemon chicken and broccoli combinations. It didn’t matter. Food all tasted the same right now. Added bonus, they fit perfectly in Up Front’s break room freezer. His empty hotel suite was the last place he wanted to be.

  He’d been in San Francisco for a week, tying up loose ends for the merge and overseeing Up Front’s final issue. The applications for freelance journalists were flying in and the team at Up Front worked solemnly on their final pieces.

  The cubicles were now void of personal touches and any sort of life in the office ceased to exist. Ryan reminded himself a hundred times a day that this was not personal. It was just work.

  His plan was simple: finish merging Up Front to Jazz, and then go home. He’d ask Lola to go shopping for some furnishing. Since his time on the road was coming to a close, he decided he might as well put some color in his two-bedroom apartment, even if he didn’t have anyone to share it with. Since he did such a stellar job ruining relationships, he certainly didn’t have a need for that second room, no family in his future. He made a mental note to check with his apartment management for a single bedroom.

  The microwave dinged, and Ryan retrieved his dinner. Dry bird on a bed of fiber. It sounded as appetizing as it would taste. He grabbed a plastic fork from the community drawer, and charged back to his office. He had to blog about the pennant. Another Giant’s World Series was on the mound. “Hmm,” he mumbled to himself. “That’s a good title.”

  “What’s a good title?” a raspy voice coming from Red’s former office said.

  Ryan flipped on the light. He kept his emotions on tight lockdown, refusing to let surprise show on his face. His dad didn’t deserve that. His dad sat in the chair. His clothes wrinkled, his hair thinning. A tattered travel bag rested against the desk. Ryan frowned at the bag. “Let me guess, you happen to be in the area?”

  Ryan didn’t mean for his voice to come across so cold, but then again, what did his dad want?

  “No, son. I’ve been trying to reach you.”

  “I know. I get your messages. I just haven’t had the time to call you back.”

  “Haven’t had the time, or haven’t made the time?” His dad swiveled in the chair.

  Ryan tossed his dinner onto his desk. “Accusation or assentation, Dad, because I’m not sure you know the difference.” He backed to the corner of the office and sat down on the leather couch Red had left.

  “I’m not here to argue,” his father said calmly. “I’m only here to pay you a visit. I didn’t even get a hotel room. If you don’t want me to stay, I won’t. I’ll head to Santa Clara tonight.”

  Santa Clara? That was over two hours away. Ryan cleared his throat. So his dad was putting the ball in his court. Forcing him to either take the high road and pretend the man hadn’t walked out of his life over a decade ago, or sent him packing. Ryan smoothed his palm over his mouth. “How’s Nicole?” Ryan asked, dodging his dad’s peace offering. A classic “Steven Pike” move.

  “Great.” His dad looked him up and down before adding, “I’m surprised you haven’t been in closer contact with your sister. You two sure didn’t have a problem with that before.”

  “Get out.” Ryan stood and pointed at the door. “You don’t get to do that. I’m not twenty anymore. I didn’t ask you here, and I certainly don’t need to stand here while you throw shade in my face.”

  “I didn’t mean that, I’m sorry.” His dad held up his hands. “Just give me a minute to explain.” The sudden crack in his old man’s voice made him appear ten years older.

  “What do you want, Dad?” Ryan leaned against the arm of the couch, crossing his arms.

  “I, uh, I tried, you know?” His dad’s gaze drifted, as if he were searching for the right words. Ryan hoped they didn’t include “I’m sorry” because he didn’t know if he could handle that right now. There was no way this man was sorry after years of little more than a few short phone calls. Mostly for his birthday, which he actually had incorrect. “I tried calling you. I left you messages. I wanted to write you, but there are some things you can’t put into words. And this wasn’t something I could just leave on a machine.”

  Ryan c
ouldn’t help the pull in his chest. He straightened, trying to shake the unease that prickled under his skin. After so long, his dad was coming to him with grave news. It wasn’t that Ryan assumed something was wrong, he knew it. He heard the same tone when his parents came to him and Nicole with the news that his mother had only a few months left. “This what?” he asked in a small voice.

  His dad turned away. It was as if looking in his son’s eyes would kill him. Maybe his dad realized he’d lost permission to look directly in his eyes. It was a matter of respect. And Ryan had very little for the man who sat across the room. But somehow Ryan knew the next words from his dad’s mouth would change everything.

  “Cirrhosis of the liver.”

  “Jesus, Dad.” Ryan rubbed both hands down his face. “What the hell? You serious?” He stood and ambled across the office to where his dad’s face paled. “Look at me.”

  He complied.

  “How long?”

  “Long enough.”

  “How long do you have?” He nearly choked on that question. Years of alcohol abuse finally caught up with him. And now Ryan had to face the fact that both his parents would be gone. No matter the cause, when a man comes to you with impending death, suddenly little more matters than the time left.

  His dad shrugged. “Ten minutes. Ten years. I don’t really know. I’ve been local a few months now seeking treatment at the Liver and Disease Clinic. Your blog post this week placed you here. And then when I called your office to see if you were still here, your assistant told me where to find you. The door was unlocked, so I let myself in.”

  Ryan sighed. “Yeah, she’s been on me to call you.”

  “And you didn’t want to?”

  Ryan feigned a smile. “Can you blame me?”

  His dad’s face grew somber. “I screwed up, Ryan.” His dad pushed away from the desk and walked around to Ryan. He half sat against the desk, folding his hands in his lap. “My diagnosis isn’t sudden. I’ve been dealing with it for a while. Your sister knows, but I asked her not to mention it to you.”