Betrayal of Trust

by London St Charles

  “Eastside Development with Smithe, Banks, & Wilkerson Attorneys at Law?” Cedrick’s voiced hitched, at the mention of the law firm that Sierra worked at for six years.

  Victoria’s eyes widened. “Yeah. How did you know?”

  Chapter 4

  “Mommy, the garage is on fire,” Carrington screamed, peering through the yellow sheer kitchen curtain that adorned the window that faced the backyard. The remnants of milk and Honey Nut Cheerios dripped from her mouth onto her maroon uniform shirt. “Mommy,” she yelled, running toward her baby sister, Lena’s bedroom.

  Sierra appeared in the doorway with Lena on her hip. “Fire,” her mother repeated with a questioning arch of an eyebrow. “This had better not be another one of your jokes,” she warned walking down the short hall, then into the kitchen. “We’re already running late. Did you finish your breakfast?”

  “No. Mommy.” Carrington whipped her head, and her golden-brown shoulder blade length hair followed. “I’m not joking. There’s smoke coming from under the garage.”

  Sierra ran to the kitchen window, swiping the curtain to the side almost pulling the rod from the frame. “Sweet Jesus.” She gasped, kicking off a pair of black heels and shoving nine-month-old Lena into Carrington’s arms. “Call 9-1-1,” Sierra shouted, rushing down the small flight of stairs that led to the back door. “Wait by the front door. Don’t move from that spot until the firemen arrive.”

  “Okay, Mommy.” She froze, frightened by the roughness of her mother’s tone.

  The heebie-jeebies took over her insides, threatening to turn the contents in her stomach into a gushing geyser. That made her frown. She didn’t want vomit all over her uniform shirt.

  The loud slam of the screen door smacking the frame snapped Carrington out of the trance.

  “Phone,” she whispered, whirling around while fear made her heart beat to the rhythm of conga drums. Carrington’s eyes zeroed in on the charging dock on the kitchen counter. Her phone wasn’t there, but it should’ve been. She placed it on the dock at seven thirty. That was the rule on school nights.

  She searched along the floor and inside the cabinets. Where could her phone have gone?

  Securely holding onto a squirming Lena, Carrington sprinted down the hall and entered her bedroom. Carrington’s Purple Palace was stenciled with various hues of purple rhinestones on the white-paneled door. She slid a hand with multicolored nail polish under a pillow, but the phone wasn’t there. That’s usually where Carrington hid it when she seized the rare opportunity to talk on the phone, the nights her mother went to bed early. She’d always set the alarm as a reminder to return it before her mother stirred the following morning.

  “Where is it?” She hiked Lena up on her side. Carrington tossed the purple comforter and sheets with white polka dots, completely stripping the bed. The phone wasn’t there.

  “Shoot. Shoot. Shoot,” Carrington yelled, lifting her leg and pounding her foot into the carpet several times until she spotted the unicorn backpack sitting atop the white desk. She hit herself on the forehead and rolled her eyes. “Duh.”

  Placing Lena on the plush lavender carpet, she yanked every book, folder, and piece of paper out her backpack until she reached the phone tucked in the bottom. How could she forget getting busted by her dad last night when he peeked in the room to check on her after he got home from work? He took the phone and dropped it in her backpack.

  Carrington punched the home screen button several times, but the phone did not turn on. The one time she didn’t follow the rules, she really wished she had. Carrington jumped to her feet and dashed into her parent’s room, searching for her mom’s cell phone. She rumbled on top of and through the nightstand, vanity, and chest of drawers, but couldn’t find it anywhere. And she couldn’t call her mom’s phone to hear it ring because her phone was dead. The consequences of her misbehavior were starting to add up.

  “Aghhhhhhh,” she screamed, throwing the phone down and pulling her hair.

  Carrington didn’t know what to do. Her mom hadn’t come back inside, and she couldn’t help her. What if she died in the fire? What if the fire spread to the house? Her daddy would never forgive her. It would be all her fault because she didn’t listen.

  Warm liquid trickled down Carrington’s inner thighs and legs, soaking her ribbed white school tights.

  Glancing down in shock at the yellowish stain, she caught a glimpse of Lena gumming her blue homework folder.

  “No, Lena,” she yelled, snatching the folder from her sister’s mouth and tossed it on the bed. “You can’t eat that.”

  “Bluuuuuuu.” Lena blew raspberries, spraying Carrington’s creamy cheeks with unwanted saliva.

  “Ugh, Lena,” she whined wiping her face and picking up the phone. “That’s nasty.”

  Carrington shook the phone, then pressed the power button again. Nothing.

  Tears welled in her bottom lids.

  “Think Carrington, think,” she chanted, hitting her temple with her fist. “What would mom do?” she whispered to herself, walking in a circle.

  After a brief silence, she leaped in the air and shouted, “Oh my gosh.”

  Carrington darted out of her parent’s bedroom to put the phone on the charging dock, but she tripped over Lena who had crawled out into the hallway. Carrington landed on her stomach, and her chin smacked the hardwood floor. Pain radiated from her mouth to her belly button, but she couldn’t allow herself to wallow in agony. Her mom was counting on her.

  Lena’s piercing scream numbed all of Carrington’s aches and blessed her with a new source of throbbing pain in her ears. Hopefully, Lena was startled from the noise of the fall and wasn’t hurt from Carrington’s foot kicking her belly when she tripped. She peeled herself off the floor and slammed the phone in the cradle. While waiting for the phone to power on, Carrington scooped Lena in her arms and ran as fast as she could muster to the kitchen window. Lena squeezed her chin and Carrington grabbed her by the wrist. She didn’t realize she’d been bleeding until she saw Lena’s little red streaked fingers.

  Carrington glanced out the window and didn’t see her mom anywhere. “Mommy,” she squealed, causing Lena to perfect her soprano voice even louder, matching her sister’s desperate cry.

  She wiped her chin with the sleeve of her uniform shirt and swiftly took Lena into her bedroom. Carrington placed Lena in the chestnut crib and turned on Sesame Street. Lena continued to wail as her sister left the room.

  Carrington dashed back into the kitchen. A picture of a battery with a red mark appeared on the phone screen. Tears of relief streaked Carrington’s cheeks as she dialed 9-1-1, but the phone died soon as the operator said, “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

  “Noooooooo!” Carrington shrieked, sprinting out the back door.

  She promised God that she would never disobey her mother ever again if He’d let her live.

  Chapter 5

  Sierra coughed, choking on the overwhelming intake of exhaust fumes from Cedrick’s car inside the closed garage.

  “Cedrick,” she croaked while covering her mouth and nose with the sleeve of her navy suit jacket. Sierra slammed her fist against the gray button along the wall that automatically lifted the overhead garage door. “Cedrick.”

  She stuck her head out the side door of the garage, which was closest to her, filled her lungs with cold air, then ducked back inside. Sierra scooted behind Cedrick’s car in an attempt to get to the driver’s door, stubbing her big toe on something cold and hard. “Mmm,” she moaned, swiping the object aside with her foot and tripping over a thick tube and falling to the ground, her pencil skirt ripping under the strain.

  Sierra grabbed the rubbery object, pulling it closer to see what it was, but when she did, the fumes shot in her face, filling her nostrils and burning her eyes. Still holding the object, she crawled to the side door gasping for air for a second time. Her flesh-tone stockings frayed with every movement. She gulped in fresh air greedily, her lungs expanding and retracting dee
ply to ensure she cleared the poison from her body.

  Getting to her feet, Sierra took a long deep breath, then rushed back into the garage. She slid behind Cedrick’s car, then between her vehicle and his to get to the driver’s door. The other end of the garden hose was wedged, and duck taped into the window. The life-threatening fumes were thick and suffocating.

  Sierra yanked on the door handle, but it was locked. “Cedrick,” she called out, looking around for anything she could use to break the window. “Hang on.”

  At that moment, a gust of frigid Chicago air whipped through the garage like a tornado. The cold air blasted over her stockinged feet, and her tattered clothes, but she was oblivious. As the atmosphere cleared, Sierra banged on the window with her fists. When he didn’t respond, she yelled, “Carrington called 9-1-1. Help’s on the way.”

  “What’s wrong with Daddy?” Carrington asked, coughing.

  Sierra’s head snapped in the direction of her daughter’s voice. Carrington was about to come into the garage.

  “Carrington stop,” she commanded. “Don’t come in. It’s not safe.”

  “Then why are you in there? What’s wrong with Daddy?” Carrington cried, stepping inside.

  “Something happened to Daddy’s car. You need to get––” She grimaced. “What happened to your face?”

  “I fell,” she replied, holding her throat while coughing. “I’m okay.”

  Sierra took a second to register that her daughter was fine, then went back to barking orders.

  “Carrington. Run down to Mr. Little’s house and see if he or anyone else is out there,” she instructed, clearing her throat.

  Mr. Little was their neighbor who lived three houses over. He swept the sidewalk and curb every morning before walking to the café to grab a cup of coffee.

  “If he’s there, ask him to bring a hammer, a crowbar, or whatever. I need to break the window.”

  “Okay, Mommy,” she responded. “But we got a hammer right here.”

  “Bring it to me, baby.”

  Carrington handed Sierra the wooden tool with the large steelhead.

  “I have to stay here with Daddy until help arrives,” Sierra said, rearing back and slamming the hammer into the window, sending pieces of glass flying everywhere. Pulling the door open, she reached over Cedrick’s limp body and turned off the ignition. “You go back in and stay with Lena. When the fireman arrive, I need you to tell them we’re out here.”

  “But Mommy–––”

  “No arguments, Carrington. Get moving.”

  “I … I couldn’t call them.”

  “What’d you mean?” Sierra barked harsher than intended.

  “My phone––– is dead and––– I couldn’t find yours,” Carrington confessed.

  “Dear God,” she uttered, glancing down at her husband’s lifeless body.

  “Carrington, my phone’s in my purse on the table by the front door. I need you to call them immediately and tell them we need an ambulance. Give them our address. If they need any other information, bring the phone to me.” She eyed her daughter. “Can you do that?”

  “Yes Mommy,” Carrington said stoically before turning on her heels and bolting back into the house.

  The moment her daughter left, Sierra turned her attention back to Cedrick. He was barely breathing but hadn’t regained consciousness. “Cedrick,” Sierra yelled, tapping his cheek with vigor. “Wake-up.”

  The fumes had dissipated, and the air around them was clean.

  “C’mon baby, I need you to wake-up,” she pleaded again.

  Sierra could accept a mistake, but this she didn’t understand. Why would Cedrick try to commit suicide? It didn’t make any sense.

  She lifted his eyelid but then shrieked with shock as her mother’s ringtone permeated the air. Her phone had been tucked in her bra the entire time.

  Sierra sent her mom to voicemail and dialed 9-1-1.

  Moments later, Carrington rushed into the garage. She bent over to rest her hands on her knees as she huffed. “I can’t find it, Mommy. Your phone’s not there.”

  “It’s okay.” Sierra lifted her phone. “The ambulance is on the way.” She rested a hand on Carrington’s shoulder. “But we’re going to have to get daddy out of here. He needs to get fresh air into his lungs.”

  Carrington’s eyes widen to the size of tambourines. The fear was unmistakable.

  “We can do it, baby,” Sierra assured her daughter. “Get in on the other side and push Daddy toward me,” she instructed. “Be careful of the glass.”

  A sleeping, soothing sound hummed in the distance, followed by crunching and grinding. “Stay here, honey. I’ll be right back.” Sierra hurried to the alley. The streets and sanitation truck were two houses down.

  “Hey,” Sierra yelled, flagging down the garbage man. She was sure he couldn’t hear her over the noise of the compactor, but the driver saw her and hopped out of the cab.

  Sierra ran toward the man in denim jeans and a bright yellow vest with silver reflective tape.

  “Ma’am are you alright?” he asked glancing down at her feet. “You’re bleeding.”

  “My husband’s unconscious and I need your help. Please,” she begged. “He’s slumped over in his car.” She pointed toward the garage. “And I can’t get him out. He’s inhaled a lot of carbon monoxide.”

  The man ran to the back of the garbage truck, and a second later, he was accompanied by two co-workers.

  “This way.” She ran with the men on her heels.

  “Are you going to help my Daddy?” Carrington asked with tears in her eyes.

  “We’re going to do our best.” He smiled. “My name’s Rick.”

  “Please help him.”

  “We got him.” He nodded. “Don’t you worry about a thing.”

  Sierra grabbed Carrington and moved to the side. She clung to her daughter and prayed in silence for grace and mercy. A faint siren whistled in the wind, and she whispered, “Amen.”

  The men maneuvered Cedrick’s body, sliding him out of the car and carrying him past the entryway of the garage and onto the concrete.

  “Baby girl, could you get that piece of cardboard over there?” Rick asked, pointing in the direction of the lawn mower and snow blower.

  Carrington tore from her mother’s arms and brought it forward.

  “Lay it right there,” Rick directed.

  She positioned the oversized piece of cardboard that her Daddy used when he worked underneath his car where she was told; then they laid him down on top of it.

  “Daddy,” Carrington cried, “Please don’t die.”

  Sierra wrapped her arms around her baby and stroked her hair. “Daddy’s going to be with us for a very long time. He’s just exhausted from working so much; that’s all.”

  “You promise?” Carrington asked, squeezing Sierra’s small middle.

  God doesn’t give us more than we can handle. And he knows that I’m not ready to be a widow. “I promise.” Sierra kissed Carrington’s forehead. “Go inside and check on Lena. Stay with your sister.”

  The screeching siren of the ambulance entering the opposite end of the alley was welcoming. Sierra flexed her fingers as she released the breath she wasn’t aware she’d been holding.

  “Over here,” Rick shouted, waving his arms frantically.

  “Go on, Carrington. Daddy’s going to be alright. The paramedics are here now.” She squatted to get eye level with her daughter. Sierra held Carrington’s hands and softly massaged them. “I need you to be a big girl and take care of Lena so that I can take care of Daddy, okay?”

  Carrington nodded, then slowly walked toward the back door. The moment she was inside, Sierra rushed to Cedrick. She hovered anxiously over the female paramedic’s shoulder. “Please tell me my husband’s going to make it.”

  “He’s not breathing,” said the freckle-faced female paramedic to the male paramedic, while sliding her middle and index fingers in the groove of Cedrick’s neck. After a few second
s, she announced, “He doesn’t have a pulse.”

  “What? No,” Sierra cried. “He was breathing moments ago, I checked.”

  She tried to rush toward Cedrick, but one of the sanitation workers grabbed her arm.

  “It’s okay, Miss. Just let them do what they can for your husband,” he said quietly.

  Frantic, Sierra stood by horrified while the emergency crew worked on her husband.

  “We need to intubate,” the man declared grabbing a round silver object and a clear tube. He inserted the tube in Cedrick’s mouth and down his throat. “His airway’s clear,” the paramedic said. He then screwed a blue balloon-like ball to the end of the tube and squeezed it in even intervals.

  Sierra’s hands drew to her mouth and liquid pooled at the bottom of her eyelids.

  The female paramedic opened Cedrick’s coat, then cut his white chef uniform up the middle, exposing his broad chest. She then laced her fingers together and administered rapid chest compressions.

  “I got the machine,” the male paramedic mentioned as he pulled the protective tape off the adhesive defibrillation pads. His voice was steady but soothing. He applied one above the right nipple and the other on the left side below the breast area. “Shocking at 200. Clear.”

  Both paramedics lifted their hands and stepped away from Cedrick’s body. His chest jerked forward, but he still wasn’t breathing.

  The female paramedic checked his pulse and repeated chest compressions.

  Rick removed his work jacket, anchoring it around Sierra’s shoulders. “He’s going to be okay.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked back and forth.

  “Charging to 300. Clear,” the male paramedic announced, pushing the button on the machine to send another electric shock through Cedrick’s body.

  The machine beeped, and the female paramedic rechecked his neck. “I got a pulse. It’s weak, but it’s there.”

  “Thank God.” Sierra allowed the tears of answered prayers to flow freely.