Entitled to Kill

by ACF Bookens

  He gave Rocky a wave as he left, and I tried to put the threat out of my mind as I enjoyed my favorite day of the week in the bookstore.

  * * *

  Fortunately, we were slammed, and I didn’t have a minute to do much but answer questions, ring up purchases, and tidy shelves until late afternoon. Just this week, Marcus and I had agreed to try and take one weekend day a week off each, so I was covering Sundays, and I would get Saturdays off. But about noon, he came in anyway, saying he just wanted to read. But of course, he couldn’t resist helping out, and for once, I didn’t shoo him away. He was salaried, so I didn’t feel bad for having him work a few hours. But still, I snuck a minute to order him a leather-bound hardcover of American Pastoral, a book that was one of his favorites, as a small thanks for all the extra work he did.

  Just around six, I looked out and saw Miranda Harris-Lewis and her daughters in the children’s section reading a book together. I watched casually until she looked over, and then I waved. She smiled and gave a small wave back. I sauntered over, wanting to be casual but also very much eager to hear how she and the girls were.

  As soon as the girls saw me, they jumped up and ambushed my legs with hugs. “Harvey, Harvey, you’re here!”

  Miranda followed them over. “They were afraid you’d be gone for the day,” she said quietly. “They wanted to thank you.”

  “Yes,” one of them said. “Thank you for saving us.”

  For a moment, I was very puzzled and a bit alarmed that the girls might have thought I had killed their father. My anxiety must have shown on my face because Miranda said quickly, “For saving them on Wednesday when their dad came home early.”

  “Oh,” I said, suddenly feeling both very vulnerable and very humble. “Glad I could help.” I tried to smile, but all of this felt very sad.

  “Girls, why don’t you each go pick out a book? I need to talk to Harvey for a second.”

  The girls gave each of my thighs another hug and then headed to the picture books.

  “Miranda, I don’t really know what to say.” I looked her in the eyes and tried to communicate both my sadness and relief for her.

  She put her hand on my arm and said, “It’s okay. I don’t either.” She sank into the chair behind her. “I’m glad it’s over. . . but I’m a widow now, too.”

  I sat down in the chair beside her and took a deep breath. This woman was an entirely different one than the woman who was here just a few days ago accusing Marcus of murder. “I can’t imagine,” I said. “Do you all have everything you need? I could arrange a meal train or bring over some frozen dinners.”

  She gave me a half-smile “Actually, we’re enjoying the chance to eat out a lot. We weren’t really allowed to do that before.” Her eyes fell to her lap. “He just couldn’t trust me. I don’t know why. He just couldn’t, and when I tried to figure out what had happened that made him that way . . .”

  I reached over and took her hand. “Sometimes, I guess, the wounds people carry leave them only able to wound other people. Maybe he’s at peace now.”

  She squeezed my fingers. “I hope so. I really do.”

  We sat in silence for a few moments, but then, she looked over at the girls and smiled again. “Anyway, I wanted to thank you for that quick thinking about the modeling thing for the girls. That really did save us.” She met my gaze again. “I explained to the girls that this was just a thing to keep Daddy from getting mad, and they understand. We’re just so grateful for your kindness that day.”

  “Hold on there. I may have made that up on the spot, but I honor my word. I really do want the girls to model for us, if that’s okay with you.” I’d been thinking about it a lot, about how I wanted to do it for the girls but also how their beautiful faces would really be perfect for our upcoming ad campaign.

  “Really?” Her eyes were wide, and she glanced back at her daughters before looking back at me. “Really?”

  “Really. I was thinking something with summer reading recommendations. We could have the staff and the girls pick their favorites and do a whole campaign around that. What do you think?”

  “I can’t believe it. That would be amazing. Thank you!”

  “Good. I’ll get the details pulled together with Mart, my quasi-marketing manager, and get back to you, if that’s okay.” I couldn’t wait to get the photographer with those two cuties, but I knew I needed to ask a question. “This is going to sound so rude, but can you tell me if there’s a trick to telling the girls apart?” I blushed.

  “Oh goodness. Thank you for asking. So many people don’t even try. Yes, there is. Daisy has her ears pierced. Maisy doesn’t.”

  “Perfect. And really easy, even if Daisy doesn’t have earrings in.”

  Miranda nodded. “Yep, just look for the holes.” She looked over at her girls again. “They really are my everything. We have some big changes ahead, but I know life is going to be easier for us now.”

  I smiled. “Forgive me if I’m being nosy, but what’s next? I mean, do you have a plan for what you and the girls are going to do? Not that you need a plan? I mean, you could just—“

  She interrupted, thank goodness. “We’re going to move back to the farm. Beyond that, I’m not sure. But we need to be in a new place, get away from that house with all those awful memories. I know that much.”

  “Your dad’s house is really nice. I bet the girls will love running around there.”

  She brightened. “You’ve been there? It is amazing, huh?”

  I suddenly felt a little sheepish. A little impulse in me told me to confess and share that I’d been snooping, but I suppressed that guilty voice, not out of guilt but because I didn’t want her to feel responsible for forgiving my bad choices. So I just left the why of how I’d been there out of things for now. “It is amazing.”

  “And it’s home, you know. I think we’ll all like it there,” Miranda gazed out the window. “but I may take up the oil derricks, ask the men who bought the mineral rights to find a less intrusive way to get the oil. Not sure. I just don’t like all the noise they make, and they’re pretty ugly, too.” I nodded. “I’m not deciding anything right now though, that’s what Homer suggested.”

  “That sounds like good advice to me. No decisions for a while. Just let the status quo ride.” That’s what people had told me when my marriage had fallen apart. I hadn’t heeded that wisdom, and it had turned out great for me. But still, I could see how it might be smarter to not make choices in the midst of a crisis.

  Miranda stood and called to the girls, who dutifully put back their books and headed over. “Thanks again, Harvey,” she said as she put a soft hand on each of her daughters’ heads. “Oh, and I forgot. I heard about that truck that’s been harassing you. The sheriff asked me about it when I went to, um, when I stopped by his office earlier. You okay?”

  I sighed. “I am. Not thrilled that someone is,” I looked at the girls, “trying to make me nervous, but I’m okay. You didn’t know the truck did you?”

  Miranda shook her head. “My dad used to have an old silver pick-up back when I was a kid, but nothing since. Sorry.”

  I gave her a quick hug. “No worries. I’m sure the sheriff will get it all sorted.” I walked them to the front door. “I’ll be in touch about the photo session date soon.”

  “We’re going to do it? We’re going to be models,” Daisy said as the tiny blue gems sparkled in her ears.

  “Are we, Mom?” Maisy shouted.

  I knelt down and whispered, “My star models.”

  They squealed and began talking excitedly about outfits as they left the store. Miranda threw me a smile over her shoulder, and I felt my soul lift. Things were looking up. Definitely looking up.

  * * *

  Right about closing time, Mom and Dad came back to the shop with their new dog. He was the spitting image of that 1980s canine Benji, and I just wanted to bury my face in his scruffy fur. Mom mentioned, though, that he’d a flea bath earlier that day, so I refrained.


  They had named their new friend Sidecar, and my first thought was that Mom had named a dog after her favorite drink. But Dad quickly told me that they’d chosen the name – discarding the temporary nomenclature of “Beau” that the shelter had bestowed on him – because Dad thought Mom would look adorable on a scooter with the dog in her sidecar.

  I had about a million questions about the scooter, Mom on it, the wisdom of a sidecar, and how a dog can be coaxed to stay in such a mode of transport, but I didn’t ask any of them because I couldn’t get over how cute the dog was and just wanted to snuggle him.

  “He’s two or three,” Mom said, “and in great health. He’s had a full physical and all his shots are up to date. He weighs twenty-three pounds and stands seventeen-and-a-half inches high.” I’m not sure my mom knew how much I weighed or how long I was when I was born, but she was clearly smitten with this pup . . . and I couldn’t blame her.

  “I can’t believe you got a dog,” I said as I rubbed this little guy’s belly for the fifth or sixth time. “But he suits you. I’m not sure I could say how, but he feels like a good fit.”

  Mom beamed at me. “Oh, good. I’m glad you think so. I think he and Mayhem will be good friends.”

  I laughed. “Oh yes, our girl here will love having him visit. Aslan, well, I’m not sure the feline queen of the house will agree, but she’ll survive.”

  A look passed between Mom and Dad. “What? What did I say?” I asked.

  Dad looked around the store that was almost empty of customers and said, “We have something to ask you, Harvey. It’s kind of a big conversation, though, and we don’t want to keep you from your work.”

  I sighed. This couldn’t be good, and my tired, overtaxed mind flashed to the worst possibilities: cancer, a divorce, some terrible news about Dad’s business. “Are you guys okay? Just tell me that much.”

  The bell over the door rang, and Daniel and Taco came in. I don’t know what my face telegraphed to Daniel, but he rushed over and asked, “Are you okay?”

  “Um, I think so. Well, maybe. I’m not sure.” I looked at my parents again, and their faces were expectant. I couldn’t put this off again. “Can you keep an eye on things for just a minute? My parents have something to tell me.”

  “Sure. Absolutely. Take your time.” He headed right to the register, and my parents and I went into the back room for a little privacy.

  I was terrified, but I did my best to look excited, just in case my parents needed me to be strong. “So what’s up? You planning on moving to St. Marin’s, too?”

  My dad’s mouth fell open. “How did you know?”

  “Wait?! What?!” I sat down heavily on a box of books waiting to be unpacked and tried to get my brain to process what I’d just heard. “Are you serious?” I found myself smiling, even though I wasn’t sure what was going on. I felt a little light-headed.

  Mom rushed over and hugged me. “So it’s okay with you, then? I mean we wouldn’t bother you or be in your hair or anything.”

  I pulled back from Mom’s embrace. “You’re serious? You’re moving here? I’m so confused. What is happening?” I looked around the storeroom as if I might find clarity on the bare sheetrock walls.

  Dad cleared his throat. “Harvey, if it’s okay with you, we’d like to move to St. Marin’s. We don’t want to crowd you or make you feel obligated to us in any way. It’s just that, well, we love this town.” He took a long, deep breath. “But even more, we love you, and we realize we haven’t been the most attentive parents to you. We’d like to change that.”

  My dad rarely said much of anything that wasn’t a joke or a bit of intense commentary about the state of the world, but here he was saying what I had most wanted to hear my whole life. They were choosing me.

  “We’ve focused too long on our stuff, Harvey. We want to spend the last years of our lives close to you, trying to make up for the time we threw away.” My mom’s voice was shaky with emotion, and I could see the plea in her eyes.

  I stared at my parents and could not find a single word to say.

  Mom and Dad looked at each other and then at me. “But if you don’t want us to come, that is totally fine. We don’t want to intrude or crowd you.” Mom sighed and sat down on a box before patting it to ask me to sit next to her. “We know this is sudden, but when we were here earlier in the week, we both loved the town. It’s a good size for us, and it has all the things we’ve been considering for a place to retire.”

  I switched to the box next to her, and she scooted closer and slipped her arm around my waist. “But really, it was you, Harvey. You and your shop, the friends you have here, Daniel. You’ve built an entire live in just a few months, and we were not a part of it.”

  I started to protest, to tell them that I had never meant to shut them out, but I stopped because the truth was I had shut them out. I had because it was the only way to deal with them not choosing me. Now, though, they were here and choosing me in the biggest way possible.

  Mom continued, “So if this is too much, you just say the word. We’ll go right back to Baltimore—”

  “Please come.” My voice was quiet and wobbly, but it was the most heartfelt request I’d made from them in decades. “Please. Please come.”

  I had no memory of ever seeing my mother cry. Be upset, yes. But never shed tears, so when I saw a single tear slide down her cheek, I couldn’t hold back and started to weep. Dad sat beside me, and the three of us cried together for a few moments.

  Then, like a bolt of lightning, it hit me. “The dog. Sidecar. He’s going to be living here . . . with you . . . in a house . . . here.”

  Dad rubbed my neck and stood up. “That’s the plan,” he said as he helped Mom up from the box.

  “Wait, does that mean you’re actually going to get a scooter?”

  “Sure does. A mint-green Vespa. I’ve always wanted one.” Mom’s voice was light, playful.

  “Your business, though, Dad? And Mom, your volunteer work?” My parents weren’t the kind of wealthy elite who attended society gatherings in Baltimore museums or anything, but my dad did have a successful accounting firm and Mom did serve on the board for a local animal welfare organization and coached women about interviews at the YWCA.

  “I’ve sold the business, Harvey. Two of the younger partners made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, and your mother,” he smiled at her tenderly, “she can do her good works here.”

  Mom pulled me to stand beside them. “That’s right. Plus, I’d like to have some time to help my daughter with her business,” she squeezed my hands firmly, “in whatever ways would be helpful.”

  I let out a sigh of relief when she pulled back on her offer a bit. For a second there, I had been picturing a full redesign of my shop in Laura Ashley fabrics. My mother was all florals and pearls. I was not.

  “Well, then, I guess you’re all set.” I tried to keep the hurt out of my voice. After all, we’d just had the most special moment of my forty-three years, but the fact that they’d been planning on all this, that Dad had sold his business without telling me, that hurt.

  But then, I had kind of kept them in the dark about my plans to move back to the East Coast. Clearly, we had some work to do on openness in our family . . . and with them here, that would be all the easier. I decided to try and let my hurt go.

  “Does this mean you’ll be buying a big waterfront house, too? Maybe you can move in next to Stephen and Walter, and I can come over for dinner at your place and then dessert at theirs.” I laughed. “I’ll never have to cook again.”

  Mom snickered. “That would work, but we’re not sure yet. We haven’t even put our house in Baltimore on the market yet.” She took my hand again. “We didn’t want to do anything until we’d talked to you.”

  I squeezed her fingers. “Thanks, Mom.” I grabbed them both in a clumsy hug before I mentioned that I needed to get back to work.

  “Mind if we hang out and walk you home?” Dad said.

  “Sure.” I paused as I went
to open the storeroom door. “What if we had a big cook-out at our place tonight? Dad, you can be the grill master, and we’ll go simple – sausages and grilled veggies. What do you think?”

  “Depends. Do you have any more wine from Mart’s winery?”

  “I’ll be sure she brings some home.” I smiled as I left them in my storeroom.

  I felt a little stunned and fuzzy-headed after all this news. It was good news, at least I was pretty sure it was, but it was all a lot . . . and after this week . . . I just walked right into Daniel’s chest and let him hug me.

  “You okay?” he said into my hair.

  “Yes, I’m good, I think. I’ll catch you up in a bit. For now, could you text everybody and ask them to a barbeque at my house? We have lots of things to celebrate.”

  He raised an eyebrow, but nodded and got out his phone.

  By the time we were closing up the shop, everyone we knew was on the way to our house with side dishes and desserts. Mart was bringing a few bottles of wine, as Mom had requested, and I had enlisted Woody’s help in getting enough sausages and buns for us all. It was time for a party.

  Our backyard was simple – a lawn, a small patio, a tall wooden fence hung with Edison bulbs that made it all seem more quaint than just a regular backyard – but when all of the people you love in the world are in a space, it always feels magical. Cate and Lucas came with some sort of shrimp spread and crackers that the fish eaters devoured, and Stephen and Walter, riding high from the acceptance of their offer on that gorgeous house, contributed a cheese plate “from that little fromagerie” over in Annapolis. They said it like I made my way to Annapolis to shop every day, but I was grateful. I’d never met a cheese I didn’t like.

  Marcus and Josie brought green salad with the best dressing I’ve ever had – tart and sweet. Josie promised me the recipe. Elle made roasted beets, and for the first time, I didn’t find the vegetable appalling. Luisa brought homemade enchiladas that the sheriff carried in on a ceramic platter the size of my torso, and Rocky and Phoebe came in with chocolate pecan pie for everyone. Daniel grabbed a case of beer at the corner store as we walked home, and with the wine Mart brought in, we had us a good, good party.