Caskets & Conspiracies

by Nellie K Neves

  He set the half-eaten licorice in a cup holder. “I was always a pawn to them, a bargaining chip, or the grain of salt that would tip a scale in their favor.”

  He faced me for a second, but it was all I needed to see the deeply rooted pain in his eyes. “So, to answer your question, I think that’s why we aren’t very close.”

  His explanation shut me up for a while. I made myself content with the view of the setting sun over the distant mountain range. Finally, while hoping to avoid the subject of his parents but keep the conversation going, I asked, “So, what do you really do for work?”

  “Odd jobs mostly. I work at the docks, I walk dogs, and occasionally, I run security at a club in Bellingham, but I don’t like it. I might take Johnny up on that bartending job instead.”

  “You’re happy doing all that? No real career?”

  I could see the annoyance on his face, and I wondered if he would grab for the half-eaten licorice again. “Are you sure my father didn’t hire you? You sound just like him.”

  “He doesn’t approve?”

  I could see his tongue run lightly over his teeth through his barely parted lips. Distain. He did not hold a very high opinion of his father.

  “I would say he doesn’t approve, since he cut me off completely.” His lips pursed as he thought about whatever memory had flashed through his subconscious. “It’s better this way. I don’t want his money.” His laughter was bitter as he gripped the steering wheel with tenacity. “And I’ll pay off my debt by the time I am about 90, so that’ll be a good year.”

  It was an extreme reaction in my opinion, cutting off a son just because you didn’t like his wayward life. “He did all that because you don’t have a lot of ambition?”

  “No,” the bitterness had been replaced by pain as his gaze caught mine again, “it was when I walked away from my goals of becoming a doctor like he is.”

  My earlier comment about ambition felt sticky between us. “Were you very far along? I mean, he can’t fault you if it wasn’t something—”

  “I was in my residency.” His focus returned to the road. “I was almost done.”

  One day I would learn to stay quiet, but as usual, my curiosity could not bear it.

  “What happened?”

  He began picking at the electrical tape that held the wheel together. “It was always his plan. I never had a choice. In the Harrison line, the men are doctors. Not just doctors but doctors to a lost cause. My father treats geriatrics and seems to gravitate toward those who are terminal. My grandfather worked in oncology. There are stories that go back as far as I can remember that talk about Harrison men reaching out to those who are beyond hope.”

  Once the tape was free, his fingers quickly smoothed it down again.

  “I went into work one day, I’ll never forget it, my buddy looked at me and he said, ‘Can you believe we’re going to be doctors for the rest of our lives?’ And I know he meant it like it was a privilege. For him, it was, but for me, it sounded like a prison sentence.” He did not bother to look at me. “I walked out right then, and I never went back. That was three months ago.”

  “But you moved here, closer to your father?”

  “My grandfather left me that lighthouse in his will, more of a historical landmark than anything, at least for our family. I couldn’t face my mother, and my father couldn’t see me without telling me what a disappointment I was. So it was all I had in the way of free rent.” The bitter edge slipped into his voice. “It’s funny how much debt appears when you get disowned.”

  “What kind of doctor were you going to be?”

  “Emergency room. I liked the fast pace. At least I did at first. Charles, my father, never approved of that choice either. He said it didn’t fit the Harrison family legacy, whatever that meant.” Ryder’s sigh was heavy with the weight of his past obligations. “Once mom left him, I think I started to see that I could too.”

  “So now what? Odd jobs forever? Do you know what you’re going to do with your life?”

  The nod was there, even if it was imperceptible and internal. “I’m doing what I always wanted to do. It just doesn’t pay much.”

  “And what’s that?”

  He considered my worthiness on the subject. It was not like we knew each other very well. In the end he found me acceptable.

  “I’m an artist.” He laughed cynically for a second. “At least I’m trying to be. Most artists go through art school, but I was studying for the MCATs at that age and was still focused on living up to my father’s expectations.”

  Ryder’s head tilted easily to one side as he thought about his path. “I’ve made some connections, strange ones, and sometimes they’ll only meet in the middle of the night in a dive bar on the border.”

  I knew the meeting he had referred to even before he shot me a knowing glance. The night we had met at Johnny’s, he had met a dubious man in the corner booth near midnight.

  “And here I thought you were a drug dealer or a smuggler.”

  “I wish,” he laughed lightly. “Those both pay better. The guy I was meeting, Jacque Marquis, he only comes out at night, a skin condition, I guess, and he wants to buy one of my pieces. So I met him at Johnny’s right there on the border at midnight to discuss terms.”

  “What a dangerous life you lead,” I teased.

  “Certainly not hiding-under-desks dangerous, but I hold my own,” he reciprocated. “How did you get into your work? Was your dad a cop?”

  I laughed outright at the idea. “My dad is a lawyer. So no, he had no influence on my decision other than raising me like a boy.”

  “Your uncle is a cop, right? I met him at the memorial.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You met him at the station when he sold me out for reward money.”

  “Well if you had only called me back…”

  “Uncle Shane didn’t have anything to do with my career choice.” I thought for a moment and then added, “Besides, this wasn’t my first choice anyway.”

  “Let me guess,” he pretended to ruminate the options, “a ballerina.”

  “No.”

  “A lawyer? You dodge questions like one.”

  I laughed. “Never.”

  “How about an elephant tamer?”

  My smile spread until I met his gaze across the cab. The air sparked between us, and my heart raced slightly. I cleared my throat and turned away first before he asked, “What did you study in college? Maybe that will help me.”

  “I graduated with a double major in psychology and criminology,” I replied.

  “There’s that ambition you were talking about.”

  “I wanted to become a criminal psychologist. Maybe work for the FBI.”

  Three or four questions played across Ryder’s lips as he tried to formulate his next thought. “So what happened?”

  “Life,” I replied.

  “Anything to do with the medication your mom was yelling about tonight?”

  “Mom? No. That was my Aunt Stella. My parents are in California. I’m here on my own.”

  “See, you’re dodging again,” Ryder pointed out.

  I only shrugged in response. He did not need to know that the monster had derailed all my graduate school plans.

  “So, the not-dating thing, is that across the board? Are you some kind of monk or new age nun? Or is it just me? Should I develop a complex over this? I always thought I was pretty attractive, but now I have started to question everything.”

  I could not help but giggle, and I could tell he appreciated it. I clarified the best I could. “I used to date. I’ve had relationships in the past, but I don’t anymore.”

  The grin that eased across his features showed disbelief, as did the furtive glances he cast across the cab. “You’re kidding me, right? I had you pegged as a tougher chick. One bad break up, and you’ve sworn off everything?”

  When I didn’t say anything he tried to persuade me to explain. “Come on. A girl who looks like you? You have an obligation to pass o
n your genetics. Those cheekbones and freckles. I’m pretty sure freckles are on the endangered genetics list.”

  “There is no such thing,” I countered through my laughter.

  “Fine. But you probably have red hair in your genetic sequence if you have freckles, and red hair is rare.” He glanced at me again as he changed lanes.

  “So, who was he? How long ago did he break your heart?”

  I raised my eyebrows as I spoke to him, “It’s far more serious than a break up. I have my reasons, but trust me when I tell you it’s for your own good. You would just get hurt.”

  Ryder’s brow crinkled momentarily. “For my own good? Like you’re contagious or dying or something? What, are you terminal?”

  Degenerative, but why split hairs? I thought.

  He was still joking around, but when I didn’t correct him, his face paled slightly.

  “Oh my gosh! Do you have cancer?”

  “Not cancer,” I assured him.

  Ryder took the off ramp into the city, still lost in thought. As he navigated the streets, I could see the question weighing on him. He wanted to know, but then he didn’t. Once he knew my secret, there was no going back to naïveté.

  Parking in a garage attached to Pharmaco headquarters, Ryder turned to me in the dim light. “What is it then? Why won’t you go out with me?”

  My nervous habit had always been chewing on the inside of my lip until it was shreds. From the outside it twisted my lips up into a skewed pout that my mother had always found endearing. I thought I looked a bit like a troll.

  “Five years ago I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis,” I finally confessed.

  For a moment the silence just hovered there, palpable and acidic in my mouth. I did not have to glance his way to know exactly what he looked like. They all did it. Every person I had ever told went through the same process, and I detested every second of it. His eyes dropped to the floor, his mouth moved as if to speak, but no words would come.

  His hands fidgeted uncomfortably in his lap as he processed the information that I was broken beyond repair. Suddenly my desire to keep my love life simple was not so absurd. Finally, and though the other steps varied slightly in duration and order, it was where they all ended up. He looked up and faced me with the most wretched emotion I knew.

  Pity.

  I loathed pity, his and everyone else’s, including my own. What a worthless emotion.

  Ryder’s voice was soft and sickeningly plaintive. “I asked around about you. No one said anything about this. No one.”

  I let my head collapse against the headrest. “I don’t tell people. I keep it to myself.”

  “But why? Why not let people in?”

  Forcing my head to turn, wishing for one moment that the wretched emotion would not be there, not this time, I faced him. Like the bully on the playground, pity was waiting for me just beyond the crinkle in his eyes.

  “That’s why. That look right there. I hate seeing that.”

  Ryder pulled his chin in sharply. “What look?”

  My teeth nibbled at my inner lip once more. “The one that says, ‘I’m sorry your life is over. Please never mention this again. It makes me uncomfortable to know that you are dying.’ That look.”

  He shifted to face me, adamant as he spoke. “I am sorry that you have to go through this, but it’s not the end of the world. And you look great. I mean, I never would have guessed. This dating thing is still pretty rash. It could be years before you have another relapse, if ever. Is that really worth stopping your life before it even starts?”

  I had heard this argument before. “True. My relapse could be ten years down the road, or it could be tomorrow morning. There is no way to tell. Say we get together, and it’s great for three or four years. Then the relapse happens, and it’s a bad one. Last time I went blind in one eye. Maybe this one I’ll lose my sight completely or maybe I’ll lose my mobility or” I let my eyes light up with mock wonder, “I could get really lucky and lose bladder control or the ability to swallow.”

  The muscles in his jaw rippled as the discomfort of my reality settled on his shoulders.

  “Would you stay? How could I feel good about sentencing you to a life of wheelchairs and wiping my spit? And if you did stay, how long would it take before you resented me?”

  “That’s not fair, Lindy.”

  “It’s my life and my reality. I know that if you or anyone else I was involved with left me while I was still in the throes of a relapse, it would kill me. I’m not strong enough to survive that kind of heartbreak.”

  The finality of my voice spoke volumes. It was not a subject I took lightly.

  “Look, you’re really great, and if it makes you feel better, five years ago I would have dated you in a heartbeat. And you’re right. We would have been amazing together. But my life is different now, and I can’t go back.”

  There was more he wanted to say, an entire argument buried at the back of his throat, but he kept it to himself. Instead he said, “What do you need from me tonight?”

  I was relieved to move on and put the conversation behind us. “Just get me in. I can do the rest.”

  His mouth pinched together as if he were afraid he could not keep his dispute at bay any longer, but he only opened his car door and met me behind the car. I followed behind him, two of my strides equal to one of his frustrated strides.

  As we neared the front door, Ryder extended his elbow toward me. It was not a romantic gesture but rather a layer to our cover. He was supposed to introduce his love interest to his father, and I had to look the part. Slipping my gloved arm through the space he had created, I set my other hand on his arm, fully embodying the doting girlfriend. As close as I could tell, my dedication to the part only annoyed him further. After all, he did not want to pretend.

  The lobby was cool, and small twinkling lights lit the space, giving it a magical feel. Long panels of gauzy white fabric hung from the ceiling. I could feel the tension in Ryder’s arm as we approached security near the opening in the panels. A large sign on an easel near the curtain boasted the theme of the event, “Taking the mask off the pharmaceutical companies.” Considering what we were there to do, the words were almost funny.

  Once Ryder had turned over our tickets, I handed my clutch to the large guard and waited patiently. I could not see metal detectors, and no power ran to the alcove created by the draped fabric. Beyond security’s desk, I spotted a wand. Surely that was the plan. If suspected, a guard could use the wand to check a person, so I did my best to look my part. Tilting my head to his shoulder, I squeezed Ryder’s tense arm and cooed, “It’s all so magical. Thank you for bringing me, darling.”

  The twitch in his face was microscopic but there. “I’m glad you’re having fun.” The words were two-fold: one, to please the guard that held my clutch, and two, to remind me that he was not in fact having fun.

  Moments later, my clutch was back in my hand, and the guard parted the curtains to allow us entrance into the alcove.

  The dimly lit niche held a display of masks, all furnished by a local jewelry company. Masculine masks were on one side, and feminine masks were on the other.

  An attendant greeted us and said, “Good evening, and welcome. Would you like to choose your mask, or would you like me to select one for you?”

  My gaze ran over the selection. All colors, white, purple, black, silver. From ornate to simple and from fully masked to only a lace covering. Decisions of fashion had never been a strength of mine. “Please, choose for me. They’re all so beautiful. I could never decide.”

  The attendant selected a mask: black lace with silver edging and a few clear gems near the eyepiece. He held it out for me to see and helped me fasten it in place.

  Ryder’s hand came up sharply. “If you don’t mind, I have another one in mind.” He stepped away from me for a moment and let his hand hover over a couple of masks before he selected one. The mask he chose was solid black with a black metal butterfly fastened to the corn
er. Black feathers plumed from the opposite side, and long ribbons hung from the back as he held it out for the attendant.

  The main difference between the two masks was that Ryder’s would completely disguise my eyes and most of my nose. No emotions could peek through. I appreciated his thoughtfulness and foresight.

  Ryder held the mask in place as the attendant worked. His hands were warm against my face, eyes studying me with extreme interest. When the mask was fastened, Ryder’s hands remained for a moment, his face only 7 inches or so from mine.

  “Exquisite,” he whispered, finally pulling back.

  My heartbeat had leaped to my throat, and my breathing was shallow. I could attribute it to the room I was about to enter, but honestly, I knew better.

  To clear my head, I selected a mask for Ryder, a matching black one with antiqued silver filigree and a roman symbol near the apex. As the attendant fastened it with swift fingers, I returned Ryder’s favor and held it in place. His warm hand slipped over mine for a moment, pressing my gloved hand against his skin, taking my breath away. Even beneath his mask I could see Ryder’s amusement, like a cat with a little mouse to play with. For a moment he held me there, captive under his touch. And for a moment, I did not mind.

  The outer curtain parted, sound and soft light filtered in from the party beyond, but in that space it felt like another world. With his mask on, it was harder to read his emotion, to see what he held back from me.

  “Are you ready for this?” Ryder whispered after a moment, his hand still pressed over mine.

  If he meant the party and the job, then yes, I was ready. But if he was talking about the electrical current that flowed between us, then no, I was ill prepared for the rush of emotion that overtook me. I feared my voice might fail me, but it was strong enough to match his quiet volume.

  “Into the lion’s den.”

  With my arm looped into his again, we slipped through the curtain and into the glittering room that I hoped would lead to answers instead of more questions.