by Darcia Helle
***
Michael pushed open the door and stepped into the reception area. “Well hello there stranger,” Ruby said.
“Morning Ruby,” Michael replied.
She watched him curiously but he offered no information. Walking past her, he went into the little alcove off the reception area and pulled open the mini refrigerator. He grabbed a Perrier, twisted the cap, and gulped half the bottle down.
“You realize it’s after ten,” Ruby said.
“It’s only seven in California.”
Ruby planted her hands on her hips. Her skirt was some kind of wild floral pattern with enough bright colors to blind him. She said, “You being flip with me, Michael Sykora?”
“No ma’am,” Michael said through a smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
She followed him into his office and stood watching while he glanced through the messages she’d left on his desk. He thought about ignoring her but logic and experience told him that was impossible. So after a moment, he turned and said, “I’m sorry if you were worried. I slept late.”
She huffed in that same way she’d done when he was a kid and had tried to lie his way out of trouble. “You’re up to something these days,” she said. “I just pray you know what you’re doing.”
Without waiting for a response, Ruby turned and marched out of Michael’s office in a blur of floral print. Michael sank into his chair and tried to focus on his legal job for a little while. By noon he had returned all his business calls and had even worked on a software program. That was more progress than he’d expected to make.
Ruby tapped on the door and poked her head inside. “You ready for lunch?”
“Sure,” Michael replied. “What do you feel like having?”
“All morning my taste buds have been calling for Chinese.”
“Sounds good. Have it delivered.”
“What do you want me to order?”
“I don’t care. Surprise me.”
Ruby’s expression took on that soft maternal look of concern. She said, “Everything okay with you, Michael?”
“I’m fine,” he said. “Just a little preoccupied these days.”
“Is this about your daddy?”
“That. And life in general. Nothing I can’t work through.”
“You’ll tell me if you need anything?”
“Of course.”
Ruby looked as if she wanted to say more, but then, with a slight shake of her head, stepped out. Their conversation reminded Michael that he needed to return his father’s call. He glanced at the phone, then back at his monitor. Later he’d call. For now he had to make more progress with work.
Chapter 23
Just before 3 p.m., Michael shut down his computer and left his office. Ruby gave him an inquisitive look when he told her he was leaving for the day. Unusual behavior for a guy that normally worked a 12 hour day. He kissed her cheek and said, “Don’t give me that look. I’m fine.”
“Don’t get me wrong, “Ruby replied. “I’m happy to see you’re not consumed with work all the time. I just get this feeling you’re up to no good. Sort of like when you were 10. Remember?”
Michael gave her a blank look. “I’m sure I did a lot of things when I was 10.”
“You were rescuing all those stray cats, keeping them in your room. When you’d used up all the tuna in my cabinet and your daddy’s, you started stealing cans from the store.” Ruby paused, giving Michael a long look. “You knew the stealing was wrong. But you were doing it to save the kitties.”
“I remember,” Michael said.
“Back then, I could feel you was up to something.”
“I’m not in trouble, Ruby.”
“Okay. You just remember I would’ve helped you back then. All you had to do was ask. And I’m here now if you need me.”
Michael escaped the office and Ruby’s probing eyes. He slid into his car and pulled open the buttons on the silk shirt he’d spent too much money on. Cold air blasted from the vents, though he barely felt it. He shoved the gear into place and steered the Porsche toward the highway. A quick trip to the grocery store so he wouldn’t dehydrate while home, then he wanted to check out Lott’s place. The time had come to see what he was up against.
Heat radiated in waves off the pavement. He should be home enjoying his pool. When was the last time he’d invited Isaac over and kicked back with a few beers in the sun? Way too long, he decided. Things had to change.
The quick run through the grocery store did little to brighten his mood. The place held no allure for him. Take-out was so much easier.
An hour after leaving the office, he swung into his driveway to find his father sitting beneath a palm tree by the garage. Michael’s first reaction was to put the car in reverse and head back to the highway. Let it take him wherever, as long as it was far away from here. Silly how the sight of his father caused him to want to flee like a criminal.
Michael shoved the gear into park with a little too much force. Stepping out into the heat, he said, “What are you doing here, Dad?”
His father had risen and left the comfort of the shade. His pale skin seemed to be sinking into the bone. Sunken eyes framed by dark circles gazed at Michael thoughtfully. He said, “I wanted to see you.”
Nothing was ever as simple as that, Michael wanted to say. Yet his father’s tone had held no contempt, no accusation. And, most noticeably, no self-pity. Michael fumbled with his keys as he headed toward the front door. He struggled to hold on to his anger because it was better than the despair facing him with his father’s decline.
Michael suddenly became aware that the smell of booze did not permeate the air. Normally anyone within 10 feet of his father could smell the alcohol, particularly by this time of day. Nor had he smelled it the other day when his father had come to the office. He was about to say something sarcastic but the sadness in his father’s eyes stopped him.
Michael waved toward the couch. “Grab a seat. I don’t have much to offer.” Michael remembered the groceries frying in the sun out in his car. He said, “I’ve got to grab a few bags from the car. Then I can make coffee. And I bought cookies.”
His father sank onto the couch. He faded into the tan fabric. “You always did have a sweet tooth,” he said. “But I don’t expect you to feed me or anything. I only wanted to see you. Maybe talk for a bit. We didn’t get much time the other day.”
He paused, holding Michael’s eyes with his own. “I know I haven’t been much of a father and I don’t expect you to forgive me for that. I just… Well, like I said, I wanted to see you.”
Michael propped himself on the arm of the recliner. His mind went into overdrive. All those things he would have loved to say to Christina if he’d had the chance before she died. His father would die soon. Did he want all those “if onlys” hanging over his head? Could he live with himself knowing he’d had the chance to say it all but had been too damn stubborn?’
He let out a soft sigh. “You doing okay, Dad? Anything you need?”
“Don’t worry about me, Mike. I’ll be fine. It’s hard to accept. Dying, you know? I did a lousy job at living. Maybe I can do a better job at dying. Find myself a little dignity at last.”
“You’re sober,” Michael said.
“I am.” John offered a sad smile. “Took me long enough, huh? I did two months of in-house rehab. I do the meetings now. I’m holding my own.”
“When did you go to rehab?”
“Right after I found out I was dying. Hit me hard. I realized how much of my life I’d wasted.”
Michael tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. His father had put himself into a rehabilitation center, had lived there for two months, and he’d had no idea. Hadn’t even missed him. That realization made him queasy. He said, “I give you a lot of credit, Dad. I don’t think I could keep up the fight, knowing I was going to die, anyway.”
His father offered a lopsided grin. “Son, we’re all going to die. Knowing it’s coming soon makes eac
h breath that much more important.”
Michael bit the inside of his lip and for a moment simply stared at his father. This was the man he’d loved. Before his mother had taken Tracy and deserted them. Before the alcohol. He stood and said, “You hungry?”
“Don’t go to any trouble,” his father said. With some effort, he pushed himself to his feet. “I know you’re busy.”
“I’ve got a few hours. And I’m suddenly starving. You feel up to eating out? There’s a great Italian place not far from here.”
“I can’t think of any place I’d rather be.”
Chapter 24
John Sykora slumped with the mere effort of chewing his steak. He put his fork down and toyed with his water glass, like maybe he was considering his ability to swallow the liquid. Michael’s own dinner stuck in his throat as he tried to pretend his father wasn’t wilting before his eyes.
A mixture of voices mingled and collided in the air around them. Waitresses scurried about, somehow managing to appear relaxed while hurrying past, balancing large trays on small hands. The distractions had allowed Michael to avoid any conversation beyond the superficial. His father appeared content to simply be there with him and hadn’t pushed for any deep discussion. They both skirted around the edges, not wanting to risk stepping into that chasm between them.
Michael swallowed a mouthful of Perrier. The lump remained in his throat. He said, “Is your steak good?”
John poked a piece with his fork. Smiling, he said, “Best steak I ever had.”
“Not better than those thick ones you’d barbecue when I was a kid.”
John’s smile turned wistful. “That’s when Hal owned the butcher shop. He and Rose would come over on the weekends and we’d barbecue enough meat to feed the neighborhood.” His eyes found Michael’s. “I haven’t thought of them in years. Those were good times.”
“Yeah,” Michael agreed. “We had a lot of fun back then. Tracy had the biggest crush on the older son. What was his name? Jason?”
“Right. She used to follow that kid around like a little puppy dog.”
“Five years old and in love. Crazy.”
John chuckled. “She sure was a precocious little thing.”
They fell silent, turning back to their meal. Michael couldn’t shut away the image of Tracy’s bright smile and the gap between her front teeth. So many years had gone by. What did she look like now? Would he recognize her?
“I miss her,” John said softly.
“Yeah, me too.”
“I’d like to see her before… you know, before I die. Just to know that she’s okay.”
John’s voice trailed off. All the hurt of the past 27 years gathered in his eyes. With no alcohol to drown it, that pain now rose to the surface. It would probably kill him before the cancer.
Michael said, “I’d like to see her, too.”
Their waitress came, making small talk as she cleared their dishes. Michael barely heard her. He was thinking about his sister. Why hadn’t they seen her since his mother left? Had it been his father’s decision? Maybe part of a deal? Michael would never see his mother and his father would never see Tracy?
He had asked his father once, not long after his mother and sister had left, when he would see them again. His father’s response had been to go to the cabinet for his whiskey bottle. Michael had never brought it up again. Maybe it was time he did.
The waitress asked about dessert and both he and his father declined. She left them the check, then carried the tray full of dirty dishes out to the kitchen. Michael let the words tumble from his mouth before he could change his mind. “What happened, Dad? Why didn’t we see Tracy again?”
His father’s eyes widened. For a moment he looked stunned. Then his expression turned thoughtful as he replied, “I suppose I never did explain it to you. Not that I could, you know, explain it. But I should have talked to you more.” He gave a little shrug, stared down at the table. “Your mother took her away. She promised to call when she got to wherever she was going. The call never came.”
John reached for his water glass. His hand shook as he raised it to his lips. After setting the glass back down, he said, “I waited a few days. Then I called your mother’s parents up in Virginia. I thought maybe she’d gone there. But their number had been disconnected. So I called one of their neighbors I knew, who told me they’d up and moved. No forwarding address or number.”
His grandparents. Michael barely remembered them. As a child, he’d wondered why they’d never visited again. He’d assumed they’d abandoned him just as his mother had. He’d blamed himself. He’d blamed his father.
Odd how grandparents could choose to cut off contact with a grandchild. To choose one child over the other. Odd how his own mother had made that same choice. Neither felt good to think about.
“I called everyone I knew,” John was saying. “No one could help me. Or at least no one wanted to.”
“I never understood why Mom left like that,” Michael said. “Why she chose to take Tracy and disappear.”
“Me either, son.”
“That wasn’t something the two of you agreed on?”
“Hell no,” John replied. “She came to me that morning and said she was leaving and taking Tracy with her. Out of the blue. Never gave me a choice.”
“I’m sorry,” Michael said. “I guess I blamed you.”
“I know. And that’s okay. I should’ve taken the time to talk to you.”
“You never heard from either of them again?”
“No. I went to the police but we were still married. Still are, far as I know. I was told that, since she was Tracy’s mother, it wasn’t kidnapping. She could go where she wanted. Remember, this was 27 years ago. Cops didn’t get involved in what they considered a domestic problem. So I hired a private detective but that was expensive as hell. A couple days, a few hundred dollars. He came up with nothing and I was broke.”
Michael shook his head. “Nothing you could do.”
“I could’ve been a father to you. Instead I started drinking. And for that I will always be sorry.”
The waitress returned, putting a stop to a long overdue conversation. John excused himself and headed off to the men’s room while Michael waited for the waitress to run his credit card. When she handed it back to him, she smiled and her fingers lingered on his. A thinly veiled flirt but Michael wasn’t in the mood to reciprocate. He wandered over to the exit to wait for his father.
***
Michael dropped his father off with a promise to call soon. Then he drove slowly through the streets, a tangle of thoughts fighting for his attention. Before he had a chance to sort through them, his cell phone rang. He slid the phone from his pocket and checked the caller ID.
“Hey, Isaac,” Michael said into the phone.
“You ever check your damn voice mail?” Isaac said by way of a greeting.
“Now and then,” Michael replied.
“I’m feeling neglected. You don’t love me anymore?”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Save the excuses for the females in your life,” Isaac said. But his voice held no anger. “I heard about your dad. I’m sorry. How’s he holding up?”
Michael turned into a strip mall and swung his car into an empty space at the back of the lot. A scattering of people scampered about in a frenzy to get errands done, while others strolled casually, killing time on a lazy afternoon. Michael said, “I just came from dinner with him. He looks bad.”
“My mother said there’s nothing the doctors can do for him.”
“No. Just keep him comfortable. He’s too far gone.”
“You want to meet somewhere?” Isaac asked. “I could kick your ass at a game of pool.”
Michael laughed. “You’ll never kick my ass at pool.”
“I haven’t yet ‘cause I don’t want to bruise your tender ego.”
That made Michael laugh harder. “Such a good friend.”
“I rather think so.”
“I’m actually on my way to a meeting,” Michael said. “How about a rain check?”
“For sometime this century?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“I’ll be polishing my cue.”
Michael disconnected the call. He checked his watch. He’d told Nicki he’d be at the hotel by 6. It was 10 past. She must be going nuts, stuck in that hotel room all day by herself. He’d be helping her more by finding Lott than by spending the evening with her. So he called, told her he was running late and that he’d stop by later.
Nicki said, “I’m about to lose my mind here.”
“I know,” Michael said. “I’m doing what I can to solve the problem quickly.”
“Let me help.”
“You can’t help.”
“I’m capable.”
“And I’m hanging up. See you in awhile.”
Chapter 25
Antonio Lott lived with his girlfriend Isabel in a rundown building in Tampa. Their apartment occupied a front section of the second floor. That much Michael had managed to put together. He had driven by the place twice. His Porsche attracted more attention than he’d like in this area.
He circled the block, pulling into a strip mall around the corner from Lott’s apartment. Among the businesses were a liquor store, a barroom, and a pawn shop. A perfect combination for the neighborhood. Not a perfect place to be sitting in his Porsche. Stupid that he hadn’t thought to rent a less conspicuous car. He needed to get his head on straight before he screwed something up.
Michael had no idea what Antonio Lott looked like, aside from the vague description that Nicki had given him. Average height, not fat. Strong. A lot of good that would do.
Sitting in this parking lot would also do him no good. It wasn’t as if Lott was going to stroll up, knock on the window, and introduce himself.
This had to get done. Soon. The problem was that Michael was a planner. And he couldn’t plan something when he knew nothing about the guy. Lott had no job and no car registered in his name. Michael didn’t know the guy’s friends, didn’t know where he hung out. Finding that information could be done. But it would take time. And time was a luxury he didn’t have.
Michael muttered a string of curses as he left the parking lot and maneuvered back out to the highway. Fifteen minutes later he arrived at his favorite car rental shop. The place was technically a used car lot but Sal, the owner, did rentals on the side. He asked no questions, took only cash, and kept no records.
