Unforeseen Riot

by Karen McKeown

  Natasha answered on the second ring.

  “Hey, homegirl!”

  “Hi, Tasha.” I said, trying to hide my melancholy.

  “What’s the problem, Mal?”

  I laid my head back and sighed, “I don’t know. Nothing, really. I’m just a fucking dumbass.”

  “What? The f-bomb? You don’t curse much, and I know you aren’t a dumbass, so spill, chica.”

  What’d I say? I have a passiveness, and Natasha takes charge and won’t let it rest. I love her.

  “Last week I went to trivia.”

  “So? You always go to trivia. Those boys don’t let you miss it, God bless ‘em.”

  “What? Whose side are you on?” I laughed.

  “Yours. You gotta get out of the house in the evenings. What’s trivia got to do with you being a so-called dumbass? People who regularly play trivia aren’t known for being dumb.”

  “Well, last week I wasn’t going to go-“

  “Yeah, yeah. Gavin and I talk sometimes. He says you try to bail every week. Go on.”

  “You and Gavin talk?”

  “Do not change the topic,” she said sternly.

  “We will revisit this topic, honey,” I said with equal sternness.

  “Whatevs. So you weren’t going to go, but obviously you did.”

  “Yeah. Only because while Gavin and I were on the phone, some new guy took the phone from Gavin and told me I had to be at trivia so they could win.”

  “None of this makes you sound dumb, Mal.”

  “He called me ‘woman’ and then he called me ‘sweet cheeks’ of all fucking things.”

  Natasha let out her throaty laugh. I loved her laugh. It was so free and easy and almost reckless with its volume and mirth. “I like him already. Whoever the hell he is, go FNG!”

  “FNG?”

  “FNG…fuckin’ new guy. At what point do you become the dumbass you think you are?”

  I sighed, “Today maybe? Or perhaps last Thursday night after I rode on the back of his Harley and listened to him spout manly bullshit at me? All I know is that I showed up at Rounder’s tonight expecting to see Cal, and when he wasn’t there, I was disappointed. And I don’t think I should be. For that matter, I feel guilty for being disappointed to start with. It’s like I’m not being true to Greg and Landon. What right do I have to enjoy life and expect some jackass to be around to aimlessly flirt with me?”

  Natasha let out a breath. “Sh-eee-it. Mallory. Mallory! Why didn’t you call me sooner? You should have called me to tell me you got on the back of a hog, at least. I know you’ve wanted to do that for a long-ass time. And you damn sure need to call me when you feel unnecessary guilt. Ain’t nobody got time for guilt. Honey, Greg would want you to live your life. He and Landon both would want you to be happy. Fuckin’ A, all of us just want you to be happy and live a good life.”

  “God, Nat. If you were here, I’d give you a serious bear-hug. You’re the best damn friend there is.”

  “Damn straight. Now, don’t think about glossing over portions of this little revelation of yours. You rode on the back of his Harley? Was it everything I hope it is? Seriously. Were your panties extra-creamy that night?”

  I cackled at Natasha’s brash remark. “I don’t remember! I felt like the wind flossed my teeth when we went over fifty miles per hour, because I couldn’t keep myself from smiling huge. It’s weird when wind gets in your face like that. I suppose I’m just glad it wasn’t love bug season. Gross.”

  “Yeah, definitely gross, Mal. Way to ruin a moment for me. So, he calls you ‘woman’? That’s a problem?”

  “Really? You don’t understand?”

  “I know that if a man with a Harley lets me ride bitch with him, I don’t particularly care what he wants to call me. If he’s the least bit good-looking, then he can call me Al and I won’t give two shits. What’s wrong with him calling you ‘woman’? You and I both are women. ‘Sweet cheeks’ I might object to, but even then a good-looking man with a Harley…I can let many things slide.”

  “I think it’s the attitude with which he says it. After he kissed me, he even went so far as to tell me my cheeks, both the ones on my face and my ass, were sweet. He –”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa! He kissed you? I think you need to give me a full recount of this whole night. I’m surprised you let him kiss you.”

  I blew out a breath, “I didn’t really have a choice.”

  “We always have a choice. You’ve heard of the word ‘no,’ right?”

  “Of course I have, Tasha, but I was reaming him out for calling me ‘sweet cheeks’ again, and he put a hand on the back of my neck and planted one on me to shut me up. Now that I think about it, that was a pushy-ass move to make too.”

  Natasha giggled, “Here’s the real question. Was it good?”

  “What? We didn’t have sex.”

  “I know that, Mal. I don’t have to have sex with a chocolate ganache cake to know it’s good. Same holds true of a kiss with a fine man. Which reminds me, is he fine? Even remotely good-looking? Do not tell me he’s some grey-haired, greasy biker type. Don’t do this to me. I’m living vicariously through you right now. Leon doesn’t want any more kids in this house of ours, so he’s sworn to no more sex with me until after he has his vasectomy in two weeks. Crazy man doesn’t want to risk any bad juju from his determination to thwart any more offspring. Can’t even talk him into using condoms.”

  A vasectomy was news to me. I asked, “What’s with the delay? Why doesn’t he move his appointment up?”

  “Move his appointment?! Ha! Your business analyst brain may not be aware of this, but the week of March madness kick-off is the high season of vasectomies. Men get snipped in the morning, then spend four to five days with an ice pack on their crotch while watching endless college basketball. I’ll just be happy when he’s back in the saddle. When they say women hit their sexual peak in their thirties, they weren’t kidding. But you can’t change the subject on me. What’s this biker Cal look like? Leave nothing out!”

  I groaned, “Natasha! I don’t want to dwell on this guy. Hell, I’m never gonna see him again. He hardly contributed last week at trivia. He really doesn’t fit with Gavin and them. It was a one-time fluke, which is a-okay with me.”

  “Mallory. You can bullshit some of the people some of the time, but you know damn well, I’m not some of the people, so drop the bullshit. What’s Cal look like? Don’t make me call Gavin. I bet he doesn’t know you got into a lip lock with Cal.”

  Talk about laying down the gauntlet, “You really know how to throw your cards down, Natasha. Fine. Cal is tall, and his arms are very tan and built. He was wearing a Salt Life shirt, and his voice is very rumbly. He has dirty-blond hair and delectable hazel eyes-”

  “Delectable? Girl, did you seriously say 'delectable'?” Natasha giggled at me.

  Mental palm-slap to my forehead, “Yes. See, I’m a fucking dumbass. I’m never going to see this dude again, and good riddance. Let’s move on, what are you doing tomorrow for dinner?”

  “Oh, no, no, woman! How was that kiss? C’mon. Scale of one to ten. Was there tongue?”

  “How could there not be? I was mid-sentence and mid-rant. I don’t know. I enjoyed it, but that only compounded my guilt. I was thinking of Greg and thinking of Cal all at the same time. These are the times I wish I were a man. Men don’t have multiple thoughts when kissing.”

  Natasha let out a breath, “Girl, you got it bad. He kissed you and now you’re disappointed because you didn’t get to see him tonight. Is that the gist?”

  I groaned, “Yes. Pathetic, huh?”

  Natasha’s voice gentled and I knew I wouldn’t like what she had to say next. “No. I did not say that. It’s been almost a year and a half, hon. I think this is the wakeup call you need. It’s time. And I’m not saying it will be easy, but it will be worth it. Maybe not this guy, but this is certainly the push you need to see life’s passing you by.”

  “Life isn’t passing me by.�
�

  I didn’t think it was possible, but Natasha’s voice got even gentler when she said, “Honey, it’s almost nine o’clock and I gotta go tuck my boys in bed. I’m gonna let that go for now, but if you think on it, you’ll know that it’s true. You asked about dinner tomorrow. We’re grilling hamburgers and hot dogs. You come over and eat with us.”

  “You got it. Tell Derek, Nate and your fabulous husband that I said night-night.”

  “Will do. Bye, Mal.”

  * * * * *

  Friday afternoon, I called Gwendolyn to update her on the settlement. The insurance lawyers had stalled for another ten days. In this entire ordeal since Greg and Landon’s deaths, I learned that the wheels of the legal system and civil court system churned extremely slowly. I would say I was at the end of my patience, but I had reconciled myself to waiting. My husband and my son were gone, and no legal action was going to bring them back. What was another ten days in the grand scheme of things?

  Gwendolyn did not share my sense of patience, “What do you mean another ten days? Didn’t they even provide a figure? I’m going to have to get involved in this, Mallory.”

  “And what would that do for us, Gwen? Not a damn thing. I’m listening to my lawyer. I’m not going to get pushy when we know we’re so close to closure. I’d rather not rock the boat and encourage the insurance company to offer less than what we deserve.”

  “I need a figure, Mal. I can’t wait much longer.”

  An uneasy feeling hit me, “What do you mean, ‘you can’t wait much longer?’ Are you in trouble? My every instinct says you’ve got a big problem on your hands, financially. What gives?”

  There was a long silence on the phone. I heard Gwen sniff, “Mallory, nothing gives. I’m fine. I’m not in trouble. I’m anxious about this. My Greg and Landon are gone. You’re working full-time again. I’m alone. I can’t stand it. This prolonged legal mumbo-jumbo is drawing out any sense of closure we should have from such a horrible accident.”

  Natasha’s words from last night ran through my mind, about how it was time. I gently said to Gwen, “You’re right. Closure would be nice. I’ll keep you posted. Have a good afternoon.”

  The rest of my work day passed as normal. I left the office at five-fifteen and picked up some pre-made macaroni and cheese from the supermarket deli before going to Natasha and Leon’s house. They lived in a sprawling neighborhood built in the late 1970s located off of Collins road. The lots were huge with plenty of space between houses, a rare commodity as the remainder of the Argyle area was developed. I envied their large yard and larger-than-normal house. I did not envy the difficulties of getting in and out of their neighborhood now that Collins road had become a two lane thoroughfare to the Watermill and Oakleaf neighborhoods west of Argyle. To say it was poorly equipped to handle the onslaught of rush-hour traffic was an understatement.

  I parked my car in Natasha’s driveway at six-fifteen. Derek and Nate opened the door as I approached.

  “You’re not Daddy, Auntie Mal,” cried five-year-old Nate.

  I suppressed a chuckle, but smiled, “I know, baby. Sorry to disappoint you. I’m sure your Daddy will be home very soon. Traffic’s pretty crazy this afternoon.”

  “Did you bring us ice cream, Auntie Mal?” Derek asked.

  Stepping into the foyer, I said, “No, but I did bring y’all some warm mac-n-cheese from the deli! Hot dogs and macaroni, what could be better?”

  A baritone voice behind me said, “An ice-cold beer. That could be better.”

  Looking over my shoulder, I saw Leon behind me, and Nate rushed forward squealing, “Daddy! Daddy’s home, Mommy!”

  Leon was six-foot two-inches tall and wearing black scrub pants with a polo shirt that advertised the physical therapy firm he worked for. His hair sat about an inch high on the top of his head, and the sides were cut close. He crouched down to pick up Nate. It made my heart swell and it broke my heart. Landon used to do the same thing every evening when Greg would unlock the front door. I hadn’t thought about the getting-home rituals between father and son in at least a few months. Before I could beat myself up with more guilt, Leon came through the doorway and gave me a one-armed hug.

  “Come inside, Mallory. No need to lurk in our foyer. You still like your burgers hockey-puck well-done?”

  I giggled as I followed Leon and the boys to the kitchen. “No, I’m trying to turn over a new leaf. I’ll go with medium, but if in doubt you could defer to medium-well. Know what I mean?”

  Natasha was at the counter, slicing onions and tomatoes. She put her knife down and gave me a bear-hug. “Girl, you been a stranger to our house for too long! If he gets your burger wrong, I’ll eat it. Or we’ll just nuke it. You did not need to bring my sons that mac-n-cheese in that bag. What are you drinking? I got wine coolers, Budweiser, Michelob Ultra, and a bottle of San Sebastian Vintner’s Red.”

  I opted for a Michelob Ultra, and the five of us settled in for a relaxing dinner of burgers, dogs, and fun. Being with Natasha, Leon, and their boys was some of the best medicine for me. Around eight o’clock I left Natasha and Leon’s house. I didn’t want to disrupt the boys’ bedtime routine. I remembered all too well how manipulative little boys could be about not going to bed.

  I stepped inside my house and immediately knew something was off. The house smelled strange. I thought the heat was out initially; any time the central heat and air went on the fritz the house would get a stale smell to it. As I closed and locked the front door, though, I realized the air in the house was not stale but fresh, too fresh. I hardly ever opened my windows. Instinctively, I turned on every light I could as I moved into the house. When I turned on the living room light, my heart hammered in my chest. It was a disaster. The wood door to the patio had an inset panel of glass, which had been shattered. Glass shards were all over the floor and area rug. Couch cushions were thrown about, bookshelves empty, and books strewn all over the floor. I tiptoed around to the kitchen and when I flicked on the florescent light, I found it was ransacked, also. The pantry door was open, and all of my canned goods were on the floor. Pasta boxes were scattered, a couple of rigatoni boxes broken open with pasta noodles littering the floor. Kitchen drawers had been pulled out and upended.

  “What the fuck?” I whispered.

  I went to Landon’s room. I hadn’t removed any of his toys or clothes from his room. The burglars had not touched his room for some reason. Checking the guest bedroom, I found it was also untouched. I went to the master bedroom. More mess. My nightstand was turned upside down. One of my dresser drawers was broken and t-shirts, pajamas and underwear littered every surface. My eyes welled with tears. I pulled my cell phone out of my purse and called 911. Five minutes later, I opened the front door to a tall black police officer. His name tag read, “M. Smith.”

  “Mallory Pierce? You called about a break-in.”

  “Yes, sir. Please come in,” I said, stepping aside.

  The officer stepped into my foyer and walked forward to the living room, “What time did you get home?”

  “A little after eight. I had dinner with my best friend and her husband about ten minutes away off Collins.”

  “What have you touched?”

  “The light switches. Oh, and the locks on the front door. I thought the heat and air was messed up first since the smell in the house made me think something was wrong.”

  He looked at me with that hardened look a veteran cop has. All the bad people and awful situations he had seen, day in and day out, almost poured out of his eyes. He continued into the house and stopped as he surveyed the living room.

  “Appears the patio door is where they made their entry. Anyone else home during the day here, ma’am?”

  “No. I’m widowed.”

  “Recently?”

  “Almost a year and a half, so, not recent,” I sighed.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  He stepped into the kitchen and started speaking into his shoulder walkie-talkie. I heard him requ
est a crime scene unit. I was still eavesdropping when my cell phone rang. I did not recognize the number, but I answered anyway.

  “Hello?”

  “Mallory. It’s Cal.”

  My mind was still wrapping around the mess and the feeling of violation creeping over me, so I babbled, “Who? What? Cal?”

  “Yeah, sweet cheeks. You know, you were on the back of my Harley. I thought it made an impression on you. Maybe I was wrong.”

  I tried to suppress a sigh, “Yeah. I remember. Um, I can’t talk right now. I’ll call you back. This number good?”

  Cal immediately grumbled, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I didn’t say anything was wrong.”

  “You can’t talk right now. There must be a reason. You sound a little weird. What’s going on?”

  I did not need this man talking to me right now. I was having difficulty concentrating as it was. “Nothing is going on. I just have to call you back. Later, dude.”

  I ended the call, but my phone rang fifteen seconds later, “I said I’d call you back.”

  “Uh, Mal?” Gavin asked.

  “Yeah, Gav. This isn’t a good time. Can you make it quick?”

  Gavin sounded nervous, “I just wanted to let you know, I didn’t really have any choice. I gave your cell number to Cal. I don’t know when he’s going to call you, but—“

  I sighed, “Yeah, he already did. But thanks for the heads up, Gav. I’ve really got to go. I’ll call you Monday or Tuesday, ‘kay?”

  “Something wrong, Mal? You don’t sound good.”

  “Honey, I’m fine. Just tired. Talk to you later. Bye.”

  I hung up, and thought about powering off my cell. Before I could press any buttons, there was another knock on the door. Officer Smith said, “Should be the crime scene analysts. You want me to get it?”

  “Well, this feels weird, but sure, if you like.”