by Robyn Carr
“I’ve spent days in jail because of you,” he said. “My partners think I’m unstable because of you when all along you were the unstable one. But I can deal with all that if you’ll just give me my life back. Give me my kids and friends and life.”
“How am I supposed to do that, Brad?” she asked.
“I will do whatever it takes to put it back the way it was, back when I had some control and could make things work. It was difficult, you’ve always been difficult, but once I figured it out, everything was fine. It’s not anymore.”
“It wasn’t fine,” she said. “It was terrible. We slept in separate rooms. We were both so unhappy. I have never understood why you didn’t ask for a divorce first!”
“Because it worked,” he said. “It wasn’t perfect, but it worked. I took such good care of you. You always had the best of everything and I didn’t ask for much in return. It worked.”
“Worked? Was that the life you wanted?” she asked with a shake of her head.
He grimaced and suddenly pulled a small, silver handgun out of his pocket. “The alternative is much worse,” he said. “I need my life back. I can’t function like this. That’s all I’m after. It was just fine.”
“Brad, don’t be rash—you’ll find someone better. You’ll find a woman who suits you better, who likes things the way you like them. You’re so popular with your patients and coworkers...it won’t be long before—”
He waved the gun around. He stood and he looked so tired, so worn. “I told you what my plan is. You never listen. We have to go home and end this craziness. I don’t have anything more to lose. Because of you changing your mind, I’m losing everything.”
“But that’s not true,” she said. “You have the house. You chose it. I never even looked at it, it was always your house. You have a successful practice. You have had other women—we both know that. You have two daughters and if you’d only tell them you care about them, they’d be there for you. What more do you need?”
“I need you to come home, Lauren. I don’t want to be alone anymore. There’s no one to talk to.”
“But... But you never talked to me,” she said.
“Of course I did,” he said. “I called and texted every day. I talked to you after work every day. I talked to you on the weekend. We went out to a nice restaurant every week. Twice a week. We traveled and made friends...”
“You shoved me, pinched me, yelled at me! We did only what you wanted to do, went where you wanted to go! We didn’t talk—you talked! And if I said anything—” He scowled and pointed the gun at her. “Please,” she said. “Please don’t.”
The back door opened with a crash as Beau came in. He carried two bags of groceries, then kicked the door closed with his foot. He grinned at Lauren. “Get a little distracted, honey?” he asked. Then he noticed Brad. “Whoa!” he yelled, dropping the groceries on the floor and leaping to place himself in front of Lauren.
Brad slowly raised the muzzle of the gun to his right temple.
“No!” Beau shouted, flying the few long steps across the great room to tackle Brad, knocking the gun away from his temple. They wrestled for control of the gun for a moment and then there was a loud pop. A full two seconds passed as Beau and Brad struggled. Then Beau slid to the floor, a growing river of blood running from the left side of his chest. His eyes were open in shock, his lips parted in a soundless cry.
“Beau!” Lauren screamed, running to him. She knelt on the floor and lifted Beau’s shoulders, holding him in her arms.
Brad, still hovering over them, just looked down at them.
“Help him! Brad! Help him!”
Brad just stood there, watching. A dazed look on his face.
Lauren pressed down on the wound with her hand as she stared up at Brad. She finally heard sirens, but they weren’t close enough. “Brad,” she said calmly. “If you help him, I will come home. We can put it back the way it was.”
Brad went to the kitchen, came back with a towel. He knelt on Beau’s other side, pressing the towel to Beau’s upper chest. The gun lay on the carpet and Brad went into his clinical mode. The police kicked the door and rushed in, weapons drawn. “We need medical,” Brad shouted. “We’ve had a shooting accident. He’s losing blood but he’s still conscious. Bullet to the upper left quadrant. It’s still in there.”
“How did this—” one of the officers attempted.
“I’m a surgeon,” Brad said. “We can get ahead of this. I’ll call ahead for a surgery setup.”
Lauren leaned over Beau, grateful to feel his breath on her face. “Stay with me,” she whispered. “It’s going to be all right.”
Paramedics arrived less than two minutes later, the police confiscated the gun from the floor. Then there was a great deal of commotion while the medics started an IV, packed the wound, applied a bandage and got him on the gurney. “I’m going with him,” Lauren said to the paramedics. “My ex-husband isn’t a practicing surgeon—take this man to the nearest suitable hospital.”
“We’re going to Alameda,” one of them said. “Go, go, go.”
“Wait,” Brad yelled. “Lauren! You’re coming with me!”
She stopped and turned to stare at him. Her clothes were stained with Beau’s blood. “God have mercy on your soul,” she said to Brad. “He’s the shooter,” she said to the police. Then she turned and jogged after the gurney.
“Wait!” Brad called. “Hey, what are you doing?” he asked the police. “Hey, Lauren! Tell them it wasn’t my fault!”
But Lauren got into the ambulance with Beau. She leaned her forehead against his and her tears fell on his face.
“Hey,” he said. “Hey, don’t be scared. I’m okay.”
“I think we’re okay, ma’am,” the paramedic said. “Missed his heart, lung and vital artery. Some worry about the condition of his shoulder...”
“You have to be okay,” she said.
* * *
Lauren had been aware of the gun, but ironically it had never interfered in her life or in her conflicts with Brad. Their house was burglarized years ago and Brad decided he wanted a gun for protection, but he had little interest in it. He was not a gun lover. He was not a shooting enthusiast. In fact, he probably hadn’t cleaned or fired the weapon in years. She found that to be a slight miracle.
Brad was not arrested immediately. The police interviewed Lauren while she was at the hospital waiting for Beau’s surgery to be completed, but they had the dispatcher’s tape of her 911 call. Since she’d left the line open the conversation between Brad and Lauren was recorded. After the completion of Beau’s surgery, Beau told them that it was true, he had intervened in Brad’s suicide attempt. “Because I didn’t even think,” Beau said. “You don’t want anyone to do that to himself, right? I just reacted.”
“If I’d lost you, I think it would have killed me,” she said.
“But you didn’t and I have no regrets. Since I met you, I’m even more aware of how precious life is.”
Brad was arrested and booked. The charges were murky because the worst thing he had done was violate an order of protection and point the gun at Lauren. In a split second, the result of that could have been catastrophic. But it was clear that Brad had snapped. Lauren learned that as they booked him he kept carrying on about being a surgeon, a well-known surgeon with many friends in high places. The routine medical examination given to new inmates was brief. His blood pressure was noted as high but it wasn’t surprising as he’d just been arrested and brought to jail.
But that first night in jail, Brad had a stroke. He was assumed to be asleep but when the guards realized something was wrong he was rushed to the hospital and was operated on. It was as if sixty years of rage exploded in his brain and he was not going to make a full recovery. It left him mentally and physically handicapped.
It took a few weeks of emergency legal intervention but La
uren helped Lacey assume the role of legal guardian and obtain a power of attorney so that Brad’s own money could cover the bills for his care. Grandma Delaney at eighty-five was not able to help much. In fact, she was growing more fragile by the day and her only son’s infirmity didn’t help her condition.
Brad didn’t seem to remember what had happened to him and while his limitations frustrated him, he was receiving top-of-the-line care in one of the best rehab and extended care facilities in the Bay Area. His right side was paralyzed and he was mostly helpless.
And it gave Lacey a purpose. She quickly began to develop an interest in estate management and long-term care administration. Lacey started talking about studying business or even law.
This certainly wasn’t the purpose Lacey had envisioned for herself, but for once she was in complete control, at least as long as she had the counsel of her mother. Brad was not his usual blustering, abusive self but rather dependent and very emotional. He cried a lot; he asked for Lauren and sometimes he thought Lacey was his wife, though his speech was barely understandable. He was a bit like a child and his neediness touched his daughter.
The family court, with the help of the attorneys and mediator, were going to be able to finalize Lauren’s divorce, money could finally be moved, the big house could be put on the market, and the last chapter on their troubled marriage could be written at last. Cassie visited and saw her father and he seemed pleased to have his daughters near again, though the most he could do was squeeze a hand.
Lauren did not visit him, though she did have some pity for him. She made herself available to Lacey and the administrator at the extended care facility where Brad lived, tried to speed up the funding for his care by helping Lacey work with the attorney, and consulted with medical personnel, but had decided on the day the bullet pierced Beau’s chest, she had ended her personal involvement with her ex-husband. Brad would never operate again, but with any luck and great rehab therapy, he might walk and feed himself without spilling all his food. Would he be able to read? Follow the plot of a television program? Have a meaningful conversation? Only time would tell. The damage from the stroke was significant.
But at the end of the day, she was very proud of her daughters. Maybe she hadn’t failed them after all. Lacey managed her father’s estate and his care and because Cassie spent a couple of months of summer in Alameda, helping her and renewing their relationship, it felt as though they could be a family once again. While Cassie was on the West Coast, gatherings with Lauren, Beth, Cassie and Lacey were sparked with laughter and love. They were a family again.
A family with a great many branches and some very sturdy roots.
EPILOGUE
It was August. They’d had quite a year. Beau was officially divorced, as was Lauren. Pamela was in the wind, fleeing prosecution and prison. When she’d been indicted, she immediately lost her job. She could have used her settlement money from Beau to hire a good lawyer to defend herself but instead she used it to abandon everything, including her sons, and run. She could turn up again, like a bad penny, but he really didn’t expect her to show her face around Alameda again. Beau knew he couldn’t control how the boys dealt with their mother, but he was definitely through with her. But the good news was Pamela wouldn’t gain anything by trying to kill him now. Her one attempt at that, before their divorce, would have made her a widow and she would have inherited the full estate. Now, all that was due to her was some equity in Beau’s house and in order to collect it, she’d have to come back to Alameda. If she did that, she’d be arrested and there would be no bail. Her one attempt had been an expensive failure.
* * *
Beau had been in a sling for three months, since his first surgery in May, the one that immediately followed the gunshot wound to the shoulder. That bullet, that small bullet, made a mess of things. He had a second surgery to try to improve on his pain and mobility and it seemed to be working. At least that’s what the physical therapist said. And Beau’s pain management was fine; he was comfortable most of the time and gaining strength in his left arm. Enough strength to pick and pluck in the garden and bring it into the kitchen for Lauren.
He was doing just that when his cell phone chimed and he looked at the text. He laughed. Then he laughed again.
* * *
Lauren was in the kitchen and tonight would bring their kids together, something they enjoyed so much. They did a lot of cooking when the kids came. It would be Cassie’s last night with the family before going back to law school, so Beth and her family were coming, too. Beau came into the kitchen through the back door, gave her his basket from the garden but was holding his phone with the hand in the sling. He was grinning like a fool.
“I have good news,” he said. He gave her a kiss before turning the phone toward her. “Look at this.”
The message said, We’re coming back to CA in a month and will be staying awhile. The picture showed Angela leaning back against Tim, his arms around her, his hands cradling a large, pregnant belly. Surprise.
“Only good surprises from now on,” Beau said.
“Oh! Look! I had no idea they hoped to start a family! Aren’t they cute?” Lauren said. She smiled at Beau. “It’s been a wild ride but it appears that everyone came out of it in a better place.”
Beau slid his good arm around her waist and pulled her against him. “I’d go through all of it again if it meant you loved me at the end of the craziness.”
“I’m yours,” she said. “And you’re mine.”
“Good. I’m glad that’s settled.”
“It’s settled. And final,” she said.
* * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from The House on Olive Street by Robyn Carr.
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The House on Olive Street
by Robyn Carr
ONE
April 16
Fair Oaks, California
Elly sensed something was wrong immediately, but since she was not a woman who lived by her instincts, she did nothing. She pushed the dark, ominous feeling aside and made believe that it was her abhorrence for surprise parties that brought on this edginess. She held the grocery bag that Sable had given her and stood, obediently, on the walk leading to Gabby’s front door.
This was Sable’s idea—the surprise birthday party for Gabby’s fiftieth birthday. It was April sixteenth, the day after taxes were due. Gabby was an Aries, but lacked many of the typical character flaws of the astrological sign. She was neither arrogant, nor selfish, nor controlling. She possessed a raw courage, and she had a rare zest for life. Gabby turned fifty today—a beautiful, vibrant, exciting fifty. Fifty on the brink of still greater things, not on the declining side of life. Elly, fifty-eight, had not had such youth or vibrancy at twenty.
Something was wrong.
Elly heard the ticktocking of Sable’s heels on the flagstone walk. She, too, carried a grocery bag. There were two more bags in the trunk, all filled with the makings of a lavish champagne brunch. The idea was to arrive just prior to Gabby’s waking hour—somewhere around 11:00 a.m. It was ten-thirty. They hadn’t even considered coming earlier. Gabby, for all her joy of life, was as mean as a junkyard dog in the early morning.
