by Taylor Kole
“Well, since I’m in your neighborhood, I was wondering if you wanted to grab a bite to eat.”
“A bite to eat?” he asked loud enough to draw Marci’s attention.
He had planned to cook bean soup for the family. The time he spent internet promoting had distracted him. Having hunger and the smallest appetite of his family, he imagined Janey and Marci were hungrier than him, and expected dinner.
As if sensing his hesitation and interpreting the dilemma, Marci nodded, “Go eat, we’ll be fine.”
The Padesky home was vegetarian. Corey liked eating meat. Years as a partial herbivore had turned him from beef, but his mouth watered at the prospect of a blackened chicken. To Justin, he said, “Dinner sounds like fun.”
“What’s the fastest you can be ready?”
Corey looked himself over: sandals, cargo shorts, a pink oniromancy.com T-shirt, which despite its color, he liked to wear. People always asked what the word meant, allowing him to contribute to the website. As to the question, he said, “I’m ready now.”
“Well all right,” a horn double-beeped in front of their house. “I’m out front.”
“Give me thirty seconds,” Corey said. Disconnecting spiked his excitement. Facing Marci as he rose, he said, “I’ve been invited on a man date.”
“Good for you.”
“What, no warning about staying out late, avoiding…” He glanced at Janey, who watched him, “Gentlemen clubs.”
They laughed. His bachelor party had been the height of his rowdiness: five guys playing a homemade version of Jeopardy (focused on philosophy).
“I’ll see you in a few hours,” Corey headed for the door.
“Wait.”
He waited.
“What about the seventh email?”
His body stiffened. His feet adhered to the tile. “What?”
“You said we received seven messages, but then you listed six: two dream requests, two inquiries, Mr. Labarge, Marty Carnes: who was the seventh?”
The seventh was seven-thousand dollars in cash money. Aloud, he said, “I must have misspoken. There were only six.”
Marci thought for a moment, then returned to the monitor. “Have fun.”
Each step from the air-conditioned home into the warm mid-day sun amplified his unease. Why would I lie to the one person I have on my side in this world?
The answer echoed back: because you’re more scared of the Jinni than Marci.
Climbing into the older Ford F-150, Corey took in Justin’s dusty jeans and wrinkled green flannel and wondered if he had ever withheld something as vital as a life-changing payday from his wife.
“How’s it going, pal?” Justin’s white teeth contrasted his well-groomed black beard.
Corey doubted they were peers in marital deceit.
Driving away, his thoughts turned to the upcoming meal, to the events that brought them together, and he said, “You have a job around here?”
“Today I do. I’m a contractor. Mostly drywall, paint, flooring, the occasional roof. The network of people from the church keeps me busy enough to pay my bills, tuck a little away for Chevy’s college. What do you do? If you don’t mind me asking?”
Again, conflicting thoughts rummaged through Corey’s mind. If he was lucky, his afternoons allowed him to work thirty minutes and earn nine dollars. Once Janey got home, he stepped into a father role. With a devotion to her upbringing, rounded out with chores and a focus on education and kindness, he pulled some of the weight. However, he contributed little in the financial stability department. There, he seemed to be a saboteur. Corey fidgeted in his seat. “I’m mostly a stay-at-home dad.” He then pointed at his shirt and explained their four internet businesses. He finished by detailing Marci’s job for the state, and a quip about Dream Riding.
Following a Q and A about Dream Riding (that took them past the strip), Justin said, “Influencing people’s dreams sounds revolutionary. Like, you could travel the world giving people inspiration and a sense of fulfillment.” He glanced over. “Even faith.”
Corey lifted his head. Out of their first three clients. Only Mr. Labarge’s had gone smooth from start to finish, which could change with his upcoming request. “It’s in its infancy phase. I haven’t really considered what we could accomplish, but we’re optimistic.”
“It sounds special.”
“It’s definitely that.”
“Well, like I said, I woke this morning wondering how you’re doing, and hadn’t shaken the idea by the time I finished work. So I took it as a sign and decided to touch base, see how things are going. It sounds like things are great.”
“There’s ups and downs.”
“Full disclosure: I’m hoping we hit it off. My social loop is as robust as a Cheerio.”
Corey doubted that, but smiling ear to ear validated his appreciation at being asked out.
He surveyed the passing buildings—single story and stucco, most vacant with weeds growing out of cracks. He looked down to see if his door was locked. It wasn’t, but he couldn’t push it down without Justin hearing.
The truck slowed in front of a beat up building. Three men were huddled outside its entrance. They wore dingy sweatshirts despite the warm day. Corey imagined a few, if not all of them, had served time for felonies.
“Well, this is it.” Justin said.
Perhaps a foolish notion, but Corey wanted to stay put, and tell Justin ‘Joke’s over,’ keep driving. “I don’t see any restaurants.”
“The patrons requested we remove the sign to save face. It used to read: God’s Kitchen.”
Corey frowned.
“It’s a soup kitchen for the needy,” Justin added. “They feed around a thousand people a week here. We get a diverse crowd, due to the spillover of people who lose everything in a fit of gambling.”
“It’s a homeless shelter?”
“Somewhat, but mainly it’s just a place where anyone who’s hungry or cold can find comfort.”
Remembering the invitation to eat, and understanding Justin meant here, Corey asked, “How’s the food?”
Double tapping the top of Corey’s shoulders, Justin said, “That’s on us, pal. We’re tonight’s chefs.”
TEN
As with many people in the sprawls of Henderson, a six-foot high brick wall hid the Padesky’s quaint backyard of sand and gravel. At the back slider, Corey made sure Janey was still playing in the backyard. She rested on her knees, a gardening shovel in one hand, a small pile of earth to her left. He could hear her talking to herself. Seeing her safe, feeling joy at her boundless imagination reminded him of being young and feeling ultimate safety.
Warm air bellowed in from the opening. Somehow, the heat made leaving her alone more disconcerting. Since he was an adult and she was fine, he moved to close the door. He stopped with it cracked about four inches, so he could hear if she yelled.
He found Marci on the couch, her back against the cushion; her jaw hung open as if in shock, her arms lay limp at her sides, the phone in her grip. Her wide eyes flicked toward Corey.
“He won’t answer,” Marci said.
“I hope he’s okay. You don’t think he’d hurt himself, do you… because of that dream.”
“No. He’s busy at work, at his girlfriends, doing normal things.”
“Let’s hope.”
“I composed the most intense interpretation of my life and he goes MIA.”
The phone rang in Marci’s hand. She waited for the caller ID to register, then she looked to Corey and smiled as she stood.
“Hey there, stranger.” Marci stiffened. Her features hardened as if from intense listening. “Who is this,” Marci said as she put the phone on speaker.
“That’s what I asked you.”
Corey heard a woman’s voice on the other end. She sounded agitated. “Who are you, and why have you called Marty non-stop for three days.”
“My husband and I are acquaintances of his. Is he there, may I speak with him?”
�
�What kind of acquaintances?” After a beat, she added, “Hello. I want your answer.”
“You’ll have to talk to Marty about that. My husband is standing right here. Have Marty call me when he has time, good-bye.”
“Marty is dead.”
Marci looked to Corey. Her eyes went wide. Her mouth formed a small “O.”. She extended the phone farther away from herself and took a deep breath.
“Hello. Are you there?” The woman asked.
“We are here.”
“Yeah, Marty is dead, so I’d like you to tell me why you, someone I’ve never heard of, have called him a hundred times?”
“I’m… We’re counselors, of sorts.”
“Well you did a terrible job on this one, lady, that’s for sure.” The woman scoffed, but Corey heard her pain clear enough.
“We’re very sorry for your loss.”
“He killed himself. Aren’t you supposed to prevent that type of thing?”
“I, um…”
“He filled a bathtub with charcoal, lit it on fire and killed himself where I brush my teeth every morning. What do you think about that?”
“I’m sorry. I have to go.”
“What’s your name?”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Marci hung up.
“Whoa.” Marci tossed the phone on the couch. She quickly sat next to it, moved the mouse to bring up their browser, and found Marty’s page through the Likes on their Facebook account. “Look at that.”
Marty Carnes Facebook picture seemed hand selected to maximize his looks. He appeared years younger. He was dressed in mountain climbing gear and stood before a rocky terrain.
“What a complete imbecile,” she said.
“Is this our fault?”
“No.” Marci huffed, “We can’t make a man kill himself. The guy had major screws loose.”
Understanding arguing led nowhere, he took possession of the mouse and clicked, POST, with the intention of leaving a comment. Before he typed a letter, Marci placed her hand on his arm.
“What are you doing?”
“Leaving a condolence,”
“Saying what, ‘Hey, sorry for suggesting in a dream that if you commit suicide you’ll be reborn as the savior of a doomed country?’”
“I was thinking, ‘You have our condolences,’ or ‘Rest in peace.’”
“And you’re planning on leaving that from the admin page of our Dreamriders’ Facebook page?”
While he processed her words, Marci took the mouse. She scrolled down further, reading more comments, and then she sneered. “Look.” A post from the girlfriend was centered on the page. “His suicide note read, ‘I love you all, Don’t feel sad. This is a good thing. Look for me in Cambodia.” Marci hiccupped a laugh. The inappropriate chuckles increased until they bordered on laughter.
“What’s the matter with you?”
“What?” She dropped her smirk, but it twitched in hopes of coming back to life. “The guy thought he would lead millions of people if only he killed himself.” She lifted her hands as if the humor was self evident. “Look for me in Cambodia, c’mon.”
“And the people that loved him? Is their pain funny?”
Gaining control of her features, she added, “It’s sad, Corey. I agree. Especially since my dream interpretation centered on his depression, the probable causes, and how to address them, but what can we do now?”
Corey was hurt that a man died, but it hadn’t been Marci’s fault. She wanted to help him. Also, he knew she used cynicism to deal with the turmoil of life. With so many travesties in a person’s life cycle, who was he to knock her coping mechanism?
Inspecting the small photo of the woman who lost the man she loved because of their recklessness, Corey sighed, “It’s terrible.”
“I agree.”
Bracing, he feared she would add, it’s terrible we lost a paying customer. However, she simply leaned forward and continued reading the numerous comments.
Someone knocked on their front door.
The four raps were quick and repetitive, like a prison-yard shanking.
Corey froze. A man dies, possibly from their interference, and then someone bangs on their door on a Thursday evening?
Marci fluttered to the glass slider door and put her mouth near the crack, “Time to come in, sweetie.”
“Just two more minutes, mom.”
A second series of knocks reverberated louder, drawing their attention.
As Marci guided the cat back with her foot, Corey’s frown deepened. Smokey turned and ran toward the bedrooms.
“Okay, honey. Two more minutes,” Marci said. “Stay where we can see you.”
Corey’s throat dried. He pictured two seasoned detectives waiting on the other side, wanting to discuss Marty Carnes. A frightening prospect in itself, but his more salient fear was whoever stood on the other side carried evidence of his betrayal; most-likely in the form of certified mail, outlining the seven-thousand dollar deal he deleted.
Marci crossed in front of him.
“Don’t answer it,” Corey urged, as he scooted to the cushion’s edge.
Pulling the door open, Marci’s voice rose an octave. “Oh my, what a pleasant surprise.”
Corey perked his ears.
“I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time,” a woman said. Her throaty and confident voice tickled his memory.
“Not at all. I’m so pleased to see you, Kendra. Come in.”
Fear and guilt washed Corey’s features into a look of dumbfoundedness before the ladies entered. He felt like running, but quickly followed that option to its end and abandoned it. He’d have to face this.
Kendra Houghton stepped into the living room like a shadowy swamp monster. Her gray-streaked hair lay across her shoulder. Dark brown and black clothing narrowed her wide features. “Hello, Mr. Padesky.”
Corey closed his mouth, and inhaled deeply through his nose.
“I thought we agreed to drop formalities,” Marci said, drawing Kendra’s sharp gaze from Corey.
Corey focused on the slim leather portfolio Kendra carried. Frantically, he searched for some method of indignation grand enough to allow him to pitch a fit and demand she leave.
None came.
“A friend of yours?” Kendra narrowed her eyes, reading the Facebook page filled with condolences.
“No,” Marci said,
“Yes,” Corey replied simultaneously.
Following an awkward beat, Marci said, “It was a loose acquaintance.”
Kendra stared at the monitor. Corey presumed she was memorizing the name to investigate once she left. “Well, I’m sorry for the loss,” she said.
“Thank you,” Marci ushered them to the dining room table. “Would you like something to drink, milk, tea?”
Corey took the end position, giving him a view of Janey playing in the backyard, unaware of her father’s flaws.
“Water would be nice.”
Placing the glass before their guest, Marci said, “How is Walt?”
“Excellent,” Kendra drank from her water. “He has taken a liking to you two.” She glanced around the tidy house. “You have a lovely home, a healthy relationship, a beautiful child… prosperity on the horizon.”
Thinking if he steered the conversation away from the past and into the future, he could keep his betrayal buried, Corey said, “We were about to get back to mister… to Walt.”
Both women watched him.
His temperature spiked as he replayed his words and accepted they differed from any of the previous dialog.
Finally, Marci asked, “What brings you here today?”
Kendra gave a single nod and scooted the glass of water away from her. “Basically, I’m here to help foster our relationship, to mend any offenses we may have visited upon you.”
Marci kept her attention on their guest, but her shoulders slightly twisted in Corey’s direction. With a cool demeanor, she said, “I assure you, we’ve taken no offense. If anything, we should apo
logize for our unceremonious departure.”
Kendra waved off the remark.
“Dream Riding is new for us, and if we seemed hurried at our last meeting, it was only that we were caught unprepared, nothing more.”
Caught a smidgen more than unprepared, thought Corey.
“We can understand that,” Kendra said. “Bottom line, Walt wants a solid relationship with you. So please, speak freely. We can handle any criticism. And if you don’t mind my speaking freely,” she waited a tick and continued, “there have been… subtleties to suggest a rift exists between us. We want to close that.”
Marci’s eyes stayed locked on Kendra as she replied, “It was not you, or Walt, or the security officer.”
“Cooper.”
“No. But there have been internal issues, from our end.”
Addressing Corey, Kendra said, “If Cooper was impolite, I can assure you, he has been scolded.”
“It wasn’t any of that,” Corey said.
“Walt might be an elitist, but—”
Marci interrupted her, “It’s not that.”
“He has his pros and cons,” Kendra said. “I’ll grant you he isn’t your average citizen. He grew up with wealth. Inherited a substantial amount of money starting on his eighteenth birthday. But his father structured the trust to force Walt to learn humility, the value of hard work, and how to make ethical decisions, in order to receive the trust’s potential. Over the next eight years—in spite of some demeaning articles in the trust—Walt surpassed all the expectations, learned a lot, and grew into a man, you might say.”
Corey reflected on what a blessing that would be. Receiving a huge sum of cash, sure. Perhaps more beneficial would be having an elaborate plan, established by a well-connected billionaire, that taught, after some humble pie, morality and responsibility.
Seeing Janey in her element, building her creative mind, he wondered what advantages he offered, as her father? Drawing a blank, he thought perhaps Marci was right, money helped the most, and Dream Riding was their only chance to get their share.
