by M. S. Parker
I opened my mouth, the question burning on my lips. But before I could ask it, fate intervened and a man approached, smiling broadly at Cane in his uniform.
I tuned them out as the man began to ask Cane questions about his upcoming deployment. I finished drinking my second whiskey and was well into my third when the server appeared with another bottle.
“Enjoy it on me, boys, with my compliments.”
I looked up as the man who’d been chatting with Cane nodded at us before stepping away. Studying the bottles with bemusement, I slanted a look at Cane.
“He was in the Great War.” Cane lifted a shoulder. “I keep getting a lot of that.”
“People in the Great War?”
“No.” He laughed. “People coming up and talking to me.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t look so friendly.” Tipping the glass toward him, I gestured toward my face. “Look at people the way I do and they’ll be less likely to talk to you.”
“It’s not just the way you look at people.” He shrugged again as he pushed back from the table. “It’s the fact that you’re an asshole, even on your best days. On your worst?”
He snagged the bottle of scotch and said, “I’m going to go shoot some pool. You want to come?”
“Ain’t like anybody is really going to miss me.”
The sound of the balls breaking was an almost violent rejection in my mind. But not violent enough. I was tempted to hurl my cue stick across the room, then follow it up with the empty bottle of scotch. We’d gone through the second bottle, and I’d been deliberating on order another when Cane told me it was a good thing he’d been selected for the draft.
We’d been talking off and on about anything and everything and nothing in particular. Vietnam had come up more than once.
“Shut up,” I said, grabbing my glass and staring into the last two remaining inches of whiskey. Did I ask for another bottle?
The answer should be no.
Somehow, I knew that wasn’t going to be the case though. When the waitress poked her head into the door not even a minute later, I didn’t try, not for a second, to resist temptation. “Yeah, bring another bottle,” I told her.
Cane hadn’t said anything else about whether or not I should be drinking—and it was probably a good thing because we’d likely end up fighting over it.
I knew I shouldn’t be drinking.
Most of my life could be measured in shouldn’t.
No point in changing things up now.
“I mean, come on. Why shouldn’t it be me?” Cane gave me a self-righteous glare and shook his head. “It’s not like I’m one of these poor slobs who’s got a girl waiting around for me and I’m sure as hell not planning on going to school to be a doctor or something like that. I’ve got one thing I’m good at, and I’ve already made a couple of movies. I’m not even the best Hollywood has to offer.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”
I spun away and hurled my glass at the way.
It shattered, sending tiny little splinters flying out.
A startled cry rang out a second later and when I looked back, it was to see the waitress standing in the doorway, the scotch I’d asked for on a tray. She was pale, eyes big and dark in her face as she looked from me to Cane.
Cane gave me a dark look before moving toward her. “Excuse my friend, ma’am. He’s upset because I’m shipping out soon.”
Face hot, I averted my gaze, but that didn’t help. I saw all the tiny bits of glass lying on the ground like diamonds, and my face went red.
“Here.”
Cane shoved the bottle at me and I caught it out of reflex, but now I had no desire to open it. No more desire to lose myself to a blanket of a drunken dog.
“Cane, I…”
“We can’t spend the rest of our lives partying like we did when we were nineteen years old, Glenn,” Cane said, ignoring me.
Carefully, I put the bottle down and turned, ready to meet his eyes and apologize. Then I’d go out there and apologize to the waitress.
But Cane was bent over the pool table and in a series of methodical motions, he went about cleaning house. He was more than a little drunk himself, but it didn’t show in how he sent ball after ball into the pockets, announcing which would go where as he continued to speak.
“I’m not a messed-up, angry kid anymore, Glenn. And my life doesn’t suck half of much now that I’ve figured some things out.”
Another ball.
“Sure, it would have been nice if I could have found a girl, fallen in love, settled down…” He laughed a little as he moved around the table, then indicated the red ball. It went sailing smoothly across the green surface and he raised his eyes to meet mine. “Gotten married. Hey, even bums like us can have that dream, right?”
Oh, fuck.
He sent two more balls home when his next move and lined up another. “Spent too many chasing after things that didn’t matter. Lived harder, lived faster. Chased one woman after another. Life just sucked. Then I crashed and burned.” He sent two more balls home, then lined up the final shot. Cane looked up at me then, a sardonic smile on his lips. “You hit rock bottom, that’s supposed to be the worst. You start climbing back up, right? That’s what I did.”
He finished up the game and laid his cue stick across the table.
“But you, my friend…” Cane shook his head and started toward me. “You find new ways to hit a new sort of bottom. It’s like you rediscover rock bottom over and over, time after time. And even when you’re given a fucking rope to climb back up? You ignore it.”
“This ain’t about me,” I said, glaring at him.
“The fuck it ain’t.” Cane shook his head. “You’ve been sober for how long? Then out of the blue, you decide to get wasted. Why is that?”
“Because my best friend is about to ship out to Vietnam!” I bellowed.
“It’s more than that.” Cane grabbed the front of my shirt. “You’ve been a mess ever since you found out that Maya came back. You just won’t admit it!”
I jerked away from him. “Don’t.” Pointing at him, I shook my head and backed away. “I don’t want to talk about her. That’s…she’s…we’re over. That part of my life is over.”
“If you were over, you wouldn’t have gone storming over there and gotten so worked up that Florence’s guy Harrison almost had to toss you out on your ass. He’s so laid back nothing gets to him, but you pissed him off. You seriously pissed him off.”
Guilt nipped a bite out of my ass, but I shrugged it off. “What, did Maya complain to Florence?”
“No.” Cane took an unsteady step over to the water he’d requested earlier and drained half of it. “I was over there yesterday and Astor told me about it. Those two are likes peas in a pod.”
“Astor and Maya?” Jealousy was the next emotion to bite me, and it was harder to ignore that demon than guilt.
“No, you dumb-ass. Astor and Harrison. Harrison was really upset with you. If you were over that part of your life, you wouldn’t have been upset by her.” Cane gave me a taunting look. “She just wouldn’t have mattered.”
“Yeah, I should just not care about the hell she put me through.”
I went to go around him and he caught my arm, jerking me back around to face him. I was still surprised by just how much muscle those months in the military had managed to pack on him.
“If you were over her, if that part of your life was done, yeah, you should just not care.” Cane’s brows rose. “I mean, how many other girls do you know have tried to fuck you over? Plenty of them, right? I’ve had my share. Did you track them down and get them so worked up they were in tears by the time you were done?”
Another nasty, hot bite of guilt. “Enough.” I wrenched free of him. “What the fuck is your problem?”
“You’re not over her!” Cane shook his head. “You’re wasting your life with that cold-blood bitch, Kim after three years of waiting for Maya—and now she’s here and you want to act like she doesn�
�t matter?”
“She doesn’t.” I couldn’t let her matter. I couldn’t.
“Yeah?” Cane backed up, nodded slowly. “Well…fine. That means…”
He turned away.
“That means what?”
“Nothing, man.” He picked up his keys from the table near the door. “Thanks for the…going away party.”
“Hey!” This time, I was the one to grab his arm and jerk him around. The faint glint in his eyes should have warned me.
I shouldn’t have let him push me, I knew it. But nobody could hit the buttons the way a friend could.
“It’s okay, man. It’s cool. Actually, better than.” He smiled now. “I was pissed off you’d upset her and now…well, now I know why.”
“What in the fuck are you talking about?” I grabbed him by the lapels of his shirt and dragged him forward, shaking him.
With a crooked grin, he caught my wrists. “Hey, calm down. I’ll leave you alone about it. I just…well, now that I know you’re over her, I can give her a call before I head out.”
“A call…” Blinking, I let him go and backed away. “What is this shit?”
“I like Maya.” He said it bluntly and without apology. “I was pissed at her for what she did to you, but I talked to her…hell, you did, too. You know it wasn’t her fault, but apparently, that doesn’t matter to you. Since you don’t want to reconnect…I’m going to see if I can…” He ran his tongue across his teeth. “Connect.”
He reached out to clap me on the shoulder.
I slammed my fist into his face as hard as I could.
The impact sent him to the ground.
“You…you son of a bitch.”
He sat up, groaning. “Yeah, you prick. Tell me again how you’re over her.”
Instead, I flipped him off and stormed past him.
“You need to go and see her, Glenn. Give her a chance to explain.”
“Leave me the hell alone, Cane.”
I hit the door and didn’t stop until I was outside. That was when I realized we’d come in his car, but I didn’t turn around to go back in. I’d walk or call a cab. Anything to avoid going back in there and facing him.
If I did that, I’d have to think about what he’d said…and the very fact that he just might be right.
15
Maya
It had been almost a week since Glenn had shown up and torn into me.
Florence had hovered around for the first few days, acting as though she thought I’d break.
It probably didn’t help that I kept bursting into tears for no reason. Okay, maybe I had a reason. Glenn hated me. I was decades away from the family who loved me, and save for Florence—okay, and Harrison—I had no friends here. Astor was sweet and kind, but he wasn’t what I’d call a friend, and I’d taken to avoiding him because he’d decided he should counsel me, help me deal with the trauma from the “kidnapping”.
I hadn’t thought about that possibility when I blurted out my cover story.
Granted, I hadn’t been thinking at all.
Fortunately, he seemed to understand my reluctance to talk, and just patted me on the shoulder, letting me know he was there for me if I was ever in need to reach out.
Other than that—and a guard who was now stationed at the front of Florence’s property—things continued on as they always had. I assumed the guard was just in case I had another relapse.
I felt bad about the expense and told Florence it wasn’t necessary, but she feigned ignorance and said the guard was there for her.
Funny. She hadn’t ever needed security before. But if that was what she needed to feel better, who was I to argue with her?
“You’re very quiet.”
Looking up from the coffee I hadn’t touched, I smiled as Harrison placed my breakfast before me. “Just thinking.”
“Thinking very hard,” he said. He touched his fingers to my shoulder. “Mr. Jackson was very angry. But he was also very upset when you disappeared. He’ll come around…”
“No.” Shaking my head, I picked up my fork and turned my attention to the breakfast he’d prepared. “I think he said what he meant, what he needed to say. And who can blame him for being angry? I put him through a lot.”
“I think you’ve been through quite a bit yourself.” Harrison let it go at that and turned away.
His support—quiet and unwavering—meant a lot.
Eventually, I told myself that I’d be okay. I’d find a way to make things work out. Although, I still had no idea whether I was meant to be here—or back in my own time.
Taking my fork, I cut into the eggs over easy, cooked just the way I liked them.
The sight of the yolk spilling out onto the plate had my stomach churning.
Bolting up out of the chair, I took off running down the hall.
I hit my knees in front of the toilet just in time.
A startled voice rang out behind me, but I couldn’t make out the words, or even recognize the speaker as I emptied my stomach. Nothing came up but the water I’d drunk earlier, but still, the heaving continued, and I wretched until my head roared and blood thundered in my ears.
It seemed like forever that I spent on my knees there, violent spasms racking my body, even though my belly had long since emptied.
“Better now?”
Florence’s voice, soft and gentle, came from just behind me. Her soft hand was rubbing my back gently, but I hadn’t noticed it before.
My only answer was a weak, pitiful groan. She laughed, but there nothing cruel in it—only sympathy.
“Come on,” she said, urging me to my feet. “Let’s get you off the floor. I’ve spent more than my share of mornings bent over the toilet, and I know the first thing to do if you want to feel better is get that taste out of your mouth.”
She was right.
In fact, just the thought of this taste in my mouth was enough for the nausea to take hold all over again.
I fought it back, but only barely.
I let her guide me to the sink and I braced my hands on the cool surface as she ran some water into a glass kept nearby. After I rinsed out my mouth, she asked, “Better?”
“Some.” Not a lot, but some. I kept the rest of it behind my teeth and managed a weak smile. She beamed at me and took my arm, guiding me out of the bathroom and toward the sitting room.
“Let’s get you off your feet. I’ve got Harrison brewing up some ginger tea. It’s just the thing, I promise.”
I didn’t feel like arguing with her as I sat on the comfy lounge. I didn’t feel like doing anything but curling up at going back to sleep.
I managed to doze off a bit when I heard her soft voice thanking Harrison, and that startled me awake.
“Here you go,” she said, bringing me a cup of something pale gold, with steam billowing up. “Go slow, it’s very hot.” The smell was slightly spicy, and I gave her a hesitant look over the edge of the cup.
“Trust me,” she said simply, her face warming with her smile.
If it would get her to give me some peace, I would.
The first sip, though, proved to settle my belly quite a bit. The second, even more so. I managed to get half the cup down before I decided I’d done enough. “I’ll drink more later,” I promised when she gave me a firm look.
“Okay.” She sat down next to me, touching the back of her hand to my cheek. “You don’t feel feverish. Have you been feeling ill or anything?”
“No. Just tired.” I lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I figure it’s the stress of everything going on.”
Worry glinted in her eyes and I caught her hand, squeezing it. “Don’t worry. I’m okay. Talking about it helped a lot. I’m just really tired.”
“You don’t look like you’ve been sleeping.”
“I haven’t.” That lie came easier than I liked. I had been sleeping. The problem was, I couldn’t seem to sleep enough.
“I thought as much. You spend a great deal of your time trying to get in naps, but
I guess they aren’t helping, are they?”
With a weak shrug, I looked away, tugging nervously at the sleeves of my blouse.
“Why don’t you go on back up and lie down? You were almost asleep just now. Might as well get in the rest while your body is trying to make it happen.”
I barely remembered my head hitting the pillow.
I woke to the sound of a phone ringing somewhere off in the depths of the house.
There wasn’t a phone in my room, but there were more than a couple in the house, and halfway through the third ring, it was cut off.
Lying there, staring at the ceiling, I tried to get my disjointed thoughts to settle.
My belly was rumbling.
I was starving.
It took a few more minutes before I realized I hadn’t eaten breakfast.
The eggs—
Shuddering at the thought of them even now, I sat up and stared at the clock. Almost noon. I’d slept away almost four more hours, and that was after sleeping nearly nine hours last night. No wonder I was hungry. No wonder my brain felt like it was wrapped up in cotton batting.
After a quick stop by the bathroom to brush my teeth, I headed downstairs and went straight into the kitchen.
Harrison wasn’t anywhere to be found, but I knew his routine by now. He did the shopping and marketing twice a week, on Tuesdays and Saturdays.
I didn’t need help to make a sandwich, or even a basic meal, and after poking around a bit, I set about making what sounded best.
“Is that…” Florence came to a stop next to me, her voice full of apprehension. “Maya, are you eating a peanut butter and tomato sandwich?”
“Yes.” I slapped the top piece of bread down on my masterpiece and looked at her. “Want one?”
“No.” She looked mildly repulsed.
“Okay.” Shrugging, I turned around and leaned back against the counter, sandwich in hand. The first bite was amazing, and the rumbling in my belly stopped.
“You look like you feel better.”
“I do.”
“The miracles of some rest and a strange sandwich,” she said, laughing a little. She continued to eye my meal, and after another shake of her head, she added, “I think I’ll have some peanut butter myself.”
