Mr. Right Next Door

by Arlene James

  “He’s not alone,” Morgan said with strong certainty. “If he was before, he wouldn’t be now, anyway. Pop thought about him a lot, you know, ever since we told him. I can see him now, looking out for this bright little boy with a grubby face and a skinned knee. Pop would go down on his haunches and push back his cap and say in that slow voice of his, ‘You must be Denise’s boy. Your mama sure loves and misses you, son.’ Then he’d take Jeremy by the hand, just the way he took yours that day, and he’d say, ‘Come and meet Ma now.’ No, Jeremy’s not alone. Never will I believe Pop would forget him, even in Paradise.”

  Denise found herself smiling, despite the tears that leaked from her eyes to wet the front of Morgan’s sweatshirt. She felt as if she’d been crying forever and, oddly, as if she would never cry again. In her mind’s eye she saw Jeremy walking away from her, his little hand snug in Ben’s strong, tough one. He was laughing and talking a mile a minute and skipping about every third step, and in her heart she knew that this, at last, was goodbye. She closed her eyes and felt the peace of Morgan’s steady heartbeat against her cheek. Radley’s voice brought her head up and loosed Morgan’s embrace.

  “Dad, they’re ready to take him now. I think you ought to go outside.”

  Morgan nodded and cleared his throat. “All right, son.”

  Together they walked through the door and slipped out of it. Someone met them on the porch and shoved a clipboard at Morgan. Resignedly, he filled in a few blanks, had a word or two with the attendant and signed his name at the bottom of the page. Radley could be heard inside giving directions about closing up the house and locating his grandfather’s only suit. It seemed to Denise that he sounded at least a decade older than the frightened boy who had driven her here in such a panic. She remembered how his grandfather had told him of his pride in him and silently thanked Ben for that bit of wisdom.

  Morgan walked her to the truck and lifted her up into the cab before scooting in next to her on the passenger side. He fastened her seat belt and then his own. When that was done, he settled back with a sigh. “What a day.”

  What a day, indeed! It occurred to her that she had news to share. “I ought to tell you, I got a promotion today.”

  He beamed a smile at her. “Did you? That’s good news.”

  “Chuck mentioned you at the meeting,” she went on. “Seems you’re a real hustler on the racquetball court.”

  “Damn straight, and he would know, the weiner. I waxed his butt good.”

  She chuckled at that. He grinned, but it wasn’t possible to sustain the lightened mood. The grin faded, and he turned tear-filled eyes upon her, his face rigid with the effort to remain straight.

  “Thank you,” he said softly. “Thank you for getting to know my dad and for being here now.”

  “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” she vowed, laying her head on his shoulder, “not a moment of it.”

  He laid his cheek against the top of her head. “Denise, about Belinda,” he began, but then Radley appeared at the door of the truck, and Morgan straightened uncomfortably, falling silent. Radley climbed behind the wheel and buckled his belt.

  “You okay, Dad?”

  “As okay as I can be. I want to thank you for handling all that in there.”

  Radley cleared his throat. “Glad to be of help. Uh, I told them Smart and Blake Funeral Home.”

  Morgan put his head back and closed his eyes. “Fine. That’s fine, son. Let’s go home.”

  Radley started the truck, backed it around and got it headed down the slope to the paved road. Denise bit her lip, wanting badly to ask Morgan what he’d started to say about Belinda, but now was clearly not the time, and she wasn’t absolutely certain that she wanted to hear what he had to say. He might have meant to warn her that Belinda would be around from now on. He might have been trying to tell her exactly what that would mean to their so-called friendship.

  She felt his arm around her shoulders and sensed in that simple gesture a definite lack of the passion that had burned between them when last they’d traveled this road. Passion was not to be expected in a situation like this, of course, and yet its absence troubled her more than she liked to admit. She told herself to be content with giving comfort. She was the one Radley had called, after all, the one he was sure that his father needed at his side at a time like this. She didn’t want to think about what might happen when Belinda showed up again, and surely she would if only to convey her condolences.

  They were almost to Fayetteville when Radley shifted in his seat and said, “I didn’t want to mention it earlier, but Aunt Delia was pretty upset when I called her.”

  Morgan sighed and lifted his head. “No surprise there.”

  “Yeah, well, I just thought I should warn you. She was screaming about how it was all your fault and everything. She even said you should’ve called her instead of me. I might not have been as nice as I should have.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Morgan said tiredly. “We’re all upset today.”

  “All the more reason for her to behave like a grown-up,” Denise muttered, but if either of her companions heard her, he gave no indication.

  Denise suggested that the guys drop her off at the office so she could pick up her car. Then she made them both promise to let her worry about dinner. People were pouring out of the building as she entered, and it occurred to her that she had never been a part of the daily exodus at quitting time simply because she usually left later than everyone else. Despite the promotion, she felt an odd stab of envy for all those satisfied people content to leave the job behind and hurry home to their loved ones. She thought of Morgan and the loss he’d suffered and had to literally force herself onto the only elevator going up. When she reached her office, it was to find Betty gone and Chuck going through the files stacked on her desk. He looked up sharply when she entered the room.

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  She felt a spurt of resentment. “I’m sure Betty told you that I had a personal emergency.”

  “Oh, really? A personal emergency on the heels of a personal triumph?” he asked skeptically. “Look, no one could fault you for wanting to celebrate, but not in the middle of a workday, for pity’s sake! I thought you had better timing than that.”

  She walked to the desk and let her handbag drop with a thunk onto its corner. “Morgan’s father died just over an hour ago.”

  He had the grace to look sheepish. “Oh, hey, I had no idea. B-but it’s not like you’re married to the guy or anything.”

  He might have stabbed her in the heart, so acute was the longing she felt. Married to Morgan Holt. Sweet heaven. She hadn’t realized until this moment how very much she loved him. She gasped air. “I...I had to be with him. You don’t know how close they were, Morgan and Ben, how devoted. Morgan needs me now, a-and I’m going to be there for him no matter what.”

  Chuck’s surprise was evident in the sudden arching of both shaggy brows. “Well. What about work?”

  “I’ll take care of it. Somehow. Tonight I’ll draw up an organizational chart for my new department and get Betty on it first thing tomorrow morning. The interviews can wait a few days—until after the funeral.”

  He slid his hands into his pants pockets and rocked back on his heels. “What about current contracts? Dilbert’s Dry Goods wants a last-minute change. Their rep called me today and—”

  “They’re trying an end run, Chuck. I’ve already told Dilbert’s no, so he’s gone around me to you, without bothering to inform you that his last gambit failed.” She reached into the pile of folders on her desk and extracted the correct one. Flipping it open, she showed him the note she’d made concerning Dilbert’s proposed change. He read through them quickly, and the last of the censure went out of his expression and tone.

  “Hmm, pretty cheeky, if you ask me.” After a moment he closed the file and laid it on top of the pile. “I admire a guy with audacity,” he said, “but you gave him the right answer.” He cleared his throat. �
��Want me to take care of it?”

  She shook her head. “No, thanks. It’ll have more impact coming from me. Not only will he know that you have agreed with me, he’ll think twice about pulling this trick again.”

  Chuck cleared his throat. “Won’t hurt to add the new title after your name, either, will it?”

  Denise smiled wanly. “No, it won’t.”

  He nodded and sidestepped toward the door. “Well, um, I’ll let you...do whatever you came to do.”

  “Thank you.” She walked briskly around the desk and sat down as he moved toward the door. “Oh, and, um, if you need to reach me while I’m out, I’ll be carrying my cell phone. I usually leave it in the car, but I’ll have it on my person until this is over.”

  He rubbed his hands together. “Excellent. And, ah, give my sympathy to Morgan, please.”

  To her surprise, he actually sounded sincere. “I’ll do that.”

  “Maybe I’ll send some flowers, too.”

  She was thunderstruck. “L.. That would be nice.”

  “Fine. That’s what I’ll do then.”

  “Fine.”

  “Okay. All right. Well...I’ll see you.”

  She nodded dumbly. He gave her a smart wave, turned on his heel and left her. She shook her head bemusedly. She must be more upset than she realized because for a moment there, Chuck Dayton had actually seemed human.

  Morgan sighed and sat forward, cradling his head in his uplifted hands. He supposed that he should feel grateful for the numbness that seemed to encase him, but he couldn’t seem to feel even that tepid emotion. It was strange and even a little frightening in a purely logical, objective fashion. Intellectually he knew that the numbness was a product of shock, and yet he couldn’t quite reconcile that fact. He’d known so long that Ben was living on borrowed time that it didn’t seem reasonable to experience shock when the end had finally come. So why was this lethargy binding him in place? Why couldn’t he wrap his mind around the fact that his father was gone?

  Denise carried flatware to the sink and began running water. He ought to help her, but he couldn’t seem to find the energy. After all, she had provided dinner for him and Rad, a tasty carry-in Chinese that he hadn’t been able to make himself eat. The cartons were safely stored away in the refrigerator, awaiting the moment his appetite returned.

  The doorbell chimed and Radley got up to answer it. Morgan felt not even mild curiosity about who might be calling, not that it mattered, for the voice in his hallway clearly identified itself only moments later. The tone, unsurprisingly, was angry, and yet he could not make himself sit upright to face his sister’s wrath. He did manage to look up as she entered the kitchen and caught sight of his ex’s smug face behind her, along with the apologetic grimace of his downtrodden brother-in-law, Howard.

  Delia stomped into the room with all the outrage her diminutive size could muster. Her short, dark hair was, as always, expertly tousled, her large, expressive eyes—made a vibrant, electric blue with the aid of colored contact lenses—were meticulously made-up and snapping with indignation.

  “My poor daddy!” she wailed. “I hope you’re satisfied! You’ve as good as killed him yourself! Why wouldn’t you listen to me? You’ve never been able to do the difficult thing, no matter how necessary! He shouldn’t have been up there all alone, damn you! Why couldn’t you just move him in here? God knows you have more than enough room!”

  “That’s enough.”

  Like everyone else, he had to look at Denise to be certain that it was she who had actually spoken.

  “Who are you?” Delia demanded.

  “Denise Jenkins.”

  “Oh, that’s Morgan’s little friend,” Belinda sneered. “I told you about her, dear.”

  Morgan knew that if he’d been himself he’d have taken great offense at both the wording and tone of Belinda’s statement. At the moment, however, he couldn’t seem to find the energy.

  Delia was fit enough, however. Never mind that it was her father who had died, too. She glared at Denise. “I’ll thank you to stay out of this. You can’t possibly know—”

  “But I do,” Denise interrupted flatly. “You’re the one who doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Ben lived as long as he did precisely because Morgan didn’t force him down off that mountain.”

  “Why, you interfering little—”

  Morgan knew that the battle was about to be joined, and yet he couldn’t seem to make himself speak up. Thankfully, Radley pushed his way through the crowded doorway to lend his support.

  “Denise is right, Aunt Delia,” he asserted calmly. “Moving away from the cabin would have killed Gran’pa.”

  Deprived of the release of her anger, Delia opted for sympathy. Almost instantly huge tears welled in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. “What would a boy like you know about it? He was my daddy, and I’ve lived with this awful fear for years, but would my Pollyannish brother do anything about it? Obviously putting my mind at rest never meant anything to him, and neither did our daddy’s life!”

  “That’s unfair and you know it!” Denise exclaimed. Stepping close she laid her hands on the back of his chair. He knew that if he could just make himself sit upright again she would move her hands to his shoulders. But what difference would it make? Ben would still be gone, and Delia would still blame him for it. Morgan sighed again, and even that seemed pointless and futile. He wished absently that they’d all just go away and leave him alone. Listening required more energy than he possessed at the moment, but not listening required more.

  “How dare you butt in like this?” Delia was demanding of Denise.

  “Who do you think you are?” Belinda added supportively.

  “What business is it of yours?” Denise snapped back.

  “Delia is my best friend, I’ll have you know! Ben was my father-in-law, and Radley—”

  Radley shot an apologetic look at Denise and quickly stepped into the fray. “Uh, Denise, this is my mother.”

  He should have told her himself, Morgan reflected dully. Well, it couldn’t be helped now. Not even the mingled sounds of shock and hurt in Denise’s voice moved him to speak up.

  “Y-your mother?”

  “Yeah, uh, listen, I don’t think Dad’s up for this just now. It’s been a tough day and—”

  Morgan could feel Denise’s eyes on the back of his head. All he had to do was give her the least encouragement and she’d stay right there, defending his back with figurative sword drawn. Only he couldn’t quite care if Delia used him for verbal target practice. He couldn’t quite care about anything at the moment. He heard Denise’s gulp, felt her emotional withdrawal.

  “In that case,” she said stiffly, “I’ll leave the family to deal with this difficulty. She leaned forward then and pressed a hand to his back. “Call me if you need anything.”

  Radley nodded for him and tried as best he could to reassure Denise. “It’ll be all right. Everyone’s just upset right now. I won’t let anything get out of hand.”

  Morgan felt a swelling of pride in his son, and just that single moment of emotion brought a flood of tears to his eyes. He quickly clamped down the emotion, wondering what had happened to the strength he’d felt at Ben’s bedside. For one eternal moment, he wavered between explosive emotion and cold numbness. Some inborn sense of self-preservation sent him back over the edge into safe, numb nothing. He didn’t even look up as Denise hurried from the room. Neither did he absorb the words swirling around him. They were sounds without meaning, as far as he was concerned, rather like everything else. Suddenly his whole life lacked meaning and he couldn’t find the energy to even care.

  Chapter Nine

  The funeral was simple and dignified and well attended. Radley stood at his father’s side, tall and strong, his face showing fierce protectiveness along with his own grief. Delia bawled and wailed and generally painted herself as the only truly loving survivor. Her “dearest friend,” Belinda—with her aesthetically thin, hair-transplanted doctorhu
sband at her side—was a bit more circumspect, but not much. Morgan simply stared straight ahead, his eyes blank, his manner so subdued that it was eerie. He greeted her expressions of concern and sympathy with the same dull mechanics with which he greeted those of everyone else, which was to say, without a flicker of interest. Radley was the one who shook hands and returned hugs, quietly thanking everyone who came to pay their respects, his father blank and silent at his side.

  Denise was terribly frightened that the very experience that should have drawn her and Morgan as close as a couple could be was instead driving them apart. Added to that was the loss she felt both of Ben and Jeremy. In many ways it was as if Ben’s death had brought back the pain of Jeremy’s in all its immediacy, and yet she felt in herself a peaceful kind of acceptance that she had not known previously. She kept seeing again that picture of Ben and Jeremy that Morgan had painted on her mind’s eye before his emotional withdrawal.

  She kept thinking about that, too, about how everything had changed somehow in the few hours after Morgan and Radley had dropped her at the office and she had returned to them, cashew chicken in tow. She had noticed right away that Morgan had seemed lost and oddly detached, but grief took everyone in a different manner. She had screamed and pleaded for an hour herself and then given way to anger when Jeremy had died. She realized now that she, too, had withdrawn from those who sought only to help and comfort her, but in a much more subtle way than Morgan. She had simply pretended to be well, and carefully arranged her life to put distance between herself and her friends and family, whereas Morgan seemed to have just closed down his emotions entirely. How long before he built the kind of walls around himself that she had, and would she ever be able to scale them, as he had done for her?

  The days following the funeral were not encouraging. She carried food to the house, much of it prepared by her own unpracticed hands. Radley received it with thanks and made extravagant compliments concerning its aroma and taste. Morgan looked at her as if she were the newel post that held up a corner of the porch and said nothing.