The Gift by Carol McKenzie
© 2005
Ocean’s Mist Press
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The Gift
Copyright (c) 2005 by Carol McKenzie
ISBN: 0-9773040-015-5
Cover art and design (c) 2005 by Ginger Heaston & Mari LaCroix
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form without permission, except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law.
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Chapter one
Hank Cooper dreaded going into Johnny Brook’s room at St. John’s Hospital. The prognosis was bleak. His buddy no longer exuded invincibility or virility. No longer a cop but a cancer patient, Johnny concerned himself with a different type of survival. His life was coming full circle and he had tied up all his loose ends except one.
Thinking back, remembering the high spots of their relationship, Hank owed his partner more than he could ever repay. On several occasions, while on patrol, Johnny had saved his butt. Wearing his uniform because he’d just left work, Hank entered and took a seat next to Johnny’s bed, quietly watching the nurse assist Johnny in taking his meds.
Prematurely grief stricken, tears glistened in Hank’s eyes. His heart ached.
“It’s all right, Hank. Don’t be sad.” Johnny cleared his throat and toyed with his pillow. “It’s okay. I don’t want you to be sad.”
“I’m fine,” Hank lied.
“Death is a part of life.”
Hank shook his head and rested his forehead in his hands. A big sigh left his lips. Fearing Johnny would recognize his fears, Hank asked “Why are you saying that? No one knows how long we have. You might be around a long time.”
It was as though Johnny didn’t hear the statement. “After I go, I want you to move on with your life. Don’t dwell on me.”
“Hell, you’ll probably be looking over my shoulder in my squad car.”
“Maybe I will.” Johnny laughed.
“Listen, Hank I have most all of my loose ends taken care of. I’ve left all my savings to cancer. But I saved out a little money for something that I want done for one of those undone loose ends.”
Puzzled, Hank peered into Johnny’s pale face. “What’s that?”
“I won’t get a chance to tell Carmine goodbye the way I want to.”
It hurt Hank to see his friend pining over a lost love, especially at this late hour in his life. “I can call and arrange--”
“Not now. She’s married. It’s probably best that a message be delivered after I pass.”
“How can you...” Talking about death and dying was hard. Hank saw his own dying mother and father’s faces in Johnny’s chiseled features. Cancer had taken them too.
“I’ve heard that her marriage is failing, but I don’t want to be held responsible for breaking it up.”
“What do you suggest?”
“I need you to get in touch with her when, and if, her marriage ends. After I’m gone.”
“That’ll be no problem.”
Johnny held up a finger. “There’s more to it.”
“What?
“I have a dying request of you, Hank.”
“You’re not...” Hank started to correct him, but instead his voice fell away. The word “dying” stuck in his throat.
“It’s true. I am.”
Abjectly Hank asked, “What do you want me to do?”
“It’s regarding Carmine.”
“Sure, Johnny. Anything.”
After Johnny reached for a clear glass of ice water, sipped and carefully replaced it onto the bedside stand he said, “You don’t know her, but I still care about her...Carmine.” He remembered their afternoons together with the shades drawn and the long Sunday afternoon drives out of town. Their long passionate kisses and dinners by candlelight that led to a passionate evening. She was soft...and submissive. His perfect match. Why had she listened to her family about not marrying a cop? No one should choose a person’s spouse for them except the person involved.
Hank nodded and looked down. “I figured that you cared about her...a lot.”
“How did you know?”
“Every time a past love was mentioned you softened up.” Hank changed positions in the chair. And, as he moved, the leather of his belt and holster crunched. “You can’t be partners for years and not know what’s in the other guy’s mind. Johnny, we’ve gone through hell and high water together. We’ve been shot at and nearly run down. You’ll make it through, buddy.”
“Not this time.”
A long painful silence punctuated the conversation. Hank wasn’t prepared for Johnny’s remarkable request.
“I have a favor to ask. A last request.”
“Sure, Johnny. What is it?”
Chapter Two
With skin the color of a rich mocha, Carmine Ashton peered into the home office, wrapped her arms at her waist, and shifted her weight onto one leg. She wore a black cashmere coat, black hose, and pumps. For an accent she wore a diamond broach that was pinned to her side swept silk scarf. Her long black shiny mane was done up and clasped with a diamond studded comb. Hardly, she was dressed for traveling.
Attorney Mark Ashton, a tall blonde 40-year-old white man did not flash his icy blue brooding eyes her way. In fact, he didn’t look up from the paperwork on his desk until she said, “I’m leaving town for awhile.” Scented blue smoke from a lit cigarette twirled upward from a crystal ashtray.
He blinked, tossed his pen onto an open book and rubbed his eyes. He rested his chin onto a fist. “To go where? It’s Thanksgiving, for chrissakes,” he said harshly, grinning. Definitely he feared her leaving ever since she had caught him first hand with another woman. “You can’t take off, giving little or no notice!”
It didn’t bother him, his infidelity didn’t; not one little bit, Carmine fumed. Damn his soul. Mark had trampled the love she’d given him. Their marriage had been a mistake and sex was no longer enjoyable.
“I need time to think.” The outcome of their marriage seemed bleak and irreparable.
“About what?” he asked incredulously. “I’ve apologized, for god sakes. Do you want me to get down on my knees?”
“I don’t think it’d help...not now it wouldn’t.” She began walking toward the front door. He thought a simple apology could mend her hurt and the new distrust she had of him. He was wrong; not even a marriage counselor could make her want to stay. How long had it been since he’d turned her on with a little warm up or sweet talk? To her, it was a lot like revving the engines before the race. God, it’d been years since she’d had some quality sex.
Perhaps Mark performed satisfactorily with his mistress...or was that plural...mistresses? Why hadn’t he tried to spice up their sex life before going out on her? But, Carmine’s luck had been bad from the very beginning with Mark. He stuck his dick in her, pounded her, came, withdrew and shortly thereafter fell asleep without expressing affection, kind of like “wham-bam-thank you Ma’am.” Ho hum. Sex occurred mindless, like it was a bodily function, like clockwork taking place daily. Carmine had studied the shadows on the ceiling the whole while he did his thing. Boring.
Carmine tried reasoning and enlightening him, telling him what she wanted and how s
he wanted it, but he didn’t pay attention and try to please her. He merely pleased himself. She hated getting a divorce. Sex with Mark was hardly satisfying. It was more of a frustrating undertaking, if anything. Was he gay and not telling her?
Realization registering in his eyes, he implored her, “Wait. Let’s talk.” He lightly grasped her forearm, stopping her progression toward the front door. Their beautiful two-story ivory house with its hunter green shutters and gold toned fixtures, now reminded her of a prison from which she had to escape. No longer did she care about her home or him, as she once had.
“This situation is unbearable. My trust, Mark, it’s gone.” Her voice thick with contempt, “Mark, you really blew it this time.” Hot tears seeped from her eyes and washed down her mocha colored cheeks.
Grabbing only her purse but leaving behind her cell phone and briefcase, she closed the office door and rushed out into the cold night wearing only the black cashmere coat and lawyerly attire that she’d worn all day in court or her office. Her chest tightened with heartache. The cheater didn’t deserve an explanation regarding her hasty departure. Let him feel pain, too. As a matter of fact, Mark didn’t deserve her. It’d be a cold day in hell before she allowed him to touch her again. To hell with the bloody holiday season; he absolutely ruined Thanksgiving. Not wanting to air her dirty linen in public, she decided to get out of there to think and regain her composure.
Carmine pressed the button to raise the garage door, climbed in the black, Gold Edition Lexus and backed down the driveway, leaving Mark peering her way, his hands shoved into his pants pockets. Leaving her neighborhood, Carmine began driving, not caring about anything except escape. Her cheeks wet with tears, she merged onto the interstate past the downtown district of Mt. Vernon then drove west.
Looking out the windshield, Carmine pressed the accelerator and drove past numerous living room windows that were hopefully happy households full of people who were readying for Thanksgiving which was two days away.
Hours passed before she began wondering how many hours it had been since she left Mt. Vernon. Two, three? Twilight pinked the horizon. As soon as she stopped for gas she would call her parents in Chicago and let them know she was okay. So they’d understand her plight, she’d also tell her mother that less than twenty hours ago, she’d caught Mark with a legal secretary at their firm, evidently a mistress, in the back room. She had walked in just as he had been running his hand up her skirt, while kissing her full on the mouth. Two office employees nervously came forward telling Carmine that her husband and secretary’s relationship had commenced earlier that year and it made them nervous to see their boss indulging in such unnerving activity, especially when Carmine, also worked in the same office. Why hadn’t she noticed all the warning signs? They had been there. Perhaps she had been in denial. Damn his cheating soul. She felt as though someone took a knife, stuck it in her heart and twisted. Carmine lost all her love for him. She pulled the wedding and engagement rings off her finger. Her mind returned to the depressing present, leaving the hurtful memory of Mark's infidelity behind, she lowered the window and tossed the expensive gold rings out into the cold night.
“Fuck him!” Carmine cried out as she peered at the increasingly hilly, tree-lined side roads; she pounded the steering wheel once and reached for a tissue from a box that occupied the passenger seat then raised the window. Mark had held her heart in his hands before yesterday. How could she have been so blind?
Divorce, she wanted it now more than ever. God, she wanted to sign the papers and be done with him. Scalding tears welled in her eyes as she fiddled with the satellite radio until she found a classical station that was playing one of Tchaikovsky’s pieces. Perhaps a little light music would soothe her frayed emotions. Carmine let the majestic melody wash through her, soothing her frayed state
She needed a man...a real man, one like she had at one time. Johnny Brooks was his name. Carmine needed love and loving...spice like he gave her. She needed a man to take her into his loving, strong arms, hold her, stroke her lovingly and tell her everything would be okay. Perhaps she needed something a little darker at times, too.
Mark Ashton, it seemed, no longer added spontaneity and excitement to their love life; he’d ruined their relationship and trampled her trust.
Being a well-known figure in the southern Illinois area was a double-edged sword. Some folks said Carmine’s future was bright. Citizens of Illinois recognized her name within at least two to three hundred miles if not more, of Mt. Vernon, especially since she had been on the news seven or eight times in the last six months. Carmine needed space, far away from Mt. Vernon and everyone she knew. Perhaps her original plan to escape to the mountains of Colorado hadn’t been the smartest action to take, especially in the beginning of winter, but nevertheless Carmine traveled toward her cabin near Alamosa Colorado, even with the knowledge that the roads would probably be closed. Carmine did not care; she knew she wasn’t thinking straight. At least she had brought her credit cards. As long as she had the credit cards let unforeseen events unleash.
Did she want to end her marriage of nine years? Thank God, they did not have children. Oh, the emotional pain of separation. The newly divorced on average withstood separation without experiencing negative effects and she too would thrive without Mark. Oh fuck yes, she needed time to think.
Her mother, father and other family members would wonder why she didn’t come home for the holiday, but she didn’t want to face them this Thanksgiving. It would be a difficult task re-hashing the painful news. Purposefully, she didn’t bring her cell phone and decided to call them as soon as she got near a phone. Carmine Ashton, Attorney at Law, drove twenty hours straight and did not run into a moment of bad weather. She would go where no one knew her so she could emotionally heal and gather strength before returning.
Carmine peered out the driver’s side window and flipped on the windshield wipers. Until then she hadn't experienced bad weather. Snow began spitting and conditions deteriorated rapidly. On the radio, she heard the six o’clock newsman report that skiers needed snow on the slopes; that temperatures throughout the Midwest had heated to a balmy 33 degrees. A soft bed and quiet motel room beckoned; she had to stop soon and get some rest.
Carmine drove past a city limits sign. The temperature had nosedived from 33 to 17 degrees, so she rented a room at a cheap motel and decided that going to the winter cabin was not the best idea. Not using her own name or wanting Mark to find her, Carmine rented a room weary and emotionally distraught.
She unlocked the door of the room, stepped inside and scrutinized the blue bedspread with its white flowers and 1960s psychedelic picture hanging on the wall behind the headboard. The room was rather dingy, but so what? In striking contrast to the bedspread, the drapes were red with large yellow flowers. The dingy room's television didn’t work. Nevertheless, for the night, she’d call it home.
Who knew what the future held? With a shove of her foot, Carmine closed the door.
For the time being, she needed sleep...healing sleep and time alone. Her heart ached so badly that she felt it was good to take a time out from her life and figure out what she wanted to do about her crumbling marriage. Why had she started dating Mark ten years ago when she had a loving, sexy, ardent boyfriend in Johnny Brooks?
Where are you Johnny? I wish you could come to me. I need you.
* * * *
The next day, Thanksgiving Eve, Carmine decided to not check out and drive back to Mt. Vernon like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs. Besides, with the heavy snow she didn’t want to drive on snow-packed roads. Emptiness and sadness wreaked havoc and Carmine yearned for her life the way it used to be with a faithful husband. Now she lacked something or someone. Maybe revenge on Mark would make her feel better; then, maybe not. In frustration, she sighed as she pulled the drapes closed.
The next day she showered, left the motel room and drove to a department store where she bought a newly-stocked Christmassy green sweater and a few nec
essities. A little after two in the afternoon, she left the motel room again, dressed in new clothes. Feeling a little better and drove to a bar.
Three or four cars were parked outside Lonnie's Lounge. While she parked the car she vaguely realized a neon sign blinked, OPEN. Once inside, she shed her coat and hung it on a coat rack as a couple of men who had beers sitting before them looked her way. Carmine paid them no mind as she made her way to the bar. She smelled the scent of cigarette and cigar smoke. Country music was playing on the jukebox.
While too dark inside at least it was warm. The glow of lighted beer signs and the lamp over the pool table seemed to provide whatever light there was to be seen in the bar. Two longhaired men played pool while a young woman watched.
“A scotch on the rocks, please,” she told the bartender, still shaking from the events of the past two days. She sat on a high-backed stool at the bar.
The bartender, wearing a University of Colorado sweatshirt put his cigarette into an ashtray, pulled up his sleeves, and asked, “Any particular kind?”
“Chevis is fine.”
“Good choice.”
“It’s good scotch.”
“All right.”
As the bartender reached for a rocks glass and a squat clear bottle, she wondered how long had it been since she had a good lay? That was what she needed. Hungrily, she remembered how expertly Johnny had once tended her needs.
The gray-haired, rotund bartender put a cocktail napkin and drink before her, interrupting her thoughts.
Carmine paid. “Thanks.”
Leaving her, he rejoined a group of gossipy men at the opposite end of the long bar. The jukebox played romantic slow music and she smelled hamburgers grilling in the back room that caused her tummy to growl. Already she felt a little better; she had needed to get away and sort out all her thoughts. Sometimes life was so confusing. Perhaps she should think out her problems on a full stomach.
The Gift Page 1
