by Alice Ward
I heard the boys cursing and realized there was blood on the wooden floor. Kenny peeled off his t-shirt and held it up to my face. The boys watched as the gladiators left the stadium, the blond one bloody and embarrassed.
Kenny walked me to the front desk. “Hey, Liane, get me the kit, would you?” he asked the girl behind the desk. She nodded and soon materialized with a blue metal box that contained medical supplies. Kenny worked on my bleeding nose with gauze and a makeshift bandage to stop the bleeding. “Jesus, sorry, man,” he said, his face filled with concern.
“Hey, no problem. It was my fault,” I said and heard a voice behind us. One of the boys had brought my street shoes.
I leaned against the counter to slip them on and looked up to find Liane watching me, her face filled with sympathy. “Are you alright?” she asked, her voice tinged with a British accent. “Shall I call someone for you?” she prompted me.
“No, no one. I’m fine. Just a little red,” I answered, looking into the deepest brown eyes I’d ever seen. They seemed almost molten, like spheres of compassion that drew you in without even being aware of it.
“Yes, indeed, red you are,” she laughed and covered her mouth quickly as though she’d been rude.
Her brown eyes were framed by voluminous chestnut hair that glowed with good health. It reminded me of a colt’s coat, well-brushed and yet to see its first molting. Someone tapped my hip, and I turned to see the other boy, holding out my sunglasses. I’d left them with my shoes. I grabbed them and slid them on quickly so that I might study her from the safe side of my subliminal wall.
Liane was smiling at me, and I looked at Kenny, who picked up on it. “Liane, this is Hawk. Don’t ask me his last name, we never got that far,” he said and then cocked his head as he realized the truth of his statement.
“Sansabri,” I provided. “Hawk Sansabri.”
“How do you do, Mr. Hawk Sansabri? I’m Liane Coventry. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” She offered her hand, which I took, if only to feel the texture of her pale skin. She was as delicate as crystal, and there was a musical lilt to her voice that was more than her accent. It sounded like tinkling chimes in the breeze of a spring morning. It made me almost giddy.
“Sansabri… without a home in French,” she commented, and I knew she was as intelligent as she was beautiful. Her full lips were pursed in concentration. “I don’t believe I’ve ever met anyone with that name before.”
“You’re British?” I countered, unwilling to waste the opportunity to learn more about her.
“Well, in a manner of speaking — forgive the pun,” she laughed. “My dad is a vicar; a pastor of a local Methodist church and his accent is much stronger. I was born here, but naturally picked up some of his accent,” she explained, smiling and winking a bit wickedly.
I was enchanted. That may be the first time I’ve ever used the word enchanted. I’m standing here, fucking bleeding all over myself and using the word enchanted. What’s the matter with me?
“You work here?” I asked, trying to establish some sense of where I might find her again when I pulled my shit together.
“Volunteer,” she offered.
“Liane is great,” Kenny chimed in. “She volunteers here a couple of days every week to help the kids in the neighborhood. They all think she’s straight out of Harry Potter because of the way she talks.”
“She is something special,” I agreed and grinned at her.
“C’mon, man, let’s get you back to the gym.” Kenny patted me on the shoulder. “I’ve got the right stuff there to fix you up.”
I nodded and looked to Liane. She gave a small wave and a sweet, sweet smile. “Until next time,” she said, and I nearly floated out of the building into the bright sunlight.
“Jesus!” I said, and Kenny laughed.
“I’d say somebody’s got a crush.” I turned to look at him in surprise.
“Damn! You may be right,” I agreed and would say nothing further. I looked like a fucking ass in there.
Kenny read my mind. “Forget it, man. She’s not like the others. She’s real. She’s at the desk on Wednesdays and Saturdays, in case you’re interested.”
I nodded, and we got into my car and headed for the gym, his shirt still held against my nose.
*
I was back at work the next day, but all I could think about were those sweet, full lips and that glorious hair. It was driving me mad. My nose was swollen, and I had two black eyes so I contented myself with a ride on Diablo to get some exercise and perspective. I rode close to Carlos Acres and could see people moving around. I carried a small binocular and used it to watch from behind the leaves of a tree.
I had done my research. Carlos Acres was a training and breeding facility my mother built. It was made up of a central breeding barn and indoor show ring. There was a training barn that included a pool and a number of ten-acre hobby farms where owners could come and stay. Her clients were wealthy individuals who liked the idea of owning a Thoroughbred but lacked the knowledge and work to care for them. My mother’s staff took care of that for them, and they just dropped in when it sounded like fun — primarily at Derby time.
There was a small hotel on the grounds, and my parents had built a new farmhouse-style home where they lived with my younger siblings, Mark and Marga. I was fairly sure my grandparents lived on one of the hobby farms. My maternal grandfather and paternal grandmother married one another and all was wonderful in Easyville, I was sure.
I boiled inside as I looked down upon all that should have been mine someday, but would be parceled out between the twins instead. Not only had I been banished, they weren’t even sure I was alive. Not yet, anyway, but that would change when the time was right. I swore it.
I turned Diablo back toward my house and ran him, hard. It hurt my nose, and I even felt a bit of blood and soon tasted the metallic saltiness that lay on my upper lip. I pulled back the reins and walked Diablo, trying to focus on business before I returned home. It was no good. She was in my head, and I couldn’t shake her.
*
The only churches I could ever remember being in were in Mexico, and they were all colorful and Catholic. Where they’d been filled with statues and candles for the saints, this one was stark and cold by comparison. Nevertheless, I hadn’t come to see the church, but the young lady I hoped to find sitting somewhere near the front.
I arrived at the last minute to avoid chit-chatting with strangers. I’d had to wait a week before the black eyes faded to a pale citrine color and the swelling had gone down on my nose. I shuffled in just as the doors were being closed and took a seat in the closest pew.
The organ struck the chords for the processional, and I looked up and saw Liane seated at the keyboard. Her back was to me, but there was no mistaking the long hair. She wore a retro-looking white sweater, and when the music was concluded, she turned full profile to look at the pulpit. I could tell, even at this distance that she had full breasts and legs that could put Gucci shoes to shame. I felt myself harden and quickly laid a hymnal over my lap, crossing my legs to disguise it.
A man in a suit approached the pulpit from his high-backed wooden chair, pre-Victorian in design. He laid a Bible on the pulpit’s face and straightened his tie after adjusting the height of the microphone before him. This had to be Liane’s father. There was a very vague resemblance, but when he began to speak the opening prayer, his accent confirmed my assumption.
I listened absent-mindedly, standing and opening the hymnal to a random page when others around me stood. I couldn’t take my eyes off Liane. I wanted to inscribe in my memory every nuance of the way she looked and how she held herself. She was very slender, despite her curvaceous figure, and almost wraithlike in her pale skin. Her hair seemed to almost overwhelm her, hanging below her waist and pooling on the organ bench on which she sat. She had an unconscious gesture of pushing her hair behind her right ear before putting her hands on the keyboard. I realized then that she was right-handed and ne
eded her hand to be free to move forward and turn the pages of music from which she read.
Even from my distance, I heard her sweet voice joining in. Like her speaking voice, it was melodic and soprano in range. She swayed a bit with the rhythm of the music, telling me she was creative and sensitive in nature — she was too responsive to be otherwise. I let my mind go to the vision of making love to her. Surely she would be as responsive to my love making as she would be sweetly tactile in handling my cock. I imaged those long fingers closing around me.
My groin began to ache, and I knew if she spotted me, I would be lost. I chose the coward’s retreat and left just before the closing prayer. There was a limit to what I could stand and the fact that she was so overwhelmingly magnetic convinced me I needed a plan.
I paced all afternoon when I got home. I couldn’t concentrate on my work and even working out Diablo didn’t help. I took a cold, long shower and remained restless, even after I jacked off to visions of her spread before me.
Grabbing my keys, I headed to my part of town. Murphy’s was the ideal place as it was Sunday and only beer would be sold. Murphy saw me enter and had it waiting. I ordered a plate of ribs, and Mrs. Murphy brought them out to me. She flashed a wink indicating she was interested if I was. I lost my appetite at that point and merely pushed the boned meat around on the plate with a fork.
I had, somewhere along the way, become a master at blending in, never conspicuous, even with the scars. They had faded, and I’d been told on more than one occasion that they made me look rugged and mysterious, but I kept the worst hidden by a pair of aviators.
I also blended in by only making innocuous comments and never argued, never challenged. It was called survival, and I was very, very good at it.
Kenny wasn’t around, and I was almost glad. While I had no one to talk to, it also meant I wasn’t obligated to talk when all I wanted to do was think. I laid a twenty on the bar for my beer and ribs but didn’t leave. Murphy put the bill in the cash drawer and the change in his pocket. That’s the way things were there.
I had to find some way to get a grip on myself. I’d spent years planning this return. Years of waiting for word from my father that never came. Years plotting what I’d do when I stood on this land. I had to be hard to carry out those plans. I couldn’t have a conscience, couldn’t be forgiving. This was winner take all. I had to keep total focus on my revenge.
Liane had changed those rules, all in the space of a couple days. I couldn’t keep my mind off her for more than a few minutes at a time. Her beauty was captivating, but there was so much more. A goodness surrounded her. Emanated from her. It seemed to cast a glow on everything she touched.
Too bad she was the exact opposite of me.
My entire life was a lie. How could I explain that to her? How would I justify what had to be done to set things right? Would I be forced to choose between revenge and regeneration? Was I capable of that, if she was even interested in me at all?
So many questions.
I missed Bernie. He’d always had the right words, even if they were bullshit. He and I had one particular thing in common. We both lived off lies. They were a currency in a world where discovery could mean your demise.
CHAPTER SIX
Worth
Auggie seemed to have resolved, at least for the time being, the sadness that had shadowed her lately. She’d never known a hard life and genuine sorrow. She simply didn’t have the coping skills. This made me feel guilty. Not only had I made the decision that had brought this on, but I was a trained professional who should have been able to help her deal with it. I couldn’t even help myself deal with it, and I wasn’t nearly as empathetic as she was.
Mark had reported that the neighbor had been spotted watching Carlos Acres again. It was hardly a criminal offense, but it bothered me a bit that he’d chosen to watch from afar rather than drive right in and introduce himself. That indicated he had some reason for maintaining secrecy.
I’d asked around town and among our friends. No one had met him. They didn’t even know what he looked like. I had nothing more than Mark’s vague description to go by, and I didn’t want to question him too thoroughly, or he’d get spooked. I’d decided to let it lie but keep my ears open.
I was working at the clinic in town that day. My cell rang, and I saw that it was Walter, Auggie’s dad.
“Hey!” I greeted him upon answering.
“Worth, it’s your mother.” The words seemed to be pushed from her throat. “She’s sick. We’re at Norton’s emergency.”
My hand tightened on the phone. “I’ll be right there.”
I tapped Auggie’s number, and she answered on the third ring. I could tell she was out of breath. “I was just changing from my barn clothes; we’ll meet you there.” She spilled out the words. Evidently her father had called her as well — perhaps hoping to have her soften the blow if she was with me.
I arrived at the emergency room and found Walter sitting in a corner, his legs crossed at the knee, his hand patting his thigh. It was a nervous gesture. “How is she?” I asked as soon as I was close enough for him to hear me.
“Worth, sit down and catch your breath. She’s having a scan right now. They haven’t told me anything and kicked me out when the attendant came to get her.”
“What happened?”
His face pulled in on itself, and it took a few moments for him to answer. “I heard a thud when she was in the shower this morning and when I got in there, she was lying on the shower floor, passed out. I called the ambulance and dressed her as well as I could before they got there. She never woke up. Just went limp.”
“How long ago was this?”
Walter looked at his watch and looked upward, calculating. “About a half hour ago, I’d say. She did come to in the ambulance, but she just looked at me. I don’t think she recognizes me, Worth. There was no smile, no reaction of any kind.” His voice was heavy with sadness.
My heart beat hard inside my chest, so hard I could hear it in my ears. Mother was the last of my side of the family. I’d lost my brother, or at least the man I’d been raised to believe was my brother when he died in a car accident at sixteen. My father had taken his own life just after Auggie and I were married. In a screwed up turn of events, the man who proved to be my biological brother died at Ford’s hand. Filled with vengeance for having been switched at birth, he kidnapped Ford, and the boy had defended himself. At least that’s what I kept telling myself.
I stood up, patted Walter on the hand and went off to see if I could find a doctor or someone who knew more. While I didn’t have privileges here, the medical community was relatively intimate and moved from hospital to hospital routinely.
They were just bringing Mother back from imaging when I caught up to her gurney. I smiled and patted her hand, but she showed no sign of recognition. I was staggered. How could I lose her all in the space of a few minutes?
Auggie showed up in the corridor. “The kids are with Dad,” she told me and looked for me to give her good news. All I could do was shake my head.
“She didn’t acknowledge me,” I said, still unable to believe the dead eyes that had peered out of her living face.
“Maybe she was groggy,” Auggie prevaricated for me, hoping to sidestep the obvious.
I looked into Auggie’s eyes and shook my head. “It’s not good,” I said and took her hand as we went into Mother’s room. “Go get Walter and the kids.”
We stood in a semi-circle around the foot of Mother’s bed, each of us crying and touching her leg or arm. Her eyes were closed, and she looked peaceful. We spoke quietly to her, each offering a story or funny memory.
It was while we all stood around her that she inhaled one last time. We all waited. Waited. Waited for her chest to move, the small hiss of air to escape her nose. It didn’t. Before our eyes, the mother I adored slipped away.
Walter looked as though he could no longer stand and I sent Marga to get a wheelchair for him. He was a proud man
, however, and shook his head, rejecting the aid.
“Take them home,” I whispered to Auggie, and she nodded and gave Mother one last look before she shepherded them out of the room.
I sat on the side of Mother’s bed for some time, holding her hand as it lost heat and stiffened. I’d never been a religious man but found it impossible to believe that the vibrant, loving woman I’d known all my life had simply disappeared into the ether. Her soul had to be present, somewhere, some place.
They brought me papers to sign and even though rightfully Walter should have been doing it, I was also a next of kin and took the responsibility on myself. Her wishes were to be cremated, and this would be the last time I would see her loving face. I bent and kissed Mother’s cheek, and for a moment, imagined that her mouth curved upward in a faint smile. It was only muscles contracting, but it was comforting to think otherwise.
I said my goodbyes and left. It was time to go about the business of grieving. Margaret LaViere Langford had passed into her next existence.
*
We held a service outdoors, in a park where Mother had adopted a garden to tend each summer. We were surrounded by her beauteous legacy, as well as our memories of her. The twins were brave, but tears ran down their cheeks. There were hundreds of additional flowers and plants from friends and neighbors she’d had over the years; both from her side and from Walter’s. Mark made it his business to go through and gather all the cards and then we sent the flowers on to Sunset Village, the retirement home Auggie had adopted and converted into a haven for retirees. I wondered momentarily whether they realized their bounty was a result of someone’s death, but perhaps they no longer feared the end as I still did.
Walter stood up well through it all. Auggie was by his side the entire time. The daughter had become the parent as we are all eventually prompted to do. He stayed with us at our house until Auggie and the twins had a chance to go through Walter and Mother’s house, packing up her clothes and personal effects, putting them into storage. No one was ready to throw anything away just yet. There would always be time for that.
