Miss You Mad: a psychological romance novel

by Atkinson, Thea

  "Good," I said. "I need to get the Hell out of here." I gave old Howard the once over and pointed to my car. I yelled over my shoulder at one of the tellers.

  "Tell the cops I'll stop by later to leave my statement."

  Hannah smiled at me but the Howard fellow just scowled. I wondered why she liked him so much. He had weird lips. If I were a woman I'd never let them touch me. Hell, I was sure I wouldn't trust them to speak anything but lies. But I supposed I could stand his presence as long as he didn't have designs on Hannah. I made a thoughtful pit stop at the Tim Hortons to get Hannah a lovely Earl Grey tea complete with three heaping sugar, and was more than a bit annoyed that it took them so long to fill a simple order. And then, as though that wasn't bad enough, Hannah took one sip and said she was going to avoid sugar. Something about a cleanse. I brooded after that, letting it grow to a staggering proportion of silence as I watched them the whole way to Pembroke. Howard sat next to her in the back seat, occasionally touching her arm, or laughing at her jokes. He acted like an adoring lover. I didn't like it one bit. There I sat stuck behind the wheel without much leeway to interject in the conversation, jammed against the passenger seat next all the computer equipment they'd purchased during the morning.

  "Richard told me I could pick up the keys from a neighbour," I piped, deliberately interrupting Howard's adoring conversation with Hannah. "He'd left them the last time he was here. He said he'd call her right away."

  Howard acted nonplussed. Damn him.

  "How long ago?" he said.

  I didn't quite feel like making it easy for him. "How long ago, what?"

  Hannah interrupted. "Oh, for pity's sake, Daniel. He wants to know how long ago, right away, is?"

  "About three hours. How long will it take before you're back online?"

  Howard answered instead. "Oh, she's still online. I switched video before I left."

  "Then when will she begin painting live again?"

  Howard looked at Hannah. He raised his brow.

  Hannah sighed. "Yes. I'm still going to. I'll wait until you make it back to Toronto and cut off the video. It doesn't exactly have to be perfect. After all, I only paint for certain hours of the day. There are times when my site just has the chat screen. But I do still need to get the Phone Company to set me up with service."

  I turned deftly onto Helen Lucy Road and navigated the various ruts that peppered the dirt surface. Howard seemed unimpressed with my skill. Fuck him.

  "Which house is the key at?" he said, ignoring they way I neatly evaded a stray cat that streaked in front of us.

  "The one at the top of the hill," I said, pulling up tight to the grassline and barrelling onto the driveway. Howard fell against the door. I grinned and jerked the car to a stop.

  In all honesty, I wasn't prepared for who answered. Complete with blue terry cloth robe and old woman slip-on slippers, Belle Hastings looked as surprised to see me as I was to see her.

  "I didn't expect it to be you." She smiled.

  I extended my hand. "You're Richard's neighbour?"

  She nodded. Taking my hand, she whispered, "I've taken your advice and have gone for a sail with the captain." Then she giggled. I was willing to bet they were sailing together on the Titanic. Hannah and Howard exchanged quizzical looks.

  "Come in," Mrs. Hastings pulled on their sleeves. "Come in. It's so good to have that little house rented out. They were such nice ladies. They invited me over for tea now and then. I just can't imagine how they managed."

  Hannah came to life. "Those two must have been something."

  Belle nodded. "Oh, something is an understatement. Most people here thought they were odd. But I rather enjoyed them. It's nice to have oddity now and then." She winked at me. "Unless it has to do with your life savings."

  I grinned.

  Belle peered at Hannah as though she was having a hard time seeing.

  "I'll come over tomorrow to help clean up if you like. Richard would like Helen's things stored here. And I don't mind." She stretched her arm out to sweep across the wide expanse of oak covered hall. "I have tons of space. All wasted. Wasted space."

  Hannah gave Belle what looked like a small curtsey. "That would be lovely, Mrs.?"

  "Hastings," Belle finished. "But please call me by my given name. Belle. We're going to be neighbours, after all."

  Hannah made a little chirping sound. "My last name is Hastings, too."

  "Indeed?" the old woman said. "Who's your father?"

  "Benjamin."

  Belle put a delicate hand on her chest. "You're Benjamin's girl?" She fanned herself. "I haven't heard from your side in years."

  Hannah positively beamed.

  Belle patted Hannah's arm as she swayed on her feet. "It's time that old feud was put to rest Besides." Belle looked pointedly at me. "Buffaloes have short memories."

  I decided I rather liked the inebriated old buffalo.

  I didn't much mind pulling equipment out of the back seat and lugging it into the tiny house. I didn't even mind changing the few light bulbs that were needed throughout the small space. But when Howard asked me to start dusting the four years of neglect from every surface, I out and out refused.

  "Well, I'm going to be busy setting up the server." He fiddled with a plug to make it look good.

  I stared across at Hannah where she stood marvelling over the 'fabulous light' that streamed through the studio windows. She walked from the old easel that stood in the middle of the windows, Helen's probably, over to the short hallway lined with Japanese art. She sat on the cot pushed up tight to the wall and stretched her legs across the floor. The tips of her bare toes touched the opposite wall. I hoped she'd catch my eye and save me from such menial tasks as cleaning up after a painter who'd been dead four years and hadn't had the grace to clean away her latest activity before she croaked.

  No go. Hannah gave me a pout. "Just wipe off the table, Daniel. Then we can have some lunch."

  "Why can't Howard?"

  She got up and crossed the five feet to where Howard jiggled a cord. "Why don't Daniel and I go pick up some fast food? We'll lay a blanket here on the floor and have a picnic."

  Howard shrugged. I guessed that as long as he didn't have to do any cleaning, he'd agree to anything.

  Still, I wanted to notch a point for myself onto his computer geek forehead. Especially when he stared at Hannah as she turned back toward me and crossed to take my hand. He looked as if someone had poked worms into his mouth.

  At least Hannah saved me from the awful chore of dusting. She pushed into the driver's seat while I opted for the passenger side.

  "How does McDonald's sound?" I asked.

  She screwed her lovely face into what could easily have passed for an albino raisin. "I was thinking more along the lines of a baked potato. Or a couple of sandwiches."

  "You call that fast food?"

  "I call anything I don't have to cook, fast." She checked both directions for cars as we reached the end of of the road.

  "I figured you'd be a great cook, what with your artistic talent..." I pumped the passenger side floor when a cat streaked across the road. Hannah deftly swerved without touching the brake.

  "I guess God thought one talent was enough." She reached across to hold my hand.

  I stroked her palm with my baby finger. "I'm a great cook. Maybe I can make you supper on Saturday."

  She tightened her grip. "I'd love that. Maybe in return I can sketch you."

  "Like Titanic?" I waggled my eyes at her.

  "You'd make an interesting nude."

  I noted that she said,' interesting', not good. What was that supposed to mean? Then, I realised something that made my stomach tingle.

  "Do you always paint nude?"

  She smiled. "Are you asking me to put us live on the net?"

  I choked. Of course, since I choked on nothing but my own spit, I couldn't breathe. I swallowed and swallowed and swallowed, and couldn't stop swallowing long enough to catch a breath. She waited
patiently till I'd finished.

  "You know, Daniel, you're priceless. I'm really glad I met you. I don't know what I'd have done."

  I guessed the feeling was quite mutual. She'd made a change in me, as well. I couldn't tell her that, though. If I did, I'd have to start with how we'd met. How I'd wanted to stop living. How I didn't want to think about anything anymore.

  "I just wish I could think of a better place for you to stay. Helen and Lucy's house is awfully little," I hedged.

  She frowned. "Are you kidding? That house is perfect. I couldn't possibly have found a better place."

  "I suppose I could have offered you my house."

  "Then where would you have lived?"

  "We both could have stayed there."

  She shook her head. "I need my own space."

  "But that space is so small."

  "What else do I need? A place to paint, a place to live... a place to love."

  I couldn't understand what drew her about such a house. So it had belonged to two eclectic painters who ran it without electricity, without modern amenities. So, it had a well-lit studio with windows that stretched out into a non-existent lawn and up into clear sky. The place wasn't painted, it had scrub brush that reached shoulder height, its cramped loft was reachable only by a hand made ladder. So what if it sat 20 feet from the beach, it was little, damn it. Little. With a great amount of landscaping to be done if it were to look at all presentable.

  "It needs a lot of landscaping," I said.

  "Whatever for?" She answered. "I don't care what anyone thinks. As a matter of fact, I don't give a damn."

  "I suppose," I responded. "It doesn't really matter." It didn't, did it? One could spend a lifetime trying to make someone else happy. One could spend a long lifetime. "You really like the place?"

  She touched my arm. "I love it. It's everything I could have ever dreamed for."

  "I'm glad." I said. "I'm really glad for you."

  She smiled. "I figured you would be. Before we go back, I'll check out of the hotel. I didn't because I wasn't sure I could get the house. And I can tell the clerk to send my art supplies over."

  "You mean we didn't move everything?" I found that hard to believe. Her little car had been chock full.

  She shook her head. "Not even half. Howard hired a courier to ship the rest of my supplies To the Grand. I can leave a message with the counter clerk to send the courier to my new place. Howard can ship the rest of my apartment when he goes back tomorrow."

  Howard, Howard, Howard. I wished he'd just go back to fucking Toronto already.

  Hannah and I decided we'd eat supper in the hotel's restaurant. Actually, I decided. She wanted fast food that was healthy and I wanted Howard to go hungry just a little longer. The plan was as good as any, and it accomplished both of our agendas. Poor Hannah, she had no idea how petty I could be. Little man, I am. Very little man.

  "We'll bring him a doggy bag," I told her as we entered the lobby. It worked quite well as a convincing tool. "It won't be hot, but it will be a damn tasty meal."

  "If I didn't know better, Daniel, I'd think you were being mean." She stopped at the desk.

  I affected my innocent look. "Who me?"

  "I'm going to check out," she said, ignoring my protest. She approached the desk and waited till the clerk noticed her.

  "I'm expecting a delivery."

  The clerk turned all business. "Is it being shipped here?"

  Hannah nodded. "Yes, but I have another address it can go to. I expected it sometime today."

  "Oh, it's still pretty early. Only quarter to five. It could be here any minute."

  "Good," Hannah said. "Can you have them take the stuff to 86 Helen Lucy Road?"

  The clerk jotted down the information on a pink message slip. She impaled it on a black message stick and I wandered around while the final business was completed. Getting hungrier by the minute, I shuffled down the ramp to the restaurant entrance. Smells of roasted chicken and deep-fried potatoes came out. I decided right then to gorge on rapure pie. It had been at least a month since I'd eaten the dish. Perhaps I'd introduce it to Hannah.

  She came toward me and took my arm. "All done. Now we can eat. Then we'll go back to the house and finish cleaning up."

  "The clerk will have your stuff sent?"

  Hannah nodded. "I signed some form. She said she'd tell the delivery men where I could be found."

  Supper was remarkably uneventful. I guessed I was just too tired out to carry on much of a conversation. Hannah didn't seem to mind. She shovelled in the rapure pie without commenting on how gross it looked or how wonderful it tasted. I supposed she travelled the lines of her tangled synapses, deciding on her next project. It was a comfortable silence. One that felt right. I yawned when the check came. She smiled.

  I got Hannah to drop me off at the bank. My BMW could bring me safely home and I'd escape having to clean. Let Howard dust. I'd feel much better helping out when he was safely aboard a plane back to Toronto. Not that I was jealous, mind you. Jealousy was for people who cared. Jealousy was for people who wanted to live. And I didn't fit either bill.

  I stopped dead in my tracks. I did want to live. I did care. The mustard yellow BMW waited quietly in its parking space. The Colonel sat in his spot and showed white in the black of the vehicle's interior.

  I unlocked and opened the door. "Colonel old man, you're about to be liberated." I threw him on the floor in the back seat. He looked ridiculous in front, anyway. He was a ritual I'd begun years before I lucked out and made a fortune. I didn't need him anymore. I was an adult. I could use my money for good and not the evil of bank charges and deposit fees. Money made money, but it didn't make a man happy. I couldn't believe I'd missed that concept. All this time, I'd been sick over not having a purpose, thinking money was the thing a man worked for.

  It wasn't true. A man worked, played, loved and built character. Money was a means, not a destination. If I couldn't share the wealth I didn't deserve to have it.

  Sweet Jesus, I felt the stirring of excitement.

  What the small town called a library, William would have termed a study. It had all of three rooms, one larger than the other, and it had precious little in the way of shelves. Luckily, though, it had four computers and free wifii access. And since it was the middle of the day, all but one was being used. He settled in. His smartphone was too small to do the work he planned.

  Within moments, good for even an old Pentium, he was rewarded with the bank's homepage and discovered after clicking through, that the bank wasn't a bank at all, but more of a co-op founded by the same man who had accosted him. A Daniel Jones, who, if the info was correct, was hailed in the town's newspapers as some sort of new money mogul. And the website listed everything from service charges to employee names, picture, and emails.

  Next he tried every social media client he could find.

  William sensed someone standing close. He looked up.

  The librarian was a short woman with a round build. Her medium-length hair curled a bit around the edge, near her ears. She looked friendly. William let go the breath he didn't know he had been holding.

  She leaned down. "Can I help with something?"

  "No," William stammered.

  She narrowed her eyes. It made her look less friendly. It made her look threatening. "Are you sure? You've been here for quite a while."

  "We said no. We don't need any help." It sounded nasty, even to William. Would dear William of old have been so rude? Probably, yes, if it was in character.

  The librarian turned heel and stomped away.

  William could again give his attention to the matter at hand. Thankfully, he had a benefit over the master playwright. He had the Internet. And you could be anyone you wanted to be over the Internet. He opened a phising app and sent little miss Gina a text.

  R U busy?

  William waited an eternity before she replied. He prayed this Daniel fellow wasn't standing next to her.

  Depends on who t
his is.

  Who do U think?

  I'm not in the mood 4 games, Dan. What do U want?

  Where are U? U took off so quick with that Hannah chick, the cops got majorly pissed. They need your info.

  William was certain his lungs stopped expanding.

  Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.

  He swallowed his panic and typed.

  Have the cops left yet?

  Y. U best stop at the station for your statement.

  Did U give 1?

  Yes.

  What did they ask?

  Regular stuff. Description.

  Did they ask where Hannah lived?

  I told them she was staying at the Grand. You've certainly kept everything else a secret.

  William pushed away from the screen. The Grand? Didn't he pass a Grand Hotel to get here? Wasn't it right next door?

  Saints be praised; Hannah was within touching distance.

  William's eyes burned as if he'd sprayed them with acid. He couldn't remember his last full night of sleep. Two days ago? Three? Whatever the number, he certainly hadn't slept at all for at least 24 hours. But sleep wasn't something he had time for right now. He couldn't afford even five minutes of rest. He strode into the hotel lobby with determination. He'd find out which room she was in. He'd charm the clerk and in minutes he'd be knocking on her door.

  The clerk seemed a bit young to be supervising the check-in desk. Her hair, long and blonde reminded him of Hannah's. Except Hannah's was curly. This girl's was straight and pulled back into a barrette. Her youth could work to his advantage.

  William cosied up to the counter. "Excuse us?"

  The girl drew away as if he'd slapped her. Her nostrils flared. "Yes?"

  "We're here for Hannah Hastings."

  Something flickered across her face. William traced it from brows to eyes to lips. He was certain she was considering something.

  "Oh," she said. "She just checked out. But she's been waiting for you. You can take the stuff to 86 Helen Lucy Road."

  Whatever stroke of luck or synchronous happenstance allowed this moment to settle around his shoulders, William wasn't about question. Pure kismet led the receptionist to pass this information over so easily. Fate. It couldn't have been written any better if Shakespeare himself had penned it. Like some Deus ex machina written in reverse just for his benefit. Instead of questioning it, he gave a short prayer of gratitude up to the god of writing and left the hotel lobby before the woman could think better of her mistake.