by Heidi Glick
Relatively safe. Good choice of words. He pulled back a living room window curtain and stared at the vehicles parked outside Beth’s building. No bars framed the inside windows. A good sign.
A lively song played from upstairs, but Mark didn’t recognize the tune. Stuff his students might listen to. It sounded like the radio sat in another room of Beth’s apartment. He remembered why he’d saved up and purchased his own home—peace and quiet.
“I think I’ll like it here. Always lots of people going in and out. Seems like there will never be a dull moment.”
So she liked all the noise and commotion? He closed the curtain and faced Beth.
Beth stood, hands on her hips, and grinned. “I hope your friends at the bait shop don’t mind me borrowing you.”
He shook his head. “Too bad if they do. I’m a little miffed with them right now.”
“Oh. Why’s that?”
“They mean well. But they’re worried I’ll have a flashback about Chris’s death because you and I ran into each other.”
Beth’s eyes appeared to convey concern. “And you’re not, right?”
“It’s been eleven years.” Eleven years, two months, five days. He stared at the tops of his gray tennis shoes and lowered his voice. “I don’t have flashbacks like I used to.” He hadn’t jumped at a car backfire in years.
Mark spied a dark blue Bible sitting on top of a box. “Still, there’s this part of me that feels…”
Beth leaned toward him. Her chocolate brown eyes met his. “Feels what?”
He moved away from her and closer to the Bible then played with the book’s tattered edges. What did he feel? “Bad, guilty, sad, I don’t know—something. I found God, and I was going to talk to Chris, but then it was too late.” Some friend he’d been. He tried to save Chris physically, when he should have tried harder to save him spiritually. He hung his head. Maybe this would further aggravate his current episode. If he could help Beth move her stuff and go on his way, do his good deed and split, then maybe he’d be all right.
Beth inched closer, moved her arm toward his shoulder, but stopped short of touching him. Perhaps realizing the awkwardness of the situation unfolding, she quickly crossed her arms. “If it’s any consolation, I tried to talk to Chris about God.”
“I was going to ask you about your Bible since none of us attended church much growing up. Looks like you found God, too?”
She nodded. “Yeah, me and my parents.”
Hope stirred inside of him. Beth was a Christian and had shared the Gospel with Chris, too. Same hometown. Same faith. “So what did Chris say?”
Beth gazed downward. “He kept putting things off.” She flopped onto the couch.
Not what Mark wanted to hear. He wheeled next to her and gazed into her eyes. Her beautiful, brilliant eyes. “It’s not your fault.”
She looked away and twirled her shoulder-length hair with her fingers. “I never thought it was.”
“Really? You never feel—”
Beth shook her head. “No, everyone has to decide for themselves.”
“True.” He folded his hands. “When I tried to talk to Chris, he always wanted to discuss things later. Maybe I should have pushed it more.” He fixed his gaze on the ground.
“You say it’s not my fault, but something tells me you have trouble wrapping your mind around the concept.”
Why were they still talking about the past? “Are you always this verbose? Oh, wait. I remember when you were little. Yes, you always have been.” What a chatterbox. He attempted to contain a smile.
She scowled then grinned. “Not fair, Mr. Graham.”
“Mr. Graham?” Only students referred to him that way.
Beth nodded. “Yeah, you’re old now. I can call you mister.”
“Old? Ouch!” Maybe the wheelchair added a few years.
She stood, arms crossed. “I know, and I asked you to help move furniture.” She raised an eyebrow; a mischievous look formed on her face. “Is that elder abuse?”
Was this her way of flirting? He bit back a grin. “You’re enjoying this.”
“I am. It’s not as if”—Beth stared into the distance—”not as if I can tease Chris anymore.”
He cleared his throat. “About the furniture…?”
Beth’s countenance changed. “Yes, the furniture is at a storage facility. I guess we should head out.”
“I called my teaching assistant, and he’s going to meet us there with his SUV. I just need to call him with the location. I can help with boxes. Anything larger, I’ll let him carry.”
She grabbed her purse and keys, and he followed her out the door. Once outside, they entered his van and drove off to retrieve her belongings from storage.
A half a mile away, at a stoplight, Mark rubbed his head. Maybe Tim and Bill weren’t the only ones he could confide in. Beth had been so easy to talk to. Perhaps he could sit her down and explain things.
He shook his head and, using his hand controls, accelerated his vehicle. Nope. This was not the time for confessions. Help the damsel in distress and get on with life. Complete the mission.
****
Within twenty minutes, Mark pulled up in front of the Seaside Storage Facility. It looked like every other storage place he’d ever seen, with the exception of the fluorescent-painted siding. He continued a tenth of a mile from the entrance to get to her storage unit. Just before getting out of the vehicle, he shot a double take at Beth. Chris’s sister. His younger sister. And Mark needed to remember that. He pictured her wearing pigtails and braces. From now on, whenever he’d see her, he would keep that image etched in his memory—that ought to help.
Mark exited his vehicle and examined the exterior of Beth’s storage unit. During his time in the Marines, he’d lived in smaller places. She couldn’t have that much stuff. He just hoped she hadn’t tossed everything into one giant box like Chris would have done. For best friends, he and Chris were opposites. Private Chaos and Corporal Neat Freak. Despite their differences, they managed to remain friends, probably because they were so different. Watching Beth dig through her purse further confirmed she and Chris were related. In all the time he’d known Chris, he could never find anything he owned easily.
The scent of paint lingered. Using his fingers, Mark examined the outside of the storage unit. Dry. Maybe it’d been painted a few days earlier. Guess there’d been a sale on chartreuse paint.
Though close to setting, the late afternoon sun brought out the highlights in Beth’s hair. She’d had perfectly fine dark brown hair before. He shook his head.
An older black SUV pulled up next to Mark’s van. His teaching assistant, Kevin, and another guy stepped out of the vehicle. Mark waved to Kevin. Maybe he should invite Kevin to the store and invite Beth to join him, so the two could get to know one another. Someone younger and more mobile. That had to be whom she would prefer.
Kevin gestured to the guy standing next to him. “This is Will. You may have seen him on campus. He’s a transfer student. Anyway, he’s going to help, too.”
Mark reached out his hand to shake Will’s. “Thanks for coming.”
“No problem.”
Beth removed a key from her purse. “Aha. Here it is.”
Mark stifled a sigh.
After unlocking the padlock on the unit door, Beth stepped back, allowing Kevin to lift the door and roll it toward the ceiling. Boxes lined the outer walls. Furniture took up the rest of the space. Entering the unit, Beth reached for a box.
Mark stretched out his hand, like when she’d tried to walk on a frozen pond years earlier, and he and Chris had to stop her. “Spiders. Watch out. We do have quite a few black widows around here.”
She nodded. “Good to know.”
Mark and Beth spent ten minutes moving various smaller boxes from the outer edges of the storage facility into the van while Will and Kevin moved larger items.
Beth looked at the outside of a larger box, carried it from the storage unit to Kevin’s SUV, placed
it down on the ground, and ripped it open.
Mark rolled closer to inspect the contents: Classic movie DVDs. So she liked older things. Not what he would have expected.
Beth picked one up, stared at the cover for a moment, and then tossed it back in the box. “So you teach history?”
Mark loaded the box into the back of the SUV. “History of”—Dare he say it—”Ancient Civilizations.”
She chuckled. “Right up your alley.”
“And then of course, I have my glamorous job at Fishy Business.”
She grinned. “I love the name, by the way.”
No, no, she shouldn’t. Beth shouldn’t love anything related to him.
“Thanks. I came up with it.” he said instead. “And how about you? What do you teach?” He moved around the storage unit, surveying what was left. No way she could convince him she needed all of this. Just not possible. He wheeled toward a rectangular, white kitchen table near the middle of the unit.
Beth walked over and reached for one end of the table. “English and drama to middle schoolers.”
Will stepped in and grabbed the other end.
“Middle school? All that energy, all those raging hormones. Yikes, better you than me.” Sweat began to bead on Mark’s brow. Too bad he hadn’t worn shorts. He couldn’t wait for summer to end and fall to begin.
Beth positioned her hands around the end of the table several times before finding the right grip. She picked up her end. “Oh, yeah, right. It’s been quite a few years since you were in middle school.”
She really was going to play the age thing up. Was she flirting or just plain teasing? It was hard to tell.
Will picked up his end, and he and Beth moved the table toward the SUV.
“OK, let’s settle this. So remind me, how old are you?” Mark asked.
Once in front of the SUV, she set down her end of the table and chuckled. “Twenty-six.”
Will set down his end and stepped inside the SUV.
Mark shrugged. “So I’m thirty-one.”
She glanced up at him and smiled, using her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. “Hey, to me, anyone over thirty is ancient.”
Will smirked.
Ouch. He had no chance of winning this argument. Maybe his best bet was to change the subject. “So it’s August, and while I’m teaching summer school, I’m guessing you haven’t started teaching yet.”
Kevin came over and helped Will lift the table into the SUV.
“No, not for three more weeks.” Beth sighed. “And even then, I don’t get paid until the middle of the following month. Some sort of payroll thing.”
He did the math in his head. “That’s five weeks away.”
“I know. I haven’t told my dad yet. He won’t be happy. I’ll have to listen to one of his lectures. I have some money saved up from my last job, but I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to find a part-time job, at least until school starts.”
He leaned closer. Beth’s eyes reminded him of her old man. “How is your father?”
She walked over and picked up another box. “The same, only he and Mom talk about retirement more often.” Beth shook her head. “Who does he think he’s kidding? He loves to work.”
Mark picked up a large sealed paper box and placed it on his lap. “Your dad’s a good man. When my father died, your dad made sure I attended little league. And on Chris’s fifteenth birthday, your dad took us to see the Cleveland Indians. What a game. I still have the ticket stub at home. The Indians beat the Angels, four to three.” He breathed deeply, trying to remember the smell of the hot dogs. A nice gesture by Mr. Martindale.
And just that quickly, guilt and shame from a failed rescue attempt overtook him. Mark slumped his shoulders.
Beth set the box in the SUV. “Oh, I remember that. The two of you talked about it afterwards for weeks.”
Mark stared at her. The Martindales always helped him. Perhaps this was his chance to return the favor. Maybe even a chance to make up for past transgressions. “Tim and Bill, they’re my business partners. Lately, Tim’s been complaining we need to review our inventory. Maybe we could hire you temporarily.”
Her eyes widened. “Me? Work for you?”
Mark set his box in the SUV. “I think it’s a great idea—employing youth to help out the old folks. Or you could wait to talk to your dad about your problems.”
“Maybe it’s not such a bad idea after all.” Beth rubbed her neck and lowered her voice. “Thanks.”
He’d offered to give her a job. What happened to helping her move and then going home? If he’d kept his mouth shut…What if she pried? “Ready to move the rest?”
“Sure.”
Kevin and Will picked up an olive green and brown bed frame and carried it toward the SUV.
Mark stuck out his left hand and gestured toward the item. “Beth, why is your bed painted in camouflage?”
“My dad had trouble taking apart my four poster bed, so this is Chris’s. Made it easier to move.”
On second glance, the frame did appear familiar. He remembered it from Chris’s room. “I’m glad your parents can move stuff around. When my mom died, I tried moving some of her things. Seemed too hard so I had the realtor sell the place and send me the rest of her belongings.”
“I forgot your mom passed away. Not too long after Chris died, right?”
“One year later. I came home briefly.”
Beth studied his appearance then scowled. “That was you.”
“What do you mean?” He looked away from her, unable to bear her scrutiny.
She pointed at him. “Years ago. I passed you in front of the Hometown Cafe.”
He hung his head. “I—”
“You didn’t stop to say hi.” She bit her lip. “What happened? You didn’t recognize me, or…?”
He lowered his tone. “It’s complicated.”
Will and Kevin closed the back of the SUV and approached him.
Mark extended his hand. “Will, nice to meet you. Thanks for coming and helping, guys.”
Will shook his hand. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to head back to the car and take a pill. I feel a headache coming on.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Mark said.
Kevin took a step toward him. “You’re welcome, Mr. G.” Kevin reached out to half slap, half shake Mark’s hand.
Mark did the same, slapping two twenties in Kevin’s hand.
“Will and I can follow you and help unload,” Kevin said.
“That would be great, thanks. Although, are you sure your friend will be OK?”
“Yeah. He gets migraines. At least that’s what he claims the pills are for. Sure takes a lot of ‘em. Anyway, we’re headed to a Riversdale women’s basketball game this evening, but we should be able to help you and still make it on time.”
Kevin and Will got in the SUV and followed Mark and Beth to her place.
Once they unloaded all the furniture, Kevin and Will left.
Mark stayed behind. He glanced at his watch then at Beth. “Look, it’s almost six o’clock. Would you like to eat?” Did he just invite her to dinner? This was not part of his original plan to help her and then avoid further contact. Talk about a case of word vomit.
Beth crossed her arms then relaxed them at her sides. “Yeah, I’m starving. Where are we going?” For someone who had been a little disappointed with him earlier, she’d sure changed her tune. A good sign.
He moved closer. “This great place in Riversdale.”
They stepped outside the apartment. Beth closed the door behind them and locked it.
Mark wheeled toward the driver’s side of the van. One harmless dinner. A nice gesture. What could it hurt?
4
The Knight sat at the dinner table and finished reading a newspaper article about unemployment. The economy was down, and crime was up. The Riversdale PD remained busy, keeping the streets of Riversdale safe. As long as the police stayed occupied, the Knight could conduct business as usual. Being his day off
, he saw no need in taking his pills. No coworkers or acquaintances around. No need to stage an act.
He stood and removed a yellow memo pad from his desk drawer and wrote “store list” at the top, followed by several items: candles, matches, candy-coated chocolates, hand wipes, paper towels, bleach, antibacterial soap, incense, picture frame, notebook.
Returning to the table, the Knight opened a package of candy and scattered them, sorting them by color. Next, he counted. Eight yellow. Twelve green. Ten red. Ten orange. Eight dark brown. How he missed the light brown ones. Why they’d stopped making those and added in the blue ones, he’d never know. Speaking of blue, he counted eleven of them. An odd number. Unacceptable. He picked up a blue candy and walked out to his garage. Clenching his teeth, he grabbed a hammer and set the lone chocolate candy on his tool bench. Holding the hammer in position, he brought it down upon the chocolate and smashed it. After returning the hammer to its proper place, he went back to the house, resumed his seat, and spread the living section of the Riversdale Herald across the table, yet three inches from his candy. They shouldn’t touch.
On the third page of the section, an advertisement announced fall registration of local schools. The ad included photos of new teachers in the surrounding districts. While he liked searching out women in need, it was better when they came to him. He scanned the pictures. His right temple pounded, and he massaged it. He gazed at the last photo on the page. Beth Martindale. Warner’s Bay Middle School. A future project, perhaps?
Another one in need. Though maybe too close to home. Perhaps he needed to concentrate on helping ladies in the next county, in a locale outside of the Riversdale PD’s jurisdiction.
5
Beth rode back with Mark to his house—a small, Mission-style home. Talk about pueblo flair. Orange Spanish tile on the roof, and inside, terra cotta floor tile with what appeared to be the original dark woodwork on the interior. Massive overhead beams framed the ceiling. A sense of style for a former jock. Not how she envisioned his house, but then what did she expect it to look like?
