by Heidi Glick
26
So Beth still had an interest in Mark Graham. To think, she was the smart one. The Knight shook his head. He had her best interests in mind, really.
He opened his desk drawer. Out of yellow notes! The Knight slammed the drawer shut then headed to the dining room.
A notebook lay on his table. After tearing a page from the book, he fought the urge to fling it across the room. He couldn’t make a mess. The Knight stared at the page. The jagged edges irked him. A bottle of pills sat in the distance. The medication had lasted through the work day but by now had worn off.
He grabbed the notebook and took his time removing a page. The paper tore in one spot. A string of curses spewed from his lips, and he folded the first two sheets of paper. He couldn’t crumple them. The Knight stared at his clenched fists then took a deep breath. His hands trembled as he separated a perforated page from the notebook.
He took a moment to relight the candles surrounding his shrine to Beth. Gaining inspiration, he admired her photo. A chill ran over him. What if Beth refused his help?
He stared in the direction of his gun safe. Be a shame to waste such a beautiful life. Besides, Plot Fifty was taken.
To be fair, the Knight would warn Beth about possible repercussions of refusing his assistance. If she was smarter than Juanita, she’d take the hint. Sweat trickled down his face. He steadied his hand enough to compose the letter. Anticipation flooding over him, he could hardly wait to leave Beth her next surprise.
27
Another day closer to Thanksgiving. And Beth hadn’t run into Antonio all day. Probably good considering the big football game scheduled that evening, and one of his little stars wouldn’t be playing. Sometime soon, she needed to confront him about the notes. Maybe after school, when fewer people would be around. Being a new teacher, she didn’t want to make a scene. It was only Antonio. She had no reason to fear him. Still, a sense of unease overcame her as she walked alone to her car and drove away from the school.
Beth entered her apartment, closed the door behind her, and set her bag on the coffee table. Her grade book slid out. No big deal. She had all night to put it back in place.
As she stumbled into her kitchen, the phone rang. “Hello?”
“Hey, honey, it’s Dad. Mom and I talked it over. We’ve been saving up frequent flyer miles, and we’ve decided to fly out to California to see you for Thanksgiving. Mom purchased our tickets today.”
Beth squealed. “Seriously? Where are you flying into?”
“Orange County Airport.”
Orange County. Also known as John Wayne Airport. Ugh. Mark’s trivial facts invaded her brain. Before she could chide herself for thinking about him, her father interrupted her thoughts.
“Our flight arrives at 9:00 PM the day before Thanksgiving.”
“Great, I’ll be there. I can’t wait to see both of you. I’m so excited.” Nine PM. or 2100 hours. She rubbed her forehead. Corporal Mark Graham had permeated her train of thought. She scribbled the time on a notepad.
“Are you sure you don’t mind picking us up? We could rent a car.”
“Huh?” Stop thinking about him. Beth grabbed a pen from a cup on her kitchen counter and circled the flight date on her calendar. “Not at all.”
“Great. We can’t wait to see you, sweetie.”
Beth dropped the pen back in the cup. “I can’t wait to see you guys either. I would have been bummed if I had to spend Thanksgiving alone. Guess I would have hung out with my friends or done something else, but it wouldn’t have been the same.”
“I’m glad we’re coming. I couldn’t stand to think of you being lonely. That reminds me, does Mark have somewhere to go?”
Beth stepped into her living room. “Mark? Oh, I don’t know.” She cleared her throat. “I’ve been so busy I haven’t had time to talk to him.”
Silence. Beth kicked off her shoes and plopped down on the couch, tucking her legs underneath her. “What’s the matter, Dad?”
“He doesn’t have any family left, and I worry about him.”
Maybe he didn’t have anyone. Or did he? The blonde at the mall flicked through her mind. Beth ran her fuchsia fingernails along the edge of the coffee table—the one Mark’s friends had helped her move. She released a sigh. “Tell you what, Dad. I’ll find out what his plans are for Thanksgiving, OK?”
“He could certainly join us for dinner. We don’t mind.”
So true. They didn’t mind. Mark had been like a permanent fixture at their house while growing up. Both good and bad.
“Oh. Mom finished making dinner. I better go. I’ll talk to you later, honey. We look forward to seeing you.”
Beth hung up the phone. Was she really going to spend Thanksgiving with her family?
She picked up her lesson planner. As Beth shoved the planner in her bag, a folded sheet of notebook paper fell out and fluttered through the air, landing under her coffee table. She’d recorded all her grades. Maybe it was a student assignment that had become lodged in there—one she hadn’t returned. Bending to pick it up, her back ached. She decided to leave it where it was. The paper could wait until later. Besides, she wasn’t dying to meet the dust bunnies living under her table.
She had more important things to do. Like planning Thanksgiving dinner.
As she headed toward her bedroom, the yearbook on the coffee table caught her attention. She’d better take it over to Marisa before she forgot.
****
Beth knocked and waited. No sign of her friend right away, so she opened the yearbook and stared at the signatures.
Marisa opened the door. “Hey, come on in. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Why dredge up unpleasant memories of her teenage crush by looking at photos? Beth closed the yearbook and trailed her friend to the kitchen.
Marisa finished loading two pans into her dishwasher then closed the door, revealing a cat magnet on the front indicating the dishes were dirty. The dishwasher rumbled as she turned it on before she glanced at Beth’s yearbook. “Beaumont High? Is that yours?”
She nodded. Good old Beaumont. Maybe Mark was homesick, too. She could at least check on him, for her dad’s sake. All she needed was a way to find out how he was doing without having to run into him and his blonde friend. She handed Marisa the book. “Here. You needed yearbooks.”
“Thanks.”
A plan on how to check up on Mark brewed in her mind. “Don’t thank me yet. I need a favor.”
Marisa moved toward the living room. “What is it?”
She needed to convince Marisa to go along with the plan. Beth grabbed a pad and pen from the kitchen. After scribbling a number on the paper, she handed it to her friend. “Can you call this number and ask for Tim Wilson? If he picks up, hand me the phone. If someone else answers, say you’ll call back later then hang up.”
Marisa glanced at the paper then back at Beth and chuckled. “Do I want to know why? I’m not involved in something illegal, am I?”
Beth shook her head. “Nothing like that. Look, it’s a long story.”
Marisa’s eyes widened. She dialed the number and strolled into the living room, away from the chugging of the dishwasher.
Beth followed.
“Hello,” Marisa said. “May I please speak to Tim Wilson? Hi—”
Good, Mark hadn’t answered. Just what she’d wanted. Beth took the phone from her friend. “Hey, Tim. It’s Beth. I wanted to call and check up on the corporal, no big deal. Anyway, I thought I’d talk to you.”
“Why don’t you come over and—”
“That’s OK. I’m really busy, and besides, he probably wouldn’t tell me how he really is, right?” Beth paced the living room.
“And I will?”
She could hear him munching in the background. Probably eating chips. “Yeah. So how is he? Do you know if he has any plans for Thanksgiving?”
Tim lowered his voice. “He seems to be OK. He’s been working a lot lately. And as for Thanksgiving, our family invites
him over every year, but he usually stays at home.”
“Really?”
“Yep, he always spends the holidays alone.”
“OK, I have to go, but thanks.”
“You should stop by sometime. We miss you.”
“We” meaning Tim, or “we” meaning Mark and the others? “I’ll do that, but for now, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention I called. Bye.” Beth hung up the phone.
There. Mark had opportunities, even if he didn’t take advantage of them. Besides, if he didn’t join his best friends for the holidays, why would he consider coming to her apartment and eating with her family? She hadn’t been at Fishy Business in weeks, and it wasn’t like he’d called to ask her how she was doing. For all he knew, she could have received more notes from the Knight. Sure, she hadn’t called him either. But that was different.
Marisa stared at her. “That phone call—care to elaborate?”
Beth slumped onto Marisa’s couch. “My dad asked me to check on Mark. I wanted to find out if he has any plans for Thanksgiving.”
Marisa sat down beside her. “Well, does he?”
It wasn’t her fault Mark chose not to spend Thanksgiving with Bill and Tim’s family each year. Beth folded her hands and studied Marisa’s coffee table, admiring the small white doily in the center. “His friends invite him over, but he usually refuses. Maybe he prefers to spend Thanksgiving alone.”
Marisa wrinkled her forehead. “Would you?”
She shook her head. “Not really.” Mark’s parents were gone. Chris was gone. The blonde—well, maybe the woman had left the picture, too. Sort of like Beth had. Bottom line, no one was around. People like Antonio—those who had never lost anyone close to them—couldn’t understand Mark’s loneliness. But Beth did.
She fidgeted with the dog tags around her neck. Like the lead in a certain old Broadway musical, there were times she wanted to wash this guy out of her life, but no matter what, their paths were destined to continually cross.
Marisa glanced at her.
“You think I should invite him to my apartment for Thanksgiving?” He’d probably give her some excuse, a reason as to why he had to stay and work at the store, some sort of obligation.
She chewed an already abused nail. An obligation. Mark was a Marine, and a man of honor would be bound by obligation. Yes, of course. Would her plan work? “He’d just say no unless…”
Marisa leaned closer. “Unless what?”
Beth stood up. “I can’t talk. I have to make a phone call. I’ll see you later.” She jetted out the door toward her own apartment.
Once inside, she grabbed her car keys and bent down to pick up the paper hiding under the coffee table. In the process, she knocked over a glass of water near the table’s edge. The glass rolled off the table. Water splashed everywhere, including on the note. At least she’d already recorded the grade, because the paper was now ruined. Good thing she was passing out grade printouts tomorrow. Either way, the student would see his grade. He didn’t need a soggy paper. She crumpled and tossed the notebook paper in the trash. Somehow the glass hadn’t broken. She carried it to the kitchen.
For the second time, she left her apartment and got in her car, headed toward Riversdale with a plan in mind. Who knew? By the time Thanksgiving rolled around, she might even have forgotten about what happened during her eighth grade year. Anything was possible.
****
As she exited her vehicle outside Fishy Business, Beth ignored the gentle roar of traffic and relaxed her shoulders for the first time that Monday evening. While the news about the pay raise invigorated her, it’d been a long day. At least Thanksgiving was around the corner.
She shifted her gaze to the pink envelope in her hand. Her fingers grasped the perfect obligation, one she hoped Mark couldn’t ignore.
With great care, she smoothed her blouse and ran her fingers through her hair. Not having been to Fishy Business in weeks, she could have at least refreshed her makeup before showing up.
Gaining a slight swing in her step, she walked to the rear entrance, pink envelope and a small plastic container in hand, and anticipated the look of surprise on Mark’s face. She twisted the knob, but it was locked, so she knocked on the door. “Anyone there?”
Tim answered wearing a white apron. “Beth?” He smiled. “Good to see you. It’s been awhile. Glad you decided to stop by.” Placing a hand on her shoulder, he leaned in and hugged her.
Beth inhaled the familiar scent of nacho cheese. Mark wasn’t the only one she had avoided. By staying away, she’d missed seeing all of her friends.
Tim scratched his head. “Mark’s not here. He and Bill went to the movies. Bill talked him into seeing some sci-fi flick.” He strode over to the cash register and locked the drawer.
She set down the container and envelope and leaned her hands on the counter. “He’s…” She willed herself not to frown. “They’re both gone?”
The front store sign indicated the store was closed.
Tim looked at the green fish clock on the far wall. “Yeah, but they should be back around eleven.”
A memo pad sat on Mark’s desk. It reminded her of the Knight. She stepped closer to examine it. Rectangular. About the same shade of yellow. Same lines on the paper.
“Something the matter, Beth?”
She turned.
Tim held a knife in his hand.
She flinched then clamped one hand to her chest.
He lowered the knife to his side. “Sorry if I scared you. I was going to gut some fish. You OK? You seem jumpy.”
She could explain to him that the Knight had written his messages to her on yellow notes, which explained her concern. But that was silly. As if anyone at Fishy Business was out to get her.
Another thought brewed in her mind as she rejoined Tim by the counter. So no one else was around. Perhaps this was her golden opportunity. Beth glanced at her watch. Ten forty-five. “Mark won’t be back until later? Actually, that’s even better.”
Tim unwrapped two fish from butcher paper on the counter and held up his knife. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve wanted to ask you something.” She glanced around the store in case Mark or Bill had slipped in. Gathering strength, she lowered her voice. “But I never wanted to ask with Mark around, or Bill either.” She touched Tim on the forearm to get his attention then stared at him. “I want to know the truth about what happened to Chris. You were there, right?”
Tim nodded. “I was, but do you really want to know?”
“Yes.” She played with her nails. “How did he die? No one told me. My folks are silent on the subject.”
Tim rested the knife next to the fish, rubbed his hands on his apron, and released a sigh.
Why was it so hard to get the truth out of everyone? The more they kept quiet, the harder it was for her to move beyond her brother’s death. Sure, her parents knew more than she did, but they wouldn’t discuss it with her. And she couldn’t put them through that.
Tim grabbed the fish and resumed gutting.
Beth tapped her nails on the weathered butcher block counter, careful to avoid splinters. “Bill’s not around. Mark’s not around, so you’re not going to upset them. I feel as if I deserve to know what happened to my brother. If something happened to Bill, you’d want to know more.”
“Sometimes we think we want to know the truth, but…” Tim laid the knife on the counter. “Sometimes the truth hurts.”
Arms folded, she bit her lip. “Sometimes not knowing hurts just as much.”
Tim leaned toward her. “The mission was supposed to be a simple recon, but we were ambushed. We came under heavy fire later in the evening. Chris was near the front of the formation and got hit. Mark grabbed him and carried him to safety, but it was too late.”
Tim grabbed a second fish and began gutting. “You’ve heard of captains going down with their sinking ships?”
“Yeah, of course. Like on the Titanic.”
“As corporal, Mark
did what he could to make sure all of us came back safely. So you can see why it was hard for him when Chris died. Mark did what he could, but not enough in his mind, which explains his condition.”
She began to step closer, but after eyeing the putrid remains of the fish, decided to keep her distance. There was a reason she taught English and drama and not biology. “What do you mean?”
Tim set down the knife and gripped the counter with both hands. His cheeks flushed.
Mark had wheeled in and now stared at them, a smile on his face. “What are you doing?”
Bill walked over to the desk, sat down, and removed a comic book from a plastic bag.
Tim stepped forward, but she put out her hand to stop him. “I came by, and you weren’t here. It gave Tim and me the opportunity to discuss Chris’s death.”
Disappointment and hurt shone from Mark’s eyes.
What did it hurt for Tim to tell her what happened? And what was Mark hiding from her? His condition? Antonio claimed to have seen Mark walking. Was there some truth to that? But why wouldn’t he want to tell her? “It’s OK, Mark. I asked him. I wanted to know. Tim didn’t—”
He pointed at her. “No, you think you do, but you don’t. I was there when Chris died and would like to forget it, but I never can, not completely.” Eyes wide open, he looked at Beth. “You’re young. You’re impulsive. You’re going to make poor decisions. I get that.” He shot daggers at Tim. “But you, Private…”
Beth glared at Mark, her hands firmly planted on her hips. “What is that supposed to mean? I’m going to make poor decisions? I’m not a kid anymore.”
“A few weeks ago you were worried about money, yet you run off to the mall with your boyfriend.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “The mall? My boyfriend? You don’t even—Ugh!” She gritted her teeth. “Never mind. It’s not like you’d understand.” She pointed to Tim. “And don’t blame him. At least he doesn’t withhold information.”
