Widow's Row

by Lala Corriere

  “In other words, come out like a man, or we’ll drag you out looking like a baby. I don’t really care either way, but I’m thinking the press will have a field day with the latter.”

  Adam’s voice grew hoarse from his need to scream out his words. “This is all your fault, Breecie. Who the hell do you think you are, you fucking bitch?”

  My face fell into my hands.

  Jonathan pulled me back near him on a higher stair, and whispered in my left ear. “She’s a little bit Maya Angelou, a little bit Norman Schwarzkopf, and a whole bunch Breecie Lemay. And I love her.”

  The commotion came from behind us. The redhead ran toward the King Air, an officer following behind shouted out something about a fake press pass.

  Nolan punched at me. “The Mrs.?”

  I’d only seen her once in person. Naked in bed with my fiancé. I nodded.

  “Get her over here,” Nolan yelled at the man overtaking her.

  She cried like a child that had just been told her puppy was dead. “Adam? Adam? Please, Adam. Make it right. You have to. We’re pregnant. We’re going to have a baby!”

  The officer ushered the woman toward the boarding stairs we still occupied. Nolan grabbed the woman, and elbowed her onto the third step where he had been standing.

  “What’s it going to be, Mr. Chancellor? After all, you’re going to be a new father, and now we have the press here. And Ms. Lemay has all these crazy accusations about her poor dead mother.” Nolan said. “We have a few things to clear up. That’s all.”

  It was a full five minutes later. The sound of a single bullet rang out. The explosion of tear gas shooting in through the wings of the plane followed. The only exit was the main cabin door, and four Taser guns pointed at it.

  Then, silence, except for the thud that hit the floor. We could see Adam’s limp arm and part of his head that had fallen just outside the cabin door.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Final Revenge

  Jonathan insisted we find a hotel for some much-needed sleep. I had very different ideas.

  The press had arrived ready to pounce, lurking just outside a hastily drawn circle of yellow crime scene tape. I knew there’d be no escaping them since my name appeared splattered throughout the very press packets I had provided. Our two captains weren’t exactly thrilled with the gun-yielding party that greeted us on the ground. They were more than willing to pilot us home without a layover. Mostly, I wanted to be at cruising altitude and just like a ladybug, flying away home. The citizens of the District of Columbia were about to awaken to the smell of fresh brewing coffee and the shocking morning news there would be one less senatorial candidate when they went to the polls to vote in November.

  Jonathan supported my decision. After brief police statements, and the promise to be where we said we would be, it was time for take-off.

  Jonathan and I folded our bodies into one of two leather sofas lining the wall of the Challenger. Lying tight against each other, I didn’t return to a conscious state of being until we landed in Raton and hopped into the chopper that delivered us back exactly where it had picked us up—the dusty road at the main gate of the ranch.

  My chin lowered to my chest when I spied the damn real estate sign.

  Jonathan tightened his squeeze around my defeated shoulders. “That should be the least of your worries.”

  “Maddening is a better word. I love it here.” I grabbed the handle of my briefcase and clutched it to my chest.

  “You know, there are other great places around here to live.”

  “I’m just holding myself a little pity party. There was only one other place I ever called home.”

  “Where?”

  “My childhood home in Georgetown. Where my mother died. Left a bad feeling for the place, if you get my drift.”

  We meandered our way up to the house, dodging piles of fall debris Rudy must have been raking. Cleaning up the property for the sale.

  Feeling totally dejected by the time we reached the house, I dropped my briefcase at the door and slumped into the nearest Adirondack chair. The angle of the autumnal morning sun proved to be the best for illuminating the porch. I received the warmth of the wood like an instant spa treatment.

  Jonathan sank into the chair next to me. “What do you want to do, Breecie?”

  “Sit.”

  He reciprocated with a smirk more devious than mine. “I mean with the rest of your life.”

  “Sleep.”

  “No. Really.”

  “God, I don’t know. No one’s ever asked me that before.” I rolled my head from side to side against the chair, soaking in the heat at the nape of my neck.

  “My timing is bad. You’ve had a lot on your plate lately, not to mention we’ve just been to Washington and back in little over twelve hours.”

  “No. No. I’m just not used to anyone caring. And those that claimed to care were more into telling me what I wanted rather than asking.” It occurred to me we both knew I wasn’t mourning. But I also wasn’t savoring any victory.

  Jonathan lifted his boots up to the ottoman with a stretch that would rival the best of any feline. He was obviously comfortable in the silence.

  I wasn’t. “I’m keeping up with my writing. I really do enjoy it and the money just might start trickling in. But I’ve also decided I need more in the way of human interaction.”

  “Me too.”

  “I guess both of us have been living like recluses.”

  “Maybe it’s time for a change.” He flashed me a grin framed by the full dimples.

  “Oh my god! Are you serious? Do you have plans?”

  “I’ve leased some office space in the old First National Bank building.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s time for me to hang out a shingle, Breeze. I am a broker, after all. Ms. Libby helped to remind me I can be of a real service to people that may need me.” The sun crept across his eyes and he eased a pair of sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose.

  “You made her a wealthy woman.”

  “I’ve made a lot of people wealthy. But, let’s get back to you. This isn’t a come on, by the way, but just how do you plan to go about getting more human interaction?”

  If only I had the energy for spinning summersaults in bed with Jonathan Marasco. “I have a law diploma around here somewhere. I swear, ever since I learned my dad bought my way out of law school and directly into a dream job, I’ve felt accountable. I’ve been thinking I could do some free legal-aid work. Just a guess there are a few people in this town getting screwed over by someone.”

  Jonathan laughed and I yawned. He said. “My timing really is awful. I shouldn’t be drilling you with all these questions.”

  “Now I’ll ask you something. The stairs?”

  “What stairs? What are you talking about?”

  “I’m not a romance writer, but my take is that the first time you tell a woman you love her, maybe it shouldn’t be at a S.W.A.T. scene where she’s hollering back and forth over a bullhorn with her maniacal murdering ex-fiancé.”

  Jonathan grinned and pulled his sunglasses up, exposing teasing eyes. “Shucks, Ma’am. And here I didn’t even think you noticed.”

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Sometimes Sleep Isn’t Restful

  Just as I was about to acquiesce to exhaustion I heard the characteristic sputtering noise of the yellow Volkswagen cruising up to the house.

  Jonathan jumped from his chair, waved to Kate, then bent over and rubbed his face up against mine. “I’m going to leave you with your friend. I have a couple of things I desperately need to do. Are you okay with that?”

  Before I could answer he placed his warm lips to my mouth, and for a moment I was okay with everything in my not-so-okay world.

  I grimaced. “For a bed and breakfast owner Kate makes the most despicable coffee, but she’ll go upstairs with me, throw on a pot anyway, and help me make amends with Benny for deserting him overnight. Then I’m keeping my date with Mr. Sa
ndman.”

  “I hope so,” he said. “But I don’t believe you for a minute. You call me when you wake up,” he teased. “I need a normal date with you.”

  Kate curled up on my sofa with Benny on her lap. He purred with such vigor I imagined laundry running through a washboard, not that I’ve ever heard the sound. Kate said, “It’s been all over the news, girlfriend. I mean here in Trinidad, of course, but I’m talking like CNN and all the national networks.”

  I sipped the unsavory coffee and took reward in the comfort it nevertheless provided.

  “I don’t know how you do it. You’re holding up so well, you look like you’re on your way to a photo shoot.”

  A ponytail will stand the test of time, but not that good. “One. That’s a bad lie but I love you for it. Two. My M.O. is to usually crash days, weeks, sometimes even months later,” I said. Sometimes even years.

  “So do you want to talk about it?”

  “I’m guessing the news broadcasts told everything there is to tell.” I switched on the gas fireplace and plopped down on the sofa next to her.

  “Yeah. Like Adam’s widow is with child. My god. That could have been you, Breecie.”

  I regarded Kate with curiosity. Only in that second did I realize she had suffered a similar fate, and yet her only concern was for my feelings. “How’s Macayla?”

  “That’s the good news. She’s actually going to stay on here, at least until the baby is born. She’s studying for her GED, and Rosa and I are teaching her Spanish. She helps out with our guests. I even found her painting the porch rails but I didn’t want her around those fumes.”

  “She’s taking care of her health?”

  “Quit smoking cold turkey, and she’s even taken a shine to our fresh air. She looks positively sanguine.”

  “How about your smoking?”

  “I hide it like a twelve year old,” she giggled, “meaning I try not to reek too bad when I come in from wherever it is I’ve been hiding out.” Kate lifted Benny from her lap and transported him to the floor, then took my coffee from my grasp and sat it on the table. She laced her fingers in mine.

  “What is it?”

  “You’re right,” Kate said. “I was lying. You look like shit. I’m going to get outta here and let you get some rest.”

  One fond memory of Dad. He used to say he never had trouble going to sleep at night. Given his overwhelming share of mankind’s guilt this now amazes me, but he used to claim he’d doze off even before his head ever hit the pillow.

  So it was with me, vaguely aware of Benny stretching out across my blanketed feet. Dreams interfaced with reality.

  I had to call Kate back. I knew a ruthless lawyer for Macayla should Rico refuse his parental obligations. And I forgot to thank her for helping me with my father’s arrangements at her church.

  David Anderson floated in and out of my mind. That’s right. The child molester. The reason little Benjamin Hollister died when I failed to prosecute his attacker. I swear, just as I thought of him, or dreamed of him (I’m not sure which), the feline Benny slinked up to my face and started licking my nose.

  Rosa and Rudy. They were so kind to come to my father’s service.

  The Bermuda Triangle of men was dead. All three of them. Except there was a fourth one I never knew about. Bastard tried to electrocute me? At who’s calling? Okay. I probably wasn’t finished with my father’s legacy. I’d have to testify.

  What would happen to the sweet chinchillas? The abused bulls and those magnificent horses? Ari is such an asshole. God, was he involved? He’d been to that cabin.

  Sometimes sleep isn’t at all restful.

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Daffodils Are Non-Negotiable

  Twenty-four hours plus an afternoon, and I was ready for my date with Jonathan. A ‘date’ date, he insisted, arriving at my door rather than waiting for me in our common living room.

  Mind you, there is nothing really knock-down-dress-up in Trinidad, so I was surprised when I saw the blazer under his topcoat. Lucky for me, my Dolce and Gabbana sweater rose to the occasion. Lucky, even more so, I’d gained expertise in shopping on the Internet.

  When we pulled up to the bank, I thought Jonathan was running in to use the ATM.

  “Remember? My new office,” he said, opening my door and grabbing my hand.

  I looked up at the structure I’d seen a hundred times, and admired just as often. “It’s a fantastic old building, Jonathan.”

  “And an even better interior.”

  I loved the excitement in his voice. It was always a bridge way to a full display of his gorgeous dimples.

  “So, what do you think?”

  We had barely reached the door when I saw the fresh gold lettering glistening on the glass.

  Marasco Brokerage and Investments.

  And underneath his name:

  Breecie Lemay. Legal Aid Services.

  “You must be kidding me,” I said. At least I think I said it. I was stunned.

  “Two shingles for the price of one. That’s what I negotiated on the lease. Come on,” he said, fitting one brass key into the palm of my hand and taking another to open the door.

  “Garlic?” I loved the smell, but didn’t expect it upon entering a bank building.

  “I wouldn’t begin to rival your lasagna, Breeze, but I have a few connections.”

  He flipped the light switch just as matches struck to light the wicks of white candles in their motionless dance atop a candelabra. Two men in tuxedos motioned me toward the draped table in the center of the room. One seated me, as the other poured two goblets of wine. Both disappeared to a back room where I was certain angels lived amidst the tantalizing aromas.

  “I don’t know what to say, Jonathan.”

  “And this, coming from Ms. Breecie Lemay. This is an historic event!”

  I can remember most every detail of the evening. The antipasti, first. And the minestrone arrived just as the billowy white flakes of snow started falling outside the windows. Sometime during the main course, lobster tails with a side of fregola o frebula, which unfortunately I later learned was a couscous combination of squid and octopus, Jonathan popped the question.

  “What is it most, Breecie, that still bothers you?”

  I had dreamed the summary of my existence. Father dead and gone and I was doubtful my mother was there to greet him on the other side. Kate and her Macayla and an unborn baby. Benny’s namesake. Rudy and Rosa.

  “It sounds so superficial, but right now I’m just sorry Ari’s going to sell. I can’t stand the thought of moving.”

  “I can’t either. That’s why I’m sticking around.”

  I’d just carved out a succulent piece of lobster and the butter dripped down the side of my plate. “I’m not an expert in real estate law, but if this place sells I’ll bet we’re out of here the day our leases expire. A new owner will want to double our rent in order to cover his costs. Ari’s asking price guarantees it.”

  “Breecie, here’s the truth. The ranch is sold.”

  My heart fell to the floor. One more fucking worry, come to fruition. “I can’t believe it. That’s just bullshit of Ari! He sure as hell was supposed to tell us if anyone was going to be touring our apartments. Why didn’t he extend us that courtesy?” Maybe I was thinking I’d spread cat piss across the walls or something, at the last minute. Sabotage the sale.

  “Maybe that’s because no tour was necessary.”

  “You mean that New Yorker? Do you think he bought it without a physical inspection?”

  “No. I’m thinking more like it was some crazy local that knew the property. Probably realized it was an exorbitant asking price and couldn’t wait to pay it.”

  “Either way, the buyer’s a sucker.”

  Jonathan whipped out the purchase contract. “A sucker is born every minute.”

  I scanned the document. “You bought it? You bought the ranch?”

  “I am the duly noted sucker. We haven’t closed, but I have the
cash so as soon as the title work comes in it will close fast.”

  “Excuse me, but cash?”