It would give her time to think, if people allowed her the mental space to do so.
She was thankful that the Stuarts had such an accommodating manner when it came to Sunday afternoons, and that, on top of that, they were aware of food safety, making sure everything was either covered or put away as necessary. Her mind drifted to the weeks they’d met at the Rutherford home, and she smiled.
She loved Jason and Me’chelle, she did, but there were times she was just a little afraid to eat certain foods at their home.
She, Tawny, Angelique, and Paloma had done their best to be diligent, all seeing what they could do to help in the kitchen, putting food away between grazings and setting it back out, to boot. But with all the food available each week, if one or more of them was ill, and someone else didn’t fill in, then sometimes the food would only get half put away. Those weeks, unless it was something where room temperature didn’t matter, well, she’d rather just eat at home.
She knew Me’chelle tried, and that Charlotte helped her out, but because the Rutherfords ate takeout a third or, perhaps more, of the time, there wasn’t as much experience remembering to put things away. It was a spendy and, to Eugenie’s way of thinking, dangerous habit.
Sure, she used to be the same way, before she’d worked in a diner right out of high school, and then later on, at a café. And in those settings, time was crucial; an hour for this, two for that, a day for this other thing… and then, it was finished. There would be no more – it would be tossed out.
Health codes simply didn’t allow for unrefrigerated food or sloppiness. They didn’t allow for “oops, I forgot,” as an excuse, or leftovers being used without customer knowledge. It just wasn’t done…
And, frankly, they didn’t allow for dogs to roam around where the food was, either. Not that Eugenie had anything against ol’ Sylvester; he was a gorgeous Fox Hound… he just, in her opinion, needed to be somewhere the food wasn’t, when there were guests over. If for nothing other than to prevent dog hair in the food… the begging was a whole other thing, on the handful of occasions he’d stayed inside.
The line inched forward, and Eugenie with it as Sherri’s words came flooding back to her. The admissions of her past were almost too much for Eugenie to take.
Not just because she felt guilty judging Mark, but because some of it really hit home; things she had never shared with anyone in her life. Things she didn’t know if she ever would, or could, share.
It wasn’t that she wanted to be secretive; she just didn’t have the words…
Was that how Mark had felt when he’d been obsessed with Rosemary Jenkins, and whether or not she was alive, she wondered. Was that how he felt about finding the women in the basement? That it was too emotional; too horrendous or startling, he just didn’t know what to say? Was there more to it than just not wanting to ruin things in other areas of his life?
“Mom,” Majesta said, yanking on the sleeve of her jumpsuit. “Have you been listening to anything I’ve said at all? I mean, some sort of acknowledgement would be-”
“Oh, Honey, I’m so sorry. I totally missed…. What was it you were trying to tell me?”
Her daughter sighed, her face crestfallen.
“Never mind,” she replied. “I guess it’s just not that important.”
The line moved forward even more, and Majesta grabbed a couple of plates, handing her one, her eyes, now teary, averted.
“Majesta,” Eugenie began. “I really am sorry… and of course, what you have to say is important. I just… my mind drifted to another time; another place.”
“You and me, both,” she heard someone say behind her.
Rose.
“I couldn’t help but overhear your comment, and I…”
The young woman placed her hands over her gently swollen belly, looking down before meeting Eugenie’s eyes, a bittersweet smile on her face, which was finally beginning to gain some flesh.
“I just… I can relate. Even if we aren’t thinking of the same time; the same place, we’re… that’s something we have in common, I think. We’re mind meanderers, aren’t we?”
Eugenie nodded as she attempted a smile; she felt one side rise, the other remaining, and gave up.
Majesta moved forward, beginning to fill her plate. Eugenie passed one to Rose, who thanked her as they moved through the line as they collapsed into silence again. Eugenie could hear the conversations around them, and the meowling of the Stuarts’ LaPerm, Confetti, and shook her head. Her daughter offered her a beverage, and she opted for water, handing one also to Rose.
“I wish…,” Rose began again. “I just wish so much was different. I wish… I think if Peter was still alive, my life would have turned out a whole lot… not necessarily better, but….”
Eugenie nodded.
Her friend didn’t even have to say the words.
For she, too, wished that life circumstances could change for the better; that time was collapsible, not only for the handful of mirror-travelers, but for all people. She wished that she could step back in time, knowing what she does now, and make better choices.
She glanced at her daughter, so precious to her.
She’d still marry Mark all over again, for the sake of her daughter. Other things, though… things that had a bearing, necessarily, on that blessing… she would change in a heartbeat if she could.
Things she had done; things she’d refused to do.
Things that she regretted every day of her life.
Things that haunted her, asleep or awake. Things even the former Rosemary Jenkins would find… unsavory.
Things she knew she needed to forgive herself for, but still hadn’t been able to.
Part Two:
Exodus
Twenty
Boston, Massachusetts… February 13, 1942
“Thank God, it’s Friday,” Steven heard his boss, Bradford Faires, muttering under his breath as they made their way down the stairs to head their separate directions. “This just hasn’t been my day…”
A pang of guilt did somersaults in Steven’s belly and skittered across his mind as he debated his options: if he stayed and tried to talk things through with his boss, he’d be late for the poker game. If he didn’t, he might regret not having the opportunity to find out what was bothering the man, in the hopes of seeing if he could help rectify things in the future.
With a sigh, he grumbled at himself and then, before he could change his mind, asked his boss what the matter was.
“Oh, nothing, nothing, just thinking… with Valentine’s Day tomorrow and all, and my anniversary coming up, what I’m going to do for Kendall and Alesia both tomorrow, and Kendall for next Thursday night,” the man said, his blue eyes widening in anxiety as he paused to speak, looking Steven in the eye.
Though a step ahead of him, the man’s six foot frame, wide from shoulders to hips, and then a bit slimmer, filled each step as he plodded along.
“Just need to… come up with something that won’t… be a replica of the last… three years… which Kendall has reminded me of… time and again for… weeks, now, was… the same gifts and… place to eat,” Mr. Faires continued.
Sweat was just beginning to form around the edge of his collar as they reached the last flight and turned the corner, and his breathing became stilted. “So, if you… have any ideas… that roll… quickly off the tongue, let’s… have them, if you don’t… mind.”
Steven thought about it for a moment, trying to gauge his words carefully. “It might help if you told me what the last three years has… what you’d…?”
“Perfume for the Mrs.… and flowers for them both for Valentine’s Day; what else is there, other than a card, which I forgot last year? Then for our anniversary, roses, and I take Kendall to Warmouth’s because she loves their prune rolls… lot of things about that place she enjoys, but I think if she had the chance, she’d eat prune rolls every morning for breakfast. So, where else would we go? I know she likes, it. I don’t see why she complain
s!”
“Well,” Steven began, already regretting how late he was now going to be for his poker game, “What about some nylons for your wife, or-”
“Are you kidding me? Go into the women’s department? You’ve got to be out of your all-day-typer’s mind,” the man said. “I’d do that the day I step foot in Steuben’s. Never know who you’re going to run into in a place like that…”
Blood roared in Steven’s ears as he tried to tamp his temper down.
How dare the man make yet another crack at Jewish people and culture! For all he knew, he was part Jewish, himself.
“Then you’re on your own for gifts, because that’s what I’d try to do to impress my wife; please her. And if you’re not up for Steuben’s, what about… there’s Ye Olde Brass Rail, or perhaps Joseph’s over on Dartmouth? Then – I have never been, but I understand it’s good – there’s the Falstaff Room over at the Sheraton Hotel? Much spendier than I can a-“
He stopped himself, but it was too late.
His boss was nearly as red as the Falstaff door.
They stopped walking once they reached the out of doors, and Steven wondered how it was that he was freezing in three layers, but his boss seemed fine in… well, he’d guess it was two, other than the suit jacket.
“Well, and what about that place we went for dinner? The Union Oyster House,” he ventured one last time, hoping Mr. Faires would be gracious enough to overlook his faux pas.
Of course, now he’d reminded his boss of their own argument in his attempt to help.
Great… just great, he thought, glancing up at the sky for a moment before returning his attention to Mr. Faires.
“Well, but I… most of those places, I’ve never been, but… I hear good things about Joseph’s. Anything you want to share about them,” the man asked quietly, where Steven had to move a little closer in order to hear.
“Well, I… we’ve been able to go three or four times. My wife quite enjoys both their vichyssoise and onion au gratin, but I’m more of a minestrone and salad person,” Steven disclosed, wishing the man could take a hint.
Didn’t he realize Steven was off now? That he might have other things to do for the evening?
“Anyway, I’m sure you’ll get something figured out, Mr. Faires,” he continued, turning just a little toward Rocky’s place, waiting for his boss to say goodnight first.
“Yeah,” the man said, pausing a moment. “Yeah, I guess you’re right… I’ll think of something. I’ve got to…got to keep the women happy if I’m going to stop feeling so guilty about doing my best and it not being good enough.”
“Understand what you mean,” Steven murmured as his boss finally said goodbye. “Have a good night, and… well… hope tomorrow goes better than it sounds like last year did.”
“Thanks, Wishart-Laurent… you know, for a Jew-lover, you’re not a bad guy.”
Steven raced down the street, not sure if it was more in anger or in frustration over being late to Rocky’s.
For being a Jew-lover? Really, he thought. Can he get any more tactlessly crass? And after I tried to be helpful!
He weaved through the people as he glanced at the street. Did he have enough time to make it across?
Better not chance it, even if he was late; the last thing he needed was a trip to the hospital.
“Hey, long time, no see,” he heard a familiar voice say as someone tapped on his shoulder, startling him. Within moments, he was face to face with Shalom Schwartz; his brother-in-law.
The man’s dark beard and hair, as well as his green-brown eyes, were as unmistakable as his voice.
Really? I go three weeks without seeing him, and then run into him at a time like this, Steven thought, trying to smile casually as he continued to regulate his breathing.
“You sure are in a hurry…. Late getting home,” Shalom asked him as they walked together across the street once there was an opening in traffic.
“Actually, a few hours with some of the guys in the neighborhood, and I’m running late,” Steven said, wishing he hadn’t given so much information away. “So, much as I hate to run, I’ll just have to catch up with you later,” he told the man, looking down the half inch difference between them in height.
Even Shannen didn’t know the Rockwells lived in the next neighborhood over… not that everyone slotted for attendance this evening did.
Far from it: DiMaggio, Tabor, and Williams sure didn’t. If they actually showed this time; Tabor had promised the last five times to come, showing once. Some of the other players’ records were better, but certainly not a good as their averages in the ball field.
But what was the point of making things worse with more information? And if news got out that they were betting money?
It’d be all over.
Liraz would make sure of that… much as Steven was sure his mother-in-law loved him; he’d be outed to the rest of the family in no time at all, and then what?
Twenty One
Meridian, Mississippi… February 13, 2025
Romeo set the last of the suitcases down inside the lobby as he kept an eye on Calico and their son, Angus.
He’d hated having to uproot his family; become a client of the agency he once worked for; hearing his wife cry as he told her there was nothing for it but to begin again… again.
They weren’t changing their names, but they were being cautious, and the only way to slide underneath the radar of all the people still searching for her was to go under as a family, starting the whole hotel process all over again.
But the thing about Mississippi was that HUVA had never ventured so far to help a client; they had concentrated their efforts on the West Coast states and Arizona… occasionally Texas or Nevada. Mississippi was brand new territory for them…
“Have you been helped, Sir, Ma’am,” a grey-haired gentleman in black pinstriped coattails and white trousers with the nametag “Otto,” asked. He was standing just inside the revolving door to their left under a sign that read “Concierge.”
Calico, gripping Angus’s chubby little hand, moved toward the man, smiling. “Thank you, no. We’re actually waiting for someone. Sure is a gorgeous day, for this time of year,” she told him, clinching the passcode phrase.
If their contact were within hearing range, it should become obvious soon. Romeo prayed their wait wouldn’t be very long; three days in the car had been enough of a wait for him, and then shopping all over again for clothes for each of them… getting all-new hairstyles and, for Romeo, a tattoo, which he’d vowed he’d never do… had been too much.
How do the clients of HUVA going in blindly, not knowing they’d need to make even more drastic changes than he and his family had, ever put up with it? How had Calico endured all those months holed up in Anaheim, with little to no outlet for people to talk to or things to do?
And here she was, willing to go through it again for his sake; for the sake of their son.
It amazed him.
“I don’t know… a bit cold for my taste,” Otto replied, moving toward her from behind the desk. Romeo, keeping his eye on their bags, moved to place one arm around her, and set his other hand on his son’s shoulder.
This wasn’t the guy.
“Sorry if I startled ya’ll. I just wanted to step outside for a moment for some fresh air; it’s about my break time” he said, moving around them as another Concierge took his place at the desk.
Romeo noted that he was younger… much younger, with shaggy blonde hair, a thin build, and a silver horse dangling from one ear. He stood two inches taller than Calico.
“Have you already been helped,” the man, whose nametag read “Mario,” asked them softly as he shuffled through some papers on the desk, then set them aside.
“Otto asked us already; we’re actually waiting for someone to meet us here, so I think we’re good,” Romeo replied. “Sure is a gorgeous day, for this time of year.”
“Absolutely… the only thing better would be having the day off to go fish
ing,” Mario told them, giving them a lopsided smile as he winked at them, then glanced around. “Fishing’s the life, I tell ya.”
Romeo smiled and shook the man’s hand, and Calico followed suit. “Mario, nice meeting you. I think we will take you up on that offer of help,” he said. “If you could grab a bag I think I can carry the rest.”
“”I’ll grab a cart,” the young man told him. “Then, neither of us will need to carry anything until you’re lifting them off the cart in your rooms.”
“Rooms?”
“I’ll explain it on the way up,” the man told him, smiling again. “And at dinnertime, I’ll send the rest of the team up to greet you, if that works.”
Without waiting for an answer, Mario loped off and, three or four minutes later, returned with a luggage cart and helped place their bags on it before escorting them to the elevators.
“Place looks pretty new,” Romeo commented, trying to make conversation. “How long has it been here?”
“Oh, just about five years; not long, at all. Turns out people really like the cross street we chose, and business has been exclusive, but booming.”
“Yeah, I can imagine…,” Calico replied as Angus began to chatter to himself… something about the birds painted on the walls, and she hushed him. “Couples in love and lovers of beer, right?”
Mario laughed, and Romeo and Calico joined in. Even little Angus began to chuckle… and the chuckle became a belly laugh.
“Momma said beer,” he nearly shouted, laughing even more before Calico clamped a hand over his mouth, her cheeks turning a brilliant pink.
Romeo smiled to himself as he looked over at his wife. It was good to hear her finally joking a bit, and it wasn’t everyday your new residence was on the corner of Lovers Lane and Brewer Road.
Even if it was a hotel in the middle of a bunch of golf courses, baseball fields, with no church for three miles… there were more places here they could travel at least somewhat anonymously, with plenty of view to see who might be trying to follow them, if it really got that serious.
The Angels' Mirror Pack 2: Books Four through Seven Page 45
