Eyeful (Gladiators of the Gridiron Book 2)

by C. R. Grissom

  She slides over to her right to better settle in front of her keyboard. “M-a-r-l-o-w, right?” she says, as she hunts and pecks out the keys.

  “No. Marlowe with an ‘e’ at the end. M-a-r-l-o-w-e.”

  “Oh, well, that’s different.” She makes eye contact with me. “Spelling matters, young lady.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I manage to say through my spiking anxiety.

  Grams leans in and whispers in my ear, “Angels wept. I think Tolstoy wrote War and Peace in less time.”

  Her hearing loss makes it difficult for her to gauge volume. The volunteer glances up from the keyboard to shoot us a dirty look.

  I’m about to lose my ever-living-shit waiting for direction. I wrap my arm around Grams, who is every bit as anxious as I am. Probably more, since they’ve been friends for some time.

  After three millennia the woman says, “Ah. Here we are. Alice Marlowe gave birth this morning. You’ll find her in the Women and Children’s Center, building M.”

  Wait, what? And it clicks that she said Alice and not Agnes. “Ma’am. We’re looking for Agnes, A-g-n-e-s Marlowe. She’s not giving …” my voice breaks “…birth. Please. I have to find her.”

  “I can’t help you if you’re not clear.” She huffs.

  Grams bristles beside me. “Listen, you—”

  “Found her,” the volunteer at the next computer says. “Coronary Care, second floor.” He points to a set of elevators. “Take the elevator to two. There will be a nurse’s station. Check with them,” he says kindly.

  Tears fill my eyes. “Thank you.” I swipe my face with my sleeve.

  Grams murmurs something about the first volunteer being completely unhelpful.

  I’m grateful when Gavin steps between us to usher us all to the bank of elevators. “This way, Simone. Let’s get upstairs, shall we?”

  When the nurse upstairs asks if we’re family, Grams answers for us. “That’s my sister. And this is her granddaughter, Phoebe. How is she? Can we see her?”

  The nurse looks Gavin over. He says, “Sister-in-law,” before the nurse gets a chance to ask.

  “You can go in, but there’s a limit of two visitors at a time.”

  Gavin says, “No problem. Let the lasses visit. I’ll wait here.”

  The nurse smiles at Gavin. No doubt charmed by his accent. She points at a Visitors sign down the right side of the hall. “You can wait there.”

  “Thank you. I will. Simone, if you need me…” He leans down and kisses her forehead. He makes eye contact with me. “She’ll be glad to see you. Stay strong, aye?”

  I nod.

  The nurse points down the opposite hallway. “She’s in twenty-two seventeen. Remember, she needs rest.”

  My breath stutters, and I try to hide my sob. Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. I walk beside Grams, my body twitching with fear at what I’ll find when I see Agnes. Grams grabs my hand and squeezes lightly.

  “She’s going to be fine. You’ll see.”

  I can’t say or do anything except bob my head in agreement. But my thoughts race with horrible thoughts of Agnes suffering permanent damage because I wasn’t there to help. Tears stream down my face and I can’t be bothered to wipe them away.

  The door to Agnes’s room is partially open. I hold my breath, my hand on the cool wood. “Agnes, it’s Phoebe. Can we come in?”

  She doesn’t answer. Machines beep and bleat. My blood pressure soars, and my brain contracts. I wouldn’t be surprised if my gray matter explodes and spatters the curtain shielding Agnes from view.

  Grams threads her fingers through mine. “Come on, darling.”

  We step around the curtain. Agnes rests in the bed on the left, closest to the door. Another curtain shields her roommate from view.

  Her eyes are closed, and her skin looks absolutely pasty, this woman who always has an aura of color following her everywhere she walks. I’m staggered by how small she looks in bed.

  A tear rolls off my face to splat at my feet. I swipe my sleeve across my face and step closer to the bed. Grams releases my hand.

  “Agnes,” I whisper. Nothing. “Agnes,” I call out raising my voice. Moving closer to the bed, I just want to make sure it’s her. I rest my hand lightly over hers. This one is free from needles and tubes, unlike the other one, which has tubes running up her arm connecting her to bags of liquid.

  Grams says, “We should let her rest.”

  “She’s such a force of nature.” I can’t reconcile her fragility or the plain hospital gown devoid of color. Her hair is messed up and her lips have no color. I choke back a sob. “Ordinarily Agnes teems with life.”

  “You mean piss and vinegar.”

  “Grams.” I’m shocked.

  “Honey, you mistake my meaning. It’s what makes Agnes so unique. I should have used a better metaphor. She’s lemon zest. She’s not the full rind, and certainly not a simple twist. Agnes embodies the essence of flavor and the swish of substance in the best possible way. Anyone can be tart. It takes a special talent to be as potent and unparalleled as our Agnes.”

  Yes. Exactly.

  “Yes. Exactly,” Agnes says in a weakened voice.

  “Agnes. Thank goodness. How are you?”

  Grams exclaims, “Agnes, dear. It’s good to hear your voice.”

  “Can one of you help me figure out how to raise the bed? I don’t like having a conversation while I’m flat on my back and I’m not sharing the mattress with someone.”

  There she is and thank God. I hunt for the remote to tilt the bed forward and slowly make the adjustment, so it won’t cause her further pain. The machine beeps, and she winces. My heart hurts. “How can I help? Shall I find the nurse for you?”

  “No. She’ll just stick another needle in me like I’m some kind of pincushion.”

  “Agnes, I’m sure what they’ve done is strictly necessary,” Grams offers.

  “Yeah, and if she tries to prick me again, I’ll do what’s strictly necessary and bop her one.”

  Oh, my. I imagine Agnes making good on her threat. “You can’t.”

  “I know that. But sometimes you gotta let them know what they’re in for. Just in case.”

  I can well imagine stopping by to visit and discovering Agnes zip-tied to the bed. “I’m sorry I didn’t stay with you last night. I’ll never forgive myself.”

  “Don’t you do that to yourself. I forbid you to feel any guilt.”

  “Agnes, I’m so glad you’re doing okay. I’m going down the hall to tell Gavin the good news. I’ll be back soon.”

  “What good news? I’m stuck in here while they run tests,” she sneers.

  “Yes, dear. And the fact that you’re bitching about it makes me happier than you can ever know.”

  Biting my lip, I say, “Agnes, you scared me.”

  “Scared me, too. Now tell me what went wrong with your man.”

  “Never mind about that right now.”

  “Phoebe,” she admonishes. “Talk to me.”

  I do. I let it all out. I tell her about Mom and her arrest, coming here, meeting Tiago. I tell her about Caity’s latest. I tell her about Tiago’s family, and the fact they’re facing eviction because of Mom and Calvin. Everything. All the things I told Faith, only this time I’m not crying. Recounting the story, without emotion like it happened to someone else.

  When I finally run out of words, I glance at Agnes.

  She taps her lips. “Doll baby, you’ve damn near walked through fire for the past six months, haven’t you?”

  “Feels like,” I agree.

  “Listen, I don’t know what can be fixed, what can be replaced, and what can have its ass kicked to the middle of the street, but we’re going to figure this out between us. You’re not alone.”

  It’s the second time someone has told me that in a matter of hours. Realizing the truth of her statement spreads warmth throughout my body.

  “Do me a favor, kid, and get the nurse in here. We need to find out when I can get sprung from
here. We’ve got shit to do.”

  The person sharing the room calls out in a deep voice, “Agnes Marlowe, is that you?”

  Agnes’s eyes go round. She frantically motions for me to close her curtain. “Shut it,” she stage-whispers at me.

  I drag the curtain closed. “Who’s there?” she asks.

  “James Peterson. Is that really you, Agnes?”

  She uses her free hand to motion to her hair, and mimes adding lipstick. I grab the hairbrush from my backpack and quickly brush her hair.

  “Of all the gin joints…” she says.

  Hair brushed. I grab my tinted lip gloss and apply it to her lips.

  “What are you in for?” he asks.

  I use my brow pencil to fill her brows. I add blush to her cheeks and take out my loose finishing powder to even out her skin tone. She looks more like herself. I have a small mirror that I hold for her to check her appearance in. She shrugs. I put my stuff away.

  “Affairs of the heart,” she jokes. “You?”

  “Angina.”

  She motions for me to open the curtain again. Quietly as possible, I move the curtain to its original spot before emergency makeup triage.

  “Well, let me look at you,” she says.

  “I can’t reach the curtain.”

  I cross the room to open his curtain, curious as all hell to see what James looks like. “Hello, I’m Phoebe,” I say, introducing myself. He’s got a full head of silvery hair. He’s handsome. James reminds me of an actor whose name I can’t remember. He looks like vintage Hollywood even in his hospital gown.

  “I heard. Don’t be a jackass like the one trapped in the bed,” he says.

  Agnes gripes, “I heard that.”

  He scoffs. “I meant me.”

  I step out of the way. Their gazes lock on each other. Agnes turns her head away from him to stare at the wall. Shaking her head. “Damn you,” she sniffs. “Still the best-looking guy in the room.”

  “Agnes,” he snorts. “I’m the only guy in the room.”

  She laughs, and the sound makes me smile. “Your wife is a lucky woman.”

  He sighs. “My wife has been gone for ten years.”

  While Agnes chews on that news, I lean down and press a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll stop by later. You two have some catching up to do.” Then I whisper, “This time don’t screw up.”

  “You’ve got a fresh mouth. Like me. Bring my things when you stop by later,” she whispers.

  By things, I know she means makeup. I wink. “I got you.”

  “Yeah, you do,” she agrees.

  I find Grams and Gavin in the waiting room. Grams smiles at me. “You feel better. I can see it in your face.”

  “Yeah. Agnes will be okay. Better than okay. You’ll never guess who’s rooming with her.”

  “Who?”

  “James,” I blurt. “And he’s single,” I squeal. I can’t help it. I’m so happy for Agnes. I hope like hell I’m not wrong about what I saw in the room between them. Love and longing.

  “You’re joking,” Grams exclaims.

  Gavin asks, “Who is James?”

  “Long story,” Grams and I say at the same time.

  “Jinx.” I smile for the first time in hours.

  At the front desk, I stop to ask the helpful volunteer about Tiago, but he couldn’t find him in the system, and my heart pinches.

  I dial Everest. When he answers I ask, “How is he? Where is he?”

  “They’re taking his statement. It’ll take time. Get some rest. I’ll call as soon as I know something.”

  “Waiting is brutal.”

  “You’ll be my first call. I promise.”

  “Thanks.” Disconnecting the call, I climb into Gavin’s car.

  On the drive to the retirement center, I fall asleep in the back seat. Grams shakes me awake. “Phoebe, honey. We’re home.”

  Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I get out of the car. I sway in the heat. Gavin steadies me. “Och, lass. You need to rest.”

  I nod. We go to Grams’s apartment. It’s daytime. There’s nothing stopping me from crashing in my room. Phone in hand, I’m out the second my head hits my pillow.

  Waking up three hours later, I realize I have to face what happened. Last night, I acknowledged all my feelings. My insecurities. Everything about my life in Las Vegas that I pretended happened to someone else when I first arrived here.

  It didn’t. I’m the sum total of all my experiences. Good and bad. Unlocking my phone, I read texts first.

  There’s one from an unknown number. Take that, bitch.

  Swiping left I delete it.

  I have one from Everest who added himself to my contacts—not by name—but by the mountain emoji. Sent before I called him. It reads: Tiago left the hospital. He’s at the police station. I’ll fill you in when I know more.

  Any news? I text.

  Not yet, he replies.

  There are a few from Faith sent before I tagged her. She took Rides to the diner last night. She’s the kind of friend who comes along maybe once in your life if you’re lucky.

  I’m crying again. Back home, I would have had many more texts like the first one.

  I don’t have any texts from Tiago, which makes my stomach cramp. Listening to voicemail. There’s another from an unknown caller.

  It’s from Caity. She says, “He only paid attention to you because of his grandma’s house. You’re nothing to him.”

  I try not to let her words carve themselves onto my heart, but my stomach cramps. I won’t allow her to poison my relationship with Tiago. We might not make it, and I wouldn’t blame him. I can’t lie to myself and think I’ll be okay if that happens. I won’t. But I’ll live with it, if necessary.

  Recognizing the last number as Tiago’s, I realize he must have called while I was at the hospital. I push play and his voice surrounds me. Please don’t walk away from us. I’m leaving the hospital now. I’m going to have to go to the police station to press charges, and answer some of my own. They’ll probably take my phone from me. But I had to call. I’m sorry for Caity’s post.

  I made a choice last night over french fries and ice cream, realizing I have the power to do something constructive. Even if it doesn’t work, I will have tried.

  My phone dings. I read the text Everest sent. Head over in twenty.

  I add the like reaction to his text. Pulling my hair into a low ponytail, I change into clean clothes and brush my teeth. That’s about all I have patience for today.

  Grams and Gavin sit next to each other on the couch. Grams looks up from her iPad where she was working a crossword puzzle. Gavin is watching a soccer match on television, with the sound off.

  “Thanks for letting me rest. Grams, can we talk?”

  Gavin turns the television off. “I’m going to wander over to my apartment and give you some privacy. Simone, ring me when you want dinner.”

  He steps outside, leaving us alone.

  “What is it, love?”

  “I can’t have the relationship you want me to have with Mom. I can’t ignore what she’s done. Her role in hurting people and forcing them out of homes they bought, cared for, which are now lost to them.”

  A single tear drips onto the cushion. “I know. I’ve made excuses for Helen for far too long.”

  It’s important for me to make Grams understand why I’ll cut ties with Mom. “She hurt Tiago and his family, but they’re only one family among dozens more. I can’t see past her crimes. I can’t see past that kind of selfishness. She deliberately scammed people. I’m sorry, Grams. I would walk through fire for you, but I can’t give you this.”

  She reaches out and holds me tight. Her shoulders shake. Her tears run down my neck. I have to be resolute. It’s nearly killing me to not back down. My tears join hers. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, don’t be sorry. This choice is right for you.” She sniffles. “I’m sorry my daughter will never experience the absolute joy you bring to a room. If I were forced to choose
between you, Phoebe, I’d pick you. Every. Time.”

  “Grams. I love you so much,” I sob. “I’m lucky to have you.”

  “Look at us. We’re both dripping harder than a leaky faucet.”

  “There’s something I need to take care of that can’t wait. I’m going to get a rideshare now, but I’ll be back later to take Agnes her things.”

  “Nonsense. You’ll take my car, I insist.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate it,” I say, kissing her cheek. “All of it. Your understanding and your unconditional love.”

  Grams hands me her car keys.

  Everest sent a text with the address. Parking in the lot, I step through the double doors. I tell the officer at the front desk, “Phoebe Sharpe, I’m here to speak to Detective Cabrillo.”

  “Take a seat. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  “Thanks.”

  All in all, I spend an hour with the detective talking to him about what I know, and apologizing for what I don’t. I tell him what happened in Henderson. I share the names of the arresting officers. I have an entire folder of screenshots with information on Mom and her alleged role in destroying evidence directly related to the scams. Then I tell him about Calvin.

  “I’ve always been afraid of him. He likes to crowd you. He expects adoration and respect. He’s a narcissist. If you question his authority, he’ll take you out. Discredit you or come at you physically, like he did with Tiago.”

  Detective Cabrillo asks, “How would you feel about meeting him in one of our interrogation rooms? Do you think you can get him to talk?”

  “You want me to get Calvin to incriminate himself?”

  “It would help. All conversations are recorded, except between counsel or clergy. There shouldn’t be any expectation of privacy. If he talks, we can use it.”

  “I want him to pay for what he’s done.”

  We strategize. I pray I can pull this off without blowing it.

  Detective Cabrillo sets it up. They bring Calvin into the room, attaching his cuffs to the table. He’s all kinds of belligerent. I watch him argue, while I’m safely tucked away in another room set up with cameras set to record everything.

  He demands to be released.

  I’m numb with fear.

  Recognizing the officer from the video, he leads me to Calvin. My hands shake. Even my bottom lip quivers. Inhale. Exhale. Now more than ever I need my poker face. I’m not going to screw this up. He knocks once and opens the door. “Mr. Chadwick, your stepdaughter is here to see you.”