by D. A. Young
“No, silly. Annabelle set a date for the wedding!”
“We have a date! Thank goodness; we can start planning!”
“Uncle Graham, you forgot to blow out the sparklers!”
“Nephew, are you trying to burn this place down?!”
It was the tug at his jeans that broke them apart. They both looked down at Rory, who was pouting. “Daddy, why come you didn’t blow the candles?”
Graham bent down and picked her up, and Annabelle held her as well to complete their circle.
“Because I don’t need to wish for anything else. All I ever wanted is right here in my arms, babygirl.”
***
Ingrid left work in a great mood. Normally, it was just good, but after today, just seeing how happy everyone was, was enough to make her happy. It was a nice night. Maybe she’d head home, fix a snack, and go to Movie Night. Being out in public wasn’t so bad anymore. People seemed to be getting used to her being there, or rather, they’d accepted that she wasn’t going straight to hell despite their faithful daily prayers for it.
She took her knapsack off and placed it in her flowered bike basket at the employee bike rack in the alleyway. The hairs on her neck stirred and adrenaline pumping, Ingrid spun around to find Graham standing there. “Jesus, are you trying to give me a heart attack? What are you doing here?”
Slowly, he showed her his hands. “Relax; I’m not here to do anything. I just wanted to see how you were feeling.”
“You mean if I’m still craving a fix? Yes, but the urges aren’t as bad.” Ingrid wanted to be as upfront as possible.
An awkward silence ensued, so she bent down to unlock her bike. It was an old-fashion Schwinn that was orange and rusty, found at a community garage sale two months ago. It was the only transportation Ingrid had ever owned, and she was proud of it. This weekend, she planned to buy some spray paint and revamp it.
Ingrid removed the bike from the rack and positioned it between them. She was unsure of what he wanted by seeking her out, but she fervently hoped it wasn’t to tell her to ignore Annabelle and Rory when they said hello to her. “Was there anything else you needed?”
Graham reached into his pocket and held the small plastic bag up to the light hanging above the café’s back door. “I thought you’d like this back. It took me a minute to figure out where I’d seen it, but the hair was the same color as Eliza’s and Camille. You killed Fowler. What I can’t figure out is the how and the why? The Gaineses are willing to cover it up, but I studied that body. Samantha and Thomas were too tall to make that cut from that angle, but not you.
He lowered the bag and tossed it at Ingrid, but she made no attempt to catch it, letting it bounce off her chest and fall to the alley floor. “What were you doing at Thomas and Samantha’s house? Be honest. I’ve had six months to turn you in but haven’t. You can trust me on this. All I want is the truth.”
Ingrid bent down and snatched the bag up and stuffed it in her jean pocket. “My conversation with Annabelle in the park was weighing on my mind. The night of the Valentine basket thingy, I overheard Val and Chandra going into further detail, so I decided to go and talk to them. Let them know that the ‘Fucked Up Parents Club’ wasn’t taking new members at the moment, so they had to be cool and not drive their beautiful daughter away like I drove both of mine.
I got the necklace from my counselor in rehab. It was a gift, not just for being clean, but for trying my hardest to stay that way. Anyone can go to rehab, but to try to stay clean and utilize what they teach you is a lot fucking harder! I was so arrogant when I got here and assumed that everyone would pat me on the head and we could move on because I’d lived in purgatory, and suffered enough in my own opinion. That’s what detoxing is, you know.
Anyways, I removed my necklace and had it in my hand, reciting my sponsor’s code while waiting nervously. The door opened, and I recognized Samantha from school, and she recognized me too but wasn’t trying to hear me.”
***
“Will you please just listen to me? Your daughter is wonderful, and I just don’t want you to screw up like I did with my kids!”
“I’ve got nothing to say to a trashy druggie like you! Go away!” Samantha tried to slam the door in Ingrid’s face.
Fuck it; I’ve been called worse, Ingrid thought and kicked the door back.
She entered the partial opening and advanced on Samantha. “We’re not done here, Samantha! If you choose not to make up with your daughter then you’ll never get to know your granddaughter. I’ve seen her, Samantha, and she’s an angel! I’m begging you to do the right thing and go see your daughter. Don’t wake up, surrounded by family yet all alone, like me.”
Two things registered at once. Samantha’s look of tormented horror and the door. The force that she’d disrespectfully kicked the door with should have sent it crashing against the wall, but there wasn’t a sound. Ingrid turned around and saw a deranged-looking man closing the door. His hair was a wild, tangled mess that hadn’t been combed in God knew how long, and his jaw was also covered in a gnarly mess of hair.
“That slut has a baby?” he whispered eerily. “Is that true, Samantha?”
“No! Don’t listen to her! She’s a drug addict and can’t be trusted!” Samantha cried. “Tell him the truth, Ingrid!”
It stung to be defined by those words but wisely Ingrid kept her mouth shut.
“Yes, Ingrid, tell me the truuuuth,” Davis sang, waving the knife unpredictably. “Tell ME about how good and decent that slut is! Try to convince me that she’s not a filthy, lying bitch! That she didn’t say she loved me, all the while plotting to leave me!” He pounded his chest with his other hand. “ME! I was the best thing to happen to her!”
“It wasn’t like that, and you know it! You were the worst thing to happen to her!” Samantha lashed out venomously. “My daughter did nothing to deserve your behavior! She was too good for you—”
Davis cut her off. “Annabelle humiliated me! She made me the laughing stock of this town! It’s time I show her once and for all who I am!” He pointed the knife at Ingrid. “You get her here. NOW. Tell her that if she doesn’t come in the next thirty minutes, I will carve her mother up in pieces! Do you understand me, Ingrid?! Do what you have to do to get that slut and her little brat over here! GO!”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Ingrid spoke with a calm she was far from feeling. She couldn’t leave Samantha alone with this madman. Recalling the conversation Chandra and Val had, Ingrid now knew that he was the reason Samantha hadn’t seen her daughter since her return. If Ingrid left now, who knew what he’d do to her now that he knew about Annabelle’s daughter? And that Samantha had deliberately kept the information from him?
“You. Can’t. Do. That?” the man laughed a nasty, jeering sound, walking toward Ingrid. She retreated as he advanced. “Then I guess you’re no use to anyone here.”
Her heart was in her throat as she clocked the knife in his right hand. His eyes were full of madness as he raised it. He expected Ingrid to run from him; she was sure of it. She chose to surprise him at the last minute by running toward him, and instead of wrestling the knife from him like he anticipated, Ingrid pushed his arm higher and stabbed him in the neck with her necklace while forcefully kneeing him in his balls.
***
“He tried to grab the necklace and had me by the hair as he finally pulled it out. The next thing I know, Samantha was stabbing him repeatedly. It was as if she was in a trance and couldn’t stop, even after he was dead. She kept chanting, ‘May you burn in hell for all you’ve done.’.”
Ingrid rubbed her face vigorously as if trying to shake the memory. “There was so much blood! She called Thomas; he came home, and we cleaned up. Then they told me to leave and that they’d take care of the body. I didn’t remember the necklace until much later, but Samantha said I had nothing to worry about. I didn’t know the full backstory, but Thomas clued me in. Now that I know it, I can’t say that I’m sorry that man is dead.�
�
Ingrid gripped the bike handles. “I’d better get going. Thanks for giving the necklace back. I was really bummed about losing it. FYI, I’m a regular at their house on Sunday nights for spades. Feel free to avoid that timeframe.”
That was a hell of a story, and grudgingly, Graham felt a glimmer of respect. “You’re welcome, and like I said, you don’t have to worry about anything further with that mess. I won’t keep you any longer. Enjoy your night.”
Graham opened the door and just before he disappeared, Ingrid whispered, “Happy Birthday.”
It was the first time Graham remembered her saying it in over thirty-five years.
It was the first time Ingrid remembered it in over thirty-five years.
Progress or something like it had been made tonight.
***
Town Square was packed, but Ingrid managed to find an empty spot under a tree away from the crowds. She pulled out her flowered blanket and spread it out before dropping down on it and shaking her knapsack out to retrieve the snacks she’d brought: sparkling water, apple slices, prosciutto, and white cheddar cheese slices.
“What’s this?” Ingrid held up the aluminum-wrapped package and then unwrapped it.
Birthday cake.
Someone had slipped a piece into her knapsack. But who? She doubted it was Graham, but was unsure because he happened to be in the alley. Was it Annabelle, who practically begged her to join in on the singing, but Ingrid refused to put a damper on the moment? Or was it Nate? Val? Chandra? She highly doubted it was Raymond.
It didn’t matter. Someone had made a conscious decision about her.
Ingrid dug into the fruit passion cake with her fingers and ate with gusto.
“That must be some damn good cake,” a man with a Boston Red Sox baseball cap on remarked, as he set up a chair next to her blanket. When he smiled, all his teeth showed, and Ingrid could see they were white, sparkling, pretty, and real, unlike her dentures that were needed because of her drug use, a fact that made her self-conscious of smiling.
“It’s alright,” Ingrid muttered and put the cake down, her joy of the pastry suddenly dissipating. She focused on the blank screen, determined to ignore him.
But the stranger refused to let Ingrid be. He removed his cap to reveal shaggy thick silver hair. The locks were a stark contrast to his unlined, tanned friendly face. He held out his hand to Ingrid. “I’m Tim Nowitzsky, your neighbor tonight or insurance agent extraordinaire if you’re in the market for any. So, what are we watching, beautiful?”
THE END
As I previously stated in my author’s note, this is not the end for Baymoor. All information on upcoming projects will be revealed on the link below.
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Author’s Acknowledgements
Readers – Thank you! Thank you! Thank you, for trusting my process and believing in my work! Please know there are so many more adventures ahead of us and I look forward to sharing them all with you!
Karen Kunz – Thank you for understanding my vision and always succeeding in bringing it to fruition. Your talent knows no bounds.
Ideality Consulting – Thank you for your invaluable input, talent, understanding my vision, and your comments, which crack me up.
Patrice Harrison – I’d be lost without you. Thank you for choosing to take this journey with me and putting up with the nuttiness. For talking me down from the crazy ledge instead of pushing me off. You’re priceless and I’m clinging to you like a spider monkey, lol. Thank you for your talent, understanding my vision, invaluable feedback, and sharing the belief that depicting women of color in a strong light is necessary.
My family and friends – Thank you for your endless support and unconditional love. I love you beyond the moon and back. Dear Husband – I pray every woman is blessed with someone like you in their lifetime. Love you forever and ever.
