Beast of a Feast

by Melanie Jackson

  “Excuse me, ladies and gentleman, dear friends and new friends. If I might have your attention,” he hollered several times.

  Others helped him by calling for quiet. Eventually, the room settled down and all turned in his direction.

  “Before this afternoon slips into this evening, I’d ask that everyone lift a glass with me in a toast to the founders of the feast, Ms. Chloe Boston, who was kind enough to ask us to her home, and Ms. Tara Lee, who is the chief architect of this wonderful gathering.”

  Mr. Jackman’s audience burst into spontaneous applause as I shrunk down into my seat in order to not be seen.

  “Tara Lee? Chloe Boston? If you’re out there, stand up and take a bow,” I heard Mr. Jackman add over the sound of applause.

  I sunk even deeper into my seat.

  “Stand up!” my mother insisted, nearly dragging me out of my seat.

  I stood and waved to everyone then quickly sat down again.

  “And before you return to your wonderful meals,” Mr. Jackman continued, “I’d like to make an announcement. This spring, Mrs. Agatha Graves and I, Lawrence Jackman, are to be married.”

  Again, the crowd burst into applause only this time I joined them. Mr. Jackman had Mrs. Graves stand and she looked as embarrassed as I’d felt when the attention was directed my way. Mr. Jackman, ever the showman, leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, waved, and the couple took their seats. If only the announcements had stopped there.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” I heard the Chief call. “Many of you know me. For those who don’t, I’m Randy Wallace, your chief of police.”

  “Oh no,” I moaned, looking to see the Chief standing at a nearby table.

  “What’s wrong?” my father asked.

  “I’m afraid you’re about to find out,” I informed him.

  The crowd hushed and the Chief continued talking.

  “Only two weeks ago, I met the most amazing woman I’ve ever known, and her name is Barbara Simms.”

  There were scattered murmurs. Meanwhile, I was able to see that Barbara, sitting beside the Chief, was turning beet red with embarrassment and pulling at the Chief’s coattails in an attempt to get him to sit down.

  “Don’t do it, Chief,” I said to myself.

  “Barbara, why don’t you stand up,” the Chief said, pulling Barbara to her feet. “Ladies and gentleman, Barbara Simms, the most wonderful woman in the world.”

  There was scattered applause mixed with titters of laughter.

  “Too soon, Chief. Too soon,” I chanted, covering my eyes but peeking between my fingers to see what happened next.

  “Over these two weeks, we’ve laughed and played together,” the Chief continued, “and I know I’ve found a true friend, someone I’d like to spend the rest of my life with.”

  I could see that Barbara was trying to sit and take the Chief down with her, but the Chief refused to budge. There were now hoots and hollers from the diners. Then the Chief’s head disappeared and I knew he had taken a knee.

  “Good Lord.” I couldn’t watch anymore. I wished that I couldn’t hear anymore.

  I watched as Barbara now attempted to pull the Chief back to his feet. She eventually succeeded. When the Chief’s head reappeared, he looked hurt and confused. My heart ached for him. Having pulled him to his feet, Barbara continued to pull him from the room. More laughter and catcalls followed them as they exited the tent in a flurry.

  “Well now, that was interesting,” my father observed.

  “I better go find them and make sure everything is alright,” I said, rising from my seat.

  My search for the Chief began within the house, but I could find neither hide nor hair of him. I returned to the tent to continue my search, assuming that he and Barbara had doubled back after Barbara had had a private talk with him.

  I failed to find the Chief or Barbara in the tent, but did run across some old friends, Trisha and Shannon, sitting together with Cassie and Andrea at a corner table. Trisha had brought Hairyman along while Shannon and her husband had her boys sitting politely by her side. Andrea was discussing football strategy and the food with her boys. It turned out that they were comparing the dishes that each of them had brought to the party, a serving each of Cassie’s famous casserole, Trisha’s roasted butternut squash, and Shannon’s broccoli and cauliflower with cream cheese. None of them could decide which dish tasted best, so I sampled them, which only served to enflame my hunger. They were each exquisite in their own way, which left me unable to render a verdict. I left them laughing together and enjoying the fare.

  At another table I ran across Mr. Jackman and Mrs. Graves. I congratulated them on their upcoming nuptials.

  “Chloe,” said Mr. Jackman solemnly, “I wonder if you and Alex would do us a great favor.”

  “Certainly,” I replied. “Just name it.”

  “Would the two of you be our best man and maid of honor?” Mrs. Graves concluded.

  I couldn’t help it, I started to cry. Nodding my head because I couldn’t speak through the tears, Mr. Jackman, Mrs. Graves, and I hugged. Then we laughed and cried together. While we hugged and celebrated, the PA system was turned down and a local church choir began to sing “We Gather Together.” It was a beautiful moment. I looked to the choir and saw my friend Dee White amongst their number. I waved and she smiled back and nodded her head. I’d never felt so much a part of an extended family in my life.

  After drying my face on a napkin, I moved on to the next table. Soon, I became so engrossed in meeting people and reuniting with old friends that I forgot all about my original intention to search for the Chief and Barbara. That’s one of the reasons I was so surprised when the Chief laid a hand on my shoulder to get my attention.

  “Chloe, we’ve got to go,” the Chief said in a grave voice.

  “Why? Where’s Barbara?”

  “She left, but that’s not important now,” he responded, assuming a mild blush. “We’ve got business downtown at the courthouse.”

  This confused me since I assumed the courthouse must surely be closed this late in the evening, especially on this day, but I didn’t argue. The word business coming from the Chief’s mouth could mean only one thing, serious business. Therefore, I excused myself from the table and followed the Chief at a rapid clip through the house toward the front yard. Along the way, I literally ran into Alex.

  “Alex, I’ve got to go with the Chief,” I told him.

  “Where? Why?”

  “I don’t know, but meet me downtown at the courthouse as soon as you get a chance.”

  “Where’s the car?”

  “I don’t know. Ask Tara Lee.”

  That’s as much as I got to say before the Chief grabbed my hand and pulled me to the front door. Outside I saw that it was raining again, hard. This made me wish that I could have taken the time to grab a coat. The Chief excused himself as he cut to the front of the line waiting for the valets, flashed his badge, and turned over his parking stub. While we waited for his car, I begged him to explain.

  “I received a call from Gordon,” he said. “It’s Nathaniel Evans. He’s armed and has his son, Daniel, with him. They’re holed up on the rooftop of the old courthouse. It’s a standoff. He says that he’ll only talk with you.”

  “Me? Why me?”

  “Good question. The answer is: I don’t know, but we’re going to find out.”

  When the Chief’s car arrived, he held the door open for me while I ran through the rain to dive inside. He then ran around to dive in on the driver’s side and peeled out as soon as his butt was in his seat. Rolling down his window, he reached out with a blue flashing light and adhered it to the roof of his car. Apparently we really were in a rush.

  I made sure to fasten my seatbelt but refrained from making siren noises as we sped across town. It was just brittle nerves looking for an outlet. A gun, a child, and a police standoff. This wasn’t going to end well.

  I decided that maybe it was time to pray.

  Chapt
er 9

  The old courthouse, a three-story colonial building complete with clock tower, loomed out of the enveloping gloom as we approached. The pouring rain and dark storm clouds lent an air of ominous foreboding to the structure’s already imposing silhouette. I shivered at the mere sight of it. Never mind the fact that a crazed man with a gun was holding a child hostage and waiting for me somewhere on the roof below the clock tower. The building itself had intimidated me ever since I was a child.

  The Chief pulled to a stop at the curb before the grand edifice amidst several parked police cruisers. The flashing emergency lights did nothing to improve the ambience of dread that lay over the landscape, snuffing out any hope of a happy ending.

  I got out of the car and stood on the sidewalk looking up to the rooftop. The rain poured down, drenching my face and dress, but I barely noticed. My knees began to shake, not from cold but from fear.

  “Come on. Let’s get inside,” the Chief said, breaking my trance-like state.

  I ran up the stairs after him, trying unsuccessfully to dodge the rain drops. Police Officer Warren, who stood guard at the entrance, opened the door for us as soon as he recognized the Chief. Once inside, I shook myself like a wet dog. Water flew from my hair and clothes onto the white marble floor.

  “Here, take this,” the Chief said, removing his damp coat and draping it over my shoulders.

  The coat hung down to my knees, but at least it was warm.

  “Thanks.”

  We trotted up the curving grand staircase to the third floor two steps at a time. Once there, the Chief opened a door to a closet in which a ladder to the roof was hidden. We ascended, one at a time, to the roof where we found Gordon and several other officers wielding shotguns and dressed in full riot gear. These were men I knew well; an hour earlier I’d been serving dinner to many of them, but now they appeared alien in bulletproof vests and helmets.

  “Where is he?” the Chief asked once he stepped onto the roof.

  “Over there,” Gordon replied, “behind that air conditioning unit. He already fired his gun once in our direction, though I think it wasn’t meant to hit anyone. Just a warning shot.”

  Somebody handed the Chief a megaphone. I crouched down beside a heater vent trying to hide from the rain. Gordon looked to me and gave me a nod. I nodded back.

  “Nathaniel Evans,” the Chief called through the megaphone, “this is Chief Wallace. Do you hear me?”

  “Of course I hear you,” Evans called back. “Have you brought the woman? The meter maid.”

  “She’s right here with me,” the Chief acknowledged.

  “Send her over.”

  The Chief looked to me only briefly before putting the megaphone back to his lips.

  “No.”

  There was silence in response.

  “Chief, I don’t like this silence,” I said.

  The Chief ignored me, remaining focused on the air conditioning unit barely visible in the distance.

  “Chief, let me go to him,” I suggested.

  “Shut up and stay down, Boston.”

  The silence continued. The Chief finally returned the megaphone to his mouth.

  “Evans, throw out your weapon and turn yourself in. I can promise you that you won’t be harmed.”

  Again there was silence.

  “At the very least send your son out so that he won’t get hurt.”

  “No,” was the simple reply shouted from the shadows.

  “Gordon, have your men fan out to the left and right. I don’t want anyone shooting unless I give the order. Got it?”

  “Got it, Chief,” Gordon said before disappearing into the gloom to forward the Chief’s orders.

  “Evans, don’t do anything stupid,” the Chief called. “We can help you, but first you have to turn yourself in. Think of your son. It’s late and he is probably cold and wet and very frightened.”

  In response there was silence. We waited. I for one could stand no more of the silence. Shrugging off the Chief’s coat, I stepped out into the pouring rain and began walking in the direction from which I’d heard Evans’ voice.

  “Boston, what are you doing?” the Chief exclaimed.

  I kept walking. Halfway across the roof, I was shocked to sense a presence beside me. I looked to find the Chief there by my side. I returned my attention to the air conditioning unit and kept on walking.

  “That’s far enough,” Evans called. “I told you to send the girl over.”

  “I’m unarmed,” the Chief said, raising his arms in the air and turning in a complete circle.

  “I don’t care. Stay back. I want to speak to the girl, alone.”

  Assuming that it was the wrong time to take exception with being called a girl, I kept my lips zipped and continued to shuffle forward. I felt my body begin to shake as the rain soaked my clothes and my hair. The Chief remained standing where he was, leaving me to my fate. When I made it to the corner of the air conditioning unit, I looked down to see Evans crouching behind it, trying in vain to shield his son from the rain.

  “I’m here. Now what?” I asked.

  “Well, if it isn’t little Miss High-and-mighty,” Evans declared, sending another shiver up my spine. “I really didn’t think you would show.”

  “I’m here for your son, Evans.”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  Again there came that silence that ate at my nerves. I wrapped my arms around myself in a feeble attempt to fight back the cold. As if to mock my efforts to keep warm, my teeth began to chatter and my body to shiver.

  Nathan Evans stood and walked toward me.

  “Well, are you happy now?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he chided.

  “No.”

  “To humiliate me before my son. To push me to the brink and then over. Well, I hope you are happy, Officer Boston. Just remember that you brought all of this on yourself.”

  I was too cold and tired to argue with him. Meanwhile, Daniel unfurled himself from his crouching position and ran to his father’s side.

  “Dad, I’m scared,” he said, throwing his arms around his father’s waist. “Please, let’s go home.”

  “I know. I’m scared too, buddy,” Evans said, crouching to hold his son. “But this will all be over soon. Right now I need you to be brave and remember that I love you, and I always will.”

  Evans rose. I closed my eyes in anticipation of being shot in the head. But the shot never came. By the time I opened my eyes, Evans had stepped up onto the ledge of the building. He looked back to his son.

  “I love you, Daniel. Never forget that.”

  Then he turned to face empty space and stepped over the edge. I screamed. The Chief came running, but he was too late. Nathaniel Evans was gone.

  * * *

  I was bundled in a warm blanket before being escorted from the building by two fellow members of the Hope Falls police department. The rain had stopped but my tears had only just begun to flow. The bulk of the department, including the Chief, was left behind to deal with the aftermath of my encounter with Nathaniel Evans. Alex was waiting for me, leaning against his car at the curb, as I walked down the steps of the old courthouse. When he saw me, he pushed himself away from his car and stepped forward in anticipation. When I saw him, I ran into his arms and pressed my head against his chest so I could really begin to cry. He squeezed me tight, repeatedly kissing the top of my head and murmuring comforting words. We stayed that way for a good long while.

  Alex never asked me what had happened. Either someone had already told him or he was able to surmise the worst from my shaky emotional condition. When I was done crying, he handed me a handkerchief to blow my nose, and guided me into the passenger seat of his car. Before starting the engine, he turned to me and displayed his serious face.

  “I know it’s wrong given the situation, but I’m starved,” he declared.

  “Me too,” I giggled through the aftermath of my tears. I was very
hungry. Maybe it was how my body wanted to celebrate being alive.

  “Do you want to go back to the party?”

  “No.”

  “Me neither.”

  We sat for a time before Alex addressed me again.

  “Mr. Foo’s?” he asked.

  “Mr. Foo’s,” I agreed.

  Mr. Foo’s was a local Chinese restaurant that served extraordinary Americanized Chinese food. I loved the wonton soup, mu shu pork, and broccoli beef while Alex preferred the old standards of chicken chow mein, pork fried rice, egg foo young, and sweet and sour pork. Considering our diverse tastes, and ravenous appetites, I anticipated a smorgasbord fit for a king. I was not disappointed. The moment we sat down, Alex ordered everything I just mentioned and soon afterward we were served our soup with complementary egg rolls. We had just started devouring the prelude to our meal when I noticed the waiter looking at us and grumbling to himself.

  “No good. No good,” he kept repeating.

  “Excuse me, but what’s no good?” I asked.

  “Thanksgiving parties. No customers. No good for business. No good,” he explained.

  I didn’t know if he was aware that I was the host of the biggest party in town, but just in case, I chose to remain silent on the subject. Instead I went back to slurping soup and trying to eat egg rolls that retained their heat. Eventually our waiter left us in peace.

  “So, are you alright now?” Alex asked, looking to me with his flat bottomed ladle-like soup spoon halfway to his mouth.

  “I’m better, but I wouldn’t say that I’m alright.”

  “Penny for your thoughts.”

  I thought of what to say and how much to say.

  “I guess I’m just confused and frustrated,” I began. “I mean, why does life have to be so hard?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Take Thanksgiving for instance. All I wanted was a simple dinner, just the two of us.”

  “And you got it.”

  “Yes, but the path to this meal wasn’t paved with good intentions.”