by Eddie Jones
She forgot the familiar gestures, subtle glances, and clandestine clues the two shared that had marked them as a couple—lyrics from favorite songs taped to her locker, hearts drawn with lipstick on a paper napkin, his sweaty headband dangling from her car antenna.
So when she saw the misshapen Hershey’s Kiss sitting in the rocking chair next to fake flowers, a spear gun, a book on dangerous underwater sea creatures and—is that a pair of fishnet stockings—her heart leapt. And not in a good way. It was more like the sick feeling she got when she sensed the Director appeared unannounced next to her cubicle.
She unlocked the front door and rushed inside, dropped her purse on the couch and slammed the bathroom door. She sat on the closed toilet lid, hands shaking, heart pounding. Breathe, just breathe. The ringing of her sat-phone startled her. She dried her eyes and raced to the bedroom to answer it. Too late. She punched in her access code and hit the CALL BACK button.
“Anna Fortune.”
“Oh, thank God. I was afraid I’d been cut off,” a man replied, panting heavily.
“Boss, is that you?”
“Can you see me on your screen?”
“Screen?”
“You can see my car, right? On your monitor?”
Anna looked at her phone’s display but didn’t see a car. “I’m sorry. I must’ve dialed the wrong number.”
“No, wait. Don’t hang up! I just called, but had to hang up so they wouldn’t see me.”
“Who wouldn’t see you?” Ann asked.
She heard sobbing and then, “They’re circling the car.”
“Who?”
“The men! They have guns!”
“OK, just stay calm,” said Anna. “Tell me where you are.”
“Not sure. I took some pills. It’s all sort of fuzzy.”
“Are there any street signs?”
“Let me check.” Heavy breathing. “No. But there’s a fuel pump next to my window.”
“Are you at a gas station?”
Another few seconds of silence. “Yeah, think so.”
“OK, can you see the store’s sign?”
“No. Just a sandwich board with the fuel prices on it. By the way, do you have any idea why gas is so expensive these days?”
Actually she did. Anna had worked on the intelligence report that confirmed fuel futures were being manipulated for political reasons. But that wasn’t for public knowledge.
“Can I call someone for you?” she asked.
“No! Just start my car so I can get out of here.”
“Start your car?”
“A guy did it last time. I gave him my access code and it started right up. I can’t remember what it is, though. Maybe you can check my phone number and see where I called before?” She heard the muffled sound of someone whimpering and then, “Oh, no. One of them just pulled out a sawed off shotgun. Quick, do something, lady!”
“Lock your door.”
“Can’t reach the button. I’m in the backseat, hiding on the floor.”
“OK, what kind of car is it?”
“White four-door with leather seats and a GM stereo with a cassette player-CD combo.”
“I meant the make and model.”
“Buick LeSabre. Please hurry!”
“Don’t panic. Try to reach around the seat. You should feel a small tab just above the left armrest on the driver’s side.”
“Got it.”
“OK, pull it back.”
Anna heard a mechanical humming noise, followed by a voice barking through a bull horn. “SHOW YOUR HANDS AND EXIT THE CAR SLOWLY.”
“Wrong button,” said Anna. “That’s the window. The door lock button should be next to it.”
She heard a loud blast and then…nothing.
“Sir, are you all right? Sir?”
More shouting, the pop-pop of gunfire, followed by footsteps, screaming and cursing.
Finally another voice spoke. “Ma’am, this is officer Ricky Tubbs with the Titusville Police Department. I want to thank you for keeping him on the phone.”
“Titusville Police Department?”
“Yes, Ma’am. The suspect stole his grandmother’s car. We think, to make a drug deal. Or scalp some tickets to a Celine Dion concert. We’ve had him under surveillance for the past hour. Thank goodness, you called when you did. Keeping him on the phone like that might’ve saved his life.”
Anna hung up and checked the caller log again, hit the CALL BACK button and waited.
“Fortune, this line had better be secure.”
She hung up, entered her access code and tried again.
“What is it with you and your security code?” her boss asked.
“I don’t know, sir. Stress, I guess.”
“And where were you? I called like ten minutes ago.”
“I rang you right back, but…are we still monitoring those LoneStar emergency calls for stranded motorists?”
“As far as I know that’s still a priority with the Director. Why?”
“Then we need to have someone check the transfer trunk. We’re getting our wires crossed, I think.”
“That’s why I phoned. Did you get Boggs’s cell phone yet?”
“Have it with me, just like you ordered.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. Why?”
“I’d rather not say until I know more, but things are definitely escalating out of control. Just to make certain we’re not connected to this fiasco in any way, you’d better put it back until I can decide what our next move is.”
“What about my backup team? Can’t I give it to one of them?”
“Got a little snag, there. Last night’s Georgia-Florida football game ran a little late.”
“I don’t understand.”
“College rivalries, Fortune. If you’d gone to a Southeastern Conference school you’d understand. They should be lifting off from Pope Air Force base any moment.”
“So they’re not even on their way yet?”
“That’s sort of what I just said, isn’t it? Oh, and here’s another bit of news you might find interesting. That business with Martinez? I was right about him. He’s one dangerous dude. Finally read the transcript of the air marshal he assaulted on his flight down. Gruesome. Don’t try to take this guy yourself.”
“Sir, are you sure we’re talking about the same guy? Left Cuba when he was eighteen? Studied quilting in Krakow?”
“And took language classes from the KGB, martial arts from the K-Love, and survival training from Afghan warlords. He’s the same one, Fortune. The guy met Khrushchev in the mid-60s, right after he moved into that small apartment on the outskirts of Leningrad. That’s where he perfected the art of Middle-Eastern torture treatments. So you can see why we need to get him back in the box. If he were to end up back in Cuba with what he knows about our intelligence structure it could be catastrophic.”
“But he’s already been back, sir. Multiple times.”
“He has?”
“Don’t you remember when the Berlin Wall fell? The Soviets shipped him home. He lasted only a few months, though. Stole a raft and joined the Mario exodus. After he landed on our shores he spent three glorious weeks living on the streets of Miami before local law enforcement officials found him betting at the dog tracks and winning, something that almost never happens. A Dade County officer picked him up and we paid to fly him home.”
“You sure got a knack for remembering the details, Fortune.”
“That’s one reason I’m retiring, sir. The nightmares won’t stop. It was after that second trip home that he moved into technological espionage. In the Miami jail, he saw that commercial during the Super Bowl of that woman throwing a hammer at a movie screen. Somehow, he got it in his head that he needed a personal computer.
“Except Cuba was, and is still, stuck in a time warp between the Stone Age and the Industrial Revolution. So using an assortment of empty fuel jugs, fishing line and flexible tubing stolen from the medical school, he built a raf
t and set sail for Key West. Next day DEA agents found him napping on the sidewalk outside a Radio Shack. They flew him to Guantanamo, where the treatment, sleep deprivation, and endless Miami Vice episodes bent his brain.”
“That was some of your best work.”
“Thank you, sir. We’re still not sure if his confession about Columbian drug lords, Cuban revolutionaries, and that previously undetected Sesame Street spy ring is real.”
“I sort of have doubts, too.”
“Anyway, after our guy burrowed under the fence, he walked back to Havana and went to work as a taxi driver. He began spending long days cruising the streets in a pink Cadillac Eldorado wearing a white Versace linen jacket and pastel-colored tee shirts. Rumor has it he played Phil Collins tunes on his stereo and wore Ray-Ban sunglasses. He moved aboard a sailboat owned by two South Florida University students doing time in a Havana jail on drug charges. The sailboat came with the complete catalog of Jimmy Buffett CDs. He took to playing his guitar on the seawall in Hemingway Square. Fans flocked to hear him play. Tourists tossed coins into his guitar case. The Canadians loved him. His family? Not so much. Fidel had him arrested and deported for promoting American affluence through decadent drinking songs. The last he saw of his native Cuba. The next day he wandered into a Coconut Grove strip mall and boosted the first complete season of Miami Vice. We’ve had him in custody ever since.”
“Except now we don’t.”
“I still can’t see him as much of a threat, sir. The guy’s brain is baked.”
“Look, Fortune. I’m not questioning your knowledge of Martinez, OK? I’m just saying you’re not equipped to handle him alone. For now, just get that cell phone back to Boggs before he notices it’s missing and then get him and you off that island before Martinez finds you two. Your country is depending on you to ensure the safe return of what may be the next President of the United States.”
“I thought Boggs was dead last.”
“Things change. Word on the street is he’s garnered the support of the Cuban vote in Florida. Plus, he’s talking to some really rich contributors. Gotta run. The President’s on the other line.”
She slipped the phone back in her purse, wondering what became of a country founded on its belief in a sovereign God. Have we strayed that far, Lord? And if so, do you love us enough to call us back? She was still pondering love and betrayal and all the reasons she’d never married when she heard a knock on the screen door. She peeked out. In the yellow hue of the porch light, stood Sonny Cay.
17
Once, years ago, Anna wondered what she would do if she ever saw Sonny again. Would she melt into his embrace or push him away? Would she find herself pulled into his arms, her mouth turning toward his? Or would she run crying, angry and hurt that he’d ripped open the wound. Maybe seeing him wouldn’t be so bad, she’d thought at times. Maybe he’d apologize, kiss her as tenderly as he had in the past, and hold her the way he’d promised he always would.
Or maybe she wouldn’t react at all. Just feel dead inside. If so she’d know, at last, it was over. His spell broken.
But in all her years, despite countless blind dates, she’d never found anyone who could move her the way he had. Those laughing eyes and his goofy smile had left her breathless each time she’d thought of him. Even after all this time, even after he’d left her heart broken and bleeding, she still had a crush on that bungling football player she’d kissed the night of their first date.
And now he was back, standing in front of her. Less hair, more wrinkles. A little wider around the waist. But the eyes were the same. So, too, was the silly grin—the one he’d used to get her to do his math homework.
Now he held a bouquet of fake flowers in one hand and the melting chocolate Kiss in the other. Faded blue jeans, white sport shirt, no socks and boat shoes.
She stared blankly at him through the screen door, afraid to move. First date, first love. First boy she’d ever kissed. Are You kidding me, God? After all these years, now You rip open the wound?
****
He’d never seen anyone so beautiful. Her bangs poked from beneath the bill of a pink ball cap. Her wild, brown mane was looped through the cap’s plastic strap, curls resting on her slender neck. She stood in bare feet which peeked from beneath tan slacks and she wore a sleeveless teal shirt. Standing on the other side of the screen door the cap’s bill threw a shadow across her face. He couldn’t tell for sure, but he thought he detected wetness on her cheeks.
Without a word, she reached her hand toward the handle of the screen door and slipped the J-hook in place, locking him out. Still not speaking, she stepped back and pushed the front door closed, the dead bolt clicking into place. The lights went off inside.
Well, there you are. You got your answer.
Told you this trip was a waste of time. Joe’s words haunted him.
Thunder boomed. A fish splashed off the beach. From beyond the end of the walkway, a taxi horn honked. He stared at the shut door for a few seconds, flowers drooping, candy mushy. The horn honked again. He placed his gifts by the door, and then shoved his hands in his pockets, walked down the steps, turned onto the gravel path and left the girl he loved alone in the darkened cottage.
****
She fell back against the front door, tears rolling down her face. She’d been right—and wrong. She’d found the strength to turn him away; he’d found the warmth to melt her heart.
Thunder rolled and the blare of a car horn sounded. A porch step moaned. She walked into the bedroom and peeked past the curtains. He walked hunched forward with the heaviness of a large Neanderthal trudging back into the jungle. With each step, another memory of how good they’d been together stabbed her heart. Through the salt-encrusted glass, she saw him pause beside the door of the taxi and look back toward the cottage.
God, I know…I know…I ask for your will to be done each day, but this. And now? When I’m over my head in an assignment, I don’t understand? Why?
She let the curtain fall and sat on the bed.
Gravel crunched under tires as the taxi pulled away. She reached for a tissue on the nightstand, heard the echo of thunder booming and lay there on her back, waiting for the rumble to fade. Waiting for the hurt to fade.
The thunder continued rolling, lifting and grinding until…she realized it wasn’t thunder at all but the runners of a rocker being dragged across the porch.
Hurrying into the living room, she peeked out. He’d shucked his shoes. They sat beneath the porch railing toppled against each other like a pair of large brown boats hastily docked. His huge bare feet rested on the top slat. In the purple-gray of dusk, there remained just enough light to reveal the narrow band of his shirt collar. Long strands of golden hair overlaid his meaty neck, falling onto the knitted fabric.
She remembered how she’d loved to run her fingers through his hair, so thick and soft. At her request, he’d let it grow long after football season. It wasn’t until the spring prom that he’d visited the barber. She’d gone with him, catching a handful of locks as they fell onto the floor. For months afterwards, she’d kept those strands in an envelope as a reminder of his strength and virility. He’d been her Samson, her warrior.
Silently she pushed open the door a few inches. Rusty hinges creaked.
“May as well come out,” he said without looking back. “I can’t stay anyhow. Taxi driver needed to get gas. Told him to hurry. Got a flight to catch.”
She eased the door open a bit further. “What are you doing here?”
“Didn’t you get my dinner invitation?”
“That was you?”
“Remember how I used to leave those kisses in your locker? Stuffed them through the cracks.”
“Again…what are you doing here, Sonny?”
“We need to talk.”
“No, you need to leave.”
“In a minute. Come. Sit.”
A frog belched. Reggae music came from the Tiki Bar. The stillness of the air and fading light delivere
d the first wave of mosquitoes. She slapped the back of her ankle.
He patted the arm rest of the chair beside him. “This won’t take long.”
“I’m good right here, thank you.”
He sighed and pushed back against the rail. “You ever think about us?”
“Is that what you’re doing? Taking a middle-aged jaunt down memory lane?”
“Maybe a little, sure. Could be some of that. Me mending fences. Fixing wrongs. Saying I’m sorry. You pick the words.”
“‘Too late.’ Those are the words I’d pick.”
“I messed up, OK? I get that. Man, I wished I’d have waited for you to return from the beach that summer. But I didn’t know. Thought I was doing the right thing.”
“By leaving me? By breaking my heart?”
“Come on, Anna. Cut me some slack. It was never going to work between us and you know it.”
“Please go, Sonny. I have somewhere else I need to be.”
“Me, too. But I’m not going ‘til I tell you why I came.”
“Like I care.”
“What made you so bitter? Was it living alone all these years?”
She froze. Her mind raced as she thought of the candy on the top of her car, with the flower basket sent to her office, and in her boat and how each time she’d felt violated, sullied and vulnerable. “That…was you? How do you know where I worked, shopped and lived?”
“I checked. Had to make sure there wasn’t, you know—someone else.”
Shuddering, she backed away, allowing the screen door to bang shut. “Stay out here if you want. I’m done talking.”
“There you go. Pulling away.”
“Me? You’re the one who ran.”
“You mean after graduation? I didn’t run. Just moved on. Figured that’s what you wanted.”
“Oh, sure. Blame me. You were always twisting my words, trying to make everything sound like it was my fault. All I know is that one week we’re talking about how you’re going to come up on weekends to visit me and the next I get a postcard saying you’d joined the Army.”
“Get real, Anna. A long distance relationship like that wasn’t going to work and you know it. Especially when you could have the pick of any of those Hardy boys.”
