Black Feathers
A Secret Hope
By
Brent Schneider
Copyrights © 2016 by Brent Schneider
All rights reserved. No part of this publications may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of the author and the publisher.
This novel is dedicated to my wife and our cute baby boy Trent.
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Chapter 1
My mother named me Hope. I was born seven years before the first man set foot on the moon. My father wanted to name me Serengeti, Sahara or Arizona. He also invented Mr. Potato Head when he was seven years old. Too bad that only three years later, a smart man invented it too, even sold thousands of them. To his last day, my father swore one of the neighborhood kids ratted his idea out.
My parents used to call themselves “people of the Earth” and the hippie movement suited them perfectly. We were always on the road, moving from state to state in our beat-up Ford with the faux wood exterior. The US coast-to-coast trotting went on until I was thirteen and my mother got sick. We settled on Cape Cod, in a small town called Orleans. The doctors said the air on the Cape would help her.
“Mom’s not getting better, is she?” I asked my father while he was braiding my long dark hair.
His hands stopped and I could feel his eyes burning a hole through my scalp.
“Do you know what she told me when we arrived at Woodstock? We must not lose Hope.”
He always found a way to make me smile. I remember him telling the same story at her funeral. It was supposed to be a small ceremony, but people kept coming, morning to midnight, to pay their respect. My parents knew hundreds of people like them, migrants in their own country, but I always thought they were seasonal, like strawberries. Yet there we were, a basket full of cherries and berries and plums, standing together in the middle of October.
But here I go, rambling about the past when I should be thinking about the future. At least that’s what Mark keeps telling me. He’s my son and by definition, has much more to look forward to than I do. Like the fact that he’s the one getting married next year! Oh, yes, he popped the big question. And on Valentine’s Day, too. It wasn’t a big surprise for the rest of us, to be honest. He called us all up in Boston: me, his father and her fiancee's mother. Valentine's Day also happens to be her mother’s birthday.
Just to paint a picture here, we’ve only met her mother, Louise, once, at a nice meet-and-greet, a brunch in the city. We’re not Sherlock and Watson, but we can count our toes pretty well - something smelled on the shores of Boston, and it wasn’t the algaea. So we went.
The drive to the city is always a nightmare, with the regular Sunday traffic and now, the snow storm from hell. To make matters worse, we’d forgotten our cell phone at home. By the time we entered “O’Flately’s Lucky Pub”, Mark was worried sick.
“If you don’t plan on answering your phone, I swear to all that is holy in this universe, I’m never calling you again!”
“We’re sorry, dear. Really, we are. We were long gone when we realized we’d left it at home, but the road was so dreadful, we didn’t go back for it.” I tried my best to comfort him, but he was shaking like a twig.
“Come on, champ, we’re here, we’re fine, let’s just enjoy this evening. You’re mother and I haven’t gone out for Valentine’s Day since before you were born. It’s special for us, too.”
“You’re right, dad. I’m sorry. I’m just so giddy right now!”
“Huh, tell me about it! When I proposed to your mother I was terrified. I took her out for coffee. Coffee! Me! I didn’t even drink coffee back then. By the time the cup was empty and I got the guts to pop the big one, I almost had my first heart attack. What a dope!” he said laughing.
“Propose?! Who said anything about proposing?” said Mark, his blood draining away from his face.
“Well, nobody, but I guess that’s why we’re here, right, sport?”
My son is 28 years old. He is a branch manager for a software company in Boston. He drives a nice car with a small luggage compartment, bought his own flat and makes at least one vacation overseas each year. He has a cocker spaniel called Jumbo and a fish named Wanda. He met Jane in college. She was a communication major, he was a business and administration major, both with a minor in applied arts. They fell in love in a drama class where they wrote and performed a short duo play. They came together with a story about a guy who is born without a sense of taste, but when he sees a girl on the subway he gets a tingly feeling on the back of his mouth. He goes after her and by the end, they fall in love. The play was supposed to end with a kiss, but they decided not to practice it beforehand. They wanted it to be genuine on stage. Well, it was genuine, alright! It was so intense and long that the audience grew slightly awkward. But that was their thing and they went all the way.
Back at the pub on that February evening, my son’s guts were galloping through his stomach.
“There goes mr. Subtle,” I said. “Good heavens, Pete, you’re not supposed to go on blabbing about it!”
“What?!” he said, smiling.
My husband knew what he’d done, and he was enjoying it.
I remember one of the first times my husband and I got together, back in college. It was my birthday and all my friends gathered to give me a surprise party in my room. As I was walking down the corridor, I saw Pete running behind me, out of breath, laughing.
“Hey, Hope! Hurry up, we’re throwing you a surprise party!” and he bolted through my door. I was in shock. How can anyone be so insensitive, yet so oblivious at the same time? What was I supposed to do? I just stood there, facing the closed door, hearing all my friends' shushing. So I did what I thought was right:
“Pete told me you’re in there!” I shouted.
“Oh, good heavens, Pete!”, “Jeez, Pete!”, “God, you’re such an idiot!” buzzed the room. Of course, he was laughing his butt off. “What?! What?! What if she has a weak heart? I just saved her life, you should all be grateful. Especially you, Hope,” he said as he opened the door to find a twenty-year-old girl at her most disappointing low. “Oh, come on, happy birthday!”
For some weird reason, that’s when I fell in love with him.
“Look, Mark, we’ve just been wondering why the whole gathering and we figured there was gonna be a surprise in there somewhere,” I said. “Your father didn’t have to plaster it on the walls as soon as we walked in, that’s all.”
“Here comes Louise. Just try and keep this to yourselves. Today is her birthday, remember? We’re celebrating her, okay?” said Mark throwing a big smile on his face.
“Louise, you remember my parents!”
“Of course, of course! So happy you could come!”
We spent the next couple of hours genuinely having fun, the five of us at the closest table to the stage. It must have been the only pub in Boston where the decorations were entirely green. It felt more like St. Patrick’s Day, thanks to the Irish heritage of the owners, and it didn’t bother any of us at all.
There were food, wine and lots of dancing. Then there was cake, candles and the most vibrant Happy Birthday song to smash through the icy streets of Boston. There were toasts to life, luck, and love. Mark waited for everyone to spre
ad their blessings, got down on one knee in front of Jane and with utmost confidence said:
“Jane, will you marry me?”
There’s always a moment of silence after this question. It’s not like anyone does any thinking, they both know the answer, which might be either yes or no. Still, for a short moment, all is silent. In nature, it’s the equivalent of the time between the lightning and the thunder. That brief moment when you think anything can happen, but only one thing will happen for certain.
The lightning fell, and sure enough, came the thunder: “Yes!” she jolted with excitement.
“I was sure you were up to something. I’m shaking! Ma, I’m getting married! Look at this beautiful ring! Oh, isn’t it precious? Let’s have the wedding next Valentine’s Day! Ma can come with her band and perform, couldn’t you, ma?”
“Well… sure, honey…” it’s all Louise could mutter under all that excitement.
“And we can have the ceremony at a nice small church on the Cape, and then have a cute party on the beach…” Jane went on.
“We’re gonna freeze our butts off, honey!”
“Right, right,” she said, composing herself. “It’s winter, I forgot. Am I talking too much? I’m just so excited! I’ve never been proposed to before, you know…”
Everyone burst into laughing.
“Well, I sure would hope so,” said Mark.
Another round for the entire pub and shortly after, the people retired to their warm apartments.
Chapter 2
A week later, the phone rang.
“Hi, Hope. It’s Jane.” She was out of breath, which made me really nervous. “Mark’s not well. He’s at the hospital. John just called me. They were together. I don’t know what’s wrong yet. He just collapsed and has a high fever. I’m on my way there now.”
“Ok, honey. We’ll be there at four, five tops.” I said.
“I’ll let you know what the doctors say. Be careful on the road. It’s slippery.”
What a suffocating feeling to drive as careful as you can when you’re mind is galloping, anticipating the white corridors, the doctors and your only son laying in one of the beds.
He’s stable. The doctors put him on IVs to get his temperature down and now they’re running some tests. MA general hospital. Room 309. DRIVE SAFELY! J.
Jane was at the reception desk, talking to a nurse.
“Jane, how is he?” I asked.
“They don’t know what caused it, but he’s resting now. John went to get pajamas from his apartment. We don’t know how long they’re gonna keep him here, so he might as well be comfortable.”
Funny thing about comfort - it does more harm than good.
“Are any of the tests back yet?” I asked the nurse.
“Some of them, yes. So far he’s as healthy as a horse.”
A horse that collapses is anything but healthy, I thought to myself. But the nurse just comforting me. What was I saying about comfort?!
“Do you know what he was doing when he fell?” I asked Jane.
“He went to John’s house to switch cars with him. We wanted to move some of my stuff to Mark’s apartment and John’s pick-up truck could take it all in one go. Oh, here’s John now!”
He was carrying a big duffle bag and two smaller grocery bags. A red ill fitted cap covered his blond hair and beads of sweat were running down his forehead. He had a limp in his right leg and with his big open jacket hanging from one side, he rushed towards us. He looked like a tall, blonde hunchback of Notre Dame. My husband gave me a notch; he noticed the comedy in it, too. We both giggled as he approached.
“Hey, John! What’s with all the bags?” my husband asked.
“Hi, mr. and ms. Brown. I brought Mark his pillow and some clean clothes,” he said pointing at the duffle bag. “And I didn’t know what else to bring him so I did some quick shopping for fruits and his favorite comics. You know, what I would like to have when I’m in a hospital.”
“That’s very kind of you. Let us help you with those. We were just about to go to his room anyway.”
“So what happened?” asked Pete as he was helping John unload the bags.
“Pfft, nothing really. He came at my house at noon, said he needed to borrow my car, so I invited him upstairs for some hot tea. We watched some TV, drank the tea, he got up, put his jacket on and BANG! Went down with a thud.” He paused as his face froze. His empty eyes locked with mine and whimpered “Oh, dear Lord! The tea. Maybe the tea did this to him. But I drank it, too, and I’m fine. Is he allergic to chamomile?”
I smiled. I’ve never met him as a child, but I saw a sorry look on his face, the one kids get when they accidentally break an expensive vase.
“No, champ, he’s not,” said Pete smiling. “So then what happened?”
“Well, I slapped him a couple of times - nothing. Then I splashed some water on his face - still nothing. He was burning hot so I carried him to my car and rushed here.”
“You should have called for an ambulance! What if he’s hurt his neck or something?” snapped Jane at him.
“Hey, I panicked, OK? I didn’t think…”
“Yeah, you rarely do!” Jane cut in.
John stepped so close to her that their noses were almost touching.
“Are you accusing me of something?” he asked clenching his teeth.
“Should I?” she replied.
“Look, why don’t you two take a time out? Hope and I will go check on him. Go grab some coffee or something.” Said Pete, leaving the two facing each other with heads bowed.
“Come on, let’s go to the cafeteria,” said Jane and off they were.
The hospital was very crowded that day. The pale green corridors were buzzing with nurses carrying supplies, pushing wheelchairs or helping patients walk around. The freezing temperatures and icy pavement took their toll. The elderly and homeless were the most common victims. Everywhere we looked we saw limbs plastered in gypsum. We were all broken, one way or another.
The pastel blue room my son was in had three beds - his was closest to the door. We could see him laying on his bed awake through the door’s small window. It was the first time he’d been him in a hospital. Sure, he had his childhood diseases and occasional flu, but that was it. It gave me a feeling of weakness. Pete, on the other hand, just barged in.
“Hey, champ! One week of being engaged and you’ve already collapsed? Wait ‘till you see what married life can do! What? You thought I was always bold? Neah! Started losing my hair right after the honeymoon.”
“Hey, guys!” said Mark laughing.
“Hi, honey,” I said, kissing his forehead. “Don’t mind your father; I’m sure he’s just happy to see you’re OK.”
“I’m fine,” said Mark, sitting up on his bed, still smiling. “I blacked out, somehow. I think I’m just tired, that’s all.”
“So when do you think you’re getting out of here? An awful lot of sick butt-naked people in this joint, you know!”
“Hehe, yeah, dad, I know. Well, if it were up to me, I’d leave right now. But the doctor should do his rounds pretty soon, so you’ll have to ask him.”
I started unpacking the bags - a pillow, a blanket, a towel, two pounds of bananas, two pounds of oranges and three comic books. We told him they were from John and Mark sighed. I asked what was wrong.
“It’s nothing, I guess, but when I told him that Jane and I were getting married, he looked a little baffled. But maybe I was imagining it. Where is Jane, by the way?”
“With John at the cafeteria,” said Pete. “They were snapping at each other like two hyenas.”
Mark’s eyes dropped to the floor.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“Oh, nothing, nothing. They’re probably just worried about me, that’s all.”
But I felt there was something more to that. “No point rummaging through the dirt,” I thought and in good time, too. The doctor entered the room.
“Good evening, everyone!” He greete
d with a soft smile on his chubby bearded face. “I’m going to ask you guys to wait outside,” he said looking at us. “I’ll be with you in a couple of minutes.”
Chapter 3
Back in the corridor, my husband told me about a guy he works with - Steve. Steve is married, but for the past four or five months, he’s been having an affair with a girl from the coffee shop next door. They see each other every day, when he picks up his morning brew, then, later on, he gets a bagel, a muffin for his sweet-tooth and so many donuts that he had to change his chair with a bigger one. This is a daily routine, but every once in a while, they get a “long lunch” together, and every time this happens, Steve comes back to the office with a big bouquet of flowers for his wife.
“Now let’s see who brings back what from the cafeteria.” He added.
Could he be right? I must admit, there was something fishy with Mark’s reaction to John’s name. Speaking of which, both of them were making their way towards us, each one with a cup in their hands.
“There goes your Steve-story-fiasco. They both brought something. What now, Mr. Paranoid?” I whispered to my husband.
“They’re in cahoots, Ms. Naive.” He replied with a smug smile.
Jane rushed over when she saw us standing awkwardly at the door. Poor thing, she thought something was wrong when in fact we were quietly judging their intentions.
“What’s going on? Is everything alright?” she asked, trying to sneak a peek inside.
“The doctor’s in there,” was my husband’s blunt reply. “Watcha got there?” he asked, pointing at her cup.
“Oh, yeah, sorry. We forgot to ask you what you wanted, so I got a green tea and John has a coffee.” She was embarrassed and a little intimidated by Pete’s lack of tact.
John lagged a little behind her and the only thing he said when he finally faced us was “Coffee?”
Mystery: Black Feathers: A Secret Hope ( Book 1 of Series) Page 1
