Crime & Counterpoint

by Daniel, M. S.

  27

  The generously-sized library at the west end of the mansion boasted yawning, arch-top windows, dimensional sculptural ceilings with cove lighting, two sizeable fireplaces, and three sets of French doors. One set led out to the entertainment-packed back patio and football-field-sized green space. One set led to the vestibule and foyer. And the third led to an adjacent living room. The sparkling windows provided stunning views of Leeds Pond on one side and Manhasset Bay on the other. Thus, the variety of light in this massive space created a munificent environment, warm and comforting no matter the time of day.

  And the acoustics? Equally dazzling.

  But seated barefoot at the Yamaha grand, Shelley didn’t feel like experiencing them. She kept the keyboard lid closed. Even one accidental note, and she was afraid she’d cry.

  That same scent of lemon furniture polish hung in the air. The bench felt no different either. The men and cadre of kids were playing soccer in the late afternoon sun. She could hear them through the glass – their happy voices. Her heart quivered.

  She closed her eyes and easily transported back in time. She could well-imagine practicing as a child while her brothers had fun in the backyard with their friends. While her mother rehearsed for her next season tour or perhaps a local appearance at Carnegie Hall. Nights after returning from the firm, her father would bring his papers to the rollertop desk by the south-facing window to listen to her play. She could see his near-black head bent over some legal brief, writing furiously – left-handed. At the end of a piece, he would tell her what he enjoyed about her interpretation, all without missing a beat of his work. But always after a grueling session, he opened his arms to her, held her in his lap, and told her stories. Sometimes in French. She loved those best.

  Maybe nothing had changed.

  She moved her feet, feeling the smooth pedals, and opened her eyes. Disappointment filled them.

  The concert posters of her mother, once a focal point of the entire room, were gone. In fact, all reminders of the virtuoso Carolina Descartes had been disappeared from the house. Burned. Along with the violins.

  Guilty emotion threatened to leak down her cheeks, and two tears escaped their prison. Angry with herself, with who she was, what she’d done, she wiped at the drops and took several deep breaths to keep the flood barricaded. But it was eroding her walls from the inside out.

  At that moment, through the back windows, several muffled shouts of “Zach!” rang out. Her head ricocheted to view the backyard, heart pounding through her chest. “Don’t you dare, Shelley,” she commanded herself in a terse whisper. “He’s an insufferable, horrible man, and you don’t need him in your life.”

  Nevertheless, her toes curled as the activity outside reached a new plateau. She bit her lip and clenched her fists, fighting her inner desires until her stomach fluttered like a bird dying to be uncaged.

  At last, she couldn’t take it anymore. Rising – her sandals discarded on the carpeted floor – she fairly ran across the hall and stopped abruptly just shy of one window. Stealthily, she hid behind the heavy curtain panels and peeked around, making sure she hadn’t been sighted. It was all too easy to look in from the outside. Assured that no one was aware of her presence, she watched her brothers with Jared, Brad, and Zach. With the exception of Ben and Cole, she knew the men were all roughly the same age.

  At times, the ball would come close enough that a player would run within arm’s reach of her, by the rose bushes now dormant. She shied away at those instances, but other than that, she viewed the proceedings with a sense of warmth and comfort, despite knowing that things weren’t at all as they used to be.

  Erik was goalie for one side, grinning from ear to ear with overconfidence, mostly because there were women watching – Melissa, Carrie, Ashleigh, and his latest girlfriend Stacy, a Victoria’s Secret model. He crouched, hands forward, dark hair plastered to his forehead with sweat despite the cool temperatures. “Come on, kids,” he taunted. “You can’t get that ball in here.”

  Ben dribbled the ball adeptly and passed it to Dr. Jared who faked out Brad on the other team and slanted it to Cole. James was the opposition’s goalie, and he stood prepared for his younger brother’s predictable shot.

  Cole kicked the ball powerfully with his left leg and sent it sailing towards the net but James slapped it out.

  “Yeah, baby! That’s what I’m talking about!” Brad exclaimed, and he hi-fived his son and bumped fists with Zach who was unusually quiet though participating. “How you like that action, Erik?”

  “You ain’t made a goal yet, Hanover!” Erik called back. “What’re they paying you for? Definitely not to look pretty!” He threw a smiling wink to his new play thing. Stacy blushed and smiled back, which made Ashleigh, who wasn’t jealous per se, narrow her vivid blue eyes nonetheless.

  “He’s so athletic,” Stacy oozed in her Queens tongue, which instantly broke the magic of her scientifically-perfect bone structure. “I mean despite being a lawyer, ya know?” She directed her statement to Ashleigh who thought it was a good thing lingerie models only had to look amazing. “How long you known him for?”

  “Oh, a long, long time,” Ashleigh replied.

  Stacy’s smile faltered. “Did you two ever go out or anything?”

  Enigmatic, Ashleigh hesitated just enough. “I guess you could call it that.”

  Melissa groaned loudly, throwing up her hands. “Where is Shelley? I came all this way, and she’s hiding.”

  “And I wanted to talk to her more,” Carrie said in agreement. “Can you believe she and Zach were kissing? Oh, wouldn’t it be amazing if we were all just one big happy family?”

  “We almost were,” Ashleigh muttered, a comment which earned her a sharp stare from Melissa. She sighed, not in possession of her usual zest. “I’m going inside.”

  From afar, Erik saw her leaving. “Hey, where you goin’ Ash? I was just gettin’ warmed up.”

  “Yeah,” she threw over her shoulder. “I’ve seen you warmed up. I’m not missing anything.”

  “Ooh, burned!” Brad bellowed. Everyone laughed, except Stacy who looked a touch put-out. Brad kicked the ball to Zach who received it and quickly dribbled it close to Erik and the goal.

  “Stop him! Stop him!” Erik yelled, waving his arms.

  Kids from the opposite team, sent by “Uncle Ben”, came screaming out of nowhere and tackled Zach like a school of overzealous piranhas.

  James yelled, “Hey! Yellow card!”

  The girls all booed except for Carrie since Jared was on the offending team.

  Zach had the wind knocked out of him, but he came to standing with Brad’s help. “What’re you feeding those kids?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” Brad moseyed over to Melissa. “What are you feeding them?”

  She smiled. “The same thing I’m feeding you.”

  “Hope not exactly the same,” he growled and stole a kiss.

  While Brad returned to the field, Zach went after the ball which had rolled behind the naked rosebushes. He bent to swipe it up. But as he straightened, he noticed Shelley out of his periphery staring at him from a nearby window. He made it seem like he didn’t know she was there, however. At least he’d figured out where she was.

  Zach kicked the ball back to the spot he’d been tackled. “You ready?” he asked Erik who confidently grinned.

  “Bring it on, old man.” Erik got into position.

  Everyone cheered for Zach, but he was completely focused on the fact that Shelley was watching, and though he told himself he didn’t care, he felt her scrutiny. And for a moment, he was transported to those few minutes in the basement, after they’d argued. Her hands on him, her body in his arms, her mouth melded with his.

  He took a few steps back, breathed, and ran forward, kicking as hard as he could, aiming for Erik’s left corner. But Erik leapt sideways and –

  “Noooo!” Brad yelled as Erik leapt into the air and made an unbelievable catch.

  Erik, hi
gh on himself, held the ball up like a trophy. “That’s right, fools.”

  Zach discreetly glanced towards the window to see if Shelley was still watching. But just then, his grandmother came out to ring the proverbial dinner bell.

  As everybody trooped back inside, Carrie sidled up to Zach and said in conciliation, “At least Shelley didn’t see that.”

  Heat burned Zach under his collar. “Yeah.”

  But the worst was yet to come, he learned, when he entered the magnificent house and found that his father had just arrived.

  28

  “So Shelley, your father tells me you were a child prodigy,” David Ericson said, seated conveniently opposite Zach at the huge dining table. “I never knew that.”

  Shelley, who had come around with a dish of cranberry sweet potato casserole, paused behind Zach’s chair as she replied, “Well, my Dad likes to brag about all his kids, and he tends to exaggerate.” She smiled, feeling the tension and animosity radiating in heatwaves from Zach.

  Next to David sat his wife Lexi, twelve years his junior – a redhead who offered good vibrations and a killer, bleached smile – while their fifteen-year-old son Trey and eleven-year-old daughter Nicole were seated at the “young adults” table which accommodated all offspring under eighteen.

  Zach pushed around the food on his plate, looking like he would jump if given a ledge. He hadn’t said a word. Abigail, who was two chairs down to his right, next to Carrie, worried that this seating arrangement was too much for her short-fused grandson and threw Shelley a telling glance.

  Lexi, who still looked like she could fit into her old Playboy bunny outfit, had to chime in with her two cents. “I would love to hear you play sometime. In fact, you should come over, and I can break out my clarinet.” She laughed in a grating way.

  David smiled uncomfortably. “Dear, you haven’t played that thing since high school.”

  “Oh, I’m sure I could pick it up again. It’s like driving a car. Isn’t that true, Shelley?”

  Shelley cleared her throat. “Yes. Sort of.”

  “But driving’s something you also don’t do very well, dear,” David said sweetly.

  Lexi’s smile soured, and she looked at his profile while he continued eating. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  David finished his bite of turkey and shrugged. “Nothing. It’s just you have certain strengths, and one of them isn’t being behind the wheel.”

  “I drive just fine.”

  “Let’s not talk about it now.”

  “You’re the one who brought it up. Honey.” Lexi’s face grew pinched.

  Shelley sensed Zach’s anger ratcheting. But it was Mrs. Weston’s face that told her something needed to be done. Without thinking, she blurted, “May I get you a refill, Mr. Ericson?”

  “No, thank you, Shelley.” David spared her barely a glance before continuing to argue with his wife. “You single-handedly raised our insurance costs by getting six traffic violations this year…”

  Shelley exhaled before grabbing an empty wine bottle and Zach’s left arm, which made him relinquish his fork noisily. “Could you help me, Zach?” He looked at her sharply but chucked his napkin and rose. “We’ll be right back,” she said though neither David nor Lexi paid her any attention.

  Once they entered the silent and empty kitchen, Zach said tersely, “Why am I here?”

  “You’d rather be back out there?” Shelley replied, tossing the empty wine bottles into a recycling bin. “Go ahead.” When she turned, she found Zach in her face. Her chin lifted. “What?”

  He glared at her, but having nothing to say, stepped down.

  She brushed past him and opened the hard liquor cabinet. There was a plethora of vodkas, some scotch, aged rum, and several different kinds of whiskey, including Jack Daniels Single Barrel and premium single-malt Johnny Walker Blue Label. There was no debate. She grabbed the neck of the three hundred-dollar Johnny Walker. Out of another cupboard, she got a rock glass, filled it with ice from the fridge, and then set both down in front of Zach. She didn’t meet his gaze. Wordlessly, she turned and headed downstairs for the wine cellar.

  Zach closed his eyes tightly as sharp pain began throbbing through his temples. He needed an outlet. But there was none here. He opened the bottle, a part of him affected by her gesture, and poured the liquor. He didn’t cap the bottle. Swirling the thirty-dollar shot, he drank it neat, wishing it would erase every horrendous detail of his life.

  Unfortunately, soon afterwards, his dad entered through the swinging door. Zach braced himself, spine tingling, feeling backed into a corner. The liquor burned his gut.

  “Drinking?” David shook his head and walked over to his son. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “Trying to.”

  “I will not have you embarrassing me in front of Henri and his family.”

  In response, Zach took the bottle and poured himself more.

  “What do you think? This is all about you? This is Carrie’s day, and you’re single-handedly going to screw it up like you do everything.”

  Zach downed the whiskey in a few long gulps.

  “You think you’re so innocent in all that happened.” David’s voice rose with accusation. “Leaving your problems hanging out for the world to see, and meanwhile, your poor grandmother has to continuously indulge you and suffer your obstinacies.”

  “What?” The word sounded like a menacing growl.

  “The only reason she cares so much is because your grandfather favored you over the rest. Especially after Arianna died.” David pushed further. “She’s doing what he would’ve wanted even though you don’t deserve an ounce of it after what you –”

  Veins bursting, Zach grabbed the bottle’s neck. “Get the fuck away from me!”

  Smoldering, David looked at Zach and eyed the whiskey. “Nice job, son. You always did know how to make a father proud.” And without another word, he left.

  Zach seethed, writhed, wires tingling all over his body. Nothing to release the dangerous pressure. Nothing except –

  He flung the bottle to the ground with all his soul’s might!

  CRASH!

  29

  Standing at the top of the cellar stairs, Shelley cringed at the bottle’s resounding crash.

  Her skin prickled with apprehension; she’d heard the whole unsavory episode.

  Discreetly, she peeked into the kitchen and saw Zach cradling his head, still erect, but hunched over the island like he couldn’t stand anymore.

  She watched as he knelt down to start picking up the broken glass. Against her better judgment, her heart ached, and she wanted to comfort him. But, she wasn’t stupid enough to do so.

  With two wine bottles in her hands, she squared her shoulders and pretended like she’d heard nothing as she reentered the kitchen, her heels clapping out a medium tempo against the marble.

  He looked up from his crouched position, defensive and feral, and she reconsidered approaching him. But upon sighting her, his anger simmered ‘til she could clearly see the pain. He dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

  Telling herself to breathe, she set the wine on the island and proceeded to get some rags and a bucket to clean up the spilled amber. Looked like he’d finished more than five or six shots worth judging by how much was on the marble. She bent down, hiking up her dress, and started mopping it up. As she wrung out the alcohol into the shallow bucket, she said, “You should wear gloves.”

  He grabbed a piece of sharp glass. “I’m fine.” But in the next instant, he cut himself. Blood glistened.

  Sighing, she handed him a clean rag for his injury, suppressed any reproach, and continued cleaning. “Step over here,” she said, gesturing to him.

  He looked down and realized he was standing in the tidepool. Moving outside the mess, he relocated to a clear spot, and to his surprise, she wiped off the whiskey from his dress shoes.

  Her gesture renewed his acute guilt. “I’ll pay for that.”

  “Don’t be ridic
ulous, Zach.”

  When the liquid was all sopped up, she stood, dumped the bucket out in the sink, and beckoned to him. “Wash your hands,” she said in a manner that was neither authoritative nor inviting disobedience.

  Still applying pressure with the rag, he found himself complying without thought. While the cold water cleaned out the shallow gash, she used a dustpan to brush up any bits of glass.

  Trashing them, she returned to him, took his injured paw, and inspected. The cut wasn’t bleeding anymore; just looked like a water-logged fish gill. Satisfied, she took his hand in hers and led him to the dry goods pantry and closed the door behind them. Fully curious as to what she had in mind, he almost questioned her when at the back of the long storeroom, they came to another door.

  She opened it, revealing, to his surprise, a dark, hidden staircase.

  “This is how my brothers used to sneak out at night,” she said in a hushed tone.

  “What about you?” he asked just as quietly, following her up.

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Never.”

  He almost smirked, somehow knowing that she’d been the model daughter.

  At the top of the landing, they ended up in a dark room with little in it except a step ladder. A narrow strip of light told him where the door was. But it was locked.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I hid a key up here. Erik, Ben, and Clint were forever locking me out.”

  He smiled in the dark. “I think I remember that, actually. I was with James one time when he saved you.”

  “He always did,” she said with a happy inflection. “He’s been my defense attorney since I was two.”

  He had to work not to laugh and was thankful she couldn’t see him, couldn’t tell that she was scaling his walls commendably.

  When next she spoke, her voice had changed altitude, surprising him. She was on that step ladder.