by D. A. Bale
An overnight envelope laid just inside under her front door. The return address caught Samantha’s eye – Mr. Eddis’ law firm out of Wichita. Maybe he’d discovered something left over from her parents’ estate. If so, it couldn’t come at a better time. She ripped through the envelope and drew out a five thousand dollar check, but the memo line cut her celebration short – ESTATE ADVANCE. A cloud of unease settled over her as she scanned the enclosed letter, the words swimming before her eyes.
Gramm was dead.
Chapter 3 - Fireball
The boarding pass wavered noticeably as Samantha passed it to the attendant, sweat gathering on her brow even as she made her way down the cold tunnel and stepped across the threshold into the 737. The air stale, her knees weak. The flight attendant must have recognized her dazed state and therefore helped her locate and settle into the assigned seat.
Until that moment she’d kept her promise never to fly. Even now Samantha knew she could leave the plane and rent a car, but covering that distance in her present state would only make for another funeral. Anyway last night’s macabre call to Mr. Eddis confirmed the need for haste only a plane trip offered. She dug around her purse for the prescription she’d picked up on her way to LaGuardia, begged a water from the attendant, then washed down four pills instead of the prescribed two.
Just to be sure.
Her eyelids drooped even as the plane taxied then lifted off the runway, her stomach fluttering as the plane banked toward Kansas and what awaited. The thoughts had long been buried with her parents, but the old memory surfaced in a dream as Samantha slept away the long plane ride.
***
She’d been five years old then as she stared at her reflection in the big glass window. How she hated the long brown ringlets Gramm had curled that morning. Brown poop, that’s what they looked like. Then pink – of all colors she could have chosen for her dress Gramm had chosen pink, a girlie-girl color. She scratched at the crinoline skirt and practically danced a jig trying to reach the spot where the tag itched. Momma would never have made her wear such a thing to the airport.
“Samantha, stop dancing around and stand still,” Gramm commanded.
Prim and proper, that described Gramm. Sit up straight and lift the chin. Everything in its place and a place for everything – or was it the other way around? Gramm’s white gloved hand clutched the navy handbag while she adjusted the white pillbox hat then applied yet another coat of bright red lipstick.
Samantha focused her attention back to the runway and leaned her forehead against the cold glass. The wild wind off the Kansas plain blew the snow across the concrete. Gramm had called it the ‘tarmac’. Sounded like something from McDonald’s. Yes ma’am, I’ll have a Big Mac please, hold the ‘especial sauce and add some tar. She giggled, imagining Daddy saying that in the drive-thru. Maybe they’d stop there on the way back to Gramm’s house for some real food.
As the glass fogged over, Samantha leaned closer and smashed her nose against the window, puffing and filling the surface with steam. She grew lost in her world of stick figures as she smeared the fog into shapes.
“Samantha Jane Bartlett! Stop that this instant and come be seated.”
Samantha rolled her eyes and dragged her shoes across the carpet, knowing it would drive Gramm bonkers if she didn’t pick up her feet. Scuff marks on the white patents would surely send her flying higher than an airplane. When Samantha plopped down in a chair she made certain to leave an empty seat between them. The space disappeared as Gramm moved over and patted her knee.
“They’ll be here soon, Samantha dear. Just try to be patient.”
The speeches began on the importance of Momma and Daddy’s trip to D.C. while Samantha slumped in her chair and scratched against the plastic back. Gramm droned on and on about how nice it was that her Samantha could visit her in Wichita and that she didn’t get to see her little Samantha enough, blah, blah, blah. But then Gramm said something that caught her ear.
“Boeing merged with Stearman here in Wichita years ago. Your father had such an opportunity knock at his door that he packed you all up and whisked you off to Seattle when you were just a baby.”
“You mean I was born in Kansas?” Samantha asked.
Gramm smiled and patted Samantha’s cheek with a scratchy gloved hand. “But of course, my dear.”
Too much to stomach. She was a good Seattle girl, not some hokey from the sticks.
Glancing at her watch then staring out the window, Gramm interrupted Samantha’s drear thoughts. “I’ll bet that’s your parents’ plane coming in for a landing.”
Samantha shot out of her chair and plastered her body against the glass, ignoring the chill. Gramm stood beside her without scolding and said something about a 737, but all Samantha could see was the plane that carried Momma and Daddy. They’d never left her alone with Gramm for two whole weeks. Her heart pounded as the plane’s nose turned toward them and scooted along the concrete.
Then she stared in confusion as a huge orange ball took the place of the plane. The building rumbled and swayed beneath her feet like they were having an earthquake, but they were in Kansas not Washington. People screamed as the explosive power swept across the tarmac and hit the glass enclosure. The windows crackled and erupted as Gramm swept over her and cradled her body beneath her own.
As the flying glass settled and the winter wind blasted through the building’s shell, Samantha craned her neck to see balls of fire fall from the sky. Sirens wailed as emergency trucks raced over and surrounded the fire, spraying pink foam all around the area. Fluffy like Daddy’s shaving cream. Pink like that Pepto stuff Momma would take when her stomach hurt. Pink like her dress.
Her chin burned. Samantha freed an arm and scratched at it, blood oozing down her arm and dripping bright red spots on her dress. She never liked pink anyway.
***
Turbulence jolted Samantha awake, her pulse pounding in her ears as her past closed in on her present. Instinctively she scratched at the thin scar trailing across her chin – forever the reminder of the promise she’d made never to set foot on a plane.
After the day of her parents’ death.
Chapter 4 - Homecoming
The Kansas wind buffeted the taxi as it rounded the corner and slid to a stop. Samantha stared through the frosty window at the old home where Gramm had raised her, the white paint weathered by several Wichita winters, and the concrete walk cracked and buckled by the strong root system of the old elms. Knowing Gramm, a painting contractor had already been retained to repaint the house come spring. Gramm always looked ahead to what needed accomplished.
Samantha tentatively stepped to the icy walk, took her offered suitcases from the taxi driver and paid him from the money Gramm’s attorney had kindly forwarded. Then she began the long walk up the sidewalk to the airplane bungalow home. Gramm’s trimmed rosebushes lined the porch, their unencumbered branches almost shivering as they awaited the warmth of spring. The porch swing swayed and creaked in the frigid wind. She and Gramm had shared countless ice cream cones nestled there together and read books to one another. Joe Roberts had also kissed her for the first time in that swing.
Shame washed over her at all of the missed opportunities since then, of the fears she’d allowed to keep her apart from Gramm and all of those for whom she’d once cared. Why did the past have to infect every fiber of the present? As Samantha slipped the key in the lock she hesitated, the years long wasted away since she’d last used it. With a begrudging click, the key turned and the heavy front door swung open with a familiar creak. She confronted the past left behind but never forgotten.
The green living room carpet had been removed and the old hardwood floors refinished, no doubt because of all the cherry kool-aid Samantha had spilled. The floral furniture remained as did the lace curtains lining the windows. A faint scent of lavender tickled her nose as she walked into the dining room. Same old Gramm. A chill passed over her at the thought – in all the times she’d consider
ed visiting, never had she imagined returning to an empty house. Her insides felt as hollow as the eyes of New York’s prostitutes.
Samantha trudged up the stairs to the loft, surprised to find Gramm had not touched a thing since she’d last left. The loft – her space. She’d always kept it lined with navy curtains and filled with as many noisy friends as she could cram into the wide room. Her posters still covered the walls: basketball, football, race cars and any other sport to drive Gramm nuts, things devoid of femininity – one of her many areas of rebellion. Samantha swallowed her tears, set the suitcases beside the bed, and quickly returned downstairs.
Gramm’s room had only changed slightly since Samantha’s departure. Floral curtains draped the windows and a matching comforter spread across the bed. The manufactured scent of roses hung in the air. She sat at the edge of the bed and gently stroked the silken pink flowers. Real roses from Gramm’s garden always replaced the fake ones come late spring.
The kitchen had been renovated, the only room in the entire house that reflected any real change. Samantha couldn’t believe after all those years of arguing for a dishwasher that Gramm had finally put in one. Well no wonder. Her granddaughter wasn’t around anymore to help with chores. Shame again gripped her as she imagined Gramm taking care of everything all by herself in her increasingly fragile state. She felt like such a failure as a granddaughter.
A six pack of Dr. Pepper sat on the top shelf of the new refrigerator, the date indicating they’d expired. Gramm didn’t touch soda pop, said it contained no nutritional value, and she’d always refused to buy it. After Samantha had secured her first paying job she’d triumphantly brought home two cases of Dr. Pepper with her first paycheck and thereafter kept them in a dorm-sized refrigerator in her room to share with friends. Gramm must have bought the cans when Samantha had talked about coming home for Thanksgiving several years ago. In the end, she’d just not been able to bring herself to accept that train ticket. Though it seemed almost a sacrilege, Samantha removed a can and poured herself a glass.
The bookshelves in the dining room contained various photo albums, and after a pensive deep breath she selected several then sat at the table perusing their history. Hours passed as she sipped flat Dr. Pepper and reminisced over photos covering her life with Gramm. A picture of Gramm stood out as she turned the page: a smile. She’d always had such a pretty smile but rarely ever used it after that tragic day at the airport. Samantha had been about nine, and they were sharing ice cream cones in the swing. Ever the ornery one, Samantha had plunged her ice cream into her own nose, leaving a mess trailing down her chin. For a moment she thought Gramm would be mad, but instead Gramm had laughed at her antics. Recognizing the moment, Samantha had grabbed her camera and snapped the picture.
Tears ran hot, puddling on the picture’s plastic cover and blurring the memory. The setting sun cast long shadows through the room, her sobs echoing throughout the empty house.
“I’m all alone.”
Chapter 5 - Farewell
Her brown hair stood out against the sea of gray during the graveside service. The early March cold penetrated the tent as Samantha sat unaccompanied in the front row, the eyes of Gramm’s friends boring into the back of her head. The hours she had spent trying to pin her hair up in a French roll had made her arms ache, but she was determined not to embarrass Gramm during their final goodbyes.
The pastor droned on, while Samantha’s thoughts were centered only on what lay within the silver casket. Due to the accident, Mr. Eddis had ordered it closed when making the funeral arrangements. The hit and run had engulfed the car in flames. How many bodies had she seen come through ER over the years and smelled the stench of scorched flesh? Samantha fought to keep the rising anger at bay.
Now’s not the time.
The accident required investigating, something the police department was supposed to do. Someone had left her all alone in the world – not even allowed her to say goodbye to Gramm. Samantha hung her head and quickly dabbed at her nose with Gramm’s lace hankie before gently cradling the silken square against her cheek. Lavender wafted from the folds and new tears threatened to flow.
That’s your own fault, girlie, for not coming back sooner.
The service ended. Samantha knew she should be the first to rise, but she didn’t want the moment to end. She didn’t want to say that final goodbye. Eventually others stirred behind her and began to move aside. Time stopped as she stared at the casket for God knows how long until the funeral officiant came to lower Gramm into the ground.
“Wait,” Samantha begged.
After gathering the enormous bundle of pink roses from her lap, Samantha tentatively stepped forward and laid them upon the casket. Just touching it sent a shiver up her spine.
The cold metal seemed to bite her cheek as she leaned against it and whispered, “These are for you, Gramm. I got them just for you. They’re your favorite.” Emotion knotted her throat and the tears she’d been holding back all day spilled over onto the casket. “I’m so sorry.”
Gentle hands encircled her arms, and Mr. Eddis drew her away. Always there for her family, paunchy Mr. Eddis had handled the estate of her parents and been a stalwart figure in their lives ever since. Well at least Gramm’s life. Samantha was glad to accept the aged attorney’s helping hand. The limousine waited as Mr. Eddis guided her toward it without a word. As he opened the door for her, one of Gramm’s friends intercepted her. The shrill voice grated on Samantha’s already raw nerves.
“Lovely little show you put on for us all, Miss Samantha. I’m sure Sylvia would have appreciated it more in person though. How can you even call yourself her granddaughter?”
Mr. Eddis placed his bulk between them. “Mrs. Hall, this is neither the time nor the place for your outpouring of affection. Perhaps another time?”
With a snort Mrs. Hall scuttled away, taking her withered face back to torment her husband. Samantha had always hated the little pig and couldn’t understand why Gramm had considered her a friend. Wearily she collapsed into the limousine. Mr. Eddis peered over his glasses and offered condolences before shutting the door. Once again she was alone.
The blue tent stood stark against the wintry background, the edges flapping in the wind. A lone man in a black suit stood near the corner, his eyes not on the busy workers but staring at the limo while they pulled away. As they lazily wormed their way past weathered headstones and family mausoleums, Samantha’s curiosity piqued. Was the man part of the funeral home crew? Why did he wear sunglasses on an overcast day? Questions ceased as a familiar sight arrested her attention.
“Stop!”
Samantha recognized the twin vaults even though she’d missed far too many visits over the years. Time to make up for lost moments.
“I’ll only be a few minutes,” Samantha called to the driver.
The wind blustered across the landscape and moaned through the barren trees. Samantha hadn’t felt the keen wind as much in the tent. She picked up her pace as she neared the graves. Twigs traversed here and there across them, but the vaults showed little weathering after more than twenty years. Nothing but the best for Gramm’s only child and son-in-law. The flower cups yawned empty and barren. She’d fix that come spring. Caring little for her dress and etiquette now, Samantha knelt on the hard ground near the head of her mother’s grave.
“It’s been a long time, Momma and Daddy.” It seemed funny talking to the headstone, yet a strange comfort warmed her heart despite the coldness of the ground. “I haven’t been a good daughter to you because I didn’t take care of your mother the way I should’ve. I know you’ll take care of Gramm – a lot better than I ever did.”
Samantha never had much use for religion – always felt it was a crutch for the weak. Considering it now seemed a bit of a contradiction, because no one could ever accuse Gramm of being weak. Anyway the idea of them being together again in some sort of afterlife offered a measure of comfort.
“I know I can’t change what has happene
d, but this I promise you. I will find out who killed Gramm and make sure they face justice.
“No matter what.”
***
It didn’t matter the time of day or night, the precinct never stopped buzzing with activity. Computer keyboards clacked as officers pecked out their reports, and the oddest ring tones jingled throughout the room. Some people were still so juvenile.
During the day it was the political game, the ‘clean’ or white collar crimes they pursued, homicides, domestics, or traffic incidents. The night was different, when the scum of humanity showed itself in rapes, robberies, prostitutes, brawlers, and the really graphic and grisly murders. The occasional lull came after sunset, the time of day when traffic slowed and normal people were home, and the daytime criminals took a break before the night-timers crawled from the shadows.
Detective Joe Roberts leaned back in his chair and allowed his mind to wander from the file on his desk. The pencil eraser went straight to his mouth, a bad habit for sure, one he’d tried to break years before, but sometimes it was the only way to keep from talking out loud to himself in the tough cases. This family had suffered more than their fair share of turmoil, and now this. How much could one person endure?
He should’ve gone to the funeral, paid his respects and said farewell in person. One problem.
She’d be there.
Depending on her mood he would have either been welcomed or his presence considered an intrusion. No need to risk a scene. Truth be told, he should’ve just manned up and called Sam the moment her plane landed and let the cards fall where they may. He never could win with her anyway.
