Enemies and Playmates

by Darcia Helle

  Lauren’s hands balled into fists. She wanted to smash something. She glared at her mother. “You believe dad, don’t you? After everything he’s done to all of us, you believe him.”

  “He’s my husband, Lauren. Your father.”

  “He’s a rotten bastard.”

  “The man is lying in the hospital because someone shot him today!”

  “Haven’t you thought that maybe he deserved it?”

  The slap stunned Lauren. Kara had never hit her before. For a moment she simply stared at her mother in disbelief. Then she grabbed her purse from the coffee table, turned, and strode to the front door.

  “I’m sorry,” Kara said. She raced after Lauren. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

  Lauren snatched her coat from the stand in the foyer. “Jesse had nothing to do with dad getting shot,” she said. “Maybe you should open your eyes and take a good look at what your husband is involved in. A lot of people out there have more than enough reason to want him dead.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about everything he does to maintain control over the people in his life. I’m talking about a man who will step on anyone who gets in his way. Not only step on them, but destroy them as well.”

  “In his line of work -”

  “This is way beyond his work,” Lauren said. “But what you choose to believe is your business.”

  “Lauren, what are you getting at?”

  Lauren shook her head sadly. She turned away and slipped into her coat. Kara said, “Answer me! What are you implying?”

  Lauren yanked the door open and practically jogged to her car. She felt a pang of regret for having said what she did. But maybe it was time her mother opened her eyes and really saw what was going on. Maybe it was time they all did.

  Lauren sat on the worn sofa in Carrie’s tiny one-bedroom apartment. She wiped a mascara-streaked tear, sipped the wine Carrie had just poured, and considered how much to say. A voice in her head warned her to keep the details private. But that stemmed from a lifetime of learned behavior that now came as natural as breathing. After all that had happened, her first instinct was to keep the silence. Protect the family. Protect her father.

  Across the small room, Carrie sat cross-legged on the overstuffed chair. She was sipping her wine, waiting for Lauren to speak. Gina had called her earlier, so Carrie already knew that Lauren’s father had been shot. Carrie, seeing Lauren in tears at her door, had asked if he was okay. Lauren had replied that he would be fine, that this wasn’t about him. Then she had promptly burst into tears.

  Carrie had hugged her, gotten them wine, and had since been sitting quietly waiting for Lauren to explain.

  Now Lauren thought about what she’d said, how this wasn’t about her father. And it wasn’t. But, of course, it was. It all led back to him, as everything in her life always had.

  Carrie set her glass on the coffee table. “What happened, Lauren?”

  Lauren shook her head, still trying to make sense of it all in her own mind. Her father was trying to frame her boyfriend for attempted murder. And her mother was all too willing to believe it. Why would her mother still be so quick to side with the man who’d driven their son to a lethal overdose?

  And who had really shot her father? Did he know? Had he staged it simply to frame Jesse? Was he that crazy?

  “Lauren?” Carrie said. “Please talk to me. Did you have a fight with Jesse?”

  Lauren took a deep breath, then finished off her wine in a futile attempt to calm her nerves. “No,” she said. “I didn’t fight with Jesse.”

  Carrie leaned forward, grabbing Lauren’s eyes with her own. Her face was full of concern. Lauren averted her eyes. This was so hard to say. “I had a huge argument with my mom. She slapped me. I left.”

  Carrie’s eyes widened in disbelief. Lauren’s mother had always been like one of those 1950s TV moms. She baked, smiled a lot, held sleepovers when the girls were all young. She never raised her voice, much less slapped her kids.

  Carrie said, “What did you argue about?”

  Lauren explained about not going to the hospital to see her father, about how upset her mother had been. “I just couldn’t do it,” she said. “I honestly don’t care whether he lives or dies.”

  “I know you’re upset about this thing with Gina,” Carrie said. “You sure as hell have a right to be. But he’s still your father. This will blow over. Things will work out.”

  “It’s more than that,” Lauren said. “I want to tell my mother. But I can’t do it. As much as I believe she has a right to know, I don’t want to be the one to tell her something like that. So she doesn’t get why I hate him so intensely.”

  Lauren was thinking that it shouldn’t take knowing about the affair with Gina for her mother to get it. But she didn’t say that. She also didn’t say that her father was now trying to frame Jesse for the shooting. Or that her mother had all but said she believed him.

  What Lauren did say was, “Is it all right if I stay here for awhile? Until I get a place of my own.”

  “Of course it’s okay,” Carrie said. “You know I would love to have you for a roommate. You’ll have to sleep on the couch for now, though.”

  “That’s fine. As long as I don’t have to go back home.”

  “Maybe we can buy a futon or something,” Carrie said. “We can rearrange my room, find a way to fit some of your stuff in.”

  “Thank you,” Lauren said.

  Carrie unfolded herself from the chair and grabbed their glasses. “I think we need more wine.”

  Lauren checked her cell phone to make sure she hadn’t missed a call. She hadn’t. What was taking Jesse so long? Had he been arrested?

  Carrie returned with two full glasses and handed one to Lauren. “You know your mom loves you,” Carrie said. “I’m sure she was just overwhelmed by what happened to your dad. Especially so soon after losing Stephen. I bet she’ll be calling to apologize any time now.”

  Lauren took a long swallow of wine before answering. “It really is time I moved out.”

  “I understand that,” Carrie said. “I get along much better with my parents since I moved out.”

  “How was Gina when you talked to her?” Lauren asked.

  “In shock, I think. She’s still reeling from the pregnancy.” Carrie blanched. “Sorry. I know you don’t need to be hearing that right now.”

  “It’s okay,” Lauren said. “Did she mention anything about that? The baby, I mean?”

  “No. She just wanted me to know about your dad.”

  Both girls fell silent. When Lauren’s cell phone rang, she nearly jumped off the sofa. Thrilled to see Jesse’s number on the caller ID, she quickly answered.

  “Are you okay?” Jesse asked.

  “Not really,” Lauren replied. “But getting better. How did things go?”

  Jesse sighed. “Much to the dismay of a few chosen cops, I have an airtight alibi for the time of the shooting. I was at the gym early this morning, with a cop as one of my witnesses.”

  “Thank God,” Lauren said.

  “They’re currently pursuing the idea of me hiring someone to do it.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “Much of life is.”

  “Did you manage to learn anything new?”

  “One witness,” Jesse said. “But the guy was on the balcony of his condo, twelve floors up and quite a distance back. Claims the shooter fired two shots as your father was walking across the lot. Then he jumped into a small red sports car and sped off. Thinks it was an average size guy, wearing a ball cap.”

  “No license plate?”

  “No,” Jesse said. “Has your mother gotten home yet?”

  Lauren sighed. She gave him the same abbreviated story she’d given Carrie. Then she said, “I’m going to say with Carrie for awhile.”

  “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  “Later, okay?”

  “You’re all right?”

&nb
sp; “Yeah, I am now.”

  Jesse reluctantly agreed to wait until later, when they could be alone, to talk more. She disconnected the call, relieved that Jesse was out of trouble. At least for now. Then she returned to her wine and caught up on all the details of Carrie’s life. And, for the first time in her life, she allowed herself to get blissfully lost in the haze of alcohol.

  “Mom, are you home?” Lauren called.

  She went through the kitchen, peered through the side door into the garage. Her mother’s car was not there. She was most likely at the hospital, playing the doting wife. All the better. Lauren didn’t particularly want to face her mother anyway.

  She hadn’t expected to feel such bitterness. She’d never blamed her mother for anything before. Never really held her responsible. In Lauren’s eyes, her mother had always been the victim. The one to feel sorry for.

  But that only went so far. The time comes when you have to be responsible for your own life. What hurt most was that, no matter what, she had always stood up for her mother. Yet now, when she needed her mother to do the same for her, her mother had instead sided with him. Just like that.

  Lauren wandered back through the living room. With a heavy sigh, she ran her fingers over Stephen’s pile of CDs. She’d never have to hear them again. She picked one up, her eyes threatening tears. Funny how she could miss something that had driven her crazy for years.

  Sifting through the pile, she picked out a Metallica CD, one of his favorites. A line from one of the songs drifted through her mind. Home is not a home it becomes a hell… Turning it into your prison cell. Lauren wasn’t sure why she remembered the lyrics now. Or why she’d never acknowledged their meaning at any of those countless times Stephen had blasted the song. That was how he had felt. He’d been crying out for help. She hadn’t heard him.

  The house was silent, cold. The happy squeals of two innocent kids playing on the stairs were long gone. Lauren stepped into Stephen’s room. A cold chill ran down her spine. How could her mother stand leaving the room this way? Stephen was dead… gone forever. He was never going to trudge back up those steps and slam this bedroom door behind him. Her mother wasn’t facing that. She wasn’t facing a lot of things. Maybe it was easier to pretend.

  She stepped out of the room and stared down the empty hallway. Her parents’ bedroom door stood open. She moved toward it, wishing things could be different. Wishing she could find her mother inside that room, happy and smiling, and they could play dress-up like they’d done so many times when she’d been young.

  Lauren stood in the doorway. The king-sized cherry bedroom set seemed to mock her. The last time Lauren had stood in this spot, she’d seen Gina and her father sprawled naked on that very bed. She pushed that vision from her mind.

  The handmade quilt adorning the bed had cost more than some cars. Her father’s closet was full of Armani, Prada, Dolce & Gabbana, and Salvatore Ferragamo. Her mother’s closet overflowed with designer cocktail dresses she’d worn only once, because she wasn’t allowed to appear in public in the same outfit twice. They owned accessories from Cartier, Rolex, and Breitling.

  Her parents had everything. Except happiness.

  Her father hadn’t always been such a monster. Lauren could vaguely remember when she was very young and she’d wait excitedly by the door for him to come home from work. He’d toss her in the air and call her his little girl. But as he excelled in his career, his personality had changed. Or maybe it emerged from its hiding place.

  The change had been gradual. She couldn’t remember exactly how old she was when she began hiding from him, rather than running to him. Six at most. Stephen had still been in diapers. He’d never known the dad she’d waited by the door for.

  Eventually her father came home less frequently. But when he did, she’d sleep with the pillow over her head so she wouldn’t have to hear her mother’s cries. Those memories hurt.

  Lauren swiped at a tear as she strode back down the hall to her own room. After today, it would no longer be her room. She couldn’t stay here and watch her mother shrink further into that shell of a person she’d become. She had to get out for her own sanity.

  She was in the midst of packing when her mother’s car pulled into the garage below. Taking a deep breath, Lauren waited for the confrontation. This wouldn’t be easy, no matter how she handled it. She loved her mother. She hated what her mother was becoming.

  Kara stepped into Lauren’s room. Her gaze fixed on the suitcases, with the Metallica CD resting on top. “You’re really moving out,” Kara said.

  “It’s best for all of us,” Lauren replied.

  Kara was silent a moment, watching Lauren stack the remainder of her clothes into the open suitcases. “I thought maybe you’d want to see your father today.”

  “I’d like to, for you,” Lauren said. “But I just can’t.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Dad and I are better off if we stay away from each other.”

  “Aren’t you even the least bit concerned that someone tried to kill him?”

  Lauren stuffed her jeans into her suitcase. She wasn’t concerned. Not in the least. Maybe it would have bothered her had he been killed, though she doubted that. He deserved to die.

  “He’s been asking about you,” Kara said. “I had to lie and say you couldn’t get away from work.”

  “You don’t have to lie for me.”

  “I couldn’t very well tell him that his only daughter didn’t care enough to bother with him. Could I?”

  “It shouldn’t surprise him.”

  “Lauren, please…”

  “C’mon mom, we haven’t exactly been a model family all these years.”

  “I realize that,” Kara said. “But he is still your father.”

  Lauren slid the doors closed on her now empty closet. “How is he?”

  “Shaken. But recovering well.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Please go see him.”

  Lauren closed her suitcase. “No.”

  Kara sat on the edge of Lauren’s bed, her eyes moist with tears. “Someday you might regret that decision.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “What are you keeping from me?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I know something is going on,” Kara said. “Why can’t you trust me?”

  “I guess I’ve finally opened my eyes to what kind of person dad really is,” Lauren said. “Or, actually, he has forced my eyes open. And I hate what I see.”

  Kara remained seated, her head bowed slightly, silent tears running down her cheeks. “What happened to my family?”

  Lauren picked up her two suitcases, a pang of guilt sweeping through her. “I’m sorry, mom.”

  “What happened?” Kara said. “Please tell me.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Can’t? I don’t understand. If something -”

  “Call my cell phone if you need me.”

  “Has he touched you in some way that -”

  “No mom.”

  “I hate for you to leave this way.”

  “I’m only a phone call away.”

  “Are you sure this is what you want?”

  “It’s for the best,” Lauren said. “I can’t stay here with him any longer.”

  Lauren put her suitcases down, went to her mother, and hugged her close. “I love you, Mom.”

  Kara clung to Lauren. “Take care of yourself,” she said.

  “I will. You do the same.”

  23

  The ring of the phone split the silence of the room. Jesse reached toward the intruding sound, his eyes barely open. He fumbled on his nightstand until he gripped his cell phone, then mumbled a barely intelligible, “Hello.”

  “Mr. Ryder?”

  “Yeah?”

  “This is Suzanne Sampson. Alex Covington’s secretary.”

  Jesse sat up, rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m sorry I woke you.”


  “No problem.” Jesse glanced at the clock. 6:27. “I had to get up eventually.”

  “I have a package for you,” Suzanne said. “Could you pick it up at the office this morning?”

  “From Covington?”

  “That information you requested. I’ll be at the office by eight. Could you be there about that time?”

  “I requested?”

  “Yes.

  Jesse rubbed his eyes again. His mind was too groggy for word games. “Sure, whatever.”

  “I’ll see you soon.”

  Jesse disconnected the call and collapsed back onto the bed. What the hell was that about? What information was she talking about? It was too early for his brain to wrap around her words.

  After a cool shower, Jesse was able to think more clearly. Suzanne may have decided to help him. Or she wanted his help. Unless this was an incredibly stupid setup. That seemed highly unlikely, since Covington wouldn’t want blood spilled in his office.

  Jesse grabbed a bottle of root beer from the refrigerator and drank half while fumbling with his cell phone. Tim’s sleepy voice answered on the fourth ring. “Since when do you sleep so late?” Jesse asked.

  Tim groaned. “Since when do you call so early?”

  “Can you meet me for lunch at McGuire’s?”

  “What time?”

  “One.”

  “Yeah, I can be there.”

  “See you then.”

  Jesse hunted down his car keys, found his jacket, and headed out the door. While he sat in a traffic jam, he sputtered to himself. How could a brief business involvement with one man cause such an uproar in his life? How did that one man manage to wreak such havoc in so many people’s lives? And how was anyone supposed to navigate through this city’s tangle of traffic?

  Jesse was anything but calm when he finally arrived at Covington’s Law Firm. He glanced at his watch. 8:04. He took the elevator to the top floor, then strode to Covington’s private office suite. Suzanne sat at her desk, absorbed in her typing. Jesse stepped closer and cleared his throat.

  Startled, Suzanne looked up. Her cheeks flushed. “Good morning, Mr. Ryder.”