No Gun Intended

by Zoe Burke

  I filled Mickey and Luis in on the way home about Loren Scranton. Dad drove a little too fast, but we didn’t get pulled over.

  When he parked in front of the house, we all jumped out and sprinted up the steps of Sal and Drew’s, whose front windows were blazing with light. Before Dad could knock, the door flew open.

  “Friends! Come in, come in. All is well. Sylvia is having some calming tea while Drew, I’m afraid, is wearing a path in our living room carpet, pacing like a caged tiger. He’s quite upset, as we both are, you all getting such a scare.”

  We walked into the living room. As soon as Mom saw me she rushed to give me a hug. “My brave, brave daughter. Let me look at you. Are you hurt at all?”

  I kept my arms wrapped tightly around her. “No, a few bruises, and I’m chafed from the duct tape, but I’m fine.”

  That’s when I finally lost it. I started sobbing. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fit as a fucking fiddle and mad as a hatter. Don’t you worry about me.”

  I wiped my eyes when I disengaged and looked around for Mickey. He was leaning against the doorway, watching me with the most mournful eyes I had ever seen.

  “Sal, if you don’t mind, do you have any more bourbon?” I asked.

  “Bea, it’s three o’clock in the morning. Are you sure you want a drink?” Dad sounded so tired.

  “Very sure.”

  “Me, too.” He smiled, and everyone managed a little laugh.

  “Drinks all around. However, at this hour, I insist on brandy. Sit down everyone, and let’s hash out this awful business.” Sal was off to the kitchen.

  Mickey stayed standing, easing his way around the room, following the conversation by squinting at whoever was talking. His cop demeanor was raging. I had seen it before.

  “Drew has been telling me about a stalker he dealt with once,” Mom said. “Terrible business.”

  “It was a long time ago. He was convinced I was corrupting his son.” Drew fidgeted with the tie on his bathrobe. That’s when I realized that of the seven of us, four were in sleepwear. Dad, Mickey, and Luis looked like slumber-party crashers.

  “Like, you were a perv or something?” I asked.

  “Sort of. It was because we had a discussion in class one day about pornography, how standards have changed, and while one might think a book is pornographic, another might deem it literature.”

  “Sounds like a class I would have liked to have taken in high school,” Sal said, entering the room carrying a tray of brandy snifters. We each took one and sipped.

  Drew continued. “This kid went home and told his father that he should let him read all of Henry Miller’s books, because they were literature.”

  “Well, they are, right?” Mom asked.

  “Today, yes, that’s how they are considered. Originally, complete porno. Anyhoo, I told the father that it was a complicated issue but that I would be happy to meet with him.”

  Sal perched on the arm of the wingback chair where Drew was sitting. “He refused, thank goodness.”

  “Yes. Turned out he preferred to send threatening letters to me and try to get me fired.”

  “I don’t think he has much in common with Scranton,” muttered Mickey.

  I flashed him a look that I hoped told him to cool it.

  Drew took a large swallow of brandy and stood up. “Then he tried to assault Sal.”

  “Holy fuck!” exclaimed Mom.

  Mickey’s squinting was even more pronounced than before. I wondered if he could even see.

  Sal waved his hand in front of his face. “Oh, Drew, really. You can be so dramatic. That bivalve did not mean to assault me.” Drew plopped back down in the chair while Sal took over. “We were cooking together. I went outside to snip some basil leaves from our herb garden right when the jerk hurled a copy of Miller’s The Tropic of Cancer at our door, and it hit me in the head.”

  I smiled. “Death by porno. Or literature.”

  “Yes, sugar. We got a restraining order, and he left us alone.”

  “What happened to the son?” Luis asked.

  Drew grinned. “Got his MFA in creative writing. Served daddy-dear right.” With that, he got up and poured himself some more brandy from the decanter on the tray. “Perhaps your stalker is only armed with weapons similar to books, Sylvia. We can hope so, anyway.”

  “Sylvia, what did Scranton say to you on the phone?” Dad asked.

  “He said ‘Hello, this is Loren Scranton,’ and I said, ‘You have a lot of nerve, you sick prick, calling at this hour, and I don’t know why you’re stalking me and my daughter, but don’t you ever come in my house again or I’ll drop you quicker than a fucking hot potato.’ He didn’t respond, so I hung up.”

  Drew clapped his hands. “That’s our Sylvia! Well done, honey!”

  I was watching Mickey, whose expression had not changed. He clearly found none of this amusing. He also looked exhausted. It dawned on me that he must have been awake for well over twenty-four hours by now.

  I stood up. “I need to go to bed.”

  Dad joined me. “I think we all do. Sal, Drew, thank you for opening your home to Sylvia, and to us.” He held up his brandy snifter as a toast and then downed its contents.

  Sal and Drew hugged all of us, even Mickey, though his response was perfunctory. Then we all crossed the street and went home.

  ***

  Mickey and I were in bed. I was on my side, my head propped up on a couple of pillows, contemplating him. “You okay? You’ve been very quiet.”

  He was lying on his back with his arm folded over his eyes. “I’m okay. I need to sleep.”

  “You’re going to quit smoking, right?”

  “Never really started. I threw the rest of them in the garbage.”

  “Mick…”

  “Not now, Annabelle. Let’s talk in the morning.”

  I rubbed his chest. “Fine, but…”

  He rolled over and turned me onto my back. He brushed my hair out of my face. “I thought you were dead.”

  I nodded. “I know.”

  “And now people are making jokes and telling silly stories.”

  “People handle things differently.”

  “Do you trust Sal and Drew?”

  I nodded again. “I absolutely do. You will, too. I promise.”

  He kissed me, and then rolled onto his back, arm over his eyes again.

  “What do you want to do tomorrow?” I asked.

  “Fly to New York. With you.”

  “Can’t do that, compadre. I’m wanted in these here parts. Others might say that I’ve got parts that are wanted.”

  “Don’t try to cheer me up.”

  “Bueno, hombre, as long you understand that I’m not going to stop talking until you tell me one thing.”

  “What.”

  “That I did real good getting away from them outlaws.” My voice choked on the last word.

  Mickey quickly took me in his arms and held me. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry. Yes, of course, I’m so proud of you. You did everything right. You are brave and strong and quick thinking and quick running.”

  I nestled close to him. “Is it okay if you hold me for a while?”

  “As long as you want, babe, as long as you want.”

  So I lay there awake, listening to Mickey’s even breaths of deep sleep, staring at the white ceiling, afraid to close my eyes.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I did fall asleep and didn’t wake up until noon the next day. It was raining, and I was enjoying the sound of the drops hitting the roof. I curled up tight under the duvet and watched the giant sequoia branches swaying in the wind outside the window.

  Eventually I rolled out of bed, took a shower, combed my hair, brushed my teeth, and pulled on my sweats. I was achy and stiff and my feet were tender. I saunt
ered downstairs to find the house empty, except for Dusty, who was wagging her tail ferociously at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Hey, you.” I rubbed her ears and hugged her. “Where is everybody?”

  In the kitchen I found a note. Mickey and Luis had gone to the police station. Mom and Dad were grocery shopping.

  I made myself a triple espresso and sat down in the living room, my feet up on the coffee table. The rain was falling harder, but it still sounded comforting to me. I didn’t feel like talking to anyone, or going anywhere. I felt like watching a movie.

  I moved into the den and started sorting through my parents’ DVD collection. I was happy to locate Persuasion, the Jane Austen story starring Ciaran Hinds and Amanda Root. It might be my favorite romance film of all time, and I have a huge crush on Ciaran Hinds, even though I can never remember how to pronounce his name. It’s like that girl’s name, Siobhan, which you would think would sound like “see-OB-han” but it’s really “shiVAWN.” Makes no sense.

  I popped in the movie and lounged on the futon, which Luis had made up neatly, settling in for some good old-fashioned comfort.

  Until the doorbell rang.

  It then occurred to me that it was odd my family had left me alone.

  Dusty barked and waggled up to the front door. I followed cautiously behind. “Who is it?”

  “Sugar, it’s me. Sal.”

  I opened the door. “Hi.”

  “What are you up to?”

  “Watching Persuasion.”

  “Aaah, with that dreamboat Ciaran” (he pronounced it “Keeran”) “Hinds as Captain Wentworth and that mousy but irresistible whatshername Root as Anne Elliot?”

  I grinned. “Amanda. And, my feelings exactly.”

  “Want some company?”

  I hesitated. “As long as…”

  “You don’t have to talk.”

  “Perfect. Come in.”

  Sal entered and I shut the door behind him, but not without first noticing a mug on the table by the porch chair, which held a blanket. “You’ve been on guard?”

  “At your service, milady.” He bowed. “The others are out doing things that need to be done. I heard the TV come on, knew you were up.” He held out a bag. “Cookies. My special recipe.”

  I peeked inside. “Snickerdoodles?”

  “The best.” I took one and we retired to the den, where I reached for the remote to restart the movie, but paused. “I keep thinking about last night.”

  “That’s to be expected, for heaven’s sakes.”

  “Not just what happened to me, but this stalker dude. I don’t know what we should do if he calls again.”

  “I doubt he will, since Sylvia cut him down to size on the phone last night.”

  “I don’t understand why he was calling here so late.”

  Sal considered that for a moment. “I don’t either. Maybe he was drunk and feeling desperate.” He held out the bag of cookies to me. “Have another.”

  I took three.

  Near the end of the movie, when Anne discovers Captain Wentworth’s letter and runs after him in the street, Sal grabbed my hand. “This is it, kid. The moment we’ve been waiting for.” Then they kissed, we both got weepy, and I ate another cookie.

  That’s when Mom and Dad walked in, laden with packages. “We’re home, darlings!” Mom called.

  She found us in the den, holding our breaths as Captain Wentworth makes the announcement at a party that he and Anne will be married. In unison, we spoke the heartless father’s lines, “Anne? You want to marry Anne? Whatever for?” And then Sal yelled at the screen, “You bastard daddy!”

  I had a new soul mate.

  Mom set two bags on the floor by the futon. “For you, dear.” She patted the top of my head. “We did more than grocery shop.”

  I opened the first one to reveal new flannel pajamas, a bathrobe, and slippers. “Oh, Mom, this is so nice.”

  “I knew you wouldn’t want to put those others on again. I threw them out this morning. Open the other one.”

  I looked inside to find a big shoebox. “You didn’t!”

  “Mmmm. I did.”

  I pulled out the gray suede boots with the blue toes and heels. “Holy shit, Mother, to use your words, these are crazy beautiful!” I jumped up, forgetting how much the bottoms of my feet hurt, winced, and gave her a big hug. “I can’t wait to wear them.”

  Sal picked up a boot. “Trés élégant, Syl. Perhaps we should decorate the bakery in some cowboy theme and all wear beautiful boots.”

  “That’s a fucking terrible idea, Sal dear. Now, I’m going to help Jeff put the groceries away. Thanks for looking after Annabelle.”

  “Oh, honey. She looked after me, too.” Sal gave me a kiss on the cheek. “I’m off. I’ll watch movies with you any time. Just ring. And don’t worry about Stalker Creep. He’s as effective as Mr. Elliot. Weak, in the end. In the front, too, I imagine.” I laughed and walked him to the door. “Anyway, he’s no match for the Starkeys or those two gorgeous young men you have in your life.”

  When Sal was gone I found Dad in the kitchen, folding up the reusable grocery bags. “Muffinhead, how are you feeling?”

  “I’m fine, Dad. Just a little sore. When did Mickey and Luis leave?”

  “Same time as us, so it has been about three hours, I guess. No news?”

  I shook my head. “They went to see Dawson and Monroe?”

  “Yes, to make sure they knew about Greta and the kidnapping. They also were talking about tracking down that boyfriend of Claudia’s, Wesley Young.”

  “Good. I’m going to get dressed and get busy myself.”

  Mom stopped trimming the flowers she bought. “And do what?”

  “See Claudia. Will you come with me, Mom? Maybe you can take a look at her chart, just in case…”

  “Darling, you should rest today. Watch another movie. What have you eaten besides Snickerdoodles? Let me heat up some soup.”

  “How about a sandwich? Then I can take it with me, if you drive.”

  Dad resumed folding the bags. “She’s not going to change her mind, Syl. Might as well make that sandwich.”

  “Well, shit. All right. Go get dressed. I’ll be ready to go when you come back.”

  ***

  We made it to the hospital without incident. Claudia looked the same, though I thought she had a little bit more color in her cheeks. That might have been wishful thinking.

  Mom found a nurse and asked if she could see Claudia’s chart. She said she was a doctor friend of Nancy and Phillip and was trying to reassure them that everything was being done for their daughter. The nurse listened to all of this patiently and replied, “You can’t see the chart if you’re not her guardian.” Then she walked away.

  Back in Claudia’s room, Mom pouted. “I’d never make a detective. I don’t know how to lie to get people to tell me things.”

  “What are you talking about? You got patients in the ER to reveal their innermost darkest secrets and promise you their firstborns!”

  She laughed. “It’s easier when you’re saving someone’s life.”

  I opened the drawer in the bedside table. “I want you to look at this note, Mom. I know we showed you a picture of it, but I want your opinion on the handwriting.”

  “Crap, honey, I’m not a handwriting expert.”

  “I know, but I have a funny feeling about it, that it’s too neat. Tell me what you think.” I reached inside the drawer. “That’s weird.”

  “What.”

  “It’s gone.” I searched again to make sure and closed the drawer.

  “Would the police have taken it?”

  I shrugged. “Don’t know. I wonder who has visited her. Like maybe…”

  “That bad boyfriend?”

  I nodded. “Let’s talk to another nurse
this time.”

  We approached the nurses’ station in the hall and I stopped a uniformed young woman, who was grabbing her purse. “Excuse me, could we talk to you about Claudia Bigelow? Nothing confidential. We’re friends, and…”

  “Sure, I guess so. I’m heading to the cafeteria, if you want to join me.”

  “That sounds great!” Mom was way too peppy.

  The three of us aimed for the elevator. “I sure hope Claudia wakes up. She has a lot to live for.”

  “I’m sure she does,” I said, “but what do you mean, exactly?”

  “That boyfriend of hers? He’s been here after visiting hours a few nights. He holds her hand and cries. He loves her SO much.”

  The elevator doors opened and we stepped inside. “Wesley, you mean?”

  She nodded. “Yes. He’s a hunkadoris.”

  “Holy shit,” said Mom.

  ***

  We had coffee with Tiffany the nurse, who told us that even though the police had instructed the staff to keep an eye on Claudia’s visitors, she didn’t think it was anyone’s business who Claudia was in love with and besides, it was clear that Wesley really, really loved her because she saw him crying once.

  I tried to explain to her that there were lots of reasons for crying, like feeling bad that you hit your girlfriend so hard that she was lying in a coma.

  “Not Wesley. Uh uh. I have a seventh sense about this stuff.” Tiffany focused on a text that just announced itself with a bell on her phone.

  “What’s your sixth sense?” I placed the palm of my hand over her phone’s screen.

  “Huh?” She yanked her phone away.

  “How old are you, dear?” Mom asked.

  “Twenty-seven.”

  “And you’re a nurse? Really?” I was amazed, not because of her age, but because she was so dumb.

  She stared at me, all offended.

  Mom took over. “Tiffany, when does Wesley usually show up?”