I spent my days cooking and baking, finally getting the chance to make the oatmeal cookies that Miss Ida had recommended. I'd mentioned it to Sarge and he made a point of bringing over a large bar of white chocolate, a jar of macadamia nuts and a bag of dried cranberries, asking for a double batch so he could take some home.
He and I were still working through our new familial connection. At least, it was new to me. Sarge was my right-hand man at the bakery but, now that I knew he was my grandfather, the bond between us seemed a lot deeper. I had a thousand and one questions about him, Lilly and my mother. Bless him, he never once discouraged me from asking them.
Edie wasn't doing as well. At least, physically. She was still her same kind self, talking just as plainly and openly as she always had, which always got the rest of us laughing. However, she was taking a nap both in the morning and afternoon now. Her face was pale and I noticed that her fingernails were taking on a bluish tinge.
"She's not getting enough oxygen," Miss Ida explained kindly when I pointed it out. "Her heart's not pumping strong enough to oxygenate her tissues. That's one of the signs of advanced heart disease."
We were outside, me knee-deep in weeds and her in one of the old garden chairs.
I saw her looking at all the plants and flowers, Edie's special place, as she spoke.
"I've been doing this work for a lot of years and there've been a lot of patients that were a real trial. Grumpin' and moanin', making themselves and their families miserable before they passed. Mrs. Edie, though. She's a special one," Miss Ida said, thoughtfully. "Never has a bad word, unless it's to make a joke. Always talkin' nice and never complainin' at any of the things I have to do and I know they can be uncomfortable."
I only nodded at her words because, as usual when the thought of Edie leaving us was brought up which wasn't, thankfully, often, my throat wanted to close up.
"Yep, Mrs. Edie is going to rightly missed," Miss Ida concluded gently.
"Ca-can you tell how long she has?" I pushed the words out of my throat.
"No, sugar, I can't. Only the good Lord knows things like that. But, I think time is getting real short," she murmured and I felt my heart clench.
"Isn't there anything we can do?" I whispered, staring down at the mess of weeds I had pulled and put aside.
"No. She's got a DNR order in place, so even if something does happen, I can't do anything to revive her," Miss Ida explained, her voice still soft and kind. "I guess, ah, I guess all we can do is to try to make her remaining time as good for her as she's making it for all of us."
I glanced up at the woman that I used to consider scary and saw a lone tear trail down one of her chubby cheeks.
And, for whatever reason, I found that tear comforting.
It was a couple of days later, the early morning sunshine coming in through the kitchen windows, sparkling off the bubbles of the water in the sink as I put the finishing touches on breakfast cleanup when Miss Ida came to me.
Came right up to me and put her arm around my shoulders.
"Sugar? You need to call Mr. Jax and get him back home now," she murmured softly.
I felt a pop in my neck as I twisted quickly, my eyes searching her face, my heart dropping to my knees.
I dried my hands quickly and reached for my cell as I saw the nurse pull her own from her pocket as she moved away.
"Jack? It's Grams. You've gotta come home now," I said into the phone, trying to keep my voice calm and steady. He didn't say a word before disconnecting and he was back at the farmhouse in less than two minutes with Boots, Sarge and Turner trailing behind him.
Jax gave me a long look before he ran to the dining room and opened one of the pocket doors.
I heard a long, pain-filled bellow that was soon followed by deep, heartbreaking moans which had my knees buckling.
Sarge came to me and gathered me against him. I saw Boots cross himself as he reached for his handkerchief. And the three of us stayed that way for more than a few minutes as wracking sobs shot out of the dining room and echoed throughout the house.
I turned to the countertop and did the only thing I could think of, which was to make coffee.
Sarge moved to the fridge and Boots to the cookie jar as we set up a light lunch, even though time-wise, lunch was still a couple of hours away. Funny, I remembered Grandma Lilly doing something similar when old Mrs. Lawrence, who had the 'All Things Breakable' glass shop next door to the bakery, had died.
Grandma said that it was just one of those things that you did. A kind of celebrating life when death happens.
I worked with Sarge and Boots almost without thinking as we got things together, but soon I had to make my way outside. I couldn't take hearing Jack in so much pain and needed some time, some space, to let my own grief out. True, I hadn't known Edie long, yet she had become so important to me. She was my friend, my substitute grandparent and my partner in keeping Jack steady. Now, she was gone. Peacefully and still talking kind according to Miss Ida, but gone nonetheless.
I knew I needed to get myself calm, too, so I could see my man through this. I was uncertain how Edie's death was going to affect him after hearing about his reaction to Denny's passing. At least with Edie he'd known in advance that it was coming--where as Denny's came out of the blue and had been a horrible shock on so many levels.
"Lace, he's asking for you," Sarge said from the screened in porch.
I waved a hand to let him know I heard him before I wiped my eyes, blew my nose and straightened my shoulders. My man needed me and I was going to be his rock; a rock my Rocker could lean on.
*.*.*.*.*
"God, I hate podunk," Neal grumbled for the fiftieth time that morning. Charlie and Neal had been assigned to stake out, find and interview that fucked up, rock and roll kid from Wynter's Vicious and both of them hated the assignment.
First, they couldn't find the fucker. Found his little piece of ass' business. Caught her at the grocery store the other night. No sign of the little shit, though.
Christ, he hated chasing a story when it was about people in the music industry. Give him a good old, fucked up movie or TV star any day of the week.
Charlie heard gasps behind him and turned. The waitresses in the small diner were all huddled in front of the serving bar with the cook and his assistant leaning forward. He saw a couple of the older gals pull out wadded up tissues from their pockets and wipe their eyes.
"What's going on?" Neal asked, his eyes glue to the mini-drama at the counter.
"Dunno," Charlie replied with a shrug. "Maybe somebody's cow died or they just learned that Barney was moving to Mt. Pilot."
At Neal's blank stare, Charlie tried to explain the reference to the old Andy Griffith show except Neal was too young and didn't get it.
The waitresses finally broke their hen party when the manager came by and they began getting back with the program. The one that had been waiting on Charlie and Neal swung by on a coffee circle, doing her refill bit.
"What's happening?" Charlie asked and noticed that her name tag announced her as Myrtle.
"Old Mrs. Dennison passed this morning," she murmured as she poured. "She was pretty big deal around here. She's the grandmother of those boys from that rock band, winter something."
Rock Band? Dennison? Winter-something?
A suspicion began blooming behind Charlie's forehead. He reached for his phone and finally found the mortuary where the body was being taken.
Mrs. Edith Jackson Dennison was pronounced dead at 10:02 a.m. this morning of heart failure. And he was to spell the receptionist's name that answered the phone at the mortuary, the girl that was giving him the information, as C-y-n-d-e-e, thank you very much.
Jackson. Dennison.
Charlie was sure those were the full first names of Jax and Denny Wynter. He just needed to get back to that crummy hotel room he shared with Neal to confirm it on his computer.
Holy Christ!
He had the scoop on where that little cock-knocker
had been hiding out!
A guy just had to love podunk drama, and little receptionists that wanted their names in the news, to flush out his quarry.
*.*.*.*.*
How those fuckers knew about Grams and where to find him, Jax hadn't a clue.
The road was already lined with cars, news vans and fucking people, some armed with goddamned binoculars. There were not one, but two fucking helicopters circling overhead and the sound was driving him fucking nuts.
Turner had finally found a security firm that was coming out later to set up the perimeters. At the moment, Sarge and his boys from his motorcycle restoration shop were minding the edge of property that abutted the road and keeping those motherfucking leeches out, thank God. Who would've ever thought that they needed a goddamn security team out at the Farm.
He glanced down at Lace, asleep against his chest and dragged his fingers over her back. God, he was glad she'd been around when it happened. He knew plans were in place for her to get her business back on track on Monday and he knew it was fucking selfish as hell, but he was thankful that Grams had passed when Lacey was still with him full-time.
Lacey was pretty cut up about Gram's death. She'd ended up crying herself to sleep after breaking down when the mortuary's van had taken her body away.
The old battle-axe of a nurse, that Miss Ida gal, had taken care of calling whoever needed to know of the death and had packed up all the medical shit, clearing it out of the dining room. She'd even made the bed and tidied everything up.
When Miss Ida had left, she'd grabbed Jax in a hug that'd almost squeezed the air right out of him. "She loved you more than anything," the woman had whispered when she'd crushed him to her huge bosom. "She had everything written down and said you just need to call Mrs. Russell. I left her number by the phone."
When he'd pried himself away, he'd seen the old crazy bitch had been crying too, which had only triggered his own tears to start again. He realized that she'd learn to like his grandmother, which slid her from 'scary bitch' to 'caring bitch' on the chessboard of his heart. Like Lacey had said, the nurse had treated Grams a whole lot nicer than she had the rest of them.
"Thanks for your help," he'd told her sincerely. "You've been a blessing to us, to Grams."
She patted his face before teetering down the porch and climbing into her car.
Jax heard a pounding at the front door and slowly eased himself away from Lacey's soft embrace, not wanting to wake her. He heard the sleepy, double-hitch in her breath as she rolled away when he moved.
The pounding stopped just as he hit the bottom of the stairs, yet he went to the window by the front door anyway and peeked out through the curtains. Boots was standing back from the heavy portal, eyeing it with his head tilted, bouncing the hammer lightly off the side of his leg.
Jax edged the door open and saw that the older man had been pounding on it to hang a black wreathe.
"I…uhm. I hope you don't mind, Jax," his sponsor and friend explained as he pulled out an over-used wadded handkerchief from his back pocket. Jax watched as the old man wipe his eyes and nose. "There's another one on the mailbox. I just thought it'd be a way of paying respect to Edie."
Jax eyed him through the screen, noticing the older man's still streaming eyes and then looked again at the wreathe. "It's nice, Boots. Thanks."
"Ah, I'm going to sign you in a the meeting tonight and tomorrow, just so's you know. I don't want you to get in trouble, but with this and all…" the old man said, looking away, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed deeply.
"I appreciate it, Boots. I don't know if I could even get there without the vultures trailing," Jax said, peering behind the man on the porch to the people that were starting to clog the road. There were horns as cars tried to maneuver around the crowds that were, in some spots, five people deep. "What's the word from out there?"
"Security's supposed to be here in an hour and Sarge said that the police were talking about setting up roadblocks where folks'll have to show proof of where they live to get through them."
"That'd be great if they could clear the area," Jax replied.
"How's Lace?" Boots asked.
"Sleeping now," Jax said.
"Pro'lly better for her," Jax heard him say kindly. "You two need anything, just let me know, 'kay?"
"Sure, Boots. Thanks," the younger man said back as he closed the door.
Chapter 29
Jax stood at the door, his back braced against it for a moment before sliding down, his ass hitting the floor with an audible bump as his hands came to his face.
How was he doing?
Fucking swell.
His beautiful wonderful Grams was gone and he didn't know how he was going to hold it together enough to bury her. His chest felt like someone had opened it with a chainsaw and poured acid inside while the rest of him had been plugged into an electrical outlet.
He wanted a drink.
He wanted to be high. As messed up and as fucked up as he could get just to push all the feelings away. To make it all just go away.
Jax was holding on but only by the very tips of his fingers, knowing that he was close, so fucking close, to losing everything he'd worked for; to losing all the gains he'd made.
Since Denny had died.
It was hazy, but Jax flashed on a piece from the gathering at the Malibu house after Denny had been laid to rest at that fancy cemetery in the Hollywood Hills.
"Here, baby, I can make it better," the blonde cooed as she reached for the zipper of his leather pants. "I'll help you forget for a little while. This will make it all better."
He was wasted, completely toasted, and knew without a doubt she wasn't going to be successful.
Unless his dick was Lazarus and she was Jesus.
But he wasn't going to complain.
When had he ever turned down a blowjob?
He raised the bottle of Stoli Elit and allowed the vodka to swish around his mouth before letting it slide down his throat. No glass, just the $40 per bottle, smooth Russian vodka all on its own.
The blonde's head was bouncing in his lap yet he couldn't feel it. His body was numb. Now if the vodka could just do the rest of its job and anesthetized his heart, his mind, then it would all be good.
It would never be good, he realized. Not ever. Because Denny was gone.
The long, dark sleep kind of gone.
"Christ, Jax!" he heard Turner yell from the other side of the pool. "Put your dick away, man."
Jax turned his head towards Turner but he was so out of it that the view swirled, tilted and made him dizzy. He dropped his head back to rest against the deep pad of the sun lounger that was pointed away from the house and out over the hills, the ocean.
"Jesus, Jax," he heard Turner mumble, closer. "Get a grip, man."
Jax lifted his eyes up, trying to focus on the tall man now standing next to the lounger. He heard the words without a clue of what they meant.
"Bitch?" Jax slurred and the blonde, never missing a stroke, dragged her heavily made-up eyes to his. "Get gone."
He heard the 'pop' as she released the suction she had on his boneless, loose cock. Not even a half-hard to show his appreciation of her efforts.
"You sure, baby?" she asked, wiping her mouth.
Jax just stared at her, too drunk to answer, to bereft to try.
His hand was shaking as he tried to set the bottle down on the flagstones that surrounded the terrace and it took him a couple of tries to make sure it would stay upright. Getting his leathers zipped and buttoned seemed to be a puzzle that couldn't be solved at the moment. He settled for shoving himself, still wet from her mouth, out of public view.
As he did, he felt the wetness on his face.
Shit.
Crying again and not even realizing it.
He felt Turner's hand on his shoulder. "It's gonna be okay, man."
Jax had been hearing that same litany, that same line, for four days now and didn't believe it anymore now than he did the f
irst time someone had said it to him.
Denny was gone.
D-E-A-D, gone.
He closed his eyes and felt the sobs trying to roil up from deep inside yet he refused to let them out. He'd been crying off and on since they'd gotten the news, but only let his eyes leak. The screams he kept deep inside.
Because Denny wasn't coming back.
His brother was never going to be back.
Ever.
His head and his heart couldn't accept it and this was the longest they'd ever been apart from one another. That he'd been apart from someone who was much more than just a sibling.
"Wha's gonna happen to me?" he slurred on a whisper, hearing the whine in the words that had escaped.
"Don't know, man," Turner replied. "But you'll get through it."
The sounds of the party, the after-funeral festivities were starting to get loud. Jax could see no difference in this party and the thousands of parties they'd thrown at this very same house.
Same group of people. Maybe different faces, except the same jacked-up, motherfucking, leeches wanting to be a part of the rock and roll life even if only peripherally.
The girls with too much makeup and too little clothes, the men with long hair and inked bodies. Sex, drugs and rock'n'roll, baby.
Party 'til you puke.
Party 'til you pass out.
Party 'til you die.
The only difference was, at this party, Denny wasn't here. They'd planted his ass hours ago in one of the exclusive parts of Forest Lawn, cemetery to the famous.
Fucking A. Party like a rock star.
Jax raised his eyes to the sky, not seeing any stars.
Of course not.
There was too much illumination in this part of Malibu to see any stars, except the human kind.
Jax closed his eyes, realizing he was moments away from passing out.
And he'd been grateful to lose consciousness at that particular place and time.
He just wished he could now.
Because, now, he really was alone.
An orphan with no family, no crowd of yes-people. Just his girl and a group of has-beens to prop him up when his heart and his life had been blown to smithereens. Like his therapist had reminded him again and again, you can't depend on others for your emotions. He was supposed to be 'claiming' his and taking care of them as they came up.
Everybody Falls Page 24
