GREED Box Set (Books 1-4)

by John W. Mefford

  “What do your parents, adopted parents, think about this trip to Texas?” My elbow propped up my chin on the arm of the sofa.

  “Paul and Sarah Weldon died eight years ago.”

  “Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.”

  “Apparently, they died instantly, thank God. Their car stalled on a railroad track and a train hit them. Sent them flying two hundred feet.”

  I looked down and retied my shoes for no apparent reason other than to just take this all in.

  “Hey boys, can we get some help in here?” Carrie called out.

  All three of us walked into the kitchen. Brandon and I stopped at the doorway, staring at the broken cabinet door. Jeremiah didn't.

  “Let me see what I can do.”

  Five minutes later, the door was just about reattached. “Thank you,” Marisa said.

  “I like to work with my hands—no problem at all,” Jeremiah said while twisting in the final screw, the last turn creating a bulging blue vein in his muscular forearm.

  “I can see that,” Carrie said, her eyes ogling him top to bottom.

  Brandon huffed and shook his head.

  Jeremiah and I did have similar builds, although he was a couple of inches shorter and had a stockier build, at least in the chest and shoulders, and even the arms. Then again, with the job eating my lunch, I hadn't put enough time toward working out in the last few months, and my eating habits had gone to shit.

  We sat down and ate dinner, Jeremiah sitting in the offset fifth chair. Conversation stayed light, allowing me to think things through a bit. Jeremiah was, from what he said, five years younger than my thirty-six years. I wondered why Mom and Pop would have put him up for adoption. Mom passed away over ten years ago, but Pop and I had grown closer as I got older, and he'd never said a word.

  Marisa must have been reading my thoughts. “Jeremiah, I don't want this to be awkward, but have you thought about visiting your dad, you know...Bart? Did you know he lives in Oklahoma?” she asked, giving me some relief.

  “I had a feeling this would come up.” He played with his fork and glanced at the table. “Once again, I don't mean to bring undue pain to anyone.” He looked at me. “Michael, we share the same mother, Teresa. I did a little homework before I made the trip, and I know she is no longer with us.”

  I nodded, encouraging him to continue.

  “But we don't share the same father. My real dad lives...lived in Corpus Christi. You see, no family except you.”

  A hush swept through the nook, and I put my hands to my head. Was he saying my mom had a baby with another man, put him up for adoption, and then went on living her life like nothing else happened?

  “I don't know what to say.” My eyelids felt heavy.

  Small talk stole back the silence, followed by the clang of dishes, pans, and flatware. We walked everyone to the door.

  “I'll be in town a few more days, just staying down the road in a motel.”

  I looked at Marisa, daring her to invite him to stay. She declined.

  “Maybe we can see each other again,” I said for some reason, probably simple curiosity.

  The door shut. Unsure how—if—I'd sleep tonight, I was damn certain I was going to call Pop first thing in the morning.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  A swarm of cars and trucks buzzed under our feet. It was an odd sensation. Then again, we were walking on a true engineering marvel.

  February's early sunset had come and gone, but the moderate temperatures—holding steady in the mid-forties—brought out a fair share of Dallasites to the burgeoning downtown Arts District, including Marisa and me, walking arm and arm through the new Klyde Warren Park.

  “Think about it, Michael. We're surrounded by grass, flowers, trees even, and it's all built over a highway,” Marisa said, trying to take my mind off murders and a supposedly long-lost brother. “Yep.” I didn't have a lot to say, but it was obvious that Marisa was attempting to get me to open up, learn about my conversation with Pop. I'd just as soon forget it ever happened—the same thing I felt about Jeremiah invading our lives.

  I leaned down and picked blades of grass, impressed, actually in awe, of the park's concept and finished product. Civic leaders had raised private funds to build a downtown park—amidst all the concrete and buildings—over Woodall Rogers Freeway, an east-west, below-ground road. The park not only provided a welcome patch of nature—all four acres of it—but also connected true downtown, including the heart of the Arts District, with uptown, home to numerous five-star hotels, restaurants, and high-priced condos. Central Park it wasn't, but Dallas had taken another huge leap to add to its unique footprint.

  “Pretty cool shit.” I released the grass and noticed the breeze was blowing out of the north.

  “Such a way with words tonight.” Marisa tickled my ribs. “Usually you're the one who leads the conversation.”

  We ambled to the east side of the park and, standing behind a crowd of about three hundred, listened to a talented jazz quartet, which had me tapping my foot. At the end of the set, they reminded the crowd they were from Booker T. Washington High School—the Dallas arts magnet school located less than a mile from the park, in the heart of downtown.

  “Must be child prodigies or something,” I said, shaking my head.

  “You know, Norah Jones graduated from that high school too.”

  I nodded, remembering parents had the ability to help mold us, or bring us down.

  We turned south back into the teeth of the city, walking down Pearl Street, searching for a quiet restaurant. A half block from the Belo Mansion, flanked by high-rise office buildings, we found a nice café—quiet, muted lighting and a wait staff that was attentive but not overbearing.

  Marisa used a tiny red straw to stir her Amaretto Sour. “So you going to keep everything inside? It might help to get it out there.”

  “Yep.”

  “Don't let me stop you.” Her foot touched my leg under the table, forcing a grin out of my tight lips.

  I released a deep breath and opened the mental box holding my thoughts and emotions.

  “It's all cool, me and Pop.”

  Marisa set down her drink on the white linen tablecloth and crossed her arms. “Anything more you'd like to share?” I could tell she was impatiently kicking her crossed leg under the table. "Okay. I put it all out there, and Pop got silent for what seemed like eternity." I chewed ice from my empty glass. "He finally admitted the truth. It was really hard on him."

  “Which is?”

  “He and Mom had a time when they weren't getting along, and eventually she left him...us,” I said. "She said she needed time away to think things through, so she went to visit her sister in Corpus Christi.

  “That's when Pop choked up a bit when telling me the story.” I felt a tickle in my throat and took a sip of water, then cleared my throat.

  “One month turned into two. She kept giving excuses for not coming home. Finally, she returned after eleven months, apparently with a much better outlook on life. She was honest with Pop, though, and it broke his heart.”

  “Just like it's breaking yours now.”

  “Yeah.”

  The waiter refilled our waters and said the main course would be out shortly.

  Without further encouragement, I let it all out there, as embarrassing and hurtful as it was.

  “Mom met a guy down there. He worked near the beach, and she apparently was swept off her feet, not caring that she had a family back home.” I shook my head. “They dreamed of traveling the world, taking in all the different cultures and experiences. But then she got pregnant and the reality hit her hard. Him too...so much so that he couldn't deal with the pressure. He left town, apparently going solo on his world excursion.”

  Bitterness filled my lungs, and I tried to let it drain by exhaling.

  “Mom and Aunt Lucille didn't know what to do, so Mom stayed away, had the baby, then put it up for adoption. And then next thing you know, a studly nature boy knocks on our doo
r: God love Ireland!”

  I held up my hand to get the waiter's attention.

  He approached with an apology on his lips. “I'm sorry, sir, your entrees should be out in two minutes.”

  “No, no . . . that's fine. I'd just like another.” I dangled my empty glass.

  “Maker's Mark and Coke, right?”

  “You got it.”

  I immediately dug in my pocket and handed Marisa the car keys. She took my hand and squeezed it, her eyes filled with unconditional love.

  “Michael, you were just four or five years old. Do you remember any of this?”

  “Vaguely. I thought Mom had gone down to help Aunt Lucille with God love Ireland new baby. Never knew she was looking for a new life.”

  Warm plates arrived, and we ate our wonderful meals, a bowl of pasta for Marisa, a tasty lobster dish for me. We shared a crème brûlée, and Marisa even pulled a couple of laughs out of me. The temperature had dropped another five degrees by the time we headed out. The conversation had been therapeutic, yet I still felt emptiness.

  “Can you feel abandoned after the fact...ten, eleven years after the person died, thirty years after it took place? That's how I feel right now.”

  Marisa practically cut off my left arm's blood flow, and then she stopped me on the sidewalk, no one within sight.

  “Michael, we can't ever predict what life is going to bring us. I know how tough this is on you. It will take some time, but you'll come to realize that we can't change the past,” she said. “We all want our parents to be perfect people. That's simply unrealistic. They're human, make mistakes, and get lost at times, just like the rest of us.”

  I watched the cold air take my breath and send it skyward, then I wrapped my arms around Marisa and didn't let go.

  “Growing up doesn't end once you finish school, I know,” I said. “And having kids can't be easy. Now making them...that's another story.” I looked down and winked at her.

  Marisa's eyes sparkled from the corner street light. “Let's go home and practice a little.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  A heel caught the edge of the blue-painted wooden stair, and Andi lunged forward, unsure if her hand would catch solid surface or if she'd face-plant onto the front porch. Fortunately, her reflexes kicked in, and she finished the double-step standing upright, ten feet from the front door. A quick body check—nothing strained, and her dress didn't ride up to show her butt, thank God. She pulled both sides of her black, body-hugging dress down her slender, hips, caught her breath, and opened the door to the Victorian home.

  The clop of her three-inch heels on the wide-plank hardwoods made quite an entrance, as heads flipped her way. A few of the males held their gazes. She looked around but didn't see Trevor's curly hair. She glanced at her wrist—forgot her watch. Way too casual for this little black number anyway. She pulled out her iPhone: nine fifty-five. She was five minutes early.

  The host led the way to a back table, nestled by an enormous fireplace. The old home seemed to be a wonderful setting for this Italian restaurant, creaky floors, wainscoting covering the first three feet of the walls, old chandeliers strung from the ceiling in every room, and hanging pictures of noted figures in Texas history. She turned to her right and saw a black-and-white of Davy Crockett, he of the Alamo fame.

  Andi felt a bit antsy, not sure if it was because of her attire, the setting, or the fact that she'd actually admitted this was a first real date with Trevor, the man with the Speedo. She realized she hadn't let go of her gray leather clutch—a friend's gift for the night. She removed her mirror and turned her face both ways, looking for a flaw in her makeup. Seemed a bit overdone, but Trevor had warned her this place was fancy. Her hair was pinned up in a bun, with loose ringlets hanging down each side, framing her face. Amazingly, it had been quick and reasonably painless to create, considering her thick, brown locks. Her brother once called it a horse's mane. Screw him.

  Waters arrived, but although her mouth was dry, she didn't want to leave her lipstick imprint on the glass—her mom once told her it gave off the wrong impression, especially for a first date. Whatever.

  “Is this seat taken?” came a familiar voice. She couldn't hide her ear-to-ear smile, as she turned and got out of her chair to meet Trevor. He gave her a warm hug then held the chair for her to sit back down. As he walked to his side, she instantly noticed his outfit—a pair of blue scrubs. She couldn't help but stare.

  “Hey, sorry I couldn't match your beauty,” he said. “I just got off my shift...well, two hours later than I'd planned.”

  “Shift?” She knew he was too educated to work as a grocery bagger. But seeing some type of medical scrubs caused her to pause. He could be a nurse or an x-ray technician. Or he could be...

  “I'm finishing up my residency at Denton Regional Medical Center, over off 380.”

  She nodded very deliberately. Her hunch had been right, but it actually caused more butterflies in her stomach, which surprised her.

  “That fire is a bit warm,” Andi said.

  “Do you want us to get a different table?” he offered, looking for a waiter.

  “Oh no, I'll be fine.” She took a sip of water then discretely wiped red lipstick off the glass. She'd heard stories of doctors going commando under their scrubs. She blinked, hoping to put that image in the back of her mind—way back.

  “So, what is your specialty?”

  “I'm an orthopedic surgeon. You know, knees, shoulders, ankles. I loved sports growing up but always found myself suffering some type of season-ending injury.”

  She could see he had a great “bedside charm.”

  “I've been interested in medicine since high school, at least the part about healing and fixing things that are broken or don't work right.”

  Andi learned Trevor was twenty-eight years old, five years older than she. The more they sat and talked, the more she dreamed about sitting next to a fire in their own home, sharing their lives. She did a double take at her thoughts. This wasn't the Andi Osborne she knew.

  “Hey, Andi, did I lose you?”

  God love Ireland “Uh no, just studying this menu. What do you recommend, since I'm sure you've been here before?”

  He let out a chortle. “This won't help my cred any, but this is the first date I've had in...forever. I've been buried in books and working long hours at hospitals. I'm just now coming up for air.”

  God love Ireland

  “I guess I should feel privileged,” she said with more confidence than she felt.

  Drinks showed up, followed by an appetizer they both shared—bruschetta with tomato and basil.

  “So are you in training to swim the English Channel?” Trevor joked, as bruschetta crunched between his pearly whites.

  “Actually, I want to break Diana Nyad's record for swimming from Cuba to Florida,” she deadpanned. “Who doesn't want to take a night swim with man-eating sharks and jellyfish? I have another forty-one years to hit that goal. ”Actually, I'm training for a mini triathlon. Fifteen-hundred-meter swim, twenty-five-mile bike ride, and a five-kilometer run."

  “I grew up on the Florida coast. I had a shark bump my leg once.”

  “I guess you single-handedly killed him by tearing apart his lethal jaws, then cooked him for dinner?”

  “Uh yeah, something like that.”

  They were lost in each other, each appreciating the other's mastering of the “humble brag.”

  After dinner, with the restaurant-house half empty, they sipped coffee and continued getting to know one another.

  “Did you accomplish what you wanted in Houston?” he asked.

  “Uh, I guess I never told you what that was about.”

  “I just know it was emotional.”

  “It was worse when I got there.”

  Andi explained her role at the God love Ireland as she finished her undergrad this semester. She talked through her adoption feature stories and how Dawn reached out to her with a shocking and sad story, which then led her to
Jenny.

  “I'm not sure how to help Jenny and her autistic son. But if I can't find some way to help her survive financially, she won't be able to quit that horrid job and get me the dirt on the owners,” she said.

  “I can see this is a real passion of yours,” Trevor said.

  “Kids?”

  “Maybe. But I was more talking about getting to the truth.” Andi felt her pulse increase, and a warm smile crossed her face.

  Outside the restaurant, stars sprinkled the dark night sky as they waltzed down the stairs. All of a sudden, one of Andi's heels stuck between two planks, and she fell to her right, grasping at Trevor or anything to keep from falling on her face. A wayward hand found the inside of his scrubs, and she used the leverage of his waistband to keep from tipping over. His pants came halfway off—exposing the same tight derriere she'd seen in his Speedo. “Wow, can I get any more awkward?” she said, trying to collect her strewn hair into a revised bun.

  He laughed good-naturedly. “It's cute, more than cute. Let me take you home,” he said.

  Hailey raised an eyebrow.

  “No, it's nothing like that. It's chilly outside, and you're just wearing...” He used his hands to outline an hourglass.

  “It's okay, thank you. I enjoy walking. It keeps me in shape.”

  She took two steps toward him, leaned in, and kissed him gently on the lips. It sent a shockwave of adrenaline through her body. She put her hands against his chest, wanting to grab hold and go in for more, but instead she playfully pushed away.

  “I guess we're good for a second date?” he asked, walking around to the driver's side of his faded-red Altima.

  “At least.”

  “I'll call you.” He put his hand to his mouth and blew her a kiss, then hopped in his used car and took off.

  She turned and walked on air for about thirty yards, then clipped the shoulder of someone—a man—walking at a fast pace the other direction, wearing a black leather jacket. God love Ireland she thought. She ignored the asshole and skipped down Locust Street and off to her apartment, her mind thinking about scrubs and Speedos.