City in the Middle

by Colleen Green

  I hoped the coffee I drank would get me through the night. I began preparing meals. Once a coworker was available to cover my station in the kitchen, I took a break.

  Henry came over to the table where I was having a quick bite. “Amber, I have a favor to ask.”

  “Sure.” I tilted my head. “Is everything all right?”

  “It will be eventually.” He sat down. “My father has been getting worse. His memory is fading. The meds only do so much for him. His mood swings are getting on Charles’s last nerve.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I stopped eating, giving him my full attention.

  “I can’t close the pub tonight. An appointment I had with the administrator of a facility that cares for dementia patients got moved to today. If Dad does get accepted to live there, I’ll have other things to deal with tonight.” I could see the wheels spinning in his head by the way he looked through me for a brief moment. He continued, “Charles would, but he can’t leave Dad alone anymore. Charles has been living with Dad for a while. Could you close tonight?” He laid a set of keys in front of my plate.

  I scooped them up. “Sure.”

  “Thanks. You would lock the back and front door. Blue key is the front. Green is the back.” He stood up. “I’m going to take off. If you need anything, you can call my cell.”

  The rest of the night went smoothly. Henry letting me close showed how much he trusted me. It warmed my heart, although hearing about his father’s situation was sad. Henry dealing with his father’s dementia must be difficult. All the time and extra care his father needed must have been taking a toll on him and his brother.

  Once I drank my third cup of coffee, the caffeine kicked into overdrive. Unfortunately, it was at the worst possible time. It was getting too late for such a burst of energy.

  Note to self: No more coffee after nine.

  The staff became a skeleton crew, since the kitchen was closed, and the bar was nearing closing time. I decided to write down some menu ideas after the place was cleaned and the doors locked. At about two thirty, the staff began to clear out. The pub ran like a well-oiled machine, and they had the routine of shutting down to perfection. I got paper and a pen out of Henry’s office to jot down some ideas. On the way to one of the tables, I nearly ran into Sam, who had finished her bartending shift.

  “Sorry,” I said, almost ramming into her elbow. I sat at a table and put my paper and pen on it.

  “That was close.” She stood, frozen, looking at her arm before she got her purse from underneath the bar. “Hey, I meant to mention something to you earlier, but I never got a chance. An older gentleman was asking about you.”

  “Really? That’s weird.” I put my forearms on the table and leaned toward her. “What do you mean? What did he want to know?”

  “He asked what your name was. So, I told him. His eyes lit up, and then he was gone.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Didn’t say. He had gray hair, glasses, tall…”

  How odd.

  “I take it from your blank stare that doesn’t ring a bell. If I see him again, I’ll tell you.” She started to leave. “See you tomorrow.”

  Still perplexed by the mystery admirer, I replied, “See ya.”

  Sam walked out the door.

  What the hell? Who is he? She said his eyes lit up when she said my name, but how could he know me when I don’t know him? A chill ran down my spine. Is he a creep, some kind of lonely stalker, desperate for attention? Once I reached “serial killer targeting young women,” I tried to stop thinking of the worst-case scenario.

  Since I was alone, I could concentrate on creating some new menu items. Henry had mentioned that the pub’s menu could use more variety. When I offered to help him, he accepted my suggestion.

  I turned on the radio behind the bar, left some lights on in the kitchen and the main dining area, and sat down. The music and light helped to make it look like I wasn’t alone.

  Despite the two crime scenes that I had been around since moving to the city, overall, Manhattan was fairly safe. Marta had been murdered and Fiona had been beaten, but those crimes weren’t random acts of violence. I hadn’t made any enemies—still, it couldn’t hurt to take precautions, especially with the mystery guy on the loose.

  Eventually, my creative juices flowed. I wrote the recipe for a new sandwich. Food, cost, and preparation were the only things on my mind. I tapped the pen to the beat of the music in between sentences. I was in the zone. Time flew by.

  Finally, the late hour caught up with my body. Yawning, I looked down at three new menu items to show Henry later. He was sure to approve one of them.

  A putrid odor wafted in from the kitchen. It reeked like wood, paint, and plastic burning, creating a pungent abomination of the air I breathed. My eyes watered. Why is it so hard to breathe?

  I looked up from my paper as smoke came from the open window where the waitresses picked up food. Shit, the kitchen’s on fire. The air felt thick. I coughed.

  There was a fire extinguisher underneath the bar. Lightheaded, I braced myself against the table as I stood. Billows of smoke hung low in the air. The gray clouds became denser. It was too late to try to put the fire out. I needed to leave.

  I looked up, gulping in what little oxygen I could. Sirens wailed in the distance. The back door was the closest exit. I just had to make it there. I bent down to the floor, desperate for fresher air. The clear view helped me to navigate as I crawled on my hands and knees. Breathing was easier until the black haze got thicker. I had trouble seeing what my hand had just grabbed only inches away. It didn’t budge. I tried to go around as everything went black.

  Chapter 17

  Iawoke. Henry sat on a chair next to my bed. His disheveled hair, stubble peppering his jawline, and woeful expression broke into a smile when we made eye contact. His eyes gleamed with joy.

  “You’re awake,” he said.

  I mustered a grin back. Looking around, I wasn’t home. My body ached as I tried to readjust on the stiff bed. The walls were neutral beige, and I had an IV. My hazy thoughts made things unclear.

  “Henry”—my voice was strained—“am I in a hospital?”

  He nodded.

  Why am I here? Then my memory became clearer. The invasive tube had been put down my tender throat. They had held me still as I fought to sit up. I wanted to stop what was happening. They’d strapped me down. Why did they do that? The powerful suction of my airways had created an epic gargling sound from my throat as I fought for oxygen. I had been drowning in my own bodily fluids.

  The memory was so vivid. I spread my fingers and moved my arms. I had to get out of that bed. But when I jolted upward, I realized my arms were no longer restrained. The horrific torture was over.

  “What’s wrong?” Henry leaned forward, wide-eyed.

  “I’m sorry, Henry,” I said, in a raspy voice. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I had a flashback. Did they put a tube down my throat? Why would they do that? Was I in a fire?”

  A tear rolled down his cheek. “That’s right. Oh, Amber, the sounds you made—those choking and spewing sounds. Since I was your emergency contact, they called me. Luckily, I could get to the hospital quickly, since it was late at night. They pushed me out of the room when the nurses gathered around you. I couldn’t see anything, but I heard it all. You were gasping for air but couldn’t find any. I thought you were going to die.” Another tear escaped his eyes. “I begged for God not to take you. He must have heard, because your retching stopped. I wasn’t sure if that meant you died or you finally got air. I heard ‘she’s stable.’ Those two words meant you could breathe. I talked with the staff later about what had happened. The tube was used to help clear your airway of smoke and chemical inhalation from the fire. Without it, you would have died.”

  I lay down again. “So, it did happen.”

  “They wanted to keep you for observation last night. They thought…” He choked back a sob. “They thought you might have some confusion after
inhaling so much smoke. The fact that you’re remembering things has to be a good sign.” He wiped his face and kissed me on the forehead. “I’m going to go get the nurse and let her know you’re awake.”

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  I was released from the hospital later that night. Henry offered to hail us a taxi and ride home with me. Going home sounded wonderful. I could sleep in my bed and stop living out of a duffel bag. I sighed. I didn’t even know if it was safe to return there yet.

  “I just need to make a phone call first,” I told Henry.

  I found a pay phone in the lobby and called Fiona. She sounded relieved to hear my voice. Earlier, she called my cell and got a message that the phone was out of service. She said that it was safe to come home and she would explain later. It was music to my ears.

  I would call Daisy later. She must have wondered why I didn’t make it to her place to spend the night.

  Henry hailed us a taxi. Then we rode back to my apartment.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  I went into the apartment, and Fiona got off the couch. She said, “My god, Amber, first I’m beaten to a pulp. Now this!” She came over, and we hugged. She must have been amazed by how much time we had been spending in hospitals, just as I was.

  “It’s too much. I know.” My gruff voice didn’t sound like me. “I thought you’d be at work.”

  “Actually, I’ve taken a few days off.” She sat on the couch. “I want to be around when Cam gets back.”

  “That’s wonderful,” I said, sitting down next to her. “He’s taken care of it.”

  “Yes, they got their damn money last night, which means Cam will get in touch soon. Jimmy, one of Cam’s friends, told me.”

  As much as I wanted the nightmare for her to be over, I couldn’t help the bad feeling I had in the pit of my stomach. “I don’t know, Fiona. Are you really sure about this? Do you even know this Jimmy guy?”

  “I don’t know him, but Cam must have trusted him enough to have him help get the money, so I figure I can trust him too.”

  Fiona reheated some dinner for me in the microwave. The pasta with a light sauce was easy to swallow. I washed it down with water.

  “I’m so relieved that you’re recovering well,” she said, leaning on the kitchen counter.

  “Me too. This meal is perfect. I was starving.”

  “If I don’t hear from Cam by early tomorrow, I want to go looking for him. I believe Jimmy that my father’s debt has been paid, but I need to see Cam, hear his voice, touch him, be with him. If he doesn’t call by then, I’ll probably start to worry. I mean, it is possible that”—her voice quivered—“the debt was paid, and—”

  “Don’t even think that way.” I knew she was about to say he was hurt or, worse, dead. “If you go looking for him, I’m going with you.”

  She shook her head and came over to me. “You should stay here and rest.”

  I couldn’t stand the thought of her looking for the love of her life alone. “I could go with you. After I have a good night’s sleep, I’ll be better.”

  She rubbed my shoulder briefly. “You’ve been through too much to jump right back into things.”

  Her concern was appreciated, but I’d wait until the next day to try to convince her otherwise. Maybe then, she’d understand that I was up for the task.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  The next morning, Henry stopped by. He sat on the couch, and I brought him a cup of coffee.

  “If you’d perished in the fire, I never would have forgiven myself,” he said. His eyes seemed full of regret. “I was supposed to be closing, not you.”

  I rubbed his back. “You can’t think like that. I’m fine. The fire wasn’t your fault.”

  “But I was the one who asked you to cover for me.”

  “Still, not your fault.” I gave him a side squeeze. I didn’t want him to dwell on the fact that I was in the fire, so I attempted to redirect his attention. “I’d be glad to pitch in and help renovate. I’m sure it’s a big undertaking.”

  “It is.” He sipped his coffee. “The kitchen was hit the hardest. Inventory lost, appliances wrecked… It’s going to take a while before I can reopen.” He sighed. “I was there earlier this morning. It was overwhelming.” He stared off in the distance as if he were replaying the damage in his mind. “Then I thought of you in the fire. The only thing that would make me feel better was to visit you and make sure you were recovering.” He turned toward me. “Do you need anything? How do you feel?”

  “I’m feeling much better. Thanks for asking, but I don’t need anything. Tomorrow, I can get back to work.” Determined to give him a ray of hope in light of such dark times, I asked, “What can I do to help?”

  “I’m making calls today,” he said. “I’ll be in touch when I know what needs to be done first.” He gave a slight smile. “Thanks, Amber.”

  We sipped our coffee. I still had a hard time accepting that I had been in a fire that burned not only the pub, but also a few apartments. The event seemed surreal, like something that happens in the movies. I knew it really happened, but it still seemed freaky. For Henry, it was a financial disaster too.

  “How are your father and Charles doing?” I asked. “Are they hurt?”

  “They made it out the fire escape. Dad is recovering from twisting his ankle rushing down the stairs. Charles still coughs but seems to be getting better. They asked about you too.” He stood up and took his mug to the sink.

  I wanted to ask how the fire started, but Henry’s melancholy mood made it clear he was still processing the tragedy. I joined where he was bracing himself against the counter with his shoulders slumped.

  “Do you want me to make the phone calls?” I offered.

  “No, I’ll do it. Come on, walk me to the door.”

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  In the early afternoon, as promised, Fiona came home after looking for Cam. I had showered, ready to prove that I was up to helping.

  “No luck?” I asked, already suspecting from her demeanor that the answer was no.

  She grabbed the bread and pulled two pieces out. “No. After lunch, I’m going to Jersey. Waiting for his call or any sign that he’s not in trouble is driving me insane.” She got the mayo and meat out of the fridge.

  I couldn’t bear to watch her make the sandwich with her left hand. Fiona’s cast was on her right arm. She was right-handed and struggled to use her left one. “Here, let me make it for you. You want cheese too?”

  “Sure, thanks.” She sat at the table.

  I made it just like I’d seen her do before. I put the paper plate with food in front of her. She ate quickly.

  “Want a drink to wash that down?” I asked.

  She nodded, and I got one for her.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “Better.”

  “That’s wonderful news. I was worried. You look better. Your eyes aren’t as red as before. Your voice isn’t as raspy.” She took a drink.

  It was time to approach Fiona about joining her on her quest to find Cam. “I know you’re worried about Cam. I want to go with you to New Jersey.”

  “I’ll be racing around. Are you sure you’re up to that? Don’t you think it would be too much?” She took the last bite.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  We got off the subway and walked to a bar. Fiona had a determined glare as we entered the hole-in-the-wall tavern. Rock music played from a jukebox.

  Fiona was greeted by a woman. She rushed over. “Fiona!” she squealed like an excited teenager. Her vibe screamed money—money without class. She seemed proud to throw it in our faces, with huge jewelry, fake nails, and clothes too tight for her huge breasts, which she’d probably bought. “Where have you been?” she asked Fiona.

  “Around.” Fiona let the woman hug her. She made contact lightly, unable to reciprocate the tight embrace.

  She pulled away from Fiona. “Why haven’t you called since that double date we went on?”

 
“Been busy working, playing in the band. You know how it goes.”

  “I tried to reach you a few times. Sit down. Let’s catch up.” She sat and patted the stool next to her. Her skirt, which was just long enough to cover her underwear, crept up her legs. “Who’s your friend?”

  “Sarah.” Fiona lied. “I’m sorry, Sophie. I don’t have the time to chat. Have you or your hubby seen Cam?”

  She looked around. A group of men were talking and shooting pool a few feet away. The oldest man in the group watched our every move. She turned to have her back to them. “Word is”—she slightly tilted her head back to indicate the group behind her—“they’re looking for him.”

  “Why? What do you know?” Fiona leaned in close to her.

  Sophie talked in a low voice to Fiona. I took a few steps closer, straining to hear in the loud bar. Fiona stepped back, wide-eyed.

  “It has to be a misunderstanding,” Fiona said, shaking her head.

  The older man in the group whispered something to the man next to him. He nodded while listening, and then he headed our way. The closer he got, the more his fierce determination seemed to focus on our conversation. Even as people walked past him, his stare was unflinching.

  I tugged on Fiona’s purse. “Do you know this man coming over? He doesn’t look friendly.”

  His unsettling glare caused the pit of my stomach to tighten. If they were looking for Cam, it wasn’t because they missed him.

  Fiona locked eyes with the man marching up to us. She said to Sophie, “If you hear anything, call me.”

  We bolted out the door. Behind us, I heard Sophie raise her voice. “She doesn’t know where he is. Buy me another drink, babe.”

  Once I was sure neither scary man nor any of his friends were following us, I relaxed. There was something I had to know. I asked Fiona, “What did Sophie say?”

  “Those men claim that Cam stole a car from the garage. I know he was desperate to get money. But stealing from the people he works for would be suicide. They’d hunt him down. He’s too smart for that.” Tears pooled at the corners of her eyes. “It has to be lies, right?”