Dread filled my senses. A lump formed in my throat, and tears began to gather in my eyes, as panic rose in my chest. My voice coming out small and raspy, I beseeched the officers, asking, "Where is he?" The knowing look that passed between them confirmed my suspicion of impending doom. Balling my fists at my side, I demanded, "Where is he?" completely disregarding their forlorn features.
The obviously senior, older police officer shuffled his feet nervously as he toyed with his uniform issued cap, before stammering out, "Ma'am, your husband was involved in an altercation at his place of work."
I was boring a hole into his eyes, silently pleading with him to continue. I interrupted the short pause by asking, "Why didn't anyone call me?" with a bit of annoyance.
"Um, ma'am," he volleyed his eyes between his partner's and mine. "The paramedics arrived on scene approximately one hour ago. Mr. Carson was unresponsive at that time, and the EMT's worked to revive him for almost forty minutes," he rambled, exuding the utmost professionalism.
Blood began to rush in my ears, and my eyes fell to blankly stare at his nametag, (Hardwick, or Chadwick, I think it said) while my surroundings began to fade away. I faintly registered phrases such as 'did everything they could do', 'time of death', and 'interviewing witnesses'.
Moments went by before the younger officer broke into my reverie, asking, "Mrs. Carson, is there somewhere you can stay tonight? Or someone you'd like us to call?"
Blinking rapidly, I repeated my same words, "Where is he?" in a flat, hushed tone.
"Ma'am, you'll be able to see him when the coroner has made his assessment and determined a final cause of death."
Tears spilled from my lashes, and I asked numbly, "How long will that take?"
Officer Hardwick/Chadwick responded sympathetically, "You should be able to see him by mid morning, Mrs. Carson."
I nodded my assent, asking, "Is he at Saint Elms?" There were only two hospitals in the vicinity; each one about twenty miles away, but in complete opposite directions of each other.
The younger officer spoke up, "No ma'am, he's at Shadyside Memorial."
The older officer reached into his front uniform pocket, and prudently produced two business cards. One of them was the general information for the local police department, and the other had the information listed for a detective from the neighboring larger city. Officer Hardwick/Chadwick explained, holding out both cards to me, "This is Detective Harrison's card. He'll get in contact with you sometime tomorrow to discuss the case." He turned the other business card over, took a pen out of his front pocket, and began to scribble, as he continued, "This is my direct line. If you need anything before that, don't hesitate to call, Mrs. Carson." Clicking his pen closed, he returned it to his pocket, and held the cards out for me to take. I absentmindedly took them from his outstretched hand, placed them on the small nook that housed our car keys, and stared at him blankly.
My voice coming out faint, I whispered, "Will that be all?"
Upon exchanging a sorrowful look between his partner, the officer replied, "Um...yes ma'am," before they both turned to leave, their shoulders slumping as they walked towards their patrol car.
As I watched them slowly slumber towards the car, the younger officer turned back towards me and kindly offered with concern, "Mrs. Carson, try to get some rest."
When the patrol car rounded the corner of my quiet street, pulling out of sight, I glanced down at the business cards, shut the front door with a quiet click, and leaned my back against the door, going limp and sliding to the floor. As I folded my knees against my chest and wrapped my arms around my mid-section, cradling myself, I let the flood of ensuing tears wash over my hot cheeks as my body gave in to my wracking sobs.
Chapter Eight
Kellan
It's been about two months since I half-heartedly agreed to Jim's proposal of taking over his bar. Well, I guess technically it's my bar, now that the tedious task of working out the legal particulars have been finalized. Based on Jim's demeanor before I took him up on his offer, he made it sound like we'd agree to a figure, shake on it, and he'd hand over the keys. But once I said yes, Jim set out to have his attorney draw up an ironclad contract, detailing the specifics of the take-over. Jim said that it was not only for his own protection, but mine as well. In all reality, I knew Jim simply didn't want to end up getting screwed over, and I don't blame him. Friends or not, I've seen first hand what can happen when you blindly put your trust into others.
While Jim and I negotiated the aspects of my new ownership, I took my last couple of months in Reno to polish my management skills. I knew I'd have to up my game once I stepped into the role of owner, so I asked my boss for more responsibility. I took over scheduling and overseeing the employees, as well as putting in more hours. The added hours were nothing new to me, but keeping a lid on my typical aggression when my co-workers fucked up took some getting used to.
Taking a queue from the owner, I learned I'd catch more flies with honey. Jumping down their throats for every little mistake would only give them cause to tell me to go fuck myself and walk out the door, leaving me high and dry. There were more than a dozen other clubs they could easily find themselves working in by the next day, so I knew the key to approaching my newfound leadership would be to use finesse.
Reeling in my temper took some effort, but I knew I couldn't step in for Jim with a guns blazing attitude. As it stands now, based on my does-not-play-well-with-others past, I'll be surprised if half of Jim's workers stick around, and I have a pretty good idea of who'll be the first to go. In fact, maybe it's for the best.
******
Hailey
The past couple of months haven't proven to be easy, but I've gotten a lot of support from my friends and co-workers, and Michael always seems to be there to step in on days that are particularly difficult. He has an innate ability to sense when I'm at my breaking point, and has such an easy way about him. Talking with him is like talking with an old friend. He's always able to break down my defenses.
I only have one semester left to complete in the fall until I graduate with my degree in psychology, and if I've absorbed even half of what I've learned from him, I believe I'll have a real shot at helping others the way he has helped me. Sure, he's a great professor, but I can't help to think of the way he connects with people in need, and how many could benefit from him practicing, as opposed to teaching. I guess I should consider myself lucky; I've learned from an amazing teacher, and have been at the receiving end of some much needed pro bono therapy. Thanks to Michael, I have the best of both worlds.
Work has been...well, work. I do my best when I walk through the doors to put on a happy face for the customers, but I know my crew can see right through me. They still walk on eggshells around me, even though I've assured them I'm ready to move on. I certainly can't just stay holed up in a bubble, playing the grieving widow for the rest of my life, and the optimist in me honestly believes there's somebody out there for me. Not that I'm about to go and put an ad on Craigslist, but I'm open for possibilities...someday. My adopted mantra from Michael is, 'You are exactly where you're supposed to be'. If I learned anything from my short time with Jordan, it's that love happens when you least expect it, and everything happens for a reason.
******
Kellan
Jim has been gracious enough to let me stay at his place, rent free, for as long as I need to. Considering I'm not one to take charity, and he's too pig-headed to let me pay him, I'll be looking for some new digs as soon as I get settled in.
I set out early yesterday, and made good time, arriving at Jim's late in the afternoon. As I pulled into his driveway, I couldn't help but feel a little out of place as I studied my surroundings. The place had a homey feel, complete with the proverbial white picket fence, manicured lawn, and perfectly cared for flowers and shrubs lining the perimeter of the small, one story house. The wooden porch gracing the front of the home housed a neatly hung porch swing, and I envisioned Jim and Gail gl
iding back and forth, as they sipped tea in the late afternoons, doting over their daughter as she frolicked in the front yard. My childhood was no bed of roses, and family settings like this existed only in my imagination.
Before I left Reno, I ended up subletting my apartment to a couple of girls barely out of their teens who were both attending a local junior college, and were ecstatic to get out on their own. I'm not sure I'd call it 'getting out on your own' when Mommy and Daddy pay the rent. Nevertheless, their parents bargained with me to include the furniture. I gladly accepted the few hundred bucks they threw my way, as the last thing I wanted to do was to have to get rid of it on my own. My apartment wasn't a luxury condo, and my shit was bought from a second hand furniture store. IKEA was a bit out of my price range. So the only things I brought with me when I left were my clothes and some essentials, which combined, barely filled up my trunk.
I imagined Gail had been pacing the floor awaiting my arrival, because the moment I stepped foot on the porch, she opened the screen door with a flourish, and promptly ushered me inside the house, giving me a chaste kiss on the cheek as she fawned over me, rattling off questions about my trip. She reminded me of motherly characters in movies who pounced on their kid after they'd made it home from war, yet I had a feeling the battle was just beginning.
Jim, on the other hand, approached me with reserve, simply giving my hand a firm shake, and asking, "You hungry?"
My lips curled into a sincere smile as I replied, "Starving." Even though my mouth was watering from the delicious aroma swirling about the house, I looked at Gail and continued, "But you didn't have to make anything special for me."
She scoffed, saying, "It's not like I made a big fuss. I threw a ham in the oven a couple of hours ago. The oven did most the work." She sauntered off into the kitchen, yelling over her shoulder, "There's potato salad in the fridge. It's not homemade, so I hope you don't mind store bought."
Jim eyed me conspiratorially, saying in a hushed tone, "Gail's not big into cooking. Wednesdays are usually pizza night."
"I heard that!" Gail yelled from the kitchen, as I heard cabinet doors being opened and shut in a hurried fashion. "Where the hell are the hand warmer thingies?" she shouted.
"The potholders?" Jim corrected.
"You know what I meant," Gail huffed.
"Second drawer next to the oven," Jim answered. Giving me a pointed stare, he lowered his voice, saying, "See. Told ya."
"I'm not deaf!" Gail bellowed.
I chuckled quietly, as Jim shook his head and placed his hand on my back, leading me to the kitchen and saying, "Let's go eat and catch up. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."
Chapter Nine
Hailey
Now that summer is approaching and classes have let out, the bar is typically busy most nights with a mixed crowd. The younger locals on summer break from college, filter in to shoot some pool, throw back some shots, and the slightly older patrons come in to get away from the daily grind for a few hours and catch a baseball game, or race, on one of the five new TV screens that Jim had installed above the bar. When we had just the one prehistoric TV, customers were always arguing over which channel to have playing, and now that we broadcast a diversity of channels for their enjoyment, business has definitely increased.
We still have a DJ Friday nights, and a band on Saturday nights, but we keep the televisions on until they start playing. So far, we haven't gotten any complaints, and even more of the older crowd has begun to stick around when the music starts; I'm guessing they're more interested in people watching than the music itself.
Jim's called us in today for a 'team meeting', which usually means he's either hired a new staff member, or it's time to take inventory. With the amount of staff we have, we've been doing a pretty good job keeping up with service, so that leads me to believe we're about to get sentenced to dreaded inventory duty. This is exactly why I threw on my old jeans, a t-shirt with the bar's logo on it that's seen better days, slipped into a pair of worn sneakers, and pulled my hair up into a bun. Since I'll be busier than hell multitasking tonight, my appearance isn't at the top of my priority list.
Pulling into my usual parking spot behind the bar, I noticed Georgia leaning against her car with her arms crossed defensively, as she glared at me intently. She was impeccably dressed, as always, no doubt the reason for her large tip count at the end of each night. I presumed I was correct in my assessment of what the day was going to bring, and she was probably fuming that she'd worn a skirt and four inch heels. Poor Georgia.
Sighing with resignation, I mentally gave myself a pep talk, readying myself for what was sure to be a mind-numbing rant from her.
I couldn't just sit here all day in my car, hoping she was a mirage that would vanish given enough time. No, I'd never get that lucky. After I'd geared myself up, I hastily gathered my belongings, exited my car, and began to approach her unenthusiastically. "What's up?" I asked nonchalantly.
Her features tightened as she tilted her head towards the door and replied, "You're gonna freak."
Knitting my brows together, I asked, perplexed, "Why? Did we lose somebody? Did we get someone new?"
"You could say that," she replied with a bit of annoyance.
"Well which is it?" I asked, confusion marring my brain.
"Both," she said indignantly.
As she turned on her heel, making her way to the back door, I followed in tow, saying, "You should be used to it by now. You know some of them breeze in and out like the wind." I added a shrug unseen by Georgia, continuing, "It can't be that bad."
With her hand poised to open the door, she paused, turned slightly to face me, and replied in a warning tone, "You'll see."
At her cryptic words, I was suddenly overcome by the feeling that I was about to face a firing squad.
******
Hailey
As I followed Georgia down the hallway past Jim's office, I did a double take as I noticed his office door was closed. He rarely closed it, as he had a literal 'open-door' policy, and I could hear muffled voices behind it, though I couldn't make out the conversation. What's with the mystery meeting?
I quickly brushed my curious thoughts aside as I stepped behind the bar, immediately noticing the majority of the staff perched at the bar with dull expressions, no doubt eager to get this meeting over with. It suddenly struck me as odd when I'd spied Dunny, our bouncer, sitting at the far end of the bar. Since he only came in on the weekends, and wasn't here on a daily basis, he wasn't normally required to attend the staff meetings, as they generally didn't concern him.
My eyes lingered on Gail and Georgia as they huddled next to the kitchen doorway, staring at me conspicuously. What the hell is going on?
I cautiously brushed past them, and headed down to talk to Dunny. His elbow was propped up on the bar, and he had his chin resting against his hand, looking like he was about to fall asleep from boredom. Reaching him, I nervously shoved my hands in my back pockets, rocked back on my heels, and said, "Hey Dunny," in a cheerful greeting.
He tipped his chin towards me, returning simply, "'Sup?"
"I was wondering that myself. Any idea what the deal is?" I asked.
Shaking his head he replied, "Not a clue. I never get invited to these damn things, so I just hope I'm not going to have to head down to the unemployment office come tomorrow." My brows rose, and I began to bite my lip nervously as I contemplated the same thing, now that he'd mentioned it. As Jim's office door creaked open, the idle chitchat of the crew suddenly ceased. Dunny pointed over my shoulder and continued, "Looks like we're about to find out."
******
Kellan
As Jim and I paused in the doorway of the office, I felt I was standing on the proverbial precipice of my own destiny. Jim tipped me a small smile and asked cautiously, "You sure you're ready for this?"
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I quipped. "You sayin' you wanna back out, old man?" I teased.
Chuckling, he replied, "No
t a chance." As I stepped over the threshold, Jim patted me on the back, adding, "No turning back, now," as he motioned his head towards the bar.
I rubbed the sheen of sweat that had begun to gather on my forehead, and let out a nervous laugh as we stepped in time with each other, approaching the bar. Truth be told, I should've been sweating bullets at the thought of taking on the responsibility of this venture; but the fear that was gripping me had nothing to do with business. I knew what was waiting for me around that corner, and the thought scared the living shit out of me. It would be a miracle if Hailey were to stick around, and even if she did, facing her day after day, having to work alongside her would probably be far more challenging than actually running the bar.
As Jim and I rounded the corner, time seemed to screech to a halt as I took in a deep breath and lowered my head as my heart rate spiked, fearful to meet the eyes of my...what? Ex? Lost love? A living, breathing, walking, fantasy I can't seem to get out of my head every goddamn night?
Fire and Ice: Rekindled (The Fire and Ice Series Book 2) Page 5
