“You’re right, Carlos. I was planning on doing just that as soon as we’re finished here. I’ll straighten shit out. Don’t worry.”
“It’s my job to worry, Hector. You should worry sometimes too. That way you don’t end up like King Shorty,” he offered with a chuckle.
Hector swallowed uncomfortably and tried to block the image of a headless, armless torso out of his consciousness.
“We’re done for now. Send in King Base on your way out,” said Carlos over his shoulder as he returned his gaze to the skyline.
Thirty-six
Mark sat at Agnes’s desk, pinching her vintage emerald ring between two fingers and admiring it in the light. Agnes had worn the ring on her right hand for most of her life, but he had never noticed the elegant, hand-carved designs that adorned the fourteen-carat gold setting until now. He rotated the ring slowly, and the modest stone flickered a brilliant green when the light struck it just right.
Placing the ring aside, he sat back and unfolded the letter, dated one week before Agnes’s death. It was addressed to Mark with the words “Private and Confidential” at the very top of the page. Her handwriting was shaky but readable.
My dearest Mark,
As I prepare for whatever comes next, I wanted to share a few things with you.
I have but one regret in life, which I will explain momentarily, but my decision to adopt and to build my life around you was the single best decision I ever made. Thank you for accepting me, for allowing me to love you, and for loving me back. I could not be more proud of the man you’ve become.
Mark folded both hands over the letter, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply.
Of course, you already know that so I will not belabor the point. Nor will I offer trivial advice. People are different and they all need to choose their own paths, and opinions will vary as much as the weather in New England. But the one thing that all people can agree on at the end of their lives is this—it goes by so quickly, Mark. One second you are in the prime of your youth, the next thing you know you are in your forties. The journey from forties to late seventies passes even faster, and to this day I am wondering where all the time went! And then it hits me. I spent my time focused on the thing I loved the most in my life—you. There is no greater cause than giving your unconditional love to another human being, Mark. It is the only thing that matters at the end of the road. Did you love and allow yourself to be loved? If the answer to both of those questions is yes, you have lived life to its fullest.
Mark, you once asked me if I had ever known true love. The answer is yes, but for reasons that I do not fully understand, I kept it at a distance. The result is that I have a big, empty part of me that wonders how things could have been had I simply accepted the gift. By the time I realized my mistake, it was too late. It goes by so fast, Mark. Make the most of every second.
I’m not proud of this last part, but I hope you understand that I made promises and did not feel I had the right to break them. Mark, your birth mother did not abandon you and I did not adopt you through an orphanage. Nor is your birth mother’s identity a mystery—I knew her.
Mark stood up stunned and continued reading.
I have always found comfort sitting and praying in an empty church, with none of the distractions or pretenses that come with corporate worship, just me and the Father. I have never doubted my faith, but I have often doubted the institution of the church and questioned the wisdom of giving men such power and influence over people’s lives. The day I met your mother, I was feeling confused and directionless. I had dedicated my life to the service of God, but I felt like I was actually serving a thankless, aging clergy who were out of touch with the real world. I was asking God for strength when a beautiful young woman emerged from the confessional and broke my concentration. She wore a colorful sundress and tears were running down her face. Not the happy tears that sparkle and glow—these were tears of shame, the kind that cut and sting all the way down your neck. She was so graceful and radiant in the way she removed the handkerchief from her purse and dabbed the tears from her face.
I tried not to stare, but the clicking of her heels stopped when she reached the back of the church and a little voice told me to look. She waved toward the altar as if she was saying goodbye. Then she ran out the front doors.
I found her in the prayer garden next to the church. She sat on a stone bench with spring flowers in full bloom all around her. “I was hoping you would come,” she said as I approached from behind. I sat next to her and held her until she ran out of tears, her smooth young hands never leaving her belly. She had sought advice, guidance, and love from the church. But all she got was guilt and shame for her sins against God. The details of your mother’s life are not mine to share—only her identity.
I befriended your mother that day and, with the help of a trustworthy young priest and another sister with midwife experience, we helped her through the pregnancy and delivered you safely, right into my waiting arms. Seeing you come into the world was the most thrilling experience of my life, Mark. My only regret came later, when the priest offered to leave the church and marry me so that you would have a father and we could live as a family. I do not fully understand why I repeatedly declined, but he gave me the enclosed emerald ring and said the offer would remain open forever. When we moved to Massachusetts, he moved also so he could be close to us. That priest’s name was Father Frederick Peck and he was the closest thing you ever had to a father.
During Father Peck’s final days, he told story after story of the time he had spent with you and how thankful he was for having both of us in his life. I am thankful for him too, but there is a pain inside me that will never go away because I was too shortsighted and scared to fully accept his love. How difficult it must have been for him to always be on the outside looking in. I can’t help but wonder how different things could have been for all of us had we lived as a family.
I am so sorry for burdening you with this when I’m not there for support. Sometimes events that don’t make sense at the time end up being the best things that ever happen to you. The day I met your mother was the most important day of my life.
She insisted that she never wanted you to know her name, but she reached out a handful of times to check on you. She even visited once when you were a teenager, but she said meeting you and looking into your eyes was too much for her to bear. She left with a promise that she would never again make contact, not because she didn’t care but because she felt it was unfair to you. I insisted that she take the only picture of you I had handy, a wonderful shot of you and Father Peck on the front steps of his parish. I have not heard from her since, but I can’t bear the thought of leaving you without telling you the truth. What you do with the information is entirely up to you, Mark. Your mother’s name is Lois Sumner. The last I knew, she was still living somewhere in New York, but that was decades ago. She never offered your father’s name and I never asked.
You are a wonderful man with unlimited potential, Mark. Keep an open mind and be ready for life’s little curveballs. Most of all, remember to seize opportunities while you can, because no door stays open forever.
With unconditional love,
Agnes
Mark folded the letter and placed it back inside the envelope, overcome by emotion—grief from the loss, shock from the news, and guilt for not being there. Then, for the first time in years, he bowed his head and cried uncontrollably.
Thirty-seven
Luci arrived at the station two hours before her shift. She fumbled through the dirty dishes in the break room sink and gave her favorite Red Sox mug a quick rinse.
Good enough.
She settled into her seat with a mug full of piping hot black coffee. Then she pulled up all the information on what the chief was now calling “the graffiti issue” and went to work looking for missed clues. Her cell phone vibrated and she reached down to punt the call to voicemail. But when she saw Mark’s name on the screen, she changed her mind and a
nswered the phone.
“Yes, Mr. Landry?”
“Yeah, my cat is stuck in a tree. Can you send someone to help me get him down?”
“Sir, I think you meant to call the fire department,” Luci said, slightly more annoyed than amused.
“Oh, I see. Sorry. My mistake. How are you anyway, Luci? Haven’t heard from you. Do you always take guys out, then not speak to them for a week?”
“I’m good. Busy. Working. And I didn’t take you out—I gave you a ride. What have you been up to?”
“Nothing really. Just doing a laundry list of things to get the house ready to sell. Trying to relax a bit too. What about you?”
“Did you say you’re selling the house? I guess that means you’re not sticking around very long, then.”
“How do you know? Maybe I’m thinking about buying a different place in town. Maybe something a little bigger and more modern with room to grow. Who knows?”
Luci shook her head and bit her bottom lip.
Don’t take the bait, Luci.
“Sounds like you have a lot to think about, so I won’t keep you,” she said flatly.
“Graffiti?”
“What?”
“Graffiti. Are you working on the graffiti stuff?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact I am. But I can’t seem to get any breaks no matter how many times I look at it.”
“Then stop looking at it.”
“Yeah, that’s great advice, Mark. Seriously, can we talk later?”
“I am serious. Stop looking at it. Instead, look at the dates and times it happens and see what else was going on those days. Maybe those dates are significant in other ways. Anniversaries, full moon, whatever. What other calls or incidents happened on those shifts? Who was on duty? Who was off duty? Stop focusing on the graffiti so much and the rest of the picture may come into focus. Just a tip.”
“That’s actually not an awful idea.”
“I’m full of ‘not awful’ ideas. If you hung out with me more, you’d know that.”
No, no, no. Not the “poor me” approach, Mark. Don’t go there.
Luci sipped her coffee and said nothing.
“You’re busy. I’ll let you go. Just wanted you to know I was thinking about you.”
“Yeah, thanks. I’ll give you a call when things slow down a little.”
“Please do. Don’t be a stranger.”
Luci ended the call without saying goodbye and stared blankly at her monitors.
Okay, Mark. Let’s try it your way.
Thirty-eight
Officer John McDonough was foot-patrolling the shops on Main Street, but his mind was still back at the house with Linda.
“Okay, right now! Right now! Feel that?” exclaimed Linda excitedly.
John lay next to her on the bed in full uniform, one hand flat against her womb.
“Nope. Nothing.”
“You gotta be kidding! You’re joking, right? You didn’t feel that?”
He moved his hand around her belly, stopping every few inches and waiting patiently.
“Nothing. You sure it’s not just gas?” he asked.
She poked him in the chest several times with a firm index finger, hard enough to hear her nails tap against his body armor.
“No, sir. That’s our son. And it’s getting pretty cramped in there. Just a few more weeks and he’ll be in our arms. That means you’ll be able to carry him around for a change. Are you excited to be a daddy?”
“Of course I am. Now don’t say anything—just be quiet for a minute,” said McDonough in a low voice, turning his head to rest his ear on Linda’s belly button.
He closed his eyes and tried not to think about bills, healthcare, sleep interruptions, and all the future stress fatherhood would inevitably bring, stress he was not sure he could handle. They waited for more movement, but nothing happened.
Why doesn’t he respond to me? Why does he seem to stop moving entirely whenever I’m around? Is it bad timing or is it me?
“Hi, John,” said a shopkeeper, looking up from his broom.
“Hey, Mike. How’s business?”
“No complaints. When’s that baby coming?”
“Due date is July 4th, but we’ll see. He may get out early for good behavior, and Linda’s dying to get it over with so that would be fine with her.”
“Great. And what about you—you ready?”
Yeah. I’m ready. Why does everyone ask me if I’m ready?
McDonough stopped strolling and froze for a few seconds.
Just keep walking, John. Just keep walking. It’s not a big deal. He didn’t mean anything by it.
Turning slowly, he stared at the shopkeeper out of the corner of his eye.
Let it go, John. You’re making a big deal out of nothing. Just keep moving down the street and get some lunch.
With both hands resting on his duty belt, he took several small steps until his face was just inches from the other man’s.
“Of course I’m ready, Mike. Don’t I look ready? Is there something about me that makes you think I’m not ready?” he asked in a low, serious tone.
“Heck, no! Nobody’s every truly ready for their first kid. Honestly, I think it took Wanda and me four kids before we knew what we were doing. You’ll do just fine. Besides, I imagine you could handle pretty much anything. That’s one of the many reasons we like having you around.”
McDonough stared blankly into Mike’s eyes. Finally he broke into a smile, trying to mask his confused rage.
“Yeah, well, the truth is I’m scared to death but don’t tell anyone.”
He winked, patted Mike on the shoulder, and continued on his way.
Calm down, John. Breathe and walk. Breathe and walk.
When he heard the gunshot he instinctively ducked into a doorway and knelt low, his body pressed firmly against the bricks of the building. Drawing his pistol, he coached himself to take deep breaths and scanned the area to determine the direction of fire.
He watched in amazement as the townspeople continued about their business without so much as looking up from their chores.
Didn’t they hear that?
Ghassan stared sheepishly at McDonough from across the street, wiping his hands on his apron. He waved with one hand and called out, “Sorry! I forgot how much noise this metal door makes when it slams.”
False alarm. Stand down. No fire. Get it together and keep moving up the street.
McDonough holstered his gun, waved back, and walked away briskly, hoping that no one had noticed his odd behavior.
Ghassan crossed the street and approached the shopkeeper.
“Does he seem okay to you?”
“Who? John? Yeah, he’s fine. First-time dads are always tense. He’s used to being in full control. Little does he know it, but his life is about to change forever.”
Ghassan watched McDonough disappear down a side street as he wiped his sweaty forehead with both hands and dried them on the front of his apron.
Yes, big changes are coming.
Thirty-nine
“What? Didn’t I already hear from you today?” asked Luci, answering her phone on the second ring.
“How about dinner?”
“I’m off at six but usually too beat to go anywhere. Thanks anyway.”
“No problem. How about I bring takeout to your place? We could have Thai or Indian. What are you in the mood for?”
Parked in her cruiser at the main gate of the high school’s student parking lot, Luci glanced at her watch.
Two minutes to dismissal.
“I suppose that would be okay. I don’t feel like cooking anyway.”
“Great. Any requests? Or should I just surprise you?”
Students began trickling out the doors of the building.
“Surprise me but make it healthy—vegetarian. I’m beat and just want to eat and go to bed,” she answered, watching students pile into their cars through her rear-view mirror.
“See you at seven?”
/> “Make it 7:30,” she said, tossing her cell phone on the passenger seat and exiting the cruiser.
Within seconds after she opened the gates, the first line of cars was pouring out to the main road. Many students waved as they passed Luci, others simply nodded, and a few ignored her completely. When a red Honda Civic with heavily tinted windows arrived at the gate, she held up a hand and stepped in front of the car. After she knocked twice on the driver’s window, it opened slowly and a male much too old to be a student smiled at her.
“What’s up? It ain’t my tints, right? They’re legal and I got the papers to prove it.”
“I’m sure you do. But your inspection sticker expired a week ago.”
He squinted at his front windshield.
“Aw, shit. I didn’t even notice. I’ll go get that done right now.”
“Please do. This is your verbal warning. Next time I have to ticket you,” she said, scanning the rest of the car’s occupants before continuing. “Are you a student here?”
“Nah, I’m just picking up my cousin and her friends. That’s all.”
“That’s fine. In the future, remember that this lot is for students only. Pickups are supposed to use the circle at the main entrance, okay?”
“Whatever, Mami,” he said somewhat dismissively as he turned up the radio.
“What did you just say to me?”
Luci banged her hand on the top of the Civic three times to get the driver’s attention.
“Turn that shit down, now. Get out of the car and show me your license, registration, and proof of insurance.”
“Come on, I was just leaving!”
“Not another word. Get out of the car and show me your documents. If I have to ask again, your day will get a lot worse. Do it now.”
Luci scrutinized his papers while she redirected the current of cars going past. Curious passengers pressed their faces against windows as traffic squeezed to one lane before trickling out the exit.
Wrong Town: A Mark Landry Novel Page 11
