Big Daddy Sinatra: Carly's Cry

by Mallory Monroe

  For Charles, it was her remarkable presence. She was no beauty. She did not have Jenay’s good looks, or even Makayla’s. And if he was to be plain about it, she was, in truth, most unattractive. Her face was too long, her eyes were too far apart, and her skin, with that so-called high yellow tone that was generally thought beautiful, displayed a flush of freckles across her cheekbones that made it look ruddy.

  But there was something about her that was alluring too. It could have been her long, wavy hair that dropped along her back in waves of bounciness. Or it could have been her slender frame. Jericho men, Charles not included, tended to have a preference for women with her body type. But Charles doubted if her hair texture and body type were her saving grace. He suspected it was her bearing. She stood straight-backed, and had an elegance about her, as if she was high-bred and sophisticated and didn’t care if you liked it or not. She wasn’t snooty as some ladies of her class could be, but he could tell she had confidence in spades. It was a presence that demanded respect, a commanding presence, that he saw in her.

  Jenay saw it too. She saw it the way she carried herself. She saw it in what she was raised to refer to as good hair, although she hated the term. It made it sound as if natural, kinky hair wasn’t good, when she knew that it was. But that long hair seemed to define her too somehow. And even her freckles set her apart. She was different, and it showed. Or maybe it was just the fact that a place like Saint Catherine’s would hire a young woman like her was more the fascination for Jenay.

  Tony, however, immediately discounted his fascination with her selection, as Jenay saw it, or even her unattractive looks and her presence, as his father saw it. Because as soon as Tony entered that lobby and saw Sharon standing there, a feeling came over him that was so profusely odd that it stopped him in his tracks. It went as fast as it came, like a quick wind out of nowhere, and he recovered. But as he finally followed his parents toward her, and as he realized Carly had already introduced their parents to her and explained the reason for her visit, he was still reeling by his initial response. What in the world, he wondered, was that about?

  “How do you like Jericho so far?” Jenay was asking Sharon when Tony approached their circle.

  “I haven’t seen an awful lot of it,” Sharon responded. “But so far so good.”

  Sharon felt more relaxed around Jenay. She would hope it wasn’t simply because Jenay was black like her, but because Jenay had a sweet spirit about her that was contagious. She liked her. Carly, on the other hand, was smiling just as much as Jenay, and had a sweetness about her too, but Sharon sensed a foreboding in Carly. A depression. An inward terror that her smile could not tamp down.

  “This knucklehead right here,” Charles said when Tony finally arrived in the group, “is my second oldest son, Anthony. Anthony, meet Sharon Flannigan, the new principal at Saint Catherine’s. She’s going to be staying here at the Inn for a spell.”

  Tony extended his hand. “Nice to meet you,” he said.

  “And you,” Sharon responded, shaking his hand. He was staring at her while they shook, and even before they shook, which was unusual. It had been her experience that men tended to view her as nothing special to look at, and she was accustomed to that reality. What could this son of Sinatra, a very handsome son at that, possibly find so fascinating?

  “Tony’s a radio star,” Carly said proudly. “At least here in Jericho he is.”

  Sharon smiled. “Really? A star?”

  “If you keep in mind that anybody on the radio in Jericho is a star, then yes, I’m a star.”

  Sharon laughed. “What are you starring in on the radio?”

  “Therapy sessions.”

  “He’s a clinical psychologist who gives people advice over the radio,” Carly added.

  “I see,” Sharon said. She also wondered if Carly was availing herself of his advice. “Perhaps I’ll phone in one day.”

  “When those old biddies at Saint Cat’s get through with you,” Tony said, reclaiming his upbeat personality, “you’ll call.”

  Sharon laughed again, as did Charles, Jenay and Carly. For a stuffy old head mistress, Charles thought, she was alright. She so intrigued him that he had to ask her. “Speaking of old biddies,” he said, “how did a nice girl like you end up in a place like Saint Cat’s?”

  “I was asked to come. Or, correction, ordered here. I was the dean of students at Saint Catherine’s Prep Academy in Baltimore when my bishop asked if I would like to relocate to Maine.”

  “And I’m sure you told him it would be your pleasure,” Jenay said sarcastically.

  “I told him was he on dope?” Sharon said, and they all laughed. “I told him no, sir, I would not like to relocate to Maine.” She exhaled. She was still smiling, but Tony could see the disappointment in her big, hazel eyes. “But he was firm. He needed me here.”

  “You could have quit,” Carly said. “He couldn’t force you to relocate.”

  “It’s only temporary,” Sharon said definitively.

  Tony had a feeling she was wishfully thinking. “He told you that?” he asked.

  “No, but if I complete my mission, if I turn things around as was his mandate to me, then I suspect I’ll be back in Baltimore in no time.”

  That’s what you think, Carly thought, as someone who knew just how dysfunctional the Academy truly was. But that was for Sharon to find out for herself.

  “Are you married?” Tony asked. “Have any little babies running around?”

  “No,” Sharon said, looking at Tony. “I’ve never been married.” Never been asked either, Tony suspected. “And, of course, I have no children.”

  “You speak as if marriage is a requirement for having children,” Tony said. “It is not, I can tell you.”

  “It is for me,” Sharon corrected him. “I can tell you.”

  Charles smiled. “The Irish ladies that I’ve known,” he said, “aren’t so black and white. They have babies out of wedlock all over the place. And you are Irish, right?”

  Carly laughed. “Many black people have Irish surnames, Dad. That doesn’t make them all Irish.”

  “Actually,” Sharon said, “my father’s father was half-Irish on his paternal side. Thus the name Flannigan.”

  “I see,” Charles said, with a nod of the head.

  “But in answer to your comment, I never base my way of life on how a particular group base theirs.”

  “Good answer,” Tony said, and as soon as he said it, the sound of breaking glass could be heard.

  Charles looked beyond Jenay, whose back was to the room-sized picture window inside the lobby, and saw the window shatter. He also saw what he thought was a rifle hanging out of a car stopped at the curb.

  “Get down!” he shouted with a thunderous shout and pushed down both his wife and daughter, diving on top of both of them. Tony instinctively dived too, on top of Sharon, and covered her body with his. Just as they dived, that lone shot that shattered the window, took on more urgency and bullets ripped through the lobby window and hit walls and vases and flower pots and everything else in sight.

  Both men covered the ladies as hails of bullets flew past them like sparks of fire. Marla and Becky, who were still behind the front desk counter when the gunfire erupted, dropped to the floor to, behind the counter, screaming in fear. The guests who were in the lobby dropped down screaming too. It was a moment of terror that nobody in that room would ever forget. Because of the sounds. Because of the unrelenting sounds of bullets bouncing off of walls, ricocheting and breaking other glassware, and echoing in their ears. Until, as Charles suspected would eventually happen, the gunman ran out of bullets to fire.

  When Charles looked up, he could see the rifle moving back into the car, and the car burning rubber taking off.

  He looked at Jenay and Carly, who were still lying down. “You two okay?” he asked them.

  Carly nodded, and Jenay said that she was okay.

  “Tony?” Charles yelled, as he hurriedly stood up.

&nbs
p; Tony, still lying on Sharon, nodded. “We’re okay,” he said.

  Donald, who had been upstairs, ran down the stairs just as Charles took off running out of the lobby and onto the street. “What happened?” he was asking as he ran down those stairs.

  But Charles was already gone. When Charles made it out onto the street, he saw the car driving fast and recklessly toward the end of the street. He did not hesitate. He pulled out the handgun he had only recently began carrying and took off on foot. He knew this town. He knew this street would dead-end on Lennox and that getaway car would have to go left, along Spirit, until he was at the stop sign on Cash and Spirit. There was only one way to turn there too.

  Charles took off running across the street, through the back of the row houses, jumping the fence toward another set of row houses that led him onto Cash. But the car sped past him just as he was running onto Cash. The car was driving so fast that Charles didn’t have time to fire his weapon. But he saw who it was. He stared at the driver as the car flew past. He saw that protestor. The one he encountered that morning. Abe Norris. He saw that motherfucker.

  “Dad! Dad!”

  He turned. It was Donald.

  “Dad, come quick,” Donald said.

  “What is it?” Charles asked, even though he didn’t hesitate. He began running toward his son.

  “It’s Mom, Dad,” Donald said nervously as his father ran toward him.

  Charles’s heart began to hammer. “Jenay?”

  “She didn’t realize it,” Donald said. “We didn’t realize it!”

  “Didn’t realize what?” Charles asked anxiously. “What are you talking about?”

  “She was hit,” Donald said. “We didn’t realize Mom had been shot!”

  Charles’s heart fell like a lump of hot coal through his entire body, and he took off. He ran with fire under his feet. He left his own son, who was younger and faster and smaller than him by a heap, in a trail of dust and tears.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Yes, sir. No, sir. No, sir.”

  Brent paced the hospital waiting room fielding question after question from his boss, the mayor. He was talking on his cell phone and but for his conversation, the silence was deafening.

  “No, sir. There were additional reports of injuries, but those were mostly from glass or somebody injured in a fall. Only one person was shot.” Brent stopped walking and exhaled. “My stepmother,” he said with pain in his voice.

  Robert slid down the wall until he was crotched to the floor, his hands in his blond hair as he felt the sting all over again. He and Jenay were close. He never dreamed something like this would happen to her.

  Ashley and Donald were also in the waiting room, sitting on the sofa side by side, still wiping tears from their eyes. Carly was sitting on the sofa too, but further over, and alone. Unlike Ash and Donald, she had not been crying. But her heart was racing.

  In the back of the room, standing on either side of the small window, was Tony, along with Sharon Flannigan. Both were silent, deep in their thoughts, and praying. Sharon had no intentions of coming to the hospital, but after Tony had saved her life (and he had when he dived on top of her), she couldn’t just let him go alone. She somehow felt connected to him now. She somehow felt an obligation to make sure he was okay.

  But when the waiting room door opened, and Charles walked in, Tony hurried to his father so fast, as did the rest of his siblings, until it forced Sharon to bring up the rear alone. Even Brent abruptly ended his call with the mayor to hear what his father had to say. And Sharon understood their anxiety. If it had been her mother, she would be anxious too. Besides, Mr. Sinatra, she felt, looked like a man on the verge of falling apart. He looked devastated. But his words to his children weren’t.

  “She’s going to be okay,” Charles quickly reassured his children.

  Everybody let out a collective sigh of relief. “Thank God,” Tony added.

  “The doctor said the bullet only grazed her arm,” Charles continued. “It’s painful for her, very painful, but she’ll be okay.” Then he looked around. “Where’s Bonita?”

  “With Makayla and Junior,” Brent said. “She’s in good hands.”

  Charles nodded, and then wiped across his eyes with the back of his hand. He was exhausted. “Good,” he said.

  “But who would do this to Mom?” Ashley asked, wiping away tears. “She wouldn’t harm a flea! Who would do this to her?”

  “Who says it was Mom they were doing it to?” Donald asked. “She’s been standing in that lobby every day for years, and nobody’s shot at her until today. And the only reason she was standing there today was because she was being introduced to that lady over there.” Donald pointed at Sharon. “She’s the only person here who’s never been at the Inn before. She’s the only person here who’s never been in Jericho before. Maybe she was the one they were after, and Mom got in the way.”

  Normally, Brent wouldn’t give Donald’s wild assertions a second thought. He was always pointing fingers at somebody but himself. But this time he couldn’t so easily dismiss the claim. Because Donald was right. Sharon Flannigan was the only unknown quantity who was standing where the gunman’s bullets had targeted.

  Tony, however, was completely dismissive. “That’s utter nonsense!” he fired back. “Sharon Flannigan had nothing more to do with some crazed gunman deciding to shoot up the place than me or you or Carly over there. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Full stop. Period.”

  “And how do you know that?” Donald asked. “You just met the woman, Tone. How would you know anything about her?”

  “She was not the target,” Tony said with a kind of unwavering confidence even he knew was absurd. “You’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  “Oh, so I’m a dog now?” Donald asked.

  “Knock it off,” Brent said with a frown. It was stressful enough. Then he exhaled. And looked at Sharon. “May I have a word?” he asked her.

  Tony frowned himself. “Brent!”

  “I have to do my job, Tony. I’m police chief in this county and a shooting has occurred. I have to question her.”

  “You’re going to listen to Donnie’s ridiculousness?”

  “It’s not ridiculous,” Donald said. “It’s facts. And what’s your problem anyway? What are you defending her for? She’s not even cute!”

  Tony moved to rearrange his kid brother’s face, but Brent stood in the way. “I told you two to knock it off!”

  “It’s alright,” Sharon said, looking flustered too. Then she looked at Brent. “Yes, you may question me,” she said.

  Brent looked at Tony. Tony finally backed off. After he did, Brent and Sharon walked back over to the window in the back of the room. Tony glared at Donald, but then followed them.

  But the rest of the Sinatra clan was less interested in who did it, than their mother’s wellbeing. “When can we see her, Dad?” Carly asked their father. “Can we see her now?”

  “She’s asleep, but you can see her,” Charles said, and they hurried toward the door. “Don’t wake her,” he yelled after them, “or I’ll kick all of your asses!”

  “Yes, sir,” Carly yelled back, as she, Robert, Donald and Ashley hurried out of the door. Charles looked over at Brent as he prepared to question Sharon. But he already knew who did it. The question for him was why. Before Brent got involved and slowed the process as law enforcement always did, he had to find out for himself.

  As Brent and Sharon talked, and as Tony paid attention to that conversation, Charles eased out of the waiting room, and then the hospital altogether. He had places to go. A person to see. That damned protestor shot his wife. He had to find out why. He had to find out what the hell was going on once and for all, before any more of his loved ones were harmed.

  Brent didn’t realize his father had even left the room as he questioned Sharon. She told him why she was in Jericho, and why she was at the Jericho Inn. But Brent needed more.

  “The shooting occurred less than an hou
r after you arrived in town.” Brent waited for her to agree with him. But she didn’t. She wasn’t going to participate in her own lynching. So he continued. “Before you arrived, was there anybody you can recall who might have some beef with you? Some grudge?”

  “No one,” she said quickly.

  Too quick for Brent. “Shouldn’t you give it some thought before you answer?” he asked her.

  “I have already given it thought,” Sharon responded. “Considerable thought. There is no one.”

  “Look Miss Flannigan,” Brent said, “it’s my job to find out if you were involved in this shooting or not. I’m not trying to give you a hard time.”

  “Insinuating that I brought this trouble to Jericho is my idea of a hard time,” Sharon shot back.

  “You don’t have to take it personally.”

  “Oh, Brent, give me a break!” Tony said. “How else is she supposed to take it? As a group? Of course it’s personal. And she’s right. You can’t lay this mess at her feet.”

  Brent ignored Tony. He was always taking on crusades, and apparently this school teacher was his new pet project. But Brent still had a job to do. “Maybe your ex-boyfriend,” he said to Sharon, “could hold some grudge. Or an ex-husband?”

  Tony could see a sadness suddenly appear in her eyes. “No,” she said. “There’s no one that I’m aware of who would have ever perpetrated this crime. I’m sorry, Chief, but I cannot help you. Am I excused?”

  “After you answer my questions, yes. Is there an ex-boyfriend or ex-husband or whomever out there who may wish to do you harm?”

  “No,” Sharon said firmly. “There is no ex-boyfriend. There is no ex-husband. I cannot help you, Chief. Am I excused?”

  Tony looked at Sharon. Brent thought she meant there were no ex who wished to do her harm. But he could see the pain in her eyes. There were no ex period. No prior relationship period. And it was a painful part of what had to be her lonely existence. His heart, once again, went out to her and he couldn’t understood why. She was an accomplished woman. She didn’t need his sympathy or empathy or even his concern. But to Tony’s own astonishment, she had all three.