by Gayle Roper
Relief coursed through me when I realized Oreo wasn’t about to be shot. Of course Lindsay, Andi, and I were still likely to face that fate, but somehow knowing the cat was safe was satisfying.
But before I died, I could at least do half of something right. I turned to my sister who leaned against her pastry table beside me.
“Mom’s here,” I blurted.
“Shut up,” Harl ordered.
“Mom? Here where?” Lindsay looked confused.
“In Seaside.”
“Yo!” Harl yelled.
I hurried on before I lost my nerve. “And she came into the café.”
“What? When?”
“I said shut up!” Harl let go of Andi and grabbed for me. I dodged. “Wednesday and today.”
Lindsay blinked. “And you didn’t tell me?” She looked from Harl to Michael, then back at me. I knew she was thinking that there was a very good chance she’d never see Mom now.
“She looks good, Linds. And she’s got this handsome, nice husband. At least he seems nice.”
“Mom’s married.” She said it with wonder. Given our experience with her, sticking with one man didn’t seem something she’d be capable of.
“I’m sorry you didn’t get to meet her.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“She wants to meet you. Her husband said.”
“Are you deaf or something?” Harl snarled. “Shut up.”
“Let them alone.” Michael indicated Andi. “She’s who’s important. Get what we need from her and fast.”
“It was my bitterness.” I held out my hand palm up because I was without excuse. “I made your decision for you. I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?”
Lindsay got a dreamy expression in her eyes. “You know, I’ve wanted to see her for years. Just see her.”
I shriveled a bit inside as I realized what my pettiness had cost my sister. “You can see her. It’s okay with me. Get to know her. Love her.” But as I looked at the guns focused on Linds and me, the chances seemed terrifyingly small.
Andi cried out in pain as Harl grabbed her again by the hair, and I temporarily forgot Mom.
“Leave her alone!” I cried.
“Don’t hurt her,” Lindsay cried. “She’s a kid!”
We might as well not have spoken.
“No more lying, or I’ll hurt you bad,” Michael told her, a desperation I hadn’t heard before creeping into his voice. “Maybe a bullet in some vulnerable spot or maybe I’ll use one of those knives over there.”
Andi started to cry.
I looked at the knives, blades sharp as Ricky could make them, and shuddered.
“Or maybe I’ll hurt her.” Michael grabbed me, his arm wrapping around my neck. I’d been so transfixed by the knives I hadn’t seen him coming. He stroked the barrel of his gun down my cheek. “It’d be a shame if one of those knives damaged this lovely face.”
“She doesn’t know anything!” Andi cried.
“Get me that DVD.”
“It’s in the café.”
“We’re in the café.”
“I mean in the dining area.”
Harl put his face mere inches from hers. “You’d better be telling the truth this time.”
“I am. I swear. It’s under the pink counter.”
The defeated way in which she spoke told me she was telling the truth. Lindsay opened her arms, and Andi ran to her, holding tight as her tears wet Linds’s shoulder.
Harl almost danced out of the kitchen.
“Go.” Michael pointed to the dining area, and Andi and Lindsay went. He pushed me ahead of him, walking in time with my steps as he kept the pressure about my neck steady. I tried to pull away, and he tightened his grip. Immediately I had difficulty breathing. I stopped fighting him.
Not now, girl. Relax. Wait.
Harl gave a happy cry. “Got it!” He held a jewel case high overhead.
And the world exploded.
52
Everything happened at once, or so it seemed to me.
The back door flew open, and Clooney came rushing in, armed to the teeth, Rambo in the flesh. I had no idea what the various guns dangling from his body were called, but they were big and ugly.
“Andi!” he screamed.
“Clooney!” She was looking at her greatest fear come true. “Run!”
Michael brought his gun up even as he kept his choke hold on me.
Clooney tripped over something and fell flat on his face.
Michael’s bullet smacked into the back wall. The noise was deafening in the enclosed space.
I gave a brief thought to Chaz, who was supposed to have locked the back door. Had he been smart enough to run instead? He’d certainly been smart enough to stay out of Clooney’s way.
“Get up!” Michael waved his gun in Clooney’s direction, then at Andi. “Or I shoot her. I don’t need her anymore.”
“We don’t need any of them anymore.” Harl wiped nervous sweat off his top lip. He was as twitchy as Chaz, not with withdrawal but with the need to kill. And he’d just gotten another hostage.
“Patience, Harl,” Michael said. “In time. I make those decisions. I am, after all, God’s archangel.”
The look of disbelief on Harl’s face would have been funny in other situations. “Get a grip, Mike.”
A loud voice amplified by a bullhorn called from outside, “Hello, the café. This is the police.”
As relief surged through me, Michael whirled to face the window, moving so fast my feet left the ground as he spun me with him. I made a gagging sound as I struggled to gain my footing and relieve the pressure on my throat.
Harl snarled and swore. “Where did they come from?”
No one answered, but I knew. The coded message on the alarm system had worked. We would be saved!
Harl grabbed Andi and pulled her in front of him.
“Let go of me!” she screamed as she beat at his hands.
Clooney made an inarticulate growl as he struggled to his feet, his weaponry clinking and clanging.
Bright light poured into the café from outside, blinding all of us after so long in the dim illumination of the emergency lights. I squinted and could make out people and cars in the street. Or rather their silhouettes.
“This is Chief Gordon of the Seaside Police Department. Release your hostages and surrender.”
“Never!” Michael yelled.
I could feel him trembling. What I didn’t know was whether he was quivering with fear or fury. I suspected fury. Harl, on the other hand, stank with fear as he cowered behind Andi, quite a trick given her diminutive size.
Michael raised his gun to my temple, and I quickly rethought the I’m-saved concept.
I was afraid to move. My pepper spray was inches away, but Michael was on the edge. Even reaching for it might cause his finger to tighten on the trigger.
As I prayed feverishly, Lindsay raised her arm and brought it down with a rebel yell that would have made the Confederacy proud. It turned my blood to ice.
Harl screamed and let go of Andi, who fell to her knees. He grabbed his bicep where a paring knife was buried to the hilt. He turned green when he saw it. A single drop of blood slid down his arm. He raised disbelieving eyes to Lindsay, who was pressed back against her pastry table. The little knife she used to trim piecrusts was missing from its slot at the rear of the table.
Harl whimpered and his gun tumbled to the floor. “Mike?”
Andi grabbed the weapon and threw it beneath the stove.
Michael’s gun lowered as he too stared at the knife. The choke hold eased.
My turn. I pulled my tear gas canister from my waistband and aimed it over my shoulder. I squeezed, praying I had the nozzle aimed where I wanted it. At the same moment Greg materialized out of the dimness and shot Michael with a Taser.
Michael let out a roar and collapsed. I stumbled toward Greg, who wrapped me in his arms, a spent Taser in one hand, a gun in the other, my own superhero. Clooney stood behind him,
finally untangled from his personal armory.
And just like that, it was over.
53
The EMTs took Michael to the ambulance, his eyes red and watery, his muscles twitchy. As the effects of the Taser began to wear off, his arrogance slowly returned. He remained haughty even when Maureen Trevelyan started reciting, “You have the right to remain silent …”
He lay strapped to a gurney, staring over her head, as if she were beneath his notice, until she finished.
“Do you understand?” she asked.
“Do you understand?” he shot back, finally deigning to look at her. “I am Michael, God’s archangel.”
“Uh-huh. And I’m Maureen, Seaside’s cop. I need to know if you understand what I just said.”
“Of course I understand. I am Michael, Go—”
“Good,” she interrupted. “Just what I needed to hear.”
He looked at the ambulance, at the straps holding him down, and at Maureen who smiled at him without humor. Reality made a brief appearance. He looked around with panic in his eyes, his fingers splayed wide. Then Maureen nodded, the EMTs loaded him into the ambulance, and the door slammed shut, the first of many doors that would crash closed and lock behind him in the coming years.
Mac88 recorded the exchange between Michael and Maureen on his cell. As Maureen climbed into the passenger seat of the ambulance, he sent the Miranda episode around the world. This appearance by Michael on YouTube would be dramatically different from his previous ones.
As I looked at the chaotic scene, I thought the one thing missing was the television cameras.
And there came a van with the big ABC logo and an eager reporter who jumped out, a camera tech right behind him. Great. We’d not only be tweeted and YouTubed, we’d be on the eleven o’clock news.
The camera recorded Harl, police guard and EMT at his side, as he was brought outside, knife still protruding from his arm. He was whimpering like a baby. In the confusion and crowd, someone jostled him. He shrieked and doubled over. I knew it had to hurt, but did he have to vomit right outside my café?
“Arrest her! She stabbed me,” he kept babbling. Everyone ignored him. He too was read his Miranda rights, then hustled into a second ambulance. They drove him away, a police car following.
Greg collected Chaz from the storeroom and walked him outside. It was all Chaz could do to stay on his feet. An EMT took one look and diagnosed his problem, not that it was hard. His nose was running, his eyes were watering, and he was twitchier than ever. His skin under the harsh lights was a blotchy gray.
An officer I didn’t know walked over to Greg. “I’m to escort him to the hospital.”
Greg held up a finger. “One minute. Chaz, can you hear me?”
Chaz sniffed and looked at him with glazed eyes. “S’all your fault. If you hadn’t kicked me out—”
“You can hear me.” Greg nodded and began reciting, “You have the right—”
“You’re not allowed to say that!” Chaz pointed a shaking finger at Greg. “You aren’t a cop. Only a cop can.”
Greg blinked and stepped back. He looked around. Everywhere there were cops, flashing lights, and static. Emergency vehicles clogged the street, sirens sounding as men and women from nearby communities arrived to assist. It was everything he feared, everything that set memories screaming in 3-D Technicolor and high-def.
He stood without moving for a few moments. A look of wonder spread over his face. No dazed look. No withdrawal. Wonder.
He spotted me standing with Lindsay and Andi, waiting our turn to tell Chief Gordon our stories. His smile was a glorious thing to behold. I smiled back, and we met halfway.
“I did it,” he said, his voice exultant. “I did what needed to be done.”
I wrapped my good arm around his waist. “Yes, you did. That’s because you’re a cop.” I kissed his cheek.
“I am,” he said. “I’m a cop.”
“Carrie! Lindsay!”
I dropped my head onto Greg’s shoulder as I heard my mother’s frantic voice. Joyous exultation to angry resentment at the sound of two words. I didn’t want to deal with her. Not here, not now.
“In his own way, Michael was easier,” I said.
“Understandable. No history. Just straight-out dislike.” Greg kissed my temple. “You’ve done the hard things before. You can do this one now.” I made a sound of stubborn disagreement.
His hand settled on the nape of my neck, comforting, kind. “She needs you, Carrie—and you need her, whether you like it or not.”
I couldn’t decide which part of his statement I disagreed with more.
“Mom!” Lindsay rushed to Mom with open arms. My heart ached as I watched them embrace. The depth of their emotion scared me on several levels.
Would Linds come to resent me for all the years I’d kept them apart, though in my defense I hadn’t done it maliciously? I’d pictured Mom never changing, and not contacting her had seemed wise. But I’d been protecting an adult who needed to be free to call her own shots, make her own decisions.
But what if she wanted to move to Atlanta to be close to Mom and Luke? That thought was a weight pressing so hard against my chest it was difficult to breathe. What would I do without my sister in my everyday life?
I looked at my mother and saw an emotional IED capable of blowing my life to smithereens.
Mary P joined the cozy circle of Mom, Lindsay, and Luke, everyone smiling and hugging. I felt abandoned all over again, which was ridiculous. All I had to do was walk to them, and I’d be welcomed.
My feet were stuck to the street where I stood.
“I’ve finally got a father,” I mumbled, staring at Luke. “At my age. How strange is that?”
“He looks like a nice guy,” Greg said. “Maybe he and my dad can become golfing or fishing buddies.”
“Right. They can meet halfway in North Carolina.”
Mom and Luke had both spotted me and were doubtless very aware of me not approaching.
“I’m scared,” I whispered.
“Of course you are.”
I clutched Greg. “Why can’t I be more like Linds? Why can’t I just run to Mom and love her? That’s what I should do, right?”
“You’re allowed to approach slowly and with caution if that’s the way you need to do it, Carrie. No one expects years of pain to disappear in a moment.”
“They did with Lindsay.”
“She’s not you. You bore all the fear and heartache, protecting her. I think what God is asking of you right now is that you’re willing to take first steps. He’s not asking you to respond like Lindsay. He’s asking that you try as you.”
If all I had to do was try … I felt I could breathe again.
“But—” He ran a knuckle down my cheek.
I nodded. “But I do have to try.” I straightened my shoulders and turned toward my mother.
She and Lindsay stood with arms around each other’s waists, and both of them were crying. Luke watched them with a slight smile. Then his eyes slid to me, and his eyebrow cocked in challenge. I gave him a grim little smile.
I grabbed Greg’s hand. “Come with me.”
“Of course.”
Mom looked up and saw me approaching.
God, help me!
Epilogue
Six Months Later
Good morning, officer. May I get you some coffee?” I asked.
The cop nodded. “And one of my sister-in-law’s grilled sticky buns, please.”
“Coming right up.”
I placed the order and got the coffee. When I set the cup down, Greg grabbed my hand.
“How’s your morning been, Mrs. Barnes?”
I rested my arms on the counter and grinned at him. “Fine, Officer Barnes. How about yours?”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, stop mooning over each other.” Mr. Perkins gave a little shudder as he sat on his usual perch. He’d had a bout of pneumonia over the winter that had concerned all of us, but he seemed back in form n
ow that spring was here. Once a week he brought Cilla to the café for lunch.
“Once a week?” I’d teased him when the pattern became obvious back about the end of November. “You’re not getting any younger, you know.”
“It may be once a week here, but—” And he winked.
His smug expression made me laugh. “Mr. Perkins, you rogue.”
“You know it,” he’d said, bony chest swelling with pride.
Now I looked at him. “I can’t smile at my customers?”
He gave a strangled laugh. “You’ve been out of town for a couple of weeks on your honeymoon. Didn’t you smile enough then?”
“You can never smile enough.” I leaned over the counter and kissed my cop.
Our wedding had been an interesting lesson in the expansive power of love. There was Mary P, in all practical ways my mother; my actual mother, who I was learning to like much to my surprise; and my stepfather, who walked me down the aisle. Lindsay, of course, was my maid of honor, and Jem stood as Greg’s best man so he wouldn’t have to choose among his brothers.
Mary P had once again been a great help to me when I was trying to figure out how Mom and Luke were supposed to fit into my life.
“But you’re my mom,” I had told her a short time after Michael’s arrest. Mom and Luke were supposed to leave for Atlanta the next day, and I wasn’t certain about visiting them at Thanksgiving as they wanted. “You were there when I needed you, and I love you.”
She took my hands in hers and looked me in the eye. “Carrie, my dear girl, you know you and Lindsay are more precious to me than I can ever express. If I thought Sue showing up and wanting back in your life would take you away from me, I’d be terribly upset. I’d fight for you. But loving one person doesn’t have to mean not loving another or loving another less.”
“It feels that way,” I said, torn inside.
Mary P shook her head. “Don’t make it so hard, so black and white. It’s not like we’re given a limited quantity of love and we have to spread it out over those in our lives. Love will expand to include any and all you want to include in its circle. You can love your mother and me both.”
