by ML Gardner
He stopped working and sighed heavily. “You don't need to make arrangements.” Pulling his head out from under the hood, he wiped his blackened hands on a rag. “We just go out.”
Jonathan rolled his eyes and shoved his hands in his pockets.
“Fine, Jon. We pack a lunch and we just go...drive. Most of the days we end up at the beach. We walk and read and talk. We do what everyone else that has been financially ruined does. A whole lot of nothing.”
“I just want to make sure you don't feel like you have to leave. This is your house. I haven't forgotten that we’re guests and—”
“You're not guests, Jon. You're paying all the bills.”
“Oh, so that's it.” He nodded. “Okay, you paid all the bills while I was growing up, so consider this a returned favor.”
“That isn't how it's supposed to work.”
“But this is how it is working.”
“I was stupid and I didn't listen to you. I rammed all this financial education down your throat from the time you could crawl and when it matters, when it really matters, I don't listen to you and I go and lose every cent we have and—”
“And we'll get through it.”
“Will we, Jon?”
He narrowed his eyes. “What are you getting at?”
“I just don't know if it's going to get better. Ever.”
“It will get better. We've just got to ride out the storm, that's all. If we stick together, we'll make it.”
Jonathan Sr. nodded slowly. “I hope so. I'm too old to live a life this hard.”
“No, you're not. What's wrong with old reliable?”
“Engine kept revving on the way home. I think I got it.”
“Find anymore junkers to fix and sell?”
“No. I think I've picked the town clean.”
“So, go to Boston. Look there.”
After a hesitation, Jonathan dug in his pocket. “I have a little for gas if you—”
“I won't take your money. Not any more of it anyway. But it's a good idea, Son. Thanks. I better go clean up.”
“Should we set the table for two more?”
“No, we're going over to some friend’s house for dinner.” He held his hands up. “Honest, we’ve had the plans for a week. But tomorrow maybe we can talk more about going to Boston. Maybe you could go with me.”
“Sure. We'll make plans.”
∞∞∞
That night Jonathan couldn't sleep. He couldn't get comfortable and he couldn't cool off. He threw the sheet back and took a magazine from the bedside, using it to fan his chest.
“You okay?” Ava asked.
“Yeah, just can't sleep. I didn't mean to wake you.”
“You didn't.” Ava rolled toward him. “We need a fan.”
“We need a lot of things.” He turned the magazine toward her and the breeze gave her bare arms goose bumps.
“Is that what's bothering you?”
“Yes, that and my father. I talked with him out in the garage tonight. He seems...broken. I think he's lost hope.”
“How can we help?”
Jonathan shrugged and settled into his pillow. “Damn if I know.”
“Should we move out?”
“You know we can't afford that. And neither can they. I'll talk to him again after I get home.”
“You're going out tomorrow? There's talk of a storm moving in.”
“I have to work, Ava.”
“I know, but—”
“It'll be fine, baby, I promise.”
She smiled. “It's been forever since you called me that.”
“I'm sorry.”
“It's also been forever since we...you know.” She put her hand on his chest and blushed in the dark.
He rolled over and pulled her close but not quite touching. “I know, I'm sorry. This heat has been overbearing. It just zaps my energy.”
“Mine, too. Maybe this fall?” she asked and he laughed.
“Anything below eighty degrees, I promise.” She sighed as he began to fan her with the magazine. “I might fall asleep with you doing that.”
“Then I'll keep doing it,” he said and kissed her.
∞∞∞
Jonathan finally closed his eyes in the early hours of the morning. When they snapped open again, he hadn't moved.
“Someone's knocking, Jon,” Ava said and rolled, pulling the sheet over her. She settled back in bed with a cool morning breeze drifting over her.
Jonathan pulled on his robe and went downstairs rubbing his bloodshot eyes. He opened the door to find Vincent looking troubled. Instantly he was alert.
“What? Victor?”
“No, Jon. Worse. Can I come in?”
He stepped aside and Vincent removed his hat.
“I've got some bad news.”
Jonathan stiffened. “No, Vincent, I can't take any more bad news.”
“I'm sorry, Jon, you're going to have to take this. Do you want to sit down?”
He took a deep breath. “No. What is it?”
“Your parents were in a car accident last night. It looks like the gas stuck. They hit a wall at a high rate of speed. Passerby found them this morning.”
“Are they…”
“I'm afraid they didn't survive.”
Jonathan stared at him dumbfounded. “The gas stuck?” he whispered. “But that can't be, Vincent. He fixed that. My dad fixed that.”
“Jon, in case you're thinking it, we've checked it out pretty thoroughly. There's no evidence of foul play.”
He took a moment, remembered how to breathe, and anger flashed across his face. “I'm not saying there was foul play! Do you think I'm so deranged that I think Victor messed with their car!”
Vincent watched him, unable to say anything of comfort.
Breathing heavily, he looked anywhere but Vincent. “I'm just saying...he fixed that. I saw him.” The anger melted away and he broke down in tears. “He fixed that.”
∞∞∞
Work stopped again. Fresh tears were spilt on suits and dresses of black. New wounds formed around the scars of the old ones as Jonathan Sr. and Margaret were laid to rest, next to each other in the yard of the old church the following Tuesday.
Against everyone’s advice, Jonathan went back to work the next day.
October 17th 1930
Claire opened the door just as Gordon set the milk bottles down and played it off as coincidence.
“Claire, hello. How are you?”
“I'm fine.” She studied the ground intently.
“I'm glad to hear it.”
She shuffled, trying to speak but words failed her. “I'm sorry.”
“Don't be sorry.”
She still didn't look up and he turned to leave.
“Wait.”
“Yes?”
“I needed to ask you something.”
“Anything.”
“How do you...um.” She bit her lip and twisted her hands. “How do you deal with holidays?” She finished in a whisper. He could see she was on the verge of crying. “Halloween is coming and I have these memories and I can't...” The tears won and she turned her head. He took a few steps toward her.
“The firsts are hard. Remember when I told you that?”
She nodded.
“Well, the first year I just went somewhere else. Anywhere else that didn't remind me of my wife. I spent Halloween night shivering on the beach. I spent Christmas with some friends who didn't celebrate it. We barbequed in the snow and listened to the radio and had some drinks. And Easter, I put up Christmas decorations. I don't know why. Just to confuse myself, I guess. It was hard, but I got through it. By the time the next set of holidays came around it was a lot better.”
She sniffled but didn't look up at him.
“Do you have any plans for Halloween?”
She shook her head.
“Are you worried about it?”
She nodded.
He thought for a moment. “Would you like to spend Easte
r dinner with me? Kids don't come out to my place and I didn't grow any pumpkins this year. There's not a black cat to be seen for miles. And Kitten is still around. He’d be glad to see you.”
She took a moment to think. “Easter?”
“Sure. We'll have ham.”
With a hint of a smile, she nodded.
“I'll pick you up before sunset then?”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“You're welcome. I better get back to work now. I'll talk to you soon, okay?”
“Okay.”
He started down the walk and suddenly turned around. He felt like he was pushing his luck, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask. “Do you want me to come back later on tonight?”
“Would you?”
“Of course. I’ll see you after work.”
Claire closed the door and took a deep breath.
∞∞∞
Bomani walked into Victor’s office. Normally, he was not a nervous man. But he was nervous today. Suddenly he was afraid that Victor could see right through him. See through his plan to not only deceive him, but rat him out and expose his plan. See through the fact that he not only harbored Ruth, but had fallen in love with her, too.
Victor took several moments to look up from his desk. When he did, Bomani couldn’t read his face. He hated it. Victor was usually easy to read. He was one dimensional like that. But not today.
“Never mind. Go away.” He waved his hand and went back to his paperwork.
“What do you mean, go away?”
“I’m not sure what smaller words I can use, Bomani. Go. Away. I’ve decided not to use you.”
He maintained his composure. “Found someone to do it cheaper?”
“You could say that.” He slammed a file closed and stood. “I’m doing it myself.”
Bomani laughed. “Got a death wish, do ya?”
“Don’t laugh at me!” Victor roared.
The room fell silent. “You good for nothing street thug. Don’t you dare laugh at me. How hard is it to walk up to someone’s door and put a bullet in their head. Any idiot can do it.” He sneered down his nose at Bomani. “You’re proof of that.”
“You’re right. It is easy enough. It’s the getting away part that gets people tripped up.” He winked.
“I’ve got that covered.”
“Why? You’ve paid me to do a dozen dirty deeds for you and now suddenly you want the thrill? That’s not like you, Victor.”
“I can, and will, do this myself.”
“You’re confident.”
“I am. You see, I just found out that Jonathan Garrett’s parents were killed. He’ll be distracted. I’ll make it look like he did it himself.”
“And you wouldn’t have had anything to do with his parents?”
“No.” He sounded disappointed.
“Just gonna hop on the train and head up there and do it yourself, are you?”
“Not exactly. I’ve got half the New York police department following me. I should have had you leave Ruth’s body in the alley or just—” He waved his hand with irritation. “Killed her in the bedroom and left her for Grayson to find. Bastards still think I know where she is.”
Bomani stiffened at the reference to Ruth and Victor caught it, studying him with scrutiny for a moment.
“I think you’re making a mistake,” Bomani said.
Victor laughed and shook his head. “Oh, no. I’ve thought of everything this time.”
“You’ll be going soon?”
“Yes.” Victor smiled. “Soon as I throw the cops off my scent, that is. I’ll have to hop trains for a bit.”
Bomani stood and raised his hands. “Well, I won’t waste any more of my time or yours.”
“Close the door on your way out.”
Bomani walked casually the first two blocks. After crossing the street and narrowly missing being hit by a truck, he broke into a full run and didn’t stop until he burst through his own door.
Ruth was almost packed. She stood in the living room holding two dresses, trying to decide which one to take.
“Let’s go, now.”
“What’s wrong?”
“He changed his mind. He’s doing it himself. We don’t have much time.”
October 21th 1930
Knocking on Claire’s door was getting easier every day. The air was cooler; a welcome relief. It felt easier to go about the day’s business and have the energy to call on Claire after work. He had found it was more successful to get right to the point with Claire. Not that he wasn’t a romantic. He was a hopeless one and wanted to shower her with flowers and candy and window serenades. But what she needed right now were point blank questions that she could answer yes or no, with not a lot of thought. At least, it usually worked that way.
She opened the door. “Hello, Gordon.”
“I was wondering if you’d like to go for a drive. It’s a lovely afternoon.”
“Oh, I don’t know, I was going to read to Maura.”
“Don’t tell me her mother still has her in bed.”
“She does.” Claire rolled her eyes. “It’s driving Maura crazy but trust me, it’s better than going up against her mother. They’ve had some fights about it. Katie won’t budge. Wants her in bed until further notice.”
“Doesn’t sound like Maura to put up with that.”
Claire made a face. “You haven’t had to deal with her mother. It’s easier to lie down and give up.”
Gordon laughed and so did she, surprising herself.
“Getting closer to that real laugh,” he said. She looked down, shy and self conscious.
“Is Katie here now?”
“No, she went out.”
“Can I see Maura for a moment then?”
“Of course.” She turned and he resisted the urge to plant a kiss on the back of her neck. She led him upstairs.
“Mr. Gordon, how are you?”
“I’m good. And you?”
She looked around the small, clean room with frustration. “Apparently, I’m on bed rest.”
“I see. But feeling better overall?”
“I feel fine. Did ye come all the way here to ask me that or were ye here to see Miss Claire.”
“Well, I had been thinking about you.” He gave her a most charming smile. “But to be honest, I had come to ask Claire if she’d go for a drive with me. It’s a beautiful evening.”
“That sounds lovely.” Maura smiled up at Claire.
“But she told me she was reading to you tonight and I wouldn’t want to interfere with that, so I thought I’d come up and look in on you. Now that I have, I’ll be on my way.”
“Oh, now wait. There’s no need for Miss Claire to stay here just to read to me. I’m perfectly capable to read to myself. Or I’ll just listen to the radio.” She rolled her head toward Claire. “Go and have a good time.”
“Are you sure? I promised—”
“I’m positive, dear. Go.”
∞∞∞
Patrick called into the barn from the door. No answer. He stepped inside and called for Caleb again. The place was in its usual state of disarray with a larger than normal collection of bottles overflowing a wooden crate.
He passed it, shaking his head. He called a few more times and only the goat answered him. Something shifted in the back of the barn and the goat came bounding out of the last stall, bleating.
“What are ye up to, ye old goat?”
He opened the gate the stall with a creak. Patrick’s eyes widened.
“What the hell’s going on here?” he mumbled. The gate flew from his hand and slammed shut.
“None of your business, that’s what.”
Patrick froze at the voice behind him. He recognized it, and it wasn’t Caleb.
He turned slowly and found Marvin smiling tightly.
“What’s going on here, Marvin?”
“I thought I answered that question. It’s none of your business.”
“Look, while Caleb is chronically indisposed in
the bottom of a bottle, I help run things around here. I think I ought know why there’s a truckload of bootleg gin sittin’ in this stall.”
Marvin dropped his smile and stepped forward, pinning Patrick against the wall.
“Let me make something perfectly clear,” he hissed. “You didn’t see anything here today, got it? You didn’t see a damn thing, and if you go saying anything to anyone about this, well, I just might have to bust your friend for being the biggest booze supplier north of New York.”
Patrick stared, undeterred but silent. Had Marvin not been a law man he would have revisited his “Irish Tornado” days of fighting for prize money on the boat to America. But, hard as it was, he had to remain still, fists clenched at his side. The last thing he could afford was to get thrown in jail. The only reason he had come into the barn was to tell Caleb that they were moving into the cabin today. He was growing more anxious to do so by the second.
Marvin gave him a few inches, still staring.
Patrick sidestepped and walked out of the barn, not looking back.
Marvin’s eyes followed Patrick and when the barn door slammed, he stepped into the stall. Grumbling and cursing under his breath as he threw back the sheet that covered most of the stash. Although he was certain this was the first Patrick had seen of it, he did an inventory anyway.
Wooden crates clinked as he moved them. Stacked like a pyramid, he removed several from the top. In the center, hidden from view, was what he wanted to protect the most. Carefully packaged bottles of elixir. Not the imitation stuff, either. The best cocaine and opiate tonics you could find. There were only a handful of regular buyers in Rockport, Pigeon Cove and Gloucester. Folks tended to stick to the old habit of morphine to cure what ailed them. But the world was changing and that would, too, he assured himself. He had excess now, but soon he wouldn’t be able to keep up with demand as people sought stronger ways to ease the pain of hard times.
“Anyone in here?” Caleb yelled from the door.
“Yep. I’m back here,” Marvin called as he quickly restacked the crates. He closed the door to the stall, flipped the latch and stepped out into the light.
