4th Musketelle

by Brian Bakos

39. Reconciliation ... and More

  Frank stood hesitantly outside Laila’s door, the knuckles of his good hand poised in midair. He had never before sought entry to her private space, never entered unbidden. He’d always considered this room to be inviolate, as his home office was to him. But times had changed; barriers needed to come down. He’d even dressed for the occasion, doffing his robe and slipping into some business casual attire complete with sport coat.

  He rapped softly on the wood ...

  Laila flinched and looked toward the door with panicky eyes.

  “W-what is it?”

  “May I come in, Laila?”

  Laila shut off her phone and set it down. She made a final, useless, effort to straighten her hair.

  “Yes, Frank,” she said, “please do.”

  The door opened part way and Frank poked his head in shyly, almost like a middle school boy asking for a first date. He was smiling, and his face had a warm, kindly aspect that she’d never seen before. The expression lasted only a moment, being quickly replaced by a look of alarm.

  “My God!” he said. “What happened to you?”

  Frank threw the door open and strode across the room to her. He took her chin in his hand, tilting her head gently upward. The hand was firm and strong, yet tender. He studied her injury, a deep frown creasing his face.

  “How’d you hurt your eye?”

  “I-I fell, Frank,” she said. “I couldn’t sleep last night, so I went downstairs for a drink. I tripped over the coffee table.”

  “We should have a doctor look at you,” Frank said.

  “Sure, Frank.”

  He whipped his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and jabbed in a number. She loved the way he did that – so much manly authority.

  “We’ll get Keating out here right away,” he said.

  “Does he make house calls?” Laila asked.

  “He’d damn well better, as much as I’m paying him.”

  “All right, anything you say, Frank.”

  Laila felt a desperate burst of love. Frank’s concern for her was deep and genuine, his hand felt so strong, yet gentle on her face. Could it be she had almost lost him?

  Imagine, he’d chosen her above all others – even his own son and daughter! She had gone through the dark valley and come out on a bright, sunny highland. An adoring expression attended her battered, upturned face.

  “Ohhh ...” she moaned, too softly for anyone else to hear.

  “Hello Doc, this is Frank Armstrong,” her husband was saying in his commanding, confident voice.

  It was the type of voice that lesser people just automatically obeyed. Laila could almost see Dr. Keating jerk to attention on the other end.

  “I need you to get to my house right away,” Frank said. “We’ve had an accident ... No, nothing too serious, I don’t think ... Good, just come right in, I’ll leave the gate and front door open for you.”

  He terminated the call and returned the phone to his jacket pocket with an authoritative flourish, as if he were sheathing a rapier. Laila adored the motion. Then he moved across the hall to his office and pushed some buttons on the security console. Moments later, he was back at her side.

  “Keating will be here in a few minutes,” he said. “He just happened to be driving through the area.”

  “That’s wonderful, Frank.”

  Laila felt herself melting before such a display of power and concern. All of it for her!

  Frank felt suddenly awkward. Things weren’t going the way he’d expected. What did he expect, anyway?

  He expected things to improve. He wanted the old Frank Armstrong to move out of the way and let things get better. That s.o.b. might leave grudgingly, but, by God, he would go!

  “I had a lousy night myself,” he said, massaging the back of his neck. “I feel like I’ve been sleeping on a torture rack.”

  “As long as I’m here, you won’t be on any torture rack, Honey,” Laila said with deep sincerity.

  Frank smiled down at her. Then, uncertain how to capitalize on the tender moment, he turned away to hide his perplexity and crossed the room toward the window. He didn’t notice Laila stiffen in her vanity chair.

  He pulled back the curtain and gazed out the window onto his property – their property. Never had it looked more beautiful than on this glorious morning. Then he did an astonished double take.

  “Look what that damn fool did!” he said.

  Laila felt alarm rising in her like a viper ready to strike.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “He tore a hunk out of the flower garden with his damned truck,” Frank said. “Just like last summer.”

  Out in the yard, Bert saw the curtain pull back on the second floor window. From this distance, he couldn’t see clearly who did it, but it had to be Mrs. Armstrong. She told him that she’d be observing from that window.

  He waved his arms.

  “Okay, Mrs. Armstrong, everything’s ready.”

  At the window, Frank drew back, appalled.

  “Now the damn guy’s waving at me,” he said. “Has he gone nuts? Well – he’s getting the ax this time, for sure!”

  He turned to see Laila standing with her arms outstretched across the doorway.

  “Don’t go out there, Frank!” she cried.

  He looked at her, astonished.

  “What’s gotten into you. Laila?”

  “It’s just that – I’ve had a really bad time,” she said. “Stay with me until Dr. Keating arrives ... please.”

  “Of course I will,” Frank said.

  Laila took Frank’s hands and led him to the small sofa in the corner.

  “Don’t upset yourself, dear,” she said. “It’s only a bunch of plants.”

  Frank sat down beside her, grateful for the opportunity to abandon his wrath.

  “Well, all right,” he said. “Nagy’s still going, though ... unless you really want him to stay.”

  “Sure, Frank,” Laila said, “Let’s get rid of him.”

  She turned her head at an angle so as to display the good side of her face.

  “This has been a difficult time for us, hasn’t it?” she said.

  Frank nodded. “That it has.”

  “I think we need to get away for a while,” Laila said.

  She took Frank’s hand.

  “How about a nice little trip? Just the two of us.”

  Frank unwound; the scowl he’s assumed on behalf of Bert Nagy softened into a more agreeable expression. He settled back into the loveseat.

  “Well, things are a bit slow at the office right now,” he said. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, exactly.” Laila said. “One of those sea cruises, or maybe a beach resort.”

  Frank nodded agreeably.

  “How long are those cruises?” he asked. “Maybe they’d get boring after a while.”

  “Well, if you want more action, there’s Las Vegas,” Laila said.

  Frank stiffened. The volcanic temper he so much wanted to slay flared back into life. By God, he wouldn’t tolerate such defiance!

  He stood angrily, glowering down at Laila. She looked up at him with disbelief, mouth hanging open.

  “What’s wrong, honey?” she asked.

  “There you go again about Las Vegas!” Frank snapped. “Didn’t I tell you that subject was closed to discussion?”

  “But I only thought – ”

  “Think about something else,” Frank said. “The answer is still no! I thought you understood that.”

  He strode out of the room in a huff. Laila watched him go, stunned and frightened.

  Frank paused at the top of the stairs. What the hell was he doing?

  Stupid, arrogant fool!

  He’d just stormed out on the most important person in his whole world – the love of his life. He’d humiliated her. And why? Because she’d dared to mention a subject that he had pompously decreed “closed to discussion.”

  Well,
forget all that! If Laila wanted to see Las Vegas, he would take her there, and he would enjoy doing it, too.

  He turned back toward Laila’s open doorway; it beckoned to him like the very gates of Paradise. He began to take a step toward it just as a massive hammer blow struck him in the chest. Jagged pain shot up his left arm.

  Laila slumped on her sofa, totally crushed. Every particle of relief and love she so recently felt had disappeared, replaced with dark, brooding hatred. Then:

  “Laila!” Frank called.

  “What now?” she said.

  “My heart ...”

  “You don’t have a heart, you old poop,” Laila muttered.

  A tremendous crash assaulted her ears – Frank was falling down the stairs! She leapt up, terrified. Her own heart thundered as she moved to the doorway and peered down the hall. Utter, dead, silence.

  “Frank?”

  She rushed down the hall to the staircase as quickly as she could on her injured leg and looked down at Frank sprawled out at the bottom.

  “My God!”

  She crept fearfully down the steps toward him, holding tight to the rail to keep from collapsing. Light coming through the window threw a tree limb shadow onto the stairway wall, approximating the shape of the money pile from last night.

  Laila stood by her stricken husband, dazed and mute.

  This can’t be happening!

  But it was. The doorbell rang repeatedly, followed by vigorous knocking. Laila looked toward the front door but could not respond.

  The door opened. Dr. Keating entered with his black bag. He took in the scene with wide-mouthed horror. He walked urgently toward Frank.

  “Doctor, he ... I-I ...” Laila stammered.

  Dr. Keating knelt beside Frank, hurriedly examining him. Then he looked up toward Laila.

  “‘Nothing too serious’ is it?!” he said.