Authors: Eva Sloan
“Loyal! Are you joking? My entire life I have heard about him cheating on his wife, cheating on his taxes, and every other possible dubious act. I just can’t believe he isn’t in prison yet.”
“You confuse loyalty to one’s spouse with loyalty brought on by fear.”
It was Gabriel’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”
Unflappable and smooth as usual, Dante smiled and spread his hands out. “Just that committing dalliances in your marriage has little to do with how reliable you are to those you fear.”
“Fear…Francis fears you?” Gabriel was astonished. Certainly his uncle was of the most dangerous breeds of attorney’s—a real shark—but how that mental prowess translated to being able to intimidate a bottom feeder like Francis was unclear.
“Believe me,” Dante mussed, “between what I know about him, and how I have…punished him in the past, he will do anything I tell him to.”
A chill ran up Gabriel’s spine as he stared into Dante’s eyes. Obviously there was still much he didn’t know about his uncle. And from the cool satisfaction in his voice as he came right out and said he’d “punished” Francis, he wasn’t anxious to find out what he was missing. The image of his uncle wielding a whip or a switchblade made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
Gabriel cleared his throat and finally looked away from his uncle. “I just hope he can find a viable candidate. She will have to be cultured as well as beautiful.”
“And she’ll have to be a good actress.”
Gabriel laughed bitterly. “Because pretending to be my fiancée will be such an unpleasant experience.”
“That too,” Dante replied, apparently not getting the sarcasm in his nephew’s voice. Or maybe he actually believed playing the part of Gabriel’s fiancée would be an arduous task. “But mostly to fool the rest of the family...specifically your mother and father.”
The two men locked gazes for a moment, and then grumbled: “Especially her.”
LUCY DIDN’T
remember when she got up out of the booth and left McDonalds, or walked through the parking lot and out to the highway. She only noticed her hands were clutched to the metal guardrail when she heard her grandmother’s worry-stricken voice.
“Lucy! What are you doing out here?”
Lucy turned toward the road. Her grandmother had pulled over on the shoulder of the highway, and was already climbing out of her car, her worn terry cloth robe and flannel gown billowing in the wind. The mere sight of her made tears fill Lucy’s eyes and run hot and reckless down her face. The sobs she’d been holding back burst from her lips as her grandmother pulled her from the guard rail and into her arms.
“It’s alright, Lucybean...you’re alright…I’m here.”
Lucy buried her face in her grandmother’s soft shoulder and felt all the strength drain from her arms and legs.
I’m going to die...I’m going to die...
With her heart breaking yet again, feeling the weight of the world pressed down on her chest, she wished that she would just die.
But she didn’t.
As her grandmother stroked her back and slowly maneuvered Lucy over to and then into the passenger seat of the ancient white Oldsmobile, the weight on her chest lessened, as did the pain that radiated through her entire body.
For an instant she glanced back to where she’d stood by the guard rail. The dark figure was there again, its shadowy form flickered as it drifted toward the car. But just then Gram gunned the Oldsmobile’s engine, leaving the dark apparition in the dust.
By the time her grandmother drove them home she’d forgot about the phantom, forgot about her injured body and her crushed pride. She literally felt nothing at all. Her tears had dried up, her head and arm no longer hurt, and her breathing was slow and steady.
Too slow.
And it wasn’t just the pain that was gone, Lucy was numb, even in her head, she thought of absolutely nothing.
The only thing she felt was relief when she saw Gram’s white clapboard house appear through the car window. Though rundown and shabby outside—the white paint was pealing and the roof sagged some in the middle—Lucy only felt truly safe once she was inside. As if the house itself repelled the horrors and pain that followed Lucy everywhere she went.
Her grandmother’s kitchen made her feel warm. It smelled sweet and inviting. On the scarred kitchen table sat a round, simply decorated double layer white cake with pink roses and fancy filigree adorning the edges.
Lucy felt her mouth fall open. It was beautiful, and smelled so good.
“Did you make this?” Lucy said, her voice wavering. She couldn’t believe that anyone had made a cake...not one this beautiful. All her birthday cakes had been store bought, with heavy cream icing, themed with whatever her current obsession was that year, or had her picture airbrushed over the top.
But this cake was handmade, just for her. Her name swirled across the top in fancy letters, and happy birthday in smaller script below. A party candle shaped like the number eighteen stood alone from the top of the cake.
“Don’t be too impressed,” Her grandmother said, striking a match and touching it to the candle’s wick. “I used to decorate cakes for a living...oh, about a hundred years ago.”
Lucy couldn’t help smiling. Her grandmother never tried to hide her age—she wore it proudly, like a badge for all to see.
“It’s gorgeous.” Lucy closed her eyes and took a deep breath through her nose. The aroma was intoxicating. “No cake has ever smelled this good.”
“Well then, make a wish and blow out the candle,” Gram said. “Then we can have us a piece.”
Lucy was suddenly torn from the wondrous scent of the cake, her attention splintered off in a million directions. There were too many things to wish for. Too many things she wished had never happened. One—the night of her father’s arrest—burned somewhere deep in the back of her mind. She would not look back there, or call it forward to her anymore. That memory hurt too much. Like how remembering who she used to be hurt too much.
No, wishing for the impossible is stupid.
She took a breath, and it crackled in her lungs. She closed her eyes.
If I just had one thing that was mine...something to remind me who I used to be...
She blew, one short puff of air, and the candle went out, a small wisp of smoke rising from the tiny ember before it burned out.
“Happy birthday, Lucybean!” her grandmother said, swooping down and kissing her cheek, hugging her around the back of her shoulders. Lucy leaned into her grandmother’s warmth. After a soothing moment, her grandmother stood and strode across the kitchen and opened a cabinet, pulling out two small plates. “Time for cake.”
Lucy watched as her grandmother cut the cake, not a tremor or tremble in her skilled hands, slicing off two perfect looking pieces. The two women sat there, smiling at each other for a moment before digging into the cake. The taste was even better than the smell, if that was even possible. The icing had buttery lemon zest to it, delicate yet refreshing as ice cream on Lucy’s tongue. The cake burst with oranges and white chocolate...and something else...the something else had some kick to it.
“What’s in the cake?” Lucy smiled as she licked her fork clean.
Her grandmother got this look on her face—false innocence and shock. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I mean this cake is spiked.” Lucy raised her eyebrow at her grandmother, and then took another big bite of the cake.
Her grandmother primly blotted her lips with her napkin and grinned wickedly.
“You are eighteen, after all...” She pursed her lips and then smiled wide, her face practically glowing. “And I’ve had a bottle of Grand Marnier in the cabinet since...” Her brow furrowed in contemplation. “Well, let’s just say, a while.”
Lucy couldn’t believe her grandmother was suddenly modest about her age. There must be something else to it, something a little lurid, or scandalous, or both.
Lucy chewed the delicious, if not potent, cake and smiled to herself. Finally, something nice was happening on her birthday.
“I almost forgot,” her grandmother chimed. “Your gifts!”
A fleeting moment of dread passed through her body. Remembering the dream she’d had...well, the nightmare she’d had, when she was knocked out at McDonalds. The not so dead, dead puppy dream.
Your gift...
Lucy shuddered.
Her grandmother was already up and back with a pretty red and pink gift bag, a small badly wrapped present, and two other boxes with silvery wrapping.
As long as there’s nothing with a wagging tale in the bag, she would be happy.
Her grandmother handed her the bag first. Under the pink tissue paper Lucy found a card with a big heart on it, and Twee
ty Bird swinging on its perch in the middle of it.
It was from her mother, and there was a twenty dollar bill tucked into the card.
Sorry I’m not there. Had to pick up a double.
Love you sweet girl.
Mom.
Lucy set down the card and the money, and then reached back into the bag. At the bottom was a pair of four inch, pink leather Jimmy Choo knockoffs. But they made Lucy smile. They were heels, and girly and something like what she wore when she used to go out on dates.
“There’s something else in there.” Her grandmother gave the bag a playful shake.
Lucy reached into the pink tissue paper again and found a small cell phone.
“It’s one of those pre-paid phones. There’s over three hundred minutes on there. Your brother turned it on for us...” She halted. Part of this gift was from her too.
Lucy should’ve known that her mother wouldn’t think to get her something practical.
“Turned it on for Lila, I mean.” Having her grandmother call her mother Lila never failed to shock her. Her father had always called her Elle.
Daddy...
She was certain neither of the two remaining presents were from him. He hadn’t called, written or asked about her the entire six months since his arrest. And the last time she’d seen him in court, he’d completely ignored her.
Lucy shook the memory of him as he walked out of the courtroom, in the custody of bailiffs and an FBI agent, from her mind. How her heart had stopped beating, and she’d dug her fingernails into her palms until they’d bled.
Anything not to cry.
Next was the badly wrapped present—from her brother, Seth. Under the wrinkled paper was a CD she used to have—Kelly Clarkson. It had “
Behind These Hazel Eyes” on it.
So he knows me enough to know my favorite song...
She was surprised.
Too bad I don’t own a CD player anymore.
Finally came the two silvery boxes—one long and slim, the other a bigger, almost weightless box. Both were undoubtedly from her Grandmother.
Lucy tore into the thin package first, and under the box lid she found a perfectly faded pair of vintage Calvin Klein jeans.
“Maggie down at
Fashion Again
helped me find these. I asked what was the...most chic thing she had for a girl your age.”
Lucy leaned over and kissed her grandmother on the cheek. “Thank you. They’re perfect.” She noticed that they were her size...her size now, with the five pounds of Big Macs and French fries on her hips and ass—an unwanted bonus from her job.
She willed what that meant out of her thoughts. Who cared what size she was? Not anymore.
She reached for the second package and tore into it, wanting something to do with her hands as she tried to push all the thoughts out of her head before they made her head too heavy and she couldn’t hold it up anymore.
She opened the box and looked down at the small, fuzzy key lime green teddy bear that looked up at her with his arms outstretched. She gasped as her memory caught up with her eyes. The familiar amber glass eyes, the cute little upturned snout, the small green heart in the middle of its chest.
As Lucy scooped it out of the box, its soft, soft fur caressed her fingers. “Mr. Gordo...” she whispered.
“I forgot you even left him here, back...well, whenever it was.”
Third grade. I was eight.
“Found it in my cedar chest a couple weeks back…I thought you’d like to have it back.”
Lucy didn’t realize she was crying until she felt her tears splash as they fell on her hands, and onto the green bear’s soft fur.
“Lucybean—” her grandmother tried to say more, but Lucy jumped up, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, and then ran up the stairs, her vision a blur. She bolted into her little room and pushed the door closed with all her weight. She stood there as she swiped at her eyes and tried to catch her breath.
But the mere sight of her bed—her grandmother had made it up fresh with faded yellow sheets and a good heavy blanket—made the tears flow harder, and her breath come in gulps and gasps. The world pressed down on her again, threatening to grind her into dust. She staggered toward the bed and then tentatively lay down, letting her beaten and bruised body slowly sink into the soft old mattress.