The Eternal Engagement (10 page)

CHAPTER 23

Mona

 

 

T
he bar inside the hotel was fairly quiet. One bartender, one patron. Her arrival doubled the customer count. Mona sat at the end farthest from the entrance. The bar stool with a high back appeared to have a firm cushion until her ass sunk deep into the seat. “Whoa,” she said, gripping the edge of the bar.

The bartender laughed. “Be careful there.”

“Don't bother changing seats. They're all like that. Mind if I sit next to you?” a tall and handsome guy asked. “Give this lady whatever she'd like,” he told the bartender.

His friendly demeanor and dazzling smile made her smile, a little. He was as tall as Steven. His haircut was a bit military, reminding her of Lincoln. Mona wished she had Lincoln's number. She'd gotten so sidetracked getting away from Steven, she hadn't checked her phone since this morning. Maybe Lincoln had called.

“What would you like?” the bartender asked.

Lincoln,
she thought, then answered, “I'll have a Long Island iced tea.” She thanked the guy seated next to her as she retrieved her cell. Was it fair she wanted her ex to emotionally rescue her from her husband?

“My pleasure. Make that two Long Islands. My name is Davis. And you are?” he asked, extending his long thick fingers.

Didn't he see both of her hands holding her phone? “Mona Lisa,” she said, pressing the on button. Gasping, she mouthed, “A hundred and three missed calls and more texts than that. Wow.” She had to find out what Steven had done, but she wasn't going to call anyone tonight so she might as well drink and try to relax.

“Yes, wow. What a beautiful name. Please to meet you, Mona Lisa.” Davis placed his elbows on the bar, interlocked his fingers. “You live around here, passing through, visiting, or on business?”

Shaking her head, she wished he'd
“Shut the hell up!”
for a moment. Did he think his one-sided conversation would command her attention? Mona scrolled through her list of missed calls. “Not sure yet,” she said, briefly eyeing the entrance to the hotel.

Damn, only fifty-two missed calls registered on her phone. What happened to the other fifty-one calls? The ones she could see, half of them were from her mom. She guessed Sarah's arrest gave her mother an excuse to call until she'd spoken with her. What if Lincoln had called but there were too many numbers for his to show up? Disgusted, Mona placed her phone on the bar. She had nothing to say to her mom.

At the moment, Mona was unsure of a lot of things. Going to work tomorrow would mean a trip to the local Walmart on Highway 178 for clothes to wear. She could go to the airport, take the next flight to wherever the plane was going. Sleeping in all week and ordering room service for breakfast, lunch, and dinner was another option.

“Well, you don't have to tell me anything. I respect that,” Davis said. “Have you eaten? Would you like to join me for dinner? Here at the hotel, that is.”

Mona was consumed with the monologue in her head. Was Steven looking for her? Did he care? She hadn't missed a single call from him. And although she wasn't going back to him, she wanted him to fight for her return.

“We can order from the bar menu if you'd like.”

“Huh? What?” she replied. “Do what?” Mona snapped. “What are you talking about?”

“Never mind,” Davis said, picking up his drink. “I can see you have a lot on your mind. Granted this is a public place, but I'll just move to the other end of the bar so you can be alone.”

That made her laugh a little. Mona touched his arm. “No, please stay. You're right. I do have a lot on my mind,” she said, eyeing the entrance again.

She needed his company more than he wanted hers. She didn't want to be alone tonight. Sex wasn't on her mind. Having a man to protect her was what she desired.

Happy he'd asked again, “Would you like to have dinner with me?” she firmly replied, “Only if it's serviced in my room.”

Davis smiled, tossed thirty dollars on the bar. “Ready when you are. We can take our drinks to your room. I got 'em.”

Mona felt safe at the hotel, safer with a big, strong man like Davis by her side. She prayed he'd stay the night, and she knew exactly how to entice him. She should've requested two double beds. Hadn't planned on meeting a man, a fine one at that, so quickly. Sexing him could take a lot off her mind, but sex wasn't on her agenda, and she didn't want to give him the wrong idea.

 

 

As they entered her room, her cell phone rang. It was Steven. Mona declined his call and locked her door.

“You must be a popular person to have your phone constantly chiming. Now it's ringing,” Davis said, then asked, “Was that your husband? 'Cause I don't sleep with married women. In case you don't know, the men in this town are crazy and possessive, in that order.”

“I don't have a husband anymore. Make yourself comfortable. You're welcome to stay but you have to shower before getting in the bed. And, so there's no confusion, we're not having sex.”

Davis sat the drinks, his wallet, and keys on the nightstand, then headed to the bathroom. Sticking his head out the door, he said, “I'm a complete gentleman. If you want to see my California's driver's license, it's in my wallet on the nightstand.” He closed the door.

Mona took him up on his offer. Snapped a photo of his license with her camera phone, then powered off her cell. She'd need to preserve the battery until she could buy a charger in the morning. A new car was also on her list of things to buy, but she'd wait until she left Bakersfield. Steven wouldn't vandalize his own car, and if he did she wouldn't care.

The bathroom door opened. Davis stepped out with a white bath towel wrapped at his waist. His chest was bare, smooth. Nipples, erect, tight. Stomach, flat. Pubic hairs, partially exposed. The imprint of his dick molded the towel like a twelve-inch lollicock.

Damn!
Her eyes widened, mouth opened.
Nice package,
she thought.

“Thanks for letting me use your shower. I feel great. Your turn,” he said, flashing his dazzling smile.

Mona wasn't as trusting as Davis. She took all she had with her—purse, gun, and cell—into the bathroom. She left the door open so she could hear what was happening in the room.

Her reflection in the mirror was pretty, but she felt like shit thinking about Sarah sleeping in a jail cell while she was staying in a hotel. Mona could go anywhere in the world if she wanted. Sarah could not.

The shower cap neatly covered Mona's hair. She closed her eyes. The hot, steamy beads of water bounced on her face, then flowed to her feet. Massaging her breasts, her body tingled with pleasure as she visualized Davis's dick. She thoroughly cleansed between her inner and outer labia, then touched her clit with the tip of her middle finger trying to have an orgasm. Struggling to let go of the mounted tension consuming her, she stroked herself.

“You okay in there?”

Almost forgetting Davis was in the room, she exhaled. “Yeah.” Didn't know he heard her.

Mona washed herself, scrubbed her underwear, hung her panties and bra on the hook behind the door. She wrapped her naked body in the towel.

“Wow, you always take almost an hour to shower?” he asked, leaning against the leather headboard.

“Yes and no.”

Mona peeled back the comforter and sheet, exposed his feet, sat at the foot of the bed. Placing his legs over her lap, she saturated his shins with lotion. With long, graceful strokes, she massaged everything below his knees. She took her time kneading his toes, arches, and the ball of his feet until Davis fell asleep. Massaging him helped take her mind off the things she couldn't control.

Curling in a fetal position, Mona secured her body at the edge of the bed far away from him, placed two pillows between them. Tomorrow she'd resign from her job and take time to decide whom and what she really wanted.

CHAPTER 24

Lincoln

 

W
hatever happened to the Homes for Heroes Act that was never voted on under the Bush administration?

Lincoln had to decide whether to use the last eight hundred dollars he had to pay his cell phone bill, eat for another thirty days, and live on the street, or to bring his rent current for the last time, have no cell phone service, and starve the rest of the month. Or last, ask his family for help. The decision was difficult.

Memorial Day he awoke in a park, wrapped in an American flag. He wasn't proud that he'd stolen the flag from a pole on someone's lawn. If someone thought about robbing him while he was asleep, he prayed the flag would change their mind. If he died being homeless, maybe whoever found his body would automatically assume the red, white, and blue meant he was a vet.

Neatly aligning the stripes and stars, he shoved the flag into his backpack, then headed to the park's public restroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. Later he'd try to sneak into a hotel or low-star restaurant, lock the door or stall, and charge up his cell phone while taking what his grandmother called “a ho bath.”

He tossed his backpack atop a picnic table, pulled out his cell phone. Mom, Dad, Grandma, Grandpa, Katherine, or Mona? In a few hours the park would be flooded with people celebrating . . . what? A day off from work with pay? He couldn't believe his government actually paid millions of dollars to workers and gave just about every employee the day off to celebrate and he just woke up in a park.

After scrolling through his numbers, he dialed his grandparents.

“Hello,” a sleepy voice answered.

“Hey, Grandpa.”

His voice escalated. “William, is that you, son?”

“Yeah, it's me.”

“We thought you were dead, but we hadn't heard anything from the military so we figured they might not be able to identify your body.” His grandfather sounded excited, confused, and inquisitive. “Where are you? When are you coming home? Your grandma and I want to hear about all your adventures. Honey! William is on the phone, pick up the other end!”

There was no way he could ask them for money. He ended the call soon after his grandma said, “William, baby, is that you?”

Barbeque pits were being set up near picnic areas, families were unloading foil pans that he assumed were filled with baked beans, potato salad, ribs, chicken, hot links, hamburger patties, and more trimmings. He was sure if he stayed close by, someone would give him a plate if he asked, but he doubted anyone would offer. Maybe a kid would. They seemed to have more compassion for him than adults. But he prayed no kids came near him, fearing they'd trigger a flashback of the day Randy was bombed. Having kids too close to him made him nervous. Kids triggered horrible homicidal thoughts.

Exhaling, he knew he'd prolonged the inevitable long enough. He prayed Katherine's home phone number was the same. There was no need to contact Mona, unless Katherine didn't answer.

“Hello, Clinton residence.” That wasn't the voice of the Clinton he wanted to speak with.

He cleared his throat. “Good morning, may I speak with Katherine Clinton, please?”

“Good morning to you. Hold for a moment while I get her,” Katherine's mother said.

Good. She must not have recognized his voice. He tapped the toe of his combat boot in the dirt, started to end the call as he heard, “This is Katherine.”

A lump the size of a golf ball choked him. “Katherine, it's Lincoln. William Lincoln.”

Silence filled the airways between them. Then he heard, “Ahhhh! Oh, my gosh!” She started crying.

From the freaked-out tone of her voice, he wasn't sure if she was happy to hear from him or just shocked. He figured he'd wait until she said something else.

“You're alive. Thank God. Thank you, Jesus. Are you in Selma?” she asked, gasping. Sounded like she was hyperventilating.

He imagined her doing a praise dance. “Not yet. I need your help, Katherine. I need to know if you can wire me five thousand dollars. I promise I'll pay you back when I get on my feet.” The military made him a sharpshooter, so he always got straight to the point. He expected her to hang up, but she didn't.

“Are you coming to Selma?”

He hated when women answered questions with questions. “Eventually. I'm not doing too good. I don't want you to see me like this. I promise when I get better, I'll come see you.”

“Me and your son, Jeremiah, Lincoln. He's nine years old. Give me your address, I'll send you some pictures. He looks exactly like you.”

Tears streamed down his face. He wanted to hurl his phone like a football across the park. He knew he should've called her sooner, like years sooner. Pictures might help him mentally prepare to see Jeremiah. What a nice name.

“What's his last name?”

“Lincoln?”

He couldn't tell if that was another question or the answer. All this time she's been raising their son alone while . . . “Did you get married?” he asked, praying she hadn't.

“No, I promised you, remember? I'm still waiting. Stupid, huh? But now that I know you're alive, I'm pissed.”

That song, “Still Waiting on Your Love” by LaKai, resonated. Katherine could never stay mad at him. “You have no idea what I've been through,” he cried, unable to hold back his tears. He wished her arms were around him.

Katherine angrily countered, “No, you have no idea what we've been through.”

He didn't want to start an argument during their first conversation in ten years or make her upset to the point where she'd hang up. “You're right. So can you help me?”

“It might not be five thousand, but I'll see what I can do. Where should I wire the money?”

Was she trying to track him down? If he wanted the money, he had to tell her. “I'm in Seattle, Washington. Here's my cell phone number. Write this down . . . area code 206 . . . Once you send the money, text me when I can pick it up.”

The little furniture that he had he'd left in his apartment. He had no new place to put his things. His Prime Care doctor told him the landlord was required to put his things in storage. But for how long? Depending on how much money Katherine sent, he'd decide whether to pay the cost to get his things back or start over. At least he'd be able to sleep in a hotel tonight.

“Katherine, who's that on the phone?” he heard her mother ask.

“Mama, it's Lincoln.”

“Is he in Selma? Is he coming over to meet his son? Does he have the fifty thousand dollars he owe you in back child support? If not, hang up the phone right now, Katherine, and I don't want no mess about being engaged.”

“He needs help, Mama. I'm going to send him a few dollars to help him get on his feet.”

The last words Lincoln heard before the call ended was Katherine's mother saying, “You ain't sending his ass shit!”