The Eternal Engagement (13 page)

CHAPTER 29

Mona

 

 

I
nterrupting their laughter, Sally said, “Here you go, suga. This note here is for you,” handing Mona a piece of paper.

Mona frowned, stared at the note, at Davis, at the waitress who wasn't theirs, then exhaled. “Who sent this?”

“Don't know his name, suga. Just doing what he asked.”

Davis chimed in, “
His
name?”

“She doesn't have to read it, suga. It's not for you,” Sally said, walking away.

Reaching for the note, Davis asked, “You want me to read it for you? Or is this ‘top secret' too?”

Mona pulled the paper close to her breasts. “Davis, don't start.” Her Southern drawl became gentle with compassion. “If my twenty-four hours ended right now, this day has been the best of my life in quite some time. The way you just teased my pussy with your tongue in your truck until I came in your mouth, still has me tremblin' inside.”

He frowned, then smiled. Sat up straight, thrust his chest forward.

Men. Predictable.

She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I have no regrets for anything we've done over the past six months. I want to keep it that way. Forget the twenty-four hours to live thing. You deserve your own day for us to do whatever you want. At eleven o'clock in the morning, when my twenty-four hours are up, a tour bus is picking us up and we're picking up your family, and we're going to Disneyland.”

Davis opened his mouth to speak. Mona shook her head. “No buts. That's final.”

Mona unfolded the paper once. Her cell phone dinged twice like a butter knife against an empty crystal glass. “See, perfect timing. That's probably the bus driver confirming our trip.”

Davis frowned but didn't speak.

She paused, picked up her cell phone. Smiled, giggled, then burst into a joyful laughter that permeated throughout the café as she silently read,
Hey, princess. Hope you don't mind. Got your # from your mom. It's your knight in shining armor. I'm living in Seattle now. Come see me. Wherever you are, get a ticket today and I'll reimburse you when you get here. Lincoln.

Princess?
Was the text meant for her or Katherine? No, he'd said he called her mom for her number. And her mom gave it to him? That meant his message was definitely intended for her. If she left now, packed her suitcase, hit I-5, and drove north, she could be in Lincoln's arms by eleven o'clock tomorrow night.

The more she tried to contain her excitement, the more she felt joy expanding. Any moment she could burst, scream with anticipation. Maybe the note in her hand was from Lincoln too. Maybe he'd come to Bakersfield to sweep her off her feet the way he should've done graduation day. She'd prayed for him every day, but she'd stopped praying that one day they'd reunite. Maybe he really did love her more than he loved Katherine.

“You okay?” Davis asked.

Mona dug in her purse, pushed her gun aside, checked the side pocket. Her silver band and her genie troll with the pink hair were there. “Yeah.” She beamed, kissed her doll, then shoved it back in the side pocket. “I'm real good. Give me a minute. I've gotta go pee,” Mona said, clenching the note and her phone in the same hand as she stood. “Keep an eye on my purse.”

She scurried to the back of the restaurant, entered the ladies' room, locked the door. “Ahh! Oh, my gosh! I can't believe it! William Lincoln texted me. Me!” she yelled, jumping high in the air. She settled herself, lined the toilet with two seat covers, pulled down her pants, sat, then opened the note.

A puff of air shot from her mouth. The momentum escaped her body as she read each word. Why was he determined to make her life miserable? He hadn't contacted her since the night she'd ignored his call at the hotel six months ago. His chasing Davis's truck like a fool that day in front of Tina Marie's Café didn't matter to her. She thought he'd moved on. She never should've married him, moved from Selma to Bakersfield with him. She should've filed for a divorce, but she still didn't know what he'd told the police. Mona never loved Steven the way he loved her. He was obsessed. Kinda like she was with Lincoln.

“Damnit, Steven!” She flushed the note down the toilet, marched to their table, told Davis, “Wait here, I'll be right back,” then stormed outside.

Crunch. Crunch.
The rubber soles of her tennis shoes—the same shoes she'd worn the day she'd left him—marched toward the Pepsi marquee with the words
KNOTTY PINE CAFÉ.
Cars zoomed by the two-way road. Houses with piles of stuff some would call junk were on the other side of the road. She did a one-eighty, hiked between rows of parked cars. The crunch beneath her feet echoed in her ears. There he stood, damn fool that he was, staring at her. A few feet from the restaurant's back door, Mona made her way to the Dumpster.

“What, Steven, what! What the hell do you want now?” she yelled.

“I want you to stop seeing him, that's what.”

Mona looked around. Her gun was inside her purse. Her purse was with Davis. Probably best. In the heat of the moment she was positive she'd shoot Steven if she had her weapon.

She replied with the same demanding tone, “The hell I will. Even if it weren't him, it sure as hell will never be you again.”

“If you're not coming back to me, I'm sending you back home to Selma and you're staying there! Your only other option . . . listen to me!” he yelled, grabbing her arm. He yanked her close to his chest, then whispered in her ear, “Your only other option is to room with Sarah McKenny.”

Her first thought, knee him in the groin. Instead she pushed him away. Her fingers curled into fists, slammed atop each hip.

“I'm a grown-ass woman, Steven, and I have enough money to live any damn where I please and I don't need your permission! And I wish you would try to frame me.”

An unknown man passing by said to Steven, “Let her go, man. Take it from me. You can't keep a woman that doesn't want to be kept. It's not always cheaper to keep her. If she's miserable, you're going to be miserable too,” then got in his car and drove away.

“You heard the man,” Mona said, raising her hands toward the sky.

Steven gripped her wrist. “Shut up and let's go.” He pulled her toward him. “You've gone too far with this Davis guy. Get over him,” he said, wrapping his lips around a cigarette.

Breaking his hold, Mona spat at his feet. “Even if I wasn't with Davis, I ain't never coming back to you.”

Exhaling smoke in her face, he retorted, “I'm not asking you, Mona,” then grabbed her biceps.

This time she slapped his face hard as she could to let him know she wasn't playing by his rules anymore. His cigarette fell to the ground. She jerked her arm away. Stepped back. “It's over between us. Over, you hear me. Accept it.”

His broad shoulders squared back as he rubbed his jaw. His dark brown eyes narrowed. Six feet of once-upon-a-time, melt-in-her-mouth caramel stood before her. But the only man her appetite craved was Lincoln. The prayers she'd given up on had been answered.

Laughing, Steven lit another cigarette, then said, “Are you serious?” Swallowing his cynical laugh, inches from her face, he grunted. “It's not over until I say so. And I'm never going to say so. Understood? Go inside and get your purse from him. Or should I go get it for you?”

“Stay away from me, Steven. I'm not coming back to you. That's final.”

His voice escalated with each word. “Don't tell me what's final! I say when things are final!” Then he whispered, “And don't forget what I do for a living. Don't make me choose which hat to wear for you.” His lips locked around the filter. He inhaled long and hard, then blew smoke in her face again. He plucked the cigarette to the ground.

“I'm doing what's best for you,” she said. “You really should thank me.”

Steven wasn't her first, second, or third choice of man. He was most available and the best provider. Now that she had a second chance with the only man she'd ever loved, Steven didn't know he'd already lost this battle.

Steven leaned his head back, opened his mouth wide, then roared with laughter. His eyes narrowed, lips tightened. He stooped, stared at Mona. “Slut, you weren't thinking about what was best for me when you were fucking him. Earlier your ass was screwing him in public. Then you're so horny, you got your feet so high in the air pressed against his windshield, that neither of you noticed me. Guess you were too busy cuming, then putting your nasty-ass drawers back on,” Steven lamented, shoving her. “I should kill him and you too!”

Stepping on the burning cigarette lying between them, she boldly told him, “And don't forget I'm better than you. I have evidence that could get you life without the pos-si-bi-li-ty of parole. That's right. I stashed away video footage that'll link you to every murder you've committed. Don't make me testify against you, Steven. I'm serious. Dead serious.”

Steven lit another cigarette. “You've got exactly”—he glanced at his watch—“seven hours. I'm not playing with you. Tonight. Midnight. The top of Thanksgiving Day. If you're not back in our house by midnight, Mona,” he said, tossing the cigarette to the ground. “There you go. More evidence. Videotape that. I don't give a fuck what you claim to have!”

He smashed the burning tobacco into the gravel with the tip of his shoe, emptied the remaining cigarettes in the pack on her head. “Be grateful that I still love you. Because if I didn't—” He stopped midsentence, then slowly walked away.

“I hate you, Steven Cunningham! I hate you.” She saw Davis headed her way, toting her purse. Mona shouted louder, “I love Davis! You hear me,” she lied out loud again to piss Steven off more.“I love Davis!”

Mona stomped on the cigarettes repeatedly. Tobacco spilled between the gravel. Davis stood holding her purse.

Mona snatched her bag from Davis and said, “Let's go . . . I'm staying the night at your house.”

By the time Davis would awaken, she'd be on a flight to Seattle.

CHAPTER 30

Steven

 

 

T
hanksgiving Eve and he didn't have a damn thing to be thankful for.

“Mona had better get her shit together or I'm going to get it together for her,” he said aloud.

Talking to his mom on the phone and to himself at home had become the norm since Mona had left. His wife was his best and only friend. Mom was a few hours away from being wrong for the first time. He paced his living room floor, checked his gun. Made sure it was fully loaded.

“Nah, I got one better for her ass.” Steven went to their bedroom, put his gun on the nightstand. He put on a pair of latex gloves, then opened Mona's bottom drawer.

Furiously, he scrambled through her clothes, shut the drawer, opened another, scrambled, slammed it shut. Slam. Shut. Slam. Shut. “Damn!” Her backup firearm wasn't there. Reverting to Plan A, he stuffed his gun into a yellow padded envelope. Put a bottle of whiskey in a brown paper bag, then stepped outside.

“Hey, Steven. When Mona coming back?” Velma asked.

“Tonight. I'm going to get her right now.”

He put the envelope and alcohol on his passenger seat, then drove to Mona's house on the other side of town. He parked in front of her driveway and blocked her car. The lights were off, all of them. Opening his large pocketknife, he got out of his SUV, started to slash all the tires on the black-on-black 4Runner but changed his mind. He closed the knife, went to his SUV, grabbed a handful of flathead two-inch nails from his toolbox. He leaned several nails against each tire. The car he'd bought her five years ago was paid in full and in his name . . . not hers! But he didn't have the keys. She did.

All that they owned was purchased by him and in his name. Deed of Trust. Flat screens. Sofa, bed, pots, dishes. Cell phones. Mona's name was on the credit cards, but he paid the bills.

When Mona's mother insisted, “Steven, the only way you're going to take my daughter out of our house is if you can afford to provide for her. And by provide I mean be a man and pay for all of her needs down to the drawers on her ass,” he had no problem with that.

His problem was, Mona thought she was hot shit. If necessary, he could go home to his parents. What the fuck was she gon' do? That's probably why she hadn't left Bakersfield.

Now she threatened to use whatever she had to bring him down. That wasn't happening. Mona wouldn't have shit if it weren't for him! No more being nice to her ass.

“I'm done letting my wife make a fool outta me!” he shouted with his back to her front door. “What the hell you lookin' at, dude? That's right, I said it.”

Steven got in his SUV.
Slam!
His door rattled.

He drove along East Brundage Lane, passed the Assembly Hall of Jehovah's Witnesses. Maybe that's what he needed to do, pray, go to church, something. His woman was probably at
his
house riding or sucking
his
dick. Steven knew where Davis lived. On the other side of town, off of Airport Boulevard in a single-family homes subdivision. Two miles from the café. In a few, he'd be there.

Cruising along Brundage, he turned right on Chester Avenue, then right on Truxtun. The detour wasn't in his plan, but he found himself there. Steven stopped in front of the Rabobank Arena. A snapshot flashed before his eyes of Mona and Davis having sex in broad daylight only hours ago. Now he imagined they were at Davis's house having sex for at least the third time today.

Fuck!
He punched the steering wheel.

No matter how many orgasms Davis gave Mona, they weren't making love. Steven saw in Mona's mannerisms when she was sexing Davis in public that she wasn't in love with him. She was fucking that guy like it was her last orgasm. And it might be close to her last if she kept fucking up.

What man wouldn't lose his mind knowing another man was sexing his woman?

He made an illegal U-turn, arrived at Mona's house for the second time. All of the lights were off. It was eight o'clock, too dark to see if the nails were still leaning against her tires. He used his flashlight to confirm what he suspected. The nails were still there.

“Damnit, Mona!” he grunted. He cracked his knuckles. Stretched his neck until he heard
Pop!

He really was losing it. How was she supposed to get to his house if she got four flat tires backing out of her driveway? Steven removed all the nails, parked down the street from her house, sat in his car, and waited.

“There's a proper way to end a marriage, bitch. You don't just walk out on the man who loves you, provides for you. You don't do that shit, Mona, and open your legs for another man.” Tears burned his eyes as he cried, “You leave me no choice.”

Maybe it was his fault she'd left him. Seeing Mona with Davis reminded him how happy they used to be. He should've cared more about her happiness than the half million he was paid per hit. Forget that. “This shit was her fault. All her fault.”

In his line of work, his word was bond. The easy money came in bundles of ten to thirty grand. It was never his intent to kill, but he had to. Not much different from crooked cops nowadays, except the law wasn't on his side to protect him. No administrative leave if he got caught.

In situations where he thought it was okay to have Mona with him, she'd witnessed him take life. Again. And again. In Macon and Kansas City, she'd helped him cover up evidence that could send him to prison. Their marriage, once priceless, wasn't worth a damn.

“Her ass has that same evidence. After all I've done for her!” he yelled, punching the vinyl dashboard. “Ow!” He spread, then curled his fingers thinking, “She probably has it hidden at the lab under some alias.” His wife could probably make one call and he'd be arrested.

Never should've taken her out of her mother's house into his. Her mother, he thought, then shook his head as he calculated a clever plan that would nicely involve Mrs. Ellington. Mona's mom started all of this. “Provide for her daughter's every need shit.” If she hadn't spoiled her daughter, maybe Mona wouldn't be so damn self-centered.

Eight o'clock, no Mona. Nine o'clock, she wasn't there. Ten o'clock, same. He was used to sitting in his car for much longer hours surveilling homes. He knew Mona wouldn't go straight to his house without coming to hers first, but he'd waited long enough.

Starting his engine, he drove to the other side of town, near the Bakersfield Arch, stopped at Buck Owens Crystal Palace. Four beers later he made his way down a dark road to a nearby strip club. Handing the cashier thirty dollars, he said, “Cover plus twenty singles.”

Soon as he sat in one of about seventy empty, plush red velvet chairs, a woman dressed in a tight black and white striped shirt with her cleavage bulging and her ass barely covered in a black pleated skirt asked, “Would you like something to drink?”

“I'm good,” he said, feeling the buzz from the brews he had earlier. Besides, he knew all she had to offer was soda, with or without ice.

None of the all-nude strip clubs in town served alcohol. Didn't make any sense to be sober with pussies shining in your face. But it didn't matter. He wouldn't be there long enough to see the first girl slide her Brazilian-waxed pussy down the pole.

He sat passing time contemplating another plan just in case Plan A didn't work out to his satisfaction.