Unbelievable (8 page)

“Maybe
you
should ask her out, Booker. Then you can talk about your favorite subject uninterrupted,” Maggie suggested.

“And what subject would that be?” Booker sat up straight, clearly bracing for her retort.

Maggie got up and walked over to the other side of Seth, strategically putting him between her and Booker before she answered. “Yourself,” she said simply. He flung a roll at her, but Seth caught it. “Nice try. And good catch, sweetie.” She swung around and plopped onto his lap and they began kissing, again.

“Cut it out, you’re making me sick,” Book pretended to gag.

“Leave then,” Seth said, without breaking the kiss.

“Come on, Book, let’s go sit on the porch,” I suggested. We walked out and sat on the swing attached to the front porch. It was already humid, not typical weather for June in upstate New York. We usually had to wait until July for the thick, wet air to invade.

“So tell me about your day with jailbait,” Booker egged.

“She’s not
jailbait,
Book,” I complained drily.

“Barely,” Booker laughed.

“She’s sweet and a hard worker,” came my very lame reply.

“You already said that.” Booker’s face split into a wide grin. “Hanging around these two rubbing off on y
ou?” he laughed. “All that doe-eyed staring, giggling in the kitchen, and all-around drooling getting to ya?”

“And it doesn’t
get to you? Come on, you’re only human, well, almost anyway.” I punched his arm. “I never really thought about marriage. I mean, I knew someday I’d settle down, but I’m thirty now. I don’t want to be an old man having kids.”

“Yeah, those two got to me too,” he laughed. “Then I remembered,
been there, done that, failed miserably
.” He grimaced. “Never again.”

“Never again what, Garfield?” Maggie stepped out onto the porch with a hideous orange ball.
I hate basketball
.

“Marriage. It’s for chumps,” Booker smiled mischievously. “Present company included.”

“Oh, man. I can’t wait for the day you find
the one
,” she added quote marks in the air with her last two words.

“I’m telling you, Magpie, it ain’t going to happen.” He stretched out his legs and leaned back in the swing.

“Let’s just say it did.” Maggie said, bouncing the ball a few times and pretending to shoot a basket. “Let’s pretend God actually made a girl just for you. What are the
musts
she’d have to have?”

“She’d have to be tall. I don’t want a kink in my neck every time I kiss her. And trust me, with a guy like me, she’s going to want to kiss, a lot.” Maggie pretended to gag at his words. Undaunted, Booker continued. “She’d have to know how to handle a gun,” he said with a glint in his eye. Maggie ignored his poke at her. She hated guns and had lousy aim—most to the time.

“I mean deal breaker stuff, Garfield. What does she absolutely have to have or not have before it’s a no deal?” Maggie pressed.

“I told you, tall and a good shot,” Booker assured her while trying to steal the basketball away. She spun in a circle and faked left as he went right. “Oh, and I’d like her to have red hair. I’ve never dated a red head before.”

“Booker, there are a lot of women that fit the bill. I know a girl in my health class who would be perfect,” Maggie began.

“Wait, I’m not done,” he said, pausing in his pursuit of the ball. “There’s one more thing. She’d have to have AB negative blood.” He swooped in, grabbed the ball and spun around for a perfect three point shot.

“AB negative? No one has AB negative blood.” Maggie caught the rebound and tucked the ball under her arm.

“I do.” Booker took a swipe at the ball, she stepped back and he missed.

“That’s because you’re weird.” She bounced the ball and shot a perfect three pointer. “That’s an impossible list.”

“Exactly.” Booker tucked in and grabbed the rebound. “Play matchmaker with Doc. I’m not interested.”

“Did you start without me?” Seth asked, coming out on the porch. “Come on, Cole, a little two-on-two.”

“No thanks, I’ll referee,” I volunteered as Maggie stole the ball back from Booker. “Besides, I’m a lover
, not a fighter,” I proclaimed.

“A lover who never dates?” teased Seth.

“Come on, Cole,” Maggie took a shot, hitting the rim, ricocheting high in the air and coming back down—right into the basket. Seth cheered.

“You’re going to have to practice more, Cole. Maggie’s pretty good now. We’ve been practicing every evening after dinner,” Seth explained.

“Of course they have. What else do these two have to do on these long, hot summer nights?” Booker teased.

Maggie aimed the basketball directly at Booker’s head, nailing him with it before he could catch it.

“Good speed, Maggie. You have been working,” I complimented her.

“Thank you, Cole.” She beamed. Seth snagged her back into his arms proudly.

“If you two start making out again . . .” Booker threatened.

“Hey, did Maggie tell you we’re having salsa music at the reception, just for you and Cole? Of course, that means you’ll have to ask a female companion to the wedding, unless you two plan on dancing together,” Seth said.

Great, who was I going to ask? Certainly not Lilah, I’d never live it down. I could ask a nurse from the ER, but they’d expect a second date, and there wasn’t a single one I cared to date a first time, let alone a second.

I leaned back against the swing and watched the three play donkey, or was it horse? I never could remember the name of that stupid game. Soon I lost track of who was winning. My thoughts lost in Lilah . . . again.

Chapter 7

Lilah

“Who the heck is calling me at one a.m.?” The alarm clock tumbled to the floor as I grabbed my cell phone, answering without looking at the display. It had to be Daddy. No one else would be so rude.

“Any luck? Did you get the information?” Daddy fired his questions before I had the phone to my ear.

“Hello, Daddy. Yes, I’m fine, and how are you feeling?” I asked, my voice dripping with acidity. I sat up, noting that the A/C wasn’t working again.

“Don’t get snippy with me, young lady,” he demanded.

“It’s been a week and a half. You have to be fair,” I treaded carefully. “I’m gaining the girl’s trust. I’m going to cut and style her hair—”

“You’re playing dress up with the girl who murdered your brother? Are you out of your mind?” His rage was cut short by a coughing fit.

“Daddy, settle down. Please, give me a little time,” I pleaded.

“You have
‘til the end of summer,” he insisted. “I want this revenge to happen, Lilah. I’m doing this for you, princess. I’m dying. I don’t want to leave you destitute. This is more for you than me now that I’m dying.”

“I don’t want their money—”

“You listen to me. I’m your father. I provided you with a good life. Did you not have all the finest things money could buy growing up? I took you on elaborate vacations, purchased expensive jewelry for you whenever you asked. Family first, Delilah. Always. And it’s about time you stepped up and pulled your weight.” He trailed off, murmuring about how Birdie had made me soft.

I dried my sweaty brow with the hem of my shirt.

“I know, Daddy, and maybe you’re right about Birdie, but I don’t want their money—”

He cut me off again. “You’ll do as you’re told if you expect me to stand by our agreement. Do you understand?”

“Okay. I won’t let you down,” I said, seeing no point in arguing. As I suspected, the revenge was for
Daddy
.  Everything was for Daddy. It always was. The phone call ended without a good bye.

I flopped facedown onto my pillow. All the old feelings of helplessness came roaring back into my head, squeezing my heart. I knew what was coming, what always came whenever I felt like I was being forced into something.

I fought sleep for as long as I could by walking around my tiny apartment and drinking a couple cans of Diet Pepsi, which only made me pee three times.

The memories began.
Memories of blood-curdling screams pouring out of my brothers as they received beatings after disobeying Daddy’s orders. The screams. The gut-wrenching screams. I wrapped my arms around me as I tried to force the memories back.

Only once had Daddy beaten me like that. When my mother came home and found out, they had the biggest fight I’d ever witnessed. Daddy never hit her, but I was sure he would. My mother stood her ground, never flinching, never backing down. He never hit me again after that.

Oh,
Mami,
why am I not more like you?”

By four a.m., exhaustion won and I surrendered to the nightmare.

“Shut up, now!” Alan’s breath reeked of rotten eggs as it splashed across my face. It always smelled of rotten eggs.

“You’re hurting me.” I tried in vain to rip my arm from his grip, but to no avail. How could a skinny
, little eight-year-old outman a stocky 16-year-old? It was hopeless.

Alan twisted his hand around my hair and dragged me into his room. I clawed and tore at him, desperate to break free.

“Mamá!” I screamed out in fear.

Alan laughed. “Forget it, princess. Your stupid mother’s not here. Neither is Dad or Bill. It’s just you and me.” A wicked grin snaked across his face as he reached for my new sundress. It was orange with little lady bugs dancing in circles on it. Birdie had made it for my birthday only a week ago. Alan wrapped his dirty, stubby fingers around the strap. A sick feeling rose in my belly. I didn’t know about the bad things that happened to little girls and boys by creepy people, but I was about to find out. Alan jerked at the strap and it broke free from the dress.

Beep. Beep. Beep. My alarm. I sat up, my brow damp from perspiration. Reaching over to my nightstand, I turned it off and climbed out of bed, grateful I didn’t have to relive the memory completely.

I showered and pulled on a pair of denim shorts and a red tank top. I’d be painting today and didn’t want to ruin any good clothes.

My apartment was small, but functional. It had one bedroom, a living-dining area, and a postage-stamp size kitchen. The apartment came with one month of free internet service, along with free phone services for a year. I didn’t need it because I used my cell phone, but the seedy little landlord insisted I take it. “Free. You can’t pass up free,” he barked. I later learned from my neighbor that he got some sort of commission for every two people he signed up.

The apartment was unlike any home I’d grown up in. We had two homes in Arizona, one in the Caribbean, and a villa in Italy. This entire apartment could fit in the walk-in closet of my Italy bedroom. When my brother Bill was killed, we lost everything after the cops raided our business. Daddy and I went on the run
to New Mexico. A short time later, too overwhelmed with everything that had happened not only to my family, but to me, I left him. I stayed hidden from him and his tyrannical rule for almost three years. Not once during that time did I have the nightmare. I rubbed my empty gut at the painful memories.

I checked the A/C unit. Frosted over, just as I suspected. I wrote a quick note to the building supervisor and stuck it to his door on my way out.

The air, already warm and sticky, wrapped around me like a wet blanket as I stepped outside. Why people actually
chose
to live in thick damp air instead of the dry climate the desert offered remained a mystery to me.

The library was on my way to the hospital and I stopped to see if they had any office décor magazines I could show to Cole. He was nervous about the furniture I hoped to use so I thought a few pictures might settle him down a bit.

I entered the brick building with its turn of the century architecture, the musty smell of books greeting me like an old friend. I loved to read. When I was looking for work, I had very little time to escape into a great novel. I went straight to the help desk and waited for the girl sitting behind the counter to finish her phone call. Bambi was her name, if I believed the tag on her black fishnet vest. She also had a cute black and red plaid mini skirt, and a pair of ripped up black tights, along with untied black army boots. Sort of a Goth-meets-punk look. I loved it.