Dangerous curves, p.10
Dangerous Curves, page 10
Ericka smiled, now in a better mood, all trauma forgotten.
He got in the driver’s seat, briefly wondering if he was making a mistake. Ruth was probably right, she’d likely calm down after a few minutes. But it still bothered him that the behavior had started at all. Ericka was a very genial child. She took to anyone. Even at six months, she would go to anyone who was kind to her. She’d never displayed this kind of tantrum before. At a stop sign, he opened his glove compartment and reached for his carton of cigarettes. He had one in his mouth and was about to light it when he remembered Ericka in the back seat. He looked at her in the rearview mirror. “Your mother would kill me.”
She smiled, then giggled as if he’d said something funny.
He sighed and put the cigarette away. He’d have to wait.
“Hey, what’s this?” his brother Eric asked when Drake walked into the office of his restaurant, The Blue Mango, carrying Ericka in his arms.
“She was upset,” he said, setting her bag on an empty chair.
Eric took his niece and kissed her loudly on the cheek then gave her a raspberry on the neck, making her giggle. “How’s my princess?”
She told him, but neither man could make out exactly what she was saying. He set her down on the ground and handed her her favorite toy—a plush dragon.
“She looks fine to me,” Eric said.
“You should have seen her awhile ago. Miserable and crying.”
“About what?”
Drake sat behind his desk and shrugged. “I don’t know. She wouldn’t stop crying until I took her. She’s started doing that the last few days. Ruth says she stops when I leave, but it just was too much for me. I’ll only do this for today.”
But the next day was no better. He decided to try tough love and left her, but once he reached the office, he called her. She still sounded tearful.
“It’s a stage she has to grow out of,” Ruth said. “She really is fine when you’re gone.
“Hmm.”
But for the next two days the pattern continued and his instincts told him something wasn’t right. So that evening he called his brother.
“I need you to see something. Come over early tomorrow for breakfast.”
“Okay.”
Drake half hoped that Ericka would be fine. Through breakfast she eat and smiled and talked animatedly with Eric, but the moment they both stood to leave, her face crumbled.
“She’s fine after a while,” Ruth quickly assured Eric when she saw him looking at Ericka with concern. “Trust me, she’s all smiles and giggles in a couple of minutes.”
They nodded then left.
“You see what I mean?” Drake said as they sat in Drake’s car staring at the little girl crying in the window.
Eric frowned, then jumped out of the car.
“What are you doing?”
He jogged up the front steps. “Sorry, I can’t watch that.”
“Did you forget something?” Ruth asked when she opened the door.
“I’m taking Ericka with me.”
“Some children have separation anxiety, and she’ll grow out of it.”
“Fine, I’m still taking her with me.”
“I don’t think you should. You and Drake, I mean Mr. Henson,” she quickly corrected when she saw his eyes narrow. “Are spoiling her.”
Eric adjusted his glasses and waited.
Ruth wisely surrendered and turned to get Ericka’s things.
Chapter 20
The little girl was going to ruin everything! Ruth watched Drake and Eric drive away with anger roiling within her. Why did she have to start acting up? She’d been so sweet and easy before. She spun from the window and started clearing the dishes in the sink, light bounced off the copper pots hanging above, polishing the bowl of oranges, mangoes and apples sitting on the island. She saw a list of items Cassie had planned to buy tacked on the fridge. She knew better than to throw it away, although there was no use for it.
She’d help Drake get over his grief when Cassie eventually passed on. She’d let the list stay and may laminate it and put it in a special place. She already knew what dress they should bury her in. She’d gone through her closet enough times to know every item. Cassie would be proud to know that she’d left her family in the right hands.
Ericka would just have to get use to the change. Was it so hard for a three-year-old to call her Mommy once in a while? She’d have to anyway. What was wrong with a little pretend now? She usually liked make-believe. But every time she tried, the stubborn child pulled in her lip and glared at her. When she did become a permanent member of the household she’d let that child know who was in charge.
For now, she had to assure Drake and Eric that nothing was wrong. Drake would be easier than Eric. Eric was an odd man to her, and she wasn’t really sure whether he liked her or not. When he came over he was always cordial, but his dark gaze was unreadable. He was a strange man. She couldn’t believe such a boring looking accountant had been able to land a beautiful woman like Adriana. Adriana may be difficult too, the change would be hard for her since she was Cassie’s best friend, she’d give her space to mourn. Maybe in time they could be friends too. Her main focus would first be the children. Fortunately, the Henson’s youngest, Julie was still a baby and she’d only known Ruth as a mother figure in her life. It would take a couple of months, but then Ericka would calm down, but she couldn’t let the men get in her way of assimilating her to the way things would soon be.
Ruth changed Julie’s dirty diaper and put her in her bouncing chair. Slowly a new plan formed in her mind.
Perhaps she should let Ericka sleep a little longer than usual. If she gave her a light sleep aid at night then she’d still be asleep when Drake left in the morning. The only reason she even ate with them was because Ericka was a notoriously early riser and would wake up at the lightest sound, unlike her brother who could sleep through a tornado.
Marcus may also be a problem, but not as much. He was a good kid, but she knew his silence hurt Drake and that in turn infuriated her. Drake was stressed and unhappy enough, it was selfish of his son to refuse to speak to him. She’d have to talk to him again. The psychiatrist wasn’t making much progress, but she didn’t trust them much anyway. They rarely healed anyone, just gave them prescriptions or addictive drugs and charged for sessions that ended up lasting for years. She should know. Her sister was one. A know-it-all who actually thought she needed help. She was saner than anyone she knew.
Ruth looked down at Julie in her bouncing chair, then at the spacious living room, imagining curling up with Drake on the sofa, listening to him talk about his restaurants, laughing with him in the kitchen as he did with Cassie. It seemed to be their favorite room in the house. Although cooking never really interested her, she’d started to read the food magazines they subscribed to. She wanted to be interested in whatever he was. She looked at Julie and tweaked her chin, making the baby smile. “Yes, darling, I’ve finally found the life I was born to live.”
Chapter 21
“And then they just stopped,” Drake said. He sat with Eric and Clay in Eugene’s’ Bar. The atmosphere had a strange quiet although a game on the TV was in full swing. There was the low murmur of voices, the clink of glasses, ice hitting the side of a glass, too loud laughter from a group that was either drunk or trying to be. “She stopped crying.”
“Really?”
“Yes, she’s sleeping later so I don’t see her in the morning and when I get home she’s fine. Still a little sleepy from her nap.”
“Nap?” Eric said.
Clay looked at him. “Why do you sound surprised? Isn’t that a good thing?”
He adjusted his glasses. “It just doesn’t sound like her. Ericka never napped before.”
Drake grinned. “She didn’t used to. I know Cassie tried begging her, but she’d just stare at her. But I guess things have changed. I’m glad she’s not so unhappy.”
Clay glanced at Eric, who didn’t look convinced, but wisely kept his thoughts to himself. “I thought I should let you know that I spoke to Jackson.”
Drake stiffened; Eric’s gaze sharpened. “Did he remember anything?” he asked.
Clay shook his head. “I thought I should mention him because of his driver.”
“Driver?” Eric said.
“Yes, they both came and spoke to Jackie and me.”
“He brought his driver?” Eric repeated just to make sure.
“Yes. You met her.”
“We did?”
“Yes, at the hospital.” When both men looked blank he said, “Come on, she’s not that easy to forget. She was in a uniform. You thought she was one of Jackson’s ladies.”
Drake continued to look blank, but Eric nodded in remembrance. “Oh, right. Her.”
“Who?” Drake asked.
Eric look at his brother disappointed. “She spoke to you and nearly fainted.”
Drake nodded and snapped his fingers. “Yes, I remember now.”
“Doesn’t she remind you of someone?” Clay said.
Eric looked away. “Nobody is like Cassie.”
“I didn’t say she was. But there are similarities.”
“Does it matter?” Drake said, catching the eye of a waitress for a refill. “Jackson always has a woman around him.”
“Not a woman like this.”
“He’s been partying as if nothing’s happened.”
“Maybe,” Clay said, pensive.
Eric looked at him closely, recognizing the tone. “Do you think she knows something that could be useful to us?”
Clay took a long swallow of his drink then set it down. “I think she’s hiding something and I plan to find out what.” He stood. “Catch you up later.”
Eric nodded, then waited until Clay was gone before he turned to his brother and said, “Where are they?”
“What?”
“The cigs. I know you started smoking again.”
He shrugged.
“Where are they?”
“Do I look dumb enough to tell you?” Drake grinned, then took a swallow of his drink.
Eric adjusted his glasses. “Don’t do this.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“I’m not going to stand aside and watch you fall apart like Dad.”
Drake held out his hands. “Who’s falling apart?”
“You know every puff is like a death knell.”
“You’re getting poetic.”
“Where are they?” He held out his hand. “Are they in your pocket? In the glove compartment?” He wiggled his fingers with impatience. “Give them to me.”
“I’m not Dad.”
“Then tell me where they are.”
Drake took another swallow.
“What are you going to do if she doesn’t wake up?” Eric said, not giving him a chance to respond. “Go through a pack a day? Two packs? I’m not going to let you—”
Drake slammed down his glass. “I told you I’m not Dad.”
“Then stop reminding me of him.”
Drake shook his head, angered that his brother would compare him to a man who had withered away after the death of their mother. A weak man who’d left them orphans in a foreign country. At times he wondered if they’d stayed in Jamaica, how would their life have been? What would his life have been like if he hadn’t been orphaned at sixteen with two younger siblings to raise? But that was the past. He’d proven he was stronger than his father and he always would be. What was a smoke here and there? It had gotten him through tough times before. He picked up a cardboard coaster and turned it over to look at the writing on the back. “I’m not Dad. Besides, it’s different now.”
“What do you mean by that?”
He tossed the coaster down. “If anything happens to me—”
Eric grabbed his wrist, his gaze dark, his eyes hard. “I’m not raising your kids.”
The corner of his mouth kicked up. “Jackie will.”
“You son of a bitch.”
He shrugged trying to show a nonchalance he didn’t feel. “I’m being honest.”
“I’ll tell you what you’re being—”
“I thought you already told me.”
“Do you want Marcus to hate you as much as we hated Dad?”
Drake yanked his wrist free. “I told you I’m not him, but I understand him now more than I had before.”
“You believe in loving your wife more than your children?”
Drake’s eyes blazed. “Don’t tell me how I feel.”
“Then don’t tell me crap about understanding a man who abandoned us.”
“He didn’t abandon us. He died.”
“He willed himself to. And you’re doing the same. Every time you inhale that smoke you’re willing yourself away from us.”
Drake finished his drink then set the glass down. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Then tell me where they are.”
“I’ll quit.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Too bad.” Drake stood. “You’ll have to.”
Chapter 22
Someone had to look out for the children. Clay and Jackie focused on the mystery surrounding the accident, Drake focused on Cassie’s progress or lack there of, but Eric worried about the children. He’d lied to his brother by saying he wouldn’t look after his kids. He’d make sure that his nieces and nephew didn’t suffer as they had. There would be no roach-infested rooms or days without eating. They’d get the very best. But it wasn’t the future that bothered him as much as the present. The fact that his nephew still wouldn’t talk and now his niece sleeping late and taking naps when she never used to before bothered him. He wanted to shield them, protect them, but he didn’t know how, or even what from. Life could be a cruel teacher that didn’t care about age; it didn’t soften its lessons to accommodate innocence.
But he’d do his best to focus on them and make sure they were okay. Drake was a good father, coping as best he could, but Eric knew they could do more. They had to plan for the worst. Perhaps it was the accountant in him, but he had to pay attention to the details.
“We need to prepare in case Cassie doesn’t make it,” he told his wife Adriana later that evening as they put the plates away after dinner.
“She will,” Adriana said, closing a cupboard. Her purple-black hair fell to her shoulders in soft curls, her bright red, gauzy top warmed her dark coffee skin.
“But just in case she—”
Adriana left the kitchen.
Eric took a deep breath. He knew the topic would be hard—Cassie was her best friend--but he didn’t expect it to start off this bad. He hung up the dishtowel, then followed her into the living room. “I need you to be rational about this.”
Adriana flipped through a fashion magazine. “I am being rational. Cassie is going to recover and—”
“But what if she doesn’t?”
“She will,” Adriana said, ripping a perfume sample. “She has to.” Adriana took a sniff of the scent, made a face, then tossed it aside. “She can’t leave her three children. She’s so happy and she has plans to—”
Eric sat in front of his wife, stunned. “Do you think Death cares? That doesn’t matter.”
Adriana snapped the magazine closed and glared at him. “Of course it matters. She’s a fighter. She’ll make it.”
“She may not. No matter how much we want her to live—”
Adriana held up her hand. “Will you just shut up?”
“People die. I know.” He touched his chest. “You think my mother wasn’t a fighter? You think she wanted to leave us?”
“Cassie will live.” She clapped her hands together as a thought struck her. “I know what we need. I think we should schedule dinner next Sunday.”
“No.”
“It’s been a while and we haven’t gathered as a family since—”
“No.”
“Cassie would want it.”
“Oh, and we’re supposed to pretend she’s not there? Where would you hold it?”
“Here, of course.”
“You can’t even cook.” His wife owned three successful lingerie stores and had her own growing line, but she wasn’t good in the kitchen. “Or perhaps we could just hire a chef and also hire someone to provide the laughter.”
Adriana glared at him. “You’re not being fair.”
“And you’re being unrealistic. How do you think Drake will feel?”
“He needs to know we’re there to support him. It’s important.”
“Pretending isn’t the way to get through this period.”
“It’s not pretending. It’s a way to look out for each other.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do.”
“You’re doing it wrong.”
He threw up his hands, exasperated. “Why am I the only one willing to talk about this? Willing to think about what will happen in case things don’t work out the way we want?”
“Maybe because the rest of us don’t have the cold accountant heart. If you loved her even half as much as I did, you wouldn’t be able to imagine what you’re saying.”
His voice dropped and turned hard. “I love her—”
Adriana jumped to her feet. “No, you don’t. You already have her halfway in the ground. Do you have her funeral planned out too? Do you have a grief counselor lined up for the children?”
Eric pinched the bridge of his nose then stood and reached for her hand. “Adriana, I just want—”
Adriana pulled her hand away. “You can think and plan all you want, just do it without me. And we’re having a Sunday dinner.” She turned and stormed down the hall.
Moments later, Eric heard the bedroom door slam and softly swore. Why was he the enemy? First Drake and now her. He grabbed a water pitcher and watered some of the many plants that filled their home. He dusted the leaves on their large kangaroo fern and checked the impressive succulent agave plant that would soon outgrow its pot. But once he was finished checking his plants, he still felt restless. He grabbed his keys and left. He was half a block away when someone grabbed his hand. He turned and saw his nine-year-old stepdaughter, looking up at him with fear in her eyes. “Please don’t go.”
