The Cyclops Conspiracy (4 page)

They drove to Huntington Beach, near the entrance to the James River Bridge. His mood was sullen, her attempts to engage him, shunned. Her fear tripled with each minute they drove. Jason took her hand as they’d walked, refusing to look at her. It was the first time he’d touched her in two weeks. The sensation sent a cold shiver down her spine. They trudged to the escarpment overlooking the river and sat on a hard, cold bench. He faced her, but wouldn’t meet her eyes.
He spoke with head bowed. When he did raise his head to look at the water, a hint of moisture welled in his eyes.

Christine began to weep, afraid of the unknown and at the same time knowing what he was going to say. She clutched his hand in hers. Her words pierced the silence, hoping to plug the hole in the disintegrating dam that was their love. “Jason, honey, I know it’s bad. But I love you. We can get through this. Please talk to me,” she said, running a hand over his cheek.

He blurted out the words. “Chrissie, I…don’t want to see you anymore. I’m leaving the Colonial too. I can’t stay. I’m…sorry.”

Carving her heart out with a butter knife would have hurt less. The air became thin, poisonous. Christine gasped audibly, forcing herself to breathe. She pleaded with him to open up to her, hoping that words would reveal a solution. They sat hand in hand. She squeezed with all her might, not wanting to let go. It would be the last time they would ever touch each other in a loving way.

Jason tried to give back to her the polished, heart-shaped stone she’d given him the first time she told him she loved him. Christine refused and wrapped his fingers around it. “You keep it,” she whispered through her tears.

When they pulled into the driveway, Christine climbed out of the car, every fiber in her body screaming in protest. With every inch she moved away from him, her heart plunged lower. She leaned into the passenger-side window. The words were choked through tears: “Don’t do this. I love you!”

“I’m sorry, Chrissie. I really am.” He backed out of the driveway and sped off.

Now, the pain in her gut felt as it had that day so many years ago. Christine finished washing the silverware, running the utensils under the water. A heavy ache dragged on her chest. Tears fell into the dishwater. She braced herself on the edge of the sink. The room began to spin. That sunny, awful day seemed like it was thirteen minutes ago.

She recovered and wiped her hands on a towel. Her father’s house was large and empty now. Every light was on, and the air seemed to have been sucked out of the space. She robotically poured herself a cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table, sipping the strong, bitter brew. Its harsh taste mirrored her mood.

Why now, after all these years?

She had hinted that she would reveal to Jason the object of her father’s obsession. Could she trust herself to meet with him? Could she avoid dragging herself down into the cesspool of self-pity again? Christine sat pondering these questions when the phone rang. She looked at the caller ID and saw it was him. She poised her thumb over the talk button.

* * *

Jason had been working on his Tae Kwon Do forms for the last forty-five minutes in the spare room he’d set up as a dojang. He’d spent most of the time on the nineteen movements of the Chon-ji, followed by the thirty-nine movements of the Kwang-gae. His frustration mounted with every thrust and block. His technique tonight was sloppy, uninspired. The kihaps were loud, as if he were trying to cast out the demons of his past. Finally he quit, knowing full well the source of his annoyance. He walked quickly to his bedroom.

Before starting his workout, he had tried to call her house twice; he didn’t have her cell number. Both calls had gone unanswered. So Jason had begun his session already vexed.

He picked up the phone and looked at it for a moment. A small drop of perspiration settled on the tip of his nose. His gray T-shirt was darkened with an inverted triangle of sweat above a pair of white ha’i. A brown dhee was knotted at his waist.

The gathering had been at her father’s house; perhaps she was still there. His hand shook as if he had Parkinson’s as he clutched the handset.

Jason had avoided her at every turn over the years. He never went to any of the places he thought he might run into her. On a few occasions, he’d spied her from a distance and turned around or ducked into a store to keep from coming face to face with her. As it turned out, it was easier than he’d imagined. They traveled in different circles. He could hardly believe he was calling her after more than a decade.

Jason rolled the stone around his palm. Christine had given it to him on their trip to Myrtle Beach. They’d stayed at the Sands Resort, playing and sunbathing during the day, partying and dancing at Ocean Annie’s by night. In between, they’d snuck back to the room to make lung-busting, toe-curling love.

Jason held up the stone to the light of the bedside lamp.

It was nothing more than a rock. He didn’t know what kind it was. But it had been carved into a traditional, plump heart, painted a Valentine’s Day red, and polished to a glossy shine. The stone swirled with stormy striations beneath the red paint. The sum total of the rock, paint, and lacquer wouldn’t amount to fifty cents. But to Jason, it held all the feelings and memories of their year together, making it priceless. Jason had given it a name. He called it the Heart Stone.

After he left Chrissie, Jason kept it in his pocket constantly, hoping that somehow circumstances would fall into place that would allow them to be reunited. But when his own heart finally realized this would not happen, Jason had placed it on the tall dresser where he could see it every day. Then he began dating Jenny, and the Heart Stone was relegated to a back corner of his private drawer, which he kept locked. Even after Jenny became his wife and the mother of his child, Jason never told her about it. Eventually, it was buried deep beneath photographs in a box in a corner of his closet.

Standing in his bedroom, Jason closed his eyes and was transported back to that night. He remembered the way the breeze on the beach moved Chrissie’s hair, the briny smell of the waves pounding the combed sand. They had stopped to embrace, kissing deeply. Chrissie’s face and skin had glowed in the moonlight.

She pulled back and said, “I bought you a present.”

“Really? Is it X-rated?” asked Jason.

“No, silly boy! Close your eyes,” she commanded gently.

Jason shut his eyes. Chrissie placed the polished stone in his hand, put her mouth near his ear, and said, “I love you, Jason Rodgers.”

Jason opened his eyes as he had that night thirteen years ago. Lost in the memory, he half expected to see Chrissie standing before him. He could almost smell her flowery scent. What had he done?

He shook the feeling away. Now that Thomas was dead, Jason wondered how far he should take the promise he’d made to keep the secret. Leaving her had been heart-rending, but it was also the least damaging choice for everyone involved. What could it hurt to reveal it now?

Maybe she would find it in her heart to hear him out.
Just let me say the words!
he thought.

On the other hand, he wasn’t sure he could stand such a meeting himself, given his present, tumultuous circumstances. Two weeks ago, he’d ended his stormy relationship with Sheila Boquist, an often-selfish and impulsive bitch who felt threatened by his son, Michael. Jason had left his job at Keller’s. Then there was Pettigrew’s strange and untimely death. The man never drank, and Jason refused to believe he’d changed. Now, Christine was saying he was a man obsessed.

In the hours since he’d left her, he’d struggled with the thought that she might not call. Perhaps she would just let the past lie undisturbed. That was unacceptable. He looked for an excuse to call her. Her statement replayed in his mind endlessly, gnawing at him.

There are other things about Daddy that were strange.

He punched in Pettigrew’s number. It rang five…six…seven times. An eternity yawned between each ring. Jason lowered his thumb to end the call when the ringing stopped and he heard her say, “Hello?”

* * *

“Chrissie, it’s me, Jason,” he said quickly. “I’m sorry to bother you again.”

“What is it?” she asked softly. Her tone, however, screamed,
This better be good
.

“Do you need any help?” Jason paused. “I mean, I know how hard it was when my father died. It’s a lot to handle. I just thought you might need…”

Christine chuckled. “Jason, is that really why you called?”

“Yes…and no. My offer to help stands. Really, if you need anything?”

“That’s sweet and I appreciate it. I promise if I need something, I’ll call you. Now, what’s the
other
reason?”

“You always could read me, Chrissie—”

“Like a dime-store novel.”

His voice was nervous, hesitant. “I know…this hasn’t been the best week for you. But your father’s death bothers me. And I think it bothers you, too. You said I could maybe see whatever it was your father was obsessing about. I’d really like to do that as soon as possible. I didn’t want it to be forgotten in all the other things. It’s important—”

“Jason,” she began heavily. “I’ve reconsidered. I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I haven’t seen or spoken to you in years. There’s still a huge, unresolved issue between us.”

Silence hung on the line.

“Are you there?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“You do admit there’s still the eight-hundred-pound gorilla sitting out there?”

“Yeah, I do. And I know it’s been way too long in coming. But I’m not sure this is the best time to talk to you about it. You just buried your father.” He paused, his voice suddenly thicker. “I want to explain what went on. But I want to respect what you’re going through. I’d like to see whatever it is you wanted to show me. Thomas was very important to me. He had a tremendous effect on me professionally. Now they’re dragging his reputation through the mud, and I just can’t
believe that. No way he got drunk and drove his car into a tree. It wasn’t who he was. If you want to talk about the past—our past—we can do that when you feel the time is right.”

“Would you be calling me right now if Daddy hadn’t died?” Her voice was hard, cold steel.

“To be honest, probably not. Maybe it’s fate. It’s a long and… complicated story. I was a jerk for ending it the way I did. But I was asked to make a very difficult decision—”

“Jason, if you’re just trying to ease your own conscience, I’ll let you off the hook. You don’t need to do this. This is how our lives turned out. It can’t be changed now, after all these years. You don’t owe me an explanation.”
Yeah, you do, damn it. Please don’t hang up!

“Maybe I don’t,” he said. “But I want to explain. Please, give me an hour. I had to make a choice that had miserable consequences for everyone involved. I chose the one that had the least impact.”

Christine screwed her mouth into a tight circle.
The least impact! What other choices could have been worse?

“Are you there?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” she whispered.

“Let me buy you a cup of coffee. If you’re up to it, I’ll say what I have to say, and then I’ll leave you alone. You just tell me where and when.”

If curiosity was an illness, Christine’s would have been diagnosed as terminal. Here he was, ready to give her the explanation she’d so long deserved and—she had to admit—wanted. But she didn’t trust herself to be alone with him. This would need to be a calm, professional meeting.

Yeah, right!

She wanted to tell him to meet her right now, before he changed his mind. But she was tired. It had been a long seven days. She wanted to be at her best when she sat across from Jason Rodgers and looked him square in the eye. It would be show and tell. The “tell” belonged to him. If groveling was involved, so be it. The “show” was
on her. She would show him she was a strong, independent woman. What happened had been ancient history—until he’d reappeared last night at the funeral home. She had survived. It had waited all these years, she told herself. It could wait one more day.

“I have to go to the Colonial tomorrow to pick up Daddy’s belongings from Lily. Meet me there at nine.”

Jason waited impatiently on the sidewalk for Christine to appear from inside the pharmacy. She was probably in there right now. His memories were thick and miserable. He trudged to the double doors, holding his breath. He checked his watch. Fifteen minutes had passed.

The Colonial Pharmacy anchored a strip of businesses, including two restaurants, a sports bar, a video store, and a hobby shop. It sat at the intersection of Jefferson Avenue and Denbigh Boulevard. The huge neon sign hummed like a high-voltage transformer.
Colonial Pharmacy
was scrawled in a handsome cursive. The
h
blinked on and off intermittently. For years, it been referred to as merely “the Colonial.” Jason tried to peer through the tinted windows. He saw only his haggard, worried expression reflected in the glass.

Jason tugged the door open with a clammy hand.

The twenty-thousand-square-foot space had the appeal of an old-time pharmacy. The faces were different. But the walls, fixtures, and aisles all looked as they had thirty years ago. Its antique charm made people feel as if they had stepped back into the fifties and Ike was still
in the White House. The aisles were tight, crammed full of candies, health and beauty aids, school supplies, and nonprescription medications. A phalanx of slow-winding ceiling fans silently churned air.

Jason’s mind reverted back to his first day on the job as a newly licensed pharmacist. An angry seventy-something woman had cussed him up and down because he wouldn’t refill her prescription for Premarin. He spied the exact spot where she’d stood, looking up at him over the counter. An electric jolt ran through his body.

The rear of the building, the centerpiece of the business, was the two-tier prescription department.
Prescriptions
was also spelled in a handsome, gold cursive against a sky-blue façade. The first level, one step up behind the counter, was roamed by a blue-smocked, gum-chomping teenager whose blond hair was streaked with purple. Behind her, shelves were chock-full of condoms, diabetic testing supplies, meters, blood-pressure machines, and various over-the-counter drugs.