Authors: Brandon Massey

Within the Shadows (5 page)

BOOK: Within the Shadows

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Andrew had known Eric for his entire life, ever since their families had lived next door to each other in East Point. Eric was like a big brother to him and often provided wise counsel. But sometimes, he was way off base.

Like now.

“I’ve told you, it’s not that I don’t want to settle down,” Andrew said. “I really do. I’ve been blessed with almost everything that I could want in my life—the successful career, this house, friends like you. A woman would make it all complete.”

“But?”

“But I want to make sure I marry the
right
woman.”

“No doubt.” Eric nodded. “But if Ms. Right is already here, why wait? She’s not going to wait on you forever.”

“She has a man, you know that.”

“That buster she’s been dating for three months? Please. He’s just filling time for her.”

“You assume I’ve already met Ms. Right. What if I haven’t?”

“But you have.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Your big brother knows these things. Trust me.”

“Trust you? Like the time you hooked me up with that lovely girl who’d been in jail for stabbing her ex-boyfriend?”

“Okay, you got me. She hadn’t told me about that.”

“Or how about the fine woman you introduced me to who tried to get me to take her
and
her mama to a movie on our first date?”

“I misjudged her, my bad.”

“Or how about the last nubian princess you were so kind to send my way, who ordered two meals at dinner and said she was taking the other one home to eat later?”

“I give up!” Eric threw up his hands. “You win. I’ve got no business being a matchmaker.”

“Exactly. Give it up. I’ll meet the right woman one day, and when I do, I’ll know it, and I’ll marry her. Simple as that.”

Punctuating his statement, Andrew picked up the hot dog and bit into it. Mustard squirted onto the front of his white shirt.

Eric laughed. “See, that’s what you get for talking shit.”

“Very funny. I’ll be back. I’m gonna change shirts.”

As he climbed the stairs to the second floor, where his bedroom was located, the party sounds faded. He heard an unexpected noise: running water.

It came from the master bedroom.

He frowned. Upstairs was off-limits to guests. It was an unstated but implicit rule that everyone obeyed.

But when he walked inside the bedroom, and from there into the master bathroom, warm mist filled the air. Hot water cascaded into the garden tub. The drain was unplugged.

He hadn’t turned on the water. He had lived in this house for eleven months, and he had never bathed in the tub, preferring to use the shower stall.

Who had been in here?

Chapter 2

A
ndrew shut off the faucet. He watched the water gurgle down the drain.

He had no idea who had been in there, or why. It bothered him. Although he enjoyed having guests, he invited them with the stipulation that no one would enter his private space without his permission.

“Must’ve been a kid, playing around,” he said.

He checked to see if anything was out of place. All of the items he expected—toothbrush, colognes, lotion, and other toiletries—lay where he expected to find them on the dual-sink vanity. Nothing was missing.

Still, when he returned downstairs, he’d remind the parents to keep their children from wandering up here.

He opened the walk-in closet, located off the end of the bathroom. The closet was meticulously organized: shoes hung on a tree; shirts and slacks, grouped by color and season, all faced the same direction; suits arranged by occasion awaited in garment bags; shelves bulged with stacks of folded jeans and T-shirts.

Whenever a friend saw his closet, they teased him, called him an obsessive-compulsive nut. He didn’t deny it. He loved the sight of order throughout his house. It comforted him.

Besides, with every piece of clothing in its proper place, dressing for even formal affairs never took longer than a few minutes.

As he was pulling the soiled shirt over his head, a knock came at the half-open bathroom door.

“Drew?” It was Carmen. She stepped inside and saw him bare-chested. “Oops, I didn’t know a strip show was about to start. I better get my money.”

“Bring fifties and hundreds.” He was about to reach for another shirt, then said, “Hey, when I came in here, I found the water running in the tub. Someone was in here.”

“Really? It was probably one of those Bebe kids, playing where they have no business going.”

“That’s what I figured. I only wanted to mention it to you.”

“They know better than to be snooping around,” she said. “I’ll tell them to stay away from up here.”

“Would you? I’d appreciate it.”

“No problemo. The kids adore me.”

“They aren’t old enough to know any better.” He grinned.

She cracked a smile. “I’ll get you for that one later. And I wanted to tell you—your dad’s here. He wants to see you.”

Andrew’s smile turned into a frown.

Alone at the bar with his father, Andrew lifted the caps off two Heinekens. He slid one bottle across the counter, to his dad.

“Thanks,” Dad said. “I can always rely on you to have the good stuff.”

His father took a long swallow of beer. Andrew studied him. He hadn’t seen his father since the night of the accident, over two weeks ago.

He hadn’t talked to him, either, in spite of having left him at least three messages.

He wondered what was going on. He wanted to talk to his father about why he seemed to be avoiding him—without sounding as cynical as he was beginning to feel about their faltering relationship.

But his dad didn’t look good. Although he was dressed as debonair as ever in a button-down shirt and slacks, dark rings circled his eyes. Insomnia?

The bandage had been removed from his father’s head, but a bruise and the traces of the stitches were faintly visible.

Dad set down the Heineken and burped. “Ahh, that was good.” “So, how’ve you been doing?” Andrew asked.

“Been busy. When summer hits, everyone wants to buy a new house.”

“That’s good news.” Andrew idly curled his fingers around his beer.

Dad yawned. “How’ve you been?”

“All right. Working on a book, waiting on an offer from my publisher on the one I just finished.”

“Getting the big money for this one?”

“I hope so.” Elbow propped against the counter, Andrew sipped his beer. It tasted more bitter than usual.

“I’m proud of you. It’s great to see you living your dream, prospering.”

“Thanks.” Andrew placed the Heineken on a coaster that had the words, “Drew’s Bar” written in cursive. The customized coasters had been a birthday gift from Carmen.

“Your mother looks good,” Dad said. “I haven’t seen her in, what, eleven years?”

“Something like that. She stays active. Teaching and gardening and whatnot.”

Nodding, Dad raised the beer to his lips.

How long were they going to lob these lazy conversational balls back and forth? Andrew had hoped that his father would take the initiative to explain why he’d been avoiding him lately, but he seemed content to chat about superficial matters.

It was time to get to the point. Andrew disliked confrontations, especially with his father, but he couldn’t shy away from this one.

Andrew pushed away from the bar. “I’ve called you three times in the past two weeks, Dad. You haven’t called me back once. What’s been going on?”

Dad almost slammed the bottle on the counter. Andrew flinched. His father’s jawline was rigid. “I’ve been busy, Andrew. I told you that business has been jumping. Hell, I came here, didn’t I?”

“Okay.” Andrew dragged his hand down his face. “Sorr y, I just . . .”

“You just what?”

I just thought you were serious about building a relationship with me,
Andrew wanted to say.
You call me out of the blue and ask me to play golf, and we start playing once or twice a week, spending quality time together, something we’ve never done in my entire life with any consistency—and then, for no apparent reason, you cut me off and act like you’re too damn busy to be bothered. That’s what, Dad.

But Andrew didn’t share his feelings. Because deep down, he had expected that this would happen, sooner or later. His father’s fickleness was the dominant theme of their relationship. He was a fool for hoping that his dad had changed. There was no point in discussing something that he already understood so well.

“Never mind,” Andrew said. “Anyway, I’m glad you came.”

“Been having headaches,” Dad said in a softer voice. He touched the bruise on his head. “Haven’t been sleeping well.”

“You look tired. Maybe you should see a doctor.”

Scowling at the suggestion, Dad picked up the remote control on the bar. He turned on the small television mounted on the opposite wall and flipped through cable channels until he found ESPN. The station was broadcasting a replay of a recent PGA tournament.

Dad studied the screen intently, as if the secrets to his future were being revealed on the tube.

“We’ll do something this week, Andrew,” he said absently. “Maybe meet at the driving range one afternoon.”

“What day?” Andrew asked. He heard the eagerness in his voice, and he didn’t like what it implied—that he still hoped he and his father could have a meaningful bond. But, he couldn’t help his feelings, as naive as they were.

“I’ll call you.” Dad’s gaze was locked on the TV.

“Tuesday, Wednesday?” Andrew said. “I want to put it on my schedule—”

“I said, I’ll call you.” Dad glared at him. “Don’t start hounding me. I’m not in the mood for that shit.”

Andrew bit his tongue. Counted to ten under his breath.

Dad had returned his attention to the television. A bomb exploding under his chair likely wouldn’t have broken his concentration.

“Listen,” Andrew said. “I have to take out the trash and do some other stuff. There’s food upstairs. Let me know if you need anything.”

Dad mumbled a reply.

Andrew left the bar. At the doorway, he looked behind, at his father.

Was it possible to love and despise someone at the same time? To want to be around him even as you wanted him to get out of your life?

As much as his father puzzled him, his feelings toward him confused him more.

Oblivious to him, his father sat on the stool, staring at the television and rubbing the bruise on his head.

Chapter 3

L
ater that evening, around a quarter past ten, everyone had left Andrew’s house except for Carmen. She helped him finish cleaning, rearranging furniture, and putting things away.

“Whew, what a day,” she said. Standing at the kitchen sink, she stretched her arms above her. She picked up her foil-wrapped plate of leftovers off the counter. “I’m going home, Drew. Need anything else?”

“Nope, we’re all done. I’ll walk outside with you.”

The night was cool and clear, the sky resplendent with diamond-bright stars. A chorus of nocturnal creatures, most of them denizens of the lake behind the house, sang their timeless songs.

He lived in a quiet, upscale community of mostly families with young children and a sprinkling of single professionals. The rambling houses sat on expansive plots of landscaped lawn. Numerous cars lined the road, barbecue scented the air, and strains of music reached him, evidence of cookouts still going strong.

Carmen had parked her silver Lexus sedan in front of the garage. She set her plate on the roof, turned to Andrew.

Her eyes were like precious gems. He suddenly didn’t want her to leave.

“Thanks again for all the help,” he said.

“The bill’s on the way.”

“Would dinner cover it? After today, I know I’m deep in the red.”

“Dinner might put you in the black again. But it depends on where we go. Waffle House won’t do much for you.”

He laughed. “How about Red Lobster? Sometime this week?”

“You’ve got yourself a deal, partner.”

“I’m thinking Thursday. You free then? Or are you going out with Veggie?”

Her lips twisted. “His name is Reggie, not Veggie. I’ve only told you that a hundred times.”

“Sorr y, since you told me that he’s a vegetarian, I’ve been getting it all mixed up.”

“Whatever, Drew. I think you’re jealous.”