In the Nick of Time (70 page)

“Shit…” He slowly closed his eyes, trying desperately to ignore the way his gut knotted and twisted from anxiety. He took a deep breath, replaying what his wife had said, and Taryn and Nick, too… and the echo of his thoughts, the damn encore, sounded worse the second and third go ’round. But what was the use? It was far too late…

What am I going to do?

The temperature in the room grew cooler, as if an invisible ghost had drifted past him and sucked all the energy from the place, leaving him nothing less than alone. His linear world was suddenly covered in impenetrable layers of uncertainty and his wife, though oftentimes overly emotional, had made a couple of points he couldn’t quite refute.

Was I wrong?

No… any other man would feel the same…

But did I handle it okay?

He fell back against the bed, placed his hands under his head, and stared up at the domed ceiling that showcased a mesmerizing skylight. It was his favorite feature of the entire bedroom, a galactic, celestially dazzling show each and every evening. Only, tonight, there would be no shooting constellations and Big Dipper… No, tonight there would only be him, his nomadic thoughts and his suit of invisible heavy duty armor, cast off to the side. He no longer needed it for it wasn’t in style, in fashion, or appreciated, anyway. He couldn’t recall the last time Gladys had laid into him like that, become so over the top. It caused him to pause—and that pause caused another, and so it went.

And now, here he sat. What was a father to do?

…A couple of days later

N
ick slathered the
thick, white cream cheese on the toasted sesame bagel with care. It was lunchtime, and he planned to carve out a pleasant interval, not take the tiny nuisances of the day for granted. Moving his plastic knife around the bread like a surgeon, he ensured that each nook and cranny was well coated in culinary love for his pending gobbles. He took a bite, and then another, closed his eyes slow and hummed. For some odd reason, the damn bagel tasted brand new, as if he hadn’t experienced such flavors before in his entire lifetime. Matter of fact, everything tasted richer, crisper. Since he’d quit smoking, his taste buds awakened and oral sensitivities he’d long forgotten turned him out, made him savor the simplest of meals.

He’d made a joke to Taryn just that morning that he’d better renew his gym membership, for food now had a whole new meaning and a love affair had begun, one he was certain would turn him into the proverbial jelly donut eating cop if he didn’t watch his step. She joked back that she didn’t do threesomes, and Ms. Jelly would have to stay in her sticky sweet little lane.

He unceremoniously stuffed the last bit into his mouth, grabbed his keys, and headed out the door to take care of a bit of last minute shopping: soap, toilet paper, the necessities of life. Once in his car, he merged with traffic, becoming one with the city like blood running through urban veins.

“It’s too quiet. Let’s play a little something.” He grinned as he fantasized of what his first day back at work would be like; his excitement had grown to a fever pitch the previous evening. The sounds of Chaka Demus and Pliers blared from the stereo—‘Murder She Wrote’—taking him right back to his childhood. He recalled ever so vividly the days when he’d stood huddled on a corner amongst a large crowd of his sweaty peers, their stern faces occasionally breaking out into baby-like grins when a dirty joke or two was shared. He bobbed his head to the catchy reggae beat, falling deeper under nostalgia’s spell… She had him. Yeah, the halls of bygone weren’t
all
bad… As he drove past Glenmore Plaza, his cellphone rang. Unable to hear over the drone of his blaring music, he noticed the thing simply light up like a beacon of hope, possibly despair, who knew? It shook and shivered, vibrating against his car console, demanding he pay attention. He gripped his phone, answering it as he approached a red light.

“Who is that?” he mumbled, as he reached for the volume knob and begrudgingly turned the music down to a low whisper where lyrics were muddled and the tune drowned by city clatter.

“Hello?” He looked out the window, observing a tall, unusually thin guy cross the street. The man’s shoulder sloped in a weary sort of way, his hay colored hair tucked behind large, slightly protruding ears, as he was glued, damn near fixated on his phone, clutching the thing with long, spindly fingers.

“Is this Nick Vitale?”

“…Yes.”

This son of a bitch did not just call me…

“What is it now, huh? You want to know if I’m rollin’ a fat blunt and lacing it with crack cocaine? Maybe chasing a joint with some St. Ides and polishing off my night by poppin’ a little ecstasy or some molly along the way, right? Call me back in an hour to see if I’ve fallen off the wagon; better yet, I’ll text ya and give you a play by play! Let’s FaceTime a drug deal!”

“Nick, come on.”

“No, you come on, goddamn it! I didn’t say what I wanted to you, didn’t want to get Taryn all worked up, but you have a lot of damn nerve calling me. Oh, wait! Can you hold on a sec? There’s a crack supplier on the corner right now this very damn second who I can’t refuse. Can’t trust ol’ Nicky boy! Once a fuck up,
always
a fuck up.”

“Well, obviously no introductions are necessary,” the man huffed and grumbled. “You realize who this is.”

“Yeah, I know who the hell it is. Wish I could say I don’t hold grudges, but that’s a damn lie. Now what do you want?”

“It’s about Taryn. I need to—”

“Taryn isn’t with me right now. She’ll be home later tonight. If she hangs up on you again, I guess I’m to blame for that, too.”

“No, that’s not what I mean. I’m not looking for Taryn.”

“You’re not looking for me, either; you never were…”

“I suppose I had that coming. Anyway, Nick, I wish to extend my apologies.”

“Okay, you’ve apologized. I gotta go.”

“Nick, this isn’t quite fair.”

“Don’t you talk to me about what’s fair!”

You arrogant, self-righteous son of a bitch! If you weren’t Taryn’s father, I’d tell you to shove your big head up your tight ass, and take that sorry, lame ass apology in there with you.

“You aren’t being reasonable.”

“Well, let me save you the aggravation. I’m hanging up now.”

“Wait! I’m serious. I am sorry about how I treated you when you came over to my home and if I were you, I’d be just as upset.”

“Why are you sorry, Mr. Jones? Because Taryn isn’t speaking to you? Or maybe her mother said you better make this right or there’ll be consequences?”

A fog of silence formed between them.

Yeah, I’m right…

“Nick, let me cut right to the chase. I’ve been doing some thinking, and some research, too. I looked you up online. I saw nothing but good things about you… helping out with Christmas toy drives, volunteering to speak at community meetings, things like that. You really
are
a good cop, and good people aren’t born, they’re made. And speaking of good, I was
not
being a good person when you came by here, but I promise you, that isn’t my nature.”

“Of course it is. Everything we do and say is in our nature. If it weren’t, it would’ve never happened in the first place. Unless you suffer from paranoid schizophrenia, that’s
all
you.” He shrugged. “Anyway, no one said we had to be friends.” He yawned. “I’ll let Taryn know you called. Goodbye.”

“Hold on, Nick. Do you have some time? I’d like to have a talk with you if you don’t mind, a
real
discussion this time, man to man.”

He exhaled loudly, fiddling with the notion of hanging up, yet, he was torn.

…I wish I had never answered this damn call.

“I’m kind of busy right now.” He made his way down the street, the traffic growing thicker, rubbing his nerves raw as he tried to focus, lest he be distracted.

“What about later this evening? Nick,
please
. I understand your reservations but I promise to not keep you too long.”

You must’ve gotten your ass chewed out so bad, it looks damn near like Swiss Cheese… So you’re asking to be trusted… what a coincidence…

“We can talk right now I suppose. Hold on, let me pull me over…don’t want to keep driving while on the phone.”

“Okay, understood. Thank you.”

Nick looked both ways, assessing his options, then made his way towards a parking lot across the way. He pulled inside, grabbed the faded orange ticket from the machine and found a vacant spot after circling the grounds a time or two. He cut the engine off, minus his Sirius radio station playing, Mungo Jerry’s, ‘In the Summertime.’

Ma liked this song…

On a deep sigh, he leaned far back in his seat and closed his eyes, as if in desperate need of a nap.

“Alright Mr. Jones… what do you want to talk about?”

“Nick,” he heard a door click closed and then what sounded like a chair sighing under pressure.

“I want to first let you know that, regardless of what you believe, I understand my behavior the other day was unacceptable.” The man exhaled, took a deep breath as if it took all of his nerve to say the words. “I’m quite protective of my daughter, as I already explained, but that’s still no excuse. I also know that she is fully grown and can make her own decisions.”

“What tipped you off? When she no longer wanted you to take her to see her favorite boy band?” he goaded, his anger still bubbling at the surface.

Mr. Jones didn’t address his sardonic words but kept on with his undoubtedly carefully crafted spiel.

“Taryn is quite headstrong as well. That’s part of the reason why some designers actually didn’t want to deal with her, between you and me. It wasn’t because she had a bad attitude as some of the press implied, but because she refused to be treated with disrespect or do things she felt were beneath her. That’s how her mother and I raised her and her brother to conduct themselves. To have integrity… We taught our children to speak up for themselves, but also to be courteous, and despite them not really wanting for anything, they were each required to get good grades in school and have jobs when they came of age, Nick.”

“Well.” Nick slicked his finger slowly back and forth across his lower lip as he listened and deliberated, tried to stay three steps ahead of the man. “All of that sounds good. I’m sure it helped that Taryn had a good support system.” And then he yawned.

“Yes, I can only hope that it did. I have a strong work ethic. I went to college and received my Masters and met my wife, Gladys, right after I’d graduated. When I met her, I could barely speak or see.” He chuckled.

I wish you could barely speak right now… Get to the damn point!

“I didn’t think I had a chance with that woman, but I became fanatical about her as soon as we met. The first encounter happened at a car wash, of all places. She was there with her father, bored, and I was hand cleaning my black and white Dodge Challenger.”

Nick’s interest piqued as he wondered where the story was going. Mr. Jones was as plain as store brand vanilla yogurt. Yet, like most men in his position, he had an eye for beauty. Nick did wonder how a guy like him had landed Mrs. Brown. Things like that always intrigued him—how seemingly unequally yoked pairs wound up together and
stayed
together. It was more than apparent the man was head over heels in love with his wife, even after all this time. He envied Mr. Jones, wanted what he had with that woman… for the love to grow even richer with time. Maybe Mrs. Brown had a spark of glittery magic and shared some of it with her daughter on the day she was born. He wouldn’t doubt it, for he’d fallen under Taryn’s spell not long after he’d laid eyes on her…