The Achilles Heel (28 page)

We made love in the dark, feeling our way around each other, stirring under the sheets
and enjoying the newness of being together. I was awake long after Kessler had fallen
asleep, grateful for the sound of his breath and the way his hand managed to keep
finding my skin. He looked so good to me, and again, I stopped to thank God. At that
moment, it hit me; I’d spent the first months after Jack died cursing at God for giving
my life such a terrible turn, yelling at him for his lack of compassion towards me,
and waiting and waiting for him to reveal himself. Looking back, as it turns out,
God was waiting for me.

ANNIE

“H
ello?” Gail answered.

“Hey, friend!”

“Annie! Hey! I was wondering when I was going to hear from you again. What’s happening
in St. Croix? Have you gone on the dive yet? Seen any striking gentlemen you can give
my number to?” she teased, rambling on.

I couldn’t help but laugh.

“You sound almost chipper! There must be a story behind that, and if it involves a
man, don’t leave out any details! I’m drying up here in the Midwest and could use
a hot romance story to get me through the winter.” She laughed.

“Well, which answer do you want first; the one where I get the box or the one where
I get the man? They’re both pretty long stories.”

I had to hold the phone away from my ear because of all her screaming. “Both! I’ve
got nothing but time!”

I filled her in on all the details of the dive and finding the Pelican Case, and then
I filled her in on Kessler; the best part of this trip.

“Oh, Annie. I’m just so happy for you, and you should know that you really, really
deserve this kind of man. I’m so glad you found each other!”

“I should be thanking you because you helped me realize this trip, and I promise I’ll
find a way to pay you back,” I vowed.

“The best payment I could ever get is a good looking cowboy like the one you found
for yourself. So you just head on back to the available men store and pick me up a
few!” she said in her sassiest voice.

“Listen, I’ve got to talk shop with you for a minute. Have you noticed if Jamie has
been back to his office?” I asked.

“Not during business hours. The place is cleaned out, and has been empty for a few
weeks now. Why? Do you think he could be in St. Croix?” she asked, sounding, concerned.

“I don’t know, but I’m starting to consider the possibility. Did you find out anything
about that farm and feed store?”

“Nothing. I drove up to Platte City last week and it’s just a rundown building sitting
on of a patch of concrete, weeds pushing up through the cracks in the parking lot.
It looks like it’s been ten years since the last customer bought anything there,”
she said.

“Okay, well, thanks for checking it out for me. I guess I’ll have to put that one
on the back burner. Thanks for everything, Gail. I really appreciate it,” I told her.

“You can thank me later; just take care of yourself and tell me what you find at the
bank when you get a chance,” she insisted.

“I will. Let’s talk soon.”

My next call was to my sister-in-law, Liz. I didn’t practice what I was going to say,
for fear of it sounding rehearsed. I needed this conversation to be totally organic
and completely believable, which shouldn’t be too hard since I really did miss my
niece and nephew.

I dialed and waited, getting her voicemail. “Hey, Liz, its Annie! I was just calling
to check on you guys and make sure everyone is doing okay. I should be home pretty
soon; hopefully we can get together and catch up. Tell Max and Mia hello for me; talk
with you soon!”

That will have to do. Now the bank.

ANNIE

A
lthough I had moved most of my things over to his house, the danger of my constant
shuffling back and forth to the Cotton House exchanging clothes didn’t sit well with
Kessler. Regardless of how many times I went back, I always seemed to need something
else, so yesterday he helped me move the rest of my things. I certainly considered
him my lover, but when two people move in together, they take a big leap of faith
on each other, and it took some convincing on his part for me to actually make the
permanent move to his house. Once I got settled in the change seemed minute, and I
really loved being a partner in a relationship again. Yes, Jack has only been gone
for six months, and it seems too soon to be this deep into another man, but I now
believe in fate. Kessler was wrapped up in a big beautiful bow and handed to me on
a silver platter. He’s silly and fun, and we laugh a lot despite my circumstances.
Catching his stares from across the room or the way he holds his hand out and gently
swipes my back as he walks by, wraps me in normality and gives me hope in establishing
new roots.

I didn’t pack a nice suit with me‌—‌because why the hell would I need a suit in St.
Croix‌—‌but here I am feeling like I should be wearing one, heading into the bank.
The nicest outfit I’d brought to the Islands; a classic red, Michael Kors, boat-neck
crepe dress with gold heels for a little flare was my choice. I certainly had Kessler’s
attention sliding this show stopper down my body‌—‌the material hugging my torso and
holding tightly to my hips, but sex wasn’t on the forefront of my mind today. Applying
the last coat of matching red lipstick, I caught Kessler’s eyes light up in the mirror,
intensely watching my application.

“Can I help you?” I asked, smiling.

“I’m beyond help, but maybe you can put some more of that on when we get home,” he
bargained, giving me a wink.

I leaned in close to his ear and whispered, “I aim to please.” Smacking his ass, I
walked out of the bathroom, my heels clicking on the marble.

We parked his Jeep in the St. Croix Banking parking lot, and Kessler turned off the
engine.

“Everything’s going to be all right, Annie. If you’re truly ready to move on, then
this should be the last time you’ll have to feel a pit in your stomach. I love you,
and I want to take care of you‌—‌if you’ll let me‌—‌and I promise you, I’ll never
make you feel this way. You ready, baby?” he asked, as he rubbed my hands between
his.

“You always seem to say the right thing, and yes, baby, I love you, too,” I said,
leaning over and kissing his lips. “Okay, here I go.” I sighed, letting a gallon of
air escape from my lungs.

“You look amazing, and I’ll be right here waiting for you,” he reminded me, giving
me a little wave.

I brought my Louis Vuitton Palermo PM Tote with me because I had no idea what would
be in the safe deposit box, and because it was an expensive bag that made me feel
inclusive to the club of people who would even need a safe deposit box.

The bank was a beautiful, colonial structure with sweeping views of the ocean from
every window in the lobby. The teller offered me a seat as I waited for the manager,
in a stiff leather armchair that was so low to the ground, my knees were shoved into
my chest; style over function was a poor design decision when furnishing the lobby.
Louie gave no assistance to my situation, and I felt like a Shriner in one of those
tiny cars, sitting in this chair that was quite possibly made for a child.

“Mrs. Bozeman, the manager can see you now,” the teller said from behind her counter.

Okay, Mrs. Bozeman, let’s get this done.

Henry Miller, bank manager, lead me into his office to verify my identification, signature,
security number and most importantly, my key. I couldn’t help noticing a picture of
his family on the desk; a wife and two kids smiled back at me, and I wondered if I
would ever have the chance to be in a picture like that. Mr. Miller came back into
the office and snapped me out of my daydream.

“Everything looks good,” he said, handing my passport back to me. “I have to say,
we will certainly miss doing business with you here, but please keep us in mind for
any of your future financial needs, Mrs. Bozeman.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you to say, and I certainly will,” I responded, having
no idea what the hell I was talking about.

“Now, if you’ll please follow me, I can take you downstairs where the safe deposit
boxes are located.”

We walked down a long and narrow corridor with concrete walls and psychedelic carpeting,
stopping at a large metal door which Mr. Miller unlocked by swiping a card. Behind
that door were aisles and aisles of shiny silver columns housing hundreds of small
compartments. The further into the room we walked, the bigger the compartments became,
and we finally stopped on the sixth row at box 1049; that’s when my dress completely
pitted out.

“Your key please, Mrs. Bozeman.”

I didn’t like being called,
Mrs. Bozeman.
It made me nervous and sick. I had to wonder if Jack was supposed to be Mr. Bozeman,
or if I was always a widow in this scenario. So many answers I’ll never have, and
hopefully, someday will no longer question.

We inserted our keys at the same time; his on the left of the box, mine on the right
and the door of box 1049 swung open.

“I’ll carry your box to the viewing room for you where you’ll have privacy and a table
to lay your items on. This way please,” he instructed, as he pulled out the interior
box of the safe.

We entered a small room with the same hallucinogenic carpeting as he advised, “Please
take your time, I’ll just be outside. Feel free to come out when you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” I replied.

This is it; the last box I’m opening which concerns Jack Whitman. Please be key-free;
I don’t want to find another damn key in here.

Thankfully, there were no keys, but three purple Crown Royal bags‌—‌the ones you get
when you buy the bottle of liquor‌—‌sat together, lined in a row. A light dust had
settled on the outside of the velvet pouches, and I untied the gold rope on the first
bag. As soon as the sack began to open, illumination shot through the top like a flashlight
had been left on inside.

Oh, God!
I thought as I peeked in, sucking up my breath hard.
Oh, my, God! What is this? What the hell is this?

The light from inside the bag shone insanely bright, and left a sparkling trail all
the way to the ceiling, hundreds of tiny prisms dancing on the walls. Diamonds filled
the velvet pouch; slipping and sliding over each other the further I opened the bag.
I dipped my hand in and let the cold, hard gems cover my palm and slide off my fingers;
making clinking sounds like coins dropping into a full piggy bank. I quickly but carefully
opened the other two bags and my experience was the same; each time my phone booth
sized room became more phosphorescent until seemingly, I was standing in the middle
of a disco ball. The twinkle of the prisms and the glare from the bags became nauseating
in this microscopic space, and I physically began to see stars. I held on to the metal
counter top and slowly lowered myself to the floor, the walls eerily closing in. My
skin became extremely hot and the air too thick to inhale; there wasn’t enough oxygen
to supplement my state of panic.

Breathe, just breathe.
I though, concentrating on getting myself right again.
I’ve got to get out of here without making a scene. Stand up dammit! Get your ass
up and get out of this room!

I picked up the bags and triple knotted each one of them ensuring nothing spilled
out, carefully placed them in my tote, wiped the sweat from my face with a tissue,
smoothed my hair back, and applied a new coat of lipstick. I tried to masque my sickness
and look as fresh as possible walking out of there; lipstick was the best I came up
with.

Don’t fuck this up.
I told myself as I opened the door and sucked in some fresh oxygen from the next room.

“Mr. Miller, thank you so much. I’m finished here.”

“Are you feeling okay, Mrs. Bozeman?” he asked, looking a little startled at my ashen
appearance.

“Oh, yes, I’m fine. I’ve been under the weather a bit lately and probably need to
go home and rest. Thank you for asking.”

I followed him back to the vault and handed over my key as he slid the empty container
back into the metal shell of box number 1049.

One foot in front of the other, stand tall, chin up, and don’t trip.

I couldn’t actually hear his words over my thoughts, so I just smiled, nodding my
head in agreement, like a tourist in a foreign country.

“I’ll just need you to sign one more document stating your safe deposit box is officially
closed, so if you’d please follow me back into my office, we can finish up,” he instructed,
offering me another seat.

While sliding the paper requiring my signature in front of me, calmness washed over
my face, steadying my hands and settling my stomach. With that said, I couldn’t get
out of there fast enough. I fumbled for my cheap, imitation Jackie O sunglasses, but
broke them in my purse as I opened the front doors to the outside. The ocean breeze
blew my dress around my knees and across my face; the salty air getting lost in my
hair.
Keep moving, keep moving
was my mantra as I turned the corner and followed the concrete walkway to the parking
lot. As soon as Kessler saw my face, he jumped out of the Jeep and ran towards me.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Are you okay? What’s happening, Annie? What was in there?” He
seemed panicked, yelling a barrage of questions at me.

I’m sure I looked a fright, and kneeling next to the Jeep leaving two large piles
of puke beside the tire did not set his mind at ease.

“I’m okay,” I choked, wiping the vomit from my mouth and spitting tiny pieces of breakfast
off my tongue. “Let’s just get out of here. I need to go home.”

Kessler pulled out of the parking lot, not pressing the issue. When we finally pulled
onto the highway, the wheels made a roaring sound as they spun around, the wind of
the road rushing in. Finally, I cooled down.

He suddenly turned sharp onto a side road which led up into the jungle, putting the
Jeep in park but leaving the engine running.