The Heaven Trilogy (29 page)

“I’m surprised Bentley didn’t think of that,” Borst wondered aloud. He blinked and addressed the group. “Anyway, I think I should take this to him immediately.” He was already on his feet. Like the young eager student off to find his professor. Cliff held Kent’s gaze for a moment without smiling. He turned to Borst.

“May I suggest we at least handle the security issue since it has been raised?” Cliff asked.

“Yes, of course. Why don’t you take the lead on that, Cliff ?” he said. But his mind was already in Bentley’s office. “I’ve got to go.”

Borst left, wearing a smirk.

Cliff had found his grin again.

Kent blinked. That last exchange had effectively dropped a bucket of heat on his head. It was still leaking down his spine when the others stood and wordlessly followed Borst’s lead, exiting the room.

That was it. Cliff knew something. Kent lowered his head and began to rub his temples. It was unraveling. It was coming apart. In the space of ten minutes his link to sanity had been casually snipped free by some snowboarder from Dallas who knew more than he had any business knowing.

Think! Think, think, think, boy!

Okay, this is not the end. This is just another little bump. A challenge. Nobody is better at challenges than you, boy.

Kent suddenly wanted out of the building. The thought of going back to his office and having Cliff walk in with his grin scared him silly. He wanted to see Lacy.

He wanted a drink.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

KENT SPENT most of the afternoon walking through the office trying to hide the pallor of death he knew grayed his face.

He took a late lunch by himself and was about to enter Antonio’s when he saw Cliff. At least he thought it looked like Cliff. The junior programmer walked toward the corner across the street, and Kent’s heart began to palpitate madly. It was not the sight of the snowboarder that had him suddenly fixed to the concrete; it was the sight of the pinhead walking beside Cliff, yapping with the traitor as if they were old buddies. The cop! It was the pinhead cop with slicked-back hair and wire-frame glasses!

Or was it? And then they were gone.

Kent ordered a salad for lunch and left after eating only the two black olives that came perched on top. Imagine the cop showing up here, of all places. And talking to Cliff ! Unless that hadn’t been the cop
or
Cliff up there. It was for this conclusion that Kent finally angled, and he angled for it hard. He was seeing things in his anxiety. Boulders were beginning to fall from the sky; only they weren’t boulders at all. They were sparrows, and they weren’t falling from the sky. They were flying happily about.

Get a grip, Kent.

When he got home that night he made straight for the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of tequila. Three shots and a shower later, he still had not managed to shake the sickness in his chest. His head hurt from the day’s brain twisting. Thing of it was, this particular challenge was not his challenge at all. It was Cliff ’s challenge. If Cliff found ROOSTER, the game was over. And there was nothing Kent could do to change that. Nothing at all.

He had just poured his fourth shot when the doorbell rang for the first time in a week. Kent jerked. The shot splashed over his hand, and he cursed. Fortunately he was near the kitchen sink, and a quick run of water washed the liquor down the drain. Who could possibly be ringing his doorbell at eight in the evening?

The answer should not have surprised him. He swung the door open to a frowning Helen. A large travel bag hung from her shoulder.

“Helen! Come in,” he said.
Helen, take a hike,
he thought.

She came in without answering and set her bag on the floor. Kent looked at the black duffel bag, thinking at first that she had lost her interest in running after all and was returning the shoes. But he could see already that there was more than footwear in that bag.

“Kent,” Helen said, and she smiled. He thought the smile might have been forced.

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

“Kent,” She took a deep breath, and suddenly Kent knew this was not just a courtesy visit. “I need to ask you a favor, Kent.”

He nodded.

“If I needed you for something—really needed—would you help me?”

“Sure, Helen. Depending on what it was you needed me for, of course. I mean, I’m not exactly the wealthiest man on the earth.” He chuckled, all the while scrambling to guess her next move. She was setting him up; that much was clear. She was going to ask him to help clear out her garage or some other horrendous task he could do without.

“No, it won’t cost you a penny. In fact, I don’t mind paying rent. And I’ll buy half the groceries. That should save you some money.”

He smiled wide, wondering where this could possibly be leading. Surely she didn’t expect to move in with him. She hated his guts. In a mother-in-law sort of way. No, she was angling for something else, but his mind was drawing a blank.

“What’s the matter, Kent? Cat got your tongue? Oh, come on now.” She walked past him into the living room, and he followed her. “It wouldn’t be so bad. You and me living together.”

Kent pulled up, flabbergasted. “What!”

She turned to him and looked him square in the eye. “I’m asking you if I can move in, young man. I have just lost a grandson and a daughter, and I’ve decided that I simply cannot live on my own in that great big house.” She shifted her stare. “I need company,” she said.

“You need company?” Heat washed down Kent’s back. “I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but I’m not exactly good company these days. I’m the devil, remember?”

“Yes. I do remember. Nonetheless, I would be so grateful if you would let me use one of your spare bedrooms downstairs here. The sewing room across from Spencer’s room, perhaps.”

“Helen, you can’t be serious!” Kent rounded the couch and walked away from her. This was absurd! What could she possibly be thinking? She would ruin everything! An image of him sneaking to the kitchen for a drink winked through his mind. She would give him hell. “There’s no way it would work.”

“I’m asking you, Kent. You’re not going to turn out family, are you?”

Kent turned back. “Come on. Stop this, Helen. This is crazy. Just plain stupid! You’d hate it here! We have nothing in common. I’m a
sinner,
for God’s sake!”

She didn’t seem to hear him. “I can do the dishes too. Goodness, just look at that kitchen. Have you even touched it since I was here last?” She waddled off toward the breakfast bar.

“Helen! No. The answer is no. You have your own home. It’s yours for a reason. This is my home. It is
mine
for a reason. You can’t stay here. I need my privacy.”

“I’m walking every day now, Kent. Did I tell you that? So I’ll be gone early in the morning for my walk. You’ll be gone by the time I get back, but maybe we can have dinner together every evening. What do you think?”

Kent stared at her, at a loss for words at her insane behavior. “I don’t think you’re listening. I said no! N-O! No, you can’t stay here.”

“I know the sewing room is full of stuff right now, but I will move it myself. I don’t want to put you out.” She walked around the bar and turned the faucet on. “Now, you know I can’t stand television. It’s the box from hell, you know. But I thought you could watch the one upstairs in your sitting room.” She twisted the sink tap and ran water over her wrist, testing its temperature. “And I’m not crazy about drinking, either. If you want to drink any alcohol I’d prefer you did that upstairs as well. But I like music, you know. Heavy music, light music, any music as long as the words—”

“Helen! You’re not listening!”

“And you’re not listening!” she said. Her eyes seemed to reach out with knives and hold him at the neck. His breathing shut down.

“I said I need a place to stay, dear son-in-law! Now, I gave you my daughter for a dozen years; she warmed your bed and ironed your shirts. The least you can do is give me a room for a few nights. Is it really too much to ask?”

Kent nearly buckled under the words. It occurred to him that his mouth was open, and he closed it quickly. The tequila was starting to speak, moaning lazily through his mind. He thought that maybe he should just pull the plug now. Go out and use that nine-millimeter on his own head. End the day with a bang. At the very least he should be screaming at this old wench who had played mother-in-law in his old life.

But he could not scream because she was holding him in some kind of spell. And it was working. It was actually making him think that she was right.

“I . . . I don’t think—”

“No, stop thinking, Kent.” She lowered her voice. “Start
feeling
a little. Show some kindness. Let me take a room.” Then she smiled. “I won’t bite. I promise.”

He could think of nothing to say. Except okay. It just came out. “Okay.”

“Good. I will bring the rest of my belongings in from the car tomorrow after I’ve had a chance to clean out the sewing room. Do you like eggs, Kent?”

The woman was incredible. “Yes,” he said, but he hardly heard himself say it.

“Oh, but that’s right. I will have to leave before you get up. I walk at sunrise. Well, maybe we can have an egg dish one evening.”

For a minute they faced each other in silence. Then Helen spoke, her voice soft now, almost apologetic. “It’ll be okay, Kent. Really. In the end you will see. It will be okay. I guess you’ve already learned that we can’t control everything in life. Sometimes things happen that we just didn’t plan on. You can only hope that in the end it will all make sense. And it will. Believe me. It will.”

Kent nodded. “Maybe,” he said. “You know your way around. Make yourself at home.”

Then he retreated to the master bedroom upstairs, grateful that he had stashed a bottle in the sitting room. It was early; maybe he should call Lacy. Or maybe drive up to see her. The idea touched off a spark of hope. Which was good, because hope had been all but dashed today.

LACY CLEANED madly, fighting butterflies all the while and chastising herself for feeling any anxiety at all. So she was about to see Kent again. So he was coming to her condo this time. So he had brought that heat wave with him on Monday night. Her rekindled relationship with him was simply platonic, and she would keep it that way. Absolutely.

“Lacy, I need to talk,” he’d said, and by the sound of his strained voice, he did need something.
Lacy, I need.
She liked the sound of that. And it was okay to like the sound of someone’s platonic voice over the phone.

Indirect lighting cast a soft hue over the leather sofa angled under a vaulted ceiling. The fireplace sat black and spotless. An eight-by-ten picture of her late husband, John, stood at the hearth’s center, and she considered removing it but quickly discarded the notion as absurd. Possibly even profane.

She donned jeans and a canary blouse, retouched her makeup carefully, opting for ruby lipstick and a light teal eye shadow, then made coffee. Her hand spooned the grounds with a slight quiver, and she mumbled to herself. “Lighten up, Lacy.”

The doorbell chimed just as the coffee maker quit sputtering. Lacy took a deep breath and opened the door. Kent wore jeans and a white T-shirt that looked as if it might have been left in the dryer overnight. He grinned nervously and stepped in. His eyes were a little red, she thought. Maybe he was tired.

“Come in, Kent.”

“Thanks.”

He scanned the room, and she watched his eyes in the light. A small cut on his cheek betrayed a recent shave. They sat at the dinette and launched into small talk. How was your day? Good, and yours? Good. Good. But Kent was not looking so good. He was forcing his words, and his eyes jerked too often. He was having a bad day; that much he was not hiding. Better or worse than Monday, she did not know yet, but he was obviously still fighting his demons.

Lacy poured two cups of coffee, and they sipped through the small talk. Ten minutes passed before Kent shifted in his seat, and Lacy thought he was about to tell her why he wanted to see her again so soon. Other than maybe just wanting to see her. Unless her antenna had totally short-circuited over the last decade of marriage, there was some of that. At least some, regardless of all this platonic talk.

He stared at his black coffee, frowning. Her heart tightened. Goodness, he looked as though he might start crying. This was not just a bad-day thing. Something big had happened.

Lacy leaned forward, thinking she should reach out and take his hand or something. But he might misread her intentions. Or
she
might misread her intentions. She swallowed. “What’s wrong, Kent?”

He shook his head and lowered it. “I don’t know, Lacy. It’s just . . .” He slid his elbow on the table and rested his forehead in his palm, looking now as if the blood had been siphoned from his face.

Now Lacy was worried. “Kent. What’s going on?”

“Nothing. It’s just hard, that’s all. I feel like my life is unraveling.”

“Your life
has
unraveled, Kent. You just lost your family, for heaven’s sake. You’re supposed to feel unraveled.”

He nodded unconvincingly. “Yeah.”

“What? You don’t buy that? You think you’re the man of steel who can just let these little details run off your big strong shoulders?”
Whoa, a bit strong there, Lacy. He
is
a wounded man. No need to kill him off with good intentions.

Kent looked up slowly. There was a look in those eyes that brought a strange thought to Lacy’s mind. The thought that Kent might actually be drinking. And maybe not just a little. “It isn’t that. I know I’m supposed to be grieving. But I don’t
want
to grieve,” he growled through clenched teeth. “I want to make a new life for myself. And it’s my new life that’s driving me nuts. It hasn’t even started, and it’s already falling apart.”

“Nothing’s falling apart, Kent. Everything will work out; you’ll see. I promise.”

He paused and closed his eyes. Then, as if a spark had ignited behind his blue eyes, he suddenly leaned forward and grabbed her hand. A bolt of fire ripped through her heart. “Imagine having all this behind you, Lacy. Imagine having all the money you could dream of—starting over anywhere in the world. Don’t you ever wonder what that would be like?”