The Major's Wife (Jubilant Falls series Book 2) (17 page)

"No it didn't, Kay." I couldn't tell her that it started a long time before the major's bastard son ever came into the picture. It started that night on her porch, the night the major died. I couldn't tell her that I was terrified to be a stepfather to two kids, let alone three. That I realized how little I really knew about her life, and that I was terrified I might not ever fit into it. "You're tired. We've both had a hard night. Why don't you get some sleep, and I'll come by tonight. We'll take the kids and go out to dinner, or something."

"Then it does have something to do with P.J.!"

"That's not so, Kay."

"Then tell me why everything has gotten so tough lately? Are we going to survive all this pressure?"

I sat down beside her on the stairs and lay my head in my hands.

"Sometimes I wonder," I sighed. "The truth is, it's not really P.J., it's the major. He's everywhere I look, when I'm with you. He's in the shadows of the bedroom, the faces of your kids, in every word you speak and every day you were away from me.

“The truth is, right now I’m scared of looking at Andrew and Lil and having them call me Dad. My father is a mechanic, for Christ’s sake. He’s got grease under his fingernails that never comes out, even on Sundays when they go to church, and a son who’s never lived up to what he thinks he ought to be. And on Saturday night, my dad likes a little bit of clear liquid happiness out of a Mason jar that he buys from some hillbilly in the sticks. He made my life a living hell.

“Andy and Lillian’s Daddy is a Goddamn hero in the eyes of everybody on the entire planet. He saves the Goddamn world twice a day before breakfast, and there’s no way I can live up to that. Then to have one more miniature Major Dad looking at me, day in and day out, it's more than I can take, Kay."

"Give it time—give us time. I know it will work out."

“And what if it doesn’t?”

“It will, Marcus. We’ve been through too much to give up on everything now. Going to get P.J. in Korea is something I have to do, to make peace with Paul’s memory. We had a bad marriage, and we treated each other just as badly.“

“I’d say he had more points on his side of life’s great piss-off scoreboard than you do.”

Kay smiled briefly. “But letting this little boy’s life go down the toilet because of who did what to whom is wrong. And I know that you and I can work through this. We just have to give it time.”

For a moment, I almost believed her.

"What about your mother and Aurora Development?"

"My mother couldn't have known about that."

"But don't you see? She should have made it her business to know! You're denying everything that Aurora Development had ever been or done! That company's sole purpose was to wring every penny they could out of the poor in this town. And after all your well-meaning speeches about wanting to bring prenatal classes and midnight basketball leagues into the area, I can't believe what I'm hearing!"

"I can't believe she would let this happen!"

"And I can't believe you want to bring some little bastard who caused you so much anguish into your home!" There. I said it.

"But you don't know how it is for those Amer-Asian kids, Marcus. When Paul and I were in Korea, I learned those kids don't have anything. They don't have a future and they don't have a past."

Red burst across my eyes, and I was blinded by rage.

"So send twenty bucks a month to Save The Children! I can't believe you're worrying about a kid you've never seen that's half a world away, when you're the cure for so many kids right here in your own home town!"

"Marcus, please! Listen to me!"

"No, Kay, you listen to me. Have you ever had a rat crawl between the sheets with you at night? Has Andrew? Has Lillian?"

She winced and turned away.

"Have you ever had to live without adequate plumbing? Can you imagine living with the smell of shit, day in and day out? You've always had everything handed to you. How does it feel knowing that what you had came at the expense of Elizabeth Kingston and her kids? The tenants of Aurora Development pay for your mother’s fancy car, her fancy house and even Novella’s salary.

This is not any of your half-cocked idealism. It's not watching the major trailing glory in a Goddamn fighter jet. It's not deciding to patch up a dead man's memory or doing good deeds to bolster your own ego. This is it, Kay. This is real life."

"Marcus, look at us!" Kay reached for me, tears running down her face, pleading for something I couldn't give anymore. "What's happening to us?"

I leaned back on my elbows on the step behind me, suddenly tired of the fight. "I don't know."

"Why does it have to always be so complicated?" She was begging now, but we both knew we had stepped beyond the point of no return. Like the flame blown out on a match, there was nothing left but the embers. I couldn't fight with her anymore. I couldn't let Elizabeth and her children and every other tenant that paid their rent to that Neanderthal goon in the empty office continue to live like animals. I had to do what was right.

There was no way anything could ever work between us.

"Kay, even when we first met, it's never been easy. I fastened my heart on something I couldn't have and hung with it like a pit bull, but even a pit bull gets tired. I have loved you for over eight years, and each time I have you in my life, it never seems to work. Why is that, Kay? Why?"

Kay laid her face against the garish entryway wallpaper and sobbed. "I don't know. I don't know. I don't know."

"Jess and his wife never seem to go through these twisted machinations. Why do we?" I stood and brushed off my pants. "I can't live like this anymore, Kay. I’m letting go.”

* * *

"Is this going to take very long?"

An hour later, I met Elizabeth at her home. She was sitting on the front porch with Aaron and Priscilla, waiting for the photographer, Pat Robinette and me. My ears still could not get used to her clear speech, accustomed as I was to translating any semblance of recognizable sound during our previous conversations.

I shook my head. "We’ve found out who is behind Aurora Development. We need to take a few shots of your apartment, Elizabeth. Then we'll sit down and talk, and I’ll ask you a few questions. I need to ask you again what's been repaired and what hasn't since the housing commission ordered repairs, that kind of thing.”

The children were clean and scrubbed. I recognized Priscilla's little dress as one of the hand-me-downs from Kay's daughter, Lillian. Elizabeth's cheap, black blouse hung on her bony shoulders like a shroud, and her denim skirt had a three-corner tear near the hem that had been repaired with an ironed-on patch. As we entered the building, she leaned forward to help Priscilla up the stairs, and the ribs in her back looked like rungs on a ladder.

Wordlessly, Robinette stepped through the apartment, snapping pictures of peeling paint, the rotten boards beneath the peeling kitchen linoleum, and all the other horrors that lived with Elizabeth and her family. He paused in front of the one window that had been repaired after my nasty confrontation with that Neanderthal down at the office. The aluminum frame still shone, and brand-name stickers were still on the glass.

"It took me thirty days and a busted lip to get that window in here," I said. "There used to be jagged glass and cardboard there. That's the only repair they ever made on the place."

The photographer whipped a telephoto lens from his camera bag and focused on an unlikely prism, created by the double-paned glass that danced across the worn linoleum.

Jess was right; I couldn't get off this story. I couldn't let this woman down. Elizabeth was struggling too hard to make a better life and I owed her my loyalty. If Kay chose to dump her commitment to making things right in Jubilant Falls to protect the women who created this cesspool, then Kay wasn't the woman I thought she was.

Maybe if I said it long enough, I believe it.

"Got it," the photographer said.

"Good. Elizabeth, I want you to start at the beginning. Tell me the whole story."

* * *

That afternoon, the story ran with my byline alone: banner headline, above the fold.

"You're back on track, old man," Jess slapped me on my shoulders and handed me one of his rancid cigars. "Legal is backing us up, too. They’re meeting with the prosecutor this afternoon. I want you there, Marcus, when they bring those women in on contempt of court charges—at least that's what legal is assuming they'll be charged with. This is primo stuff, guy.
Primo!
"

"Thanks." I let Jess bask in the glory of the upcoming
State of Ohio v. Aurora Development
. Why wasn't the woman who brought me this story, the woman who believed only I could make it right, standing by my side? And why wasn't I celebrating the fact that this story had rescued me from a life of covering poetry readings and social calendar events? No surprise, that I really wanted no part of it.

What I thought would be a triumphant ride through Persepolis was tearing my guts up, costing me the woman I loved. Christ, why did it have to be so difficult? Why did I have to be the passing brave king? I didn't have the guts that Jess had, or the slimy willingness to make deals with Martin Rathke.

All I wanted was justice. Not power. Not glory. Justice.

How naive can you get?

I tossed the cold dregs of my morning coffee from a Styrofoam cup into the trash. "I gotta get out of here."

"And where shall I tell your clamoring public they can find you?" Jess poured himself a cup of coffee from a metal Thermos bottle.

"In hell."

"Hey, buddy, what's wrong? You did a great job here! You should celebrate!"

"You know Goddamn good and well what's wrong. This is some game to you, some fucking David and Goliath story, and we've just been handed the golden slingshot. It's eating me up inside, Jess, and you won't see it. This story just ripped apart everything I ever hoped Kay and I could have together, and all you want is a damn headline. It's not worth it to me, Jess. It's just not worth it. This is the last story I write for the
Journal-Gazette
."

Jess jumped up and stopped me in the doorway. "Not so fast, Bright Eyes. You've got one more story to cover for me! You owe—"

Behind him, I saw the door open and a Louisville Slugger poised, seemingly, to send one deep into left field.

"Jess! Look out!"

The bat seemed to swing in slow motion, making contact with Jess's left cheekbone and jaw, a sickening crunch of wood against bone, as a dark ski-masked hulk filled the newsroom doorway. There were screams; Jess's body, jerky and loose, swung like a marionette on a stick, his left arm in front of his gory skull for protection. The bat came down again on his outstretched arm, sending Jess's body against me. Blood, teeth, and tissue left their mark on my shirt, as he slid to the floor, his eyes fixed and glassy.

The hulk turned his attention to me, roaring like an animal as he raised his bat again to strike. I leaped over the city desk, as the Slugger came down on a computer, and taking Jess's Thermos by the handle tossed the hot coffee in the attacker’s face.

He screamed in pain, reeling backward across the newsroom floor in an attempt to escape. I had one chance to catch him; both hands on the Thermos handle now, I was running on pure adrenalin. I followed him in his backward stagger and swung as hard as I could.

There was thud, as the metal bottom struck his temple, and he fell to the ground, unconscious. Quickly, I stripped off the wet ski mask.

It was the goon from Aurora Development.

* * *

You gotta pull through this, Jess. Don't die on me buddy. Don't die.

I stood helplessly at the door of the emergency room as the paramedics ran past with Jess on a gurney.

Thick layers of bloodstained gauze covered the left side of his face. His left arm was splinted, and his breathing came in wet, gurgling gasps. Drops of blood hung on the inside of the transparent oxygen mask over his mouth and nose.

"He's going to make it, right?" I grabbed a paramedic by the shirt.

"You need to sign him in. That's the best thing you can do right now." He yanked my hand from his sleeve and disappeared behind the swinging doors at the end of the hall.

"Where the hell do I do that?" I yelled.

"Sir, there is no need for that." I turned to see a tall, rawboned nurse standing behind a white counter. "We have other patients here."

"Is this where I sign? My boss just came in with the ambulance."

"Name?"

"Jesse Foster Hoffman. Look, what are they doing back there?"

"Sir, until I get this information from you, I can't tell you anything. Address?"

"Um…1745 Conway Drive."

"Phone?"

“Why do you need all this? He's dying back there, and I want to know what you're going to do for him!"

"Sir, we need to complete these forms."

"Shit. 555-1710."

"Insurance policy number?"

"What?"

"Insurance. You did bring his insurance papers, didn't you?"

"Well, we work at the same place, so it's all under the same policy." I reached back for my wallet and pulled out my card. "Here. Use this."

"Sir, I need his account number. Putting his treatment under your name is fraud. If we don't have a policy number, he gets loaded right back onto the ambulance after we stabilize him."

"I don't believe this. You would refuse treatment?"

"Sir, this is a private hospital. We can't treat every indigent that comes through the door. Like I said, we would stabilize him before removing him to another facility."

"He's not indigent! He's the editor of the friggin' paper!"

"If you could call the newspaper then for his policy?" She reached for the telephone, but I got there first, yanking the console roughly over the counter. "Listen, Florence Nightingale, and listen good. That is my buddy in there, and you and your fucking staff will give him the best care you can. I don't know how you're going to get paid, but if we could be more concerned about his life than your money, I’d certainly appreciate it."