Never Forgotten (7 page)

She cried out and ran across the kitchen to the sink, dousing her hand in cold water.

“Ouch!’ she cried. Her thumb throbbed with pain and she felt her control slipping. Tears began to slip down her cheeks. She turned, grabbed the kettle by its plastic handle and slammed it against counter, creating a large dent in its side. “No one hurts me anymore,” she screamed.
“No one.”

She slowly turned her head back to the computer screen. You’re smiling at me. She felt the control returning. You understand me, don’t you? She exhaled a shuddering breath. You will protect me and stay with me forever, won’t you?

Opening the cabinet next to the stove, she pulled out a small vial of salve. She applied it liberally to her thumb and then wrapped her injured digit in cheesecloth. The salve soothed the sting immediately.

She dried her tears on a dish towel, sniffed away the moisture in her nose and took a deep breath. I’m never going to have to be alone again.

She giggled. A girlish giggle that would have been better suited coming from a child. “I know something you don’t know,” she sang.

Turning back to the computer screen, she blew Bradley a kiss and giggled again. She dashed down the basement stairs, flipped on the light and ran to the back corner of the room. Unlocking the door, she reached for the pull string and flooded the room with light. Falling to her knees in front of the remains of her father, she turned her face to his and laughed, her eyes sparkling with delight.

“I have a boyfriend, Daddy,” she said. “I saw him today and he smiled at me. I could tell he wanted me to be his girlfriend.”

She paused, listening, and then clapped her hands over her ears.

“You can’t say that. I know he likes me. Women have a way of knowing these things.”

Frowning, her brow furrowed in thought, she let her hands slip down to her lap. “Well, yes, he did have a woman with him, Daddy. Mary O’Reilly. But he didn’t want her to be there, he wanted to be alone with me.”

She leaned forward and, with a secret grin, whispered, “I think he wanted to kiss me.”

Sitting back she cocked her head, contemplating her words. “He could have kissed me, you know. He could have said, ‘Angela come in here for a moment,’ and taken me into his office and kissed me. Why didn’t he kiss me, Daddy?”

Standing, she walked over to the small dresser in the corner of the tiny closet. She opened the drawer and pulled out a bottle filled with amber liquid and a glass tumbler. She poured several inches of the whiskey into the bottle and drank it quickly. It made her eyes and throat burn, but the rest of her body was suffused in warmth. “You always did say whiskey was good for what ails you, didn’t you Daddy?”

She poured another glass full, placed the bottle back in the drawer and walked over to the corpse. “Remember the first time you gave me whiskey, Daddy? Remember you told me it would make me feel better? Remember you told me it would relax me so we could play those special games together?”

She put the glass to her lip, took a sip and then angrily tossed the remaining contents at the mummified face. “You lied, Daddy,” she screamed. “It didn’t relax me. It made me drunk. And then, when I couldn’t control myself, you hurt me.”

Her voice softened to a whimpered plea. “I was only eight years old. I told you to stop - but you didn’t! You kept hurting me over and over again. Why did you hurt me, Daddy?”

Whiskey ran down the leathery dried skin and dripped from the hollow eye sockets. Angela cocked her head again and watched it, her features regretful. “I’m sorry, Daddy, I shouldn’t make you cry.”

She picked up the ragged blanket and blotted the alcohol from his face. “I know it wasn’t your fault, Momma told me that men just can’t help themselves. Right, Daddy? That’s why in nature the female often kills the male after they’re done mating.”

Draping the blanket over her father’ shoulders, she stood back and studied him for a moment.

“Yes, that’s the way it’s done. You know, I think this time I’m not going to just kill him,” she said. “This time, I think I’m going to keep him. I think you’d like Bradley Alden, Daddy. I think you’d like him just fine.”

Bradley reached up and took down two plates from the cabinet over Mary’s kitchen counter. “You know, you don’t have to cook for me,” he said. “I would really like to take you out for dinner.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “Heating up Christmas leftovers does not really qualify as cooking for you,” she explained. “Besides, if we don’t eat them now, they’ll go to waste and I’ll feel guilty.”

He snatched a piece of turkey from a platter and stuffed it into his mouth. “Well, we don’t want you to feel guilty,” he teased.

“Exactly, I don’t need any more stresses in my life.”

Suddenly serious, he put his hands on her shoulders and studied her for a moment. “Are there too many stresses in your life? This thing with Sam can wait for a while, if that would help.”

She shook her head. “No, I’ve already decided to ask Angela about the Coroner’s Report on his death tomorrow when I’m at the morgue looking for our Jane Doe,” she said. “It really isn’t any extra work.”

The microwave chimed and she stepped away from him to pull a steaming bowl of stuffing out. “So, I have turkey, potatoes, stuffing, gravy, Jell-O, Waldorf salad and deviled eggs. Am I missing anything?”

“If you were, who would notice?”

“Oh,” Mary said, snapping her fingers, “Cranberries, I forgot the cranberry sauce.”

“Well, that would have ruined the meal,” he joked. “I’m so glad you remembered it.”

She pulled the cranberries out of the refrigerator and placed them on the table. “Sit down, quickly,” she said. “Before I think I’ve forgotten something else.”

They sat down and Mary stood again.

“What?” Bradley asked.

“Duh, the rolls,” she replied.

Bradley sat back in his chair, shaking his head.
“Duh.”

Once Mary finally sat down, they filled their plates to overflowing. After a few bites, Mary glanced over at Bradley, “I will be so glad to have the snow gone. It seems like a lifetime since we’ve been able to run.”

Bradley grinned. “And I really miss seeing you in that jogging outfit of yours. Half the time I lost so I could watch you running in front of me,” he sighed, “Such a lovely sight.”

Mary blushed. “Sure, blame your hormones on the lost races. We both know I kicked your butt out there.”

“You and what army?” he countered.

“Didn’t need an army,” she replied.
“Just little
ol
‘ me.”

He chuckled. “Well, spring will soon be here and we’ll see who kicks whose butt.”

“Big talk from a guy with a mouthful of high-carb stuffing.”

He swallowed, “High metabolism, carbs don’t bother me in the least.”

“Yeah, we’ll see when you’re half naked, sweating and panting after me.”

Mary closed her mouth abruptly and blushed. She bent her head down and stared at her plate for a moment. “Oh! Wow! That came out wrong.”

Lifting her head, she was sure Bradley would be laughing at her, but instead, his face was clothed in regret. He reached across the table and took her hands in his own. “I’ve put you in an untenable position, haven’t I? Most couples, in this kind of situation, would be… Well, they’d be a little more physical.”

Mary nearly laughed, the situation was so ironic. His wife was dead and she knew it. There was nothing to keep their relationship from progressing, except for two promises she had made, one to Jeannine and one to herself. She sighed and squeezed his hands lightly. “I need to explain something to you,” she said. “First, you haven’t put me in any kind of uncomfortable position at all. As a matter of fact, I thought that perhaps I was…”

She paused, struggling for the right words. “Well, I suppose it’s best to just be honest about this.”

“I don’t understand,” he said.

She took a deep breath. “Bradley, you’ve met my parents. You see how great they are together, right?”

He nodded.

“When I was a young girl, nearly a teenager, I remember sitting with my mother in my room,” she explained. “It was late at night and she had just finished reading me a story, we still read together, even then. I remember she seemed distracted. She kissed me good-night and left my room.”

She slipped her hands out of his and gripped them together in front of her on the table. “I listened for her to walk down the stairs and then I softly opened my door. I crept to the staircase and peered through the spindles on the banister. I could see my mother sitting in the chair in the living room. Her head was in her hands and she was crying.”

Mary looked up at Bradley for understanding. “Maggie O’Reilly never cried, except when she was happy. Mom was our rock. She was our strength.”

She sat back in her chair. “I sat at the top of the stairs, my arms wrapped around my legs, for hours, waiting to see what would happen. I don’t remember where the boys were, I just remember watching Mom for what seemed like forever.”

Tears began to glisten in her eyes and Mary took a deep breath. “Then the door opened. Dad walked in. His arm was in a sling and his forehead was bandaged. Mom was out of that chair so fast; I can’t remember even seeing her move. One moment she was sitting in the chair, the next, she was in his arms.”

She wiped a stray tear from her face. “Dad put his arm around her and held her. And they stood like that for the longest time.
Drawing strength from each other.”

Mary looked up at Bradley once again. “That’s when I first understood what true love
looked liked
. It wasn’t fancy, it was solid. It wasn’t sexy, it was powerful.”

She took a deep breath and laid her hands over his. “That was when I promised myself that I would wait,” she said simply. “I would wait for the right man and the right time. I would wait until I was married.”

She shrugged and smiled. “So, what I’m saying…”

Bradley started to speak and Mary raised her hands to stop him.

“So, what I’m saying is even if you were ready for a physical relationship, I’m not,” she continued, then she took a deep breath. “And I don’t want you to think this is a way to get you to propose to me. I’m not that kind of person.”

He nodded. “I know you’re not.”

“Good,” she said, smiling, “Because, really, that was the most awkward part.”

He laughed.

“I love you,” she said. “And you love me. That’s a wonderful thing. I’m okay just keeping it there for now.”

“And later?” he asked.

“When we get there, we’ll figure it out,” she said.

He lifted her hand to his lips, kissed it and smiled at her. “That’s a brilliant plan.”

Suddenly Mary sat upright. “Oh, no, I forgot,” she moaned.

“What?”

Standing up and sending him a wicked grin, she said, “Pumpkin pie and whipped cream.”

Later that night, after Bradley left, Mary was dressed in her favorite sweats watching the flames dance in her fireplace. Glancing at the clock she saw that it was nearly midnight. She lifted her feet onto the couch, hugged her knees and laid her head on top of them. Why was life so complicated?
she
wondered. What happened to happily-ever-after?

“Just because it isn’t smooth doesn’t mean it can’t be happy.”

Mary jumped and turned to see Jeannine standing behind her. “Are you supposed to be able to read my mind?” Mary asked.

Jeannine glided over and sat on the other end of the couch. “I didn’t have to read your mind; I could see it on your face.”

Mary shrugged. “You’re not helping matters.”

Jeannine looked over to the fireplace. “It would be nice to feel the warmth of a fire again,” she said, “That toasty heat that slides over your skin.”

“You can’t feel heat?”

“Or cold…or pretty much anything.
I’m like a shadow, but I’m still here,” she said. “I understand it gets better on the other side.”

“Better? Like chocolate?” Mary asked.

“Without a doubt,” Jeannine agreed with a grin. “Otherwise it wouldn’t be heaven.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, each staring at the flames.

“Do you mind…
”
Mary began,
then
stopped.

“That he’s in love with you?” Jeannine finished.

Mary nodded.
“Yeah.”

“Well, since I’m dead, it would be pretty selfish for me to deny him some happiness.”

“Well, maybe selfish, but totally understandable.”

Jeannine shook her head. “No, I’ve reached a higher plain of existence,” she said. “I don’t have feelings like jealousy or hate.”

“Really?”

Jeannine laughed.
“No, not really.
If you weren’t so nice, I would really hate you,” she said. “And I’ve got to say the fact that you can actually eat pie and whipped cream and not look like a cow, doesn’t endear you to me at all. But… you make him happy. And he’s needed to be happy for so long.”

Her face sobered and she turned to Mary. “He’s still in trouble,” she said. “And it’s getting closer.”