Chapter Twelve #2
Drea glanced up from her position behind the bar. Polo shirt guy paced as he ranted.
A muscular man wearing a cowboy hat grumbled in agreement as he lit a cigar. The scent of tobacco filled the air. “Well, what the fuck do the Canucks know? We got the same amount of land, but they have only ten percent of our population. They got plenty of space to drill without people around.”
Drill? Drea positioned herself so she could hear more clearly, using the mirrors backing the wet bar to properly study the group around the table.
Polo shirt resumed his position at the table. “And they’ll stay all holier than thou until they have a serious leak. Or a hurricane blows through. It’s happened to all of us at some point.”
“Shh,” Cigar guy hissed. He looked straight at Drea’s reflection in the mirror. And she stared at Trip Henderson III, CEO of Cleffan Energy.
Was it still called a heart attack if your heart simply stopped beating in your chest? Because it was really unlikely hers was ever going to work again. Drea forced herself to breathe normally as she wiped down the countertop. Had he recognized her? Did he even know who she was?
Sweat trickled down her back. What would they do to her? What could they do? Throw her over the balcony? Security cameras in the hallway would show her entering the suite and not leaving. Which would be cold comfort if she were found splattered on the concrete.
A loud knock at the door made her jump. Elroy King entered the room again, this time with another gentleman. Henderson stood and walked over to the man, shaking his hand and slapping him on the shoulder.
“Gents. This is the person I was speaking of earlier. Ashley Sullivan.”
Ashley Sullivan? The DEP guy?
Her hands shook. She cracked open the bottles of liquor, set the glasses on the bar, filled the ice buckets, and placed the mixers in the small fridge. Occasionally, she’d sneak a look, memorizing the faces of the men at the table.
The introductions had ended. Drea pushed the cart quickly to the door. A few more minutes and she would be back in the world’s slowest elevator.
“Wait.” Trip walked toward her.
Drea gripped the sides of the cart with both hands. Did she have a weapon handy? The corkscrew lay within reach if she needed it.
She looked up at Henderson. “Did you need something else, sir?” Her voice trembled.
“You have something of mine, I believe.” The flash drive? She’d given it to the police.
His hand slithered round the back of his pants, under his jacket. Oh my God. Please don’t be a gun. Drea took a deep breath. Not in front of all these men. Who likely wouldn’t give a shit if she were gone.
“I need to sign, right?” He was holding a wallet embossed with bullhorns.
She pulled the black folder containing the receipt from the front of her apron and handed it to him.
Lips pursed, he reviewed and signed the bill. He placed it on the cart and withdrew a hundred dollar bill from his wallet.
“Thank you,” he smiled, opening the door so she could leave.
The corridor felt horror-movie long. Drea pressed the button on the elevator. Pressed it again.
“For the love of all things holy,” she said, pressing the button furiously. She gazed over her shoulder, Henderson and the guard were talking.
The doors opened and Drea got on. As the doors closed, both men looked at her. Drea collapsed against the mirrored wall with a sob.
She pulled her phone out of her pocket. It was two o’clock in the morning. If she texted Cujo, he wouldn’t see it until he woke up.
Please call me.
There were so few people she could count on, she only hoped Cujo was still one of them.
* * *
Cujo handed out the life vests to the small group waiting to take the beginners paddleboard course through the waterway. It was a perfect end to an early October day. The sky was turning a spectacular red and burnt orange and the above-average temperatures were meant to continue through the month.
The relaxing sounds of the water soothed him.
After hours of trying to sort through his feelings for Drea, he had given up and called Connor.
The timing was fortuitous. One of Connor’s guides had called in sick leaving him a person short for the last tour of the evening.
Cujo had wrapped up his shift and headed over.
Even Trent didn’t understand his need to make the nearly two-hour drive to his brother with such great frequency, but the hours he spent on the water, surrounded by beauty, filled his creative soul in a way nothing else did.
He checked his phone one last time.
Want to come for dinner?
He’d seen the text from Drea but had ignored it.
Shit. He was a selfish ass.
“Thanks for helping out, man. I’d have been screwed.” Connor checked the fit of the life preserver on a sexy tanned senior from UCLA. “It isn’t like Desiree to call in sick last minute. Guess I won’t be trying the new burger place she tried after all.”
“No worries, I needed the break,” Cujo said, tucking his phone and keys into a waterproof bag.
Drea had reached out to him, which was huge for her. And he wanted to be there for her. After a decent night’s sleep, he knew they could figure this shit out.
“Okay,” Connor said, clapping his hands together to get everybody’s attention.
“Right, we’ve gone through the basics, so now you guys get to try it out. Grab a board from over there.” Connor pointed to the rack containing twelve boards. “Grab a paddle, too. Then get in the water with your board.”
Cujo waded into the water with his board, knelt in the middle, and then before standing, pushed himself out.
“No. No. No.”
A brunette in a wetsuit wobbled on her board and fell into the water. She resurfaced and laughed. Cujo made his way over to her.
Placing her paddle down on the board, she looked at him. “Not sure this is my thing.”
“Nah, you got this. Let me see what you’re doing?” He jumped off his board and held hers while she clambered on. Connor paddled by to get to another student, but Cujo caught the way he checked out the woman’s ass. Connor shrugged with a smirk as he passed by.
Her stance was fine. It was her paddling that was all over the place.
“Stay standing upright and engage your core. Extend your arms to paddle, not your body.” He demonstrated it for her as she wobbled on her board. She tried again and inched forward.
“Okay,” Connor said, “feels like you guys are starting to get the hang of it. So let’s head down the waterway. It never gets deeper than a few feet so you’ll be fine if you fall in.” A ripple of laughter followed as people started to line up behind Connor.
“Lucky me,” she laughed.
“Just stick with me. You’ll be boarding before you know it. I’m Cujo, if you need anything.”
“Mandy. I’d shake your hand but I am scared witless of letting go of my paddle.” Cujo laughed.
By the end of the first leg, Mandy had gotten the hang of it.
She’d fallen in three more times but had mastered both types of turns, the wide arc and the reverse paddle.
Her confidence was growing but she was overthinking it still.
He needed to distract her, so he teased her a little, pointed out things of interest along the water’s edge.
As they entered the home straight, she was standing tall, capable if not yet confident.
“You did it,” he said, helping her off the board.
“It was amazing, Cujo, thanks,” she said and walk toward the rest of her friends.
It took them another forty minutes to see everybody off, clean down the boards, and rinse off the life jackets. When everything was loaded and secured on the special trailer, Connor suggested going out again, just the two of them.
“What’s got you out of sorts?” Connor asked, pushing them at a fair clip through the water. Cujo was glad of the pace. A good workout would settle the feelings rushing around inside him.
“That obvious?” Connor had always been the more intuitive.
“Nah. Not really. You just seem a bit down.”
“Things are happening between me and Drea. Well, they were, until I spent time with dad and mom the last couple of days.” He hated sounding weak, but Connor got him better than most. The sky was almost blood red, impossible to paint, yet painfully appropriate.
Connor started to pull away. “Yeah. The mom-thing is fucked up. What’s the deal with Dad?”
“He’s waited for her. All these years.” Cujo paddled hard to close the gap. “We had words about it. She’s going to hurt him again.”
“But she might not. We owe it to ourselves, not her, to figure out if she’s changed. But what’s it got to do with you and Drea?”
It sounded so simple when Connor put it like that. “I don’t know. I thought I had my head on straight. We’ve done okay in life without Mom.”
“So…” Conner said, slowing his board down until they faced an open expanse at the end of the waterway.
“You’d think I be over this shit. Over the fact she left us.”
“You think Drea’s going to do the same to you?”
Cujo couldn’t answer. All along, he’d thought the problem was he didn’t want to get involved.
That he somehow was being pulled into a relationship he didn’t need.
Or that it was unfair on the woman because of his cancer.
The reality hit him hard. His deepest fear was that he would fall hard and fast, and that Drea would leave him as heartbroken as his father.
“You know. Mom isn’t Drea, and you aren’t Dad. Not to say you won’t have issues, hell, I don’t know a single couple that doesn’t. But they’ll be your own.”
They stood on their boards in silence, studying the dying embers of the sunset.
He needed a good night’s sleep, then in the morning, he was going to find Drea. He owed her a huge apology.
And maybe a couple of orgasms.
* * *
Drea’s eyes itched as she struggled to get her key into the lock on the front door of her house. Running on four hours sleep was getting old fast.
The hundred-dollar tip from Trip sat in her wallet, taunting her. Lord knows it would come in handy for this week’s groceries, but keeping the money felt wrong.
Perhaps she’d give it to Cujo to pay off part of her car debt.
The idea of getting into bed alone when what she really wanted was to crawl into bed next to Cujo’s warm naked body was a touch depressing. But her mom would need help in the morning, and Cujo hadn’t responded to her text.
She pushed the door but it wouldn’t open, something was blocking it.
She sighed and rolled her head to loosen the stiff muscles in her neck.
Please don’t let something else be broken.
One step forward, two steps back. Drea put her shoulder to the door and gave it a shove.
She stepped inside, the pole that held her mom’s oxygen tube was lying across the floor.
Drea’s heart sank, and she ran into the living room that doubled as her mom’s bedroom.
“Mom!” she cried, as she sank to her knees, careful not to move her. Rosa’s leg was bent at an awkward angle and she had a large bump on her head, likely from hitting it on the floor.
“Drea,” she croaked, grasping for her daughter’s hand.
“I’m here. How long have you been like this?” Drea pulled her phone out of her pocket, and perched it under her ear as she dragged the tank and mask closer, fixing the elastic around her mom’s face.
“Nine one one. What’s your emergency?”
“My mom, she’s fallen. She has COPD. Her leg looks broken. Please. She can’t breathe.” She gave the operator all the information she asked for and put the phone, still connected, down by her side.
Drea brushed her hand across her mom’s forehead. “They’re on their way, Mom. I—”
“No, Drea,” Rosa gasped, pushing the mask away from her face. “I’m … sorry. I—”
“Please, Mom. Save your energy.” Tears started to fall.
This was different. Her mom usually fought the breathlessness, but it was almost like she wanted to die. Her mom looked gray and was sweating as her chest moved the slightest amount. The icy-cold fingers of panic tightened their grip on Drea.
“I love you … I’m … I’m sorry I blamed you … all these years,” her mom sobbed. The cry caused her to cough violently. Drea tried to lift her slightly, to elevate her head, but the best she could do was rest her mom’s head on her knees.
“Oh, Mom, no. Stop. This isn’t good-bye,” Drea cried, wiping her eyes. She fixed the mask back in place, but her mom struggled for breath for several minutes.
“I blamed … you. For being … stuck. Not your fault.” A single tear leaked from her mom’s eyes. Rosa’s fingers were cool against her cheek. Drea clasped her hands over them.
Sirens sounded, their wail louder as they approached the house. “The ambulance is nearly here. Please. Stay with me, Mom. I love you.”
“I’m sorry. Love is … precious, Drea.” Her mom gave a gasp as the paramedics burst into the house.
Drea moved aside but remained on her knees. The paramedics placed a mask over her mom’s face, rattling off questions Drea answered on autopilot.
Her heart kept pace with the frantic careening of the ambulance through Miami’s core, pounding, jerky, and frequently screeching to a halt. She pulled her jacket tight round her shoulders.
The doors swung open and Drea gave her mom’s hand a final squeeze. “We made it, Mom.”
Doctors met them at the ambulance bay. The gurney was hurried into a curtained cubicle.
“You can’t go in there, Miss.” A hand barred her access; a nurse prevented her from following.
“Please.”
“I know this is frightening, but it’s best if you give the doctors room to do what they have to do. I’ll send someone to talk to you soon.”
Drea sat down on the white plastic bench and prayed.
She prayed when the doctor asked if she knew whether her mom had a DNR.
She prayed as she filled out the hospital admission forms, knowing she couldn’t afford the bills they’d create but willing to pay anything for a few more moments with her mom.
She prayed when the crash cart went flying by. She prayed as the hours dragged on.
She prayed until a tall doctor walked toward her slowly. “I’m sorry, Ms. Caron. We did everything we could. But with your mom’s pre-existing condition, her heart just wasn’t strong enough to get her through it. She’s gone.”
Then she cried, so hard it hurt. She was alone.
Only one person had ever promised to be there for her. She pulled out her phone and texted.
I really need you.