Conflicts, Confusion...and a Cause for Concern

     

Beckett and Fr. Kevin meet for an early morning run...and a bit of terse conversation

     Beckett left the flat for his morning run not knowing for sure whether Kevin would actually show up.  They had gotten in the habit of meeting three times a week, and though he hated to admit it, he had begun to look forward to the priest's company. There was a good chance that this particular dawn, he might find himself snubbed.  When Kevin left Maureen's apartment the night before, he was undoubtedly upset over their teasing about his "stripper girlfriend", and Beckett figured he might still be angry.

       As it turned out, his worries were unfounded.  Rounding the corner of 23rd and Elm, he could see Fr. Kevin stretching his long legs in front of the church's main doors, and was relieved.  Today was sure to be stressful enough without adding her brother's displeasure to the litany of problems that needed to be overcome.  He came to a stop in front of Holy Family, and waited for the priest to finish warming up.  "Glad you decided to run this morning, Kev.  I like the competition."

     Fr. Kevin looked at him coolly, "Why wouldn't I be here?"

     "Well, it's just that you left in somewhat of a huff last night.  I hoped you weren't still upset.  We were only teasing.  Didn't mean anything by it.  You know how Maureen gets when she's the center of attention.  Tends to embellish."

     "You don't need to explain my sister to me, Sheriff.  I am well aware of how she is.  The question is... are you?"

     His frosty tone, and use of the title "Sheriff" rather than his name, clued Beckett to the fact that his future brother in law was, in fact, still pissed.  For every one's sake, he decided to tread lightly.  He was counting on Kevin's help in getting through this afternoon's meeting, and if it required him to play nicely, than so be it.  "Look, I want to apologize for laughing the way I did.  I sure as hell wouldn't appreciate my brothers telling tales about when I was a kid.  Your relationship with that girl is no one's business."

    In the early morning light, it was easy to see the flush of pink that spread from under the collar of his t-shirt, and gathered around his ears.  "First of all, there was no 'relationship'.  And secondly, I don't want to talk about it. Period."  He put his hands on his hips, and scowled at Beckett.  "Frankly, I would think you'd have enough to worry about in your own little world, instead of focusing on silly crap from my childhood.  I don't suspect Maureen will be Miss Compliance during your legal maneuvering, and adding my brother Patrick to the mix won't help."

       It was Beckett's turn to be defensive, and his face lost any of the cheerfulness he was trying to convey.  "You do understand that a pre-nup is as much for your sister's security as mine. As well as the baby she's carrying.  It's the logical and prudent thing to do."

      "I'm not arguing with you, Sheriff.  And I do believe you have her best interests at heart.  But we both know that Maureen will see it in a whole different light.  Your demand for a contract before marrying her will be viewed as a nod toward future failure, something her pride will never allow.  Plus, the dreamer in her will find it lacking the 'happily ever after' romance she's surely fantasizing about."

      His frustration showing, Beckett kicked at an odd stone, banking it off the grotto bench with a loud ping.  "She'll just have to act like mature adult.  This is a necessary evil.  I have to protect both Maureen, and my interest in the family company.  If something were to happen to me... suddenly, I need to know that things are in order.  I've talked with Maureen at length about the whole process.  It's not like she's going into this blind. Plus, your brother Patrick is representing her.  If anyone is able to look after her best interests, it's her own brother."

       Taking a final stretch, Fr. Kevin straightened up.  "I hope you have your best game face on, Sheriff Beckett.  I know both of them, up close and personal, and you my friend, are in for a rough afternoon."  And without another word, the priest was off, running at full speed, and leaving the other man to chase after him.
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   There was no way Patrick was going into this unprepared, so Maureen was not surprised to see a long, black limo pull up in front of Schiller's Deli.  Normally, he'd just take the train in like everyone else, but today's duty called for full pomp and circumstances, and he was determined to set the tone from the very start.

    Stacking the last of the cantaloupes in place, Maureen O'Kenney pulled off the shop apron, and hung it on a hook behind the counter.  She had been dreading this day for the past three weeks, and now that it had arrived, her anxiety grew to a whole new level.  She and Ted had discussed this whole pre-nup thing to death, and any argument she presented, he countered with a better one. Frankly, it was that way with everything.  He'd patiently listen to her concerns, then calmly dismiss them, and do exactly what he pleased.  And so it was with his demand for this pre-nuptial agreement.  It made their whole relationship sound more like a business merger rather than a marriage, and the idea of preparing for it's eventual demise appeared to her as bad karma.

     Dragging her feet, she knew that her brother was probably growing annoyed waiting for her to join him in the limo, but she sure as hell wasn't going to any lawyer's office dressed in her work clothes, and smelling like salami.  Giving Mrs. Schiller notice that she was leaving for the afternoon, she headed upstairs to do a quick make over.  It took her several minutes of switching and swapping before finally deciding on a soft, green jersey knit dress, and pair of matching Loubouton stilettos that were a splurge memento from the doomed Boston trip.  Running a comb through her curls, and adding a swipe of lipstick, she did a turn in front of the vanity mirror, and was satisfied with what she saw.  If nothing else, she looked good.  Very good.

    Careful on the stairs in her heels, she opted to take the side door out the back, rather than walk through the deli, and subject herself to a lengthy conversation with her employers.  They were lovely people, but surely didn't understand the meaning of "I'm in a hurry."  The chauffeur was patiently waiting for her, and rushed to open the passenger door.  She slid into the car, next to Patrick, who was busy on the phone, and didn't acknowledge her presence.

   Once finished with his conversation, he tucked the cell in his suit pocket, and turned toward her.  "You're late.  I've been sitting in this damn car for almost 25 minutes."

   Working to keep the little girl whine out of her voice, (the one that always seemed to surface in her oldest brother's presence) she explained.  "Sorry, Patrick.  I...I needed to change out of my work clothes.  I wasn't sure what one wore to this sort of thing."

   He gave her  the once over, and to her surprise, nodded in agreement.  "You look fine.  Very nice, in fact."

   As he wasn't known to hand out compliments, she blushed at his words.  "Thanks, Pat.  I'm really nervous."

   He grunted in reply.  "It'll be fine, Red.  Nothing unusual,  Pretty routine, in fact.  Just keep your mouth closed, and let me do the talking.  I expect that Ted's guy will advise him to keep it to the bare bones, and I'd be surprised if some negotiating wasn't required.  But I'll get you the best deal possible.  Trust me."

   At his words, Maureen's face fell.  "I hate the way you make it sound, Patrick.  It's so...so corporate.  This is supposed to be my wedding.  Not some damn business deal.  I don't want his money.  It's his.  Not mine.  And it doesn't matter one little bit to me."  He didn't look convinced, so she tried another tactic.  One she unwisely didn't think through before speaking.  "This is just so unnecessary.  You and Eileen didn't write a pre-nup before you got married.   You were just in love."  As the words left her tongue, she instantly wanted to grab them back.  Discussion about his estranged wife was a sore topic with her brother.

    He narrowed his eyes, winding up for a heavy duty lecture.  "When Eileen and I got engaged, we didn't have a pot to piss in, or a window to throw it out of!  A pre-nup isn't necessary when you've got nothing to lose.  But I'll tell you one damn thing.  I wish I had one now.  She, and that shyster WASP lawyer she's hired, will undoubtedly take me to the cleaners.  It'll be a frickn' nightmare."  Angry at his missing wife, and not caring if he hurt Maureen's feelings in the process, he continued  "Besides, Eileen wasn't knocked up when we got married.  A baby adds a whole new layer to this negotiation, so for once in your life, start acting like a grown-up, and think about your child's future."

     Sitting next to him, Maureen blanched at the harshness of his words.  Somehow, she hadn't even thought about the fact that they'd be discussing the pregnancy.  About her screw-up.  In a room with strangers.  With her older brother sitting next to her, disapproval rolling off of him in waves.   And Ted.  Her Ted.  Staring at her from across some lawyer's conference table.  She suddenly felt too warm.  Sweaty.  Trapped.  As they pulled up in front of the hotel, the same one booked for their wedding reception in two weeks, she wondered if she could possibly make a run for it in four inch stilettos.
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     Because Beckett's lawyer was from New York, and Patrick was there from Boston, and neither had an office in Dollyville, a small conference room had been rented at the Park West Hotel for the afternoon's meeting.  Beckett arrived early, impatient for the whole thing to be done and over with.  He had been fielding calls all week from James Harron about details in the contract, and he was fully aware that his attorney and he were not in agreement over several issues.  But there was no way he was ever going to leave her, and the child, without a substantial nest egg, and protected from the clutches of his conniving, crazy family.  There was always the chance that an assignment would go bad, and for his own piece of mind, it was imperative that he knew safe guards were in place.  Today would be the first step in setting those plans in motion.

      He could hear voices outside the door, and turned in time to see Patrick O'Kenney enter the room, followed by his fiancee.  She looked beautiful, but alarmingly pale.  He could tell by the way she clutched her handbag, white knuckled, that she was scared silly, and totally out of her element.  And although he knew it was highly inappropriate, considering the setting and situation, he found her fear deliciously appealing.  She caught his eye, and in that moment, must have deduced exactly what it was he was thinking, as she quickly looked away, her cheeks changing from ivory porcelain to cotton candy pink. She sat stiffly upright in her chair, hands folded primly in her lap, her legs tightly crossed at the ankles.

     There was much posturing and handshaking amongst the attorneys, a request for some refreshments, and a round of general chit chat before they got down to actual business.  The first half of the agreement was cut and dry, the standard items agreed upon by both parties.  It was the first time Beckett had seen Patrick in lawyer mode, and he was surprisingly impressed.  The man was shrewd and calculating, and completely professional, despite the fact it was his own sister they were discussing.  As counsel for both sides debated back and forth over dispersal of common property in the case of adultery and divorce, Beckett watched as his bride became more and more openly agitated.  She wrung her hands, and bit on her lower lip so vigorously, it was swollen and red. When asked a question, her voice came out slightly above a whisper, and his attorney had to ask her several times to speak up, and repeat her answer.

      It took nearly an hour and a half to eventually come to terms on such incidentals as alimony and child support, should they become necessary, and gratefully, the agreement was finally ready for signing and witnessing.  Taking the offered pen, Beckett signed first, then slid the paper and pen across the table towards Maureen.  She stared at the pages in front of her, fingers tightly laced, making no effort to pick up the pen.  Patiently, the three men waited for her to make a move, with Patrick eventually resorting to verbal prodding.

     "Go ahead, Maureen.  You can sign right there under Ted's name."  When she didn't respond, he leaned in and whispered, "It's fine, Red.  A very generous offer.  You're good to go."

      Without any discussion, explanation, or warning, Maureen suddenly pulled the diamond and
emerald ring off her left hand, and placed it on top of the pre-nup.  She looked at Ted, her eyes full of apprehension and confusion.  "I'm sorry.  I just can't do this."  She quickly stood, and dashed out the door, her ankles wobbling on tall heels in flight.

       Embarrassed, Patrick got up to follow her.  "I'm sorry, gentlemen.  She's been under a lot of stress.  The whole bombing episode, you know.  Plus the pregnancy makes her a bit emotional.  I'll have her back shortly."

      Before the elder O'Kenney could even leave the room, a very disgruntled Beckett scooped up the engagement ring, and was out the door in hot pursuit of his reluctant bride, leaving both attorneys scratching their heads over the awkward, and inconvenient, turn of events.

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The brunette in the red bikini

     Several pairs of eyes watched as the brunette made her way across the concrete pool deck, and settled herself into a chaise in the usual spot.  Today she was in fire engine red, a tiny French cut bikini that did little to hide her treasures.  This grand arrival every day at 2 PM was a ritual, and the regulars could set their clocks by her appearance.  As was her custom, she pulled a corked bottle, then a single wine glass from her bag, and proceeded to slowly pour the jewel colored liquid, filling the crystal goblet half way, then setting both on the small table next to her.

      The lone life guard had long given up insisting that glass items were not allowed in the pool area.  The first time she appeared, he had attempted a polite conversation about the association's rules regarding breakable items on the deck.  But in his youth and naivete, he was soon dismissed with a  confident smile, and a look that left him both dizzy and tongue-tied.  From that day forward, she greeted him with a wink and a wave, and he, in return, pretended not to see her blatant disregard for protocol.

      There was no doubt about it.  She charged the atmosphere around the condo's pool like a live electrical wire, and male attendance on the deck consistently increased every afternoon as the hands on the clock moved toward 2.  The seniors in the building returned to their air conditioned comfort, and the moms and toddlers gathered up water wings and floaties, and headed inside for afternoon naps, leaving the woman alone with her admiring audience.  She ran a hand through her dark hair, and leaned back in the chaise, allowing everyone an enticing view.  Satisfied she was properly presented, she pulled a stack of newspapers from the matching bag on the ground next to her, and began her weekly perusal.

     Although most of the news across the globe was readily available on the net, she enjoyed the soothing routine of flipping through the printed pages, casually eyeing the want ads, reading the silly advice columns, and working through the daily word puzzles.  This weekly experience kept her in tune with the various key locations in her life in a way a web search could not, and she especially looked forward to certain editions more than others.  Thus it was with the Hello Dolly, a small, local rag from Dollyville, Massechuseutts.  It had been a hassle procuring a copy of such an obscure newspaper here on the Gulf coast, but perusing the mundane existence of the life and people she left behind was an addiction she hadn't been able to shake.

      It seemed like just any other normal week in the slow moving town of Dollyville.  There had been a small grease fire at the Dandy-Lion Pub, but the owner expected to re-open later that week.  The library was planning a series of guest speakers on retirement investments, and Boy Scout Troop 465 was hosting a ceremony, and pancake breakfast, in celebration of the upcoming Memorial Day holiday.  She quickly glossed over the other articles, and headed toward the Around Town section, the closest thing the newspaper had to a society gossip column.  Finding the section in it's usual spot, she was shocked to see Teddy's smiling face staring up at her from the page, his arm tucked around the small form of that insipid red head.  The priest's sister, whose name she always forgot.  Mary, or Maura, or something like that.

     Taking a sip of wine from the glass, she quickly scanned the article, her brain refusing to comprehend what her eyes were reading.

                                            Local Sheriff To Wed Boston Woman       

     "Wedding bells will soon be ringing for Dollyville's popular Sheriff Ted Beckett, and Miss Maureen O'Kenney, formally of Boston's South End neighborhood.  The happy couple will tie the knot on Saturday, June 8th, 2013, at Holy Family Church, 2301 West Elm Street, at 2:00 PM, with the bride's brother, Fr. Patrick O'Kenney, Pastor, officiating.  An evening reception will follow at the Park West Hotel, in Dollyville's business district.

      Get those hankies ready, ladies.  Dollyville is losing one of it's most desirable bachelors.  Besides being one of this state's hottest law men, Beckett is also heir to one of the East Coast's largest retail conglomerates, the "Henny's Pennies" Super Stores.  New to our area, Miss O'Kenney holds a Master's Degree in Social Work from Boston College, and is currently employed by Schiller's Deli, 2509 West Elm Street.  Join me in wishing the lucky bride, and her handsome groom, a very happily ever after."

  

     For a moment, Cassie Donaghue, aka Cassie McKreedy, Cassandra Phelan, Cassie Ann Spenser, and a whole myriad of similar aliases, sat there stunned, too shaken to react.  Then, with a snarl of anger and frustration, she flung the entire newspaper to her right, knocking over both the bottle and the goblet, which hit the stone pavement with a ringing crash.

       From his perch high above the pool, the life guard sighed.  Shattered glass was a pain in the ass to clean off the rough surface of the deck. It meant several hours of extra work, and the pool would need to be closed to all visitors until it was safely completed.  But, on the bright side, it momentarily gave him the advantage of a closer look, and the possibility of offering his personal aid to the obviously distressed hottie in the teeny, red bikini.

                                 

Shattered glass...and shattered plans

Copyright 2013 Victoria T. Rocus
All Rights Reserved

Today is the one year anniversary of my fiction blog! I am proud of the fact I kept to my writing schedule, working hard to fit it in my crazy school schedule and the five hundred other things that tried to get in the way...including a dislocated shoulder, torn rotator cuff, hours and hours of physical therapy, a major heart attack, two angioplasties, and all the stress of daily life. I am determined to make this dream happen for myself, one post at a time. Thanks to all who have supported me from the start, and those of you that have joined the journey along the way!  You overwhelm me with your loyalty and concern! Much appreciated dear friends!  God Bless!

  
   

   



 

 




   

The Chickens Come Home to Roost

               

Wednesday night at Maureen's apartment

        They say every cloud has a silver lining, and in the case of Maureen's Boston scare, it gave everyone involved the opportunity to re-evaluate what was important, and what was simply not.  Beckett was on his best behavior, exceedingly polite, and biting back unwanted advice as to how things
should be.  He kept an exceptionally close eye on his bride's comings and goings, but worked at not appearing to hover.  The lady in question did her utmost to avoid giving her groom anything more to worry over, and was the picture of demur submission, while her brother was a spiritual presence of peace, calm, and general good will.

      Unfortunately, none of these traits were exclusively true to who they all were, and thus impossible to pull off for any length of time.  It took nearly three weeks for the cloud's silver lining to tarnish, and for the expected rain of discord to fall.  And like most arguments, it had started over something silly.  The three had gotten in the habit of getting together at Maureen's apartment on Wednesday evenings to share supper, and to go over plans for the wedding.  Realistically, the night usually ended up with Beckett and Kevin playing gin rummy, while Maureen sat at the same kitchen table writing invitations, arranging seating charts, and soliciting general opinions about nuptial nonsense.

      As the wedding date inched closer, things became more hectic, and this particular Wednesday, Mo was in the process of opening the response cards, and check marking the guest list.  The men half-heartedly shuffled cards, keeping one eye on the hockey game, and listening to the litany of who was coming, who sent regrets, and the bride's running commentary on the whole matter.  So when she shrieked over one particular card, and no one responded, she was slightly put out over their lack of interest.

      Hoping to get their attention, she slid the card toward Beckett. "Ted...you'll never guess who's coming to our wedding..."

      Eyes still glued to the Bruins game, he picked up the card, but didn't look at it.  "That's great, baby.
I'm glad you're happy."

       Annoyed, she tried again.  "Okay, then... if you don't care that Kevin's old 'girlfriend' is coming to our wedding, it's fine with me."  She flopped down into the chair, and waited for their response, which took all of three seconds.

        "Kevin's girlfriend?"  His interest piqued, Beckett looked at her brother and grinned.

         Across the table, Fr. Kevin's face had gone pale.  "Maureen, you're not funny."

         "No...really Kev.  I invited Roxie.  How could I not?  And I just got the card back.  She's coming!"

         Beckett gathered the cards in front of him, smirking at Kevin's discomfort.  "Me thinks there's a story here.  Spill the beans, Fr. Kevin.  Who's Roxie?"

          Kevin fidgeted in his chair, and sent his sister a look that would freeze paint.  "My sister's just being a jerk.  Roxanne was a kid who once lived down the block from us in South Boston."

          "Oh come on, Kev!  Admit it!  She was your one true lady love.  Until Daddy put a stop to that."

          Going from pale to pink, Kevin protested.  "I'm asking you nice, Mo.  Knock it off.  Besides, you're exaggerating...like you always do.  Roxanne was not my girlfriend, and Ted isn't interested in hearing dumb family stories about when we were kids."

       "Au contraire, dear Padre.  I'd love to hear this story.  I'm all ears, baby."

     Pleased to have her fiance's undivided attention, Maureen settled herself in for a solid bout of storytelling, while her brother stood, and wandered over to the window.  "Well...you see...it was like this.  It was the summer after I had just turned 10, and Kevin was going to be 16 in July.  I remember clearly, because he was all in a fuss about getting his driver's license, and I had just gotten a new bike.
Anyways, old Mrs. Callaghan had died the winter before, and her house was for sale.  It sat empty for months, and then one day, we see this moving van pull up, and these guys start carrying out all this fancy furniture.  You know the kind I mean, that curly French stuff with the vinyl covers over the seats?" She waited until Beckett nodded his understanding, making sure he was actually paying attention to what she was saying.  "A little while later, a brand new station wagon pulls up, and this whole family gets out.  Four boys, and one girl." She turned toward her brother, teasing, "I'm sure you only remember seeing Roxie, huh, Kev?"

       From his position at the window, Fr. Kevin covered his ears.  "See, Maureen.  I"m not listening."

       "That's so childish, Kevin."  She turned back to Beckett, and continued her story.  "Anyway, the girl came over and introduced herself.  Said her name was Roxanne Spinelli, and her family was moving into the old Callaghan place.  And that her dad was opening a candy store three blocks down, and she'd be happy to give us some free samples.  Well, that got my attention, but Kevin only had eyes for the girl.  I thought I'd have to close his mouth manually."

       Beckett leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest, smiling from ear to ear, and gave the priest an exaggerated wink. "Well, well, well...so the sainted Fr. Kevin is human after all.  Like those dark eyed beauties, do we, Padre?"

       "Shut up, Beckett.  It wasn't like that at all."

       "Hey...I'm telling the story!  So, anyway, this girl sits on our front porch, and tells us all about her family.  They were originally from New York, and her dad wanted to start his own business, so they came to Boston.  She had four brothers, two older, and two younger, and she was going to be 15 in October." With a giggle she added, " And all the time she's talking, she's staring at Kevin like he's a slice of Boston cream pie."

         Blushing terribly, Kevin stormed back to the table.  "Okay, Maureen.  Now you're just making shit up."

       "I am not making stuff up, Kevin O'Kenney.  You two were attracted to each other like a couple of dime store magnets.  And I really hate when you take this 'holier than everyone else' attitude.  I'm your sister, remember?  I was there!"

       Realizing things were getting way too heated, Beckett interrupted.  "Okay.  So it's obvious Kevin didn't end up with this girl.  Finish the story Maureen...and for Kevin's sake, try not to editorialize."

       Maureen gave her brother the evil eye, and continued.  "Kevin and Roxie become quite an item that summer.  They spent every waking minute together.  Then Daddy came home, and said that Mr. Spinelli had been arrested for running a numbers racket out of the back of the candy store, and we were forbidden to have any contact with that family.  Kevin raised a huge hissy fit, but Daddy was adamant, especially where Kevin was concerned.  Kev was already talking about applying to the seminary, and he needed a letter of recommendation from Mgnsr. Kelly.  Daddy said it was unseemly for someone who was considering the priesthood to be running around with some Italian girl anyway, and being connected to the Spinellis wouldn't help his chances of getting into Holy Trinity.  Kevin agreed, but then, Dad caught him sneaking out through a window to see her, and all hell broke loose.  Mama cried for a week, and Dad beat the crap out of him.  He was grounded until school started in September."

         Beckett watched Kevin's expression go from embarrassed to stone faced, and looking to diffuse the situation, tried to put an end to Maureen's story.  "And let me guess... Roxie eventually ends up happily married, with a dozen kids.  Or better yet, for true irony, she decides she has a calling too, and joins a convent."  Amused at his own witty repartee, Beckett smiled, and took a sip of the Cabernet in front of him.

       Stifling a giggle, Maureen, retorted, "Well, that's where you're wrong, Mr. Know-it-All.   Roxie Spinelli went off and became a stripper.  She works at Big Al's in Boston."

       Unable to control himself, Beckett started to laugh, causing him to spray the last bit of wine across the tablecloth.  Tried as he might, he couldn't contain his guffawing over the thought that Fr. Kevin's heart's desire had ended up an exotic dancer in a gentlemen's club.  Wiping tears from his eyes, he apologized, "Damn, Kev, I'm sorry.  I don't mean to laugh, but the vision of you and a stripper just cracks me up."

       For a second, Fr. Kevin looked so forlorn, that even Beckett felt guilty, and when the priest spoke, his voice was without it's usual cheerful cadence.  "I'm glad I could provide the evening's entertainment."  He turned to face his sister, who was looking a bit sheepish herself.  "Why would you even invite Roxanne Spinelli to your wedding, Maureen.  You haven't seen her in years."
        "Actually, Kev, that's not true.  I ran into her at Boston College, when I was working toward my Masters.  She was taking some classes toward a B.S. in criminal justice.  We exchanged numbers, and then kept in contact over the past two years.  I had dinner with her just before I came here to Dollyville last October.  She was a good friend when I really needed one."  Looking to make amends for obviously hurting him, she added, "She always asks about you, ya know.  Was really happy for you when I told her you got your own parish."

        There was no response to the comment, and the silence in the room felt oppressive.  Kevin grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door. "If you don't mind, I think I'm gonna call it a night.  I'll talk to you guys later in the week."   He wandered down the hallway stairs, and then quietly shut the door behind him.
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       Roxanne Spinelli.  Now there was a name he hadn't brought to mind in a very long time.  On purpose.  And for very good reasons.  He had buried the name, along with a whole slew of guilty memories, in the furthest corners of his brain, and their reemergence made him feel queasy.  Grateful that the drenching rain had stopped, Fr. Kevin turned in the opposite direction of the church and rectory, and slowly ambled down the dark, wet streets of Dollyville.

      Truth be told, Maureen's story was pretty much on the mark, with some missing key elements that she was luckily unaware of.   He remembered every moment of the day Roxanne had come to his South End neighborhood.  The large paneled moving truck.  Maureen whining about the heat.  His brothers dumping water down her back, and her little girl attempt to fight back.   And of course, Roxie in her yellow sundress, her dark hair pulled back in a long, glossy braid.

       When she sat down on the O'Kenney stoop, he thought his heart would stop beating, and as hard as she worked at engaging him in conversation, he still couldn't manage to form more than a word or two at a time.  It wasn't until Maureen, tired of being ignored, took off on her new bike, and left the two of them alone, that she finally succeeded in getting him to chat.  He discovered that in addition to being the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, she was smart, funny and easy to talk to.  Right then and there, he had been smitten, and the next three weeks of his summer break was spent with the only girl who had ever made him rethink his desire to enter the seminary.

      And although he could remember every detail of the day he met her, what followed in the months to come required years of patience, and prayer, to try and forget.  He could distinctly recall the evening his father came home with the news about Gino Spinelli's arrest.  His old man was already grumpy before he hit the door, hot and over tired, plus annoyed at the collection of bikes, Rollerblades, and skateboards strewn across the driveway.  He had seated himself at the head of the table, as was his custom, and demanded the appearance of his children.  Only Kevin, Maureen, Brendan and Will were home at the time, the others still at jobs, classes, or living on their own, but there was no getting around the guarantee of obedience the senior O'Kenney demanded.

       Kevin had tried pleading with his father, arguing that it was unfair to punish Roxanne, or he, over the sins of her parent, but Big Bill O'Kenney was not a fan of democracy in his own home, and there was no changing his mind.  All Kevin received in response to his complaints was a quick swat to the back of the head, and an admonishment stating his need to "straighten up and fly right".   As much as he hated being disobedient, and equally disliked breaking the fourth commandment, the pull of Roxie was too much, and he began to sneak out his bedroom window every night after his parents had gone to bed.

         It was never clear how he had been found out.  Maybe his dad was smarter, or more observant, than a teenage Kevin had thought.  Maybe one of his siblings had tattled on him.  He was never sure.  But a week after he had started his nightly escapes, he found his father was waiting for him on the other side of the window.  What followed was ugly.  His dad was extremely angry and disappointed, and used his belt to show Kevin just how displeased he was.  It was humiliating enough to be whopped like a naughty five year old when he was nearly 16, and stood a head taller than his father, but it was his mother's tears that undid him.  He remembered her praying out loud, begging God to overlook his indiscretions, and to still call her son to a vocation in His service.  The memory made him feel ashamed.

      After much discussion, it was decided that Kevin was grounded for the rest of the summer, and was to spend every afternoon helping Fr. Joe over at Our Lady of the Angels.  His punishment was to be his salvation.  He found a sympathetic ear in Fr. Joseph Hannigan, and for the first time since he'd met Roxanne, someone who understood his confusion about his calling.  He suggested that Kevin spend this time away from the girl in prayer and meditation, and if he still felt the same way about her when school started in September, he would personally talk to Bill O'Kenney on Kevin's behalf.  It was a fair and compassionate offer, and Kevin did his best to comply.

    In his case, absence did not make the heart grow fonder.  Time in the church and rectory gave him a calm perspective to review what it was he believed he wanted.  Fr. Joe never pushed him in one direction or the other, but was always willing to hear him out, and by the time his Junior year started in September, Kevin was once again committed to applying to the seminary.  And if he had gone to Roxanne at that point, and honestly explained his change of heart, things might have worked out quite differently. But because he had not, fifteen years later, her name made him feel lousy.

      When the fall session at St. Bridget's began in September, Roxanne greeted him like a long, lost friend.  She, in return, received nothing but a cold shoulder.  Not knowing how to handle the situation, and afraid of an embarrassing scene, he ignored and avoided her, and at one point, rudely told her to leave him alone.  As long as he lived, he'd never forget the awful look of hurt on her face.  When her father was arrested, he was sure she had been subjected to all kinds of taunts and humiliation. It was the way of things in his neighborhood. But to have someone she had thought was a friend, someone special, turn on her in such a manner, must have been devastating.  To his relief, the obvious problem soon disappeared, along with Roxanne Spinelli.  Burdened with the cost of legal issues, the family sold their home down from the O'Kenney's, and moved across town.  Roxanne withdrew from St. Bridget's, and the last he had heard, graduated from some public high school in the North End.

      For years, he had tried to confess that same sin over and over, but the look on her face never truly left him.  He considered his shunning of her as one of the worst things he had ever done, and now, after all these years, it appeared that his chickens had finally come home to roost.  There was no way he would be able to avoid her at Maureen's wedding.  He was a grown man.  An ordained priest in the service of the Lord.  He counseled people all the time over making amends.  So why, then, didn't he have any advice for himself?

Copyright 2013 Victoria Rocus
All Rights Reserved

 

   

 

   

     

         

     

   

   

           



       

     

My Sincere Apologies Dear Readers...

    for missing my self imposed publishing deadline!  It is Graduation Week at the Day Job, and I have been swamped with finalizing grades, a day long trip to Six Flags Great America, Honors Night, a last day pizza party, and tomorrow, the actual graduation!  This week's chapter will be published on Sunday, June 2nd, sometime in the late afternoon.

   As always, I am entirely grateful for your continued support.  I promise you a great post tomorrow...and in the meantime, for your entertainment, I am sharing this crazy photo my teaching partner and I took at the amusement park on Wednesday...

                   

Goofing around at the amusement park...I'm the nut on the left!

Lost...then Found...and What Goes Around

     

ATTENTION DEAR READERS:

       Although this blog may illustrate the story line using photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and themes of the text are intended for an adult audience.  Please be advised.

      Thank You

                  

Looking for  Maureen at the Boston Medical Center

    Fr. Kevin leaned his elbows on the bar, and looked at Beckett warily.  "Do you want me to come with you?"

    His hand still inside his jacket, Beckett spoke low.  "No.  You stay here.  If both of us move toward him, it might spook him.  I'd rather not have to chase him down."  Still ignored by the patrons and bar tender, Beckett moved unnoticed to the far corner of the room, and quietly slid onto the stool next to the man in the denim jacket.

    From his location at the opposite end, Kevin watched as the Sheriff leaned into the man, and spoke in a whisper.  It was clear from his expression, that Denim Guy was not pleased at what he was hearing.  He scowled, and gave Beckett's arm a rough shove.  With complete calm, Ted laid a $20 bill on the bar, and in a blink of an eye, Denim was standing upright, and moving in the direction of the door, the Sheriff glued to his left side.  As he passed the priest, Maureen's cell phone tucked in his shirt pocket, he motioned with his head for Kevin to follow him outside.

     Following Beckett's lead, the priest trudged after the two men, down to a deserted alley a few feet from Riley's entrance.  Denim Guy was now struggling to break free from Beckett's headlock, and in the light from a lone street lamp, Kevin could see the Sheriff's gun stuck in the man's rib cage.  The knowledge that guns were involved, raised his anxiety level several notches.

      "Damn, Beckett!  Is it really necessary to point a gun at him?"

      Beckett smiled, but the humor didn't meet his eyes.  "The gentleman has decided not to cooperate.  I do believe he needs some convincing."

     "Look, man.  I don't know nothin' 'bout no bitch.  I found this phone just layn' on the ground."

      In response to the use of an obscenity as a reference to Maureen, the Sheriff pulled up the arm wrapped around the guy's neck, cutting off his air, and causing his face to turn red, and his eyes to bulge.  "This asshole is really starting to piss me off."

      "Loosen your arm!  You're choking off his air."

      "That's sorta the idea, O'Kenney."  Reluctantly, he lightened up on his grip, and the man gasped and coughed.  "So, let's try this again.  Where's the girl that owns this iphone?"

       Denim Guy struggled a second or two, and then, energy spent, and mind made up, his shoulders sagged, and he tried a more apologetic approach.  "Look, buddy.  Honest, I don't know where the bi...the lady...is.  When I left, she was sitting on the sidewalk on Bolyston Street.  About a block or so away from where the second bomb went off."

       Jumping into the conversation, Kevin asked, "Was she okay?  She wasn't injured, was she?"

       Seeing a possible sympathetic adversary, Denim Guy turned toward Fr. Kevin.  "She seemed fine to me, pal.  She had some woman's head in her lap, and she was covered in blood, but it didn't look like she was hurt any.  'Course, I didn't stop and talk to her, so I can't say for sure."

      Frantic for any information, Kevin poured out his questions.  "Was the woman a tiny red head? About this tall?"  He held his hand up to his chest level.  "And did she say anything at all?  Like if she needed medical attention, or help?"

       Grateful that the arm around his neck was looser, and hoping the tough one would remove the gun from his ribs, Denim tried his best to be compliant.  "Yeah, come to think of it, she did have curly red hair.  She was sittin', so I couldn't guess to her height.  But she did seem to be small compared to the woman next to her...some old lady who was moanin' pretty loud.  The red head was calln' out for sum' one to give her a hand.  The other lady had some kinda gash on the side of her head."

       It was Beckett's turn to interrogate his prisoner.  "And just how did you happen to be in possession of the red head's cell phone."

       Denim Guy kept his attention focused on Fr. Kevin, who he figured was his best bet for gaining his freedom.  "Look...the red head had her purse on the ground behind her.  She wasn't payn' any mind to it, so I walked by, and scooped it up.  Then I kept walking into the crowd.  It was a crazy scene, and nobody paid any notice to me."

       Annoyed, Beckett tightened his grip once more.  "What kinda piece of shit thinks about stealing from the wounded and injured during a moment like that?  You really are human garbage."

       The man looked grim, and attempted to appeal to Kevin's weakness for a sob story. "Hey...I ain't proud of what I done.  But I'm broke... and hungry.  Haven't eaten much of anything in two days."  He flashed sorrowful eyes toward the priest.  "Honest, man.  I just wanted to buy me a meal."

      Beckett grunted in disgust.  "Yeah.  Hungry.  That's why you headed straight for Riley's Pub." He turned his attention to Kevin, pointing to the the needle tracks on the man's arm.  "I should just shoot this miserable, lyn' piece of crap, and save the world a lot of trouble."

     Denim struggled, frantic at that the possibility of Beckett firing that pistol at his ribs.  "Please! I didn't mean to hurt anyone.  I just stole a damn purse.  Don't shoot me, man!"

     Ignoring the begging thief, Beckett addressed Fr. Kevin. "O'Kenney, go through his pockets and see if he still has any of Maureen's belongings."

     Kevin looked at Beckett incredulously.  "You want me to steal from some punk kid?  No way, Beckett!  I draw the line at petty thievery.  I won't do it."

     "Fine.  Then you come here and hold the gun on him, while I search.  I know for damn sure he took everything out of her wallet.   Taking back what's ours isn't stealing."

     A spark of light flickered in Denim's eyes at the thought of the men changing places.  He had sized Kevin up as the weaker of the two, and liked his odds better with the tall ginger, rather then the dark haired guy, who seemed a mite crazy.  But luck was not his, as the red headed man shook his head.

     "Forget it.  I'm not waving a gun at anyone."  Seeing Beckett's expression, full of anger and impatience, Fr. Kevin decided going through the man's belongings was the lesser of two evils.  He moved closer, and began rummaging through Denim's jacket pockets.  "For the record, Beckett, you are the worse influence I have ever had the misfortune of being thrown together with.  And when we get back, don't ever talk to me again."  Pulling his hand out the the guy's left pocket, he was startled to see Maureen's credit card, the Black Visa Ted had presented to her before she left for Boston.
Noting the card with his missing sister's name, and realizing it came out of the strange guy's jacket, seemed to reinforce his will, and he moved more quickly through Denim's clothing.

        Before he finally finished his search, the priest pulled out Mo's debit card, a Nordstrom credit card, several family photos with Maureen in them, and her driver's license, plus library card, both which had her complete address in Dollyville.  The idea that Denim Guy, some creep off the streets with an obvious drug problem, had access to all this personal information about his sister freaked him out, and despite his initial misgivings, he was grateful that the Sheriff had thought to retrieve all these things.

       Satisfied that Denim Guy was "Maureen free", he stepped away, and spoke to Beckett.  "I think that's everything."

        "You sure?  I don't want to leave him any trail."
     
         "There's nothing left in any of his pockets, except for a wad of cash.  And I can't be sure what was Mo's, and what's his."

         "Just take all of it."

         Despite having a gun to his side, and Beckett's arm around his neck like a vise, Denim complained. "Hey man, some of that cash is mine.  You tryn' to rip me off, or what?"

        Pushing the pistol further into the guy's ribs, Beckett growled.  "Shut up, asshole.  You're lucky he's here.  I'd have shot ya first, and then took back her stuff."

        Exasperated with the whole situation, Fr. Kevin reached into the man's pants pocket, and pulled out a hand full of bills.  He counted through it, and pulling off a twenty, stuck it back into the same pocket.  "I'm leavn' him with $20.  He'll need bus fare, at least.  And something for a meal."

     "Well, for sure, O'Kenney.  'Cause it's always customary to leave the shit head who ripped off your sister a nice tip before you go."  He shook his head in disgust.  "Don't get out much, do you?"

      "I did what I did.  Let's just get movn', and find Maureen.  Rolln' some punk wasn't part of the deal."

        Beckett scowled at him.  "There's zip ties in my left pocket.  Take two out, and bind his ankles first.  Then pull his arms in back and cuff them around the wrists.  Make sure you make them tight enough.  No wiggle room."

         Fr. Kevin did as asked, just glad that they would be leaving the man with all parts intact, and no gaping bullet wounds.  When he was done securing Denim Guy, Beckett pushed him to a sitting position against a nearby wall.  He took all of Maureen's personal items, and shoved them into an inside jacket pocket, along with the cell phone at the center of this hunt, then questioned the guy one last time.

         "Exactly what was your location when you stole the purse?"

         Without the gun to his side, or an arm around his throat, Denim regained some of his attitude.   "Eat shit, asshole.  I told ya, I don't know jack shit 'bout nothin'"

         Without a moment's hesitation, Beckett's foot connected with the man's ribs, and with a loud groan, he toppled to the side.  "Now, let's try this again.  Where did you last see the red head?"  When the guy didn't answer, Beckett turned to Fr. Kevin, whose face had turned an awful shade of gray.  "You go on to the car, Kev.  I'll meet you there in a few minutes."

          Before he could answer, Denim Guy reached out and grabbed the priest's pants cuff.  "Hey, buddy...don't leave me with this nut.  He's a fuckn' crazy shit."

          Kevin squatted down next to the man, who still had not returned to an upright position.  "Look, the red head is my sister, and I need to know she's okay.  Just tell us where you last saw her...and we'll walk away."

    All his resources used up, and fearing being left alone with Beckett, Denim set himself in an upright position.  "On Boylston Street...just past Gouchester.  In front of the Trader Joe's.  But like I told ya, I didn't stick around.  Just grabbed the purse and went.  I don't know where she ended up after that."

     Beckett moved as if to take another kick at the man, but Fr. Kevin stepped in front of him to block it, and received, in return, a look that suggested his future brother in law would have liked to kick him instead.   Standing his ground, Kevin suggested their need to depart.

   "Look, it's already almost 8:00 PM.  We still have no clue as to Maureen's actual whereabouts, and this guy's told us everything he knows.  Time for a Plan B." His voice dripping with sarcasm, he added,  "Unless...maybe you're gonna tell me you micro chipped my sister in her sleep...or something like that."

    Beckett tisked loudly in annoyance, but didn't answer him.  Nor did he deny the whole micro chipping thing, and for a second or two, Kevin worried that he might have given him a future idea, if he hadn't already done such a horrible thing.  The sheriff pulled out his own phone, and tapped something out, presumably a text message, and then abruptly turned, and headed down the alley, and in the direction of the car.

   From the ground, Denim Guy called out his protest.  "Hey...you can't just leave me here...all tied up.
Come on, buddy...at least take off these zip ties."

    Fr. Kevin was torn.  He'd have to find something to cut the ties with, and in that time, he wasn't sure Beckett wouldn't, in turn, take off without him, leaving him stranded in the South End.  Also crossing his mind, was the fact that even though he didn't approve of the Sheriff's violence toward the man, the guy was still a criminal with a drug habit, and he wasn't all that sure of his own safety if he gave the man his freedom.  Erring on the side of common sense, he promised Denim Guy he would call the authorities from the car, and then took off to find Beckett.

      In the time it took him to walk the few blocks, the Sheriff had the car idling, and was both impatient and annoyed.  Kevin lowered himself into the passenger seat, and asked, "So, where to next?"

     "Well, Fr. O'Kenney, if you're done ministering to slime balls, we can check some of the local hospitals, and try and find your missing sister.  That is, if it doesn't interfere with your church work."

     He knew Beckett was baiting him, and refused to let himself be drawn in.  "Boston has a lot of hospitals.  It could take forever to check all of them.  And there's no saying that she was admitted as a patient.  The guy at Riley's wasn't even sure she was injured."

      "While you were preaching to the junkie, I made a few phone calls.  The injured from that particular area on Boylston Street were taken to Boston Medical, or Massachusetts General  I sent an acquaintance here in Boston her photo.  He's gonna take a look in the ER at Boston M, while we head over to  General."

      Traffic was still very heavy, with several blocks near the bomb site completely blocked off.  They had made very little progress, when Beckett received a text back from his source in Boston.  From the look on his face, Kevin assumed the news was good.  "My contact says he's pretty sure he located her at Boston Medical.  She's mobile, and doesn't seem to be seriously injured.  I asked him to keep an eye on her until we get there."

       Fr. Kevin uttered a small prayer of thanks, and waited for a snotty comment from the Sheriff in reply. To his surprise, there was none, with Beckett focused instead on maneuvering through traffic at the greatest possible speed, making Kevin change his prayer to one that would insure they'd make it to the hospital in one piece. Thirty minutes later, they pulled into the parking tower at Boston Medical, where after a few words, and two hundred dollars, Beckett parked into a prime spot next to the attendant both.

      With the amount of people coming and going, and the onslaught of numerous media outlets hovering for interviews, the ER was easy to find.  The area was crowded and chaotic, and it took a few minutes to find Maureen in the crowd.  It was Beckett who found her first, her red head bobbing as she argued with a nurse at the admittance desk, while attempting to speak to an older woman, in what he could only guess was mangled Spanish.

      Fighting through the hordes to move closer, Beckett called out her name, and she turned suddenly in the direction of his voice.  Not believing her eyes, she blinked twice, her bottom lip trembling, as she pushed people out of the way to reach him.  Throwing herself into Beckett's embrace, she emptied the tears she had been holding in place all afternoon, while he held tight, and tried his best to soothe her.  Kevin eventually made his way to their side, but all the couple's attention was centered on each other.  It was in that moment he realized that despite Beckett's complete arrogance all afternoon, he must have been worried beyond belief at what might await him in Boston, and Kevin felt slightly guilty about misjudging his intentions.

      When she was calm enough to talk, Mo explained how she had come to be at Boston Medical with Mrs. Sanchez.  She and Allison had just finished a long lunch at Osushi Restaurant in Copley Place, and were heading west down Boylston, back to the apartment, when the bombs exploded.  Both women were knocked off their feet, but except for a few minor bumps and bruises, they were blessedly unscathed. Others around them though, were not as lucky.  Allison went to the aid of a young teenager whose right side was covered with bits and pieces of metal shavings, and who was bleeding heavily from an open wound on his leg.  Maureen attended to an older Hispanic woman, Mrs. Sanchez, who had received a head injury, and whose English was very poor.  Somewhere in the midst of all the confusion, she had set her purse down, and when she went to retrieve it, it was gone, along with her phone.

     With the arrival of the first responders, the injured were taken to area hospitals.  Allison decided to go along to Massachusetts General with the boy, who was without any parental supervision, while Maureen stayed with Mrs. Sanchez, and was taken to Boston Medical. She planned on trying to find a phone at the hospital to call them, but in all the chaos, that goal was not easily achieved.  She had finally managed to borrow some one's cell, but then realized she wasn't sure of the numbers to any individual's cell phone.  She was used to just hitting the programmed send button, and hard as she tried, couldn't remember the correct number for either Ted's or Kevin's cell.   She finally called directory assistance for the land number of the rectory, but there was, of course, no answer, because the two men had already left for Boston.

     After verifying for sure that Maureen was in no way injured, and that Mrs. Sanchez was on her way to being admitted, Beckett pushed for them to leave Boston.  As of yet, the authorities had no information on the reasoning behind the bombings, or whether more would follow, so getting out of the city seemed the most prudent thing to do.  Unfortunately, there appeared to be some minor issues with the logistics of the ride home.  The appearance of the Lamborghini both shocked and delighted Maureen, but the vehicle obviously sat only two people.  Fr. Kevin argued that his sister could sit on his lap for the two hour ride home, but the Sheriff vetoed that suggestion on the grounds of safety issues regarding a car going 90 mph.  He decided that Maureen should return with him, and that he would call for a car to take Kevin back to Dollyville.

       Although annoyed at once again being the obvious "third wheel", Kevin could see the sense of the idea.  No argument was going to convince Beckett to let Maureen out of his sight at this point, and it was dually clear his sister wanted to be alone with her fiance.  He supposed a taxi was better than taking the train back, and more reliable time wise.  It was decided that Beckett would drive Maureen back to Allison's apartment to pick up her things, and leave a note explaining she had gone home if her friend had not yet returned. From there, the two of them would head back to Dollyville, while Kevin would wait here at Boston Medical for his transportation back home.

      His feelings of malcontent over being "left behind" grew with each passing minute, and the growling of his stomach.  He sat on a stone bench, alone, outside of the hospital for nearly an hour.  Tired, hungry and put out, he was just about to break down and call Beckett with some choice words, when a large limo pulled up to the hospital entrance a few feet from where he sat.  A uniformed chauffeur exited the car, and looking around, spotted him sitting on the bench.

        "Fr. O'Kenny?"

        "That's me."

      "Sorry to make you wait, Sir.  Mr. Beckett had ordered some specific staples with the transportation, and with traffic a mess, it took me awhile to pick it all up."  He held open the passenger door for Kevin to enter, and as he did so, handed him a note.  "Mr. Beckett asked me to give you this note."

       Fr. Kevin slid into the soft leather seat of the limousine, and was shocked to see several carryout bags on the side table of the car's left side.  He opened the envelope, and pulled out a note that was without a doubt written by Beckett.
                      Kevin,
                        Thanks for your help today.  Couldn't have done it without you.  
                        Enjoy your ride home.  We'll talk tomorrow.
                                       T. Beckett

        Unable to resist any longer, Kevin dug through the assortment of delicacies arranged on the table.  There was a meatball sub from Al's South Street Cafe, sausage pizza from Emma's, a grinder, complete with banana peppers, from Lucky's Lounge, clam chowder from Legal Sea Foods, and topping it all off, two huge slices of Boston cream pie from the famous Mike's Pastry.  All of which were his very favorite hometown treats.  Before he could decide which to have first, the window separating the driver from himself rolled down.

       "Fr. O'Kenney...Mr. Beckett wasn't sure what type of  beverage you'd like with your dinner, so there is a wide assortment of ales and local micro brews on the bar cart, and a variety of cold soft drinks in the mini fridge.  Please help yourself to whatever you'd like."

       Digging through the bottles, Kevin selected a local ale from Boston Brew Works, and began to unwrap the meatball sub.  Leaning back into the cushioned seat, he gave some thought to the events of the last six hours, and came to the same conclusion.  Sheriff Ted Beckett might be an arrogant asshole, but he was definitely a thoughtful one at that.

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Morning musings

      It had to be somewhere around 4:30 AM.  It was still dark out, but the birds in the large locust tree outside the apartment window had already begun their morning tune up.  She was pretty sure she hadn't slept at all since arriving back in Dollyville.  She envied the man next to her, whose even breathing gave proof to his state of slumber.  She, on the other hand, had tossed and turned, unable to shut down the montage of images and ideas carouseling through her brain.

     Maureen thought about getting up and showering, but Ted had his left leg thrown over hers, and his hand was still tangled in her hair.  The last thing she wanted to do was wake him up this early, when she hadn't processed any of the events from the night before.  She carefully raised her left hand, to catch the bit of light escaping from the clock on the vanity, and admired the ring set on her finger.  The large emerald cut stone, 6 carats, she thought, caught the small beam, and cast shards of reflection off the brass headboard.  Her engagement ring was breathtakingly beautiful, the center diamond flanked on each side by perfect green emeralds.  To match her eyes he told her.

       She tried to block out the horrific mind images of the explosion and its aftermath, and instead concentrated on the moment she caught sight of him in the hospital waiting room.  Like magic, he was suddenly just there, and she had never been happier to see anyone in her whole life.  Then there was the ride home.  In a Lamborghini.  His Lamborghini.  That thought alone blew her mind.

       She arrived home to an apartment full of fresh flowers, a feat she had no idea how he arranged.  He made her soup and grilled cheese, and while she sat on the bed and ate her supper, he suddenly handed her a small velvet box.  Reciting lines from poems by Byron, he slipped the ring on her finger, and once again, asked her to marry him. And, once again, she accepted. Thinking about the hours that followed made her blush, but it was for certain, a wonderfully romantic set of memories.

      So, what then, was the problem?  Why was she filled with the idea that something was missing?  Most girls would have been in rapture over the heart pounding tableaux set before her.  She racked her brain, going over the series of events, time and time again, but couldn't be sure.  During any of the hours leading up to now...or for that matter, any of the time that they had been together...had he ever told her that he loved her?
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      His eyes still closed, he could tell that she was awake.  The fidgeting going on next to him was a dead giveaway.  It wasn't surprising that she couldn't sleep.  He had no doubt that the events she had witnessed in Boston would give her nightmares for months to come.  He was an expert on nightmares. On how long they could linger.  How real they could seem.

     The overwhelming relief he had felt seeing her safe in that hospital ER scared the shit out of him.  Broke all the rules he had so carefully set up.  For the time being, he would allow himself the luxury of this romantic fantasy.  But he knew sooner or later, it would be time to put the rules back in place, and proceed with the status quo that had been a life saver up until now.

                                              

Maureen's engagement ring

Copyright 2013 Victoria T. Rocus
All Rights Reserved

 

 
 
         



   
     


     
   
   

My 2 Seconds of Fame...

So... the article about my "part time" blogging career ran in the local paper today!  It doesn't seem to be online yet, so this is the best I can do for now.  Thanks to Patti Ahern of the Southtown Star, and my wonderful readers for your continued support!

                     

Chicago Southtown Star- Wednesday, May 22nd, 2013

Boston Bound and Bantered

ATTENTION DEAR READERS:

       Although this blog may illustrate the story line using photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and themes of the text are intended for an adult audience.  Please be advised.

      Thank You

             

Fr. Kevin and Beckett in front of Riley's Pub in Boston's South End

      Fr. Kevin peered through the tinted windows, cupping his hands to diminish the glare, and allowing him to see inside.  "Not in person, I haven't.  Just in print ads... and on the internet."  He stood up and stared at Beckett.  "Don't these things cost like $200,000?"

     Beckett leaned against the wall of the garage, and grinned.  "Something like that."  He pressed the remote in his hand, and the doors unlocked.  "Why don't you get yourself settled on the passenger side.  We're gonna take off soon."

     While Kevin maneuvered himself into the low bucket seat, Beckett and Wild Bill wandered outside of the garage a few feet in front of the door.  He could see them locked in conversation, and at one point, the old man shook his head vigorously from side to side, a look of annoyance on his face.  Kevin wished he could hear exactly what the two of them were saying, but with the windows closed, the car was virtually soundproof, and for the life of him, he couldn't figure how to roll them down.

       Eventually, the two men shook hands, and Beckett walked toward the car.  Sliding himself behind the steering wheel, he buckled up, and advised his passenger to do the same.  With a turn of the key, the car's engine came to life, and they jetted out of the garage, across the gravel driveway, and back onto the highway.  There was absolutely no vibration inside the vehicle, and Fr. Kevin could only guess how fast they were going by the speed of the scenery flying past the window.

       Hoping to soothe his building nerves, he worked at starting a conversation with the Sheriff, who seemed rather morose, and deep in thought.  "So...tell me about the car.  I have to admit ...it's pretty awesome."

      Beckett kept his attention focused on the road, but waxed on a subject that was obviously dear to him.   "She's a 2010 Lamborghini Gallardo Coupe with a 5.2 L V 10 engine and 6 E gear transmission.  The E gear allows me to shift much faster than I could with a manual."

      "It's really an amazing piece of machinery.   If you don't mind me asking, how did you end up buying a Lamborghini?"

       He thought a moment before answering.  "A weak moment I guess.  Just seemed like the thing to do at the time, though I'm glad I bought it when I did.  They've changed the design of the instrument panel, and I really prefer this style."

        Kevin nodded his agreement, acting as if he knew anything at all about the design of Lamborghinis.  Or any expensive car for that matter.  But Beckett seemed to be in a rare chatty mood, and he wanted to take advantage of the opportunity.  "I'm curious as to why you store it in Bridge water.  If it were my car, I'd want it right where I could keep an eye on it.  Plus, it must be a pain having to drive all the way to another town just to use it."

      "A Lamborghini is a bit much for Dollyville, don't you think?"  He smiled ruefully, and added, "I can well imagine the talk around town if I started driving this thing on a regular basis.  The gossip is bad enough as it is.  I don't need to add fuel to the local musings about my personal life.  I'm actually hoping a wife and baby will put an end to all that bullshit."

       For reasons he couldn't quite explain, that statement bothered Kevin, but he set aside his concerns to focus on keeping their verbal exchange going. "Speaking of wife and baby, how does your family feel about the big news?"

      Beckett smirked.  "You aren't very smooth when you're trying to pry, Fr. Busybody."

      A tad embarrassed at being caught, Kevin turned a light shade of pink.  "I don't think of it as prying, Sheriff.  Just normal curiosity.  You've come to know quite a bit about the O'Kenneys, and we'd like to feel as if we know something about your family.  After all, once you and Maureen are married, we'll be spending a lot of time together.  You know...holidays, birthday celebrations, and such."

     Beckett's face never registered any emotion, but Kevin could swear the man's jaw tightened to his temples.  "I see.  Well...what exactly is it you want to know?"

     "Just the normal stuff.  About your parents.  And your siblings...if you have any."

     Beckett was impossible to read, and the only sign of discomfort might have been his fingers clenched around the steering wheel.   He kept his statements short and clipped. "My mother is dead.  Going on ten years now.  Breast cancer.  My father remarried about six years ago.  A French national.  They spend about half of each year in the Loire Valley, on her estate, the other half in Tahoe.  Apparently, I have a 5 year old half brother whom I have never met."

     He looked over at Kevin, waiting for a response, and when there was none, he continued.  "I
 have two other brothers.  Jack, the oldest, is 38, and works for the Henton Corporation as CEO.  Married, no children.  Quinn is 32, and a neurosurgeon at John Hopkins.  He's single.  None of us are very close.  I see my father and brothers when I occasionally go to New York on business, but we almost never get together socially.  Frankly, we all move on different planes of the universe, and we're quite content going on in that manner."

      The priest didn't know whether he should offer his sympathy, or counsel Beckett on the beauty of God's gift of family.  His experience with the man suggested that neither option would be appreciated, so he decided on a different approach.  "Well, its entirely different with the O'Kenneys. We all stay pretty connected.   I hope you'll consider yourself one of us."

       A non-committal grunt was less than the response Fr. Kevin had hoped for, thus he changed the subject, hoping to avoid hurt feelings on his part.  "So, when we get to Boston, how are we going to find Maureen if she still isn't answering her phone?  The whole city has to be in a state of mass confusion right now.  I wouldn't know where to begin searching."

       He pointed to his cell phone stuck in a holder on the console.  "I'm going to track the location of her cell phone using mine.  That should give us some indication of where to start looking."

      "You can do that?"

      "Easily.  All the new smart phones have a GPS system built in.  I downloaded an app from my phone to hers that allows me to to pin point pretty accurately exactly where her phone is located.  And we both know that Maureen is never without her iphone, so find the phone...find Maureen."

      Unable to hide his shock, Kevin asked, "How long has that app been on her phone?  And does she know you can track her like that?"

      "I downloaded it about seven weeks ago."  Beckett looked as if he wanted to say more, but then changed his mind.  "And no...she doesn't know, and I'm adamant that you don't breath a word of this to her.  We both know how...quickly... Maureen makes decisions, sometimes ill conceived ones.  This just helps me stay one step ahead of her."

        The Sheriff's nonchalance about invading his sister's privacy was unnerving, and there was no doubt Mo would be furious if she knew her intended had her on a type of digital leash.  Family loyalty deemed he needed to make her aware of this situation as soon as possible.  Even though his sister had a reputation for getting herself in trouble, she was an adult, and deserved to be treated as one.  He opened his mouth to protest, but Beckett immediately cut him off."

       "Look, Kevin.  I'm sure you find my... methods...extreme.  But in a few weeks, your sister will be my wife, and therefore my responsibility.  And I will handle my family business in any way I see fit.  Truly, you ought to be thanking me right now instead of judging.  Without the phone tracking, locating her in the midst of all this trouble would be a nightmare."

       There were a million things Kevin wanted to say on the subject, but the conversation was interrupted by flashing lights in the rear view mirror.  Beckett swore under his breath, cursing Wild Bill's lack of ingenuity, and his personal string of bad luck.  He came to a stop at the side of the road, and waited while the patrol car pulled up behind him.  No one exited the car for a few minutes, and Kevin assumed that the officer was running the car's plates. Although it seemed rather childish, and in bad priestly form, to revel in the man's misfortune, Kevin was looking forward to seeing the pompous ass work himself out of what was sure to be a whopper of a speeding ticket.

      The State Trooper took his time wandering over to the driver's side of the Lamborghini, first stopping and giving the car a complete once over.  "Evening, Sheriff.  You have any idea you were going over 90 mph down that stretch?"

      Beckett noted the name tag pinned to his uniform.  "Yes, Trooper Dixson.  I was most certainly aware of my speed."

      The State Trooper made a face, and even Kevin wondered at the rather condescending tone of Beckett's words.  "Your driver's license, and registration, Sheriff."  The trooper's body language changed, showing his dislike of the driver's attitude, and Fr. Kevin fidgeted in his seat, an audience to what was sure to be a tough guy- policeman pissing match.  "You carrying, Sheriff?"

     "Undoubtedly, Trooper Dixson."

     "Then I'm going to have to ask you to remove your wallet very carefully, Beckett, and keep your hands where I can see them at all times."

      Without acknowledging the man's request, Beckett removed his hands from the steering wheel, and reached into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet, and a leather bi-fold.  He plucked his license and insurance card from the wallet, and handed them, along with the bi-fold, to the trooper, and retrieved the registration papers from the glove compartment.  From his perspective, Fr. Kevin guessed that Beckett was also handing over his law enforcement shield, which in the priest's opinion, wouldn't make a hoot of difference.  The trooper already knew Beckett was Dollyville's Sheriff when he ran his plates, and hadn't seemed all that impressed.  In fact, the man appeared to be itching for a chance to take Beckett on.  Maybe it was the fact the Sheriff was driving a Lamborghini.  Or maybe it was the way Beckett always came off as having an attitude.  Either way, the end result wouldn't be pretty.

         Trooper Dixson looked over the driver's license and insurance card, and then flipped open the bi-fold.  He stared at the information, looking back and forth from Beckett, to the thing in his hand, and quite suddenly, seemed a lot less sure of himself.  He tapped the items in his palm, and then stated, "I'm going to need to check this all out."

         From behind the steering wheel of the Lamborghini, Beckett's poker face never changed.  "Certainly, Officer.  You go right ahead."

      The officer walked back to his patrol car, leaving Kevin confused over the apparent shift in the  power struggle.  "What the hell was all of that, Beckett?  The guy's whole attitude changed in an instant.  What did you hand over to him?"

       "Just shut up, and keep quiet, O'Kenney.  My goal is to get this over with, head to Boston, and find Maureen.  It's all taking way too long."

       Kevin huffed, and leaned back in his seat.  He knew it was pride, but he definitely didn't like being told to "shut up", and if he hadn't been in the middle of nowhere, he would have like to have told the ass what he could do with his damn Lamborghini.

       After several minutes, Dixson returned, sheepishly handing the items back to Beckett.  "You're free to go, Sir.  Heading to the trouble in Boston?"  When Beckett just nodded, the Trooper continued, "Horrible thing, that bombing.  Good luck with your investigation."

        "Thank you, Officer."  And without a further word, Beckett started the engine, and pulled the car back onto the highway.

         They had gone only a few miles, when Kevin finally gave in and asked, "You're not going to explain any of what just happened, are you?"

         Expressionless, Beckett replied, "Nope."

       And so the next hour's drive was spent in complete silence, while the city of Boston, and a myriad of questions, loomed murkily in front of them.

______________________________

      Just inside the city's limits, Beckett pulled into a gas station.  After fueling up, he grabbed his cell phone, and first tried dialing Maureen's number, and then her friend, Allison.  There was no answer at either, but he was grateful that Maureen's phone was still on, and seemingly charged.  Tapping an icon on the screen, he brought up the GPS tracking on her cell, then turning toward Kevin, he asked, "Does Riley's Pub mean anything to you?"

     Still angry, Kevin looked out the window, refusing to answer him.

     "Stop behaving like a five year old, O'Kenney, and talk to me.  The goal here is to find Maureen, not act like fuckn' baby, because I won't let you interrogate me."

      Fr. Kevin swung around to face him.  "You are such an asshole, Beckett.  I have no idea what my sister sees in a jerk like you."

      "Well, you can ask her when we find her.  In the meantime, I could use your help in actually doing that, if you can get past your crybaby hurt feelings."

       Kevin grabbed the cell phone from his hand, and examined the screen.  "Riley's is about three plus miles from where they said the bombs went off.  I can't imagine why she'd be there.  That area is kinda rough.  I can't see her, or Allison, going to any pub in that location."

      "I can't explain the reasons, but the GPS says that's where her phone is now, so that's where we're going to check first."

        Using the GPS on the car, they wove through the back streets of Boston.  The city was on high alert, and police presence was everywhere.  In any other situation, the Lamborghini might have garnished admiring attention, but in the aftermath of the tragedy, minds were on the whys and hows, and not the passing whimsy of traffic.  They pulled up just past Tremont Street, in the city's South End neighborhood, and looking around him, Beckett worried over the idea that his Maureen might have come here on her own.

        Riley's Pub was your typical dive bar...dark, seedy, and badly in need of tuck pointing.   Beckett parked his car a block up the street, and pulled his jacket from behind his seat.  "You stay here, and keep an eye on the car.  I'm gonna go check out the pub."

       Indignant, Kevin retorted, "I'm not staying here.  She's my sister.  I'm going with you."

      "Don't be ridiculous.  You in that kind of place...dressed the way you're dressed...would be a big mistake.  You'd just be a target for all kinda shit I don't want to have to deal with right now.  Please...just stay in the damn car."

       Ripping the Roman collar from his neck, Kevin unbuttoned his shirt, and slipped his jacket off his shoulders.  "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of my self, as you can personally attest to, Beckett.  I was able to get a jump on you a few weeks ago.  Besides,  I grew up here.  I know exactly how things are, and I have no intention of sitting here in the car, while you go off and play superhero in front of my sister."

      Beckett sighed, and waved him out of the car.  "Suit yourself, O'Kenney.  I tried to warn you."  Setting the security on the car, the two of them made their way up the street toward the pub, Kevin several strides ahead of Beckett.  He reached the door first, but waited for the Sheriff before going inside.  The shabby pub was, not surprisingly, quite empty. A few patrons leaned on the bar, while the bartender dried glasses behind it.  All eyes were glued to a TV set in the far corner, the screen rolling with videos of the bomb exploding on Bolyston Street hours before.

       Kevin followed Beckett over to the the end of the bar, nearest to the front door.  They sat down, and waited for the bartender to notice their arrival.  The man looked over his shoulder, and not recognizing their faces, ignored them, and turned back to his drying.  His dismissal, and the obvious lack of interest from the rest of the patrons, was a blessing in disguise.  It gave the two men the opportunity to explore the entire room for any sign of Maureen."

       Leaning toward the Sheriff, Kevin whispered, "I don't see her.  Why would the GPS send us here?"

        "Because her phone is here.  Look down toward the end of the bar.  To the far right.  See that guy there?  The one with the ripped denim jacket?"

       "Yeah.  I see him.  So what?"

       "He's obviously playing with a cell phone.  I got a quick glimpse of it when he held it up to the light.  The case is pink with some small set diamonds.  That's Maureen's phone.  I know because I bought that new case for her three weeks ago."

       "So why does that guy have her cell phone?  And where exactly is Maureen?"

       Sliding off the bar stool, Beckett looked totally pissed, his hand on something set in the waistband of his pants.  "I don't know, O'Kenney.  But I'm sure as hell going to find out."

Looking for the missing Maureen inside Riley's Pub

Copyright 2013 Victoria T. Rocus
All Rights Reserved