Broken Wings (A Romantic Suspense) (5 page)

That gives me a week to…

Jesus, Jack. Listen to yourself.

She’s suffered enough. I should just leave her alone. I’m ready to do that, but as the bride and groom head for the garage, Ellie looks right at me and our eyes meet. She flinches a little and looks away, and I swear I see her blush. The scars stay the same color but her right cheek turns bright pink.

I never take my eyes off her but I can see her fighting not to look at me. She gives me a wide berth as the crowd moves to the garage, where my father and my new stepmother slip into Dad’s Maserati. Somebody has taped a JUST MARRIED sign to the back window.

Dad beeps the horn, and they’re off.

I scan the crowd for Ellie but I can’t see her. A big hand lands on my shoulder and I turn to see Frank standing behind me.

“Surprised you aren’t going with them.”

He shrugs his shoulders. It’s like watching an earthquake. “Boss told me to keep an eye on you.”

“And…”

“Keep you away from her.”

I follow his gaze to see Ellie stepping into the backseat of a town car, her hood still up. The hotel bellmen are loading her bags into the trunk.

“I don’t envy you the job.”

“Me neither. You gotta stay away, though. That’s how it is.”

“I know.”

“I got a wife and kids, you know?”

“I know.”

“Time to go. Your father had the boys clear out an apartment for you.”

I sigh. “I’ll get my car.”

“Nah, you ride with me. Keys.”

I glare at him for a bit then fish my keys out of my pocket and drop them in his palm. He hands them off to another one of my father’s flunkies.

“Watch your ass,” I tell him.

Frank leads me down to the lower level of the garage and opens the back door of a lumbering black Tahoe. I ignore him, climb in the front seat, and kick it back. I need
sleep
.

Frank grunts when he gets in and starts it up.

“You go to work on Monday.”

“Let’s say I don’t. What happens?”

He gives me a flat look. “I get overtime.”

“Look,” I sigh, “I don’t want to give you any trouble, big guy.”

“Then don’t,” he says, a hint of something like reproach in his voice.

I keep quiet for the rest of the drive. Rain slashes the window, making the space inside the car even more claustrophobic. Droplets drum the roof, and I start drumming my leg in time with them. Frank turns on the radio to cut into the noise and doesn’t say a word.

My new apartment is in Rittenhouse Square. I don’t have much in the way of possessions, just what I brought with me in four bags. They’ve all been packed up and moved to the new place on the fourth floor of a loft on the Square. Well, at least I don’t have to pay for it. Dad charges his tenants in these swanky places a five-grand-a-month hipster tax.

The bags are already in the bedroom. Place is furnished, not much for me to do but settle in. There’s a desk in front of the big floor-to-ceiling windows out by the couch and dining table. It’s all one big room, the kitchen marked off only by a bar and sink.

Frank looks around and nods. “Nice digs.”

“Yeah, whatever,” I sigh. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, go on.”

“Do you think it was my fault? The accident.”

Frank walks to the window and stares out. He folds his hands behind his back and suddenly I realize how old he looks. His paunch is bigger, his face more ragged, his eyes almost glazed over, like he’s through with this shit.

“No.”

“Then—”

“Stop.” He cuts me off sharply. “Everything I got is because of your father, and it can all be taken away. You know what happens to somebody that defies him. He says a word to the right people and I’m in a ditch in the morning, and no one cares. I got a wife and a kid in college.”

I walk to his side and stare out. “If somebody said you could never see your wife again, ever, if she thought you hurt her and she was wrong…”

“If they told me to stay away from my wife, I’d throw a party.”

We both stand there for half a minute before he chuckles, but his laugh is heavy with sadness.

“I know what you mean, Jack. I like you. Always did, but you know how it is.”

The rain slides down the windows, sending long, rippling shadows across the bright hardwood floors.

“If you didn’t do this, what would you do?”

“I’d run a bed and breakfast,” he says without missing a beat. “Carla always wanted to run a bed and breakfast. She hates the city. I still think we might pull it off when I retire. My boy just started his freshman year.”

“A bed and breakfast. Why?”

“I dunno. It’s something to do. Meet people, you know? I like people.”

“You were always a people person.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. You know I’m not going to give up.”

“I know,” he sighs. “You should, though. People change. It’s not like it was. Things fall apart, man.”

I glance at him.

“I read a book,” he shrugs. “Alright, I’m leaving. That laptop they left has what you need to know, it’s all set up with an itinerary and that. Stay here and be a good boy.”

I nod. Frank leaves, looking yet more tired than before, like he’s dragging a cement block behind him as he walks.

I give it ten minutes before I leave here to be a bad boy.

I tilt when I should withdraw. That’s me.

They backed the Camaro into a space in the private garage below the lofts. I walk up to her, twirling my keys around my finger, unlock the door, and slip inside. She wakes up with a snarl and a throaty rumble and I pat the dashboard.

“Morning, baby. Daddy has work to do.”

I take it slow. The cops will be watching for me, I imagine. Ellie still lives in the Old City, far as I know. The closer I get, the more the memories build. We were young here, once.

As I pull up to a red light I recognize the spot where I first held Ellie’s hand, and down the street is the steakhouse where I took her for a Real Date, wearing a tie and everything.

That brings a smile to my face.

The place is still there. It’s called Louie Culver’s.

I picked Ellie up at four o’clock, for a reservation I made for five. We walked up Market Street to the restaurant. It was December, and snowing lightly. The roads were salted and they don’t pick up much snow unless there’s a blizzard anyway, so the world around us was just wet, but the snowflakes landed in her hair and clung there until they melted, slowly disappearing into the auburn waves until her hair was damp.

I can see her clearly in high boots and a skirt, a wool pea coat and a scarf wrapped around her neck. Pink on her cheeks and nose. She shivered constantly and her voice wavered when she talked.

I was too high on life to feel the cold. I wore the suit my dad gave me for my birthday that summer. Frank took care of it personally, and brought it to me cleaned and pressed. If I close my eyes I can feel the freezing-cold handle as I pull the heavy door open.

We walked up to the podium and the host looked at us like we were nuts.

“I have a reservation,” I said, stunned that I pulled it off without my voice cracking.

“Young man—”

I sighed and showed him my student identification card. He took it and looked at me quizzically until he read it, and his whole expression changed as he handed it back to me.

“Yes, I understand. Good evening, Mr. Marshall. You’re a little early but we’re all set up for you. Right this way.”

Ellie looked at me with a funny expression on her face, but I grinned and grabbed her hand. The main dining room was packed with people already, and it was
loud
. The host led us through and up a spiral staircase to another floor, a loft overlooking the main room.

It was quieter up there.

I barely remembered to pull out her chair. We sort of bumped into each other; she didn’t know what I was doing or why. Then her girl instincts or something clicked and she lowered herself into the seat and thanked me.

I had no idea where to sit. Next to her? Across from her?

Thankfully the waiter showed up right then and pulled a save. I can’t remember his name, but I remember what he looked like. Tall and bearded. He put my menu at the place setting across from Ellie and I sat down.

I ordered a Coke.

“I’ll have a Shirley Temple,” Ellie said after scanning the menu.

After he left I said, “What’s that?”

“It’s a mixed drink with no liquor in it. Fitzgerald makes them for me.”

I nodded and grinned. I probably should have said something suave, but she was just so goddamn pretty all I could do was stare at her. She kept looking up at me as she read the menu and her face got redder and redder.

“We shouldn’t be here. This is so expensive.”

“It’s fine.”

“I don’t know what to get.”

“A steak? It’s a steakhouse.”

“I can’t eat this. A twenty-ounce sirloin? That’s as big as my head.”

I laughed, and she scowled at me.

“I mean it.”

“Okay. Why don’t we just get some appetizers and split them?”

“Okay.”

“You want me to pick?”

She licked her lips. “Yeah. I want that, though,” she tapped her nail on the page. Her fingernails were bright pink. “The sausage.”

“Okay,” I shrugged.

I ended up ordering half the appetizer menu for us. It almost covered the table, and despite her protests, Ellie ate like mad.

“Are you hungry?” I asked her.

She looked up, embarrassed, and dabbed barbecue sauce from her lips. “Oh, I, um.”

“It’s okay,” I laughed. “God, you’re so cute when you get embarrassed.”

“I am?”

“You turn red.”

“Am I doing it now?”

“Yeah.”

She snickered and pushed some calamari rings around on her plate. “I’m getting full. I never eat like this at home.”

“Why not?”

“Oh, um.” She looked around like she thought someone might be listening. “I can’t. I have to eat what Mom picks out for me. I’m on a diet.”

“A diet?” I looked at her, confused. “Why? You’re already skinny.”

She frowned at me.

“Not like bad skinny. You’re cute. Hot skinny. Proportionate.”

Her frown twitched and slowly spread into a grin.

“No, I just have to stay in shape. I have this thing coming up…”

“What kind of thing?”

“I’m going to sing. She says I could get on TV.”

I sat up. “Really? Wow.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, prodding her food with her fork. “Exciting.”

She didn’t sound very excited to me. I reached into that deep well of courage that led me to drag her out onto the dance floor at the Halloween dance and rested my hand on top of hers. Her hand felt so small in mine, and delicate, like holding a bird. When she didn’t pull her hand back I began running my thumb over her skin, feeling her knuckles. She set her fork down and put her other hand over mine, and started doing the same thing, a funny smile on her face.

“Why are we doing this?”

“I don’t know,” I said, “but I like it.”

The light turns green. I drive.

I follow the path we walked that day, holding hands. It was just turning dark when I dropped her off at the house. I slow as I drive by. It’s still there, still the same, an Old City row house, set back from the sidewalk about ten feet with a tiny yard out front, cut off from the world by a big wrought iron fence with glossy black posts tipped like spears. When I look up it feels like the house leans over me, ready to fall and crush my car in a tide of bricks, and me with it.

There’s a light on in the upper window. Ellie’s room.

Ellie

The lamp on my nightstand and the gray, rainy day outside turn my window into a mirror, and I stare at myself, hiding under the hood of my sweatshirt. Tracing my eye over the scars is like reading a map of familiar territory, banal but oddly compelling. There’s a knock at my door.

“Come in.”

Fitzgerald has worked for my family as long as I can remember. I guess he’s a butler, but I can’t really think of him as some kind of servant. He cooks but doesn’t clean, a service comes in every week for that. He drives me when I need to leave the house. He makes travel arrangements, doctor’s appointments, takes care of things.

It’s almost scary, really. I’m not even able to take care of myself in the most basic way without him.

Not that I mind. I’ve never known anyone kinder. When my bandages first came off, he was there, and he didn’t even flinch, he just asked if I needed anything. When I need to be alone he leaves me alone.

Tall and thin and dressed in a shirt and tie, dark slacks, and oxfords, he carries a serving tray in perfectly steady hands. Perched on it is a Shirley Temple in a martini glass, a little private joke between the two of us. I pluck the drink from the tray, take a sip of the sickly sweet concoction, and let it cool my raw throat.

Fitzgerald sets the tray on my desk, spins my chair around, and sits in it. This is one of those moments when I look at him and realize he’s
old
. He had gray hair when I was little. Now he has nothing left but a fine dusty ring of white hair around the base of his scalp, as bald as an egg, and shiny. His hands look crooked, no matter how steady they are. He wrings his fingers and flexes them as he speaks.

“You alright?”

“No,” I tell him, knowing it’s useless to lie.

He waits. He knows I’ll fill the silence sooner or later.

“Would you like me to leave?”

“Jack was at the wedding.”

“How’s that?”

I sigh. “He must have crashed it. I know Richard insisted to Mom that he wasn’t invited. We talked at the reception.”

Fitzgerald nods but says nothing.

I draw my knees up, lean on my arms, and look out the window. I can see his reflection, blurred.

“He tried to apologize to me.”

“What’d you do?”

My voice cracks. “I was really mean.”

“Why?”

I bite my lip and wince. I still do that from time time, forgetting myself. My face starts to itch. I close my eye and try to let it fade into the background before it turns into an urge to peel my skin off and rake my bones with my nails.

Deep breaths.

“He hurt me.”