Mustard on Top (30 page)

Bags crinkled as she set them on the counter. “It looks like you have plenty of food. I don’t know if you even need this,” Helen said.

“Don’t be silly. We’ll have a house full of teenagers.” Helen helped Irene unload potato chips, crackers, a mini-veggie tray, some macaroni salad, and a block of cheese Helen had intended to slice. Irene gave her a smile then pulled a crystal bowl from one of the cabinets and dumped the macaroni salad inside.

“What’s left to do to get ready for the party?” Helen asked.

“Facials.”

“Facials?”

“Don’t you get a facial before special events?”

“Uh, no. I’ve never done that.”

“No? Oh you have to, it puts you in the best mood.”

Helen was prepared to believe the chipper woman. “Really?”

“I’ll bet I can get you in at my spa,” Irene said. “We have time for massages too.”

“No, that’s okay. I have plenty to do at home. I’ll leave and come back later.”

Pressing a phone to her ear, Irene waved her off. The number must have been on her speed dial. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”

Helen hesitated. She didn’t have hundreds of dollars to spend on a massage or a decadent facial even if they were fun.

“Allow me to treat you?” Irene implored as if she’d read her mind. “Theo’s been such a good influence on Emma. This will be my thank you for raising him so well.”

The spa was a world of scents, soft music, and dim lighting. Bowls of truffles sat on tables and people spoke in hushed tones while patrons shuffled about in fluffy, white slippers and plush white robes.

Helen followed a perfectly coiffed young woman to a dimly lit room. The woman instructed her to undress and lie face down on the narrow massage bed in the center. While Helen knew the process ought to make her relax, she was uncomfortable. She didn’t want a stranger touching her, but told herself to enjoy the experience.

Two hours later, her muscles ached and her face felt as if it had been pulled taut and lit on fire. She’d been told to drink plenty of water since toxins had been released during the massage, and was assured that her beet-red face would stop glistening in a few hours. She dressed and met the beaming Irene back in the waiting room.

“Wasn’t that wonderful?” Irene exclaimed.

“It was… different,” Helen said.

They returned to Irene’s house with less than an hour to go before the party. Irene directed caterers while Helen, having nothing to do, tried to help. Irene cajoled Helen into following her into her bedroom where she changed from the blue gown into a powder-pink dress that showed off her enhanced breasts and tan. Matching heels completed the ensemble.

Helen, wearing her best jeans, a pair of low-heeled, black pumps, and a multicolored blouse that crisscrossed in a vee over her chest and tied into a bow in the back, was underdressed in comparison. A glance in the mirror confirmed her cheeks were still flushed from the facial as if she were perpetually embarrassed.

Guests arrived and Helen, playing co-host, found herself waiting for Ben. His plane had been scheduled to land earlier in the day and, begrudgingly, she missed him. Helen made social rounds. While the younger set stayed near the keg on the back porch, adults filled the living room and dining room. The house buzzed, and Helen flitted about making small talk and catching up with friends.

Helen avoided Seth, who stood in a corner with his hands jammed into his pockets. Her instinct wanted to soothe his obvious discontent, yet common sense dictated that talking to him might make the situation worse. She’d intended to deal with Seth once Theo had left college. She looked away, and was thankful when she spotted Theo, holding his head high and weaving his way toward her. She moved toward him and they came together in a hug.

“Hey, Mom,” Theo said.

“Hello again, my super son.”

“Have you seen Dad anywhere? Some of the guys want to meet him.” Theo scanned the crowd.

Helen checked the clock. The party had been going for two-and-a-half hours. What should she say? “I haven’t—”

“Oh there he is.” Theo glanced toward the front door. “Do you mind if—”

“Go, go.”

Theo and Ben greet one another warmly. Ben had been good for Theo; and Theo good for Ben. Theo took Ben by the arm and led him toward the rear of the house.

Ben caught her eye and waved. He mouthed something, but Helen couldn’t read his lips. He and Theo moved out of view, and Helen wanted to follow them, but as the co-host, she didn’t. She glanced toward Seth and found him watching. His steadfast observance pricked her nerves. She moved out of his line of sight into the dining room and began reorganizing the food.

She nibbled on carrots and a couple of chips until she spotted Seth again. She feigned indifference, mingling with others while never making eye contact. Even when he talked to other people, Helen felt the weight of his gaze on her.

When adults began leaving, Helen took her place alongside Irene. She had deliberately ignored Seth, hoping he’d grow bored and leave. As the party dwindled, Helen grew nervous that she’d be forced to deal with him.

When raucous laughter erupted from the back of the house, Helen glanced over and noticed Seth had left. With a hand on her ribcage, she exhaled. It was close to midnight, time to go home.

Helen followed the noise to the back, intending to bid farewell. Unlike inside the house, where the party was fading, the crowded porch buzzed with laughter and voices. Kids,
young adults
, Helen corrected herself, stood around holding mugs of beer.

A backlit beer fountain, complete with Greek sculptures, looked like a flowing golden ribbon. Open champagne bottles flanked the fountain. Helen disliked the abundance of alcohol and hoped Emma’s parents had made arrangements, so the kids wouldn’t be driving.

She heard a burst of laughter. A howling, curly-haired teen lurched forward. Beer sloshed out of his mug hitting Ben squarely in the chest. Jumping back, Ben intercepted the teen’s fall and steadied him on his feet. Even in the dim light, Helen saw that Ben’s eyes were dull and his skin lackluster compared to the youth around him.

Theo set down the Pepsi he’d been holding then jogged to the bar. Ben spied her and a smile transformed his face. She walked toward him, and when she was close, he leaned toward her. “You look beautiful.”

Warmth radiated down to her toes making her forget she’d intended to ask why he’d been late. “Thank you.”

Theo returned and handed a wet towel to Ben. “So Theo,” Helen said, “where are you sleeping tonight?”

“I’m crashing here.”

That was her Theo, ever responsible and not even tipsy.

“You’ll be back to pack tomorrow right?” Helen asked confirming the plan. He’d pack on Saturday and leave on Sunday. One and a half days before her boy left for college. She fought off the bittersweet tears that stung her eyes.

“Yep.”

“Are there arrangements for your friends who’ve been drinking? No one is driving right?”

Ben answered. “Some are sleeping here. I volunteered to drive the others home.”

“Aren’t you a saint? You know they’ll be going for hours,” Helen said.

Ben addressed Theo. “Don’t worry. I don’t intend to saddle you with my company all night. I brought some work to do until you’re ready.”

Ben’s shirt, wet from the beer, clung to him, and a tug of desire welled within her. “You sure you’re up for it? You look awfully tired.”

“Oh yeah.”

“Do you want some company?” Helen asked.

“No. You go home and get some rest. I’ll try not to wake you when I get there.” Ben winked.

Heat rose to Helen’s face and she tried for non-chalance. The next day was full, so she wished Emma good luck in New York, said her final adieux, and left.

Chapter 17

Halfway home a bout of dizziness made Helen’s head spin. Thinking about the day, she reasoned she ought to be okay. She’d eaten enough and had taken her insulin, or at least she thought she had.

Her stomach churned as if she were riding the spinning teacups at Disneyland. Headlights from an oncoming car turned into four lights, then eight. She shook her head and the headlights returned to two. Her blood sugar was dropping, fast.

She leaned across the passenger’s seat, popped open the glove box, and thrust her hand inside searching for the stash of glucose gels she kept there. Finding nothing, she began pulling things out. The sound of a car horn caused her to jerk upright. She was straddling the centerline and swerved to the right.

If she pulled over to search for candy and didn’t find any, the precious few seconds could be the difference between losing consciousness or not. Home was less than ten minutes away and there were no open stores closer. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Her hand trembled as she searched the glove box. She found nothing and growled in frustration. Her fingertips grazed something hard and round wedged in the corner. She pinched the wrapper between her fingernails and extracted out a hard candy. She tore the wrapper open, popped the candy in her mouth, and bit it into shards.

She needed more food and considered going directly to the hospital, but with her mental calculations dimming, it took seconds to decide that the hospital was further than her home.

She could arrive home in less than five minutes if she sped. One glucose packet would do the trick. Helen hit the gas. Her speedometer shot to the right, and Helen leaned over the steering wheel with her face mere inches from the windshield.

Just blocks from her home, her peripheral vision shrank. She viewed the world through a tunnel. Too dangerous. Helen jerked the car toward the right as she stomped on the brakes. Her car jerked up over a curb and stopped.

Helen, acting automatically, cut the lights and tumbled out of the driver’s door before getting up and staggering toward the closest house. She tripped on the porch stairs, landing flat on her chest. Fresh pain gave her a moment of clarity, and she forced herself onto hands and knees and lunged at the door only to fall short.

A distant screech, sounding like a speeding car was overtaken by the roaring river in her head. Helen fought the oncoming darkness.

“Helen.” She thought she heard her name over the waterfall in her ears.

Blindly, she swiped an arm through the air.

“Helen.”

Focusing her energy, she opened her eyes. A figure hovered over her. A savior.

“Helen what’s wrong with you?”

“Need food,” she managed. An arm slip under her back then another at her knees.

“There’s some Coke in the car.” The words swam in her brain like a fish in the sea.

“Diabetic,” Helen managed.

Someone hoisted her into the air. She tried to lean into the body, to hold on. “Ben?”

“Sorry to disappoint. I’m not Ben.”

“Oh.” The thunk of a car door opening sounded, and she was dropped in a heap onto a seat. She labored to push herself upright before crumpling. The door slammed. “Food. Sugar.”

Someone shoved her upright. She fell, angled against the door.

“Here.” Something pushed against her mouth. “Open.” Helen opened her mouth and the angel poured the bubbly concoction in. Coke had never tasted so good. Buoyed by her good luck, Helen found the strength to hold the can. She drank the entire thing nonstop then dropped her head on the back of the headrest. Her body would take a few minutes to process the sugar. Helen’s body shook and her teeth chattered.

“Helen, look at me.”

The voice was familiar. Helen rolled her face toward the man and squinted. “Seth?”

“Why’d you let Ben throw my flowers in a dumpster?”

“Huh?”

“The flowers I sent you. Ben threw them in a dumpster, but I resurrected them for you.”

Helen’s hands vibrated as if live, electric wires had been inserted into her wrists. When would the sugar kick in? “Flowers?”

“I see,” Seth said.

A crinkling noise caught her attention. She opened her eyes long enough to see Seth crush the silver-and-red Coke can. Silver-and-red, not normal Coca-Cola colors. “D…d…diet Coke?” With her hopes squashed, Helen’s energy drained away. She dropped her chin to her chest. Her head felt heavy, as if a weight dangled from it.

“The shit Ben’s been telling you about me isn’t true you know.”

Seth’s words weren’t making sense. “Huh? Home. Food. Please.”

“He’s why you said no to my proposal isn’t he?”

The memory of Seth’s proposal slid into her thoughts sideways. “No. It’s…” Her vocabulary gave out. “Food.”

Seth gripped her chin and yanked her face toward him. “Oh my God. Are you drooling?”

Helen laughed, her giddiness a sign of the oncoming insulin shock. The relative coherence would be short lived. “I’m…sh…sh…shock.” She giggled.

Using the hand that held her chin, Seth smashed her head back into the headrest. “You disgust me. Get out of my car.”

Helen chortled. “Can’t move.”

Seth lean over her, pressing his chest into her ribs. Helen heard the pop of the car door, then Seth placed one hand on her inner hip and the other on her inner shoulder and shoved.

“Wait.” Pain shot up Helen’s back as her butt connected with the ground. Helen opened her eyes in time to see the Jeep door slam shut. The engine revved then something pinned Helen’s leg to the ground. She struggled to pull away, but the pressure grew worse. Helen cried out. A cracking noise was followed by crushing pain. Helen screamed, groping at the air until darkness enveloped her.

****

After driving home nine drunk teenagers, Ben’s car smelled like beer. By the time he pulled his BMW in front of Helen’s house, he wished he had toothpicks to hold his eyes open. Aside from working nonstop in Chicago, the partnership offer had forced him to come to terms with his feelings toward Helen and Nalley.

He’d been up half the night mulling over the partnership opportunity and had decided more money and power held little appeal if his life would be devoid of Helen’s warmth. The idea of opening his own practice in the sleepy, little town, which had once seemed too small, had grown on him.

Although he feared her reaction, Ben intended to ask Helen to share the rest of her life with him. Looking forward to curling up in bed next to her, he walked up the cracked sidewalk, unlocked the front door, and pushed it open. Something stunk, not a Jeremy stink, a decay stink. Ben braced himself and switched on the light. Colors, textures, and smells intermingled to create a gruesome mess. Crimson, orange, purple, green. Dying flowers. Dead flowers. The flowers he’d gotten rid of a week earlier.

Confusion mingled with panic and Ben realized there was an order to the jumble. The flowers had been taped to the walls with silver duct tape.
Die bitch
was spelled across the living room wall.

Terror seized Ben, and adrenaline pumped through his veins. Yelling Helen’s name, he charged through the house tossing furniture aside and checking closets. Every room was colored with dying, stinking flowers and hateful words. He flicked on the light to the basement, taking the stairs two at a time. There were no flowers there and no Helen.

Ben ran to the backyard then to the front. Helen’s missing car gave him some relief, but where was she? With nowhere else to search, logic set in. He called the police and told them he knew,
knew,
Helen was in danger and that Seth Drivoul’s place was the where they should start. He’d go himself if had the address.