Romance: Love Left Behind - A Mystery Romance: (Romance, Mystery, Mystery Romance, Romantic Suspense) (6 page)

Waiters and waitresses mingled amongst the guests.  They wore crisp white shirts under black vests, and stiff black pants.  In their hands, the waiters and waitresses held plates filled with hors d’oeuvres ranging from crackers with bruschetta and cheese puffs dotted with black caviar to crab toasts and stuffed mushrooms.  The guests snatched these bite-sized snacks from off the platters and popped them into their mouths in between sips of Prosecco or vodka-sodas.

“I’m going to grab a drink and I’ll be right back,” Ben said to Mina, breaking away before she could say anything.  He made a beeline towards the bar.  There he wedged himself in between a stuffy-looking older man with a crooked tie and a diamond-covered older woman.  He managed to flag down the bartender and requested a double whiskey and coke.  Part of him knew that Mina would criticize him for his drink choice but if he was going to make it through a few hours of this gala, he wanted something stronger.

He weaved through the masses back to his girlfriend, who was engaged in a conversation with a few well-dressed men about the ethics of journalism.  As he approached the group, Mina smiled and introduced him.  “This is my boyfriend, Benjamin Brindell,” she told the group.  “Ben, this is Jack Halloway, James Van Dennten, and Harvey Griswold.  We all work together.”

With his free hand, Ben exchanged several handshakes with the men, paying particular attention to the charismatic Jack Halloway.  Halloway had a fake smile on his face and his eyes trained on Mina.  Ben didn’t like that.

He stood on the outskirts of the group, free hand resting on Mina’s waist, as he listened to the four journalists discuss their profession.  Ben couldn’t really interject much as he didn’t know too much about the industry.  He was content to sip on his double whiskey and coke, feeling the leisurely buzz of the alcohol run through his body.  When he finished the first drink, the final drips of whiskey stinging his throat, he motioned over a waitress.  Placing the empty glass on the tray, he quietly asked the waitress if she could bring him a second.  The waitress nodded before disappearing into the crowd.

The conversation switched to writing in general.  The journalists chatted about AP style writing for a moment.  Then, out of nowhere, Jack Halloway asked, “So have you written anything lately, Ben?  Mina told us that you sold a story earlier this week but do you have anything else on the market?”

“Actually,” said Ben, “I just spent this afternoon writing a new story.  I think it has a lot of potential.”

“Oh yeah?  What is it about?”

The waitress returned.  Ben lifted the drink from her tray and thanked her.  He could feel the heat of Mina’s gaze burning into him; she hated it when he drank more than one drink, especially at the galas.  She found it to be embarrassing.  Ben figured it came from childhood pain.  He knew that her father used to drink heavily and, when he did, he was quite a force to be reckoned with.  It was only a rumor but Mr. Gurkiri supposedly once stripped down to his skivvies on stage and proceeded to rant about his wealth for over ten minutes before his discomfited wife could manage to convince him down.

But as much as he cared about Mina’s emotions, there was no way that Ben could make it through the entire gala with only one drink.  So, ignoring her fiery stare, he took a sip before answering.  “It’s about lost love.  I wanted to really capture the emotion and the pain of loving someone and not having that as a part of your life.  It’s beautiful, really.”

Halloway snickered.  “Sounds a bit cliché, buddy.”

Ben took another sip of his drink, savoring the words he was about to say.  “Well, sorry I can’t write about the important things in life like the recent dog beauty pageant they held downtown,” he said smoothly, referencing Halloway’s last article.  It had been in the newspaper and Ben had laughed about it when it came out, before Mina snidely told him that it was written by one of her coworkers.  But apparently it was the right thing to say then, as Jack Halloway immediately shut up, his face turning red.

The sound of a bell rang out of Ben’s pocket.  Someone was calling.  At first he ignored it, enjoying the sting of his insult and the look on Halloway’s face.  He knew that Mina was probably furious at him and that he’d hear all about it later, but in that moment, it was worth it.  But then the bell rang again, and again, and again.  With a final sip of his drink, he excused himself to take the phone call.

He wound himself around all of the people blocking the space and went outside.  Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he saw that there were three missed calls from his mother.  Immediately he became nervous.  His mother wasn’t one to repeatedly call, so something must be wrong.  He dialed back, every ring increasing his worry.

“Hello?” he said when he heard heavy breathing on the other line.  “Are you okay?”

His mom took a shaky breath.  Even over the phone, Ben could tell that she was crying.  Mrs. Brindell, fighting back tears, whispered, “Your Grandpa Cole passed away, Ben.  I…I just…”

“What?  When?”

“It was the cancer, Ben.  He passed away this afternoon.”  A heavy sob escaped from his mother’s mouth.  Ben felt himself overcome with sadness, both at the loss of his grandfather and from hearing his mother cry.  No child ever wants to hear their parent cry.  “I just wanted to let you know.  The funeral is this weekend.  It would mean a lot to your father and me if you would come home for that.”

“Of course, Mom.  Of course I will,” Ben said.  “I’ll leave tonight and come home, okay?  I’ll see you soon.  I love you so much.”

He hung up the phone and stood there on the sidewalk for a few seconds, trying to process the emotions that were bubbling over inside of him right now.  He pushed the phone back into his pocket.  It was time to leave the gala.  All he wanted to do was go back to the apartment, pack a bag, and head back to Bellen as soon as possible.

As he went to leave and walk back to the apartment, a fuming Mina came storming out of the front doors, screaming at him.  She was so angry that spittle was flying out of her mouth and her words were blurring together. 

“Don’t you dare walk away from this gala,” she shouted, grabbing his elbow.  “Get back inside right now.  You’re embarrassing me.  You always embarrass me.”

“You’re embarrassing yourself right now,” snapped Ben.

“Go. Inside.”

Ben yanked his arm away, sending his girlfriend spiraling away from him.  Tears began flowing down his face, hot and fast.  “My grandfather died today and I just found out.  So I don’t give a single crap about your gala, okay?  I care about my family.  I’m hurt.  I’m going back to the apartment and I’m leaving for New Jersey tonight.  Goodnight, Mina.”

With that, he turned on his heel and marched off down the sidewalk.  With the back of his hand he wiped the tears from his face, partially ashamed that he was crying.  He always saw crying as a weakness.  It was going to be awful saying goodbye to his grandfather.  The sound of Mina’s screaming faded into the background as the deafening roar of sadness rushed into his ears.

2014 – Starla

The few days after the beating went by without incident.  Starla went to work, helped her customers, and then went home.  At home she cuddled with Blair, cooked his food, and cleaned up.  He wasn’t sweet to her, per se, but he was much more mild-mannered than usual.  It was a pleasant break from the normal routine, but Starla didn’t think it would last for long.  It never did.  But for now she would enjoy the simplicity of monotony, the simple day to day existence that she had grown so accustomed to.

At the diner, Starla went about her business without a hitch.  She filled coffee cups to the brim with piping hot brew, handed out slices of fresh blueberry pie, and gossiped with the other waitresses.  Every so often, Katie would pull her to the side and ask her if she was doing okay.  Every time, Starla reassured her friend that everything was going fine and there was no need to worry.

Maybe this wasn’t the way that Starla thought her life would turn out.  But if she had figured out anything in her short twenty-five years on earth it was that nothing really ever went the way people thought it would.  There was no point in making plans in life.  The only thing that was certain about living was the constant ebb and flow of direction.

On Wednesday, Starla walked into the kitchen to find Katie pacing back and forth, a worried look on her face.  Katie looked up upon her entrance and said, “Have you heard?”

“Heard what?” asked Starla.

“Cole Brindell passed away yesterday.”  Katie tapped her long fake pink nails against the wall, drumming out a nervous beat.  “The funeral is this upcoming weekend.”

“Oh my god.”  Starla thought back to her childhood.  Mr. and Mrs. Brindell had been like a second set of parents to her.  Despite all that had happened between her and Ben, she knew that she could always go talk to Mr. or Mrs. Brindell if she needed anything.  She didn’t know Grandpa Cole that well, though she had met him a few times.  He was a kind old man, somewhat forgetful, but always very sweet.  “Mr. and Mrs. Brindell must be devastated.”

A small whir of annoyance sounded from the back of Katie’s throat.  “Yeah, I’m sure they are.  But do you know what this means?”

“What?”

“It means Ben is coming back to town for the funeral,” said Katie slowly, as if she was spelling something out for someone who didn’t have the highest level of intelligence.  “If you and your family go to the funeral to support the Brindells, you’re going to have to come face to face with Ben.”  The tapping ceased as Katie walked forward and placed one hand on Starla’s shoulder.  Her nails dug into Starla’s skin as Katie gazed deep into Starla’s eyes and finished, “That could be really good, the two of you together.  But you know Blair’s going to throw a fit when he finds out.”

For the rest of the morning, Starla was distracted by the idea of seeing the only guy she ever truly fell in love with, again.  She loved Blair but she wasn’t in love with Blair.  At least she didn’t think she was.  In Ben’s case, she knew that she had been in love with him.  Of that, there was no doubt.  She drifted through the diner like a ghost, barely interacting with her customers except to briefly pour coffee or take an order.  At one point, she tripped on the carpet and sent the scraps of a half-eaten pancake breakfast sailing across the floor.

She wasn’t exactly sure how she felt about Ben showing back up in Bellen after eight years of being gone.  Of course she was excited.  Starla and Ben had always had a special bond.  She cared about Blair but she didn’t think she would ever feel the same way about anyone like she did about Ben.  He was not only her best friend growing up but her closest ally, her original love.  On the other hand, she didn’t want to deal with all of the negativity that his return would inevitably bring.  She was dreading going home and asking Blair about attending Grandpa Cole’s funeral, knowing that her request would probably bring her few days of “relaxation” to an end. The thought of that conversation alone was enough to make her somewhat dread the fact that Ben was coming into town.

Would they be able to talk and catch up?  Would there still be feelings between the two of them, or was Starla the only one who still felt something?  Was there even the slightest possibility that Ben would bring his girlfriend back to Bellen with him as a support during this trying time?  There were so many unanswered questions but absolutely no answers.

At the end of her shift, Starla made herself a cup of coffee in the kitchen.  Two sugars, one creamer.  She sipped it solemnly as she leaned against the stiff concrete wall.  So many thoughts commingled in her mind that she couldn’t find a solid grasp on any of them.

Rather than drive directly home, she took her beat up red Chevy to her old house on Firestone Drive, where her parents still lived.  She parked in the driveway behind her father’s silver Jeep and her mother’s blue Honda, and then made her way to the front door.  It had been a while since she had visited, she was ashamed about it.  The doorbell still made the same jingling noise it always had though.

Her father answered the door with a mixed look of excitement and confusion on his face.  Starla was surprised to see that he looked much older than she remembered.  The years had not been kind to her father.  Once a strapping young lawyer, he had his soul beaten out of him by court cases and the loss of his youngest daughter.  He now wore salt and pepper hair above a wrinkled face.  His skin looked like a t-shirt that had been tossed aside and left to sit in a pile for too long.  Starla thought, with a slight giggle, that if she could take an iron to her father’s face she could restore it to its original perfection.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, worry in his voice.  “Are you alright?”

Taken aback, Starla said, “I’m fine, Dad. Can I come in?”

“Of course, of course.”  He ushered her in, staring down the street as though a potential threat could come out of nowhere.  Starla wondered if he had heard about the way Blair treated her and that was why he was so nervous.  But of course he had.  Bellen was a small town.  She was pretty sure that everybody knew the way that Blair treated her and everybody found her to be weak for staying with him.

The inside of the Bluff house looked like a tornado hit it.  Clothes were strewn across the floor.  Empty dishes, still crusted with the remains of last night’s meal, sat on the carpet.  On the table in the foyer were a collection of half-empty folders, wrinkled papers, and single keys.  Growing up, Mr. and Mrs. Bluff had been advocates of living in a clean house, saying that cleanliness was next to godliness.  It was nothing less than a shock to see the house in such a state of disarray now.

Noticing the look of shock on Starla’s face, Mr. Bluff quickly said, “It’s alright, darling.  We’ve just been a bit busy lately, is all.  Sometimes it’s hard to keep up with everything.  We’re getting old you know.  We can’t do everything that we used to be able to do.”

“Dad, if you need help, you can just call me,” Starla replied, concern tingeing her voice.  “I’ll come over and help you clean if that’s what you need.”