Romance: Love Left Behind - A Mystery Romance: (Romance, Mystery, Mystery Romance, Romantic Suspense) (7 page)

“No, no, we’re alright.”  Mr. Bellen cleared his throat.  “So what’s going on?  Are you alright?  Just decided to drop by for a visit?”

“Kind of.  To be honest, I just heard at work today that Cole Brindell died.  I know our families have always been close and –”

Mr. Bluff nodded, his eyes growing soft and sad.  “And you wanted to know if you should go to the funeral.”  He propped himself up on the foyer wall, his eyes trained on his daughter’s face.  He began rubbing his hands together.  It was always his nervous habit.  “Well, your mother and I will be going.  Since the Brindell family has always been so good to us, and since you and Ben used to be so close, it would be nice if you came with us.”

“That’s what I figured,” she said.  “Alright, Dad.  I’m going to go home and talk to Blair.  But I’ll call you and let you know what I decide, okay?”

Mr. Bluff opened his mouth as if to say something then shut it, undecided.  His eyebrows wrinkled with unease.  He pushed himself off the wall and walked forward, pulling his daughter into a tight embrace.

“I’m worried about you.  You never pick up the phone anymore.  I don’t…”  He drew in a deep breath.  His body was shaking.  Starla relaxed in his arms, knowing that he wouldn’t let her pull away just yet.  “Just be safe, okay, baby?  I love you.  And call a little more.  I miss hearing from you.  I don’t want to lose another daughter.”

“My phone broke, Dad, but I’ll try my hardest.  You’re not losing another daughter.  I’m right here.”

On the car ride home, she didn’t even turn on the radio.  She preferred, instead, to stew in her own thoughts and feelings.  It broke her heart to think that she was hurting her parents so much.  Losing Lisa was the biggest blow that they had ever faced.  For weeks after, maybe even months, it had been difficult for Mrs. Bluff to get out of bed, to shower, to eat.  Mr. Bluff had to be the voice of reason.  He spent his days trying to help his wife, never focusing on his own depression.  Starla knew that her parents tried to be so strong.  She felt awful that her relationship with Blair distanced her from them and vowed that, no matter what Blair screamed at her or how hard he hit her, she would go to the funeral.

Blair was in bed when Starla got home, as he was most of the time.  He was one of the laziest human beings that Starla had ever met.  She walked in the door and was immediately accosted with the stale smell of smoke from his cigarettes, and the dull scent of body odor.  Her purse was deposited on the floor by the front entrance, along with her shoes, before she made her way into the bedroom.  On the way, though, she grabbed a Dos Equis beer from the fridge as a peace offering.  The beer might make him a little less enraged when she made her request.

On the other hand, the beer also made him more suspicious.  The minute she placed it into his hand, he immediately started squinting at her, trying to figure out what her game was.  She was nice to him all of the time and she took care of him all of the time but something felt wrong.

“What do you want?” he said, an angry undertone in his voice.

Starla plastered the widest smile she could muster on her face.  “Baby, Cole Brindell died.  That’s Mr. Brindell’s father.  Now you know, growing up, my family and his family were very close.  I was wondering if you’d let me go to the funeral.  As support, you know.”

“Is Ben going to be there?”

“Well,” said Starla, “I heard he might be.  But that’s not why I want to go.  I really want to support the Brindells.  They were basically like a set of second parents to me.”

“If Ben is going to be there, then the answer is no.”

“But baby, my parents asked me to come with them for support.  You know I never get to see them anymore.  It damn near crushed them losing my sister and now they feel like they’re losing me.  I’m not going to talk to Ben.  I just want to be there for my family.”

“No.”

Agitation set in.  It was very seldom that Starla raised her voice to her boyfriend but in this instance she wanted to make a point.  “I’m going to go to the funeral, Blair.  This is important to me.  Now I stay in all day, I make all of your food, I work hard, and I’ll be damned if you don’t let me do this one single thing that I’d like to do.”

Then she sat down on the bed, shocked.  It felt empowering to scold him, albeit a bit scary.  Blair looked fairly taken aback as well, though, which was interesting.  For the first time in the last few years, Starla felt like she had the upper hand.

“Fine,” Blair said gently, “you can go.  But I want to go with you.  And I don’t want you having any interaction with Ben.  If he speaks to you at all, I’m going to either tell him to fuck off or I’m going to beat the shit out of him, understood?”

Starla nodded, pleased that she got what she wanted.  She went to stand up from the bed but suddenly Blair’s hand shot out and pulled her back down.  He wound his fingers through her hair, making sure that he had a strong grip on her head.  Yanking her hair back, her neck at an ungodly angle, he hissed venomously, “And if you ever speak to me like that again, the same thing is coming to you.”

2014 – Ben

There was no more hustle and bustle, no more honking taxi cabs, and no more tourists with their fancy cameras asking for directions to Central Park when it was only a few blocks away.  Bellen was the perfect representation of small town America, of the languid movements of the day to day life.  Ben had forgotten how it was when cars stopped at intersections to let others move in front of them.  He had forgotten how cheap cups of coffee were at local diners or how clean the air smelled when it was free of food carts and drunk people.  In a way, it was invigorating to be back in New Jersey after so many years.  It felt strange.  During his time in school, his parents had always visited him, letting him drag them around the city to various restaurants and performances.  But in eight years, eight long years, he had never once come back to see them.

He got back with two days to go before the funeral.  Much of his time was spent comforting his parents, especially his mother, who was oftentimes hysterical with grief.  Though Grandpa Cole was not her biological father, the two had grown extremely close through the years.  Mrs. Brindell’s own father had walked out on her family when she had been just a child.  Her father-in-law, after the wedding ceremony, had almost adopted her as one of his own.

The rest of the time he spent setting up a speech for the funeral, helping to plan the arrangements, and then spending some time by himself, reconnecting with his old town.  He spent hours walking through the park.  It dragged up memories of himself and Starla, the talks they used to have while sitting in the grass and watching the night sky.

On the night before the funeral, he sat down in the kitchen with his mother.  It was a rare moment of composure for her.  Mrs. Brindell sat with her hands wrapped around a chipped blue coffee mug, filled to the brim with peppermint tea, sweetened ever so lightly with honey.  As Ben sat, she raised her glossy green eyes and met his own.

“Thank you,” she said.  Her voice broke.  It was as if she was forcing herself to hold it together when in reality she could dissolve into tears at any second.

Ben reached out and soothingly stroked his mother’s fingers.  “Of course, Mom,” he said.  Then, in a slightly softer voice, “I miss him too.”

“I know you do, baby.  It’s just hard.  I wish he was still here, but…” She stifled back a sob, choosing instead to lift the coffee mug to her lips and take a sip.  “But it is better that he’s not suffering anymore.”

“That’s true.  It’s going to be a nice funeral too,” Ben said.  “Grandpa Cole would be proud.”

Mrs. Brindell took a couple more sips of tea, relishing the calm feeling it gave her as it slid down her throat and warmed her body.  Then she placed the mug back on the table.  Ben knew that she was sad because his normally anal-retentive mother failed to put the mug on a coaster.  “Lots of people are coming by tomorrow,” she said.  “A lot of friends are coming for support.  It’s very sweet of them.”

“What about the Bluffs?  Are they coming?”  As he said that, Ben tried his best to look uninterested.  But he couldn’t fool his mother.  She gave him a knowing stare and nodded.

“Yes,” she said.  “The Bluffs are coming.  Even, if I’m correct, Starla.  I know that’s what you’re really asking, Ben.  You can’t trick a mother’s intuition.  Why?  You still care about her?”

Ben flushed a fiery red.  “Mom!”

“Well that’s a yes,” she said, rolling her eyes a bit.  The discussion reanimated her a bit, made it seem like she was getting further and further away from crying.  “I think you’ll always care about her, won’t you?  She was your first love.  But let me tell you something, buddy boy.  If you still love her, you can’t be dating that Mina girl back in New York City.  You don’t get to have your cake and eat it too.  That isn’t how life works.”

Mrs. Brindell had never approved of Mina, not since the beginning of their relationship.  The two had only come into contact one time on one of the Brindell family trips into the city.  Mr. and Mrs. Brindell took Ben and Mina out for dinner to an expensive restaurant.  But Mina looked down at the food, called it ‘peasant food,’ and repeatedly told Mr. and Mrs. Brindell how
her
parents could actually afford to eat at some of the nicer places in the city.  And
her
parents knew famous chefs like Tom Colicchio.  Ever since that day, Mrs. Brindell basically refused to acknowledge Ben’s relationship, referring to Mina only as ‘that Mina girl.’

“But Starla’s dating someone too,” Ben argued.  “It’s not like we’re both still madly in love with each other.  We can care about each other but that doesn’t mean we’re meant to be together.”

Mrs. Brindell guffawed.  She shoved the coffee mug away from her, causing tea to splash all over the table.  It spread rapidly, creating a big brown mess.  “Now you listen here.  I know you love Starla more than you love that Mina girl.”  Seeing Ben open his mouth to say something back, his mother interrupted, “You can deny it all you want, but I know the truth.  Her relationship with Blair?  It’s a sham and he’s a piece of shit.  Everybody in this town knows it but nobody does anything about it because Starla always begs them not to.  But he hits her.  He throws her around.  That poor girl isn’t allowed to see anyone, do anything, or go anywhere unless Blair gives her permission.  I saw her in the diner last week with a big bruise on her arm.  When I asked her what happened, she said she fell.  She fell?  I don’t believe it for a second.  I don’t like the way that boy treats her.  So if you love her, you help her get out of that situation.”

The anger paralyzed him.  He sunk his head into his hands as he tried to digest the information that his mother had just given to him.  Starla was being beaten?  Back in high school, she had been such a free spirit.  In every memory he had of Starla she existed as an ethereal being, stronger and braver than anything that could possibly exist in this realm.  Even looking back to when they first met, when had Starla run up and initiated conversation, she had always been an independent woman.  The fact that someone was hitting her and she was letting it happen…Ben just couldn’t believe that was true.

He had the urge to stand up right then, drive to wherever Blair lived, and fight him.  No real man ever put his hands on a lady like that.  A real man knew how to use words and not fists.  Ben was also quite upset that during their talks, Starla had not once mentioned the abuse.  Although she hadn’t answered his last Facebook message, they had talked a few times before that.  All she had to do was let him know what was going on.  Despite everything they had been through in the past and all the angry words that were said, despite Mina and his job and his life in New York, he would have come back to save her. 

It was, in that moment, that Ben realized the depth of his emotions for Starla Bluff.  He might have walked away in high school but he had never truly rid himself of the love he had for her.  Sure, he loved Mina.  But he didn’t love her in the same way.  Starla was his everything.  She was the one he was meant to be with.  Although it was absolutely tragic that his grandfather had passed away, Ben felt that he had been brought back to Bellen for a reason.  That reason was so he could end up with Starla.  It was a divine intervention of sorts.

This time it was Mrs. Brindell who reached out to comfort her son.  She intertwined their fingers and squeezed.  “Go to bed and think about everything, Ben.  I know it’s a lot to take in.  I’ll see you tomorrow morning, okay?  I love you.”

“I love you too, Mom,” he said.  He stood up from the table and walked upstairs to his childhood room, where he slept.

He was standing in a graveyard in the dead of the night, nothing to illuminate his world but the subdued glint of the full moon in the sky.  There was a mild, cool wind smelling of peat and moist earth.  In front of him sat a crumbling gravestone, the name hidden by a tangle of wild vines.  Something otherworldly drew him to the gravestone.  He bent down and began to pull away at the vines, feeling them snap in his palms.

As the green strings fell away, he half-expected to see his grandfather’s name carved into the broken stone.  In the end, everything was fleeting – life, love, material objects.  He could feel words underneath his fingertips.  But when he pulled the last of the vines away, leaving them strewn on the dirt around the grave, the name on the stone read:
Starla Bluff, 1989-2014.

His blood ran cold.  He stood up and began to back away from the grave.  It couldn’t be right.  Someone must have made a mistake.  Starla was still alive.  She worked at the diner.  She was going to be at his grandfather’s funeral.

Something bumped into him from behind, something solid.  He assumed it was a tree but when he turned around, he found himself face-to-face with Starla.  She was pale white like the snow they used to play in.  But bruises ran up and down her arms.  She was a masterpiece of pain, painted in scum green and lavender and mustard yellow.  She wore two black eyes and peered out from behind them like a raccoon.  A single trickle of blood ran out of her nose.