Rose of Betrayal (40 page)

           
Grief
flashed high inside.
 
Feeling hollow, he
wondered how Ted, of all people, saw through life's maze first.
  
Lessons were sometimes hard to learn.
 
This one, if it did not kill him first, was
going to hurt for a long, long time.
 
Fingers crumbled the letter into a ball as he contemplated his recovery
as a long hard swim against the current.
   

           
Glancing
at the list of remaining obligations on the desk, he noticed at the bottom
Maggie jotted - wedding gift, a quick glance at the calendar confirmed what he
already knew, time was dwindling.
 
Procrastination would only make the feat impossible.
 
Slipping into a jacket, he decided to keep an
appointment.
 
Knowing all along what the
keepsake was going to be, it took little time to arrange, but after signing the
paper’s Brad was more miserable than ever.
 
Overwhelming was the urge to return to Southampton to be alone one last
time before putting the property on the market.

           
He
did not have to be alone there were plenty of numbers in his personal organizer
inside his jacket pocket.
 
However, there
was no room for female companionship right now, he needed to stop drinking and
heal the ache throbbing unmercifully enough to endure the wedding.
 
Then he would be free.
 
It sounded so simple.
 
         

           
Arriving
in Southampton, everything he saw, everything he did, everywhere he went,
filled with memories of Sam.
 
The four
days they had shared were the richest rewards he had experienced, haunting
reflections leaching all the will power remaining.
 
Now he realize more than ever he was nothing
more than a skeleton of a man with a barely beating broken heart.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………........................................................................…………………………………………………….....

           
A
week passed with no word from Brad.
 
Annoyed and overwhelmed with last minute work, despite her hectic
schedule, foremost in Maggie’s mind was Brad.
 
She had noticed he had not been himself since Thanksgiving.
 
His frame was thinner, and there were faint
smudges of circles beneath his eyes despite his exuberance.
 
Distraught, she summoned Ralph who was
equally despondent over wondering as to Brad's health and whereabouts.

           
After
placing several calls to no avail, Ralph decided either Brad was not in
Southampton or if so he was refusing to answer the phone.
 
Knowing Bernie was staying at Keller's place,
he dialed her number.
 
“Bernie, have you
seen Brad,” he questioned, unable to cover the concern icing his words.

“No, why, what's wrong?”

“Maggie and I think he's is in
Southampton.
 
We have not heard a word
all week.
 
That's not like him.”

“You can't be
serious.
 
If he was here, surely I would
have seen or heard from him.” Angry with Maggie and Ralph, she became
defensive, “Dammit, why did you wait this long to call me?”

“Settle down, Bernie.
 
Knowing he was taking the engagement hard, we
simply felt he needed to be alone.”

           
“Alone
is not what you need when you're hurting as bad as he is.
 
I will go check right now.
 
Peter is out of town for a couple of days, if
you don't hear from me, then you know everything is alright.”

           
“Thanks,
Bernie.”
 
Though somewhat relieved, Ralph
felt certain something was terribly wrong.
 
He would wait an hour, he decided before heading for Southampton to see
for himself.

           
Positive
Brad would not purposely worry Maggie and Ralph, Bernie's heart crashed against
her ribs as she ran around trying to find the mislaid keys to the car Peter
left for her. In her mad rush, after stubbing her toe on a chair and bumping
her head on the car door, she floored the accelerator hurling loose stones in
the driveway in multi-directions.

           
Though
convinced her heart could not beat faster its pulse escalated upon discovering
Brad's car in the driveway. He always parked the Porsche in the garage.
  
Immobile from panic, she did not know
whether to be relieved or prepared for the worst.
 
She could not think about Brad doing anything
stupid, but never before did she run so fast, scream so loud or pound so hard
on a door only to receive no answer.
  

           
Biting
into her lower lip, Bernie twisted, jerked and pushed at the doorknob, her feet
kicking the polished wood with frustration until awareness dawned she had been
turning the knob in the wrong direction.
 
Another try granted instant access, the pressure applied to the door
launching her inside.
 
Brad's name
resounded through the structure.
 
Again,
there was no reply.

           
The
worst fear she had ever known constricting her throat and drilling through the
pores of her skin impeded the flow of air.
 
Suicide, she would not think of it, she wouldn't.
 
Brad would never.
 
Then she remembered hearing most suicides
were usually unexpected, she trembled violently.

           
Searching
the main floor she found clothes strewn about, empty whiskey bottles tipped
over on the carpet and tables, windows and doors wide open despite the cold
days and nights, kitchen cabinets void of food.
 
The story unfolding bringing on a steady stream of tears blurring her
vision.

           
Sputtering
and sobbing, confronting the stairway leading to the second floor as if it were
a dragon spitting fire, her heartbeat skidded to a stop along with her
feet.
  
Convinced of the worst, she
closed her eyes and took deep slow breath’s to allow climbing each foreboding
tread.
 
         
 
Creeping forward, like approaching a gas
chamber, she moved toward Brad's bedroom each step sluggish and unsteady as if
she had just learned to walk.
 
The door
wide open made spasms of irritation squeeze her chest.
 
At the top of her lungs, she spouted, “Damn
you, Brad. Why didn't you answer me?”

           
Comforted by the mere sight of him
in bed, she moved closer to gain a better position for the lashing her tongue
intended to give.
 
Terror jerked a knot
in her throat lodging like a hard thing she could not swallow.
  
Bare to the waist, his body had exuded
enough perspiration to drench the sheets, his face sunken, flushed, and
darkened by neglected whiskers. Tips of her fingers detected a raging
fever.
  

           
In a mad effort to suppress her
fright, she shook him. “Wake up, Brad!
 
Its' Bernie.
 
Can you hear
me?
 
Jesus, talk to me.”
 
Collapsing to her knees beside the bed, she
clung to his arm crying, “Oh, God.
 
What
have you done?”

           
A
moan barely acknowledged her presence. Brad's eyelids fluttered, and lifted
with apparent effort.
 
Fever burned
bright in his eyes, the pupils large, and black, unable to focus until she
spoke his name again.

           
Having
forgotten her cell phone, Bernie's feet did not meet a tread while scurrying
downstairs to dial 911, her hands trembling as they scribbled onto an old
grocery bag the instructions given until help could arrive.
 
Sputtering every expletive known by mankind
to calm her nerves, she rummaged through cabinets probing for needed supplies.
 
Profanities filling the air, she returned to
Brad's side.

           
With
great difficulty, she coaxed him to swallow the pain reliever and water,
bathed, then rubbed him with alcohol, manipulating him onto each side to remove
soaked sheets replacing them with clean dry linen.
 
His nudity and magnificent muscles rippling
beneath her fingers went unheeded.

           
Her
shaking hands shaved his thick beard.
 
“How dare you scare the hell out of us?
 
You've some nerve not letting me know you were here.
 
Dammit, why didn't you call me?
 
I could have helped you.
 
I thought you said we were friends.”
 
Her sobs, hiccups, and lecture interrupted
only long enough for her to blow her nose. “What good are friends if they can't
be there in time of need?
 
You fool, why
did you let yourself get like this?”
 

           
There
was no doubt Brad was gravely ill.
 
Feeling completely helpless, the words gushing from her mouth she meant
solely to ease the anxiety piercing her heart.
 
“Damn you, Brad, don't you dare die?
 
I ought to beat the crap out of you.
 
Give the doctor something to repair.”
 
Expressing her emotions verbally sprung open the dam holding back
building tears.
 
Though Brad's eyes never
opened, his hand sought hers.

           
Several
hours later propped into a sitting position by fluffed up pillows, Brad shook
his head like a spoiled child.
 
“Shit for
brains, you are going to eat this if I have to pour it down you.
 
Now open up.
 
If it had been up to me the shot the doctor gave you wouldn't have gone
in your arm.” You should be in the hospital like he said, you idiot.”
 
The faintest of smiles curled Brad's lips
making Bernie wonder how someone so ill could look irresistible.
 
“You could have died on us.
 
Do you know that?”
 

           
His
smile widened devilishly only to be answered with a stinging slap on his
arm.
 
“I'm going to burn that damn
hammock. Pneumonia is nothing to take lightly.
 
I've told you a hundred times people who drink whiskey have a death
wish.”

           
Faster
than Brad could swallow, Bernie kept spooning chicken broth into his mouth
persisting with her rampage.
 
“You are
going to be the death of me.
 
I have
never played this mother part before.
 
It
scares the hell out of me.
 
I’m convinced
more than ever I’ll never have kids.”

           
His
hand beginning to caress her knee slid up her thigh.
 
Knocking it away, “If I were you, I'd keep
your mitt off me.
 
Wipe that smirk off
your face because it is not going to make a damn bit of difference in smoothing
my feathers.”

           
During
the following hours, Bernie placed a call to Ralph and, through tenacity,
administered to Brad equal parts of nourishment, medication, and lectures.
 
Her tender loving cares enough to break his
fever and induce a deep sleep.
 

           
Fatigued
to the point of collapse when undressing, the full impact of what occurred hit?
The doctor said if she had not arrived when she did, she could have lost the
only person she ever loved.
 

           
Slipping
into one of Brad's tee shirts, to ease her powerful need to be close to him,
she, sat in a chair so close to his bed it touched, curled up to watch him
sleep.
 
Though her head nodded, she
fought the sleep bribing her as the cool night air nipping at her bones chilled
her body to the goose bump stage.
 
Staring at the warm comfort of the bed, she was unable to hold out any
longer.
 
The decision to crawl in beside
Brad seemed rational at the time considering there was plenty of room and he
was too ill to know the difference.
 

           
In
a matter of seconds, snuggled next to him, his arm instantly circled her waist
to haul her to him as if he had been waiting all along.
 
The warmth of her body, her soft curves, her
fragrant, silky skin all the medicine his soul needed.
 
Together they slept well into the next day.