Night Stars and Mourning Doves (2 page)

“Nice work,” Eric said and returned to tightening laces.

His mother set a bowl of cereal down in front of Jay then pushed the child’s chair closer to the table. “Angela had us over for dinner to meet her one day last month.” She poured milk on the cereal and set down the spoon she’d been holding. “Orange juice or apple, sweetheart?”

“Apple.” He glanced at both adults. “Please.”

“The sister moved to town shortly after Chris and Angela became engaged, though Angela says there’s no connection between the two events.”

Eric began to tie his second shoe. “What’s her name? The sister.” He had no clue why he wanted details. Curiosity about the family his brother was about to join maybe.

“Elyse. She’s very nice.” For the first time since his arrival in the kitchen, she straightened to look him square in the eye. “Someone you might like to meet, even get to know.”

He stood, too, then couldn’t back up fast enough. His thighs hit the chair he just vacated and knocked it sideways. “I’m sure I’ll meet her eventually.”

Getting to know her, or any woman just now, was flat out of the question. On the off chance he decided someday to care about someone again—which he seriously doubted would ever happen—the pursuit would be on his terms and no one else’s.

“Elyse is the only family Angela has. Both of them have gone out of their way to include me in many of the wedding decisions. They’re being very gracious.”

Eric righted the chair and wished for a gracious way to exit this conversation with his mother who seemed so intent on pushing him back into a social scene he wanted no part of.

'You can’t hole up in here forever,' she advised on what seemed to be a daily basis. 'It’s not fair to either of you.' Then she’d ended with the zinger, 'Especially Jay.'

“I’ll get back into the swing of things eventually.” He spoke up as if the imagined conversation actually took place.

“I’m sure you will.”

“As far as the wedding party, I know all the groomsmen, myself included as best man. Jay as ring bearer.”

“Yes, you do.” She replaced the half gallon of milk to the refrigerator door she eased shut.

“And Ginger, one of her bridesmaids. She’s married to Randy Watts. We hung around together in high school. I’m pretty much up to speed.”

“By the way. Elyse will also serve as her sister’s matron of honor.”

Jay looked up from his latest spoonful of cereal and milk. “What’s that, Gramma? A matron honor?”

“That’s someone, a lady, who stands up as a helper for the bride at a wedding ceremony. A lady who’s already been married herself.”

The explanation entered Eric’s brain where it began to glow with the brightness of an incandescent bulb.

Married!
As in out of circulation, taken, spoken for. Exactly how he preferred individuals of the opposite sex who entered the periphery of his current existence.
Unavailable!

He glanced up to see his mother watching him and figured he’d better say something. “That’s nice, but right now—”

“Why you son of a—!” A continued string of harshly spoken expletives shot up from the side yard and into the opened window above the sink. “I just—” Another colorful tirade was followed by a cry of alarm, the sharp rustling of leaves.

Thud.

Headed for the back door, Eric broke into a run. As fast as he was going, he couldn’t move fast enough toward what had become unintelligible mutters. Rounding one corner of the house, he jerked to a stop. His father lay flat on his back at the foot of the silver maple. In its branches above his head, a cross-cut saw dangled from a partially cut limb. Before Eric could reach him, he righted himself to a sitting position then raised his eyes and shook his fist.

“Stupid piece of junk. You’re supposed to cut through wood. Not get stuck in it.”

“Dad.” Eric stepped over some already downed branches to help his father to his feet. “The contractor said he’d trim what needed to be out of the way for fifty bucks with a chain saw.” He pointed up at the tool still securely in the tree. “That antique belongs on a wall somewhere for decoration.”

The older man pulled away to stand alone. “I planted this tree. I guess I have a right to cut it down.”

“You’re not cutting it down, Dad,” Eric reminded him. “Just trimming it back a little to make room for the addition to the house.”

“Down, back, whatever,” he growled. “The point is, I’ll do it myself. I want to preserve as much of this tree as I can.” He patted the double trunk.

“I told you I’d help as soon as I got my shoes on.”

“Time was wasting. I wanted to get this done.”

“A man on a mission waits for no one,” Eric joked as a flash of jealousy shot through him.

His parents were so strong and sure as they attacked life head on. Lately, it was all he could do to bob and weave around the jabs and right hooks slung his way, let alone have the capacity to do anything constructive with
his
life.

“Well, look at that,” Sid spoke up. “What do you suppose they’re doing?”

Eric shielded his eyes with one palm as he glanced around. “Where?”

“Oh no.”

His gaze raised to follow his father’s. “What?”

“That.”

One of the mourning doves he’d seen earlier landed on the phone line then flew down to circle the newly trimmed tree only to return to the wire, her head tilting from side to side.

Two sets of gazes lowered to the pieces of the tree top that now lay on the ground before his father spoke again. “Her nest must have been in the tree.” A faint breeze ruffled the leaves he pushed aside to stick his head between two branches. “It was,” he murmured as he backed up. “I destroyed her nest. It’s over there.” He pointed then looked at his son. “I checked that tree before I started. I couldn’t see anything.”

Eric walked over to inspect the upside down nest. “I don’t see any eggs around. I don’t think she got that far.”

His father gazed up at the confused bird. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize.”

Her reply was to leap from the telephone wire to once more, circle the fallen parts of the tree.

“Things happen,” Eric told him. “It’s nobody’s fault.”

“I should have been more careful.”

“Things happen.” Firmer resolution strengthened his voice. “It’s not your fault.”

Chapter Two

The masculine hand came at her, large and menacing as always. Its thick fingers were spread out, not curled and fisted ready to strike. As they grabbed her shirt front she was jerked forward. The glimmer of steel caught her eye and a knife came up, lethal and keen. Aimed straight for her throat.

Mouth opened to scream, no air came in, no sound came out. Arms up, she struggled to shriek. Nothing. Raising her gaze, the knife glinted then dropped. Suspended in a slow motion spiral, it fell to the carpet in silence.

She never should have looked down.

Pain blasted through her head like a sizzling poker imbedded in her brain. Wild spurts of light erupted behind her eyes. Squinting to bring her surroundings into focus, her vision cleared in time to see Vince’s fist zero in on her face.

Panic surged like a wildfire consuming tinder. She clawed through it to stand her ground. At the very last second she ducked and the blow glanced hard off the right side of her temple. Head recoiled, the decision crystallized, its edges sharp as any weapon. No matter the odds, no matter the outcome, she would fight back.

He’d caught her unaware with the first punch. The second one was his last. There’d be no more. Hands up for protection as she’d been taught, she scanned for a vulnerable target area. The best place to exact the most damage.

Stepping forward, legs braced, she pushed the heel of her hand into the bottom of his nose and thrust upward with all her might. His head notched backward and the satisfying crack announced success. She’d done enough to disorient him.

With the assailant weakened, run.
Her formal self-defense training dictated to get out. Flee to any safe place. But, she had no plans for retreat.

Before he could react she moved into him and brought her knee up, into and beyond the tender meat between his legs.

“Owwww. My God!”

He cried out as he tumbled backward and to the ground. She allowed a small smile to crease swollen lips. Fists tight, thumbs curled on the outside of her fingers for added strength, she wasn’t done yet. Leaping on top, she pounded at him again and again and again. On the back, the stomach, the face, it didn’t matter where. She needed the primal satisfaction of flesh on flesh contact.

“What are you doing? Stop hurting me.”

His pleas were laughable, but she had no time to be amused. Growing tired, she called upon years of anger to keep going. To finish this.

One more, well aimed fist to the side of his head and his screaming stopped. When he quit moving, her hands stilled. Breathing ragged, she watched and listened, wary of a counter attack. Vince never fought fair. It would be so like him to play with her, pretend to be knocked out cold, even dead, then spring up the instant she turned away.

Gaze focused for any sign of life, she scrambled to her feet. Once standing above him, she allowed herself to breathe deep. Huge, gulping inhales she released with as much force as she used to take them in.

Her eyes never leaving the latent form, she backed away. Then spun around to find she stood under a brilliant sun in a meadow of vibrant wildflowers.

On a gasp, she bolted upright.

Fright forced her eyes wide and she stared directly into the mirror over the shaker style dresser in her bedroom. Head lowered, eyes closed, she struggled to breathe. As her hammering heart slowed, she lay back down.

You’ll never leave me. I’ll kill you first.

Remnants of the dream remained behind eyelids she quickly lifted. The filmy material of the canopy above her bed fluttered back and forth at the whim of an artificial breeze coming through the air vent in the ceiling. Palms flat against the sheet beneath her, torso and legs rigid on the mattress, head centered on the pillow, she glanced to one side then the other.

Daylight rushed in at her through the window where the curtain was pushed aside. With summer’s heat causing the air conditioning system to run on over-time, cooled breezes blew over her to dry the streams of sweat that had collected on her neck and across her forehead.

Her gaze shifted to the digital clock on the nightstand and her brain registered the time displayed. Six oh seven AM, which meant she could stay in bed a few minutes longer before she had to get ready for work. A luxury that wasn’t to be when the trilling melody rose out of her cell phone.

Rolling to her side, she slid her legs down until warm feet hit the cold wooden floor then hurried barefoot across the room to find her purse and the incessantly chiming thing in its depths.

“Elyse Monroe. May I help you?”

“Quit being so formal. You’re not at the partnership.”

“Morning, Angela.”

Her younger sister, at thirty-eight had the spunk and energy of a twenty-year old. Hard to believe they were separated in age by a mere two years. One year and ten months. Elyse forthrightly corrected her math. She wouldn’t be forty for a couple of months yet. Why rush it?

And why shouldn’t Angela act like a woman half her age? Engaged for a year now to the nicest person either of the sisters had ever met, she was shoulder deep in planning her fast approaching wedding day and happily dragging big sister along in the wake.

“There are three veils I want to show you. I can’t decide which one to wear.”

I need your opinion. Your advice, your counsel.
How many times over the years had she heard the request in one form or another from her little sister? Almost daily the whole time she was growing up.

Beginning at ages twelve and fourteen, the girls were raised by an aunt who provided only the basics—those legally required by the trust which paid her lavishly—but nothing more. To her credit, the woman was pleasant enough just distant and it seemed to two young girls, incapable of love. It wasn’t as if her nieces were abused. For Elyse, such things never came at the hands of her aunt.

Blessedly, Angela was away at college for most of that nightmare when Elyse hooked up with the wrong guy for all the right reasons. A stable home for the first time in their lives.

In fact, it was the fear Vince would harm Angela when she came home for Christmas break that gave Elyse the courage to begin divorce proceedings. Only to find he was more interested in hanging onto the money she had, not the wife she tried to be.

“Can you help me out or not?”

Elyse shut down the memories. “I leave school at four today. Bring them over then.”

“I already have.”

“No. You haven’t.”

“Yes. My car’s in the driveway and I’m headed for the front door. Turn the alarm off so I can come in.”

Too surprised to argue, something she’d never do anyway when Angela needed her, she walked over to the main panel in her bedroom to key in the deactivation code. A few minutes later, Angela laid out the three veils on the marble topped island in the huge formal kitchen.

“You know how to work the security system.” Elyse pushed the necessary buttons on the installed coffee machine to make her morning brew.

“I know. But, I didn’t want to do that then walk in while you were asleep and scare you.”

There was no need to verbalize what they both knew too well. For all of the take charge exterior and fearless attitude displayed in her professional life, big sister scared easily when she was alone. Which became evident to both of them after an incident a couple of months after Elyse left Vince for good.

Angela had walked into the house without knocking and surprised her in an upstairs bedroom. It had taken her a full minute to stop screaming. Double that and more before she quit shaking.

“I’m doing so much better now.” Picking up her cup when the machine beeped, she took a quick sip then walked over to inspect the veils. “Do you have a favorite?”

“I think I do, but I don’t want to tell you which one. I’m going to get Chris’ mother’s opinion this afternoon. That way, you two can decide for me.”