God blessed me this morning. I know He does it everyday, but I don’t always sit up and take notice. And I rarely worship. Says a lot about my character. Unfortunately.
I drive through three construction zones every morning. My tires have taken a beating over the last few months with nails and other sharp objects piercing the tread. Lately, I’ve been nursing my left rear tire. It appears that the valve is leaking. I had it replaced in May. This morning, however, the tire was nearly flat when I started for work.
A woman in a black Altima came up behind me and then quickly swerved into the HOV lane. I shook my head in disgust over yet another motorist breaking the law. When she got beside me, she beeped her horn and pointed at my back tires. I rolled my window down. She did the same. “Your back tire’s low!” she yelled over the rush of wind and cars at 60+ mph. As soon as she delivered the message, she passed me and got out of the HOV lane. Shame on me for my HOV arrogance.
I thanked her with a wave and a nod and began the hard job of exiting I-65.
I got off at Concord Road and headed east to the gas station. I had no idea how I was going to pay the 50 cents to start the compressor. (I have 20 cents to my name until payday.) The old saying of “for want of a shoe…” came to mind.
I circled the parking lot trying to find the compressor. I couldn’t find it. I circled back to exit the parking lot when, to my amazement, I saw an open parking spot right in front of the compressor. I pulled in and climbed out of the car practicing my speech to the clerk behind the counter. I humbly pulled the four nickels out of my pocket. I stepped onto the sidewalk and heard a familiar sound—the low thump-thump-thump of the compressor.
Not knowing how much time was left before the machine shut off, I grabbed the hose and lept off the sidewalk. I shoved the nozzle onto the valve and clasped the switch. The compressor made more noise and air hissed at my feet. And the tire grew back to full size.
As I replaced the hose, I looked up at a beautiful, blue, Spring morning in Nashville and thanked the God who created that sky. I gave thanks for the woman in the black Altima, confessed my arrogance, and then prayed that God would guide her—through her day, and to Himself (if she doesn’t already know Him).
Today, I was worried. Worried about my tire, my finances, and getting to work. I was worried about AIR. As I pulled away, the Sermon on the Mount—Jesus’s personal and practical treatise from Matthew 6—came to mind. I wasn’t on a sloping hill near the Sea of Galilee. I was stuck in traffic on asphalt in the southern United States.
Therefore I say to you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink; nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? Which of you by worrying can add one cubit to his stature? "So why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; and yet I say to you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. Now if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is, and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will He not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? "Therefore do not worry, saying, 'What shall we eat?' or 'What shall we drink?' or 'What shall we wear?' For after all these things the Gentiles seek. For your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Thanks for the encouragement!
Blogger's note: After several encouraging emails and phone calls with constructive criticism, here's the next section. I've made it a little longer this time for you since it's been two weeks since your last installment. Please take a minute and click Comment after the post. Let me know you're reading. (By the way, the chapter headings are not refined yet.)
The Ledgers, copyright 2006 W. Mark Whitlock.
Chapter 8
Tuesday, 9:11 a.m.
“The door’s not a drum!” Sean was standing, trying to read about the fundamentals of the golf swing. He had actually spent more time trying to ignore the rest of the plane than learning about the interlaced grip. Every bump of turbulence sent a knee or his forehead into a gadget protruding from the lavatory wall. Over the last 30 minutes, some of the bumps made the restroom more of a flying torture chamber than refuge. But it was still better than sitting in his seat.
“Mr. Patrick. The Captain strongly suggests that you return to your seat. Now!” The last word of the flight attendant was the only one spoken without the professional, kind tone airlines drilled into their staffs.
Sean ignored her words. She slapped the plastic door a few more times. He held his breath and stared at the multi-lingual directions on the back of the door. He tried to think up something snappy and clever to say back to the bimbo. Nothing came. The knocking stopped for a long minute. Sounds like they gave up, he thought.
“Patrick!” It was a male voice. “This is Captain Forrest. Open this door.”
Sean debated what to do for a few seconds. He wasn’t going to win this Mexican standoff. He reached out his hand to unlock the door when suddenly the door swung inward nearly hitting his head and pinning his hand between the door and the all. Sean yelled then freed his hand. The Captain and three flight attendants glared at him with 100,000 watts of scorn. He rubbed his hand while trying to stare down the Captain. He lost and pushed off the wall and emerged from the stuffy closet into the cooler fuselage. He pushed the two magazines toward an attendant. She crossed her arms. Sean dropped them on top of her shoes then faced the Coach class of the aircraft. Applause tittered in front of him. Sean nodded his head and smiled. The applause turned to boos.
When he arrived at his row, Beatrice’s leg was sticking out in the aisle. “Whew, boy! What happened? Did you fall in? You know that blue water isn’t for drinking.”
“Ex-cuuuuse me,” Sean’s body language was even ruder than his tone of voice.
“We’ll see. But for now, take your seat.”
Mom and baby looked at Sean as he sat down in his prison. He thought he even heard metal doors slamming in his imagination.
“You know,” Beatrice began, “I’m worried about you.”
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Sean’s rudeness meter jumped, “but why do you think it’s okay to get involved in my business. What right do you have?”
“Just because you don’t use words,” the mom behind him chimed in, “doesn’t mean that you aren’t doing the same thing.”
Sean wheeled around in the seat to look at her. “What?”
“Yeah. Your attitude. Your fake sleeping. The stunt you pulled with the bathroom. You are forcing yourself on everyone the same way that you think Beatrice is prying. She’s not.”
Sean was speechless. Actually, he wasn’t, but he couldn’t bring himself to break the Guinness Book of World Records’ streak for “the most curse words without a breath” in front of the kid.
“Thanks, honey.” Beatrice said, “I couldn’t have said it better myself. But I’m a big girl—pun intended—and I can take care of this myself.”
Sean rolled his eyes then rolled his head to glare at Beatrice.
“Young man, you look like someone who has been slapped silly by this world and has decided to come out punching. There must be a whole lot of hurt inside you. And not a whole lot else.”
Sean kept trying to force himself into the conversation but she kept rolling.
“You see that ring on your finger? Is there a woman at the other end of that? She must be a mighty lady to put up with someone like you. She must love you a whole lot.”
Sean looked down at the third finger of his left hand and wondered what Alicia was doing. I love her, he thought, I really do. But . . . “What’s that got to do with anything?” The heated volume of his response froze the conversations in the seats surrounding row 30.
“Are you stupid? A woman doesn’t commit her life to just any man. She has to see something inside a man. She must see something inside of you. What’s inside there, sir? What’s inside there?” Beatrice poked Sean’s chest to put an exclamation point on her last word.
Sean didn’t know whether to scream or go back to the lavatory. He started to say something five different times, but stopped short of words.
The silence motivated Beatrice. Her words lost their edge and regained the warmth of her initial introduction. “What makes you tick? What makes you ticked off?”
“Lady,” Sean said one level below quiet rage, “you have absolutely NO idea why I’m on this plane today. It’s none of your business.” She tried to interrupt. “No, I’m serious. I’m sorry if I didn’t play your little game of twenty questions. I hate small talk anyway. My life is my life. I have the right to live it how I want to. And I don’t want to tell you my name, let alone anything else.”
Beatrice looked defeated. “But, sir, there are rules . . . ”
“Forget the rules, lady. I’m not playing your game.”
“They’re not my rules. They’re God’s rules.”
Sean used his forearm to punch his tray table with the force of a Dallas Cowboys offensive lineman. The traveler in 29B slammed into the seat in front of her. He stood up and hit his head on the compartment only fueling his anger. “Listen, lady, that does it.” The bell for the flight attendant rang all around him. “Don’t you bring some guilt-tripping religion into this. If there is a God, he’s got us all duped. He’s left us flapping in the wind.”
The Captain arrived with three flight attendants. He spoke for the posse. “Will you follow me, sir?”
“Tell me something, Admiral, do they teach you that tone of voice at Delta pre-school?” Sean climbed over Beatrice and intentionally drove his heel into her right foot. She tried not to make a face. “I mean, you’ve all got it down. You and blondie, and red.”
The Captain grabbed his arm and pointed him to the back of the plane. Two attendants walked in front of them and one behind them. When they reached the rear galley, Red opened the jump seat where someone on the crew sat for take off and landing. The Captain pushed Sean in there and fastened the five-point harness. “If you get out of this seat or make any other disturbance, I will notify the police in Baltimore and you will be arrested on the tarmac from the back door. Do you understand?”
Sean looked forward. Every eye in the plane was on him. “Yeah,” he mumbled.
Chapter 9
Tuesday, 9:32 a.m.
Alicia had walked past the Employee of the Month display several times as she re-filed books. Every time, she thought about Paula praying for her.
Why did that mere thought make her feel a little lighter? And a little sadder?
Sean will be on the ground soon. Wanna bet he doesn’t call? She slapped a book down on the counter surprising herself and the five readers in the research room.
Chapter 10
Tuesday, 9:47 a.m.
Sean watched as everyone deplaned. As row after row stood and gathered their carry-on items, they took another chance to look his way. He still sat, buckled in to the jump seat. Red stood to his left. The captain stood to his right. Neither spoke to him or to each other. They only nodded to the deplaning passengers.
“Let’s go.” The Captain yanked on Sean’s armpit. Sean had yet to unbuckle.
“Hey! Do you mind?”
The Captain let Sean get out of the harness, then pulled on his arm again. Once Sean got to his feet, the Captain pushed Sean down the aisle. The big man’s angry heat paused just long enough for Sean to grab his bag.
“Thank y…” The flight attendant at the door to the plane stopped short of finishing her scripted thought. The smile evaporated from her face. “Good day, sir.”
Sean turned to the Captain and said, “Yep! Delta training on that ‘sir’ thing. I knew it.”
The Captain let go of Sean’s arm with a little push. Sean tripped over the lip of the door and fell to the platform inside the skywalk. He stood, making a ceremony of dusting himself off and picking up his bag. Despite the disrespect, it felt good to be on his own again. He entered the bright terminal and walked/jogged toward baggage claim.
He stepped onto the tall escalator leading down to baggage claim. He stared straight ahead. As the belt quietly thumped forward, heads dropped a tad until he could see the atrium below. There was Beatrice holding court. Her friends or family or whoever-they-were circled her while she regaled them with a story. After watching her for a few seconds, Sean figured out the story was about him. The crowd’s laughs echoed off the glass and linoleum. One short guy had tears running down his face. I’m glad I could entertain someone today.
He joined the mass of people around carousel three. An alarm sounded and the belts began to move. And old scrpa of Delta baggage tape was stuck to one of the metal triangles that made up carousel. The tape clicked by Sean, through the black plastic, and out of site. The crowd dwindled from hundreds to dozens without his bag appearing.
“Mr. Patrick? Mr. Patrick. Sean Patrick?”
Sean finally turned to see a tall, in-shape, black man in a brown, three-button suit. “Yeah, that’s me. I know you?”
“Mrs. Ota sent me.”
“Who?”
“Melinda Ota, your father’s lawyer. I’m Tony Cole.” Tony extended his hand.
Sean looked down at the hand, Tony’s long fingers, manicure, and gold watch. He moved his eyes back to Tony’s face before turning back to the carousel.
Tony tried again, “On behalf of everyone at…”
“Spare me.” The tape passed Sean again. Only two matching leather bags remained, neither of them his. “As soon as I get my luggage, we can get out of here.”
Tony nodded and dropped his hand.
Here come the lemmings, Sean thought as Beatrice and her crowd inched toward the belts. A well-dressed man with a big smile grabbed the bags and then the crowd headed for the automatic sliding doors.
Tony moved beside Sean and they both watched the conveyor belt in silence. The piece of tape passed again. Silence. When it passed again, Sean exploded with curses. Shrapnel from the flying words stung the ears of employees, passengers, children, and one seeing-eye dog who let out a moan.
Tony whispered , “Can you keep it down, sir, there are children around.”
“Oh great, I’m with a guy who doesn’t cuss. Great!” Sean’s next string of expletives was for Tony’s ears only. Sean took some strange pleasure in seeing his ears get hot.
The carousel ground to a halt and the display above the carousel blinked and flashed as the numbers changed. Without a word to Tony, Sean strode off toward the Delta baggage office.
He jerked the glass door open surprising two uniformed employees who were casually sharing a laugh. They sprung up from their chairs like toys on springs.
“Which one of you two bozos lost my suitcase?”
The question caught them off guard. Tony sighed and shook his head.
Both agents stood and approached the desk. “Good morning, sir,” the agent on the right smiled. “May I please see your ticket and your baggage check coupons?” Her nametag read Carmen.
He reached down to his duffel bag then remembered. He stood up and cursed again. “It’s in the thing on the plane, that pocket thing where they keep the magazine.”
Carmen and her friend exchanged looks. Tony sighed again. “That’s okay, sir, it happens all the time,” Carmen’s voice was forced. “Let me just look you up in the computer. It will just take a sec. Your name?”
“Sean Patrick.”
“You know, you guys have never lost one of my bags,” Tony said trying to ease some of the tension in the room.
“Would you shut up?”
“I’m just saying, they’ve always done me right.”
“Well guess what? They just blew it!”
Carmen interrupted, “Do you still live at 4003 Blanton Lane, Apartment 20?”
“Yeah.”
Carmen reached into a neatly arranged rack of papers and pulled out a full-color, laminated brochure. She unfolded it to fill up the entire counter. “What color was your bag, sir?”
“Black.”
“Okay. Now, which one of these looks the most like it?”
“Are you going to find it or not?”
“We’re going to try, sir, but we need your help,” the other agent, not so calm, piped in.
“There’s that Delta training, again.”
Carmen said, “I’m sorry.”
“Nothing.”
“What a neat way to figure it out,” Tony said looking over Sean’s shoulder. “I never knew there were this many types of . . .”
“Do you mind?” Sean lashed out.
Carmen and her friend exchanged looks again as Tony snapped to attention then took a sarcastic step backwards.
Sean looked over the sheet and turned it over. “This one. It looks like this one.”
“Very good, sir.” Carmen hit some keys on the computer and then asked, “Do you know the address where you’ll be staying in town? Hotel? A friends house, perhaps?”
Sean paused with a blank look.
“When the suitcase turns up,” Tony interjected, “just deliver it here.” He handed Carmen a business card. “We’ll be able to get ahold of Mr. Patrick.”
“Thank you, sir. And thank you, Mr. Patrick for flying Delta.”
“At least the plane didn’t crash. Let’s go.” He reached down and grabbed his duffel bag and turned toward the door.
Tony held the door open for Sean then said, “His father just died and I guess he . . . ”
Sean froze in the door way. With his back to the small office, he seethed, “It’s my life. I didn’t ask you to tell my story. Now get your lanky butt out here and let’s go.”
Anger punctuated Sean’s strides. His sneakers slapped and squeaked against the tile. Tony kept pace.
“The car’s in the short-term lot. We need to go out door E.”
At door C, Sean spotted an ATM and turned to stop. He cut in front of a mom and toddler son learning how to walk. He scared the little boy and he toppled back onto his diaper. Tears followed. Tony apologized, then found Sean.
“Lawyers. Knowing my dad, I’m probably getting stuck with the bill.” Sean muttered to himself as he fed the plastic card into the blinking slot and punched the keys.
“Didn’t you see that little boy?” Tony had had enough of this morning airport run.
“What boy? Oh, come on! A $2.50 charge? It’s probably because I’m in the airport.” Sean began whining through his nose. “Yes, of course I agree. How else do I get my money?”
Tony sighed again.
“What are you doing, leaking air? Enough with the sighs already.” Beeps and motor noises rattled for a few seconds before the ATM spit out six crisp twenty-dollar bills. The receipt popped out next. Sean looked down and shook his head and cursed again. “Only $2.81 left.” He forced another curse word out through his clinched teeth, crumpled the receipt and heaved it at a trashcan on the other side of the atrium like an angry center fielder trying to throw out a runner at home.
Thwack. The sound of the paper ball echoed in the glass and tile space. The man he hit in the head with his wad looked stunned and angry, but kept walking. Sean grabbed his bag and started walking toward Door E again.
Boy, are we an odd couple. Sean didn’t bother to shower, shave, or brush his hair before leaving the apartment. His jeans had a mustard stain on them from yesterday’s convenience store hot dog lunch. One of his worn Nikes was untied. Sean changed his slouch to match Tony’s erect stance. Sean was actually a tick taller than Tony, but he felt shorter. Instantly, Sean’s back began to ache.
Tony held his head high. His suit was impeccable and impressively cut for his tall, thin physique. His shoes were polished with a military sheen.
Self-consciousness overwhelmed Sean. He mumbled, “Excuse me for a minute, will you?” He turned while Tony sighed and ducked into the men’s room.
He dropped his duffel bag from his shoulder to the floor. The impact sounded like a pipe bursting. He looked at himself in the mirror then groaned. He looked down at the sink and thought, I look lousy! There were no knobs on the sink, only infrared sensors. We waved his hand under the faucet and water spurted then shut off. He waved again and got another spurt. He held one hand under the sensor and a steady stream flowed. Until he moved his hand. Sean used one hand to trip the sensor and the other hand to cup the water until he had enough to splash on his face. It took three times of the song and dance with the faucet before Sean felt refreshed.
The electronic joke repeated itself when Sean tried to dry his hands. Sean gave up, dented the dryer with his fist then dried his hands on his jeans.
Sean lugged the duffel bag onto his shoulder as he exited the restroom. Tony was on his cell phone.
“Uh, gotta go.” Tony clapped the flip phone shut, clipped it on his belt, and buttoned two suit coat buttons in one smooth motion.
Chapter XX
Time XXX
“What time is it?”
“Alicia, what’s up with you?” Alicia’s co-worker Tammy reached out her right hand and placed it on Alicia’s shoulder. “It’s only three minutes since the last time you asked me?”
“Sean flew to Wash— I mean Baltimore, but he’s going to Washington today. I expected him to call once he landed.”
“Business?” Tammy asked as she grabbed another five magazines to refile.
“No. It’s personal. And it’s complicated. His dad died.”
“Oh, no. I’m sorry to hear that. Why, uh . . . ?”
“ . . . am I not there? That’s what makes it complicated.”
Chapter XX
XX:XX a.m.
Door E came into view. Beyond the door, a dozen payphones stood as sentries guarding a fading technology. I ought to call Leesh. Bet Mr. Big Shot would just love another stop. I’ll call her from the law office.
The automatic doors slid open and the foul odor of diesel fuel and ripe trashcans welcomed Sean to Baltimore. He reached into his pocket and removed his lighter and cigarettes. Like a well-rehearsed magic trick, Sean popped a cigarette out of the packet, tapped it seven times on the box, flipped it through his fingers into his mouth and lit it with a beautiful silver Zippo lighter. He inhaled like a drowning man breaking the surface of the sea, then added the acrid smell of tobacco smoke to Baltimore’s atmosphere as if to say, “Thanks.”
“I’m over here.”
Sean followed Tony through the crosswalk and to a small lot. Sean took another long drag on the cigarette as he watched where they were walking. Straight ahead, the hood and grill of a new charcoal BMW 525i gleamed in the sun. Tony veered right a tad, so Sean veered to the left and approached the passenger door. Tony slid his key into the door of the car next to the 525 and opened the door.
“Sorry,” Tony said with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. Sean rolled his eyes as he walked from the passenger door of an ultimate driving machine to the passenger door of a white 1992 Acura Legend. Tony opened the door with the flair of a chauffeur. Sean tossed his duffel bag into the backseat, then began to sit down.
“Please. Don’t smoke in my car.”
Sean rotated his neck like a security camera on a swivel until his eyes locked on Tony’s. Slowly he pulled the cigarette from his mouth and flicked it at Tony’s face. Tony didn’t move as the cigarette sailed over his shoulder, it’s lit end glowing with the rush of new air. Sean slid onto the leather passenger seat. Tony shoved the door closed matching Sean’s locked stare.
Getting out of the airport parking lot was the easy part. Once on I-95, traffic slowed to a mind-numbing stand-still. Sean looked around. The car was spotless, but had 190,000 miles on it. Tony didn’t seem bothered by the traffic in the least.
The radio was tuned to a Christian talk station. Some southern guy was talking about, “Your mate is not your enemy.”
“Excellent point,” Tony said just above a whisper.
“What?”
“Oh, the guy on the radio. He made a good point.”
“You must not be married.”
“No, I am.” Tony showed Sean his left hand. “And you are, too, I see.”
“So you’ve never had a fight with your wife?”
“No, we have conflicts from time to time. It doesn’t mean that she’s my enemy.”
“Well then what’s the definition of enemy? Come on, man, when we’re yelling at each other and I’m on one side of the issue and she’s on the other, she’s my enemy. She’s against me.”
“He’s talking about the common enemy of marriages. There’s an enemy of your souls that wants to rob you—“
Sean reached over and hit the scan button cutting the speaker—and Tony—off mid-sentence. After a burst of silence, the radio came alive with a country song. He hit it three more times until there was an angry rock oldies song playing.
Tony reached over and turned the radio down slightly. “Why are you here instead of the lawyer? Too good to meet with me so she sent some flunky?”
“Mrs. Ota will not ride in a vehicle alone with a member of the opposite sex who isn’t her husband.”
“What?” Sean laughed a tad. “She afraid I’m going to jump her on the interstate?”
“No, it’s just that she wants to maintain her integrity and avoid any appearance of impropriety. It’s hard enough being a lawyer today.”
“She must be some hot babe to have this type of rule. I can’t wait to meet her.”
The Ledgers, copyright 2006 W. Mark Whitlock.
Chapter 8
Tuesday, 9:11 a.m.
“The door’s not a drum!” Sean was standing, trying to read about the fundamentals of the golf swing. He had actually spent more time trying to ignore the rest of the plane than learning about the interlaced grip. Every bump of turbulence sent a knee or his forehead into a gadget protruding from the lavatory wall. Over the last 30 minutes, some of the bumps made the restroom more of a flying torture chamber than refuge. But it was still better than sitting in his seat.
“Mr. Patrick. The Captain strongly suggests that you return to your seat. Now!” The last word of the flight attendant was the only one spoken without the professional, kind tone airlines drilled into their staffs.
Sean ignored her words. She slapped the plastic door a few more times. He held his breath and stared at the multi-lingual directions on the back of the door. He tried to think up something snappy and clever to say back to the bimbo. Nothing came. The knocking stopped for a long minute. Sounds like they gave up, he thought.
“Patrick!” It was a male voice. “This is Captain Forrest. Open this door.”
Sean debated what to do for a few seconds. He wasn’t going to win this Mexican standoff. He reached out his hand to unlock the door when suddenly the door swung inward nearly hitting his head and pinning his hand between the door and the all. Sean yelled then freed his hand. The Captain and three flight attendants glared at him with 100,000 watts of scorn. He rubbed his hand while trying to stare down the Captain. He lost and pushed off the wall and emerged from the stuffy closet into the cooler fuselage. He pushed the two magazines toward an attendant. She crossed her arms. Sean dropped them on top of her shoes then faced the Coach class of the aircraft. Applause tittered in front of him. Sean nodded his head and smiled. The applause turned to boos.
When he arrived at his row, Beatrice’s leg was sticking out in the aisle. “Whew, boy! What happened? Did you fall in? You know that blue water isn’t for drinking.”
“Ex-cuuuuse me,” Sean’s body language was even ruder than his tone of voice.
“We’ll see. But for now, take your seat.”
Mom and baby looked at Sean as he sat down in his prison. He thought he even heard metal doors slamming in his imagination.
“You know,” Beatrice began, “I’m worried about you.”
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Sean’s rudeness meter jumped, “but why do you think it’s okay to get involved in my business. What right do you have?”
“Just because you don’t use words,” the mom behind him chimed in, “doesn’t mean that you aren’t doing the same thing.”
Sean wheeled around in the seat to look at her. “What?”
“Yeah. Your attitude. Your fake sleeping. The stunt you pulled with the bathroom. You are forcing yourself on everyone the same way that you think Beatrice is prying. She’s not.”
Sean was speechless. Actually, he wasn’t, but he couldn’t bring himself to break the Guinness Book of World Records’ streak for “the most curse words without a breath” in front of the kid.
“Thanks, honey.” Beatrice said, “I couldn’t have said it better myself. But I’m a big girl—pun intended—and I can take care of this myself.”
Sean rolled his eyes then rolled his head to glare at Beatrice.
“Young man, you look like someone who has been slapped silly by this world and has decided to come out punching. There must be a whole lot of hurt inside you. And not a whole lot else.”
Sean kept trying to force himself into the conversation but she kept rolling.
“You see that ring on your finger? Is there a woman at the other end of that? She must be a mighty lady to put up with someone like you. She must love you a whole lot.”
Sean looked down at the third finger of his left hand and wondered what Alicia was doing. I love her, he thought, I really do. But . . . “What’s that got to do with anything?” The heated volume of his response froze the conversations in the seats surrounding row 30.
“Are you stupid? A woman doesn’t commit her life to just any man. She has to see something inside a man. She must see something inside of you. What’s inside there, sir? What’s inside there?” Beatrice poked Sean’s chest to put an exclamation point on her last word.
Sean didn’t know whether to scream or go back to the lavatory. He started to say something five different times, but stopped short of words.
The silence motivated Beatrice. Her words lost their edge and regained the warmth of her initial introduction. “What makes you tick? What makes you ticked off?”
“Lady,” Sean said one level below quiet rage, “you have absolutely NO idea why I’m on this plane today. It’s none of your business.” She tried to interrupt. “No, I’m serious. I’m sorry if I didn’t play your little game of twenty questions. I hate small talk anyway. My life is my life. I have the right to live it how I want to. And I don’t want to tell you my name, let alone anything else.”
Beatrice looked defeated. “But, sir, there are rules . . . ”
“Forget the rules, lady. I’m not playing your game.”
“They’re not my rules. They’re God’s rules.”
Sean used his forearm to punch his tray table with the force of a Dallas Cowboys offensive lineman. The traveler in 29B slammed into the seat in front of her. He stood up and hit his head on the compartment only fueling his anger. “Listen, lady, that does it.” The bell for the flight attendant rang all around him. “Don’t you bring some guilt-tripping religion into this. If there is a God, he’s got us all duped. He’s left us flapping in the wind.”
The Captain arrived with three flight attendants. He spoke for the posse. “Will you follow me, sir?”
“Tell me something, Admiral, do they teach you that tone of voice at Delta pre-school?” Sean climbed over Beatrice and intentionally drove his heel into her right foot. She tried not to make a face. “I mean, you’ve all got it down. You and blondie, and red.”
The Captain grabbed his arm and pointed him to the back of the plane. Two attendants walked in front of them and one behind them. When they reached the rear galley, Red opened the jump seat where someone on the crew sat for take off and landing. The Captain pushed Sean in there and fastened the five-point harness. “If you get out of this seat or make any other disturbance, I will notify the police in Baltimore and you will be arrested on the tarmac from the back door. Do you understand?”
Sean looked forward. Every eye in the plane was on him. “Yeah,” he mumbled.
Chapter 9
Tuesday, 9:32 a.m.
Alicia had walked past the Employee of the Month display several times as she re-filed books. Every time, she thought about Paula praying for her.
Why did that mere thought make her feel a little lighter? And a little sadder?
Sean will be on the ground soon. Wanna bet he doesn’t call? She slapped a book down on the counter surprising herself and the five readers in the research room.
Chapter 10
Tuesday, 9:47 a.m.
Sean watched as everyone deplaned. As row after row stood and gathered their carry-on items, they took another chance to look his way. He still sat, buckled in to the jump seat. Red stood to his left. The captain stood to his right. Neither spoke to him or to each other. They only nodded to the deplaning passengers.
“Let’s go.” The Captain yanked on Sean’s armpit. Sean had yet to unbuckle.
“Hey! Do you mind?”
The Captain let Sean get out of the harness, then pulled on his arm again. Once Sean got to his feet, the Captain pushed Sean down the aisle. The big man’s angry heat paused just long enough for Sean to grab his bag.
“Thank y…” The flight attendant at the door to the plane stopped short of finishing her scripted thought. The smile evaporated from her face. “Good day, sir.”
Sean turned to the Captain and said, “Yep! Delta training on that ‘sir’ thing. I knew it.”
The Captain let go of Sean’s arm with a little push. Sean tripped over the lip of the door and fell to the platform inside the skywalk. He stood, making a ceremony of dusting himself off and picking up his bag. Despite the disrespect, it felt good to be on his own again. He entered the bright terminal and walked/jogged toward baggage claim.
He stepped onto the tall escalator leading down to baggage claim. He stared straight ahead. As the belt quietly thumped forward, heads dropped a tad until he could see the atrium below. There was Beatrice holding court. Her friends or family or whoever-they-were circled her while she regaled them with a story. After watching her for a few seconds, Sean figured out the story was about him. The crowd’s laughs echoed off the glass and linoleum. One short guy had tears running down his face. I’m glad I could entertain someone today.
He joined the mass of people around carousel three. An alarm sounded and the belts began to move. And old scrpa of Delta baggage tape was stuck to one of the metal triangles that made up carousel. The tape clicked by Sean, through the black plastic, and out of site. The crowd dwindled from hundreds to dozens without his bag appearing.
“Mr. Patrick? Mr. Patrick. Sean Patrick?”
Sean finally turned to see a tall, in-shape, black man in a brown, three-button suit. “Yeah, that’s me. I know you?”
“Mrs. Ota sent me.”
“Who?”
“Melinda Ota, your father’s lawyer. I’m Tony Cole.” Tony extended his hand.
Sean looked down at the hand, Tony’s long fingers, manicure, and gold watch. He moved his eyes back to Tony’s face before turning back to the carousel.
Tony tried again, “On behalf of everyone at…”
“Spare me.” The tape passed Sean again. Only two matching leather bags remained, neither of them his. “As soon as I get my luggage, we can get out of here.”
Tony nodded and dropped his hand.
Here come the lemmings, Sean thought as Beatrice and her crowd inched toward the belts. A well-dressed man with a big smile grabbed the bags and then the crowd headed for the automatic sliding doors.
Tony moved beside Sean and they both watched the conveyor belt in silence. The piece of tape passed again. Silence. When it passed again, Sean exploded with curses. Shrapnel from the flying words stung the ears of employees, passengers, children, and one seeing-eye dog who let out a moan.
Tony whispered , “Can you keep it down, sir, there are children around.”
“Oh great, I’m with a guy who doesn’t cuss. Great!” Sean’s next string of expletives was for Tony’s ears only. Sean took some strange pleasure in seeing his ears get hot.
The carousel ground to a halt and the display above the carousel blinked and flashed as the numbers changed. Without a word to Tony, Sean strode off toward the Delta baggage office.
He jerked the glass door open surprising two uniformed employees who were casually sharing a laugh. They sprung up from their chairs like toys on springs.
“Which one of you two bozos lost my suitcase?”
The question caught them off guard. Tony sighed and shook his head.
Both agents stood and approached the desk. “Good morning, sir,” the agent on the right smiled. “May I please see your ticket and your baggage check coupons?” Her nametag read Carmen.
He reached down to his duffel bag then remembered. He stood up and cursed again. “It’s in the thing on the plane, that pocket thing where they keep the magazine.”
Carmen and her friend exchanged looks. Tony sighed again. “That’s okay, sir, it happens all the time,” Carmen’s voice was forced. “Let me just look you up in the computer. It will just take a sec. Your name?”
“Sean Patrick.”
“You know, you guys have never lost one of my bags,” Tony said trying to ease some of the tension in the room.
“Would you shut up?”
“I’m just saying, they’ve always done me right.”
“Well guess what? They just blew it!”
Carmen interrupted, “Do you still live at 4003 Blanton Lane, Apartment 20?”
“Yeah.”
Carmen reached into a neatly arranged rack of papers and pulled out a full-color, laminated brochure. She unfolded it to fill up the entire counter. “What color was your bag, sir?”
“Black.”
“Okay. Now, which one of these looks the most like it?”
“Are you going to find it or not?”
“We’re going to try, sir, but we need your help,” the other agent, not so calm, piped in.
“There’s that Delta training, again.”
Carmen said, “I’m sorry.”
“Nothing.”
“What a neat way to figure it out,” Tony said looking over Sean’s shoulder. “I never knew there were this many types of . . .”
“Do you mind?” Sean lashed out.
Carmen and her friend exchanged looks again as Tony snapped to attention then took a sarcastic step backwards.
Sean looked over the sheet and turned it over. “This one. It looks like this one.”
“Very good, sir.” Carmen hit some keys on the computer and then asked, “Do you know the address where you’ll be staying in town? Hotel? A friends house, perhaps?”
Sean paused with a blank look.
“When the suitcase turns up,” Tony interjected, “just deliver it here.” He handed Carmen a business card. “We’ll be able to get ahold of Mr. Patrick.”
“Thank you, sir. And thank you, Mr. Patrick for flying Delta.”
“At least the plane didn’t crash. Let’s go.” He reached down and grabbed his duffel bag and turned toward the door.
Tony held the door open for Sean then said, “His father just died and I guess he . . . ”
Sean froze in the door way. With his back to the small office, he seethed, “It’s my life. I didn’t ask you to tell my story. Now get your lanky butt out here and let’s go.”
Anger punctuated Sean’s strides. His sneakers slapped and squeaked against the tile. Tony kept pace.
“The car’s in the short-term lot. We need to go out door E.”
At door C, Sean spotted an ATM and turned to stop. He cut in front of a mom and toddler son learning how to walk. He scared the little boy and he toppled back onto his diaper. Tears followed. Tony apologized, then found Sean.
“Lawyers. Knowing my dad, I’m probably getting stuck with the bill.” Sean muttered to himself as he fed the plastic card into the blinking slot and punched the keys.
“Didn’t you see that little boy?” Tony had had enough of this morning airport run.
“What boy? Oh, come on! A $2.50 charge? It’s probably because I’m in the airport.” Sean began whining through his nose. “Yes, of course I agree. How else do I get my money?”
Tony sighed again.
“What are you doing, leaking air? Enough with the sighs already.” Beeps and motor noises rattled for a few seconds before the ATM spit out six crisp twenty-dollar bills. The receipt popped out next. Sean looked down and shook his head and cursed again. “Only $2.81 left.” He forced another curse word out through his clinched teeth, crumpled the receipt and heaved it at a trashcan on the other side of the atrium like an angry center fielder trying to throw out a runner at home.
Thwack. The sound of the paper ball echoed in the glass and tile space. The man he hit in the head with his wad looked stunned and angry, but kept walking. Sean grabbed his bag and started walking toward Door E again.
Boy, are we an odd couple. Sean didn’t bother to shower, shave, or brush his hair before leaving the apartment. His jeans had a mustard stain on them from yesterday’s convenience store hot dog lunch. One of his worn Nikes was untied. Sean changed his slouch to match Tony’s erect stance. Sean was actually a tick taller than Tony, but he felt shorter. Instantly, Sean’s back began to ache.
Tony held his head high. His suit was impeccable and impressively cut for his tall, thin physique. His shoes were polished with a military sheen.
Self-consciousness overwhelmed Sean. He mumbled, “Excuse me for a minute, will you?” He turned while Tony sighed and ducked into the men’s room.
He dropped his duffel bag from his shoulder to the floor. The impact sounded like a pipe bursting. He looked at himself in the mirror then groaned. He looked down at the sink and thought, I look lousy! There were no knobs on the sink, only infrared sensors. We waved his hand under the faucet and water spurted then shut off. He waved again and got another spurt. He held one hand under the sensor and a steady stream flowed. Until he moved his hand. Sean used one hand to trip the sensor and the other hand to cup the water until he had enough to splash on his face. It took three times of the song and dance with the faucet before Sean felt refreshed.
The electronic joke repeated itself when Sean tried to dry his hands. Sean gave up, dented the dryer with his fist then dried his hands on his jeans.
Sean lugged the duffel bag onto his shoulder as he exited the restroom. Tony was on his cell phone.
“Uh, gotta go.” Tony clapped the flip phone shut, clipped it on his belt, and buttoned two suit coat buttons in one smooth motion.
Chapter XX
Time XXX
“What time is it?”
“Alicia, what’s up with you?” Alicia’s co-worker Tammy reached out her right hand and placed it on Alicia’s shoulder. “It’s only three minutes since the last time you asked me?”
“Sean flew to Wash— I mean Baltimore, but he’s going to Washington today. I expected him to call once he landed.”
“Business?” Tammy asked as she grabbed another five magazines to refile.
“No. It’s personal. And it’s complicated. His dad died.”
“Oh, no. I’m sorry to hear that. Why, uh . . . ?”
“ . . . am I not there? That’s what makes it complicated.”
Chapter XX
XX:XX a.m.
Door E came into view. Beyond the door, a dozen payphones stood as sentries guarding a fading technology. I ought to call Leesh. Bet Mr. Big Shot would just love another stop. I’ll call her from the law office.
The automatic doors slid open and the foul odor of diesel fuel and ripe trashcans welcomed Sean to Baltimore. He reached into his pocket and removed his lighter and cigarettes. Like a well-rehearsed magic trick, Sean popped a cigarette out of the packet, tapped it seven times on the box, flipped it through his fingers into his mouth and lit it with a beautiful silver Zippo lighter. He inhaled like a drowning man breaking the surface of the sea, then added the acrid smell of tobacco smoke to Baltimore’s atmosphere as if to say, “Thanks.”
“I’m over here.”
Sean followed Tony through the crosswalk and to a small lot. Sean took another long drag on the cigarette as he watched where they were walking. Straight ahead, the hood and grill of a new charcoal BMW 525i gleamed in the sun. Tony veered right a tad, so Sean veered to the left and approached the passenger door. Tony slid his key into the door of the car next to the 525 and opened the door.
“Sorry,” Tony said with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. Sean rolled his eyes as he walked from the passenger door of an ultimate driving machine to the passenger door of a white 1992 Acura Legend. Tony opened the door with the flair of a chauffeur. Sean tossed his duffel bag into the backseat, then began to sit down.
“Please. Don’t smoke in my car.”
Sean rotated his neck like a security camera on a swivel until his eyes locked on Tony’s. Slowly he pulled the cigarette from his mouth and flicked it at Tony’s face. Tony didn’t move as the cigarette sailed over his shoulder, it’s lit end glowing with the rush of new air. Sean slid onto the leather passenger seat. Tony shoved the door closed matching Sean’s locked stare.
Getting out of the airport parking lot was the easy part. Once on I-95, traffic slowed to a mind-numbing stand-still. Sean looked around. The car was spotless, but had 190,000 miles on it. Tony didn’t seem bothered by the traffic in the least.
The radio was tuned to a Christian talk station. Some southern guy was talking about, “Your mate is not your enemy.”
“Excellent point,” Tony said just above a whisper.
“What?”
“Oh, the guy on the radio. He made a good point.”
“You must not be married.”
“No, I am.” Tony showed Sean his left hand. “And you are, too, I see.”
“So you’ve never had a fight with your wife?”
“No, we have conflicts from time to time. It doesn’t mean that she’s my enemy.”
“Well then what’s the definition of enemy? Come on, man, when we’re yelling at each other and I’m on one side of the issue and she’s on the other, she’s my enemy. She’s against me.”
“He’s talking about the common enemy of marriages. There’s an enemy of your souls that wants to rob you—“
Sean reached over and hit the scan button cutting the speaker—and Tony—off mid-sentence. After a burst of silence, the radio came alive with a country song. He hit it three more times until there was an angry rock oldies song playing.
Tony reached over and turned the radio down slightly. “Why are you here instead of the lawyer? Too good to meet with me so she sent some flunky?”
“Mrs. Ota will not ride in a vehicle alone with a member of the opposite sex who isn’t her husband.”
“What?” Sean laughed a tad. “She afraid I’m going to jump her on the interstate?”
“No, it’s just that she wants to maintain her integrity and avoid any appearance of impropriety. It’s hard enough being a lawyer today.”
“She must be some hot babe to have this type of rule. I can’t wait to meet her.”
Monday, May 15, 2006
The Ledgers, Chapters 6 and 7
Blogger's Note: For the first five chapters of my novel, please look in past posts.
The Ledgers, Copyright 2006 W. Mark Whitlock
Chapter 6
Tuesday, 8:43 a.m.
Beatrice had forgotten the question Sean most wanted to avoid. But, she kept reaching across him to play with the baby. He felt pinned.
He glared at the seatbelt light willing it to blink off. When the ding finally sounded and the light went dim, Sean was faster than a sprinter out of the blocks. He popped open his seatbelt and stood up in his chair. He banging his head on the overhead compartment and cursed. Then, he stepped up onto Beatrice’s right armrest and climbed over her to free himself. The passengers around him complained like bees in a hive just struck with a baseball bat.
As he jogged up the aisle to the lavatory, he shoved past an older woman trying to find her air legs. He yanked open the door but let it slam shut.
“Magazines!” he blurted while grabbing three from the rack hanging in the mid-galley. He yanked the door again, stepped in, slammed the door, and forced the “occupied” sign into place.
“Excuse me, miss,” he heard an old woman’s voice ask, “Is there another restroom?”
Chapter 7
Tuesday, 8:47 a.m.
Alicia sat sideways on the bus clutching her purse. She looked around. Everyone was quiet this morning. Three men and one woman read newspapers. The headlines dangling from their hands seemed so distant from Alicia’s immediate experience.
“UCLA Economist Predicts Higher Jobless Rate”
“President Warns that Terrorist Cells Still Active”
“High School Students Not Ready for College”
How did I wind up here, she wondered. I used to write headlines. Instead, she was riding the bus to her eight-to-four job at the library. Sean forced her to quit school and get a job. He wanted her to wait tables and get good tips, but in a kind moment, he let her take a job as a library clerk instead. She might not be writing any more, but at least she was around the written word.
To her right, near the back of the bus, a baby giggled. The olive complexion of the baby’s mom glowed with delight. She held the baby under his arms and let him dance on her knees. She wrinkled her nose and giggled back as his chubby cheeks shook.
Another bitter reminder of the cards life had dealt. Sean and Alicia had a master plan.
Step one: Sean would build a career until he could own his own business.
Step two: they’d make it through those first turbulent 24 months.
Step three: then they’d try to get pregnant.
Sean’s career was more like boxing the wind than a master plan. And it always seemed that the wind dealt a knock out blow just when Alicia thought Sean was winning. He got in the ring with every new entrepreneurial plan. Lots of starts. Very few track records developed. Lots of punishing failures.
“Miss?”
The woman’s soft word entered her consciousness and stopped her from shaking her head again. She looked up to see the young mom holding her son.
“Isn’t this your stop, too?”
How does she know? Alicia replied, “Oh. Yes. Um, thanks. I was in another world.” Who knows when I would have noticed, she chided herself inside.
“You work at the library, don’t you?” she asked as she carefully climbed off the bus clutching her little boy in her right arm, a folded stroller in her left hand, and her purse over her left shoulder.
Alicia didn’t hide the curiosity. “How often do you check out books?”
“Oh, not often. Vincent isn’t old enough for, uh,” she wrestled with the stroller, “books and quiet spaces yet.”
Alicia stood by marveling at the woman. The envy swelling up inside embarrassed her. The stroller was stuck.
“Let me help you with that,” Alicia said taking the stroller from the woman’s hand.
The mom repositioned the baby in her arms and took a deep breath. “Gracias,” she exhaled.
Alicia smoothed out the worn fabric in the seat, knocking a few crumbs onto the sidewalk. The mother laid Vincent on his back and tied the strap in place. The buckle was broken.
“It’s hard being a working mother these days. So many things to juggle. So many bills to pay.” The mother started walking.
Alicia fell into stride beside her. “Yeah, bills.” Her whole body tensed again when she thought of the smoke blown into her face. She attempted to shake herself from her pity party. “So how do you know I work at the library?”
The woman was silent for few strides. Their shoes clicked against the concrete and the stroller’s wheels squeaked. “I work at the church’s daycare center during the day,” she said, slightly above a whisper, “so I can be near my son.” She pointed with her head toward the sagging stucco Baptist church across the street.”
“And I work here,” Alicia said as she stopped near the back door of the library.”
The mother took two more strides before stopping. She didn’t turn around, but said, “When my husband gets off work in the evenings, he picks up our son and goes home. He stuffs envelopes with coupons for a local pizza parlor.” She turned around and looked at Alicia’s shoes. “And then I clean the library.”
Alicia’s face cramped into a question mark.
The mother raised her eyes to Alicia’s face. “Your picture is on the wall? Employee of the month?”
Embarrassment returned. “You have a good memory.”
“I remember you because I pray for you every night.” The mom turned and started walking again. The front wheels on the stroller wobbled and squeaked.
Alicia stood stunned. I’m being prayed for? She hadn’t had someone say that since high school when her gym coach saw her crying in the locker room one afternoon after Cross Country practice. Why is she praying for me? She shook the question marks from her face and called after the mom, “What’s your name?”
The squeaking wheels stopped. She turned and said, “Alicia K. Patrick, employee of the month, my name is Paulina Maria Lopez.” Then, she turned and walked away.
The Ledgers, Copyright 2006 W. Mark Whitlock
Chapter 6
Tuesday, 8:43 a.m.
Beatrice had forgotten the question Sean most wanted to avoid. But, she kept reaching across him to play with the baby. He felt pinned.
He glared at the seatbelt light willing it to blink off. When the ding finally sounded and the light went dim, Sean was faster than a sprinter out of the blocks. He popped open his seatbelt and stood up in his chair. He banging his head on the overhead compartment and cursed. Then, he stepped up onto Beatrice’s right armrest and climbed over her to free himself. The passengers around him complained like bees in a hive just struck with a baseball bat.
As he jogged up the aisle to the lavatory, he shoved past an older woman trying to find her air legs. He yanked open the door but let it slam shut.
“Magazines!” he blurted while grabbing three from the rack hanging in the mid-galley. He yanked the door again, stepped in, slammed the door, and forced the “occupied” sign into place.
“Excuse me, miss,” he heard an old woman’s voice ask, “Is there another restroom?”
Chapter 7
Tuesday, 8:47 a.m.
Alicia sat sideways on the bus clutching her purse. She looked around. Everyone was quiet this morning. Three men and one woman read newspapers. The headlines dangling from their hands seemed so distant from Alicia’s immediate experience.
“UCLA Economist Predicts Higher Jobless Rate”
“President Warns that Terrorist Cells Still Active”
“High School Students Not Ready for College”
How did I wind up here, she wondered. I used to write headlines. Instead, she was riding the bus to her eight-to-four job at the library. Sean forced her to quit school and get a job. He wanted her to wait tables and get good tips, but in a kind moment, he let her take a job as a library clerk instead. She might not be writing any more, but at least she was around the written word.
To her right, near the back of the bus, a baby giggled. The olive complexion of the baby’s mom glowed with delight. She held the baby under his arms and let him dance on her knees. She wrinkled her nose and giggled back as his chubby cheeks shook.
Another bitter reminder of the cards life had dealt. Sean and Alicia had a master plan.
Step one: Sean would build a career until he could own his own business.
Step two: they’d make it through those first turbulent 24 months.
Step three: then they’d try to get pregnant.
Sean’s career was more like boxing the wind than a master plan. And it always seemed that the wind dealt a knock out blow just when Alicia thought Sean was winning. He got in the ring with every new entrepreneurial plan. Lots of starts. Very few track records developed. Lots of punishing failures.
“Miss?”
The woman’s soft word entered her consciousness and stopped her from shaking her head again. She looked up to see the young mom holding her son.
“Isn’t this your stop, too?”
How does she know? Alicia replied, “Oh. Yes. Um, thanks. I was in another world.” Who knows when I would have noticed, she chided herself inside.
“You work at the library, don’t you?” she asked as she carefully climbed off the bus clutching her little boy in her right arm, a folded stroller in her left hand, and her purse over her left shoulder.
Alicia didn’t hide the curiosity. “How often do you check out books?”
“Oh, not often. Vincent isn’t old enough for, uh,” she wrestled with the stroller, “books and quiet spaces yet.”
Alicia stood by marveling at the woman. The envy swelling up inside embarrassed her. The stroller was stuck.
“Let me help you with that,” Alicia said taking the stroller from the woman’s hand.
The mom repositioned the baby in her arms and took a deep breath. “Gracias,” she exhaled.
Alicia smoothed out the worn fabric in the seat, knocking a few crumbs onto the sidewalk. The mother laid Vincent on his back and tied the strap in place. The buckle was broken.
“It’s hard being a working mother these days. So many things to juggle. So many bills to pay.” The mother started walking.
Alicia fell into stride beside her. “Yeah, bills.” Her whole body tensed again when she thought of the smoke blown into her face. She attempted to shake herself from her pity party. “So how do you know I work at the library?”
The woman was silent for few strides. Their shoes clicked against the concrete and the stroller’s wheels squeaked. “I work at the church’s daycare center during the day,” she said, slightly above a whisper, “so I can be near my son.” She pointed with her head toward the sagging stucco Baptist church across the street.”
“And I work here,” Alicia said as she stopped near the back door of the library.”
The mother took two more strides before stopping. She didn’t turn around, but said, “When my husband gets off work in the evenings, he picks up our son and goes home. He stuffs envelopes with coupons for a local pizza parlor.” She turned around and looked at Alicia’s shoes. “And then I clean the library.”
Alicia’s face cramped into a question mark.
The mother raised her eyes to Alicia’s face. “Your picture is on the wall? Employee of the month?”
Embarrassment returned. “You have a good memory.”
“I remember you because I pray for you every night.” The mom turned and started walking again. The front wheels on the stroller wobbled and squeaked.
Alicia stood stunned. I’m being prayed for? She hadn’t had someone say that since high school when her gym coach saw her crying in the locker room one afternoon after Cross Country practice. Why is she praying for me? She shook the question marks from her face and called after the mom, “What’s your name?”
The squeaking wheels stopped. She turned and said, “Alicia K. Patrick, employee of the month, my name is Paulina Maria Lopez.” Then, she turned and walked away.
Friday, May 05, 2006
The Ledgers, Chapters 2 - 5
Blogger's Note: This is the third installment of my novel online. For parts 1 and 2, please click for Prologue, part 1 or Prologue, part 2 and Chapter 1.
The Ledgers, copyright 2006 W. Mark Whitlock.
Chapter 2
Monday, 11:49 p.m.
“What the—?” Sean Patrick flipped the covers off and stomped across the room to the ringing phone.
“Bentley again?” his now awake wife Alicia asked.
“Why won’t that jerk of a landlord leave us alone?” He grabbed the phone and moaned.
Alicia pulled her pillow over her face and mumbled, “When you pay the rent, probably.”
Sean punched the on button. “Look, Bentley, you don’t have to harass us about this.” There was silence at the other end of the phone. “Bentley, is that you? Are you cranking us?”
“Um, is this Sean Patrick?” the voice tentatively asked from the other end of the connection.”
“Yeah. What kind of idiot are you?”
The voice cleared her throat and then said, “I’m your father’s lawyer. My name is...”
“Great! What’s the old man want now? Is he suing me for being a disappointment or something?” Sean ground his teeth thinking of all the times his father’s various lawyers and “representatives” have contacted him over the years.
“Mr. Patrick, as I was saying, my name is Melinda…”
“So is he suing me or what?”
“Mr. Patrick,” the voice was indignant, “will you listen to me for a second?”
“No, I won’t. My father has been riding my case since the day I was born. I don’t give a rip anymore. What does he want?”
“Mr. Patrick,” the voice softened and tried again, “your father died tonight. I called you as soon as the hospital called me.”
The line was silent. So was Patrick. Alicia clicked on her bedside lamp. Sean stared at her. His face was blank, devoid of all emotion. So was his heart.
“Mr. Patrick?”
Silence.
“Mr. Patrick?” it was time for the voice to return to business. “As I was trying to tell you earlier, my name is Melinda Ota. There are many issues for you to address as his only child and heir. We need you to fly to Baltimore immediately to . . .”
“Just take care of it.” Sean barely mumbled the words never taking his eyes off of Alicia. He clicked the off button on the phone and stood there staring at his wife and then at the floor.
When his eyes met the carpet, Alicia hunkered under the covers and turned her back to her husband pulling her pillow around her shoulders. He’d seen this before. Defense against his anger. Sean grew angrier with Alicia’s reaction. His shoulders wound tight, his fists tighter, and he ground his teeth again. With a yell, he hurled the phone at the wall behind the bed. The drywall cracked and the phone bounced off. The phone’s case shattered. The battery fell out and snapped off its cable.
Chapter 3
Tuesday, 5:30 a.m.
Alicia blew her nose and tossed the Kleenex in the trash with at least 20 others. “Why won’t you let me go with you? The lawyer…”
“You’re not going, period,” Sean interrupted with a dragon’s tongue and eyes to match. “You’ve never met the man, Leesha.”
“Because you wouldn’t let me!” She promised herself that she wouldn’t fall to his level. It was happening anyway. Alicia tried to calm herself. “The ticket is already paid for. I can take off from work.”
Sean slammed a pair of shoes into the suitcase.
“Honey,” Alicia said choking back the lump in her throat, “I know your dad. We’ve talked on the phone and e-mailed hundreds of times. He left instructions with his lawyer for me to come, too. That's what she said on the phone this morning.”
Sean zipped the suitcase with enough friction to start a campfire. He tossed the it onto the floor and wheeled around on one foot. The look on his face chilled the air. He huffed through his nose like a dragon preparing to shoot flames at an enemy.
The silence was filled with the echoes of arguments past, hurtful words flung with recklessness. The moment passed and Sean left the apartment, slamming the door behind him. The force sent one of their wedding pictures to the tile floor splitting the frame and breaking the glass.
Chapter 4
Tuesday, 6:50 a.m.
Sean walked down the center aisle of the McDonnell-Douglass MD80 and spotted Row 25, Seat D. He slumped his shoulders and cursed through clenched teeth. His ticket directed him to a middle seat over the starboard wing. He mumbled more curses to himself as he neared his prison for the next two hours.
“Oh, hi!” said a frazzled woman in the window seat with a monkey for a child climbing over her.
“Hi.” Sean plopped down in 25C, the aisle seat. God, he prayed, Please let the aisle seat be empty for this flight! He slid his ticket into the seat pocket and stuffed his duffle bag under the seat in front of him. It wouldn’t seem to fit. He kicked it and then shoved both feet into it to get it under the seat.
“Can I help you?” The look on the businessman’s face in 24C said, “What’s your problem?”
“No.” Sean stared at the man until he went back to reading his pink Investor’s Weekly.
Sean slumped down in the seat and pretended to go to sleep.
Whack!
Sean flew out of his seat when he felt the slap on his head. He flung his arms around and cursed. His arm made an awful, hollow thud as it hit something.
“Watch it!” the mom in 25E yelled as she scooped up her crying child.
“What’s your problem?” The derision in her voice intensified. “All the child did was touch you!”
Everyone around was looking at Sean and whispering. He sat back down. “I’m sorry little fella. You just scared me.” He reached out to pat the child on the back. The child screamed louder.
“She’s a girl.”
Sean panned the area again and saw shaking heads all around. He shook his own and pretended to sleep again.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to flight 525 non-stop service from Atlanta to Baltimore.” Sean didn’t bother to look up when the amplified voice began her spiel. “We have a full flight this afternoon and there’s one more passenger waiting to board. Once we get her settled, the Captain will be ready to push back from the skywalk and get us airborne. Just a few more minutes.”
How do you get a voice to drip with so much syrup? Sean wondered as his fake nap continued.
“Well, wouldn’t you know it? I get to ruin someone else’s day.”
She can’t be speaking to me.
“Hel-lo,” the female voice sang with a light Southern tinge.
Sean opened his right eye enough to see who was making all the racket. Sure enough, she was talking to him. He groaned then opened his eyes and looked at her. She was big. I thought captive whales traveled on ships. She wore New Balance crosstrainers with an expensive looking eggplant skirt and jacket. Her red hair was well fixed and make-up expertly applied.
“I’ve got some good news and some bad news. Which do you want first?”
“Is this your seat, lady?”
“You’re not playing along. Now which do you want? The good news or the bad news?”
“Is there a problem here?” A serious red headed flight attendant entered the conversation.
“There sure is,” the real 25C answered with a laugh, “This fine gentleman won’t tell me if he wants to good news or the bad news. Love your hair, hon.”
“May I see your tickets, please?” She was all business.
Sean tried to yank his bag from under the seat, but it caught on the railing. He kicked and pulled, kicked and pulled until it came free. An old portable CD player fell out the hole he tore in the process.
“What a beautiful little girl!” 25C lilted. “Hey cutie, are you ready to see the clouds?”
The baby girl gurgled.
“Thank you,” the mom said, relieved.
“Sir? Your ticket?”
“Take a breath, lady. Here.” Sean stabbed her open hand with a crumpled Delta folio.
“Sir, your seat is…”
“I know, I know. I’ll move over.” He stood and plopped down in 25D and kicked his duffle bag under again. The baby started crying again.
“Thank you,” 25C sighed with relief. Then she turned to the flight attendant. “Honey, could you help me find a place for these things?” The red and purple nightmare handed the red and navy flight attendant an overcoat and a shopping bag but kept the slim computer case.
“Yes, ma’am. It would be my pleasure.”
The lady handed her computer case to Sean and said, “Do you mind, sweetie?” She pointed under 24C and winked. Sean cursed under his breath and slid the case under the seat and sat back up. Then, she struggled squeezing between the back of the chair in front of her, but finally managed to wedge herself between the armrests.
“You still haven’t told me what you want?
“Okay, fine. I’ll take the bad news.” Sean sighed for three seconds as he shifted, trapped between a screaming child and a talker.
“The bad news, huh? You must be a cynic. Okay, the bad news is you have to sit beside me for the next hour and 47 minutes. The good news is,” she strained to reach the computer case and pull it out herself, “I’ve got a slice of my world famous pumpkin bread for you.” She reached into the outer pocket and pulled out six Ziploc bags. She handed the first to Sean, two to the mom and then tapped the paper-reader in front of her on the shoulder. “Got one for you, too, slick. Eat up now!” The fifth bag went to a tall kid across the aisle who was lost in The Silmarillion.
More announcements came over the intercom and the plane began to move, but they didn’t phase 25C.
Sean rolled his eyes as the mom and the businessman said thank you and opened their bags. The bread lady opened her bag and held it up under Sean’s nose. “I’m telling you, sir, it’s world famous.”
Sean hadn’t had any breakfast before storming out of the house. The aroma was magnificent. He opened his bag and took a bite.
“Oh, it’s even better with a cup of coffee. Just don’t dunk it.” She leaned across Sean. “Do you like it, sweetie? I thought you would.” She tickled the baby’s chin and the baby smiled. When she leaned back, she got all serious looking, extended her hand, and said, “Hello, sir, my name is Beatrice.”
“Slaw,” he said with his mouth full of bread.
“I’d make a good waitress, huh? Ask you a question just when your mouth gets full so you don’t have time to answer.”
He gulped and tried again, “Sean.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Sean. Why are you going to Baltimore?”
Just then, the plane began to accelerate. The noise over the wing drowned out the question, but not the baby. Sean couldn’t tell if this round of crying was from being out of bread or the noise of the plane. Within seconds, the 500-ton aircraft and 180 passengers lifted into the sky. Sean took the distraction as his opportunity to pretend to be asleep again.
Chapter 5
Tuesday, 8:21 a.m.
Bentley the landlord was leaning against the hood of Alicia’s car smoking a cigarette. She couldn’t stop walking down the stairs. He would notice her hesitancy and use it as a crowbar on her emotions.
As she reached the parking lot, Bentley took another long drag. The ashes were building up. He held the cigarette straight balancing the tower of ashes. At any second, it would crumble.
“Morning,” he said as he blew out the smoke in her direction.
“Good morning, Mr. Bentley. How are you today?” Could he hear the fear in my voice, Alicia wondered.
“Husband sick again?”
“Uh, no. He flew to Baltimore this morning.”
Alicia rounded the side of the car and put her key in the door. “His father died.” Alicia opened the door but didn’t climb in.
“Yeah, right.” Bentley rolled off the car and stood on the opposite side of the car door, took another drag on the cigarette. The ashes began to break, so he threw it in the weeds he called landscaping. The ashes scattered in the breeze blowing back on the car. He blew out the smoke in her face as he said, “So he had enough money for an emergency plane ticket but not enough for rent. That’s the last straw Mrs. Patrick.” He punched her name with scorn and bitterness.
“Actually,” she replied, climbing into the car, “his father’s lawyer left an electronic ticket at the airport for him.” She tried to close the door, but Bentley’s calloused hand caught it.
“Look, Alicia—$1600 by Friday or the sherriff’s getting the call.”
“Sixteen-hundred!?! I thought Sean was only one month behind?”
“Nope. Two. $1600. Friday.” Bentley slammed the door on her and turned to leave.
Alicia sat there in the muted silence of the car. She didn’t know whether to scream or cry. Sean had lied to her again. Of course, this was just one more thing to be upset about. The lawyer had provided two electronic tickets. But Sean’s anger burned up her protests almost before she voiced them.
She tried to start the car. On most days, it took several tries before the engine turned over and roared to life blowing a steel-colored cloud into the air. This time it started on the first crank, but died when she shifted into reverse. She cranked and cranked without success.
Looks like I’m taking the bus again today.
The Ledgers, copyright 2006 W. Mark Whitlock.
Chapter 2
Monday, 11:49 p.m.
“What the—?” Sean Patrick flipped the covers off and stomped across the room to the ringing phone.
“Bentley again?” his now awake wife Alicia asked.
“Why won’t that jerk of a landlord leave us alone?” He grabbed the phone and moaned.
Alicia pulled her pillow over her face and mumbled, “When you pay the rent, probably.”
Sean punched the on button. “Look, Bentley, you don’t have to harass us about this.” There was silence at the other end of the phone. “Bentley, is that you? Are you cranking us?”
“Um, is this Sean Patrick?” the voice tentatively asked from the other end of the connection.”
“Yeah. What kind of idiot are you?”
The voice cleared her throat and then said, “I’m your father’s lawyer. My name is...”
“Great! What’s the old man want now? Is he suing me for being a disappointment or something?” Sean ground his teeth thinking of all the times his father’s various lawyers and “representatives” have contacted him over the years.
“Mr. Patrick, as I was saying, my name is Melinda…”
“So is he suing me or what?”
“Mr. Patrick,” the voice was indignant, “will you listen to me for a second?”
“No, I won’t. My father has been riding my case since the day I was born. I don’t give a rip anymore. What does he want?”
“Mr. Patrick,” the voice softened and tried again, “your father died tonight. I called you as soon as the hospital called me.”
The line was silent. So was Patrick. Alicia clicked on her bedside lamp. Sean stared at her. His face was blank, devoid of all emotion. So was his heart.
“Mr. Patrick?”
Silence.
“Mr. Patrick?” it was time for the voice to return to business. “As I was trying to tell you earlier, my name is Melinda Ota. There are many issues for you to address as his only child and heir. We need you to fly to Baltimore immediately to . . .”
“Just take care of it.” Sean barely mumbled the words never taking his eyes off of Alicia. He clicked the off button on the phone and stood there staring at his wife and then at the floor.
When his eyes met the carpet, Alicia hunkered under the covers and turned her back to her husband pulling her pillow around her shoulders. He’d seen this before. Defense against his anger. Sean grew angrier with Alicia’s reaction. His shoulders wound tight, his fists tighter, and he ground his teeth again. With a yell, he hurled the phone at the wall behind the bed. The drywall cracked and the phone bounced off. The phone’s case shattered. The battery fell out and snapped off its cable.
Chapter 3
Tuesday, 5:30 a.m.
Alicia blew her nose and tossed the Kleenex in the trash with at least 20 others. “Why won’t you let me go with you? The lawyer…”
“You’re not going, period,” Sean interrupted with a dragon’s tongue and eyes to match. “You’ve never met the man, Leesha.”
“Because you wouldn’t let me!” She promised herself that she wouldn’t fall to his level. It was happening anyway. Alicia tried to calm herself. “The ticket is already paid for. I can take off from work.”
Sean slammed a pair of shoes into the suitcase.
“Honey,” Alicia said choking back the lump in her throat, “I know your dad. We’ve talked on the phone and e-mailed hundreds of times. He left instructions with his lawyer for me to come, too. That's what she said on the phone this morning.”
Sean zipped the suitcase with enough friction to start a campfire. He tossed the it onto the floor and wheeled around on one foot. The look on his face chilled the air. He huffed through his nose like a dragon preparing to shoot flames at an enemy.
The silence was filled with the echoes of arguments past, hurtful words flung with recklessness. The moment passed and Sean left the apartment, slamming the door behind him. The force sent one of their wedding pictures to the tile floor splitting the frame and breaking the glass.
Chapter 4
Tuesday, 6:50 a.m.
Sean walked down the center aisle of the McDonnell-Douglass MD80 and spotted Row 25, Seat D. He slumped his shoulders and cursed through clenched teeth. His ticket directed him to a middle seat over the starboard wing. He mumbled more curses to himself as he neared his prison for the next two hours.
“Oh, hi!” said a frazzled woman in the window seat with a monkey for a child climbing over her.
“Hi.” Sean plopped down in 25C, the aisle seat. God, he prayed, Please let the aisle seat be empty for this flight! He slid his ticket into the seat pocket and stuffed his duffle bag under the seat in front of him. It wouldn’t seem to fit. He kicked it and then shoved both feet into it to get it under the seat.
“Can I help you?” The look on the businessman’s face in 24C said, “What’s your problem?”
“No.” Sean stared at the man until he went back to reading his pink Investor’s Weekly.
Sean slumped down in the seat and pretended to go to sleep.
Whack!
Sean flew out of his seat when he felt the slap on his head. He flung his arms around and cursed. His arm made an awful, hollow thud as it hit something.
“Watch it!” the mom in 25E yelled as she scooped up her crying child.
“What’s your problem?” The derision in her voice intensified. “All the child did was touch you!”
Everyone around was looking at Sean and whispering. He sat back down. “I’m sorry little fella. You just scared me.” He reached out to pat the child on the back. The child screamed louder.
“She’s a girl.”
Sean panned the area again and saw shaking heads all around. He shook his own and pretended to sleep again.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to flight 525 non-stop service from Atlanta to Baltimore.” Sean didn’t bother to look up when the amplified voice began her spiel. “We have a full flight this afternoon and there’s one more passenger waiting to board. Once we get her settled, the Captain will be ready to push back from the skywalk and get us airborne. Just a few more minutes.”
How do you get a voice to drip with so much syrup? Sean wondered as his fake nap continued.
“Well, wouldn’t you know it? I get to ruin someone else’s day.”
She can’t be speaking to me.
“Hel-lo,” the female voice sang with a light Southern tinge.
Sean opened his right eye enough to see who was making all the racket. Sure enough, she was talking to him. He groaned then opened his eyes and looked at her. She was big. I thought captive whales traveled on ships. She wore New Balance crosstrainers with an expensive looking eggplant skirt and jacket. Her red hair was well fixed and make-up expertly applied.
“I’ve got some good news and some bad news. Which do you want first?”
“Is this your seat, lady?”
“You’re not playing along. Now which do you want? The good news or the bad news?”
“Is there a problem here?” A serious red headed flight attendant entered the conversation.
“There sure is,” the real 25C answered with a laugh, “This fine gentleman won’t tell me if he wants to good news or the bad news. Love your hair, hon.”
“May I see your tickets, please?” She was all business.
Sean tried to yank his bag from under the seat, but it caught on the railing. He kicked and pulled, kicked and pulled until it came free. An old portable CD player fell out the hole he tore in the process.
“What a beautiful little girl!” 25C lilted. “Hey cutie, are you ready to see the clouds?”
The baby girl gurgled.
“Thank you,” the mom said, relieved.
“Sir? Your ticket?”
“Take a breath, lady. Here.” Sean stabbed her open hand with a crumpled Delta folio.
“Sir, your seat is…”
“I know, I know. I’ll move over.” He stood and plopped down in 25D and kicked his duffle bag under again. The baby started crying again.
“Thank you,” 25C sighed with relief. Then she turned to the flight attendant. “Honey, could you help me find a place for these things?” The red and purple nightmare handed the red and navy flight attendant an overcoat and a shopping bag but kept the slim computer case.
“Yes, ma’am. It would be my pleasure.”
The lady handed her computer case to Sean and said, “Do you mind, sweetie?” She pointed under 24C and winked. Sean cursed under his breath and slid the case under the seat and sat back up. Then, she struggled squeezing between the back of the chair in front of her, but finally managed to wedge herself between the armrests.
“You still haven’t told me what you want?
“Okay, fine. I’ll take the bad news.” Sean sighed for three seconds as he shifted, trapped between a screaming child and a talker.
“The bad news, huh? You must be a cynic. Okay, the bad news is you have to sit beside me for the next hour and 47 minutes. The good news is,” she strained to reach the computer case and pull it out herself, “I’ve got a slice of my world famous pumpkin bread for you.” She reached into the outer pocket and pulled out six Ziploc bags. She handed the first to Sean, two to the mom and then tapped the paper-reader in front of her on the shoulder. “Got one for you, too, slick. Eat up now!” The fifth bag went to a tall kid across the aisle who was lost in The Silmarillion.
More announcements came over the intercom and the plane began to move, but they didn’t phase 25C.
Sean rolled his eyes as the mom and the businessman said thank you and opened their bags. The bread lady opened her bag and held it up under Sean’s nose. “I’m telling you, sir, it’s world famous.”
Sean hadn’t had any breakfast before storming out of the house. The aroma was magnificent. He opened his bag and took a bite.
“Oh, it’s even better with a cup of coffee. Just don’t dunk it.” She leaned across Sean. “Do you like it, sweetie? I thought you would.” She tickled the baby’s chin and the baby smiled. When she leaned back, she got all serious looking, extended her hand, and said, “Hello, sir, my name is Beatrice.”
“Slaw,” he said with his mouth full of bread.
“I’d make a good waitress, huh? Ask you a question just when your mouth gets full so you don’t have time to answer.”
He gulped and tried again, “Sean.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Sean. Why are you going to Baltimore?”
Just then, the plane began to accelerate. The noise over the wing drowned out the question, but not the baby. Sean couldn’t tell if this round of crying was from being out of bread or the noise of the plane. Within seconds, the 500-ton aircraft and 180 passengers lifted into the sky. Sean took the distraction as his opportunity to pretend to be asleep again.
Chapter 5
Tuesday, 8:21 a.m.
Bentley the landlord was leaning against the hood of Alicia’s car smoking a cigarette. She couldn’t stop walking down the stairs. He would notice her hesitancy and use it as a crowbar on her emotions.
As she reached the parking lot, Bentley took another long drag. The ashes were building up. He held the cigarette straight balancing the tower of ashes. At any second, it would crumble.
“Morning,” he said as he blew out the smoke in her direction.
“Good morning, Mr. Bentley. How are you today?” Could he hear the fear in my voice, Alicia wondered.
“Husband sick again?”
“Uh, no. He flew to Baltimore this morning.”
Alicia rounded the side of the car and put her key in the door. “His father died.” Alicia opened the door but didn’t climb in.
“Yeah, right.” Bentley rolled off the car and stood on the opposite side of the car door, took another drag on the cigarette. The ashes began to break, so he threw it in the weeds he called landscaping. The ashes scattered in the breeze blowing back on the car. He blew out the smoke in her face as he said, “So he had enough money for an emergency plane ticket but not enough for rent. That’s the last straw Mrs. Patrick.” He punched her name with scorn and bitterness.
“Actually,” she replied, climbing into the car, “his father’s lawyer left an electronic ticket at the airport for him.” She tried to close the door, but Bentley’s calloused hand caught it.
“Look, Alicia—$1600 by Friday or the sherriff’s getting the call.”
“Sixteen-hundred!?! I thought Sean was only one month behind?”
“Nope. Two. $1600. Friday.” Bentley slammed the door on her and turned to leave.
Alicia sat there in the muted silence of the car. She didn’t know whether to scream or cry. Sean had lied to her again. Of course, this was just one more thing to be upset about. The lawyer had provided two electronic tickets. But Sean’s anger burned up her protests almost before she voiced them.
She tried to start the car. On most days, it took several tries before the engine turned over and roared to life blowing a steel-colored cloud into the air. This time it started on the first crank, but died when she shifted into reverse. She cranked and cranked without success.
Looks like I’m taking the bus again today.
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