Chapter 4
1244 Words
Elena
How long have I been staring at the ground beef in the sink? We were supposed to have tacos the other night; Mike was supposed to join us for dinner, and we were going to watch a movie afterward.
So much for that.
I pad over to the closet in the hall in search for a plastic bag then walk back to the sink and take the thawed smelly ground beef out. With the sour meat in the bag, I tie it off and drop it in the trash with a loud thunk. I stare into the trash bin wondering just how my life got this way; how quickly things took a turn for the worst.
What do I do now? It’s not like my father died of natural causes, or on duty – he was taken from his home. He was in the same pajamas and green slippers as the ones I left him in. Do I call the police? Are the police in on it? Will he have a funeral – will I be able to lay him to rest and say good-bye?
Knock, knock.
With a startle, I jump at the sound from the front door and wipe a single tear. It better not be Mike, if it is, then I’ll gladly slam the door in his face again. No other thoughts on who it could be, I open it cautiously and there stands my kindred spirit.
Does she know what her son did? Does she know what happened to my dad?
The look on her face is fallen with concern, her hazel eyes meet mine and I instantly feel myself start to lose it again.
“I heard what happened, honey,” she speaks softly, with a tear of her own crawling down her cheek.
I am so sick of crying, but it doesn’t stop me. My body begins to rack, and my legs are feeling weak. Carol’s arms reach out to hold me against her; she pats my back in efforts to soothe the pain.
“Shh, dear. We’ll get through this. It will all be okay,” she whispers. “Come stay with me, honey.”
The tears stop and I move away from her hug so I can look at her. “What?”
“Well, I don’t like the idea of you staying here all by yourself. You’re grieving, honey. You need to be with someone right now. You are more than welcome to stay with me. I have a spare room,” she offers with sincere hope that I’ll agree to stay with her.
I’m not sure I should. “I don’t want anything to do with Mike,” I tell her. It hurts to say it, but it’s the cold, honest truth.
I don’t know if I can ever face him again. I’m hoping he doesn’t visit his mother too often.
She nods her head. “I understand. I can make sure he doesn’t bother you,” she assures me. Not sure what else to do in this moment, I agree to stay with her.
In my room, she helps me pack a few bags of clothes with some essentials. Before leaving the house, I remember to grab my little squeaky teddy bear that Dad gave me when I was a toddler. With a heavy heart, I leave the place that I learned to call home.
Following Carol in her silver truck, I can’t help but wonder if Mike called her to do this. Is he still working behind my back? How did Carol find out what happened? It hasn’t been on the news yet, has it? How did they find his body? What story is being perceived by the media?
Not the truth, that’s for sure.
My stomach twists with the many ways of how Dad’s body could have been found. Did Randall have Mike be apart in tossing Dad someplace? Did Randall make Mike stage a lie on how Dad died? The fact that Mike is now working for Randall has my chest squeezing tight, it’s hard to breathe. I frantically reach for the button to roll my window down so I can get some fresh air in my lungs.
A ringtone fills my car as I try to control my breathing. I reach for my purse while keeping eyes on the road and bring the glowing screen up to my vision.
Michael. Michael two-faced Gilbert.
I chuck the phone aside and let enraged heat take over my body.
*******
“My room is just down the hall. You have clean sheets in the closet and fresh towels are on the bed,” Carol tells me in her soft comforting tone.
Walking further into the room, I thank her and take in the scenery. There isn’t much within these white walls with red shaggy carpet. The white, painted dresser matches the headboard of the bed which has red sheets folded over a white duvet. There’s a window that overlooks the ocean – beautiful view. The room is small but cozy and oddly enough feels like it could be home… at least for a while.
The floor makes a light thud as I place my large bag on the carpet next to the bed and Carol asks softly, “Would you like some dinner? I have some pork tenderloin that I can warm up for you?”
I can’t seriously think about food right now. “No, thank you. I think I’m just going to go to bed, if that’s okay?”
“Of course, honey.” There’s a still silence for a moment while I sit on the bed which lets out a soft cry from my weight. “Were you planning on trying to go to school tomorrow? The reason I am asking is because I’m not sure if I should have breakfast ready at a certain time, or…” Carol trails off with some pink tinting her skin as my eyes fall on hers.
It isn’t her fault. She’s just trying to make me feel at home and making sure I don’t starve myself with grief.
“I don’t know if I’ll go to work or school this week,” I blatantly inform her.
She puts her hand over her heart and says, “I understand, sweetie.” She reaches for the door handle and begins to close the door. “If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask, alright?”
My head nods as I stare at the golden handles of the dresser. The door closes with a soft click. I stand up and walk over to the window with the ocean view; the colors in the sky are dark as the sun sets on the other side, but I still see reflecting purples and pinks in the clouds. For some reason, the really dark clouds that are rolling in behind those ones are holding my undivided attention.
I stand here and watch as the angry sky forms over the water, even the waves are picking up the signal that this is going to be a restless night. The caps in the ocean are fighting against each other just to crash down and repeat the motion, it’s as if the water is at war with itself. The salty breeze picks up and pushes past the window and through my hair; it tickles my face and burns my eyes.
A storm is coming over the water and it looks as dangerous as the one building inside of me.
- Writer
