Cool Shade Page 13

But instead of grabbing her the way she wanted, he took her arm and shoved her back three steps, following her inside.

  "Maddie!" He strode toward the stairs.

  He'd apparently been there before, apparently knew the layout. Interesting.

  Behind him, Enid slammed the door. "She's not here. I kicked her out."

  He swung around. "You kicked out your own sister?"

  "Stop talking about Maddie. I'm sick of hearing about her." She was so hot, so mad at his lack of response.

  He had to want her.

  He would want her.

  She threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around him, pressing her breasts against the softness of his T-shirt, the firmness of his chest, wrapping a leg around his hip. She rubbed against him. "Forget about her." She cupped him through his jeans, caressing him, trying to stimulate an erection. She wasn't going to allow him to reject her again.

  He made a sound of disgust, deep in his throat. At the same time he shoved her, almost knocking her down.

  She staggered, caught herself, and stood upright. "Have you been castrated or something?"

  "Where's Maddie?"

  "Get out of here."

  "Tell me where Maddie is."

  "How the hell should I know?"

  "You mean you kicked her out without any idea of where she was going? Or if she even had a place to go?"

  She stared at him, hating him, almost as much as she hated Maddie. "She didn't have anything I needed."

  Looking as if he couldn't have heard right, he shook his head. "Are they breeding machines like you somewhere? If they are, the place needs to be blown up. I feel sorry as hell for Maddie, having to put up with a sister like you."

  Enid screamed. It was a shriek that started deep in her lungs, a cry of rage. She ran at him, nails curved.

  Before he could stop her, she managed one rake down the side of his face.

  He grabbed her by her arms, holding her away from him. She kicked, feeling a nice satisfaction when her foot connected with his shin, relishing the pain in her own toes.

  "Maddie's no better than me," she said through gritted teeth. "She's a slut just like me. You want to know where she is? She went to Arizona. Maddie went to Arizona. Back to her boyfriend."

  "If that's true, why didn't you just say so before?"

  "If I'd told you where she'd gone, you would have left immediately, isn't that right?"

  He didn't answer. But he was thinking. Almost believing.

  "Isn't that right?" she repeated.

  He let her go.

  He turned and left.

  ~0~

  Son of a bitch.

  Eddie stood on the porch trying to get his bearings.

  Son of a bitch.

  He’d faced what he feared the most for her.

  Was it true?

  Had Maddie left?

  She’d come to Nebraska to find her missing sister, a prize of a woman who was no longer missing. So it stood to reason that Maddie had gone back to where she'd come from.

  He’d been too slow.

  Too late.

  Too late he'd realized that what he felt for her was more than irritation, exasperation, more than lust.

  Now, looking back, he could see that the attraction had been there quite a while. Maybe not at the initial moment when Murphy had attacked her, but later. The fear he'd felt when he saw the blood on her blouse. It had been the fear of loss. The fear of losing not only another human being, but a human being who meant something special to him.

  Love.

  He didn't know if it was love. He wasn't sure what that word meant. He just knew that with her in his life, he wanted to go on. He'd found himself looking forward, thinking about tomorrow and the next day. The hollow emptiness hadn't visited him in a long time.

  But he could feel it now. Creeping in around the edges of his mind, filling his soul with the kind of grief that came with a painful loss.

  He missed her already.

  Twice he'd left the safety of his home for her. Twice he'd used her as the treasure, the reward that would make the hardship of the journey worthwhile.

  Now she was gone.

  And he was in that lonely place again.

  He tried to move, but his feet weighed a hundred pounds each. They held him there, stuck to the porch.

  Go.

  Move.

  Feeling like Frankenstein's monster, he lifted one foot, then the other, forcing himself to walk down the steps.

  He knew it was raining. He felt it pelting his face, but at the same time his skin was numb. He was aware of the impact, but he couldn't feel the wetness, couldn't feel the cold.

  He reached the sidewalk.

  He didn't bother with his dirt bike. Instead, he began to walk. Faster and faster, until he was running. He left the sidewalk, giving it up for the wider street. He ran until his lungs burned. He ran until his side ached and his leg muscles hurt. He ran until he started shaking and couldn't run anymore. When that happened, he crawled under a bush and pulled his knees up to his chin.

  ~0~

  At five a.m. Joan Fielding couldn't sleep any longer so she got up and started a pot of coffee. Years of being a doctor's wife had left her unable to sleep more than a few hours at a time, even on quiet nights. She loved her husband, but more and more as her life passed she wondered if she'd made a mistake marrying a doctor. She was glad that Max was one of those rare psychiatrists who was available for his patients, night or day. But there were so many people, with so many problems.

  She was almost finished with her second cup of coffee when the kitchen doorbell rang. She put down her cup. She was used to these early morning visits from people looking for Max, needing Max.

  It would be nice to be needed.

  She turned on the outside light and unlocked the door, careful to keep the chain in place.

  Not someone for Max at all. Instead, it was a beggar, some poor street person with blood on his face, soaked to the skin. How had he gotten all the way out there? Why was he so far from downtown, from the shelter?

  "Just a minute. Don't leave. I'll be right back."

  She closed the door, then quickly gathered up some food, putting it in a grocery bag. She poured the rest of the coffee into a thermos and went back to the door.

  "Here." She tried to hand the things to him, but he just stood there, frozen, shaking.

  "There's a shelter downtown," she told him, pointing. "If you go there, they'll give you warm food and dry clothes."

  "M-Max. N-need't-to't-talk to Max."

  That voice. Familiar. She looked closer. "Eddie? My God, Eddie. Is that you?"

  He nodded, his arms hugging his chest.

  She unchained the door and pulled him inside.

  "Max!"

  Trying to support Eddie, she shouted over her shoulder in the direction of the upstairs bedroom. "Max, get up! Hurry!"

  Eddie took two steps, then sank to the kitchen floor, water puddling around him.

  Joan heard Max's footfall on the steps, then he appeared, eyes bleary and wide, wearing boxer shorts and a white T-shirt.

  "What's going on?" His gaze went from her to his friend.

  "Eddie. Oh Christ."

  He crouched beside him, a hand on Eddie's shoulder.

  "I'll get a blanket," Joan said.

  Slowly, Eddie's head came up, and Max saw the emptiness in his eyes.

  His heart sank. No. Not again.

  "Max."

  "Hi, Eddie."

  "I know you said you were through with me."

  Max looked up at his wife who stood clutching a blanket in her arms. She bit her lip and shook her head, her eyes filling with tears.

  "It was just talk," Max said, his voice thick. "Our friendship means too much to me."

  Eddie put out a trembling hand.

  Max took it.

  "That's good."

  And then he spoke the words Max had waited years to hear, words he'd begun to think Eddie would never speak.

  "I
need help.”

  Chapter 23

  On the Outside

  "You can't leave, Maddie. Please don't leave."

  Maddie stared at her boss, surprised by his reaction.

  "Your show is just getting off the ground, picking up more listeners all the time. You can't leave now."

  He'd been filling in for her. As soon as she showed up at the station, soggy and desperate, he'd put on an eight-hour reel.

  Now they were in the radio station lounge, Maddie curled up in one corner of the plaid couch towel-drying her hair, Hemingway sulking in his cage, Brian sitting in an orange Laundromat chair, popping jelly beans.

  "There's no reason for me to stay on here in Chester."

  "No reason! How can you say that?" He wore a gray T-shirt with XXL across the front in huge letters. Who was he trying to kid? "You've got me," he said, slapping at his chest. "You've got the radio station."

  She needed to put some distance between herself and Eddie Berlin, between herself and Enid. It wouldn't be good to live in the same town.

  "I think it would be better if I left." It would be the shortest amount of time she'd stayed in one place. A real record-breaker for her.

  "Dialogue. The secret to a good working relationship. Am I not paying you enough? Is that it?"

  "It's not about money." She didn't think it worthwhile to mention the fact that she hadn't seen a check yet, or that she'd been eating cat food.

  "Everything's about money."

  He stood, reached into the back pocket of his jeans, and pulled out his billfold.

  He opened it, dug out some bills, and dropped them on the blond coffee table. "Get your car fixed and out of impoundment."

  She stared at the money. Three-hundred dollars.

  "You're tired. I can see that you're tired. You just let me take care of everything." He disappeared, then returned a few seconds later with a newspaper. "We'll find you an apartment. Or a house. A little, cozy house." He snapped open the paper, fighting with the pages until he had it folded to a manageable size. He dropped down beside her on the couch, slipped a pen from behind his ear, and started circling ads.

  "No pets," he mumbled, going down the columns. "No pets, no pets, no pets…"

  She leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

  It was nice, if not unusual, to have somebody actually want her around, to have somebody actually in a panic over the possibility of her leaving. It used to be she'd take off and nobody noticed. She didn't leave an imprint, not as much as a single impression behind.

  She used to try to convince herself that she didn't need to make a splash, not even a little one.

  Enid's words came back to haunt her. No, she'd never done anything of consequence in her life, big or small.

  "What do you say, Maddie?"

  It might be nice to have some security for a while. Just a little while.

  ~0~

  With the money Brian had tossed on the coffee table, Maddie got her car back and put down a deposit on an apartment.

  "An advance," she'd told Brian when he tried to convince her the money was bonus pay. She was going to feel guilty enough when she left as it was.

  Driving away from the police station, her muffler reattached, Maddie reached under the seat, feeling past the scraps of wrappers, a couple of rattling soda cans, until her fingers came in contact with cool, solid plastic.

  A cassette case.

  Maddie had packed the demo tapes in the trunk when she'd come to Nebraska. Just before taking off, she'd retrieved the Rick Beck demo and that of a band called the Jive Bananas, taken them from their cases, and tossed the cases and tapes on the seat beside her so that they'd be handy while she was driving. There had been something wrong with the Banana tape. Before she could try the Beck demo, her car broke down. In a hurry, she’d scooped up the unplayed tape. Then, not bothering to make sure it went into the right case, she shoved the whole mess under her seat.

  After the car was fixed and she was back on the road, she’d reached for the radio. The defective demo had still been in the tape player. She’d pulled it out, found the empty holder under the seat, a holder that just happened to be the Rick Beck demo case, and had stuck the defective demo in the glove compartment. Maddie hadn’t bothered to listen to the other tape. In fact, she'd forgotten about it until the night Enid showed up. And since a lot of demo tapes said nothing but demo on them, Enid hadn't caught on.

  Now Maddie flipped open the Jive Bananas case with its banana artwork, and pulled out the Rick Beck demo. She had every intention of mailing it to Eddie without even listening to it, but the temptation was too strong.

  She slid the tape into the player.

  Chapter 24

  Cool Shade

  Rick Beck.

  It really was Rick Beck.

  She couldn't believe it.

  Hearing his voice gave her goosebumps.

  Rick Beck unplugged and raw. A rough version, not meant for airplay. Simple. A single person with an acoustic guitar. Nothing more. No tricks. Nothing electronic. Nothing computerized.

  Just a man pouring out his soul.

  She coasted to a stop in the middle of the road. She turned up the volume.

  A single voice.

  A single instrument.

  Haunting.

  Emotional.

  "Cool Shade."

  The refrain was compelling in its simplicity.

  Lay me down in the cool shade

  Under a cobalt sky

  Lay me down in the cool shade

  Hold me while I die.

  She listened to the tape over and over, trying to get her fill, knowing it would never happen. The song was a classic, something that would rival any Beatles songs ever written.

  A song that would never be heard.

  She slid the tape into an envelope, addressed it, and dropped the package in the corner mailbox.

  ~0~

  Chapter 25

  Have You Seen Me Lately?

  Breathless, sweating, Jason pedaled his bike down the rutty lane that led to Eddie's place. Between the handlebars, held in place with several bungee cords, was a tape player, speakers blaring. In it was a tape Eddie'd given him. Jason could never remember the name of the people playing the music, but it was loud and happy. He liked that.

  Bun-gee.

  What a weird word. He'd have to ask Eddie if he thought it was a weird word, too.

  Jason said it out loud, so he wouldn't forget. He forgot lots of things. "Bun-gee. Bun-gee." The more he said it, the weirder it sounded.

  He was in a hurry to get to Eddie's. He liked Eddie. He liked Murphy. They didn't make fun of him the way some people did. Eddie never laughed at him. Sometimes Murphy looked at him with his mouth open, but he wasn't laughing. He was just happy.

  Jason pedaled faster. He always pedaled fast when he rode up the lane. It was dark in the lane. He didn't like the dark.

  He burst into the clearing, hot sun falling on his face.

  Better. It was better in the sun, even if it hurt his eyes.

  Squinting, he stopped the bike, turned off the tape player, swung his leg over, and put down the kickstand.

  A lot of things for a guy to do.

  When he let go, the darn kickstand sank in the dirt. Jason grabbed the handlebars just before the bike tipped over. He rolled it ahead a couple of inches, trying another spot. And another. Until he finally found one that worked.

  He looked up at the gray, paint-peeled house. A spook house. That's what it looked like. The house and the lane were two things Jason didn't like about going to Eddie's. Eddie should paint his house yellow.

  Jason started to walk toward the house, stopped, and went back to get Eddie's mail—just one little package. He took it from the basket on the back of his bike and carried it to the door, looking at the package as he went.

  Eddie Berlin

  RR1

  Chester, Nebraska

  It was so light, it almost seemed like it was empty.

 
Jason wanted to open it, but Adel told him that wasn't right to open somebody else's mail.

  He knocked, but Eddie didn't come to the door the way he usually did.

  "Eddie?"

  He knocked again, then looked around the clearing.

  Eddie never went anywhere. That was one of the things Jason liked about him. He was always where he was supposed to be.

  "Eddie?"

  He didn't say it too loud, in case there was a ghost around or something.

  He was getting scared. All by himself, with the big spooky house looking at him. But to get home he had to go back down the dark lane.

  Sometimes the trees reached out and grabbed him. Sometimes they tore his shirt and they scratched his face.

  He heard a soft thud and he looked down.

  The package was lying next to his feet. What was it doing on the ground?

  He bent over and picked it up. When he did, one end of the package came open and something slid out.

  A plastic case. Inside was a cassette tape.

  He dropped the envelope and picked up the case.

  Cool. Bananas. He liked bananas.

  Staring at it, holding it with both hands, he walked back to his bike. He slid the tape in the player, then pushed the play button.

  Music.

  He loved music.

  Smiling, not scared anymore, he put up the kickstand, swung his leg over the bike, and took off, heading for home.

  ~0~

  "It's not a nuthouse," the counselor explained to Eddie for about the tenth time. "It's a rehab center."

  Eddie knew it. He just liked to razz her. April—her name was April—always got bent out of shape whenever he called it a nuthouse.

  The rehab center had been Max's idea. Very exclusive, exclusive in the fact that it treated only people with phobias.

  "You’ll be there six weeks," Max had explained, trying to convince Eddie it would be a good idea. And then he told Eddie the rest: "It's in Colorado."

  "Can't do it."

  "I'll get you there. You won't know a thing. I promise."

  He didn't lie.

  Eddie vaguely recalled boarding a plane, but that was all. He hadn't known anything else until he’d come to in the Colorado clinic.

  With the room swirling around him, he'd tried to figure it all out. "Helluva deal," he’d said, his tongue thick. "Pumping me full of dope to take me to a rehab center." It didn't make sense. But he’d liked it.