A Brilliant Ride (6 page)

“Do you have the Local News on, Pen?” She sounded agitated.

“No. Should I? I hope it’s good news.”

“No!” she said in a shrill voice.

“
Geesh; calm down; you sound hysterical.”

“Listen, Pen, it’s
bad
. You know that good looking waiter from Magnolia?” Magnolia is the restaurant of choice for anyone who’s anyone in town. The type of trendy place that’s popular with the in-crowd - giant vases filled with exotic flowers, overly priced, too much help…and packed with puffed up
peacocks
. Sam’s favorite place…Jackie’s too.

“Yes, the tall one with the long blonde hair?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. He was found in back of the place, in the alley, dead. They think it’s
murder
,” she whimpered. “Oh, Pen, it’s just awful.”

It was inconceivable. Not in our
little town.

“Are you serious?”

“Totally serious; they found him in the back alley with his apron tied around his neck…his mouth was stuffed with dinner rolls!” I thought for a moment she was joking.

“What?”

“It’s true. I even drove by to check it out. The street is closed off. The place is absolutely crawling with police and news vans. Pen, we all just ate there the other night.
It’s a nightmare
. What are we going to do?” she whispered.

“Calm down;
we
don’t need to do anything. It has nothing to do with us. The guy was probably involved in something shady.”

The news was alarming, but I was taken aback my Claudia’s reaction. She was bordering on h
ysterics. Still and all, the news was unsettling.

I hung up and hurried down to tell Blossom the whole story, but she already had the News on and was taking the whole thing in, her eyes blazing. I sat down next to her and tried to focus on the scene being played out on the screen. They were showing Magnolia and the large crowd that was lined up outside. There were some familiar faces in the crowd as well: the pizza delivery guy, Mr. Osborn from the bank, the couple with the little black poodle…and Jackie?

What was Jackie doing there?

It was difficult to see. The crowd was large and the camera only panned by, bu
t it certainly looked like her - wrapped in her fabulous ebony mink, her red hair hanging loosely around her shoulders, and that ring…the ring with the blue stone…shining from her right hand.

“What is Ms. Jackie doing at the crime scene?” Blossom shouted out. “She cou
ld be an accessory to the crime.” Blossom is a fan of the Mystery Channel.

“Oh, don’t be silly; she probably ate dinner there tonight.” I laughed nervously. Blossom wasn’t buying it and shot me one of her high alert looks.

I turned the volume up.

The newscaster was explaining, “Peter Bailey, a waiter from the posh eatery Magnolia on Longfield Road, was found dead in the back alley of the well-establish
ed restaurant at approximately 6pm today. Details are sketchy, but it appears to be a homicide. The owner of the restaurant has declined to comment, but I can assure you, this certainly is an upsetting scene here in Chatsdale. Back to you Sandy.”

I turned the television off and thought about how my quaint little town seemed to be changing, overnight.

All evening I
felt odd. I had chills, and the back of my neck felt prickly. I also had a gnawing pain in the pit of my stomach. “It’s my nerves. They’re shot after hearing about that ghastly murder,” I mumbled. “Maybe I’m coming down with something. There’s that awful flu going around.” I decided to take Blossom’s advice and made my way down to the kitchen to make some tea with honey.

As I entered, I noticed the room had a different look, a new feeling. It seemed to glow, and the walls appeared to glisten and sparkle like
the sea. A tingly sensation run up and down my arms, and the atmosphere was decidedly lighter. I felt like I was floating.

I must be tired, I thought, and stepped over to the stove to fetch the kettle. Stress can really play tricks on the psyche, and this day has been a doozy.

As I filled the kettle, I felt something touch my shoulder; something soft and delicate. I turned quickly, but nothing was there. Nothing I could see, anyway. I chalked it up to exhaustion and my lunch with the girls. “I need sleep. I’m obviously punchy…it’s been a long day.” As I made my way up the staircase, I couldn’t shake the feeling something was different.

My head sank into my pillow, and I was reminded of the Cove. Just the thought of that magical place sent me on a whirling adventure in my mind. Oh, how I adored the glorious blue water I spent hours in when I was young and filled with sparkle and hope. My young body sinewy and bronzed from the summer sun, I would h
appily swim past the craggy rocks covered with bright green seaweed and the washed-up boat wreck that was my pretend sea castle and take refuge in my favorite dune, perched high behind tall reeds. Drying off in the brilliant sunshine, I would daydream. The sparkle of sand and crushed shells beneath me, a bed of diamonds on which I dreamed the dreams of young girls longing to be women. Back then, life seemed so full of promise, endless possibilities, and freedom.

Foolishly, I tried
calling The Peak Resort, half-knowing Sam wasn’t there. “Sorry madam, there’s no one here under that name. Shall we try another name perhaps?”

I wasn’t surprised, really. Sam often lied to me. I gave up fighting about it long ago. The more I questioned him, the longer he stayed away. It was exhausting, and so I fell into the pattern of letting things go. It was easier. It was the children that concerned me. They were worried,
when he didn’t call. I tried my best to reassure them. Still, they were concerned when he didn’t check in.

Later that evening, Jill woke up, ran into my room, and leaped onto my bed. She wanted to share a dream she had about a man with a snowy colored bird.

“He was very nice, Mommy. He told me I don’t have to worry about Daddy, because angels hear the prayers of little children and take care of everything. He had bright blue eyes and held a snowy white bird in the middle of his hand.” As she spoke her eyes glistened, and I scooped her up in my arms smothering her with kisses. Poor sweetheart, children shouldn’t have any worries. I held her close.

When Sam did return, there was that horrible feeling in the air. The tension was high, but we played ou
r parts as usual. Theatrics are a big part of these homecomings. It’s always the same - him rushing in the door full of smiles, fast talk and very tacky gifts.

“Hey, Daddy’s home…wow, I had a great time. You should have seen me; I won loads at blackjack. Those other guys couldn’t keep up. Look, I got you little chickens some gifts. I got one for you too, ma cherie.” I managed to squeeze a half smile.

Sarah looked at Sam with those big beautiful eyes that had the power to reach deep into your soul and said, “The phones must have all been broken in Las Vegas, right Daddy? Otherwise, you would have called us; I know you would never forget us. I think they need stronger phone poles there.” Sam didn’t reply.

It’s amazing what the human heart can endure. As I stood motionless, looking at Jill and Sarah, I felt a bit of mine break off and shatter into a million little pieces. Amazingly
, it kept beating.

I started to
think about Jill’s dream, wondering if the man with the snowy white bird was an angel or some kind of guardian. It was comforting to think that perhaps there were magical beings taking guard over my precious children when I couldn’t be there myself to watch and protect.

I never believed in angels. I mean, I never gave them much thought. In my mind, they w
ere something cute that graced valentines with chubby little arms holding bows and arrows or golden figures placed majestically atop Christmas trees. It never really seemed logical to me that some sparkling creature could swoop in and change your life. However, when I met Brilliant, he explained it to me in a way that opened my mind more to the unexplained. He has that special way of stretching your mind to look at things from a different angle.

“You see, it’s not the way you think at all,” he explained in his soothing voice. “Angels aren’t a bit concerned with you knowing who they are or what they look like. They are very happy to hover in the background, ready to swoop in at a moment’s notice with great love and compassion. They exist to assist. All that’s needed is an open heart, love, and faith.”

But, I’m getting ahead of the story…

I married Sam a
month before my thirtieth birthday, saving my mother from further “embarrassment.” Sam, with his promise of a glorious rich future, sexy dark eyes and bright smile, represented all I convinced myself was needed for a very successful and acceptable life.

At thirty-six, he owned one of the largest advertising agencies in New York. He appeared to have it all and cert
ainly fit the fairy tale image - good looks, money, and security - that was drummed into me early on.

Honestly, I was becoming restless with single life. It was getting old, and so was I…according to Mother. “Tick, tick, tick, Penelope,” she would gently remind…over and over. In fact, Mother was not above calling me several times a week, just to
recite her “tick, tick, tick.”

Sam played the game well. He wined and dined me, and I felt like the leading lady in a romance flick. After all my initial misgivings, I fell hard, and his proposal was difficult to put off. Like everything else in Sam’s life, he got what he went after…

“Pen, what’s the point in wasting time? We both know we’re good for each other. Let’s get married next month,” he pleaded, pushing his hand through his raven hair. He was irresistible…and he knew it.

He was pressing a small velvet box into the palm of my hand. “Go ahead, open it.”

“Sam, this is all so sudden.” I remember looking down at the box, feeling like it was all a dream. Elated, but fearful, I knew the moment I opened it, there wo
uld be no going back. Standing motionless, for what seemed an eternity, I felt my heart might leap out of my chest as I squeezed my hand around it tightly.

“Marry me, Pen.” His voice startled me, and it slipped from my hand.

I froze, as I watched it fall and bounce on the floor.

“Oh no. I’m so sorry, Sam. I’m just so nervous.” I quickly bent down to retrieve it.

Sam looked like he was running out of patience, and the whole scene was becoming very awkward.

Taking a deep breath, I opened the box and gasped. What met my gaze was a dazzling diamond of enormous proportion. Facets of blue and white bounced around like moonbeams, and I held my heart. It was breathtaking.

“Sam, this is too much. This is…well, it’s beautiful.” I steadied myself and finally looked up at him, searching for words. He was grinning from ear to ear.

“Je t'aime, Pen; let me put it on your finger.”

He slipped the sparkler on, and it lit up the room as well as my heart.

As I stared at the beautiful star shining from my hand, the realization that I had indeed agreed to Sam’s proposal by accepting it to that certain spot on my left hand was hitting me. In one magical moment, it was all done and settled, and the race began.

My first stop was
Mother. She was practically doing cartwheels as she eyed my ring, which rivaled her own.

“Finally,” she squealed, a look of victory shooting across her face.

“Maria!” Mother’s voice echoed through her cavernous apartment. “Open a bottle of champagne…quick, quick!” She clapped twice.

“Listen, Penelope, run - don’t walk - to the altar. This guy is an absolute dream come true…and let’s face it, you’re not getting any younger,” she so kindly pointed out. “Oh, do stand up straight; I’m talking to you,” she grimaced. “Can’t you do something with that hair?”

“Well, I was thinking of….”

“Honestly, it’s too long. I’m going to make an appointment for you - with Carlton - at Fredrick’s. He’s the best…you can definitely use some kind of
make-over
. They do make-up as well.” She smiled in a crooked way. “Oh, where is Maria with that champagne?” She tapped her foot quickly. “Honestly, that woman! She’s as slow as molasses…Mariaaaaaaaa!”

Mother unclipped one of her enormous earrings and fired it into a crystal bowl. She then made a bee line for a large leather bound book sitting on top of her beloved Louis XIV desk and leafed through it. “Let me see…oh yes, here it is…Carlton’s number. Just let him work his magic, darling. Then we can think about getting you a proper wardrobe.” She looked me up and down like a rancher at a livestock auction and scribbled Carlton’s number on a post-it, smashing it into my hand.

“Listen, Penelope, you have to dress the part now. Enough with these, um…eclectic numbers,” she tugged on the sleeve of my blouse and sneered. “You need to dress in a more conservative, sophisticated way…think Jackie O.”