Paradise Hops (22 page)

“Lorelei, you are all right? The child?” He put a hand to the hard mound of her stomach. She stared at him.

“Where did you, I mean, that,” She pushed him away, pointed to the vine creeping over his shoulder. Her brain started to clang with panic. Her throat closed up. She clawed at it unable to breathe. The baby did a slow, sickening roll. Garrett frowned at her.

“This? Don’t you remember my love? We were in Istanbul on our honeymoon and you said I should do it there. They have amazingly talented artists and are known to be skilled and sanitary with their body art. You wanted it. You drew it out on a piece of paper.” He sat next to her, turned her chin to face him. “You really don’t remember, do you?”

“Oh Christ. Garrett.” She sucked in a breath, and let the tears flow. The tattoo she’d drawn out was an exact replica of the one on Eli’s body. Eli. Her mind reached out, tried to grasp him. Couldn’t. His hard angry face stayed just out of reach. She heard him though.

“Go. Leave.” His last harsh words embedded in her psyche.

She gasped and grabbed her stomach as a gush of fluid escaped between her legs. She looked down and saw vines creep across the floor, headed straight for her, for her baby. For Garrett’s Baby. “Garrett!” She cried out, clutching at his sleeve. But he was no longer there. No one was there. She was alone. Completely alone.

Her eyelids fluttered open. But they were heavy, like dead weights. It actually hurt to try so she gave up and let them close. A strange sound forced her back to consciousness. A smell—coppery, dangerous, evil—pierced her nose, made her gag and sit up. Music, piano music, oozed around her. A man sat next to her. She gasped and shifted away, afraid.

Until she realized who it was. “Garrett,” she whispered, reaching out to touch him. She tried to open her eyes wider. Made herself sit up straighter. He didn’t move, and she still couldn’t see his face. She needed that, more than anything. Thank goodness he was here. If only she could see him.

“Garrett, I missed you. I hurt myself. But I’m pregnant. I’m going to have your baby.” He held up a hand. Made as if to press it to her lips. She grabbed it, frightened by the whole scene. She smelled leather, starchy cotton, a ghost of malt, and a hint of that horrible metallic stench. She sneezed, which made her head pound.

“I love you.” She gulped. If he wouldn’t touch her or let her touch him then she’d at least say what she needed to say. She put a hand over her flat stomach. Some memory, or dream or something like it, accosted her. Remembered pain that sliced like a dull knife through her lower body. “Garrett. Please, talk to me.” She slid down, overcome with weariness, stress and guilt. He stood without a word. She felt his palm against her cheek. “I don’t know what to do. Please, don’t go.” She slumped back and let the room dim. The soft whisper of a kiss, lips she recognized immediately as Garrett’s brushed her skin. He was gone and she slept.

Chapter Eight

“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why Mr. Hunter, Mr. Brockton, and I think moving towards a more lager-centric menu is best, and also why we need that new influx of money. Lagering is more expensive at all stages, but in the end it will make Brockton truly stand out from the craft beer crowd.” Eli frowned and put his hand over his pocket. The damn phone had been blowing up for the last twenty minutes. Wouldn’t be Hunter. The guy knew he had to do this damn tour. Besides he should be on an airplane by now.

The group palmed their samples and shuffled out, taking their sweet fucking time, but Eli kept smiling, chatting, bantering, doing enough schmoozing to last him a bloody lifetime. Finally when the last suit had been booted up to the front office, he stood and took a breath. His phone screen held one number and name. Anderson. Why in the hell had she called him ten times? He looked up then, and saw her. Tears ran down her face, her hands clutched each other as she made her way towards him.

What fresh hell was this?
Eli swallowed hard. “What is it Mrs. Anderson? Did Lori… I mean, is she still okay?” The woman blubbered and flung herself at him, sobbing so loud the entire brewery stopped and stared at them. “Stop! Calm yourself, woman.” He peeled her back, his heart pounding so hard his chest ached.
Please, let Lori be all right.

She kept sniveling. “Spit it out.” He said, gripping her arms. At that moment Ron Brockton ran down between the fermenters, skidding to a stop in front of them. His face was wild with agony. “Christ, somebody tell me what is going on.” Eli demanded.

Mrs. Anderson gulped. “G-G-Garrett. He’s….”

“I know, I know he’s on his way to Germany. What about Lori.” Ron pulled up a ratty chair, and shoved his long-time company employee down in it keeping a hand on her shaking shoulder.

Eli held his breath when the older man looked up at him and spoke. “No Eli. It’s Garrett. There’s been an accident. He rolled his car. He….” Eli turned and walked away, held up a hand to make the man stop speaking. He refused to listen to any more of this fucked up craziness. “He’s dead. Killed instantly. We have to go….”

“No.” Eli shouted into the lines of stainless steel. “No.” He whispered. He slumped against the nearest tall container, unwilling to open his eyes and face any of this. His knees buckled and he sank to the floor.

“We have to go, son.” Ron put a hand on his shoulder. “Lori needs us now. After we,” he gulped, ” identify Hunter’s….”

Eli’s brain snapped to and went into overdrive. Anything but face the very real emotions rolling through him. He leapt to his feet. “Fine. Let’s go. Do you have his sisters’ numbers Mrs. A? They have to be told, and I want to do it. Not some random cop.” She nodded and made her sniffling way back to the office.

Action. Moving forward. It was all he knew and all that kept him from collapsing to the floor in a heap. He grabbed his keys, barked a few orders to his second, then finally met Lori’s father’s eyes. “Get us a flight. I’ll meet you at the airport. I’ll handle the, ah, thing with Garrett.” He stalked out, shoved his helmet on and roared out into traffic, barely hearing the honks of angry drivers. By the time he got home, the horror of positive identification over, his face felt stiff. But the air had dried his tears, cleared his head but his chest ached with stress. He had to handle this, but it wasn’t in him. He was not a fixer.

“God damn it, shitting ass fuck!” He threw a tennis ball at the television. It bounced away harmlessly. The dog ran to him, shoved a nose in his crotch, making worried noises. Eli sat, let more tears flow, rubbed his dog’s ears and wished he had his friend back.

Lori’s eyes flickered open. She heard familiar voices.

“If you can’t tell me something then find somebody who fucking well can!”

“Now, now, son, let’s not anger the doctors. They’re the only ones who….”

“Excuse me Mr. Brockton, but I am sick and tired of all this bullshit — ‘we don’t know when she’ll wake up’ excuses. These are god damned first world doctors. Somebody needs to give us an answer.”

“Hey.” Lori’s voice croaked, her throat felt like ten miles of desert. “Can I get some water?”

The two men turned, gaping at her. Then Eli was there, holding her close, muttering in German into her hair. Her father sat on her other side, his blue eyes shining with unshed tears. “I feel like someone dropped a house on me. Please? Water?”

“Of course,” her father went to the hallway then returned with a huge white Styrofoam cup and a straw. She sucked it down so fast she got an instant headache but kept drinking, the glorious life-giving fluid filling her mouth, her muscles and tissues. A tear leaked from one eye. Eli took the cup from her.

“Slow down. There’s more where that came from.” She leaned back on her pillows and looked around. Eli and her father exchanged a look she caught immediately. She had to put a hand over her mouth to keep from gagging as the dream memory of the smell—coppery, slippery, scary blood—filled her senses. Then she knew.

“Where is Garrett?” She whispered. “I need Garrett. Why isn’t he here? He was just here. I saw him.” Her voice rose as the men stared at her. No one spoke. “Where the hell is he? I need him.” She heard screaming, realized it was her as nurses rushed in with needles in their hands. “No, keep the fuck away from me. I’m pregnant. I can’t have any of that shit in my veins.” She pointed at Eli. “You. Tell me where he is. I need to tell him, about the baby—about our baby. Oh, my God.” She shook her head, whipping her hair back and forth as he came closer, silent as the grave.

He sat, took both her hands and pressed them to his lips. “He’s dead Lori. I’m so sorry.” His blue eyes glinted. Panic clamped down on her brain shutting out everything but the bright light of visceral anger.

“You’re lying.” First a whisper, then a throat shattering scream. “You are lying to me!” Her father tried to touch her. “No! Get out! Go away! Where is he? Why are you even here?” She glared at the tall, blonde man, registered his bloodshot eyes. He ran a hand over his jaw. “Why?” She burst into tears and fell back. “Garrett,” She whispered, trying to capture him. To see his face but nothing came except a nurse with a needle, bringing her blessed, completely dreamless sleep.

Part III

“Hell is yourself and the only redemption is when a person puts himself aside to feel deeply for another person.”

~  Tennessee Williams

Chapter One