I didn’t want to ask whose wedding she was talking about, and since I had an early flight to catch, I figured my questions would just keep her talking longer.
“They don’t get it. But you do, I know you do. He was your brother, but he was my husband.” Vivian cried for a few seconds and then went silent.
Was? Oh shit. Exactly how close were she and her brother-in-law?
“Viv, I’m sorry that the wedding upset you.”
“Yeah, I . . . I just hate to see . . .” She sniffled. “People make a mockery out of marriage. Eric is never coming back to me. It’s been four years, and it still hurts. No one wants to get that call, no one. Eric was their lieutenant, and they had to be the ones to give me the news. Oh god, what am I going to do?” Her words were fading more and more as time went on.
I grabbed my iPad and did a search. I only knew a few things: he was a lieutenant, he passed away four years ago, and was survived by his wife, Vivian. Since her area code was four-oh-seven, I started with Orlando and then entered the rest of the information I knew. It didn’t take long before the search engine brought up story after news story.
“Sergeant Haines, posthumously promoted to lieutenant.”
“Erskine Sello found guilty on six charges of second-degree murder and two counts of third-degree murder for the death of his girlfriend, their daughter, and six Orange County deputies.”
The Orlando Journal quoted Vivian as saying, “My husband was a good man; he always did what was right. He never hurt anyone. And this is what he gets?”
I remembered when this happened, I had just been drafted, and it was all over the news. Since our home stadium was within walking distance of the Orange County courthouse and sheriff’s office, we had front row seats to the protests and news coverage.
“I’ll never find love again. I had my one chance . . .” And then Vivian fell silent again, only this time, her words were followed by a soft whistle of air that sounded like snoring. “Good night, sweet, get some rest. Things will get better, I promise.” I disconnected and then crawled into my own bed thinking of the sad woman who’d called my number by mistake.
Vivian
The ringing, oh my god, the ringing in my head wouldn’t stop. I grabbed the extra pillow and threw it over my head, tucking it tight to try to escape the sound. Holy shit, it had been so long since I had a hangover. Headaches, I remember. Cringing at bright lights and loud noises, sure. But ringing? Never.
I sighed when it stopped, but then cringed when it started up again.
Fuck. I tossed the pillow to the ground and searched for my phone. I was sort of shocked that it was nestled against my face and I hadn’t realized it. Pulling it away from me, I closed one eye and tried to focus on who was calling . . . Stella.
“Whattt?”
“Wow, you sound like death ran over.”
“Thanks, I feel like someone stuffed me like a pillow and all this cotton is coming out of my mouth.”
“Well, I’m your morning wakeup call. Don’t forget we are all meeting for lunch. So, get your ass up, I’ll be there in thirty to get you.” Stella was always so bossy.
“But . . .”
“No buts, I told you yesterday when I dropped you off for that calamity of a wedding that I’d pick you up. I’m heading over now. Get ready. You don’t want me to pull your ass out of bed.”
“I’d like to see you try.” I regretted the words once I had said them.
“Bwahaha,” Stella cackled. “Challenge accepted.” She hung up, and I rolled from bed determined to be ready when she arrived; that woman was crazy-ass scary.
I stumbled into the large shower with faux gold knobs, shower head, and frosted glass. It reminded me of when Eric used to sneak into the shower behind me. I would pretend not to know he was there, but even when my head was under the rushing water and my eyes were closed, there was no missing the sudden cold swish of air that blew in when the shower door was opened. I sighed at the memory of the way he would press my hands against the cool tile and take me from behind.
The memory made me smile.
I was still smiling as I dried off and got dressed. I had just zipped up my suitcase when the phone rang, not my cell but the hotel room.
“Hello?” I was sort of confused why anyone would call me here.
“Miss Haines, this is Mr. Whiteside the hotel manager, we need you to come down to the front lobby.”
“Okay, is everything okay?”
Before he could say anything, I heard the problem. “You tell her to get down here right now. This isn’t over, no way. She’s mine, damn it, mine. Vivian, I love you, love you long time. Remember, remember Long Duck Dong?”
I shook my head; Stella was quoting Sixteen Candles. “I’m sorry, I’ll be right down. Tell her that we’ll get her meds and not to worry.”
“I’ll let you tell her. But please hurry, she is quoting Shakespeare to the large rhododendron in the center of our lobby.”
I couldn’t hold back my laugh as I hung up the phone, grabbed my bags, dropped the keycard on the nightstand, and left the room.
When the elevator doors opened at the lobby level, Stella was standing there twirling her hair and looking as if she were talking to a chair. Security officers were speaking to her, and people were standing around watching the town freak, but she didn’t so much as glance their way. “Oh, there you are,” Stella shouted and ran to me in her favorite Phoebe-Buffay way, with knees close and heels kicking out.
I held up
