The Eternal Engagement Page 9

  “Are you okay, ma’am?” the receptionist asked.

  “I’m fine. Just expecting someone,” Mona said, not knowing if she was lying or not.

  “Certainly. May I see your credit card and ID?” the girl asked.

  Mona observed her name tag, then handed the receptionist her driver’s license. “Tiffany, I don’t have a credit card that I care to give you. I’m paying cash.”

  “Sorry, ma’am,” Tiffany replied. “We need a credit card for your incidentals.”

  Sternly, Mona replied, “There won’t be any incidentals. And cash is legal tender everywhere in the U.S.” Mona paid for her room, got her key, then headed to the bar for a much-needed drink.

  She wasn’t running from Steven; her decision was to leave him. There was a difference. Leaving her new hometown, she’d do in her own time, not his. And no matter what he said, regardless of what he did, and she didn’t care how amazing his mind-blowing orgasms were, she was never going back to him.

  CHAPTER 22

  Steven

  May 2010

  When all failed and he felt there was no way out, he’d call his mother.

  Tempted to phone Mona first, he sat in his recliner contemplating how he could make her life hell until she’d come home where she belonged. A wife’s place was beside her husband. What man would want her if he knew what she’d done?

  For better or worse was what Mona had legally agreed to at the courthouse. One option was to frame her like he’d done Sarah. That would be extreme yet effective, but Mona wouldn’t go down without a knock-down, rake-his-ass-over-the-coals-and-drag-him-into-the-quicksand-pit-too kinda fight. He hated to admit it, but Mona had become better than him at his own job. His wife was one step ahead of brilliant.

  Mona was many things, but she wasn’t a passive woman. Trying to frame her would no doubt eventually backfire on him. Cutting off her credit cards and cell phone wouldn’t equate to cutting her off. He didn’t make enough money to make her wealthy, but in addition to making her financially independent, Steven let Mona keep all the money she made on her nine-to-five jobs. Steven never wanted Mona Lisa to want for anything except him.

  “This is fucked up!” he cried out loud, then turned the whiskey bottle upside down.

  Steven held his phone, retrieved his list of favorites, then dialed the first number.

  “Hey, Buttercup. I was just thinking about you. Everything okay?” his mom asked.

  “I guess, Ma.”

  “Well, if you have to guess, tell me what’s wrong. You haven’t lost that good job at the oil company, have you?”

  Any job paying over fifty thousand dollars was considered good to most people in the South. If his mother knew how much he made bounty hunting, she’d swear he was working for the godfather himself. If that were her guess, she’d be close to being right.

  “No, Ma.” He wasn’t lying. They didn’t have a chance to fire him because they’d never hired him. Suit. Tie. Meetings. Sitting behind a desk in an office with a dreary view of downtown Bakersfield wouldn’t have lasted three minutes.

  The upside was Bakersfield was a bounty hunter’s paradise. Probation offenders, drug dealers ditching court while out on bail, and the long list of everyday citizens with unknown warrants were one step away from having to post bail. One step away from skipping out on bail. They put him one step away from getting another contract. With a population of almost three hundred forty thousand, the residents made his job easy because most offenders in Bakersfield never left Bakersfield.

  “Then what’s the problem? Is it one of those guy things? I can put your daddy on the phone. You don’t have men hitting on you, do you?”

  Steven laughed. He didn’t have anything against same-sex relationships. Business was profitable and he didn’t discriminate. When it came to slapping on the handcuffs, he didn’t care about gender or sexual preferences.

  “No, Ma. I’d rather talk to you. Mona left me and I’m not sure when or if she’s coming back.”

  “Aw, Buttercup, is that all? I knew this was coming,” his mom said. “I’m surprised it took her so long.”

  What did she mean by that? How could she have known? Why hadn’t his mother warned him?

  Steven frowned, sat on the edge of the recliner, stared at Mona’s picture on the wall. Looking at his wife’s picture made him hate her more. But he wasn’t angry with Katherine Clinton. In a way, they were aiding one another. Katherine could use the money and he needed her assistance. He owed Katherine ten grand for using her influence to personally interview Detective Davenport, but he never wanted the McKenny story to make national news. He had to find out why she’d done that. Had to make sure Davenport hadn’t linked Calvin’s murder to the other two. Maybe he should’ve used a different bank account for each of the cashier’s checks.

  “But, Ma. I’m a good husband. I’ve been nothing but good to Mona. You know that. I don’t deserve this.” He wanted to add the word shit, but Steven never cursed while speaking to or in the presence of his parents.

  “You men are all alike. This isn’t about you. Sometimes a woman needs to find herself. Mona went from her mother’s house to yours. She married you the same day you proposed. Except for when she was in college, she’s never lived on her own, and even then you said she had a roommate. I’m surprised it took her this long. Y’all been knowing each other since second grade. And then you go and drag her all the way cross country where she doesn’t have friends. Give her space to find out who she is. And you need to take advantage of her time away and do the same.”

  Maybe his mother had been drinking too. Steven eyed Mona’s 24 x 36 framed picture on the living room wall. “How much time?” He feared the longer Mona stayed gone, she’d get comfortable being away from him and never come back.

  “Six months tops.”

  Six what? To find out who she was? For real? And he should do the same? He’d never taken time to figure himself out. Didn’t see the point in doing that. “Mona needs to come home now, Ma.”

  “How long she been gone?”

  Steven checked the time on his cell, then answered, “An hour.”

  His mother laughed. “Buttercup, you’re funny. Mona loves you. She’ll come back to you. You didn’t hit her, did you? We raised you better than that. Please tell me you didn’t—”

  He interrupted, “No, Ma. You know I’d never do that.”

  Steven never saw his parents fight. They never argued, at least not around him. His parents weren’t the norm in Selma. A lot of the Southern men abuse their women and their wives. He loved Mona too much to physically hurt her. But if she didn’t come back, he would not have mercy on her soul.

  Six months? His mother never gave him bad advice. He could give Mona that much space hoping she’d be back in a week. One hundred and eighty-two days from today—he counted the days on his phone, then calendared the exact date and time. If she hadn’t come back by 12:00 a.m. Thanksgiving Day, her time was up.

  No matter where she was, he’d find her. In six months, she might not matter.

  “You want me and your dad to come visit you?” his mom asked, not waiting for his answer. “We’ll be there Memorial Day. Your daddy needs to get out the house anyway. We need to do something with all this money you keep sending us besides adding on rooms to the house. And you need to keep a clear head. Now, don’t get so upset you lose that good job with the oil company. If you do, Mona will leave you for sure. You know how her mama raised her not to be with a man that can’t take care of her. And you’re not gonna embarrass us. No, siree. Give that girl six months to be on her own. Be patient. She’ll come back to you, Buttercup. I love your daddy to death, but I sure wish I hadn’t gone straight from my parents’ house to his. Speaking of death, you saw the news today? I can’t believe that Sarah McKenny girl was arrested for killing her—”

  “Ma, I’ve gotta go find Mona. See y’all Memorial Day. Love you. Tell Dad I love him too. Bye.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Mona
>
  May 2010

  The bar inside the hotel was fairly quiet. One bartender, one patron. Her arrival doubled the customer count. Mona sat at the end farthest from the entrance. The bar stool with a high back appeared to have a firm cushion until her ass sunk deep into the seat. “Whoa,” she said, gripping the edge of the bar.

  The bartender laughed. “Be careful there.”

  “Don’t bother changing seats. They’re all like that. Mind if I sit next to you?” a tall and handsome guy asked. “Give this lady whatever she’d like,” he told the bartender.

  His friendly demeanor and dazzling smile made her smile, a little. He was as tall as Steven. His haircut was a bit military, reminding her of Lincoln. Mona wished she had Lincoln’s number. She’d gotten so sidetracked getting away from Steven, she hadn’t checked her phone since this morning. Maybe Lincoln had called.

  “What would you like?” the bartender asked.

  Lincoln, she thought, then answered, “I’ll have a Long Island iced tea.” She thanked the guy seated next to her as she retrieved her cell. Was it fair she wanted her ex to emotionally rescue her from her husband?

  “My pleasure. Make that two Long Islands. My name is Davis. And you are?” he asked, extending his long thick fingers.

  Didn’t he see both of her hands holding her phone? “Mona Lisa,” she said, pressing the on button. Gasping, she mouthed, “A hundred and three missed calls and more texts than that. Wow.” She had to find out what Steven had done, but she wasn’t going to call anyone tonight so she might as well drink and try to relax.

  “Yes, wow. What a beautiful name. Please to meet you, Mona Lisa.” Davis placed his elbows on the bar, interlocked his fingers. “You live around here, passing through, visiting, or on business?”

  Shaking her head, she wished he’d “Shut the hell up!” for a moment. Did he think his one-sided conversation would command her attention? Mona scrolled through her list of missed calls. “Not sure yet,” she said, briefly eyeing the entrance to the hotel.

  Damn, only fifty-two missed calls registered on her phone. What happened to the other fifty-one calls? The ones she could see, half of them were from her mom. She guessed Sarah’s arrest gave her mother an excuse to call until she’d spoken with her. What if Lincoln had called but there were too many numbers for his to show up? Disgusted, Mona placed her phone on the bar. She had nothing to say to her mom.

  At the moment, Mona was unsure of a lot of things. Going to work tomorrow would mean a trip to the local Walmart on Highway 178 for clothes to wear. She could go to the airport, take the next flight to wherever the plane was going. Sleeping in all week and ordering room service for breakfast, lunch, and dinner was another option.

  “Well, you don’t have to tell me anything. I respect that,” Davis said. “Have you eaten? Would you like to join me for dinner? Here at the hotel, that is.”

  Mona was consumed with the monologue in her head. Was Steven looking for her? Did he care? She hadn’t missed a single call from him. And although she wasn’t going back to him, she wanted him to fight for her return.

  “We can order from the bar menu if you’d like.”

  “Huh? What?” she replied. “Do what?” Mona snapped. “What are you talking about?”

  “Never mind,” Davis said, picking up his drink. “I can see you have a lot on your mind. Granted this is a public place, but I’ll just move to the other end of the bar so you can be alone.”

  That made her laugh a little. Mona touched his arm. “No, please stay. You’re right. I do have a lot on my mind,” she said, eyeing the entrance again.

  She needed his company more than he wanted hers. She didn’t want to be alone tonight. Sex wasn’t on her mind. Having a man to protect her was what she desired.

  Happy he’d asked again, “Would you like to have dinner with me?” she firmly replied, “Only if it’s serviced in my room.”

  Davis smiled, tossed thirty dollars on the bar. “Ready when you are. We can take our drinks to your room. I got ’em.”

  Mona felt safe at the hotel, safer with a big, strong man like Davis by her side. She prayed he’d stay the night, and she knew exactly how to entice him. She should’ve requested two double beds. Hadn’t planned on meeting a man, a fine one at that, so quickly. Sexing him could take a lot off her mind, but sex wasn’t on her agenda, and she didn’t want to give him the wrong idea.

  As they entered her room, her cell phone rang. It was Steven. Mona declined his call and locked her door.

  “You must be a popular person to have your phone constantly chiming. Now it’s ringing,” Davis said, then asked, “Was that your husband? ’Cause I don’t sleep with married women. In case you don’t know, the men in this town are crazy and possessive, in that order.”

  “I don’t have a husband anymore. Make yourself comfortable. You’re welcome to stay but you have to shower before getting in the bed. And, so there’s no confusion, we’re not having sex.”

  Davis sat the drinks, his wallet, and keys on the nightstand, then headed to the bathroom. Sticking his head out the door, he said, “I’m a complete gentleman. If you want to see my California’s driver’s license, it’s in my wallet on the nightstand.” He closed the door.

  Mona took him up on his offer. Snapped a photo of his license with her camera phone, then powered off her cell. She’d need to preserve the battery until she could buy a charger in the morning. A new car was also on her list of things to buy, but she’d wait until she left Bakersfield. Steven wouldn’t vandalize his own car, and if he did she wouldn’t care.

  The bathroom door opened. Davis stepped out with a white bath towel wrapped at his waist. His chest was bare, smooth. Nipples, erect, tight. Stomach, flat. Pubic hairs, partially exposed. The imprint of his dick molded the towel like a twelve-inch lollicock.

  Damn! Her eyes widened, mouth opened. Nice package, she thought.

  “Thanks for letting me use your shower. I feel great. Your turn,” he said, flashing his dazzling smile.

  Mona wasn’t as trusting as Davis. She took all she had with her—purse, gun, and cell—into the bathroom. She left the door open so she could hear what was happening in the room.

  Her reflection in the mirror was pretty, but she felt like shit thinking about Sarah sleeping in a jail cell while she was staying in a hotel. Mona could go anywhere in the world if she wanted. Sarah could not.

  The shower cap neatly covered Mona’s hair. She closed her eyes. The hot, steamy beads of water bounced on her face, then flowed to her feet. Massaging her breasts, her body tingled with pleasure as she visualized Davis’s dick. She thoroughly cleansed between her inner and outer labia, then touched her clit with the tip of her middle finger trying to have an orgasm. Struggling to let go of the mounted tension consuming her, she stroked herself.

  “You okay in there?”

  Almost forgetting Davis was in the room, she exhaled. “Yeah.” Didn’t know he heard her.

  Mona washed herself, scrubbed her underwear, hung her panties and bra on the hook behind the door. She wrapped her naked body in the towel.

  “Wow, you always take almost an hour to shower?” he asked, leaning against the leather headboard.

  “Yes and no.”

  Mona peeled back the comforter and sheet, exposed his feet, sat at the foot of the bed. Placing his legs over her lap, she saturated his shins with lotion. With long, graceful strokes, she massaged everything below his knees. She took her time kneading his toes, arches, and the ball of his feet until Davis fell asleep. Massaging him helped take her mind off the things she couldn’t control.

  Curling in a fetal position, Mona secured her body at the edge of the bed far away from him, placed two pillows between them. Tomorrow she’d resign from her job and take time to decide whom and what she really wanted.

  CHAPTER 24

  Lincoln

  May 2010

  Whatever happened to the Homes for Heroes Act that was never voted on under the Bush administration?


  Lincoln had to decide whether to use the last eight hundred dollars he had to pay his cell phone bill, eat for another thirty days, and live on the street, or to bring his rent current for the last time, have no cell phone service, and starve the rest of the month. Or last, ask his family for help. The decision was difficult.

  Memorial Day he awoke in a park, wrapped in an American flag. He wasn’t proud that he’d stolen the flag from a pole on someone’s lawn. If someone thought about robbing him while he was asleep, he prayed the flag would change their mind. If he died being homeless, maybe whoever found his body would automatically assume the red, white, and blue meant he was a vet.

  Neatly aligning the stripes and stars, he shoved the flag into his backpack, then headed to the park’s public restroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. Later he’d try to sneak into a hotel or low-star restaurant, lock the door or stall, and charge up his cell phone while taking what his grandmother called “a ho bath.”

  He tossed his backpack atop a picnic table, pulled out his cell phone. Mom, Dad, Grandma, Grandpa, Katherine, or Mona? In a few hours the park would be flooded with people celebrating . . . what? A day off from work with pay? He couldn’t believe his government actually paid millions of dollars to workers and gave just about every employee the day off to celebrate and he just woke up in a park.

  After scrolling through his numbers, he dialed his grandparents.

  “Hello,” a sleepy voice answered.

  “Hey, Grandpa.”

  His voice escalated. “William, is that you, son?”

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “We thought you were dead, but we hadn’t heard anything from the military so we figured they might not be able to identify your body.” His grandfather sounded excited, confused, and inquisitive. “Where are you? When are you coming home? Your grandma and I want to hear about all your adventures. Honey! William is on the phone, pick up the other end!”