Forever 51 Page 3

  If she posted to Brittany’s wall as Veronica Bouchard, it could potentially cause problems or questions. She’d paid cash at Tropi-Tan, she was invisible on film, but you never knew. Marie had a big mouth. There could be a streaky spray-tanned print. Anything was possible after watching that god-awful video.

  Veronica logged out and logged back in as Astrid Dahling—her original name. Unlike her current incarnation, Astrid had only one friend, a Swedish woman with the same name. Veronica took a deep breath and swore to herself that after these amends were made, she was done—for real this time. There would be no more slips. Eating would be an act of intention, not emotion. As she typed, “I’m sorry,” on Brittany’s timeline, she noticed a message in the upper right corner of her page. Her newfound friend was a young, scantily clad redhead named Anna Graham. Despite the fact that this message was most likely some kind of porn spam, Veronica clicked it open.

  “Hi Mom.”

  3

  Veronica hadn’t seen or heard from her daughter since the winter of 1932. Those two simple words opened floodgates of tenderness, terror, and resentments as wide and cold as the Great Plains from which they’d both fled—and now, budding amazement. Veronica studied the photo with disbelief. How had she done it? There was no denying it was her daughter. Same blue gray eyes, red hair and porcelain skin with the tiniest sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Ingrid was forever fifteen, but with the right makeup and clothes, she could easily pass for twenty. It was that desire to appear older and more sophisticated that landed them both knee-deep in this eternal mess.

  With a quick punch of the keys, Veronica accepted Ingrid’s friend request and typed a brief response.

  “Hello Ingrid. I’m now residing in Texas. Where are you?”

  Paula once told her that if she couldn’t say what she needed to say in less than ten words, she would be wise to keep her trap shut. Paula was usually right.

  Making amends to Brittany was tough. Not so with Frank. He hated grocery shopping about as much as Veronica hated not being able to stomach a slow cooked stew or a rhubarb pie fresh from the oven. At night while the house slept, she would binge cook casseroles, cookies and cakes for Frank to bring to his meetings. Since she couldn’t even lick the spoon, she considered it service work. Frank called it love.

  Picking up a block of Havarti cheese from the deli cooler, Veronica noticed Mike standing at the seafood counter with a bouquet of red roses in his hand. A pang of guilt hit her in the gut. She hadn’t called Julie to inquire about the honeymoon, much less her health.

  She pushed the recalcitrant cart towards the awful aroma of fish while scanning the area for Julie.

  “Hey, Mike. How’s it going?”

  Mike jumped at the sound of her voice. “Good god. You scared me!”

  Veronica slapped him on the shoulder and laughed. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. Is Julie here?”

  Mike flinched. “No. She’s at home. I’m just getting us some dinner.”

  The acne covered deli clerk approached and handed Mike what looked like a cat carrier.

  “Here’s your lobsters, sir. Can I get you anything else?” Veronica froze. Mike had to know. There’s no way Julie wouldn’t have brought it up.

  “That’s it. Thank you.”

  Veronica played along—for now. “Aww, that’s sweet. She’ll love that. And flowers too.” She lowered her head and took a whiff from the bouquet. “So how was the honeymoon?”

  “Gorgeous, but not long enough. Italy is just so beautiful this time of year. I think getting away for the week did wonders for Julie’s health.”

  “That’s great. I’m so glad to hear it.” Veronica stared at the white box with its clawing contents and clutched the cart handle. “Well, I better get going. My ice cream’s gonna melt and your dinner looks like it’s planning an escape. Tell Julie I said hello.”

  “I will. Have a good night.”

  Veronica seethed all the way through the checkout line. Anyone who knew Julie knew she was allergic to shellfish. She remembered it from Julie’s chart at the hospital and she sure as shit remembered it from when they were strong-armed by the pushy caterer at the country club. Julie spelled it out in no uncertain terms; no crab legs, no lobster, and to be absolutely safe, no ocean, creek, pond, lake, swimming-hole dwellers at all at the reception. Nothing.

  Veronica waited in the parking lot with the engine idling. Two rows over, Mike hopped into his brand new “race red” pony, revved the engine and peeled out of the lot. Veronica stayed two cars behind, her mind racing around and around the worst of all conclusions. Mike was planning a romantic dinner, all right—but not with his new bride.

  When he reached Cherry Creek Estates, a McMansion community that had neither cherry trees nor a creek, Veronica practically kissed his back bumper with her own. Unaware or unconcerned by an aggressive tailgater, he punched in a code at an unmanned kiosk and the gate opened. Staying right on his bumper, she felt grateful that she wouldn’t have to jump a fence or attempt to turn into a bat. That transformation hadn’t worked since a hallucinogenic episode in the 60s.

  The minute he turned into a driveway, Veronica parked a few houses down, hopped out of her car and sprinted towards him.

  “Hey Mike!” she shouted, as he lifted the white box from the passenger seat.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, clutching the box to his chest.

  “Oh, I just need to see Julie right quick. It concerns someone we both know, and I figured it would be best to tell her in person. It’ll only take a minute. About as long as it will take you to boil those tasty little anaphylactic shock lobsters.” She looked up towards the house as she attempted to catch her breath. “I like your new house. They have excellent security.”

  “Listen…”

  “Yes, Mike?” She leaned in closer. The smell of fear emanated from his pores like a noxious perfume. If only she could bottle it, it could carry her through the lean times.

  Mike’s face flushed as tiny beads of sweat gathered at the edge of his receding hairline. “Oh, um. This is my sister’s house.” He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “It’s her birthday, so it’s not really a good time.”

  “Oh, terrific! She’s a Leo. They’re lots of fun. I’d love to meet her. Shall we?” Veronica stared with intent into the darkness of his brown, fully dilated, eyes. Invite me in, invite me in, invite me in. She believed vampires could bend the will of others—almost as surely as she knew that they couldn’t enter a home uninvited.

  “Give me a sec. Okay?” Mike rushed towards the door and held his arm out towards Veronica. “Let me just check with her.”

  “You do that.” She planted herself on an artfully distressed bench on the front porch and tried to think of a plan. Paula’s voice entered her head like a mantra. What side of the street are you on? Is this your business?

  The door cracked open and Mike poked his head out. “She’s in the shower.”

  Veronica stood. “Well, darn. I know this sounds crazy, Mike, but can I just take a quick peek inside? Frank and I are in the market for a new place and I really like the idea of a gated community. I promise, I just want to see what the living room and kitchen look like.”

  He sighed heavily and shook his head no.

  “You’re not going to invite me in?” She could feel her fangs straining against her gums.

  “Why in the hell would I let you in? You need to mind your own fucking business and go away before I call the cops.”

  “I’m calling Julie.” Veronica reached for her phone.

  Mike smirked. “And ruin her last days of happiness? I thought you were her friend.”

  “And I thought you pledged to love, honor, and obey. Let me in or I swear to god, I will call her right now.”

  “Fuck off.” He slammed the door.

  On the drive home, Veronica sobbed into her steering wheel. Men like Mike were everywhere. In her series of ill-fated relationships, she had dated and even
married a serial philanderer. Who did they think they were? It was the most ridiculous fact of life to learn that she had no control over other people and their dumbass behaviors. Even more maddening was how easy it would be to eliminate Mike’s presence from the rest of Julie’s life—and his disappearance would bring Julie just as much heartache as telling her the truth. It was better for everyone involved to let the guilty bastard go free.

  With that thought, Veronica’s stomach grumbled. Inhaling a deep, cleansing breath, she imagined that Mike’s chlamydia-ridden blood probably tasted like shit and it wasn’t worth the trouble to kill him. There were multitudes of indiscretions in her own past, and she would never intentionally harm someone she loved. But like most codependents, there was always the possibility that she might love someone to death.

  4

  Marie stood in front of room 201, which was directly across from the nurse’s station, chatting with an armed guard. She twirled her hair and laughed with the tall muscular man as if she were a smitten schoolgirl at a junior high dance.

  Marie waved Veronica over. “You’re never going to guess who just moved into room 201.”

  Veronica waited patiently.

  “Bobby Lee Garrett!” The words spewed from her mouth with sneeze-like intensity.

  “Who’s that?” Veronica smiled up at the handsome guard.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. You call yourself a Texan and you don’t know who Bobby Lee Garrett is?” Marie playfully jabbed Veronica in the ribs.

  Veronica protectively crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “Was he a quarterback for the Dallas Cowboys?”

  Marie nudged the guard playfully with her elbow.

  “Cattle rancher? Cowboy? Oil and gas magnate? I don’t know, Marie. Why don’t you just tell me?”

  “Serial killer.” Marie lowered her voice. “In the 80s, he murdered like twenty…” Marie looked towards the guard and raised her eyebrows.

  “I believe it was twenty-seven, ma’am.”

  “Women! He killed twenty-seven women in Dallas. Can you believe that?”

  Veronica stared blankly at Marie’s animated face. Amateur.

  “They were mostly prostitutes, but still, he cut them up and did all sorts of weird stuff with their body parts. It gives me the willies just thinking about it.” Marie stared down at her feet, then looked up dramatically as if she were an actress in a daytime soap. “If you don’t mind, Veronica, I just don’t think I can care for him. It would be too difficult for me.”

  “He’s on what they call compassionate release, ma’am,” the guard said, and opened the door. Veronica stepped inside the darkened room. In the corner by the window sat another guard. His eyes were closed, as were Bobby Lee Garrett’s.

  “He’s got pancreatic cancer and prolly don’t have much time left. The warden felt kinda sorry for him, I s’pose.” The guard lifted the blanket, revealing Bobby Lee’s emaciated frame. “As you can see right here, he’s chained up. Two guards will be here twenty-four seven to keep an eye on him, so you don’t need to worry ’bout nothin’. He ain’t going nowhere.”

  The cute, but painfully stupid guard patted Veronica on the back. It wasn’t Bobby Lee she was worried about. He already had one foot in the grave. It was the extra supervision.

  Bobby Lee opened his droopy basset hound eyes and focused on Veronica. “You my nurse?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m Veronica. How’s your pain level?”

  “I’m doped up just fine, but I feel like I’m drowning in my own spit.” He turned his head to the side and coughed violently into the pillow.

  “How about we elevate you?” Veronica approached the bed and lifted the remote. “You can do this yourself with just a press of this button right here.” She demonstrated the controls. His brown eyes fixated on the v-neck opening at the top of her scrubs.

  “My arms are chained to the bed, Miss Veronica, so you’re just going to have to help me get it up.” He licked his lips. “Can you help me get it up, Veronica? Or do I need to call Betty?” He cackled, exposing a mouthful of decayed teeth.

  Veronica felt the sharpness of her own teeth straining against her gums. A world full of Mikes. She took a deep breath and smiled with her lips firmly pressed together.

  “Watch it, there,” the guard said and stepped towards the bed with his arm stretched out in front of Veronica, like a parent shielding their child from hitting the dash.

  “Oh, pipe down Patterson. Veronica here’s cool. Aren’t you, girl?”

  “Oh, yes, I’m quite cool, Mr. Garrett.” Veronica looked at the chart at the end of his bed. “It looks like Dr. Swanson has ordered a catheter for you. Would it make you more comfortable to have Kenneth perform this procedure?”

  “What’s a catheter?”

  “It’s a tube inserted into your penis to drain your bladder.”

  Bobby Lee grimaced. “I don’t want no fag nurse touching my pecker. I want you to do it.”

  “Alright then. I’ll be back in a jiff.” Her heart resumed a slower beat as she turned to leave the room. Calmly. Professionally. Like someone who didn’t have a phallic axe to grind.

  Veronica figured Bobby Lee Garrett would exit this world just as he’d entered it—kicking, screaming and raising a fuss. “Live and let live” would have to get her through this one. Who was she to judge? In all her years, she had witnessed hundreds of deaths and not once was sainthood bestowed upon the dying. If Bobby Lee’s behavior got too out of control, there was nothing like a little morphine to calm them both down.

  She returned to the nurses’ station and stared longingly at the computer. She desperately wanted to check and see if Ingrid had posted a response, but it was too risky to log into her account. No one had ever barged in on her during a patient’s final moments, but when it came to computer use, there were always prying eyes.

  Marie was on her bedazzled phone playing another round of Solitaire while simultaneously typing up a report. “So, did you ever talk to the police about that spray tan place?”

  “No. I’ve been pretty busy and to tell you the truth, Marie, I’m not that concerned about the videotape.” Maybe saying it out loud would make it true.

  “Veronica!” Marie’s jaw dropped. “Have you considered that maybe you saw the killer when you were there. You know, it wouldn’t hurt to at least call them.” Marie scrolled through her contacts. “I tell ya what. Bill’s brother works for the Grapevine PD. I’ll give him a call and see if he can come in here when you’re on shift.”

  “Marie. Stop! Nobody else was there that night and if there was, I didn’t see them.” Veronica stood up. “I really don’t want to get involved.”

  Marie set her phone down. “Well, alright then. Geez.”

  Patterson clomped over to the station and leaned on the counter. “Would you ladies be okay if I went and grabbed myself a cup of coffee?”

  “I’ll get it for you.” Marie jumped from her chair and smiled. “Do you need cream or sugar?”

  “Both, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  Marie sashayed down the hall towards the lounge. Like many of the women Veronica met in her Al-Anon meetings, Marie was both a caretaker and a control freak.

  “This must be very boring for you,” Veronica said to fill the awkward silence. This guy looked like he was more into NASCAR than the news. She could only hope.

  “Nah. This is like a vacation.”

  “Would you like something to read? We’ve got a ton of magazines back here.” Veronica grabbed a stack from under the desk.

  “No, ma’am. We ain’t allowed to read or nothing while we’re here. I’m just supposed to sit outside that room and make sure no one sneaks in.” Flecks of smokeless tobacco littered his front teeth.

  Veronica would have loved to sneak into Bobby Lee’s room and rip his vocal cords out. “Does that happen a lot?”

  “You’d be surprised. Sometimes it’s family members bringing in stuff they shouldn’t and sometimes a victim’s family member catches wind of t
he release.”

  “And then what?” Veronica leaned forward.

  “Well, some of ‘em try to play executioner.”

  “Hmmm. Does Bobby Lee have any family?”

  “Yeah, his mama should be here sometime tomorrow. And I think his wife is fixin’ to fly in on Tuesday.”

  Marie sidled up next to Patterson. In her bright-pink Hello Kitty scrubs and ponytail, she looked like a forty-year-old toddler. “Whose wife?”

  “Bobby Lee’s.” Veronica enjoyed toying with Marie’s comfort level. “And she’s going to come visit him. Probably on my night off.”

  “What kind of woman would marry a man like that? He’s a killer for god’s sakes!”

  Patterson nodded at the room. “That man gets a ton of letters and visits from some very good lookin’ women.”

  “That is just plain ridiculous. Why would a woman want to be romantically tangled with that monster?”

  “Well, I reckon it’s because he’s famous, he’s dangerous and they always know where he’s at.” Patterson laughed. “Thank you for the coffee, Marie. I best be getting back to my post.”

  “If you need anything, you just holler.” Marie patted him on the shoulder, her hand lingering a little too long on his well-formed arms. He took a seat, spat into an empty cup and stared at the station.

  Veronica eyed the empty hallways and Patterson’s heavy stare. This is going to be a long night.

  Later that morning, Veronica tiptoed into the house, hoping to retreat into the seclusion of the darkroom without waking Frank. It wasn’t safe to be around him when her unnatural instincts were aroused. Earlier that morning while inserting Bobby Lee’s catheter, he had asked her for a hand job, whispering that he’d pay her for it. Either the guard was hard of hearing or he’d fallen asleep again. She had not been conscientious or kind or gentle during the procedure. She wanted to hurt men like him and Mike, men who hurt women either physically or emotionally. She drew blood in the process. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Kenneth was required to be in the room during the insertion, she may have given Bobby Lee a different kind of blowjob. It wouldn’t have been the first time. It never failed to surprise her that some men would go so far as to attempt to maneuver her head even as she was sucking the life out of them.