The Day Steam Died Part 19

The orderly glanced toward the two women as he entered the room and closed the door behind him.

"Momma was right, I'm going to get him moved to Forsyth Hospital just as soon as he is able to travel. We're getting in to see Jerry even if it's past visiting hours or they're going to have to lock me up," Ann said to anyone within earshot. She'd never been this upset before and was in no mood to be bossed around.

Ann looked at her watch every two minute. What was taking them so long? She paced up and down the hall, ignoring Sylvia, who grieved quietly across the hall from Jerry's room. Another quick glance at her watch-they'd been working on Jerry for almost thirty minutes. She stopped pacing and focused on the door to room 513. Her head snapped back at the click of the door k.n.o.b. Someone was coming out.

Doctor Thomas appeared, removing his mask.

"How is my husband?" Ann asked, a faint gasp escaping her mouth as she nearly ran into the doctor.

"Why don't we step into this office where it's more private? I'll give you a full report."

Doctor Thomas opened a door across the hall. He turned on the lights and motioned for them to have a seat on a couch sitting against one wall. After Sylvia and Ann sat, he took a seat in a folding chair in front of them.

"Your husband began experiencing an irregular heartbeat. We tried to shock it back to normal but were not successful. We inserted a defibrillator to try and restore his heart rhythm. I'm sorry, Mrs. Blackmon, but Jerry's heart just gave out. He went into cardiac arrest. There wasn't anything more we could do for him. I'm so sorry for your loss." Doctor Thomas stood then placed a hand on each of their shoulders. "The chaplain is on his way."

Ann collapsed into Sylvia's arms. They cried together while Doctor Thomas quietly exited the office.

Chapter 41.

"You adapted to the progress that came with peace and a growing economy. You held on to your values, traditions, and work ethic."

Morning after Rick rolled over and pressed himself against Candi's warm body, gently blowing in her ear. She roused, rolled onto her back, and then pulled him on top of her.

Squinting from the bright, noonday sun streaming in her windows, she said in a raspy voice, "Man, you look like s.h.i.+t, but that was one h.e.l.l of a New Year's party."

"You don't look so great yourself. How about I whip up some bacon and eggs and a big pot of coffee?"

"How can you think of food? Oh, G.o.d, I think I'm going to throw up." Candi pushed Ricked off her then rolled out of bed and wobbled a few steps toward the bathroom. Then, in a burst of speed, she ran and hugged the commode while she threw up several hours' worth of beer, bourbon, chips, dips, and finger foods.

At the sound of her heaving, Rick jumped up and pulled on a pair of red and white N.C. State sweats. He wasn't much of a drinker and managed to escape the party with little more than a dull headache. The short walk into the kitchen convinced him that maybe dry toast and coffee would be a better choice.

"Do you need any help in there?" he called to Candi. Hearing no reply, he checked and found Candi on her knees with her head resting on her crossed arms on the toilet seat. There wasn't anything left in her stomach, just gut-wrenching dry heaves.

Rick went to their bedroom closet, grabbed her bathrobe, and then draped it over her shoulders before he went back into the kitchen. He stirred a raw egg into a gla.s.s of milk then delivered it to Candi, who was still retching. "Here, drink this. They say it's great for a hangover."

She grasped the gla.s.s with both shaking hands and downed the concoction. "Ugh, what the h.e.l.l was that?"

"Just an antidote for a hangover."

"It tasted terrible, and I'm freezing my a.s.s off!"

"Stand up and I'll help you get into your robe."

"Just leave me alone. I'll be okay in a little while."

"I can take a hint." She would never let him do anything for her; it had to be her doing it her way. Candi had loosened up a lot since they first met, but she still had an independent wall built around her Rick hadn't been able to breach.

He shook it off and went back into the kitchen, dumped the grounds down the disposal, and put on a fresh pot of coffee. Rick knew his way around her kitchen pretty well now and could find almost anything he needed. Candi wasn't much of a cook and didn't organize the few items on her shelves like he had seen his mother do when they brought the groceries home.

They moved in together a short time after that explosive night in the Winston-Salem Marriott. Candi had chided Rick about his tiny, slovenly apartment that should have been condemned by the health department. The only things he moved were his few clothes and an alarm clock.

He'd only had a bed that Wil had given him when he and Ginger got married, a recliner from Goodwill, a nightstand with a Miller Beer lamp on it of unknown origin, And a black and white TV with rabbit ears that sat on an old foot locker turned up on end that doubled as a bookcase.

His kitchenware consisted of a couple of pots and pans, an odd a.s.sortment of silverware donated by a restaurant owner after Rick gave his Italian eatery a good write-up in the paper. He'd been eating off paper plates on a card table that had two mismatched folding chairs. The Salvation Army took the bed, chair, and TV, but they'd tossed the rest in a dumpster behind his old apartment.

"That coffee smells good," Candi said, holding a cold washcloth against her forehead when she entered the kitchen. She flopped into a chair at the kitchen table with a groan and began to towel her hair dry while waiting on the coffee to finish brewing. "I took a quick shower to wake me up. I'll feel like a human being again when I get some black coffee in me. That nasty c.o.c.ktail you gave me seems to be helping. How do you feel?"

"One of us had to drive home, so my Seagrams Seven and 7UP was mostly 7UP. Besides, I wanted to be able to remember the fun we were going to have when we got home. You were amazing, even better than the Marriott in Winston."

"You'll have to tell me about it. I don't even remember leaving the party. I haven't had that much to drink since I quit therapy. I seldom drink much at office parties, but that newsroom bunch can really throw 'em down. It's the first time in a long while I felt secure enough to let go because I knew you would take care of me. But, next time, cut me off earlier. I want to remember being amazing when we get home."

Candi smiled at Rick. Her robe opened when she stood up and pressed her naked body against his bulging sweat pants. With her arms wrapped around his neck, she kissed him, thrusting her tongue down his throat. Her robe dropped to the floor as she steered him out of the kitchen and toward their rumpled bed.

"I'll remember this time," she whispered in his ear.

At three in the afternoon, Rick and Candi were back sitting around the kitchen table, sipping black coffee after finis.h.i.+ng off a frozen pepperoni and cheese pizza that tasted like cardboard.

"We've been living together for a few months now and I've heard most of your life story, but one thing still puzzles me. Where did the nickname Candi come from? I mean, you're Polish, right? That doesn't sound very Polish for a girl that went to Catholic schools."

"It's a long story," she said and reached for cigarettes in her purse.

"We've got the rest of the day," Rick joked.

She found her cigarettes and pulled one out to light. She glanced at Rick's disapproving glare, put the cigarette back into the pack, crumpled it up, and tossed it with the lighter into the trash can.

"Thanks, I appreciate you not smoking. Wish you would stop completely. They're really bad for you."

"I just might do that. I only started because I was mad about my parents' deaths. It sort of helped me get through my grief. That was a rough time. Until I met you, I haven't had any reason to stop." Candi flashed a wicked grin. "It was kind of fun to push your b.u.t.tons by smoking in your office at first, but I don't want to push those b.u.t.tons anymore. I have more enjoyable ones to push now.

"Anyway, back to my nickname. My mom couldn't have any more kids after my birth, so she named me Bogdana, after my grandmother, which means Gift of G.o.d in Polish. In high school I wasn't good at sports, but my best friend, Karen, who was a great softball player, talked me into signing up for the Intramural team during PE. During my first game, the score was tied and it was my turn at bat with two outs. Karen was on third base. I was afraid the ball was going to hit me and ducked back every time a pitch was thrown. I had let two strikes go by and Karen yelled at me, 'Hey, candy a.s.s, stand in there and hit the d.a.m.n ball!'

The name stuck at school, but my parents didn't like it and forbid Karen to use it when she was at our house. So I modified it to Candi, which I liked better than my real name. My parents hated Candi but accepted it as part of my teenage rebellion. I guess they figured if that was the worst thing I did, they could live with it. So there you have it."

"Did you bring her home?"

"What?"

"Your friend Karen. Did you bring her in from third to score?"

"I swung at the next pitch and missed it by a mile. Okay, my turn. Why did they name you Rick instead of it being a nickname for Richard?"

"My story is much shorter and less interesting. My Momma and Daddy didn't go to the movies very often. Actually, I don't ever remember them going to a movie together, but she would make a point to see Ricardo Montalban, the great Latin lover. She would go to the matinee any time he came to our theater and be home before Daddy got home from work."

"So Rick is your nickname for Ricardo?"

"She didn't think a Mexican name like Ricardo would go over very well in our WASP town. She shortened it to just plain Rick. She never told anyone why. I didn't even know until after Daddy died. Momma, Wil, and I were sitting around the kitchen table after the funeral and our friends had left. She just started talking to us about all sorts of things she'd kept secret for most of their married life. It was like we weren't even in the room. She really had a crush on Montalban. She would have been mortified if Daddy had found out. Here she was, the epitome of a good Christian woman, pillar of the church, model wife, and mother harboring feelings for another man, a Mexican movie star at that. I think she was just venting her soul. We've never spoken of it since. She would probably deny she ever said it if I brought it again."

"That's romantic. It's a woman thing you would never understand. Another thing: why do you still call your parents Momma and Daddy? You're a grown adult."

"It's a Southern thing, you Yankees wouldn't understand," Rick said then chuckled.

"You're right about that. But she sounds sweet. Am I ever going to get to meet her?"

"We can swing down to Bankstowne after we've delivered Mr. Gaines' leather jacket and had a chance to poke around the S & T Warehouse. Maybe get a scoop on what's going on there. I think I can clear it with Dan."

"Oh, do we have to talk about work? It's much more fun to hang out here having s.e.x and eating bad pizza all day."

"Look at the bright side, maybe we can get our old room 515 back at the Marriott."

Chapter 42.

"Sadly, the day finally came when Bankstowne Shops no longer fulfilled its once indispensable role in the modern Coastline Railway operations."

Return to Winston-Salem Rick and Candi managed to get their eyes back to their original color before going to work Monday morning after New Year's. She covered her dark circles with makeup, but there was no way to hide Rick's droopy eyelids. He was anxious to get back to work and to Winston-Salem to follow up on a possible contact at Sam's warehouse.

Rick didn't waste any time and headed straight for Dan's office. He hesitated at the door and said, "Good morning, Dan," before walking in. "Have a good holiday?" Rick didn't feel as cheerful as he tried to sound.

Dan sat at his desk, his tie not quite straight. He pressed his palm against his forehead and sighed. "Yeah, we had a quiet night at home. We watched the ball drop on Times Square with Gretchen home from Virginia for the holidays. Okay, what's up? You didn't come in here to talk about my holiday."

Rick took a deep breath. "I need to go back to Winston-Salem. I've stumbled onto a possible lead on Sam Johnson's operation. At the Dixie Cla.s.sics basketball tournament, a drunk spilled beer down the back of my jacket. When I confronted him about it, he gave me his leather jacket and took my parka to have it cleaned."

"Nice gesture, but what does that have to do with Sam Johnson?"

"Are you ready for this? This guy won the jacket as employee of the year at S & T Distribution Company. Can you believe the luck? He's the warehouse foreman! What better excuse could I have for getting inside the building than pretending to check and make sure he got his jacket back? If I can work him a little, maybe I can turn him into a source and find out what's going on in there. Candi can stay out of sight and shoot the action on the loading dock."

"It's pretty thin, but it's all we have. Be careful, the word is that Johnson's tied in with the Mafia and one of their goons is on site."

"Uh, one more thing. I need to make a trip to Bankstowne soon and check on my mother. She's been down with arthritis and can't do her crocheting anymore and calls me up in tears."

"Why don't you pay her a visit after you finish up at Winston? It would be a good opportunity to introduce her to Candi." Dan raised his left eyebrow and took a sip of that nasty imported coffee he loved.

"Thanks, boss, why didn't I think of that?" he said with a huge grin. "See you Thursday."

Rick left Dan's office before he had time to change his mind. He needn't have worried.

Dan made no secret of his confidence in Rick at staff meetings. It was obvious to everyone in the newsroom that Rick was Dan's favorite. Most accepted it because Rick was a good reporter.

The sun reflected off mounds of snow from the Christmas storm piled up on both sides of the highway, forcing Rick to don his sun gla.s.ses. All six lanes of I-40 coming in and going out of Raleigh were clear, but many side roads and back streets along the way were still reduced to one lane.

Candi curled up in the pa.s.senger's seat and slept most of the way to Winston-Salem. Rick glanced at her occasionally with an approving smile. She'd succ.u.mbed to the cat effect, as Rick called it. The warmth of the sun streaming through the winds.h.i.+eld and the comfort of her life right now had the effect of a narcotic.

Coming through Greensboro where I-85 intersects I-40, an eighteen-wheeler changed lanes and forced Rick to hit his brakes and swerve to miss the trailer. Candi was jolted from her nap and thrown into the dash from her seat.

"Jesus, Rick, what was that? You d.a.m.n near broke my neck."

"I'm sorry. That big rig almost slammed into me. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, but my neck will be stiff tomorrow. How close are we?"

Before Rick could answer, a green and white highway sign whizzed by: Winston-Salem 10 miles. Candi rotated her shoulders and rubbed her neck.

After a long silence, they finally approached the Welcome to Winston-Salem, sign. Candi turned toward Rick with the most serious expression he had seen on her face since they became a couple.

"What exactly am I supposed to do when we get to this warehouse? Are we going to tell them we are reporters or what? And ask, 'Oh, by the way, what kind of illegal business are you running here?' I'm a photographer, not a reporter playing detective. Other than for a fun night at the Marriott at the paper's expense, why am I here?"

"I told Dan you would stay out of sight and shoot pictures of what they're doing on the loading dock. Is there a problem?"

"No. I just wanted to know if you were really working on the Johnson story or just using this as an excuse for me to meet your mother. How did you square that with Dan?"

"Actually, he suggested it. He really is trying to get us down the aisle, you know."

"Are you s.h.i.+tting me?" Candi's voice reverberated in Rick's ear. "I know he's been playing cupid, but marriage? Where did that come from? If you put that idea in his head, then you had better straighten him out. You're the most honest man I've ever met but don't screw up a good relations.h.i.+p by talking about marriage. That's the last thing on my mind right now." She turned away from Rick, crossed her arms over her chest, and stared straight ahead. Her jaw twitched from her tightly clinched teeth.

"I've never said anything to Dan about us getting married. No way am I giving him any signals like that. He just thinks of me like I'm his son, and I guess he wants us to get married to fulfill some fantasy he's having. Maybe going to meet my mother gave him the wrong idea. We can just go back to Raleigh when we finish up at the warehouse if that's what you want."

"I was serious when I said I wanted to meet your mom, but Jesus, that doesn't mean I want to be her daughter-in-law. From your description she sounds a lot like my mom. That's all there was to it."

"So what's it going to be? Visit my mom or go back to Raleigh?"

"There you go again. You leave all the decisions to me," Candi said.

"What's gotten into you, are you having PMS or something?"

Candi shot him a venomous look. "I'm allowed to be irritable without you chalking it up to my period. I'm just getting restless. I like our relations.h.i.+p just the way it is, but I don't want it to suffocate my creativity as a photographer. I want to do something more important that shooting car crash scenes, basketball games, and spelling bee contest winners."

"Oh, the urge to go to Africa is back," Rick said in a condescending tone.

"Don't make fun. It's terrible what's going on over there and we aren't getting the story. The paper is full of the daily body count of our boys in Vietnam, but where's the attention to people suffering in other places of the world?"

"I'm sorry we don't have any starving babies in Raleigh to photograph, but that's what I like about living in this country."

"You know what I'm talking about," Candi snapped.

Before Candi could say anything more, Rick turned off I-40 on to Mountain Street.

"Can we finish this conversation later?" he said. "We're almost there. Just have to follow the tracks for a couple of miles."