Esther and Star Ch. 04

It said nothing about my first note.

It didn't say anything about my apology note, either.

It said that Esther's father had died that afternoon—a heart attack.

Oh, fuck. Oh, no.

Astrid's words paralyzed me. I read them again.

Why hadn't she fucking called?

Son of a bitch. This is how far, I thought, the disfellowshipping went: Esther's own mother wasn't even allowed to call her daughter to tell her about the death of her father. Fuck me.

I had to tell Esther, but how?

My mind scrambled for a compassionate way to do it. There really wasn't one. I got up and walked out of my room. Crossing the kitchen, I knocked on Star's door.

"Me," I called out.

Star cracked open the door. She saw my face. "What's wrong?"

"May I talk to Esther?"

"What is it?"

"Not good, Star. Please."

She nodded. "Hang on." The door closed.

I waited.

Esther came out, leaving the door open behind her. My gosh, she was beautiful. Her long white hair was pulled tight against her head and braided into a ponytail that curved to the side of her head and fell over her shoulder down her front. She wore a light green summer dress, floral, with no sleeves and a high neckline. The waist was tight—form-fitting—and the pleated bottom flared out to just above knee length.

Star was there with her.

"Esther, I just got an email from Astrid."

She cringed, expecting to hear how angry her mother was.

"No. Esther, it's not about that note we sent," I said.

She sighed, relieved. Apparently, she didn't read my expression as accurately as Star had. "What'd she say? Let me see." She started to walk past me.

I grabbed her arm and stopped her.

She turned to me, and then she saw it. "What's wrong?"

I took a deep breath. "It's your dad. He had a heart attack this afternoon. I'm so sorry, Ess. He passed away."

Star emerged from her room in a flash. She cried, "Oh, no. No. No! Esther!"

I raised my arms to my wife. She made to reach for me, to accept the embrace, but Star's urgency made her turn.

I dropped my hands.

They hugged, and instantly both of them were crying. Star out of sympathy. Esther out of anguish. They sank to their knees together.

I stood there, unsure of how to comfort Esther. Star was doing a darn good job. When Esther is heartbroken, she's so beautifully forlorn. Seeing her on her knees, weeping for her father, knowing she hadn't been able to see or speak to him in months—because of me, really—was one of the most gut-wrenching things I've ever witnessed.

I fetched some tissues and a glass of water and brought them to her. She saw them and shook her head, so I set them beside her and backed away.

The date was off.

Some few minutes later, I asked Esther for her permission to call her mother and find out what I could about arrangements.

She nodded.

Esther's sister, Miriam, answered Astrid's phone. She was barely holding on. I offered my sympathy, and Miriam thanked me, explaining what had happened. It looked like the funeral would be in three days. There would likely be a visitation the night before. Then, I got down to business.

"Can Esther come?"

"Yes."

"Can she be with her family, share in this...this sad time for all of you?"

"Well...no. She can't. The Watchtower says she's not a member of our family anymore."

I couldn't speak.

Her voice changed to a whisper, "I...I hate it, too. I miss my sister and I need her—we need her—but we can't. We can't speak to her. We can't accept her into our home."

I bought plane tickets for her and made arrangements for her to stay in a hotel, but I also did one more thing.

I downloaded the form for Uncontested Divorce from mass.gov. I went to one of those UPS Stores and printed it out. Then, I filled it out and had it notarized at my bank while I signed it.

When I told her about the tickets, I discovered that she'd asked Star to come with her.

The next morning, I dropped them both off at Logan. Before they went inside, I handed Esther the divorce paper, saying that I really hoped it might help.

She opened it, glanced over it, and shot me a look of astonishment.

I said, "Maybe your family will be able to talk to you, let you stay at home and stuff, if the church sees it."

She nodded. For a moment I thought she was going to say something.

She didn't, and Esther and my sister took their luggage and walked through the doors.

I put my wedding ring in the top drawer of my dresser when I got home.

It was over.

***

I finished Grapes of Wrath while Esther and Star were away at the funeral. It was a total downer that fucking book, but I liked it. I liked how the Joads just went on—how they didn't give a fuck about their troubles, but they definitely gave a fuck about the troubles of others. I wondered whether or not I would have sucked on Rose-of-Sharon's tits, like that guy at the end, if I were starving—to feed myself—and what I decided was this: fuck, yeah, I would have.

I hopped on the T and went back to the bookstore at Downtown Crossing. Walking around the place, I found that cute gal who helped me before.

She recognized me. I reminded her of the book I read and explained that I was looking for a new one.

"No, I remember you," she said. "So, you finished it?"

"Yeah."

"Really?" she asked, suspicion in her eyes.

I nodded, confidently. "I did."

She smiled brightly, and I realized she wasn't just cute, she was beautiful. She looked to be in her mid or late forties. Her hair was short and black, with a little grey frost. She was almost as tall as me and flat-chested. Didn't matter. Her eyes and her smile just knocked me out. Her eyes were dark blue. Big, those eyes. When she smiled, some wrinkles wrapped around her eyes in a way that seemed to lift them, brighten them.

I liked her sleek frame, a kind of regal, feminine build. She seemed graceful and elegant. Her little tits pointed at me through her top.

I had looked for too long. She noticed.

I cleared my throat and said, "Excuse me."

Her eyebrows just barely lifted, and then she said, "What kind of book this time?"

"Same."

"Another challenging high school English one?"

"Yeah, but can you help me get one with a little happier ending?"

I followed her through the shelves, and I liked her body, how it moved with confidence. She had a nice ass—high and firm with long legs that swept her around the place briskly.

When she reached for a book, I noticed that she didn't have a wedding ring.

She handed it to me. Another long one: The Count of Monte Cristo.

As I flipped through it, she stood beside me. I could smell her and feel how close she was. My body grew warm.

"It's an adventure—a revenge story," she said.

"It's tough?"

"It's smart," she responded, "Nothing is superfluous."

I turned to her, and our faces were close. "Huh?"

She swallowed and said, "Superfluous—nothing is unnecessary. Everything you read, even the littlest detail, matters somewhere later on."

I nodded, understanding. As I turned back to the book, I couldn't help but smile. Her eyes were fucking sunshine.

"And the dialogue is so beautifully written," she added. "You'll feel intelligent just reading how the characters speak to one another."

"Cool. Happy ending?"

"Yes."

"I'll take it," I said.

Her smile brightened even more if that was possible.

"Say," I began, "when I finish this and need another one...?"

"I'm here Tuesdays to Saturdays, two o'clock to closing."

"Thanks...uh, Diane, right?"

"Mm-hmm," she responded, nodding.

I shook her hand and told her my name.

"Nice to meet you," she said.

"You, too."

I turned away to make for the check-out line, but something came over me. I suddenly felt reckless. Beautiful women, I think, do that to guys. Besides, she was way too old for me; I could take a risk for the hell of it. I stopped and turned back to her.

"Hey, uh, Diane?"

Her face lifted, expectantly.

"I'm just saying this...I mean...I wanted you to know that..." Geez, I thought, I'm fucking this up. "You're awesome. I mean, I don't know how anyone could have a bad day if you were around. You're just beautiful." I wanted to say more, but I was struggling to find the right words. "I...I guess I should just shut up now."

I turned away, feeling a bit embarrassed. Shit! How the fuck do you forget how to talk to girls?

She called my name.

I stopped and faced her, and I had to have looked like a dog that knew it fucked up.

"That was a lovely thing to say," she said, and her smile was different—not just bright, but also relaxed and confident. She seemed taller.

I nodded, returning the smile. Then I left to go buy the book. My heart, I realized, had been racing from the moment that reckless feeling had swept over me.

As I left the store, still smiling, there was a chubby guy in dark sunglasses kneeling on the floor of the vestibule, rifling through a backpack. He closed the pack when I entered and waited for me to pass. He looked like an employee—the white button-up collared shirt, the khaki trousers, the name tag. He appeared to be in his forties, and he had a crazy-thick black beard.

I said, "Have a good one," as I passed to the outer doors.

He said, "Keep moving, lucky day."

My momentum carried me out the door, but I stopped on the sidewalk and turned back. What the fuck did he just call me?

Light reflected off the glass, so I could barely make out his silhouette. The guy stood and walked toward the inner doors. His backpack was on, and he was carrying something—books, maybe—in both hands.

I was planning to go back and ask him what the fuck he meant by calling me "Lucky Day." But, fuck it, I decided, I'll give the guy a pass. Diane's smile had made my day; no point in ruining it over some douchebag bookstore guy.

I looked across the parking lot and realized I'd forgotten where I'd parked.

Those weren't books.

My heart froze.

They were handguns.

I walked back toward the entrance, keeping off to the side. My heart unfroze. Now, it pounded mercilessly.

Just going to see, I convinced myself. It was books, for fuck's sake, not guns. Just going to see for sure.

Before I even had the chance, I heard it.

Yeah, they were handguns.

Gunshot.

I ducked reflexively and hissed, "Fuck!" People inside the store screamed.

I peeked through the glass. The guy lowered the gun. There was a black hole in the ceiling above him. He began walking forward, down the center aisle, and the gun was fixed on somebody.

I couldn't see who. I was already moving. I was in the vestibule, and there was no turning back because I had launched myself into the store. I was moving way too fucking fast to stop. The inner doors exploded open in front of me, and I was inside, charging the guy, my legs propelling me like catapults to a reckless speed.

The shooter heard me. He spun around. Something about my approach shocked him, for the moment he saw what was coming, he jumped back with a start.

The lady he was aiming at was still there, still standing, I saw. She was alive, thank fuck.

That I surprised the guy didn't matter. He leveled both pistols at me.

I was about to be his first victim. I was a dead man. I was racing towards a guy pointing two pistols at my face. The black holes of the barrels were like dead eyes. All he had to do was squeeze.

But, it was going to be a closer thing than I first imagined. The guy kept stepping backward, and it must have been because I was coming at him like a big fucking tiger—low, eerily silent, and stunningly fast.

Still, the guy shot—once or twice, I don't know. I think both pistols went off.

He got me, the mother fucker. I expected more of a thud; this was more like the slice of a hot knife. Didn't matter how it felt, though, it was a head shot, I knew it. I felt something in my shoulder, too.

But, I didn't go down. Adrenaline, I guessed. I was going to get to him.

Fuck, I was angry. Killed by some cock-sucking shooter? The thought made me furious.

Someone screamed; it may have been the guy.

My body was already dipping down, like the way a fighter jet might before it suddenly rockets vertically on afterburners. I shoved myself up, hurling my right shoulder into the shooter's guts and leaping. My arms wrapped around him, and we were airborne.

I didn't know what I was going to do. It wasn't a thought that I remembered actually thinking—hey, I'm going to tackle the guy like this, get him in the air, and then so on and so forth.

No, I had a rough idea of where things were in the store, and the plan sort of formulated in my mind without me really making any conscious decisions. I don't remember estimating the shooter's weight, but I must have factored that into how hard I jumped. I had to have accounted for my own speed, too.

Anyways, our arc through the air was right. A little kiosk sat in the middle of the center aisle about halfway between the front entrance and the cafe in the back. It was the kind with a computer to help people locate books.

In mid-air, I wrenched my stomach muscles, hauling the guy's torso in a little backward arc. His back, backpack and all, slammed into the edge of the countertop. I heard a wet crack. The kiosk exploded, and I skidded across the papers, books, components, and shattered particle board the collision left behind.

I wasn't dead, yet.

Did he miss? I wondered. No, I felt it hit me. Whatever.

I sprang to my feet and pounced over the wreckage, fists balled, ready to finish off the fucking guy.

He was already finished.

The pistols were on the ground. He was awake and aware, screaming and crying. The way he shook and trembled was wrong. His arms moved, but his legs were like a couple of big, dead fishes.

"My legs!" he shrieked. "I can't feel my legs!"

He was done. Why wasn't I dead, yet?

I kicked the pistols across the floor. He screamed some more when I yanked the backpack off him and tossed it away. When I turned back to the guy, he had passed out.

A little dude in a Bruins cap ran up. "I called 911!" he blurted.

We looked at each other. His eyes widened.

"You're bleeding, dude. He got you," the ball cap dude said, staring at the left side of my head. I felt blood running down my ear and neck. Shit, my shoulder hurt.

I nodded to the guy, and then I turned to look for the person the shooter had first targeted. My eyes passed over the crowd that was forming, and then I saw her.

Diane.

She had been that first target.

"Diane, are you okay?"

She stared at me, not responding.

I began walking over to her.

Someone grabbed me. "You need to sit down, pal, and wait for an ambulance."

I shook free, but not before three or four more people all crowded me. They were saying kind things. They spoke gently, but they were all urging me to sit down.

"Thanks," I said, "but check on that woman." I pointed. "Make sure Diane's okay."

It was then I noticed the life-or-death energy that infused me had rushed out. I was exhausted.

Still, I needed to make sure Diane was alright. I shook free of the hands upon me, and a few steps later, I was in front of her. "Diane," I muttered, feeling woozy. "You're okay, right?"

Her eyes grew wide, and her hands stretched out for me as if I were falling.

I don't remember what happened next.

***

End note: Some crazy twists and turns, I know. I hope it works for you. More will come soon. Thanks for taking the time to read this. -FS