Fiction

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Chapter 1

Rick hung in that ethereal plane somewhere between sleeping and waking. An annoyingly incessant sound invaded his dream-world. He recognized it, but somehow couldn’t manage to find the source. Blessedly, it ceased, and he slipped back into blissful comfort. A place of relaxation, where worries such as fiancés and finances couldn’t possibly gain a foothold. No deadlines; no boss; no – Rick’s head whipped around as the alarm blared once again. He slapped the switch and remembered. Today was the day – the day that could possibly change the course of his life. Today was the day he might finally make the break-through to the thirty-fifth floor. After ten years with O’Haire, McMann, & Tate, he might actually get that promotion to Junior Partner. Maybe.

Showering and shaving in minimal time, Rick Morton dressed meticulously. The charcoal suit and burgundy tie was his favorite combination. Most men couldn’t – or wouldn’t – match socks to suit or tie to shirt, but Rick’s mother and four sisters had refused to allow him to fall into that mold. Rick smiled into the mirror as he added the matching silk handkerchief to the breast pocket. They would certainly approve today.

The fragrant, invigorating aroma of freshly brewed coffee drew him to the small kitchen. He flicked on the news as he passed the TV, then poured coffee and cream into his black and silver travel mug. He glanced at his watch and – as if on cue – the phone rang. He smiled as he answered.

“Morning, Leslie.”

“Morning, yourself, sweetie. Today’s the day, isn’t it? Today’s the day you get the partnership – “

“Junior partnership,” he corrected. “And no contracts have been signed yet.”

“Well, they will be. You landed that sporting goods account they wanted, didn’t you?” Confidence infused every syllable. “There’s no way they want that kind of talent to end up at Graham, Feltsand, & Shelby. Besides, you’re a shoe-in now. By the way, which invitation did you choose?”

Rick fingered the fine linen invitations stacked by the phone. “It really doesn’t matter to me. Whatever you like is fine.”

He heard the pout in her voice. “Rick, I hate when you do this. I really want to know which one you like. It’s our wedding, not my wedding.”

Yeah, right! He thought. He shuffled the papers, closed his eyes, and pulled one out. “I like the light blue one with the bird thingy on the front.”

Her tolerant sigh came through loud and clear. “That isn’t light blue, it’s powder puff; and the ‘bird thingy’ is a pair of swans. I really thought you’d say you liked the pearl linen with silver embossed lettering and the entwined rings.”

“That was my second choice,” he lovingly lied. “So if you prefer that one, I like it too.”

“Good. I’ll call the stationery shop today and order them. Do you think five hundred will be enough?”

Proud of himself for not gasping, “I thought we decided to keep this small.”

“Rick, you know my father has so many contacts who would be utterly devastated not to be invited. I mean, if they saw the announcement in the paper but never received an invitation, his business would suffer terribly. You know that.”

“You’re right,” he conceded defeat. “I’m sure my side of the family only needs about seventy-five and that’s if my mother is still talking to all her relatives. It depends on which week we are sending out the invitations.”

Leslie wasn’t amused. “Then we may need to up the order to six hundred. I didn’t realize you needed so many” Seventy-five was “so many”? Well at least they’d get some great gifts. He reached for his coffee and noticed the time.

“Honey, I have to go. You know how bad traffic is this time of morning, and I don’t want to be late.”

“Call me as soon as you get the promotion. I want to know all the details. This is the day your life will be changed. I can feel it! Kisses!”

Donning sunglasses, he stepped out into the bright sunlight. Spring sparkled everywhere. The postage stamp size lawn was sporting its new-grass green. The newly planted rose bush beside the front stoop flashed buds nodding in the sporadic breeze. At the end of the short walkway, he turned to assess his domicile. Pride infused his smile. True, it was barely twelve hundred square feet, but it was only two years old and in a great part of the suburbs. He had purchased it a little more than a year ago before the relationship with Leslie had taken a serious turn. Yet, he knew the first time he had walked through with the realtor that this was the house where he wanted to start a family. His mother and four married younger sisters had been thrilled beyond words – well, not quite without words – by his engagement. His sisters had spent the last six years setting him up with anything in a skirt.

“What’s the matter with you, Rick?” Elaine, the eldest of the girls in the family, had badgered after yet another dating disaster with one of her single friends. “You’re thirty-two and established in a career. You’re decent enough looking. You’ve got a good sense of humor, and you know how to treat a woman. Why can’t you just find somebody and settled down?”

“It’s not like I haven’t tried, but Lanie, I just can’t seem to find somebody I click with.”

“Do you have any idea what you are doing to the female population around here? I’m running out of single women friends who will still speak with me. It’s like you have a curse of something. You know they’ve nick-named you ‘One-date-Rick’.”

He had dated Leslie Van de Maven for six months before finally mentioning her to his family, knowing their reaction would be over the top. Now, as he backed his car from the driveway, his life seemed to have settled into place. In ten months he would marry the woman he loved and start a family with her. This would be their home until it was necessary to find a larger house. He was completely satisfied with his life at the moment.

Waiting for the traffic signal to change, he sipped his coffee and changed the CD. As the light turned green, he eased off the break as did the cars in the two lanes to his left. Horns blared and breaks squealed as a small red sports car ran the opposing traffic red light. Within seconds, the maniac driver had flashed through the intersection and traffic proceeded once again. Rick stayed with the flow as two lanes merged onto the freeway. Rush hour traffic was heavy but steady. Though loathe to admit it to anyone, Rick secretly enjoyed the bumper-to-bumper fast moving traffic. That and his morning coffee gave him the adrenaline rush he needed for the day. He settled back into his seat, getting comfortable for the twenty-five minute drive. He hummed along to the music, allowing his mind to focus on the coming meeting. Understandably he was a bit nervous. Leslie had been right; this meeting could make or break his career.

He could never completely remember what happened next. It just seemed as if the whole world came to a crushing halt. He heard grinding metal and blaring horns just as he swerved to miss hitting the skewered car in front of him. Ripping the steering wheel back the other direction, he missed another car. Briefly he wondered why it was facing him, just as he was thrown sideways, straining against the seatbelt. Glass flew everywhere. The force of the exploding air bag startled him – he’d assumed it would be soft. Then as suddenly as his world had been banged around it stopped. He sat still as the airbag began to deflate slowly. Twice more his car jolted. Obviously traffic further behind was unable to stop before joining the pile up. It was deathly quiet for the briefest moment, then the voices started.

Rick pulled on the door handle. It moved but the door did not. The car behind him had pushed in the back driver’s side of his car. His door was bent outward in the middle. The front of his car was slightly elevated as if propped up against the car he’d been pushed into. Fumbling with the seatbelt, he couldn’t seem to put a connected thought together; he just reacted. With his arm shielded by his leather sleeve, he cleared shards of glass from the door. Turning and twisting his body, he hoisted himself out the opening and shakily stood. Glass crunched under his shoes.

Confusion reigned everywhere. Voices blended into one mass cacophony. Rick’s blank expression was mirrored in the faces of the few people passing by. Smoke. Flames. Mangled metal. It was all fused together. He leaned against what was left of his car. While blood tRickled slowly from the cut on his forehead, his mind kept asking what had caused this pile-up on the busy freeway.

Out of the myriad of voices, his mind picked out one sound – a baby’s cry. Alert, he listened again and began picking his way through the glass and metal littering the ground. A flipped SUV was smoking. Rick’s heart raced as he peered inside, but the occupants had already left. Sirens momentarily drowned the cry, but he stood still listening intently. There. He heard it again. Finally reaching the wreck, he heard another voice, a weak cry for help.

“I’m here,” Rick soothed the young woman in the driver’s seat. “Help will be here soon, just hold on.” It was obvious the woman was trapped. No air bag had softened her impact. The steering wheel was practically imbedded in her chest. Her left arm hung limply out the window. He couldn’t see her right arm.

She turned pain-glazed eyes to him. “Get my baby out of here,” she whispered.

Rick grasped the rear door handle and yanked as hard as he could. Nothing. Spreading his leather jacket over the shards of glass, he leaned into the car. By some miracle, the hooded safety seat was in the only pocket of the vehicle not crunched. The cries of the infant tore at his heart. He inched the carrier out the window. Pulling down the hood, he gasped at the tiny size of the baby girl. She couldn’t be more than two months old. He placed the carrier on a smooth section of the hood and gently eased the infant from her restraints. Tiny fists flailed wildly as he instinctively held her lengthwise to his chest. Gently bouncing up and down, he rubbed the baby’s back. Slowly her sobs lessened until she quieted.

“Please. Do you have paper and pen?” The wounded mother called to him. What was she thinking? With one hand he patted his suit jacket pocket and found the small notebook he usually carried. He held it and the pen out to her but she slowly shook head.

“I can’t move. Must be my back or neck. Write this down.” She paused to take a shuddering breath. “I, Maureen Plovich, being of sound mind make this my last will and testament. Under no circumstances should Victor Blanding ever have custody of my daughter, Faith Maureen Plovich. Nor should her grandparents Edgar and Rosanne Plovich since they have verbally given up all rights to her.” Maureen paused again to breathe. Rick balanced the baby – Faith – on one arm and continued writing on the tablet braced against the top of the car. Silently he waited for this tortured mother to continue. He prayed he would never have to use this last will of hers. He glanced around for an ambulance or paramedics. No one.

“I leave everything that has belonged to me and everything that will belong to me to my daughter and to her guardian –“ she paused. “Fill in your name.”

Stunned, Rick just stood there. “I mean it. I need to know she’ll be protected. I can see you know what you’re doing.” She moaned. “Hurry. Please.”

With a shaking hand Rick filled in his full name, Rick Norman Morton. He nodded to Maureen. She tried to take a deep breath but gasped instead, her eyes wide with fear.

“We need a witness. Find someone. Quick.”
Rick raised his eyes and saw a woman walking slowly toward them. He waved her to them.

“Are you all right?” was his first question to this new stranger.

“Yeah, but my car’s totaled just like everybody else’s I suppose.” Her eyes widened as she took in the situation and the obviously dying woman.

“Is you wife okay?”

“She’s not – never mind. We just need a witness to this signature.”

“Sure. Whatever.”

“Give me the pen.” He could see the Herculean effort it took for her to grasp the pen in her left hand. “Put the paper under my hand.” Sweat trickled down her face and mingled with the tears. Rick watched in stupefied fascination as by sheer will she moved her fingers across the bottom of the paper.

“Now both of you sign.” She closed her eyes and Rick felt a moment of panic. Was she gone? He kept one eye on Maureen, watching her shoulders rise and fall ever so slightly as her breathing became more erratic. He handed the pen to the other woman and suddenly realized what he was doing. He was agreeing to be guardian to a dying woman’s child, a woman who obviously had a tumultuous background. This couldn’t be happening. It didn’t happen in the real world. But it was happening, and he had agreed to it.

“Maureen.” He spoke her name gently. Slowly she opened her eyes. It took several seconds for her to focus on him.

“Bag in back seat. Bottles. Formula. Only one she can have.” Her voice was much weaker. Her skin was growing pale. Not willing to release the baby yet, he nodded to the back seat. The witness understood and carefully reached into the wreck, removing the diaper bag. “Clothes in trunk. Blankets.”

Rick desperately turned to the stranger. “Go see if you can find someone, anyone, to help get her out of this mess. Hurry!”

Frightened, she scampered in the direction she had been heading, this time calling for help.

“Keep her safe. I – know – God – sent – you – to – us.” The wounded mother groaned. She gasped, closed her eyes, and slumped against the steering wheel. Rick hugged the infant, holding her close to his chest. No lucid thought presented itself. He just stood, cuddling the little orphan.

Even amid the clamor, the baby had managed to fall asleep. Rick envied her ability to shut out the world around her. Gently, he placed her back into the carrier, tucking the blanket around the tiny form. He stood staring, reality finally starting to creep into his consciousness. Legally, what would happen? Would he be allowed to keep the child? Did he even want to keep the child? The sight of Maureen’s slumped form planted a seed in his heart. He would honor this brave, determined mother’s final wishes.

Stretching the blanket to cover the entire carrier, he placed it a few steps away, on the grassy side of the median. The trunk of the car was already pried open, but it took quite a bit of effort to reach the contents. After pulling out several small carry-on type bags, he struggled to extricate the huge suitcase. It was heavier than he had anticipated, perhaps because it was the brand that had been in commercials in the seventies, the one with the gorilla banging on it. Hoisting it onto the mangled hood, he paused, feeling a bit of guilt at prying into Maureen’s privacy. He glanced again at the silent form, then removed his suit jacket to lay across her head and shoulders. Pangs of remorse assailed him. He wished he could have done something to save her. He looked around and realized that woman had never returned. A look at his watch told him it had only been a little more than thirty minutes since he had first crashed. A lifetime had taken place since then.

He returned to the suitcase and resolutely worked at the clasps. After a few minutes, the lid suddenly popped open as if yelling, “Surprise!” Rick fell back two steps at his first view of the contents. Neatly folded women’s clothing lay beside bundled piles of bills. In disbelief, he slowly touched one of the bands marked fifty. He slammed the lid down and broke out in a cold sweat. What had he gotten himself into? Was this woman a thief?

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