Diamond in the Rough: Chapter 74

Timothy turned to Helen and said, "All right, Lass, I'm on my way to get that little boy and get him home.  His parents should be in town soon, and if it's tonight, he'll want to see them, eh?"

"Most likely.  I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

"Probably.  Have a beautiful evening."  He said, and Helen continued to wipe down the counter.

Tina, huddled in the back of Timothy's Subaru station wagon, pulled the blanket over her head.  She had nothing with her but her single bag, that had a few of her possessions in it.  She closed her eyes and waited.  In the cold and the dark, she thought back to her last conversation with Anthony.

"What kind of man would I be if I didn't tell you up front about my past?"  He had just spilled all to her, and in her mind, none of it made any difference as to who he was.  She just knew she had to get out of there, and here was her chance.

"I don't know.  I have a past, everyone does.  You don't see me blabbing it all over," she heard herself say.

"I know.  Which makes me wonder how long it will be before you vanish from my sight. . ."

He had kissed her then.  She brushed her own tear, and realized it was getting very hot under the blanket.  She remained still, and told herself to bear it.

"I don't know what you mean."  But she did.  She lied, right into his eyes.

"You do.  You know just what I mean, Martina, if that's your name.  You know."

She didn't speak, she just watched as he lifted her chin and kissed her, his tongue slipping in between her lips, bringing her closer toward him as she ran her hands along his shoulders.  It was moments before they were discovered in the kitchen, by Helen, who said, "Excuse me...but I have cooking to do.  Use the supply closet or something."  

She went back to her work cutting potatoes, and Anthony, taking Tina by her elbow, headed into the closet.  "We can't do this. . ." she said.

He closed the door gently, and said, "Why not?  We won't have too many other chances."

"Next time," she said.

"There's going to be a next time?"

She didn't answer, and he moved toward her, kissing her mouth and using his hands on her, leaving her unable to think of much else, let alone leaving him.

And here it was, the next day, and she was in Timothy's car, waiting.  She hadn't bothered finding Anthony, because she did not want to say it.  Nothing good could come of that.  Nothing was ever good about goodbye.

***


Mitch was waiting quietly in his cell.  It was before dinner, all was quiet, most inmates were in their cells.  His roommate, the pompous and overbearing man, was not there.  He was off doing his afternoon jobs around the kitchen.  Mitch found himself alone, and without much to think about but his pending plan's fruition.

Blair Cramer.  Or Manning, I suppose.  What it would do to him if I took her, and made him watch?

He calmed himself, and focused.  Knowing that he had to be completely in control in order to carry out his plan, he pushed the images out of his mind, and concentrated on the mission at hand.  Soon, the guard who was on his personal payroll would stroll by the cell and let him out.  He would then venture into the next stage of the plan and pray that it would work to his advantage.  The Lord would watch over him and protect him.  He was The Lord's Messenger, and he was certain that his plan would fit into the Lord's plans for him and his church.  He would make a new, better church in the place he set up for himself, and no one would know or could know.  Yes.  Alone, to start over, fresh.

Within thirty minutes, he heard the squeaking wheel of the laundry cart, and didn't stir.  He remained on his bunk, stoic, studying the ceiling.  The squeak was in a pattern, and the faster the cart was pushed, the closer together the squeaks were.  He noticed it slowing as the cart came close the bars that separated him from the outside world.  The cart came to a stop.

"Coming in to get the sheets," the trustee said.  Mitch sat up, rubbing his hands over his face.  "Just waking up, Laurence?"

"Get the sheets and get out."

"Easy boy," he said, and Mitch stood.  The guard took the sheets, and went to the bars.  Looking side to side, he said, "All clear."  The trustee held the sides of the cart, while Mitch climbed into it.  Inside it were other sheets, and he buried himself below them, as the guard put the sheets from his cell on top of him.  "Stay to the left side," the guard warned.

Mitch, curled up as small as he could make himself, moved as close to the left wall as he could.  He knew that in order to miss the stab of the poker that the trustee carried to insure that no prisoners had hidden themselves in the laundry cart, he would have to make himself scarce.  The trustee locked the cell door, and Mitch could hear the clanging as the cart was pushed down the hall.  He knew the routine; the cart would be wheeled outside by the trustee, who would be taking his smoke break, and Mitch would escape, without being hindered.  The man would be paid handsomely for taking the risk.  

Once outside, Mitch could sense the difference in the air and temperature.  He waited for the trustee's tap on the edge of the cart, and poked his head up through the sheets.  The trustee held the cart steady as Mitch disembarked.  Making eye contact for a moment, the man said, "The money?" 

"You'll get what's coming to you," he said, swiftly and without warning grabbing the pole from him, turned the sharp end toward the trustee, spearing him through without hesitation.  The man dropped to the ground.

"Now, for my exit," he said aloud to no one, and raced to the one area outside the loading dock that was not fenced with razor wire, and climbed.  Tera Winfield was waiting, outside the gates, the car running.

Opening the car door, he said, "Guns?"

"As you asked, my love," she said, and leaned toward him. 

He grabbed her face with his hands, harshly.  "Yes, as I asked.  Everything as I ask."

He kissed her roughly before driving off.

***

"Dorie, it feels so different being here at St. Anne's."  Addie said, as they pulled up in front of the institution.

"I know, Addie.  It's because you're different."

"I suppose.  But I feel the same," she said, heading out of the car.

The nun was waiting for them in the lobby of the building.  "Good afternoon, ladies.  So good of ya to come at my request."

"It sounds interesting," Addie began, "and it feels like so long ago that I lived here."

"Welcome back," Sister Rebecca Katherine said.

The three of them headed to the solarium, and sat around a table near the window.  Another nun brought a tray with cookies and tea, and sat down.  Sister Rebecca Katherine said, "This is Sister Bernadette.  She's interested in helping with Hope Week as well."

"Nice to meet you," Dorian said extending her hand, and Addie did the same.  The ladies drank tea and discussed plans for the special day, and shared ideas and plans.  

Addie said, "So many people here are artists, musicians.  Maybe they can display their work."

"That's a wonderful idea."  Sister Rebecca Katherine said.  "I am sure everyone would love to see it.  Even the crafts.  Possibly, we could sell some of them."

"Even better," Dorian agreed.

The meeting went along smoothly, a guest list was created of dignitaries that they wanted to invite, and a list of tasks were assigned.  Soon, the talk turned to banter about the Manning boys, and Sister Bernadette excused herself.

"I miss those ruffians so much," the older nun said.

"You can have them right about now.  Neither one is listening to me.  I suppose it's just that they miss their parents."

"Or something else," Addie said, giving Dorian a sideways glance.

"I still miss them.  That baby, Little Ray.  He's the most adorable child."

"Like Jack," Addie said, "So much like Jack when he was a baby."

"Jack was the most beautiful baby.  He really was.  Ray looks so much like him."  Dorian said.

"Well, look at his parents.  Two very handsome people, wouldn't ya say?"  Sister Rebecca Katherine asked.

Dorian sipped her tea, and Addie said, "Dorie, this is what the boys see when they are around you.  It's obvious how you feel."

Sister Rebecca Katherine remained quiet for a moment.  Dorian seemed miffed, turning toward Addie with her eyes widened.  "Whatever do you mean?"

"You know what I mean."  Addie lifted her cup and sipped.

The nun just listened and watched the sisters, before she said, "Ya don't like Todd much, do ya, Dorian?  Ya feel he brings nothing but pain to your niece."

Dorian was visibly unhinged.  "Well, I, certainly have nothing against Todd, per say. . ."

Addie let out a simple "Hah!" and went back to her tea.

"Is there a history there?  Some reason aside from the past misdeeds?"  the nun asked.

"I really don't want to offend you, Sister."  Dorian added.

"I'm just wondering about it, and ya don't have to talk to me about it, but, if it's based on his past actions, I ask myself just how fair that would be, even to you, Dorian."

Dorian was surprised at the comment.  "To me?"

"Yes, dear.  Think of the things you are missing, and the wedge that is being put between ya.  Your niece will never not love this man.  That I can tell ya, from being with her when she almost died from the pain of losing him in from of me when he was taken from her this last time to Ireland.  After he gave his life in exchange for hers and for that little baby we all love."

Addie's eyes brimmed with tears, and she said, "He'd die for them.  He always would have."

"I don't suppose ya know someone the likes of Michael Leona.  He's the man that helped hold Todd in captivity for the eight years.  He's the man that tortured him on a daily basis.  Todd gave himself over to that torture to save Blair, and the baby," the nun explained, " and the kind of torture Todd endured is something out of a modern horror film.  The most deepest horror someone can think of."

Dorian didn't speak.  Sister Rebecca Katherine took full advantage of that fact.  "He has done some terrible things, and I can tell ya, he's more than sorry for his actions.  But the things that have happened since, those are not of his doing.  And, he's done nothing but protect and love that family of yours.  For what he has been through, perhaps he should be given a small amount of credit.  He did save Blair's life and little Ray."

"That all may be true, but he brings a great deal of sorrow with him, where ever he goes."  Dorian responded, "As if he's cursed for the things he's done."

"Do ya really believe that?  That a person could be cursed for mistakes they've made?  If that is the case, all of us would be cursed in some way, wouldn't we?"

"That's true, Dorie, especially you should know that.  Imagine what your curse would look like?"  Addie said, and Sister Rebecca Katherine could not help but let a small, short laugh escape.  

Immediately after, the nun said, "Perhaps it's time for us to let those curses fade away.  They don't help anyone."

Dorian didn't say more.  Instead, she finished her tea, while Addie said to the nun, "Can I teach knitting at the Hope Week Event?  I used to get confused, but lately, I've found my way."

***

Todd and Blair arrived at Unforgettable, and plopped themselves, in unison, on the bed in the master bedroom.  "We're home," she said.  "So quiet.  We should let the kids stay one more night, maybe, and be alone here for the night.  We don't get that often and I feel like . . . we might need it."

He looked across to her, and reached for her hand.  "Whatever you want."  The silence was bathing them, both lying on their backs on their bed, looking at the sky through the glass ceiling.  He said, "I want to thank you for being there for me."

She smiled.  Rubbing her thumb across his fingers, she turned on her side facing him, and covered his hand with her other one as well.  "That's what I am supposed to do."

"Do you think I was wrong for getting out of there?  I just felt like I had to protect myself."

"No, I don't think you were wrong.  Not at all.  I was actually glad to see you walking away from it."

"You came after me.  Talked me down."

"That's what I do.  It's going to get better.  It will.  You're already so different about it all.  I marvel at you, and I'm not alone."

"You keep me going."

"You don't remember when you were there for me?"

"Uh, maybe.  I do cook a mean meal, while you're trying to pass off yours as cooking."

"Now, wait a minute, you love my chicken . . ."

"Roasted with the skin on, crispy, and mashed potatoes, yeah."  It had almost become a joke between them.  All went quiet.  He turned on his side facing her, and touched the hair along her face.  "Really, Babe, I couldn't have done it.  Not what I dealt with in Chicago and with Stick.  Not alone."

She felt her throat tighten, but fought the urge to cry.  "You're welcome.  You're so strong, Todd.  You saved my life....it's just what people in love do for each other.  Be there."

"Fight off killers, visit chambers of horror, beat off fire-breathing dragons."

"That sounds bad, but when you think about it, it's not so terrible.  Because it's you and me.  It's just how we are.  Even though it sucks sometimes, I wouldn't trade it away.  Not for anything."

"Not for a life with the honorable John McBain, or that creep Max Holden?  Wait, what about Cord Roberts?"

She shook her head no.  "Nope.  Too straight, too corny, and too dull.  No one is you, Mr. Manning."

"Heck, not sure that's good or bad."  Then, softly, "No one is you either, Mrs. Manning.  You're Blair.  Period."

His hand was still against her face, and he moved his thumb along her cheek, his eyes fastened to hers.  He creeped a few inches toward her.  "I love you."

She creeped a few inches toward him.  "And I love you, Todd."

He slid his hand behind her head, and found her mouth with his.  

After they pulled away from the kiss, she said, "I know what you're thinking."

"I still wonder how I ever found this, and you.  It doesn't make sense."

"Don't try and understand it," she said, moving the rest of the way toward him and falling into his embrace.

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