“We’ll try to lift fingerprints off the door, but we’re assuming it sees a lot of traffic,” Hernandez explained.
“Meaning it’s unlikely to identify the thieves that way,” Michael interpreted.
Hernandez nodded. “I’m sorry. That’s reality.”
“The burglary detectives will need a list of what was stolen,” Forster added. “We have a better chance of catching them when they fence the goods.”
Michael nodded.
A car pulled up outside the door. The cops stiffened as did Michael and Harry, but when two men in lightweight suits got out, the officers relaxed.
“That’ll be the burglary detectives.” Hernandez nodded to Michael. “You’re in good hands.”
It was a repeat of talking to the beat cops. After Harry gave his statement, he got into the security car to continue his patrol. The detectives fingerprinted the door and warned Michael again of the unlikelihood of useable prints.
They gave Michael their business cards and drove away, leaving him alone to wait for the locksmith. He checked his watch—it was ten-thirty. The locksmith had several emergency jobs ahead of Michael’s, and had projected a two-hour wait.
Michael moved his Mazda 626 directly in front of the warehouse door. He didn’t think the thieves would return tonight, but if they did, they’d have to go through him. All he had to armor himself against the criminal element was his anger, which at this point still had his adrenalin pumping hard. He could do some serious damage with a bat. He broke off a piece of wood from a pallet. It gave a satisfying
thunk
against his palm.
Removing his suit jacket, he rolled one of the office chairs out to the entrance and sat inside the door. Someone had already targeted two of his warehouses. He couldn’t swear the two events were related, but his gut said they were. He was only one man. He couldn’t guard all his properties simultaneously. He’d have to weigh the cost of additional security against what he’d lost so far. And tomorrow he’d have to pay his staff overtime or bring in an outside firm to do inventory. His insurance would cover the theft, but he had a deductible and had to worry about his premiums going up as a result.
Michael gripped the arms of the chair. He needed neither the added worry of the thefts, nor the expense involved right now. While his mom awaited her test results, he needed to be focused on her and contingency plans for her care, if the news was bad.
He needed to call his parents. They shouldn’t have to wait if they needed to discuss something important with him. Damn it, why hadn’t he knocked off work early to see them? Why had he chosen to have dinner with Ileana instead? Since when did his needs come before theirs? Realization hit with the force of a fist. If the break-in hadn’t happened, he would have gone home with Ileana for some hot sex and maybe blown off his parents. How selfish did that make him? Now was no time to have an affair. He wasn’t some lust-blinded animal who couldn’t keep his priorities straight when a hot babe walked by.
Michael pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed his parents. His dad answered again.
“I’m not going to make it over tonight, Dad. I’m waiting for the locksmith and he’s got a two-hour backlog.”
His dad sighed. “It’s all right. When I saw the time, I realized you probably weren’t going to make it.”
“I’m sorry. I know my timing sucks.”
His dad snorted. “I can hardly blame you for a break-in. Did they take much?”
Michael sighed and rubbed his face. “As far as I can tell, they got a couple of crates of more expensive stuff. We have to do an inventory tomorrow to find out how much we lost.”
“I’m sorry, son.”
“I’m insured,” he tried to reassure his dad. “Listen, how about if I come over on the way to work tomorrow?”
“Michael, you’ll be lucky to get to bed by one o’clock. You don’t need to try to squeeze us in before work.”
“I don’t mind, really.”
“Why don’t you just come over for dinner tomorrow night and we’ll talk about it then?”
“I don’t want Mom to have to cook for guests two nights in a row.”
“I’m doing the cooking, son. Your mother makes the salad. What time can we expect you?”
Michael gave in. “Is six-thirty too late?”
“We’ll see you then.”
The warehouse was quiet with only him inside. Michael wished Ileana were here so they could talk. Talk, right. But he’d savored the moments with her today. They had a lot in common professionally. Right now he’d like to share what had happened. Ileana would understand. Most women wouldn’t. He wouldn’t even have to mention his parents.
He wished he could call Desiree and Jamal, but it was too late at night for that. Their son, Tyrell, would be asleep and the phone might wake him. Damn. How had he gotten to this point where there was no one he could call at ten-thirty at night to share his worries or even pass the time?
Michael retrieved his laptop from the trunk of his car, inserted his wireless card and did an Internet search for new cancer treatments. This was where he needed to focus. There was time to build friendships after his mom was well.
Michael’s mom looked tired when she answered the door. His gut twisted and his chest tightened with worry. He refused to think the cancer was back.
On impulse, he kissed her cheek. “Hi, Mom.”
She looked him over with a keen gaze, despite the dark circles under her eyes. That look had pinned many a student to the wall until he or she confessed some wrongdoing. Michael and his brothers hadn’t been exempt from that eye at home. He controlled an urge to fidget.
Then his mom shook her head. “Sorry, honey. I can’t break my old habits. Your father told me about the break-in. Did they get much?”
Michael hooked his arm through hers as they walked towards the kitchen. She was a petite powerhouse of a woman, fifty-eight years old and trim. Her short dark hair had white in it now, new since it had grown back after the chemo.
“Not much. They seemed to want particular items, so I’m lucky they didn’t take more.”
“I’m sorry you missed Charlie and Juliana. I always liked her.”
“Were you matchmaking even when they were kids?”
His mom struck his arm. “Don’t be absurd. But there was something when they were together...”
“That was hormones, Mom. She looked hot in that Catholic school uniform. Even I wasn’t immune.”
“Don’t let Charlie hear you talk about his fiancé like that.”
“He heard me talk that way as a teenager. Heck, he said so himself.”
“Well they’re getting married in less than two weeks, so you’d better forget you ever had those thoughts.” They entered the bright, gleaming kitchen. “Besides, this was when they were children. He was a better actor when she was around, and she had a habit of becoming totally absorbed by him. I wondered if they were meant to be together. But then the Sanchezes moved away, and I thought I’d been wrong.”
She gave him a dazzling smile. “But I was right.”
“You usually are.” He waved to his dad through the sliding glass patio doors. “Dad’s grilling.” He hosted a hope for a thick, juicy burger.
Which crashed and burned at his mother’s next words. “We’re having swordfish steaks.”
Cancer had changed his parents’ lifestyle. They’d given up red meat, ate more fresh fruits and vegetables, and walked daily. Michael swallowed any complaints.
As his mom tossed the salad, he took a bottle of water out to his dad. Joe Ziffkin was a tall, wide-shouldered fifty-eight-year-old whose hair was still mostly dark. Michael shared his dark eyes. The lines around his dad’s eyes were more pronounced since they’d begun the fight with cancer.
Michael handed his father the chilled water and they both sipped as the fish sizzled.
“Mom looks tired,” Michael blurted.
“We’ll talk about it after dinner.” His father’s stern look and tone shut Michael up. His gut tightened with fear. The news was bad if his dad didn’t want to talk about it. He flailed for some innocuous subject.
“Mom says she knew Charlie and Juliana would be together.”
His father looked towards the house and smiled indulgently. “Yes, she told me so. Rick surprised her with Analise though.”
“He would.” Rick, two years younger than Michael, had a restless streak. He’d amazed everyone by becoming a cop. That restlessness had taken him away from Miami, but now he was back home again and happily settled down with his wife, Analise.
“Your mother wouldn’t mind being surprised by you,” his father said.
Michael swung his gaze to his father’s. Despite the light tone, his father’s eyes were serious. Dread filled Michael. Was it just the maternal need to see her children married, or was it something more? He couldn’t bring himself to even name it. He swallowed hard and looked away, not wanting his father to see his fear.
“You’ve never brought a woman home to meet us, Michael.”
And he probably never would. He couldn’t risk the pain of loving someone, of being responsible for them, and failing to protect them. Like Billy. Like his mom.
He forced a smile for his dad. “I’m only thirty-six. I’ve got plenty of time to get serious about someone.”
“Your brothers are younger than you, and they’ve both found someone.”
“Charlie’s known Juliana since they were kids,” Michael argued. He saw his mother signaling from the house and sighed with relief. The inquisition was over...for now.
Dinner was a slightly stilted affair. His parents told him all the wedding and baby news. Michael was glad his brothers’ happy events had helped his mom through the last of her treatment.
While he’d carried the burden of the worries.
They cleared the table, loaded the dishwasher, and then his dad pulled out a chair for his mom. There was no putting off this talk. Michael took a seat across from them. His throat dried.
“We haven’t heard from the doctor yet,” his mother began.
Michael’s breath whooshed out.
“But we thought we should be prepared, just in case,” his father continued. “We need to update our wills...”
“Wills,” Michael choked.
“They haven’t been updated in twenty years,” his father explained. “You kids were minors then. We’ve still got you going to a guardian.”
“And William is in there,” his mother said softly. “Our estate should be split between the three of you boys.”
Michael couldn’t discuss this with them, not staring at the lines deeply grooved in his mother’s face. Not while looking at her new hair that was a different color and texture since it grew back. Not while he knew they were afraid of the test results.
“Nothing bad is going to happen to you.” He said it to them as much as to himself.
“We think it’s smart to be prepared,” his mother said.
“Everybody’s will should be up-to-date,” his father nodded his head.
“Yes, I agree,” Michael conceded.
His father took a deep breath. “We want to buy cemetery plots.”
Michael couldn’t breathe. For a moment a picture of his brother Billy’s grave filled his mind. That small patch of ground meant despair and pain.
His mother smiled at him. “There are some nice spaces near William’s grave...”
“No!” Michael shouted. He was on his feet, his breath heaving. “You’re not going to die!” The words cracked through the room like a gunshot.
His mother paled. Her lower lip trembled. His father turned a fierce scowl at Michael. Michael feared he would shatter. He’d never mentioned death in connection with his mother. Maybe he was superstitious. But hearing the words echo made the truth come alive.
“I’ve got all the latest research. There’s a new treatment begun in China that’s being performed now in India with a high rate of success. I found a place in Mexico. Even if it is cancer, I know what we can do this time. But it’s not cancer. It’s not.”
He was trying to convince someone—his parents, himself, a higher power, he didn’t know whom.
“Michael, we’re just planning ahead. We’ll need plots someday,” his mother said with irrefutable logic.
But Michael argued anyway. “Not that soon.”
“Michael, sit down,” his father ordered. “We’re naming you executor in our wills.”
Michael slumped into his chair, his face in his hands.
“You’re the oldest, after all,” his mother added.
Of course. It always came down to that. While his younger brothers talked about baby showers and honeymoons, he heard about prepaid funeral expenses, cremation versus burial, and organ donation. It got harder to breathe the longer his parents talked. His chest tightened painfully. He dropped his hands and simply stared at his parents.
Didn’t they know what this talk of death was doing to him? Couldn’t they see they were hurting him?
“No,” he spoke into the silence. “I won’t let you die.”
“We’re not planning to die,” his father said. “We’re planning for the future.”
Michael shook his head. “You’re thinking negatively. You can’t do that. I’ve seen studies on the healing power of positive attitude. And you’re using up Mom’s energy on things that won’t make her stronger.”
His mother reached across the small glass table to touch his hand. “Michael, I’m doing everything I’m supposed to in order to recover. I need this for my peace of mind.”
Michael rubbed a shaking hand across his forehead, wiping away cold sweat. It was just a superstition, but he couldn’t shake it. He dare not voice it aloud either, lest that give it substance as well.
If they bought cemetery plots, they might need them.
His dad gripped his mom’s hand. “We don’t need your permission, Michael. But we’d like your support.”
Michael couldn’t condemn them to death. A cold hand touched him at the thought, making him shudder.
“Mom, Dad, I’ve been here for you since Billy died. I’ve been with you every step of the way as you fought the cancer. If you needed anything to regain your health, I’d move heaven and earth to get it for you. I’d sell my company. Hell, I’d sell my condo and live here with you. I’d fly you anywhere in the world to get you any treatment. But I can’t watch you pick out your graves. I just can’t. If you think that means I don’t love you enough, I’m sorry I disappointed you.” He rose from his seat.