Chapter 6

Early February

Eight months went by in a flash. We used the parking lot in the shade of a maple tree on most Tuesdays and on Thursdays I grabbed her head and pushed her down on my cock in the darkened end of the train station. It got to be routine. Every once in a while, I’d take her to my condo and fuck her ‘til she couldn’t walk straight, before taking her home. See, she had a fairly regular ‘meeting’ and had to ‘work late’ several times a month.

And I was a regular visitor on weekends. During the summer months I even took the two girls to the community pool. Robin wore a conservative black one-piece suit, that made her look like an otter. A very curvy, sexy otter, as it turned out. She didn’t get as much attention from the boys as a couple of larger-breasted girls in bikinis, but that didn’t seem to bother her. She just plopped down in a nearby lounger and picked up the next installment of ‘The Twilight Saga.’ “I like the books better than the movies,” she maintained. But she needed to see the movies just the same.

...

It was a crisp Sunday afternoon, and I was helping get some chicken ready to burn on the back deck. Marty was making a salad, Robin was curled up on the couch, reading and simultaneously non-watching the TV, and Carl was on the deck, enjoying his scotch and the sun.

When I took out a plateful of chicken, I saw that Carl was sleeping in an unusual position. The store brand scotch was on a nearby table, the glass on the floor nearby. His left arm was dangling and his head was lolling to the left.

It didn’t look right to me. I strode to the door and went out to the deck.

“Carl?” I said, loud enough to wake him. There was no answer. “CARL!”

I touched his neck. Though it was warm, it didn’t feel as if he were still alive.

“ROBIN!” I shouted back into the house. “Call 911. Something’s wrong with your dad.” Marty was just getting back into the den, and I judged that she wasn’t capable of dealing with an emergency. Her almost fourteen year-old was a better choice.

Robin came through and I could see her pushing buttons on her phone. Marty was running to her husband. I was trying to get him gently to the deck surface from the soft lounge. When I got him to the wood, I started to do the only thing I knew to do: CPR.

Marty was kneeling next to Carl on the other side of his body and screaming at him to wake up. I was pushing on his chest on a regular basis. I couldn’t remember how often the chest compressions were supposed to be. I just kept on doing it about once a second. I figured that seventy beats per minute was a good rate for somebody who was alive, but I couldn’t do that many.

Robin showed up at my side. “Is he dead?” she asked, looking down at the father she said she hated with increasing frequency.

“Don’t know,” I gasped. I could hear the sirens now. “Go open the front door.” She took off at a run.

Marty was still screaming for Carl to wake up.

The EMTs were here now, rolling their stretcher to the scene. One of them went to move Marty to a deck chair. There was a face mask over Carl’s face, now. The third took over the compressions from me. I sat back, exhausted.

“How long were you doing compressions?” he asked me.

“Don’t know,” I answered between breaths. My arms were tingling. “Couple of minutes, I guess.”

“It was five and a half minutes since I called 911,” said the little girl standing near her mother. “It was at least that long.”

I took a look at Carl’s face, then. His lips were blue, I’m no expert, but he looked dead to me.

The EMTs were doing their thing: rolling him onto a backboard, lifting it onto the stretcher, lowered to ground level. Two of them were working Carl toward the ambulance. The third was still doing compressions. One of the stretcher team said, “Okay, folks. Looks like a cardiac event, but don’t quote me – I’m not a doctor. We’re going to take him to Memorial.”

“We’ll follow as soon as we can get organized. There are children.” I said, walking along side. “I’m his brother,” I lied. “Don’t know if his wife will be able to take care of her, and won’t be much help at the hospital.”

“Won’t need a relative immediately at the hospital. They’ll know what to do. Is he allergic to anything?”

“Not that I know. He’s an alcoholic, though. He probably has had a lot to drink.” I pitched my voice so only the EMT team could hear.

I hadn’t allowed for Robin, at my side. “He always drank – a lot,” she didn’t moderate her voice at all.

The EMTs got him in the ambulance and took off, lights and siren going.

I looked at Robin, then at Marty. “Do something!” she said. This time she nearly whispered. I looked at Marty. She was about to pour herself a stiff gout of something clear: vodka, gin, tequila – no telling.

“Marty, MARTY.” It seemed I needed to shout to get through to her. She paused, in mid-pour. “Stop.”

“The hell with you, Bill ... I need a drink.”

“No you don’t. What you NEED is to be the mother this girl...” I waved vaguely toward the living room, where Rob was holding the front door. “ ... depends on.”

“Fuck you.”

I swung on her, hitting her across the left cheek with a solid ‘SLAAAPP.’ While she was recovering from that I put my thumb into her mouth, and pushed down behind her teeth, against the rest of my hand under her chin.

That’s a painful grip, as one of the nuns at my Catholic school taught me in the second grade. Marty crumbled to her knees as she clamped both her hands around my wrist.

I pitched my voice low and soft, with a strong element of command. “Now listen to me, slavegirl.” Her eyes flashed to her daughter, standing in the doorway... “Robin,” I said in a normal tone, “would you please close the door? Turn on the TV for yourself. I have to have a word with you mom ... Please?”

“Okay, Uncle Bill,” she replied in a very soft voice. I heard the TV come on a few seconds later. I turned my attention to the slavegirl whose jaw I still held painfully.

“If I let you go, will you stay down there and listen attentively?” She nodded, and released her death grip around my wrist. I relented quickly and slacked off on holding her jaw. She closed her mouth at once, and went to rub where it hurt. Only it hurt inside her mouth, and she couldn’t really rub there.

“Jesus, Bill ... master. That really is a painful hold. Where did you...”

“Listen attentively, girl,” I interrupted. “You’re not to touch a drop of alcohol tonight. Maybe not ever again. You gotta be strong for that girl. And you can’t do that if you are tipsy.” She was looking at my sneakers, now. Slowly nodding her head.