Keeping Charlie cradled in one arm, he drew his wife close and kissed her temple. “Trust me, Debra. This is the best way. The weeks will speed by so fast, you won’t even have time to miss me.”
Unfortunately, the commuting arrangement wasn’t as temporary or as easy as Dillon had hoped. His accommodations in Mississippi were squalid, but he didn’t tell Debra that because she was doing her best to keep a positive attitude.
There was no end in sight. An exceptionally rainy fall had caused construction sites all over the South to stand deserted. There were heavy layoffs. No one wanted to hire a construction engineer, no matter how bright, ambitious, or doggedly determined.
Dillon had bought a new car while they were in Atlanta. He left that with Debra and traveled the long trip to and from Mississippi on a used motorcycle. He arrived home late each Friday night and had to leave early on Sunday afternoons. That barely gave him time to rest up from his exhausting weekend before Monday morning came around.
The work itself was uninspiring. Most of it involved interior refurbishing. He replaced collapsing walls, rebuilt falling ceilings, resurfaced floors. The building was old and ugly and when he was finished it would still be old and ugly. Nevertheless, he operated under the same rigid standards as he would have had the building been new. He ran a tight ship and insisted that the workers give 100 percent to the job. It was a matter of pride. Besides, he wasn’t going to give Scanlan an inch of advantage over him. He might demote or dismiss him out of pique, but never for doing substandard work.
The situation put a strain on Dillon’s family. Because they crowded so much togetherness into their weekends, they had to work at it, and that took away some of the enjoyment. Household chores that Debra couldn’t do fell to Dillon. Ordinarily he wouldn’t have minded doing them, but he spent precious hours every Saturday morning doing menial tasks when all he wanted to do was sleep, make love to his wife, and marvel over the rapid development of his son.
Although they were surrounded by young families like themselves, they had no social life. That began to tell on Debra. She spent all week, every week, alone with a baby less than a year old. She doted on Charlie and was an excellent mother, but she had no outlet for self-expression and seemed disinclined to get involved in any neighborhood activities. Dillon began to notice signs of increasing depression, and it frightened him.
One Sunday evening as he was preparing to leave for the long trip to Mississippi, he drew her into his arms. “I’ll take next Friday off and come home a day early. Do you think you could stand that?”
Her smile was tremulous but brilliant. “Oh, Dillon, would you? That would be wonderful.”
“I didn’t get to all the chores on your list this weekend. I’ll have plenty of time to do everything next week and still be lazy. Get a babysitter for Saturday night. We’ll dress up and go out. Dinner. Dancing. A movie. Whatever you want.”
“I love you,” she said, burying her nose in the collar of his shirt. They held each other and kissed some more, until he either had to make love to her again or leave. Regrettably, he picked up his crash helmet. Debra followed him to the door, carrying Charlie, who, out of practice, had learned to wave bye-bye.
Dillon didn’t dare formally request the day off from Scanlan, so he bribed one of the subcontractors to oversee things while he was away. It only cost him a case of beer.
On Thursday afternoon, he called Debra. “This isn’t to say you’re not coming, is it?” she asked anxiously.
“Oh, ye of little faith. Of course I’m coming.” He lowered his voice and added in a Groucho Marx accent, “I plan on coming a lot this weekend.” She giggled. “What are you doing?”
“Putting together a few surprises for you.”
“Hmm. I can’t wait. Is that my son I hear in the background?”
“He’s squealing because he knows I’m talking to you.”
“Tell him I’ll be there in a few hours.”
“Be careful, Dillon. The weather here is terrible.”
“I’ll be there before you know it.”
The inclement weather couldn’t have stopped him from making the trip, but it certainly slowed him down. The Florida panhandle was experiencing the coldest weather on record. Rainfall was heavy. Sometimes pellets of sleet would strike the visor of his helmet. Inside his leather gloves, his fingers froze in their grip around the handlebars. When he finally arrived, Tallahassee had never looked so good.
The moment he opened the front door of his house, he was greeted with tantalizing aromas wafting from the kitchen. In the center of the dining table were a vase of fresh flowers and a chocolate cake with his name spelled out in the icing. A pot roast was simmering in the oven.
“Debra?” He dropped his helmet and gloves in a chair and moved toward the back of the house, where the bedrooms were. “Are you in the tub?” He checked Charlie’s room, but the crib was empty. “What are you two up to? Is this part of the surprise?”
Dillon opened the door to the master bedroom and paused to gaze at his wife and son as they slumbered peacefully on the bed. Charlie was tucked into the curve of Debra’s arm. Her golden hair looked beautiful spread out across the pillow. Dillon’s heart ached with love. She had worn herself out to make this a special weekend for him. He moved toward the bed, sat down on the edge, and stroked her flawless cheek.
That’s when he realized they weren’t sleeping.
* * *
Haskell Scanlan often worked late in his pursuit of success, but on one particular evening he stayed even later than usual. It was after dark before he left the building. His car was the only one remaining in the parking lot.
A tall, shadowed figure appeared and blocked his path. Even before Scanlan could exclaim his astonishment, a fist with the impetus of a pile driver slammed into his mouth, breaking off all his front teeth at the gum line and snapping his head back with such impact that he was in traction for two months. Before he slumped to the ground, he was caught by the collar and struck again. The second blow fractured his jaw. A final blow was delivered to his midsection; it ruptured his spleen.
He had been in the hospital for a week, wavering in semiconsciousness, before he could communicate to the police whom he suspected of the brutal and seemingly unprovoked attack.
The police squad car rolled to a stop at the address he’d given them. No one answered the doorbell. The two officers questioned the next-door neighbor.