Chapter 44
Saturday, July 14th was the first dry day in two weeks. The dew point was only 53°F at 1:11 PM. A Canadian cold front had pushed all the way to the Carolina coast overnight, somewhat of a rarity for summer.
David had been piddling around the house doing sundry yard projects with one, big, C-shaped idea on his mind: the large fillet of gold – how best to safely convert it into maximum cash. But when he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and didn’t see any messages from Chantelle – neither text nor voice – his mind quickly refocused on her.
He called her number. It went to voicemail. He left a brief message. Then he left her a short text message that read:
Missing you, girlfriend.
Hope everything is ok.
Love you, David
He then went back inside to check his computer for any e-mail messages. Nothing. No updates on her Facebook page in the past thirty-six hours – nothing since they changed their relationship status and listed each other as boyfriend-girlfriend.
He was flummoxed and getting flustered. Is she ok? Has something bad happened to her?
He wasn’t sure what he was going to do next when his cell phone suddenly rang. The call was from Cindy Santos.
“Hello David, I’m so sorry about Chantelle.” Oh, dear, the tone of her voice sounds so grave.
“Why? What happened to her, Cindy?”
“You don’t know?” I’m surprised he doesn’t know already.
“No. I just tried to call her – no answer.”
“Well, you better steady yourself.”
“Ok, I’m holding the wall up.”
“She died last night. Her car was hit by a drunk driver who ran a stoplight on Castle Street.” No! Goddammit! No way! How could this happen? What are the chances? Fucking dumb-ass drunk driver. Too damn stupid to call a cab, take a bus, or walk. Ma belle is gone.
“No, no, no. No!” David gasped and then sobbed. Tragedy always wins out in the end. Love is just the bait. Ecstasy is merely a fleeting phase, an impairment to make one stupid to life’s cruel realities. I should’ve known that something terrible was going to happen. Things were going too good. Way too good. The gods always get even … and go ahead to win again. The good life is just a fiendish tease for people like us.
“I’m so very sorry, David,” Cindy continued. “I saw that you two were in a relationship from your Facebook page. Since you live in Raleigh, I wasn’t sure if anyone had told you, or if you would’ve checked the Wilmington local news. And, I didn’t know if Chantelle’s mother had your phone number yet.”
“No, Cindy, no one had told me. This is a major kick in the gut, to say the least – a crippling blow to the heart, soul and psyche. It feels so unreal. I can’t believe that she’s dead. She was something very special, extra-special – a very keen, lovely, young lady. Chantelle was my incredibly incisive teammate and lover. Was? My lord, she’s really gone. Forever. I’ll never see that smile again or hear another clever coinage uttered from her lovely lips. Why go on?
“I know it’s hard, David. Sometimes life doesn’t seem fair.” Sometimes?
“She wanted to be a novelist, Cindy. She was always taking notes. I loved that about her so much. I loved her wit and her way with English words and phrases. I’m crushed. Devastated. All the sweet memories. She’s already haunting me, and probably always will. God, I am going to miss her so very, very much. I still can’t believe this.”
“I certainly understand, David. As you know, she had a unique last name for eastern North Carolina. When I saw her surname in the overnight deaths, I couldn’t believe it. I had to check it twice. Once again, I am so deeply sorry for your loss, and to be the bringer of such terrible news.”
“Well, I appreciate you calling me, Cindy. I may not have found out for days what had happened. I’m going to just sit back and take this in. Try to figure out what I do now. Try to figure why I should wake up tomorrow.”
“Please don’t do anything drastic, David. I’m here if you need to talk.”
“Thanks, Cindy,” David said with a distraught look of utter despair on his face for the blue jay perched on the window sill. “Thanks a lot.” He ended the call.
He went out the front door and walked over to the park. He sat on an old concrete bench next to the creek. He thought about the future together with Chantelle that now would never be. He composed a response in his mind: Oh, sweet life, you are one nefarious, capricious, depraved, maniacal son of a bitch! I never believed in you. Not once. Ever. Never did. Not even close. Even when things were going so well, even when things were so exquisitely harmonious, even when I thought we were properly paying our pauper dues, even before I discovered the gold under that spare tire in the trunk of that forsaken car, in the back of my mind I knew you could – and most assuredly would – pull this card – the king of calamity – out of your devious deck. So, yes, I’m saddened. Grief-stricken for sure. But, no, not really surprised by such a usurpation of joy. You see, I always knew you were capable of bestowing such misfortune. I’m down, though not plucked of all pluck. Ha, I knew all of you gods were just bitter old sods. Worthless bastards who are probably getting revenge on the living just for sport. Envious of us for what we had, and what lay ahead. Especially since you lived such deplorably miserable lives prior. So, this I thinketh to you in the singular, plural, and even in between: Fuck off in a most metaphysical way! He was surprised by his can of Rant-O-Roni.
The creek just gurgled. A crow indifferently screeched. A dog barked in the distance. David wiped his eyes.
He then got up and started walking back towards his house. David stopped and looked at his white Ford Focus in the driveway, focusing on the trunk door. What a strangely exciting – and now devastatingly heart-crushing – odyssey this has been.
He turned his head and looked down the street. A cyclist with an orange jersey pedaled northeast on Kittrell Drive, turned left on Overbrook Drive, and was gone. That guy must have a twin. He must. That or he’s just an optical delusion – a sure sign that my sanity is sailing away.