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It never failed. Every time this slip of a woman looked at her with the hope of seeing her one true love, it brought a watershed of tears to her eyes. But now, the ache in her heart was even more pronounced as it made her think of her own.
A small blip in her past that seemed a lifetime ago.
“He’s on a business trip,” she choked, using the same line she had used dozens of times before. “But he told me to be sure to let you know he loves his little Pearl and that he can’t wait to see you.”
As if basking in these often-repeated words from her lover, Pearl resumed her dreamlike gait out the entrance doors of the dismal facility while not one of the medical facility’s staff offered to help or to even hold a door open. If Birdie’s hands weren’t busy holding on to her dear friend, she would have flipped them off.
The care Pearl had received was beyond awful, pulling her further into cognitive decline rather than helping her out of it. Birdie couldn’t help but pine for those abandoned souls they walked past and left behind. People who deserved better. Anything was an improvement to a cold institution where they kept you drugged and barely aware of your surroundings.
As they approached the van, Pearl turned to Birdie and said, “Marshall works too hard for his own good.”
“Yes, ma’am, he certainly does.”
With Pearl in her seat belt, as opposed to restraints, Birdie breathed a sigh of relief. Before the contracted attendants could close the side door to the van, a man in a white, short-sleeved shirt, with a paunch and early-on-set male-pattern baldness, approached the van with a sheet of paper dangling from his pudgy fingers.
“Mrs. Shepherd,” he said, pushing his glasses back. “There’s the matter of the final payment that needs to be resolved.”
She grasped the door handle as the attendants walked away at her nod. “My friend’s body is covered with bites from bed bugs, and there were roaches crawling in the food left on the tray in her room. So, fuck you and your final payment, you miserable piece of shit.”
Before he could protest, she slammed the door shut.
As she settled in her seat next to Pearl, a small hand covered with sunspots and wrinkles reached out to hold hers. “Thank you, Birdie.”
Once again, tears pooled in her eyes at being recognized. If only for the moment.
“Let’s take our girl home, boys,” she said as she gently squeezed her friend’s hand and returned a warm smile.
During the drive, despite the satisfaction of refusing to make final payment to the administrator of the poor excuse of a mental care facility, she knew that tonight, payment had come due.
And it would be all the more revolting.
* * *
Grant receivedhis coordinates to meet with Tatiana Northrop the following day.
She didn’t give him much time to prepare or make arrangements at the police station, but he knew that was partly by design.
She wanted him on her terms, with little chance of bringing in a third party and compromising whatever it was she was planning, or avoiding.
They met on Buford Highway outside of Atlanta at a Korean BBQ restaurant in a strip mall. In front of the mall was a standalone building with a few fake palm trees standing out front with what looked like Christmas lights attached to the fronds. The neon sign read, “Truth or Bare,” indicating the establishment was that of an adult theme.
Thankful they were meeting at the restaurant as opposed to a strip club, he exited the truck.
Grant walked inside, the AC taking his breath, feeling out of place even though he wore a nondescript pair of jeans and a long-sleeved, navy-blue T-shirt, without a logo or the name of a cheeky bar emblazoned on the back. Nothing that someone could refer to later or use to identify him. He didn’t know this woman, or what her true intentions were.
He had lived his entire life being skeptical of people. Instinctively, he knew days like today were the perfect reason for that life-long mantra.
He took a moment for his gaze to sweep the restaurant as he waited for the host or hostess to appear. Tatiana had chosen a low traffic meeting place. There was a couple in the back, eating and speaking in an Asian language that sounded more Mandarin than Cantonese.
Another table had a family of four, where the parents were serving their teenage children, filling their plates, as their kids’ eyes remained glued to their phones. The tense mouth on the father and the clipped voice of the mother indicated an argument had been put on the back burner, likely until they could get through the family meal.
Although Grant didn’t speak any foreign languages with any degree of fluency, or had a history of attending family outings, as a foster kid he’d learned the power of observation and acute listening skills. He learned to be still and to listen intently for the least uptick in tone, giving him a heads up if someone was about to lose their temper or throw a fist. Whether a foster parent or another foster kid, it didn’t matter. Knowing someone’s state of mind gave him the upper hand, and sometimes, a head start.
Soft kind words were equally important, as they were an indication of a safe space. For that moment in time anyway. For he knew that a calm environment could flip on a dime and become his worst nightmare if he wasn’t vigilant and attentive.
As he grew older, he was often the eldest of the foster children in a home. His attention to detail became all the more critical as he no longer protected his own interests, but those of the younger children, as well.
His eyes scanned the other side of the restaurant and that’s when he found her, staring back at him. She was on the opposite side as the Asian couple, with her back to the wall. Exactly where he would have sat upon entering the establishment.
