Chapter VIII

Part III:

Winter

Chapter VIII

A sliver of light shined in Floyd’s eyes and he groggily turned to the alarm clock he’d forgotten to set the night before. Abby stirred beside him and he ran a hand through her hair as he leaned into her ear to whisper, “Come on, let’s just stay here all day. We can call in sick.”

“I can’t,” she replied and rolled over to face him. “I have an early class today.” She climbed out of the queen-sized bed they’d picked out together—their first major purchase as a couple—and started to gather up her clothes.

Floyd would have given anything for a few more minutes in bed with Abby, but he reluctantly threw off the covers and staggered into the bathroom. Once he’d finished relieving his bladder and starting the hot water in the shower, Abby joined him under the steamy spray. They said nothing as they washed each other; they’d done it so often that it was now commonplace. After they toweled off, she stood before the mirror to brush her hair while he made sure to stay as far away as possible; the sight of himself naked beside her still made him cringe. If Abby noticed his strange behavior, she gave no sign.

When they went back into the bedroom—safely away from the mirror—he asked, “Do you think you can drop by the store tonight around closing time?”

She raised an eyebrow. “What for?”

He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her. “I’ve got a surprise for you,” he replied.

She kissed him back and smiled. “Why not give it to me now?”

“It’s not ready now, but by tonight it will be,” he answered.

“Oh, that sounds interesting. Am I going to like this surprise?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, but I hope so.”

“In that case, I think I can make it,” she said and kissed him again. Floyd wanted the moment to last forever, but after a minute, she slipped away from him and tucked a tress of wet hair behind her ear. They stared at each other for a long time before she mumbled, “We’d better get going.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he said without enthusiasm. “You want any breakfast?” he asked while he opened his drawers. He pulled out a handful of clothes and stepped back to put them on while she rummaged through the drawer reserved for her when she spent the night.

“No, I should hurry up and get to class.”

By the time he’d finished getting dressed, she’d already collected her things and was heading for the door. He intercepted her and grabbed her arm. “I’ll see you tonight,” he said and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she replied and hesitated for a moment before stepping out the door. Floyd hunted for his backpack and took the ingredients out of the refrigerator to make a sandwich to take with him to eat at the store. As he spread the mayonnaise, he thought about the long silences that had crept back into his relationship with Abby.

He knew the silence was not because they were having problems. Since the night in the storeroom, their sex life had flourished as they gained experience and learned more about each other’s appetites. They had picked out a new bed and she had brought over some of her clothes so they could spend more time together. In the short time since Todd had fled, their relationship had advanced to the point where there was only one place left to go. The silences, the awkwardness, had returned because neither of them knew how to broach the subject of where to go next. It was a stalemate Floyd intended to end tonight, when at last he would cross the invisible line in the sand.

He finished making his sandwich and hurried out the door into the frigid January air. He had hoped for better weather for tonight, but he didn’t want to wait any longer; he had waited the better part of twenty-two years already. The weather aside, he still needed to pick up a few items for what he knew would be the perfect evening, but first he still had to open up the store.

In the two months since its reopening, Andromeda Collectibles had made slow but steady progress. More customers came in each week to browse the comics, books, coins, and the other assorted items Floyd offered. Business was by no means booming—profits had increased marginally—but considering the state of the store during Todd’s reign, it was a gold rush. As he went to the front door, Floyd found Gary and Max already waiting for him. “You’re late,” Gary grumbled.

“Sorry,” Floyd mumbled and ushered them inside. Some of his changes had worked too well—instead of huddling around the comic book rack, Gary and Max now spent most of their time on the Internet. Neither of the two men owned a computer, but they’d learned very quickly where to look for pornography on the World Wide Web. “Keep it clean,” Floyd warned his two most frequent customers as they fired up the computers.

“Don’t we always?” Gary responded.

Floyd sighed and collapsed into his chair after he put on a pot of coffee. He’d purchased the coffee machine for the customers, but he soon found that the caffeine helped keep him awake during the long days sitting at the counter. As he thumbed through the latest copy of Newsweek and waited for the coffee to brew, he heard the sound of an infant crying echo down the storeroom stairs.

Dale Stewart Edinger had been born January 8—he’d weighed eight pounds, six ounces and measured eighteen inches long. Angela had given birth to her son with only her mother in the waiting room through all sixteen hours of labor. Todd had not returned or sent word all through the holiday season to check on the progress of his former fiancée or their child. By the time little Dale was born, even Floyd’s mother began to express doubt that her son would ever return.

Over time, everyone had grown used to living without Todd. Angela had managed the pregnancy on her own with only minimal help from her mother and his parents; she never took Floyd up on his offer to help her if she needed it. Floyd had arranged a leave of absence for the winter and would have to take a heavier load of classes through the summer to graduate by next winter.

Even Todd’s regular customers had grown accustomed to Floyd and had stopped asking when his brother might come back. Floyd turned his gaze back to the computer terminals, where Gary and Max stared at the screens with intense concentration. “You guys keeping it PG over there?” Floyd asked.

“Of course,” Gary huffed. “We’re just reading.”

“Uh huh,” Floyd replied and checked his watch. Ordinarily he would go over to make sure Gary wasn’t lying to him, but today he had more important things on his mind. He had to get ready for the most important night of his life—the night he would propose to the woman he loved.

#

Floyd had visited Mason’s Jewelers several times throughout the holidays. Whenever he managed to find a few minutes to drive out to the mall he would go into the store, gaze at the bewildering selection of engagement rings, and dream of the perfect moment when he slipped the gold and diamond band on Abby’s finger. Each time the salespeople in their sharp, monochromatic suits would glare at him as though they could see through his pocket and into his empty wallet. He would browse the store until one of the salespeople worked up the ambition to ask him what he was looking for. His answer was always the same. “I’m just looking,” he would mumble and beat a hasty retreat.

Today was payback for all the embarrassment and humiliation he’d suffered. He’d secreted away enough money in the last two months to buy a ring for Abby. The process of hoarding the cash had required deceiving her on a few occasions. Whenever she was with him when he made a deposit—or the one time when she’d found one of his bank statements and seen his bloated balance—he would tell her that the money was earmarked for Andromeda Collectibles, which was not entirely a lie in that a very small portion of the money in his bank account did belong to the store. With Todd gone and unable to legally open an account in the business’s name, Floyd had been forced to mingle his business and personal finances. A worn ledger Todd had sporadically used documented how much money belonged to Floyd and how much belonged to the store; he made sure to keep this ledger hidden from Abby at all times so he didn’t arouse her suspicions.

As he walked into the jewelry store—his head held high and checkbook poised in his pocket like a gunfighter’s revolver—the first butterflies nibbled at Floyd’s stomach. This was it. D-Day. The day his relationship with Abby would ascend to a new level or crash into the ground. The thought made Floyd want to run to the bathroom, but he plowed ahead. He’d come too far to turn back now.

He browsed the inventory as he’d done before, only this time with a more discerning eye. If he didn’t find the right ring, he risked a disaster of titanic proportions. While he didn’t think Abby would break up with him because she thought he’d given too little thought or went too cheap on the engagement ring—he didn’t think her to be that shallow—the ring symbolized his desire for and commitment to her. He wanted to show her in a tangible way how much she meant to him. Even if she was disappointed and didn’t break up with him, whenever he saw the ring on her finger he would be reminded of his failure. He didn’t want to have to live with that.

After looking up and down one glass case, he found himself face-to-face with one of the salespeople he’d dealt with in the past, a man with hair as gray as his suit and a lean, lupine face. “Is there something I can help you with?” the salesman asked with a bored air.

“I’ll need a few more minutes, thank you,” Floyd replied. The salesman nodded, but didn’t travel far now that his pointed snout smelled a sale. Floyd tried to tune out the man’s hungry gaze as he continued to prowl the store in search of the perfect ring.

Then he saw it sparkling under the glass. The light hitting the diamonds reflected in every direction and drew him in. The ring was nothing too ornate—a single half-carat diamond surrounded by a galaxy of diamond chips set into a smooth, twenty-four carat band. A simple, yet elegant ring, like Abby herself. He pointed to the ring, the gesture immediately summoning the salesman. “This one,” Floyd said. “This one is perfect.”

The salesman nodded and opened the counter to take the ring from its black velvet backing. He held it up in the light and Floyd stared in awe as he imagined it on Abby’s slender, graceful finger. The salesman spoiled the moment by invoking the price of the perfect item, an amount that made Floyd cringe. It would cost all of the money he’d saved, plus a little from the store’s side of the ledger. But he had to have this ring. I’ll pay it back later, he told himself. “How will we be paying for this purchase today?” the salesman asked as he retrieved a burgundy felt box.

“Check,” Floyd replied and whipped out his checkbook with deadly speed. He scrawled the amount with a trembling hand and cringed at the superior look the salesman tried to mask with the back of his hand. No doubt the salesman thought Floyd was writing a bad check. The salesman picked up the slip of paper with distaste. “I hope you understand that for a purchase of this amount, I have to confirm this with my manager,” the salesman said and Floyd could only work up the courage to nod in reply. He waited while the salesman sauntered off and consulted a woman in an equally drab suit with an equally superior expression.

When Floyd could take no more of listening to the two whisper, he turned to watch the mall traffic parade past the jewelry store. He didn’t know what he would do if they rejected his check—to withdraw the cash from the bank would require emptying his account and that would require forms and red tape he didn’t have time for. There were two other jewelry stores in the mall—big national chains that would likely be less sympathetic towards him—or as a last resort he could get as much cash as possible and go to a pawn shop. He didn’t want to settle, though. He’d found the ring he wanted and nothing else in his mind would do.

Behind him, the salesman cleared his throat and Floyd turned to await the verdict. “Here you go, Mr. Jensen. You will find our refund and exchange policies written on the back of your receipt. Have a good day,” the salesman said in a dry monotone as he pushed the ring and receipt across the counter. Floyd nodded as he tucked it into the pocket of his jacket and left the jewelry store with a lightness in his step. He had the perfect ring to give to Abby to show her how much he loved her. He couldn’t wait to see her face when he opened the box and revealed it to her.

Then he stopped off at a liquor store and picked out the most expensive bottle of champagne and two cheap flutes, further dipping into Andromeda Collectible’s money. From a payphone outside the liquor store, he confirmed his reservations at the Freepoint Grand Hotel; he would have use of the Bridal Suite all weekend for a little pre-marriage honeymoon. When he got back to the store, he took the bottle of champagne up the stairs and paused at Angela’s door a moment before knocking. “Is that for me?” she asked when she opened the door.

“Oh no, I’m sorry,” Floyd stammered. The memory of her hurling objects in the vicinity of his head always made him nervous around her. “Can I keep this in your fridge until Abby gets here?”

Angela waved him inside. “Sure, knock yourself out. I barely keep anything in there anyway.”

Floyd stepped into her apartment, now sanitized of any trace of Todd’s presence, and saw little Dale strapped into a car seat. “Going somewhere?” he asked.

“Your mom invited me to go to her place for dinner so she can see her grandson,” Angela replied. He detected the bitterness in her voice at the hint of the baby’s father.

Floyd looked down at the squirming infant and froze. He never knew how to act in front of children. He wasn’t adept at making faces and funny noises to entertain kids; he couldn’t bring himself to forsake his dignity for a child’s amusement. Floyd thought he saw a hint of Todd in the baby’s chubby face and brown eyes, but he didn’t dare say it out loud in front of Angela. “He’s cute,” he said instead.

“All babies are cute,” Angela replied. Floyd took her icy tone as a signal to finish his errand and leave. The refrigerator was devoid of anything except a half-eaten pizza, a jar of pickles, and a bottle of milk that had expired a week earlier; the champagne and glasses fit with plenty of room to spare. His mission accomplished, he hurried past Angela and her son.

“I’ll see you later. Tell Mom I said hi,” he said before the door slammed in his face. He checked his watch and bounded down the stairs. He had three hours to figure out what to say to Abby when it came time to take the ring from his jacket pocket.

#

When he went to unlock the front door, he marveled at Gary and Max’s ability to intuit the precise moment the store would reopen. Or perhaps they had hung around the area and waited for the moment Floyd returned. In either case, they were the last people he wanted to see while he struggled to create his proposal to Abby.

With a muttered greeting, the two men scurried to their computer stations and twitched in their chairs like drug addicts in need of another fix as the machines booted up. “Keep it PG,” Floyd warned them as he settled into his chair. A yellow notepad lay on the counter in front of him and awaited his words of love.

“We always do,” Gary replied and Floyd decided not to waste his time by correcting him in the matter.

He stared at his notepad and tapped on it with his pen. The problem was not writer’s block, but rather an overabundance of thoughts and feelings that he couldn’t harness into coherent thoughts. He needed to condense his love for Abby into three or four perfect sentences; he doubted his ability to memorize a lengthy soliloquy in his current state of nervousness. “Always keep your points simple and concise,” Professor Foley, an expert at conciseness, had barked with military precision during one class. How to put his proposal simply and concisely?

Before he could set his pen to paper, Max burst out into a laughing fit over something on the screen. Gary leaned over and soon broke into peals of laughter that grated on Floyd’s nerves like nails across a chalkboard. He glared at his two most frequent customers before returning to the empty sheet of paper. Abby I love you. I want to marry you, he wrote on the paper. He couldn’t get any more concise than that and yet when he saw the tiny blue letters swimming in the vast, yellow sea of paper it looked so insignificant, so inadequate. Not enough, he thought and crossed the words out.

Gary and Max began to laugh again and this time Floyd growled, “Keep it down.”

“Sorry,” Max mumbled.

They turned to their separate screens and each began to type at a furious pace. With his own writing mired in a mental logjam, the sound of their typing echoed in his brain like a pair of telltale hearts. He grit his teeth and tried to force his mind to string together the words he’d waited so long to say. He didn’t have long before Abby would show up, but he couldn’t concentrate with the racket emanating from the computer terminals. Why did I let them in? he wondered.

When Max laughed again, something in Floyd’s mind snapped. “Goddamnit, can’t you two see I’m trying to do something important here? Shut the fuck up!”

At this outburst, both men looked up from their computer screens and to Floyd, who bowed his head, suddenly exhausted from his volcanic outburst. “What’s wrong?” Gary asked.

“It’s nothing,” Floyd mumbled.

“Come on, you can tell us,” Gary prodded.

They were, Floyd decided, the last two people in existence he wanted advice from on the subject of love and marriage. “I don’t think it’s anything you can help me with,” he replied. He sighed and reached into his pocket to take out the ring in the hope that it would inspire him. Gary and Max let out a low whistle at the same time and came over to the counter to have a look at the ring.

“Wow, that’s beautiful,” Gary breathed. “Is that for that hot chick who comes in here all the time?”

“Abby,” Floyd snapped. “Yes, it’s for her. I’m trying to think of how to propose.”

Max’s face took on a faraway look and then he whispered, “I’ve waited my whole life for you. Without you my soul is empty, devoid of any meaning or purpose. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” Max’s voice turned hoarse and his face red as he explained, “That’s what I said to my fiancée.”

“When did you have a fiancée?” Gary asked.

Max shrugged and stared down at the floor. “A long time ago.”

“So what happened to her?” Floyd asked.

Max’s eyes began to tear up. “She died. Drunk driver,” he bit out and then became too overcome by emotion to say anything else.

“Oh God, I’m sorry,” Floyd said, but remained rooted to his chair. Max and Gary came in every day, but he didn’t know them very well; he didn’t know if he should touch Max, so he remained pinned in place by indecision.

“I, um, guess we’d better leave,” Gary mumbled and steered his friend out the door. Floyd watched them go and then turned his gaze to the pad in front of him. Thinking of what Max had said, the mental logjam cleared and the words began to flow from Floyd’s mind. He scribbled furiously on the paper until he had a final workable product.

He held it out at arm’s length and read aloud, “Abby, I spent my whole life thinking that love was impossible for me, but you made it possible. With you, I believe all things are now possible. I want you in my life forever—will you marry me?”

“Did you say something?” Abby asked and he threw the pad facedown onto the counter in horror. How much had she heard?

“No, it’s nothing,” he stammered and came around the counter to give her a kiss on the cheek. His face was red with heat and sweat began to form on his brow. “I’ve got a surprise for you. I’ll be right back.” He kissed her again and darted up the stairs to Angela’s apartment. He stopped halfway up and realized that he’d left the pad of paper behind.

#

Floyd grabbed the bottle of champagne and recited his lines over and over again. “Will you marry me?” he whispered aloud as he ran his hand along the cold surface of the bottle. Slamming the refrigerator door shut, he closed his eyes and imagined the scene.

They stood next to the boulders on the beach of Bayview Park, holding hands while steam from their nostrils crystallized in the icy air. The moonlight reflecting off the bay gave the water an ethereal quality while in the distance, the lights from Herbert Chemical made the horizon appear as though it were on fire. Floyd turned and looked Abby in the eye. “Abby, I spent my whole life thinking that love was impossible for me, but you made it possible. With you, I believe all things are now possible.” He paused, removed the ring from his pocket, and went down on one knee. When he opened the burgundy box, her eyes went wide and filled with tears. “I want you in my life forever—will you marry me?”

“Of course I will!” she shouted and collapsed into his arms. They kissed for what seemed like an eternity until he reluctantly pulled away to catch his breath. “I love you,” she whispered as he slipped the ring onto her finger.

He popped the cork from the bottle of champagne and poured it into two glasses. They toasted without words and the sound of the glasses clinking together echoed across the empty beach and into infinity. Floyd downed his champagne in one gulp and tossed the glass away. She threw her glass after his and leaned forward to kiss him…

A distant crash from downstairs shook him back to reality and he hurried towards the stairs. “Abby?” he called from the top of the steps. “Is everything all right?” He bounded down the stairs, into the storeroom, and heard a click behind him. He turned and the champagne and glasses shattered on the floor as his hands went numb.

“Everything’s fine,” a hoarse voice growled. Floyd found himself staring into the barrel of a 9mm Beretta pistol. A man in a black ski mask and dove gray trench coat that hugged his muscular physique like a second skin had one beefy arm wrapped around Abby’s throat. She had a ragged, bloody gash along her left cheek and Floyd thought he saw a blue hue creeping into her features. “Empty the cash register, now,” the gunman commanded.

Floyd stood rigid, his mind not able to comprehend the situation. Everything was moving too fast; he couldn’t make sense of anything. The questions formed slowly in his mind. How had this man gotten in? What did he want? Was he going to hurt Abby? What could Floyd do to stop him? Floyd stared blankly at the robber, his mouth agape. His forehead broke out in sweat, his breath came out in ragged gasps, his heart pounded in his chest, and his vision blurred. “Are you stupid?” the gunman snarled and waved his pistol. “Give me the fucking money!”

Floyd’s limbs jerked as though he’d been shocked with electricity and he shuffled to the cash register. He opened a brown paper bag and shoveled the day’s meager earnings into it. When he handed the bag to the gunman, the thief examined the loot and his eyes narrowed. “That’s it?” he demanded. Floyd was too paralyzed with fear to respond. “That’s it?” the gunman roared again and tightened his grip on Abby. A weak grunt escaped her lips and sent a shiver down Floyd’s spine.

He nodded dumbly and waited for the thief’s pistol to fire. “Empty your pockets,” the robber commanded. Without thinking, Floyd complied and dumped his wallet into the sack. He paused when he reached into his jacket pocket and touched the felt box he’d hoped to give to Abby tonight. “Come on, don’t hold out on me or I’ll put a bullet in your lady friend.”

After he took the box from his pocket, Floyd hung his head and dropped it into the bag. “Open that,” the gunman ordered and Floyd obeyed. The thief smiled at the sight of the ring and Floyd thought he saw a brief sparkle in Abby’s eye. “That’s better.”

“That’s everything,” Floyd whispered, his voice sounding small and distant to his own ears. The thief rolled up the paper bag and stuffed it into a pocket of the trench coat. “Please let her go now,” Floyd pleaded. Abby’s face had turned a deeper blue; her eyes bulged a little more. The thief nodded and shoved Abby into Floyd’s numb arms. Her body trembled against his and her running mascara stained the collar of his shirt. He touched her hair and tried to think of something soothing to say, but still under the Beretta’s watchful gaze, no words would come.

“This is hardly worth it,” the thief muttered. He took down a roll of duct tape from a shelf and handed it to Abby. “OK, Romeo, down on the ground. You, wrap the tape around your boyfriend’s wrists and ankles.”

“I’m sorry,” Abby whispered in Floyd’s ear as she bound his hands in front of him and his feet together. He lay on the floor of the storeroom, his mind still working in slow motion. Only when he saw the hungry look in the thief’s dark brown eyes did he understand what was going to happen next.

“No,” he rasped. He couldn’t let it happen. “No!” he shouted and fought to free himself from his bonds.

“Put a piece over his mouth,” the thief commanded. Abby knelt down in front of Floyd and for a moment their eyes locked. He saw her fear—she too knew what was about to happen—but he was powerless to save her. Once she’d secured the duct tape to Floyd’s mouth, the gunman tucked his weapon away and snatched the tape from Abby’s hands. She took a step back, but he reached out and pinned her against the heavy old metal shelves. He ripped off a rough rectangle of tape and slapped it over her mouth.

“Such a pretty little thing in a dump like this,” the gunman hissed. “It must be my lucky day.” The thief grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her down to the floor only inches away from Floyd. As he straddled her, the gunman lifted the hem of his trench coat and dropped his pants. His grim agenda was now all too clear and Floyd screamed incoherently into the duct tape covering his mouth.

The thief reached for the buttons of Abby’s shirt; she flailed her arms in a vain attempt to keep her attacker at bay. Frustrated at her resistance, the robber slapped her across the face; she whimpered while Floyd let out another impotent scream. The thief tore open Abby’s shirt and for an instant he marveled at her perfect, surgically-enhanced breasts. He ran one hand along their pale surface and paused to squeeze her right nipple. Her body bucked; the thief struck her across the face again. “Stay still,” he growled.

His hands roamed along her soft belly down to her waist, where her underpants and skirt obstructed his ultimate goal. With a grunt of pleasure, the thief resisted Abby’s kicking and clawing as he revealed her dark underbrush of pubic hair. “That’s it,” the thief mumbled.

Floyd could only watch as the man pinned Abby’s struggling arms with his hands and thrust himself between her legs. She squirmed beneath him despite repeated blows to the head and warnings to keep still as he forced himself upon her. The thief’s breath came out in short gasps, his trench coat jerking in time with his body.

Abby turned her head to face Floyd, her eyes open wide and filled with tears. He fought against the tape, and willed himself to break through it to end her suffering, but it would not give. Instead, he watched in silent agony as she let out one last scream and the thief blew out a contented sigh. The robber hiked up his pants and stood over Abby’s writhing form. The pistol reappeared in his hand and he looked into Floyd’s eyes. “You little shit, I bet you never gave it to her half as good as that.”

The pistol fired.

A surge of pain ripped into Floyd’s stomach and for a moment he just looked down and watched the blood spread across his shirt. Then he turned his head back up to stare at the thief’s smiling face in shock. Abby jumped to her feet and lunged for the gun, but the robber threw her against the shelves and she crumpled into a heap on the floor.

The world around Floyd began to spin and dim. Darkness pressed in from the corners of his vision and smothered him like a blanket. He fixed his whirling, dimming gaze on Abby, who lay unmoving on the floor. “Abby, I love you,” he whispered, his voice muffled by the tape.

Then, as everything went dark, another shot boomed in his ears.