Adirondack Audacity Read online

  Through the open balcony door he hears the sound of a phone ringing. Glancing down at his watch in annoyance, he thinks, who the hell calls this late at night? Not relishing the prospect of further business dealings this late, he idly contemplates ignoring the irksome ringing. He casts a wistful glance at the television where he planned to relax and watch the basketball game. But his sense of duty sends him into the study; the phone sits atop a leather blotter on the mahogany desk. A family picture of his wife and children taken at the ranch stares up at him as he answers the phone with an impatient, “Hello, Ramon Rienz.”

  “Mr. Rienz,” an apologetic voice replies. “This is Louis Salvatore, the headmaster of St. Miguel’s School. I’m sorry to be calling so late at night, but I thought you would like to know.”

  Yes, fine, fine, what do I need to know, what has Vicente done this time?” Ramon has grown wearily of dealing with the mischief his four sons have created over the past two decades. Vicente is the youngest and Ramon’s patience has worn thin, with little tolerance for the antics of adolescence. Vicente’s life has been mapped out for him since he was a young child. It pleased Ramon his son agreed to finish high school at St. Miguel’s and Ramon planned on enrolling Vicente at the University of Mexico in the fall. After he finishes the pre-requisite four years, he will return to the ranch, marry his betrothed Isabella Martin and work in the family business. It has been decided. There will be no deviation from the plan, the other sons obeyed the family wishes, and Vicente will do the same.

  “Umm, Mr. Rienz, I regret to inform you that Vicente has left school.” Mr. Salvatore voice waives over the phone line.

  “What do you mean he left school?” Ramon asks irritably, he despised the current head master of the school thinking Salvatore was an impotent fool. Ramon shakes his head in disgust. The man’s appointment to the position of head master was based on academic merit not his administrative skills. As a member of the school board, Ramon had expressed his disapproval over the appointment of Salvatore. It rankled him the school board chose to override his veto and appoint the man to the post. Now the reality of this thin, balding

  incompetent fool calling him at his home, informing him that he’d lost his son was more than his patience could bear.

  “You’ve lost my son!” He rebukes in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “No, Mr. Rienz, the school did not lose your son, your son chose to run away from school.”

  “I leave him in your care and he just disappears, seems like a case of incompetence to me. I want an explanation on the where abouts of my son and I want it now.” Ramon slams down the tumbler of whiskey causing a fine spray of droplets to mar the smooth surface of the desktop.

  “The nurse was told he had the stomach flu and wished to stay in his room for the day. A staff member went to check on him at dinnertime and was unable to locate him.” Mr. Salvatore explained, knowing fully well that Rienz would not accept this accounting of what had happened.

  “So you waited until dinner time to check on the condition of my sick son, he damn well could have been dead by that time!” Ramon bellows into the phone.

  “His cousin, Hector, assured us that his condition was not serious. Vicente just needed to rest, and we trusted the judgment of an immediate family member.” Mr. Salvatore replies in an even tone of voice.

  “Where is Hector, I want to talk to him.”

  “I am sorry to say once we discovered Vicente missing; suddenly Hector was no longer available for questioning. We believe he is covering up for your son’s disappearance and doesn’t want to be questioned. I’m sure he will turn up shortly.”

  “So now, you blundering fool, you have lost both my son and my nephew, and you expect me to be calm about this situation.”

  “No, I was hoping the family would have a reason for the boys to be missing from school.” Salvatore responds realizing the possibility of losing his job over the incident. And as much as he despised the boy’s father, he genuinely liked Vicente and hoped the boy was not in serious trouble.

  “What time was my son last seen?” Ramon voice snaps over the phone.

  “He was at dinner last night. When he failed to show up for dinner this evening a staff member went to check up on him and discovered him missing. One of the boys living on the floor said Vicente received a phone call from a girl early this morning, but couldn’t identify the girl.”

  “A girl?” Ramon asks; dread snaking through his empty stomach.

  “Yes, the boy said it was definitely a girl. I’m sorry there is no further information at this time, but I felt you should be called and informed.”

  “Thank you so kindly for nothing!” Ramon bellows, slamming down the receiver, storming down the hall toward his wife’s bedroom.

  “Elyse, damn it, wake up!”

  Elyse Rienz lifts her head from the pillow, blinking at Ramon standing in her doorway. The presence of her angry husband sends a tremor of fear down her spine. Filling the doorframe to her bedroom, Ramon Rienz is six foot two inches of raw fury, with the body of a linebacker. He was a boxer in his college days and not against using his fists on occasion to persuade his sons and once even his wife to see his point of view. This dogged persistence made him the heavy weight champion in his senior year at college and the core of his bulldog attitude in business dealings. No one liked to cross Ramon Rienz, least of all his wife.

  “What’s the matter, Ramon?” She asks, sitting up in bed reaching to turn on the bedside lamp.

  “Maybe if you were more of a wife and a mother, you would know what is going on with this family instead of drowning yourself in a vodka bottle. Vicente is gone from school. Do you know anything about this?”

  “Gone, what do you mean gone?” She questions pushing back her shoulder length blonde hair, concern for her youngest son penetrating her drunken stupor.

  “Gone, God damn it, left school and no one knows where. Hector is covering for him and now he’s disappeared. Something is up, supposedly some girl called this morning asking for Vicente and then he left shortly after. Do you know anything about a girl?”

  “No, he’s never mentioned anyone in particular that I can recall.”

  “As usual you don’t know shit.” He turns on his heel, stalking off in the direction of Vic’s bedroom. Elyse follows behind him pulling on a silk bathrobe, hastily knotting it at her waist.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to search his room to see if I can find any clues as to where he could possibly be going. That idiot at the school had no idea where to start searching.” He marches into the room, pulling open drawers, tossing the contents onto the floor with little regard to the mess he was creating. He flips over the mattress, searching under the bed then flings open the closet door to rifle through the clothes and art supplies neatly arranged on shelves.

  “Nothing, what the fuck!” Ramon curses. He stands with his hands on his hips, breathing heavily from the exertion of his demolition, surveying the room for the slightest trace into the hidden life of his son. “There has to be something here, a kid doesn’t leave school for no reason. Who is this girl and why has he left school? Damn it!”

  He pulls the dresser away from the wall and there taped to the back are two manila envelopes containing all the clues he needs. Ripping the envelopes from the dresser he crosses the room in two strides tossing the contents on top of the bed. Letters from Ellen written over Christmas break spill across the bedspread and reveal to his prying eyes the relationship she shared with his son. The second envelope contains the pictures taken over the summer including the ones showing her naked among the black-eyed Susans that hot August day.

  “I’ll be a son of a bitch. God damn it, I’ll kill him when I get my hands on him. Who the hell is this little punta? Nothing but a whore, look at these pictures.” He throws the pictures on the bed and snatches up one of the letters. “No return address, damn it.” He marches from the room calling over his shoulder, “I’m calling Morris Erhart and then
Carl, head of our security division, time to call in some favors and find my son before he becomes anymore involved with this whore!”

  Elyse sits down on the bed and with a shaking hand picks up the pictures, looking at them closely one by one. She doesn’t see a whore. What she sees is a beautiful young girl not quite a woman with vivid blue eyes shining out with a look of all-consuming love for her son. She looks at the pictures with the eyes of an artist, observing the carefully rendered photographs that use light and angles to portray his love for this girl captured on film. The letters open her eyes to the loneliness and longing she had no idea existed in her son, a mutual loneliness the two young lovers shared. She carefully gathers up the letters and pictures and hides them away in her room before her husband destroys them in his fury.

  She stands hesitantly at the door to his den; one hand placed tentatively on the doorjamb watching him gesture wildly in the air with his free hand as he shouts orders into the phone. When he hangs up she enters his den timidly and he looks up at her with a glance of disgust.

  “Throw those letters and pictures in the trash, do you hear me.” He commands in a menacing tone.

  “Yes,” she lies refusing to meet his eyes. “Ramon, I read a few of those letters, maybe we should slow down and talk to Vicente. They sound like two kids who have fallen in love. Do you need to call in the police and security people? Why don’t we try to keep this private?”

  “Bullshit, I talked to the girl’s parents and apparently she’s gone also. They had no idea she was seeing anyone, but the step-mother thinks she’s pregnant. Obviously, they’re on the run.”

  “Oh, Ramon, Vic knew you would disapprove of him seeing anyone but Isabella. So of course he hid his relationship with this girl. He must love her very much. Let’s give them a chance to share their side of the story.”

  “Why don’t you just shut up and I’ll handle this, the way I have to handle everything in this family. Look what falling in love did for the two of us. I should have followed my father’s wishes and married the woman he picked out for me. But no, I had to have you and look what that has gotten the two of us, nothing but misery. I won’t let my son make the same mistake. He is betrothed to Isabella Martin and that is who he will marry.” He turns away from Elyse shaking his head in disgust. “Why don’t you go and find your bottle because that seems to be the only thing you are capable of doing. You’re nothing but a drunk. Fine mother, you turned out to be.” He pushes past her nearly knocking her to the floor in his haste to leave the room.

  Chapter 21 Revenge Sitting with hands jammed into my pockets, I look down at the floor as fear burrows a deep hole in my gut escaping in shuddering bursts of trembling. Vic, please come, I pray to myself. You said you would come, no matter what. Please get me out of here, I’m going to disintegrate, explode into a million pieces, panic only moments away.

  The cold concrete walls of the bus station close in; the bright orange chairs with chrome legs became an anchor to focus on as nausea and dizziness whirl before my eyes. The smell of diesel fumes hangs in the stale overheated air. I hug my backpack to my chest as desperate eyes search for him to appear. Panic threatens to overwhelm me……where is he, he should be here by now, what if something happens to him. What will I do? Oh, God…….

  Placing a protective hand over my stomach, my anxious thoughts race on…..okay, baby, we have to stay calm, he’ll be here soon. Everything will be all right. I repeat this mantra over and over to myself. Once we’re in his arms, nothing can happen to us. In answer, the baby gives a soft kick to the right side of my ribs to reassure me.

  And suddenly…. he’s there beside me. Vic slowly slips the backpack off his shoulders and opens his arms to me. I flung myself at him. His embrace nearly crushes me as his mouth seeks mine.

  “Ella, Ella, my beautiful bella,” He croons against my hair, smoothing the coppery blonde strands back from my forehead, enfolding me against him. He opens his jacket so I can reach my arms around his waist, pressing into him, drinking in the encompassing warmth of his body heat trapped beneath the jacket. He grasps my face between his hands as if to stop the outflow of pain from a wound, his thumbs gently caress my cheekbone, and he kisses me for several long seconds. His lips taste like sunshine; and his mouth hot and cool at the same time, and I hear him say my name over and over again.

  “I’m so sorry .” I apologize as if the whole situation were my fault.

  “Shhh, we’ll be fine. Everything will work out as long as we’re together,” he nods “We’ll think of something.” But I hear the worry in his voice, his frown and the tense line that furrows his brows lets me know he’s afraid. I’ve never seen Vic afraid and fear is written on his face. My heart begins a slow, insistent thudding against my ribs….we’re in serious trouble.

  “Did you call Burt?” He asks, squeezing his arms around me as if I’ll disappear if he loosens his tightly clinched grasp.

  “Yes.” I burrow my face into his shirt inhaling the exotic scent of him; resting my head against his chest. Everthing will be fine, with him I’m safe.

  He waits a moment and asks, “What did you tell him?”

  “Well, I didn’t want to say too much over the phone. I was afraid someone in the house would overhear the conversation.” I begin with a sigh, “I told him you were on your way.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He asked if the Knuckleheads were in trouble.” “Knuckleheads, eh?”

  “Yep,” I say with the first smile to cross my face in days, “He asked if we needed him to pick us up. I told him we’ll call from the bus station in Cincinnati.” My hands revel in the feel of his back through the denim shirt, it feels so good to touch and hold him. I could stand here all night with my arms wrapped around him. With regret I lift my head and point to the sign announcing the arrivals and departures. “There is a bus leaving for Erie, Pennsylvania in fifteen minutes, if we hurry we can be out of here and on our way to Burt.”

  “Perfect, let’s get this road trip started.” He takes my hand leading me toward the ticket booth. I don’t want to stay here. It’s too close to your home.”

  …

  The bus station in Erie was a smaller darker version of the one in Syracuse; it appeared older but cleaner. The walls painted the same impersonal colors, furniture chosen more for function than comfort. We sit huddled on chairs exhausted and disappointed. The next bus leaving for Cincinnati departs at six in the morning. It’s ten o’clock at night. We face the prospect of a long night on hard chairs and no food.

  Unfortunately, a wet sloppy January snowstorm blew in across Lake Erie making travel treacherous; calling Burt to pick us up on such a miserable night is not an option. We’ll have to wait the night out.

  We sit cold and hungry, the vending machines offering little in the way of nourishing food……..not even a Twinkie. I’m ashamed at how dirty and unkempt I feel, living in sweatshirts and oversized jeans helped conceal my condition, but I long for something feminine and pastel. Maybe even, I shudder maternity clothes.

  I feel Vic take my hand. His fingers slip around mine, and I squeeze my eyes shut as I feel his lips brush my knuckles. He opens my jacket slipping his hand in the front pocket of his old hoody sweatshirt touching my stomach reverently. “Our baby… here, inside of you.”

  I nod, “It’s okay, you won’t hurt it.” I slip his hand under the sweatshirt and cover it with my own, feeling his warmth seep through my skin, a penetrating glow inward to the baby, who kicks in response.

  “Did you feel it?” I ask delighted by the look of amazement on his face.

  “Holy shit,” his eyes widen in awe as he stares at his hand hidden under the sweatshirt. He lifts his gaze to my face. “Ours,” he whispers in a voice almost too quiet for me to hear.

  “Are you angry?” I whisper, holding him still with my eyes.

  “Elle, querida, no. How could I be angry with you?” He gazes at me, listening.

  “I was so afraid. I didn’t know what to do, so
I did nothing.” My throat closes in on me. “I felt like an animal frozen in the headlights of an on-coming car. I couldn’t tell anyone or do anything. It was almost like if I ignored the baby, it wasn’t real.”

  He leans back, looking deep into my eyes and says, “It’s the three of us now, I don’t know how or exactly what we will do, but we’ll make a plan as we go along. Together. We love each other. We’ll get married and somehow finish high school with Burt’s help. Hopefully get scholarships for college and student housing with childcare. Keep the baby, we’ll be a family.”

  “I love you.” I smile into those dark eyes alive with amber glints of hope, trusting him. I desperately want to believe in the possibility. “A family,” I repeat aloud. It sounds too good to be true. For as long as I can remember, I’ve yearned for a family, a normal family. Mom, Dad, siblings, a dog, a cat, the white picket fence. The total package. I run my hand along his jaw line, “Vic, you are my family.”

  We kiss sealing a pact over our unborn child, falling asleep in each other’s arms, forming a protective tent of love over the baby.

  The stationmaster on duty watches over the tender scene unfolding in front of his ticket booth. It’s obvious these kids are in love and in trouble gauging the size of the girl’s abdomen. She’s very much pregnant. The sight of them brings back memories. He and his girlfriend at the time, now his wife, had conceived a child out of wedlock. He could empathize with the wonder and fear those two young kids must be feeling right now. A fear of dishonoring one’s family and the consequences of their actions; probably caused them to run away from home.

  In his heart, he knew without the help of their families, he and his wife would not have survived the early struggles of their marriage. Once the initial shock was over and acceptance began, their families loved and supported them, helping them through those early difficult years. He never once regretted his decision to stay with his wife and raise their child. He loved her to this day, having just celebrated their thirtieth wedding anniversary. He glances down at an all-points bulletin posted by the State Police to be on the lookout for two teenagers fitting the descriptions of the kids sitting out in his lobby. As much as he hated the idea of turning them into the police, he knew in the long run they needed help. They were too young to be on their own, ending up on the streets somewhere, desperate. Their parents must be frantic with worry; he knew he would be if his daughter or son ran away from home. Shaking his head over the folly of youth, he reaches over to pick up the phone and dials the number for the Pennsylvania State Police. …