Shelter from the Storm

a/n Wishing everyone happy spring holidays! And thanks for reviewing!

Chapter Thirty-six ~ Black Jellybeans

.

Ranger

I step into my aunt Olivia's snow white kitchen and look around. Anthony has my back and he just barely doesn't bump into me, though I can feel him breathing on my neck. He shoves me aside and yells, "Mom!"

"In here..."

We walk into the dining room (need I tell you, also very white?). The big farmhouse table, scrubbed bleached pine-old, valuable, is covered with two weeks' worth of newspapers and there are blue tarps taped to the ivory heart-pine floor. The table has bowls of white eggs and many little pots of egg dye that smell of vinegar. The scent mixes with the egg-y sulfur smell and is much less appealing than my aunt's usual household aura of lemon and salt air and herbs.

At the table are my daughter Julie and Jilly's two blond cherubs, all wearing big old men's shirts just like we used to wear for Olivia's art projects, back in the day. All are demurely busy, engrossed in their project. I eye Jilly's daughter Izzy with caution but she simply smiles calmly at me and returns to her task.

... ... ...

Last week I got a call from Olivia...

"Hi, Ranger!'' So cheery on this stormy April day.

Olivia never calls me at work, probably wouldn't even if there was a major life catastrophe, but the cheerful tone precluded that. So... "Hey. What's up," I said warily.

''I understand Julie is coming for Easter?''

''Yeah, spring break, Jersey style," I answered.

''So, um, I know how busy you and Stephanie are, and I was thinking you could bring Julie and Zoë out to stay with me for Easter weekend? We'll dye eggs and have the Easter Bunny come, all that stuff."

"Eggs?"

"You must remember, Ranger. We always dyed Easter eggs on Good Friday, you always wanted to dye yours black! And then your dad would hide them for an Easter Egg hunt..."

I didn't want to go there, my own mother was always AWOL (MD, on call, but still...) and Olivia did her best to merge our families and make us normal, so holidays were often all of us kids, her and her husband and my dad, her lover who was also her husband's business partner and best friend. As a kid I had fun and asked no questions; as an adult I wouldn't touch it with a ten foot pole.

My silence must have communicated something to her and her voice sounded small and sad, suddenly. "I thought it would be so fun... Jilly will be here with her kids too, and you and Stephanie could come on Sunday for Easter dinner. I was going to make ham."

I felt like a real shit because I'd spoiled her enthusiasm. I also knew Steph would be thrilled, no egg dying mess in our house, no ghastly Plum Easter dinner at 1pm. No big involved lie to get out of Easter Mass...

"I just wanted the kids to have the fun of an old-fashioned Easter, but that's okay..."

"No! I mean yes, it's a great idea. Thank you, Olivia, the girls will love it. I'll bring them out on...?"

"Wednesday or Thursday?"

"Sure. Ah, can you make eggplant parm instead of ham?"

Now her voice was smiling. "I'll make both, Ranger, whatever you all want."

"Thank you, Livvy."

"Um, can I take the girls to the children's church service at St Mary's? It's short and beautiful and there's a petting zoo...with lambs!"

"Yes, of course." Steph and I aren't practicing anythings though we were both raised Catholic. Julie however is growing up in a staunchly Catholic household and she'd expect —and be expected —to attend church on Easter. I had planned to send her with Helen Plum but this was better.

I said, "I'll have Ella choose Easter dresses for them, shoes, whatever..."

"No! I mean, do you think I could do that?"

"Knock yourself out."

"They won't insist on wearing black, will they?''

"I'll have a word with them," I promised.

Okay, sounds fun, right? A good plan? Surrogate grandmother will have all her little kids and the pleasure of recreating Easter and our own childhoods. The kids would be in a gorgeous huge childproof (though white) house with other kids and dogs —at the beach! They'd have fun and do normal kid stuff, while giving great joy to someone I love a lot. As long as Izzy didn't blow something up. I mentally crossed my fingers.

"Thank you, Ranger!'' Olivia said fervently.

''No, tia, thank you.''

... ... ...

So it's Good Friday, I am on a job with Anthony because Tank has taken Lula off to Belize for the week. When I questioned his plan he told me, "Lu never got to go to spring break..."

I nodded but had to ask, "And you have fond memories of Central America?"

"Well no. But she doesn't know that and the resort is awesome.''

''I hope the toilets flush now. In fact, I hope they have toilets."

''Boss, geez. Four Seasons?''

I nodded again. ''Have fun.''

The current job involves a DEA sting in Manhattan, a Rangeman contract. There is a new designer drug coming out of this club in the Meat Packing District. The club is accessed through a stinking alley, the only signage a neon outline of a vintage Playboy Bunny logo. The club's name is RABBIT'S but the neon is defective. The letter T fizzles on and off in the darkness of another rainy day, so the place is sometimes mistaken for a kosher butcher shop, named Rabbi's.

Anthony and I are in a surveillance van, parked in the alley with a view of the street and the club entrance. We're in place early and nothing is happening, no people at all, not even the stray shopper looking for bargain meats. Not only is it Good Friday, it is the second day of Passover. NYC is as quiet as it gets.

In the midst of all this tedium my cell rings. I listen then hang up. I tell Anthony, "We have to go."

He jerks awake and asks, "What?"

"Call Manny and Vince, tell them to take over."

"What? Why?"

I explain—the call was from my daughter's Russian expat bodyguard, the man she calls Monster—and as soon as the guys arrive we grab a cab to go the few blocks to Anthony's loft where we switch over to his truck. One or two stops in Manhattan, then we are driving like maniacs out to Long Island. I'm behind the wheel. I cut off some bridge-and-tunnel creep in a Toyota Camry, he lays on the horn and yells.

Anthony kicks back and relaxes, says, "Road rage. It's so—useless. Whoa! Watch the road, though, bro..." A tense hour later we arrive at Olivia Stewart's big white beach house. As usual there is no visible security around the house, though presumably there are guards for both Olivia herself and Jilly's children. Anthony says nothing, so I allow myself to believe their bodyguards are discreetly invisible, not nonexistent

When we get out of the truck, Julie's man Georgie —Jorge—materializes from the budding hydrangeas, gives me a nod and fades away.

We enter the house via the kitchen. In the dining room we can see the children at the table along with Arkady Petrovich aka Monster and Dragan Dardasqu' I mean Dave Smith, who are Zoë's bodyguards. Arkady stands at parade rest, and looks relieved when we appear. Dave is seated by Julie and busily dipping an egg in blue dye. He looks fascinated and happy, and about twelve years old. Poor Dave's life didn't lend itself to much fun when he was a kid in a Romanian orphanage, I am guessing. He looks up at me and smiles.

In the foreground Olivia is faced off with my younger daughter Zoë. Olivia is grabbing her hair and glaring, Zoë is standing hands on hips, glaring back.

Olivia tries, ''Look, Zoë, I have three shades of pink dye!''

"No."

"And pink sparkles!

"No."

"Purple?"

"No!"

Julie turns her head and says, "Look at this neat lime green!"

Dave holds up an old spoon, balancing his bright peacock blue creation. He says something in Romanian, "Blah blah blah blue," —Count Dracula Does Easter—and Zoë looks at him and says, "No."

Olivia says, "The Easter Bunny will like the bright colors!"

"No !"

"And if he's happy with his eggs he'll bring you lots of chocolate eggs and jellybeans."

Zoë thinks about that. "What kind of jellybeans?"

"Bright colorful sweet yummy jellybeans."

"Noooooo." Tears threaten. Then she realizes I have arrived and yells, "Daddydaddydaddy!"

I pick her up and hug her, greet the other kids, and hand a bag with Cyrillic lettering to Olivia. Julie runs over to me and I hug her too, as if I wasn't here just yesterday.

"You got some...?" Olivia pulls four tiny envelopes like seed packets out of the bag. The writing is in Ukrainian but someone has penciled in English the word "black".

"The shop in NoHo, Surma, on East 7th Street had it, just like Arkady said." I almost smile. "The old Ukrainian ladies loved my Russian accent."

"Ah." Olivia smiles at Zoë and tells her, "Come on, sweetie, help me here."

Zoë cocks her head in question. Olivia tells her, "One dozen black Easer eggs, coming up!"

"Yay!"

I set Zoë down and she hugs my legs then turns to run after Olivia. I grab the back of the giant man's shirt she is wearing as an apron. "Zoë, a word, please."

Something in my voice makes her stop dead and she turns to stare solemnly up at me. I squat down so that we are eye to eye. I say, "I didn't bring the black egg dye just for you, Zoë."

?

"I brought it for Olivia, it made her happy. She wants to make this Easter perfect for you."

"But, daddy!''

''No buts, Zoë. Next time someone wants you to make pink eggs you make pink eggs. Got it?''

Her chin trembles and eyes fill with tears. I harden my heart and stay stern. I repeat, "You understand, Zoë?"

''Yes, daddy." She looks into my eyes. ''Does this mean the Easter Bunny won't bring me black jelly beans after all?''

Behind her Anthony stares at me and makes a tiny gesture with the CVS bag full of black Brach's all-fruit-flavor (i.e. not icky licorice) jellybeans. I frown at them both and say, ''We'll see.''

... ... ...

In the car Anthony pops open the bag of jellybeans and tosses a couple in his mouth. He says nothing.

I drive in silence, then cave, "I'm raising a spoiled brat, right?''

"Child like black, bro."

"No excuses. She's spoiled..."

''Dunno, man. And you always got black Easter eggs, why shouldn't Zee?"

?

He adds, "She's really cute...and smart. And she's only, what, four?''

"But spoiled."

"You try your best, that's all a dad can do.'' I glance at him, because I can read his momentary confusion, him having grown up with two dads and all. He adds, "Probably Zoë is the kinda woman who men will always give in to, it's her destiny, it's like in her stars."

"Because she's beautiful?" I frown. Being beautiful isn't always a wonderful thing.

"No, because, like, she's Zoë..." He waves a casual hand as if that explains it all. (And maybe it does...?)

"So...?"

"So I left half the friggin' black jellybeans on the counter at my mom's, dude."

"Okay. Uh, thanks?"

"De nada. Uh, jellybean?" He offers me his bag of jelly beans. "Happy Easter?"

the end

Happy Easter/ Passover/ whatever you celebrate! Spring?