Heart of Stone / Cher
Katherine disembarked the plane to a wave of heat. Almost immediately she began peeling off layers and debated that perhaps her first stop should be her motel, not her brother’s. Would the hour really matter? Pete had said Jake was in trouble, but that was nothing new, was it? How many times had she dropped her life to go bail him out of some jail and why did she? If she’d had an answer to that, she wouldn’t have just arrived at the Tampa airport.
She had decided to go to the motel while she completed the paper work on the rental. But of course, by the time she was behind the wheel, her guilt would not allow it. She headed for the beach front cottage Jake and Pete had shared for the last several years.
Their road was more of a path, a sandy strip of old concrete that separated the Gulf from the gunshot cottages reserved for cheap tourist and Tampa’s almost indigent. While most beach front property was expensive, these cottages were too small, too run down and the whole area flooded too frequently to make them anything remotely near profitable. At that, she had still been shocked to hear the cost of rent, it had been more than her suburban Boston apartment and that was saying something.
She pulled her car into the shared driveway of cracked shells and sand and made her way to the door. Steeling herself, she knocked. She could already feel the sweat trickling down her body as she rolled up the sleeves of her oxford shirt, hoping for any kind of reprieve.
Pete had the door open before her arm lowered. He looked awful, even for him. His normal state of unkemptness would have looked polished and pressed compared to the haunt that greeted her. His wrinkled shirt was untucked and misbuttoned. His swim trunks looked stiff with salt, as did his messy dark hair. But it was the hollow sunken look in his eyes that really took Katherine aback.
“It’s bad Bel. Thanks for coming.” He spoke contritely, his eyes cast downward.
“Can I come in?” She asked, sure that whatever the problem was, risking tetanus in the house was better than having the conversation out on the front lawn such as it was.
“Oh? Ah. Yeah. Sorry about the mess.” Pete took a step back allowing Katherine to enter the squalor. There was as much sand on the floor inside the house as out. Salt stains ringed the cushion on a comfy chair that’s stuffing was showing throw the arms. The futon was covered in clothing, impossible to tell if it had been clean or worn and the remnants of god knew how many take out dinners were providing sustenance for the roaches along the kitchen counter and table. The cottage contained two rooms and a bath. Katherine had never seen either of the other two rooms, given the sights of the “living room” she had never wanted to.
“I’m sorry to call you Bella. I’m so sorry. I just didn’t know what else to do.” Pete shook his head and collapsed into the large chair. The fact that he had called her by the name Jake used for her was a bad sign. Worse was the catch in his voice. “Jake doesn’t know I called you. He told me not to, but I had to… it’s bad.”
Katherine sat on the edge of the sofa, trying to minimize the amount of her that touched any surface. After a shallow breath, breathing deeply in their house was never a good idea, she prompted.
“They arrested your brother for murder one” Pete now raised his eyes to hers. “I know he didn’t do it. You know Jake, he’s a lot of things, but not a murderer. But there’s something wrong, Bel. He won’t defend himself. Says he doesn’t want a lawyer, won’t tell anybody what happened, not even me. God Bel, they’ll fry him.”
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