Chapter 41: Chapter 41

Deborah calls just before dinner on Christmas Eve asking to speak to mom. Aunt Grace passes the phone to her and mouths to me ‘Deborah’ questioningly. I mouth back, ‘Yes, Scott’s mom.’ Her eyebrows shoot up as she mouths back in acknowledgment, ‘Oh!’ We sit on the sofa together watching mom intently as she listens to Deborah.

Aunt Grace whispers to me, “It doesn’t look like she’s just wishing your mother a Merry Christmas, something is wrong.”

“How can you tell?” I ask.

“Look at your mother’s expression. She’s dying to get off the phone and tell us, I know that look anywhere.”

Mom looks up at me covering the receiver so Deborah wouldn’t hear, “Have you heard from Scott today?”

I shake my head, “No yesterday, why? What’s up?”

She puts her finger over her lips to silence me and I looked at Grace insulted by mom’s gesture.

“Did you want to talk to her?” Mom asks passing the phone over to me.

Mom takes my spot on the couch and watches me as I spoke with her. “Hi Deborah, Merry Christmas!”

“Thanks, Merry Christmas to you too,” she says. “I’m sorry to bother you, but have you heard from Scott?”

“I spoke to him last night but not today. Isn’t he with you?”

“We had an incident at the house in the middle of the morning and he stormed off. I haven’t heard from him since.”

“Did you try Jeremy? Maybe he’s there.”

“He was the first person I called,” she says. “He doesn’t keep a list of friends with numbers, they’re all saved into his phone and he has it with him. Jeremy said he hasn’t heard from him. I was hoping you did.”

“Sorry Mrs. Brandon, I haven’t heard anything. I can send out a few texts to see if I can find out where he is.”

“Would you Honey? You don’t know how worried I am. When he left here this morning he was really angry, there’s no telling what he will do.”

“Sure, I’ll give you back to my mother and start texting our friends.”

“Thanks, dear.”

I hand mom back the phone and Aunt Grace is waiting for me to say something. I look at her realizing how little I know of the situation myself, “Scott’s gone missing. Apparently, he was really angry last night and he stormed off.”

“Oh my,” she says more to herself than me. “I have to help find him.”

I wonder what happened to make Scott so angry. I went to my room to initiate a social media all-points bulletin on Scott. I Faced, Tweeted, Pinned, texted, e-mailed anyone and everyone I could think of who might have heard from him, even people who didn’t. It was a waiting game that had me feeling antsy to do more. The search felt like it was leading to nada until it struck me that there was one person left I hadn’t contacted, Coach Tammy. I dialed the club and after a few minutes of waiting, I was put right through to him.

“Coach?”

“Isabella?”

“Yep!”

“It’s so nice to hear from you,” the relief in his voice is unmistakable.

“It is great to hear your voice Coach! I don’t mean to bother you when you’re on the ice, but there’s a problem.”

“You can’t find Scott,” he finishes.

I let out a breath of relief, “So, you know where he is?” “No,” he corrects me, “his mother called me yesterday.”

“Oh,” I say disappointed, “I was hoping you knew where he was.” “Sorry, if I hear from him I’ll have him give you a call.”

“Sure, that would be great,” I say disappointed. “I have to get back on the ice now.”

“Okay, Coach. Thanks a lot!”

“Your welcome, it’s always nice to hear from you.”

If I didn’t know Coach Tammy so well, I probably would have believed him, but something made me think he’s lying. I just hope when I get there, he tells me the truth about where Scott is. The rest of the night is spent badgering mom and Aunt Grace to buy me a ticket to Lagos, promising them I will spend Easter in Abuja to make up for Christmas.

I don’t let up until my ticket was ordered. Mom does everything in her power to keep me there, I argued that I have a place to stay in Lagos, and Scott needs me more than she does right now. I fly out early Christmas morning.

I land in the airport realizing my first problem is transportation or lack thereof. I whip out my trusty cell and call Deborah telling her where I am. She offers me a lift back to her house and I graciously accept. I wait outside the terminal in my toasty bomber jacket and my warmest sweats wishing Scott had chosen a better time of year to go AWOL. Deborah pulls up in her snow-covered car looking all pale and tired, “You look awful,” I comment.

“Thanks,” she answered.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” I ask.

“Do you mind if I smoke?” She asks as she lights up. I’ve never seen her with a cigarette before, she is crazy upset. She takes a long drag of her cigarette and rolls the window down before exhaling it, “His dad came back.”

“Get out!

Why? Does he want to get back together with you again?” “Is the Pope Jewish?”

“No,” I answer on the brink of confusion.

“Does he want to be a part of Scott’s life again?” “Is the Pope Jewish?” she repeats.

“No, he doesn’t give a damn about Scott. He just wanted to show off his twenty-year-old fiancé, fucking trollop. Her tits are bigger than my ass and even that looks fake!” She takes a drag of her cigarette and blows it out the window consciously trying to keep the smoke away from me.

“Wow! So what did Scott do?”

“They said some choice words to one another that I’m far too much of a lady to repeat and then they came to blows.”

“Who hit who first?”

“Scott threw the first punch, it happened so quickly. I tried to get them to stop, but I was completely helpless. Scott skulked off like a wild wounded animal. I haven’t seen him since.”

“Did his father hit him back?”

“Did he ever, I never seen him raise a hand towards Scott before last night. Isabella, it got ugly. I threatened his father saying if he didn’t leave I’d have to call the cops. I’m so glad you’re here. I hate that I had to interrupt your visit with your mother.”

“I’m glad I’m here, I just hope I can find him. I’m going to need to borrow your car to look.”

“No problem Isabella, just drop me off and take it. I’ll call you if I need to go anywhere. Someone should always be home in case he comes back.”

“I doubt he’ll come back if he thinks his father’s there,” I say intuitively. When we are a few blocks from their house, Deborah invites me in to freshen up, but I want to start looking while the trail is still hot. She nods with understanding, “Okay, I’ll bring your bag in for you. You can stay in Scott’s room until he gets back.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Of course not, keep me posted if you make any progress.”

“Will do,” I said as she pulls up to their house. She presses a button on the dash and the trunk lid pops open. Deborah gets out of the driver’s side of the car leaving it idling with the door open to retrieve my bag while I get out of the passenger seat and switch to the driver’s side, “I’ll bring your bag in, you go on,” she encourages.

“Thanks see you soon.”

I drive back to where I used to live; I needed some time to figure out how I’m going to approach the search. I parallel parked against the curb in front of my old house and memories of dad comes flooding back to me. I remembered him letting me play outside making snow angels in the front yard while he toiled away shoveling the snow from the front driveway. It was our special time together when I was young. Mom always had hot chocolate waiting for us when we got back, and the whole house would smell of baked bread. I pulled my cell out and scroll through my contacts until I find the Coach’s number. He answers on the second ring and I greet him happily trying to mask the worry in my voice, “Merry Christmas Coach!”

“Isabella?”

“Ya Coach, it’s me. I just left my mom in Abuja to look for Scott. If you have any idea where he is, you better tell me. His mom and I’ve been worried sick.”

He hesitates for a minute, “He doesn’t want to be found. He needs to be alone.” I start the car and let it idle while I continue talking on the phone.

“He needs me, Coach Tammy, tell me where he is.” “Fuck Isabella,” he whispers, “he is going to kill me.” “What’s your address?”

“140 Wilson Avenue, I’m in the white house directly across the street from the club.”

“I’m coming right over,” I say not giving Coach a chance to respond before hitting end and calling Deborah who answers on the first ring, “Isabella?”

“Ya, I think he’s at Coach’s house. I’ll text you when I know for sure.” “Thanks, Isabella!” she says with relief. I can’t drive there fast enough. The roads are slick and the tires aren’t gripping. I fishtail several times causing me to slow down. Luckily most people are home celebrating the holidays so I narrowly avoid only one collision and got there in a reasonable amount of time. I park in the two-car driveway behind Scott’s snow-covered Mercedes.

Judging by the amount he has on his windshield, it looks like it hasn’t been moved for a while. I ring the doorbell to the two-story Victorian-style house waiting for the Coach to answer. He answers giving me a kiss and motioning upstairs, “First door on the right. I’ll be at the Paddock having a few drinks, pick me up when you guys are done whatever it is you’re going to do,” he grins at me. I kiss the Coach on the cheek liking where his thoughts are going as he leaves the house.

“You owe me one,” he says.

I walked upstairs and stop at the first door on my right. I knock twice and wait, no response. I turn the handle and open it slowly. The door creaks and I see Scott’s partially naked figure lying on the bed, with the lights off, he doesn’t move. I turn the light on and he instantly shields his eyes. I turn it off again protecting him from the blazing light. He lifts his head off the bed to look at the intruding figure, me.

“Isabella?” he says quietly. “Get out!”

I ignore him and sit on the edge of the bed. He turns away, hiding his face. “Look at me,” I order. He faces me in the darkness, I can tell his eye is swollen shut and his features are marred with bruises and cuts. There is so much I want to say to him but instead I stroke his cheek lovingly with the back of my hand. His skin is soft and tender. My lips close in on his, “I was so worried,” I admit.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes. I remember his mom and text her:

ISABELLA: I found him. He’s okay.

DEBORAH: Thank God.

I turn my phone off and pay my attention to him. “Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.

He turns away from me, “No, I don’t want you seeing me like this.” “Like what?” I ask

“Like this,” he says frustrated.

I get off the bed and walk around to the side he’s facing and I stare rebelliously into his one open eye, “I’m looking at you, and I’m seeing you like this, and I’m still in love with you. If this is you being weak, I will love you back until you’re strong. We pick each other up when the other one is down because that’s what we do.”

His father broke him down making him vulnerable and I hate him for that. We faced each other, and he unzips his jeans as I slide my pants down for him to take me. I never took my eyes off him as he made love to me slowly in the Coach’s guest bedroom