The Babel Conspiracy by Sylvia Bambola

Author:Sylvia Bambola [Bambola, Sylvia]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Heritage Publishing House
Published: 2016-02-29T05:00:00+00:00

• • •

Two days later, Mike knocked on the door marked twelve. When it opened, Trisha stood before him wearing faded jeans and a sweatshirt, her thick, black hair pulled into a ponytail. She looked so beautiful that for an instant he felt his depression lift.

“You just arrive?”

Mike nodded.

“How are you doing,” Trisha said softly.

In addition to Mike, all of PA had a hard time coping with the facts surrounding Renee’s death. A bomb planted in her car had blown off the side of the house as soon as she started the engine. The explosion had been fierce. Two explosions, really. The bomb planted in Mike’s car was set off by the one planted in Renee’s when she started the engine. Whoever did the job wasn’t taking any chances and had wired both cars.

The explosion was so great that the windshield of the waiting company car was shattered, and Buck needed five stitches in order to close the gash on his forehead.

Renee never knew what hit her.

“Take a walk with me?” Weariness oozed from Mike’s request.

It was beginning to grow dark as they made their way to the beach. Tiny crabs scurried over the shadowed sand. Here and there driftwood and shells pockmarked the shore and took on strange new shapes in the dusk.

Trisha stopped to remove her sneakers. They were close to the water and the waves lapped their feet like playful puppies. Mike seemed unconscious of his wet shoes or that they made a squishy noise as he walked.

“My mother died when I was four,” he said suddenly, as though in the middle of a conversation rather than beginning one. “I hardly remember her. She was beautiful though. I used to look at her picture when I was young and wonder what it would be like to have a mother like all the other kids.” He paused for a second visualizing the photo.

“It left a void when it came to women. I once heard my aunts talking about how my father had married my mother for her money, that their marriage was a business arrangement. I knew my mother had come from a rich family.

“I was in my teens then and I remember feeling shocked. My father had never remarried, and the way he used to talk about mom, well, I just assumed they had loved each other. Maybe they hadn’t, I don’t know. I never learned anymore.

“My aunts wouldn’t talk about it when I asked them. And my father said, ‘of course I loved her,’ when I asked him. But you know, Trisha, in all these years, I’ve never forgotten that, and for some reason I never felt the same about my father after that.”

“No one’s parents are perfect, Mike.” Trisha knotted her sneakers together then draped them over her shoulder.

“I know. And I have no right to judge him. I was a terrible husband. I . . . didn’t know how to be a better one. Or maybe I just didn’t care enough. But I wish Renee could have had better.

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