Excerpt: Containing Hamilton

The excerpt is from Revealing Hamilton. The sequel, Containing Hamilton will be written during November 2009. (Sorry for the formatting oddity. I was unable to get the paragraphs to indent properly.)

“You‘re fired,” Lorenzo slammed the door of Ellie‘s, the hush of falling snow absorbing the sound.
I wobbled across the slick walkway, refusing to look back at the diner. Giving Lorenzo the satisfaction of knowing he won wasn’t a reaction I would allow. I was done.
An uninvited blizzard knocked the power out across most of Pierce County that year. It was no secret that Ellie’s was one of few businesses with electricity. People flooded the doors, desperate for a warm meal.
If he could, Lorenzo would keep the diner open in the aftermath of a nuclear explosion. Too easily, I envisioned dollar signs spinning in his beady eyes and his greedy persuasion raping customer’s wallets. Complete with slicked back hair and a lingering accent, he could pass for either a scam artist or a member of organized crime.
A gust of wind whipped me in the face, snapping me back into reality. I struggled through rows of cars until Big Red’s rusty hood stood out like a beacon, beckoning me to take him home. Seeing his familiar welcoming headlights made me smile for the first time all day.
Winter hit us hard that year. Another storm bellowed, as if passing the torch from the last. It was uncommon for Western Washington to experience this much snow; we were infamous for copious amounts of rain. The meteorologists on NorthWest News Network declared it due to the ‘climate change’. In my opinion, Mother Nature played a cruel joke by making up for lost time.
My thoughts drifted back a few hours. It was my long-awaited day off, but I agreed to cover for Brandy. Spraining her ankle skiing at Whistler left Ellie’s short-staffed for two more weeks. On top of that, a majority of town lacked electricity, meaning the diner was slammed. Lorenzo scheduled me with back-to-back doubles for six days straight. I barely got home and to sleep before turning around for another extended shift on roller skates. On day four, exhaustion tapped me on the shoulder, begging me to call in sick. I ignored the plea.
Donovan, one of my best friends, and I took jobs at Ellie’s to make a dent in college tuition. We were wait staff on skates at the fifties diner. Initially, I was hired as a cashier, but there were some less than pleasant staffing changes. With my track record, putting me on skates was the worst idea Lorenzo concocted.
I shivered, remembering when I lost my balance. A customer bumped me with their chair and a tray full of plates toppled from my hand. A thick platter made a hollow sound as it connected with a man’s bald head. His face went slack, landing in his coleslaw. The next few minutes blurred into an overlapping mess that my brain was forced to translate. I recalled Lorenzo running over to the old man while screaming at me in Italian. Everyone was silent as the man’s wife screeched louder as I continued to apologize.
Lorenzo yelled across the room for someone to call the paramedics. Flustered, the cashier ripped the phone and the paint off the wall. I watched Lorenzo’s eyes bulge and I was sure the vein in his forehead would explode. Instead, he pointed toward the door and lowered his voice. “Amelia, get out.”
I took off my apron and threw it on the floor. Melodramatic? Probably. A flame of emotion flickered through me that singed the edges of my rational thoughts. I know it shouldn’t have. It was my fault the customer was unconscious, but I was tired of Lorenzo using me as an outlet for his anger. This was the last straw.
“Fine!” I spun and tripped on a pickle. Eyes peered down upon me from all directions as I toppled to the floor. I took off my skates, hastily exchanged them for my snow boots and walked out of the restaurant for the final time.
My thoughts returned to the present when a clump of snow fell from a tree, striking my nose. I sighed, hearing footsteps crunch behind me. More of Lorenzo’s yelling was the last thing I could endure.
“Lorenzo, leave me--,” I turned around, realizing it was Donovan. My eyes stung and I wasn’t sure if I was upset about losing my job or if it was the wintry air. “What?”
“You know I can‘t stand to see you cry, Amelia. I‘ll talk to Lorenzo once he calms down,” Donovan shook his head. “I shouldn‘t have asked you to help me with table nine.”
“I’m not crying,” I blinked feverishly and forced a lopsided grin. “I can’t stand working for him anymore. Besides, you’ve covered for too many of my mistakes.”
“Well, it’ll make Connor happy we’re not working together anymore,” Donovan rolled his coffee-colored eyes.
“You‘re one of my best friends and Connor needs to learn to deal with it,” I said.
Donovan reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. “Why don’t you sleep on my couch tonight? I don’t want to think about him doing anything stupid.”
“The three of us have known each other since we were kids. He’s not going to hurt me.”
“I don’t trust him, Mia. He treats you like shit,” Donovan‘s nostrils flared.
“Every relationship has its ups and downs,” I changed the subject. “Now get back to work before Lorenzo’s forehead explodes.”
Donovan chuckled.
“Connor has a meeting with his department after his shift on Fridays. I have a few hours to figure out what to say before he gets home,” I swallowed.
Deep inside, I knew there was no meeting. On most Friday nights, Connor came home smelling like a brewery. I wasn’t good at confrontation and ignored the elephant in the room.
“At least let me call Kyra?” Donovan countered.
“She’s at a holiday party tonight. I’m fine. Really,” I reassured him.
“Alright, but my offer still stands,” he jingled the keys in front of me.
I didn‘t move. “I’m a big girl, Don.”
He smiled, walking backwards toward the restaurant. “Are you ever going to let down your invincible attitude?”
I shook my head and headed toward Big Red. The engine of my ancient Buick turned over on the fourth try.
“Come on, boy,” I scraped thick ice from the windshield.
The beginning of the drive was peaceful. A doughy blanket of snow nestled against the streets and trees, tucking them in for the night. I struggled to fantasize about being home with a book in the tub, but it was difficult to envision with cold air emitting from the vents.
My thoughts were interrupted when Big Red chugged. He remained a trooper since the day I bought him. His throaty demeanor powered through every situation, not letting me down. Until now.
“Come on, Red,” I pleaded.
My request was denied when the engine died. Red was old, but we had a history and I couldn‘t bear to part with him.
I smacked the steering wheel and sighed. Home was still a considerable walk away and the snow was rapidly accumulating. Fluffy flakes fluttered as they swirled in the few operating street lights. According to NWNN, the storm wasn’t supposed to subside until tomorrow.
Big Red settled onto the shoulder of Veazie-Cumberland and Roosevelt. I knew it wasn’t a good sign when a plume of steam poured from under the hood.
A cold wind lashed me in the face when I opened the door. Even with the hood propped open, nothing changed; I didn’t know what to do. First of all, it was dark. Second of all, my knowledge of cars was pathetic. I hoped the answer would shine up at me, but no such luck. Foreign parts stared back at me with the same blank expression I presented to them.
Crap. I wished I paid attention when my dad tried to teach me about cars. Instead, at three, I was interested in playing with dolls and tea parties.
“No going back now,” I slammed the hood and jumped back into the driver‘s seat. My cell phone was in the glove compartment, wedged between a pair of gloves and an old candy bar. The light on the antenna blinked red, threatening the battery was about to die. Having no other alternate ideas, I dialed Connor with numb fingers.
One ring.
Two rings.
Three rings.
Voicemail.
I tried twice more with no answer. Then the threat was no longer a bluff and the display went blank. I tossed the useless phone in the cup holder and sighed.
It was just my luck to be fired and for Red to break down all in one night. I racked my memory, trying to recall if Connor made plans where he would be unavailable. He was off work hours ago. I got out of the car, slamming the door as hard as possible. This night was getting better and better.
I kicked a rock, watching it skitter across the ice as it left a trail until it disappeared into a snow bank. Damn Connor. The cold set in and I felt alone on the sidewalk. My hands sought for warmth deep in my pockets, but found none.
Trudging through the snow and wind was more strenuous than I imagined. I regretted not taking up snowshoeing, one of the absurd hobbies Donovan tried to involve me in. After replaying the incident at Ellie‘s a few more times in my head, the condo complex was visible behind a sheer layer of fog.
I could make out the silhouette of Connor‘s black sports car from the driveway of Lake Condominiums. A minimal amount of snow rested on the hood, while the surrounding cars were covered with inches of powder. My watch read midnight and I started to feel badly about being angry with Connor. It wasn’t his fault Red broke down. He worked a lot of overtime lately and came home exhausted. Over an hour remained before my shift at Ellie’s was scheduled to end; he had to be sleeping.
I wiggled my digits, making sure they still worked. My mind wandered back to a show I watched where people were trapped in a snowstorm. Multiple fingers and toes were amputated because the blood went to their core to keep vital organs alive. Visions of frostbite danced in my head.
“Stop it, Amelia,” my teeth chattered.
I stumbled up the steps of the complex as the doorman greeted me.
“Hi, Earl,” I shook snow from my black curls. “You’re here awfully late tonight.”
“G’evening, Amelia,” Earl smiled and closed the door behind me. “Electricity’s out and the generator is down. I’m just doin’ my part to ensure folks get in safely.”
My favorite trait of Earl‘s was his grin; his face wrinkled like a prune. It was an old joke around town as to Earl’s true age. He claimed to work at Lake Condominiums since the dinosaur era, but would never give anyone an exact number.
I walked through the lobby and down a narrow corridor. The building was notorious for being lit with gaudy light fixtures. Tonight, they were much less obtrusive, without electricity to accentuate them. Abstract artwork adorned the walls and a faint smell of cinnamon lingered in the air. This was Connor’s condo and it still didn’t feel like home to me. Six months ago, he asked me to move in with him. At the time, it seemed like a great idea, but in retrospect, I think he wanted a maid.
I fumbled for my keys with numb fingers. With a hot shower only minutes away, I pushed the thoughts of Lorenzo’s purple face aside. Shivering made meeting the keyhole comparable to threading a needle. I grabbed the handle with one hand to steady my grasp, but the door nudged forward. It was unlocked.
“Connor?” I whispered.
Shadows from snowflakes flitted across the walls illuminated by a dull light from the window. As I passed through the entryway, something crunched under my boot; a set of keys. The coat rack leaned against the wall, leaving a pile of scarves and hats littering the floor. This was beyond Connor’s expectations of maid Amelia. Something was wrong.
In the living room, an ottoman rested on its side and a magazine lay open on the floor. A colorful article advertising Las Vegas blared from the pages. From the corner of my eye, the screen of Connor’s cell phone caught my attention. I watched it periodically blink, communicating new messages waited.
I went to the kitchen next and found the latest stack of mail piled on the island. The envelope on top made me cringe when I saw the return address. It was another letter from the State of Washington. This one was addressed to Amelia Bronswaller. My identity had been an issue for years. Since I was 18, I submitted multiple requests to change my last name from my grandfather’s back to my parent‘s.
With each attempt, the paperwork came back denied, stating my name was Amelia Benedict or another obscure moniker starting with the letter “B”. Double checking each field, I clearly filled out the forms to read Amelia Hamilton, but was contradicted. I determined it a sick way for my grandfather to haunt me from the grave. The latest correspondence would have to wait.
A broken wine bottle and bandage wrapper were on the counter next to the refrigerator. Droplets of dark fluid made a path from the bottle to the sink, making me cringe. Everything felt wrong and nausea flooded my stomach. I grabbed a rolling pin from the island, gripping it so tightly, my knuckles whitened.
“Calm down, Amelia,” I whispered. “There’s a logical explanation, no one is going to hurt you.” I forced my mind away from childhood memories of a basement.
Swallowing hard, I tiptoed across the living room to the bedroom. As usual, the door was cracked open. I held the pin over my head, ready to attack in an instant. From where I stood, I couldn’t see more than the corner of the dresser and a beam of soft light. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open. A flashlight rested on the dresser, pointed toward the ceiling. As I scanned the room, my jaw dropped and my heart paused.
“Connor?” I dropped the makeshift weapon at my feet.