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Kansas
Kansas
Kansas
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Kansas

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Marriage isn't easy. The strains of it become evident when Kansas Benjamin loses her twins during pregnancy. Her husband becomes distant, immersing himself in work and more frequent trips out of town until one day he doesn't come home at all. Questions reveal an affair. A divorce separates them and Kansas moves on with her life; finding a job, even falling in love again. But the more she integrates into her new life, the more she is reminded of the old one. Clues begin to fall around her until a shocking truth is revealed that places Kansas at the center of a crime. It will take more than strength to recover. For Kansas, it takes revenge.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherTyler Gant
Release dateSep 30, 2013
ISBN9781301491063
Kansas

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    Kansas - Tyler Gant

    So here I am, Kansas Benjamin, sitting on the patio of my hut, overlooking the variegated waters of Bora Bora. The water drifts idly beneath the concrete pillars that suspend my hut above a crystal lagoon. A mai tai sits to my right, perched on a small teak table. It’s my second one this day and it’s only two o’clock in the afternoon. I’ve just finished reading the latest summer bestseller about a hermaphrodite and as strange as the book was, I know that real lives are often stranger than fiction or at least more entertaining.

    Where is Bora Bora? I thought you might ask. I had to ask myself the same question until I Googled the place. It’s in French Polynesia. Take a map of the Pacific Ocean. Draw a straight line from Los Angeles to Sydney. French Polynesia is at the midpoint on this line.

    I wouldn’t be sitting here had it not been for a rather strange and interesting life these last four years. It’s amazing how things can change in one year let alone four. An entire life can swing from one side of the universe to the next.

    I’m not sure where I heard the following but it seems true in my life. After all, I’m only thirty-two. I’m still young. Here’s what I heard:

    Some people live a short life in a long period of time. Others live a long life in a short period of time.

    These last four years have certainly proven the later for me.

    You really should invest some of your time in visiting Bora Bora. I have never seen so many shades of blue and green. The water changes with every ripple. The closer one is to the shore the brighter it becomes until it looses its color entirely to the whitest sand.

    The sand is like powder, blending into dark volcanic rock. There are not many beaches in Bora Bora. I happen to be staying at one of the few resorts with a small strand of the stuff. The resort isn’t even located on the island proper. It’s on an atoll, an island of sorts that helps to form the lagoon. They call these lagoon-forming islands motu.

    I could go on about the beauty of this place. After all, I’ve been here for more than a week. I’m scheduled to visit the island of Moorea before I decide what next to do. Rest assured, we will return to my stay here on the island. For now, I want to move into my life. Like I’ve said, it’s been an interesting four years.

    Truth is stranger than fiction; one of the reasons I bought a laptop. I’ve had the intention all along to write a little. I want to share my life. I want to give proper birth to it. Because I’m tired of reading about fictional women with their fictional problems. Oh, and let’s not forget their fictional triumphs over these problems. No. I want to give my account for those who’ve been married, fallen in love, then had their dreams cut open.

    Do I sound like a scorned woman?

    Maybe.

    Before you read further, please know that I’m not interested in writing a literary piece. This isn’t about one-upping the hermaphrodite. This book is my first and will undoubtedly be classified as pulp instead of literary fiction. Rightly so. I do not consider myself a prospective Nobel laureate. I see my story as the novel that you would pick up at the grocery store just before the checkout, or the paperback you would shove into that beach bag.

    I could never begin like Charles Dickens. I know some would prefer that I give every sorted detail of my childhood, but this would never make for a fun read. There are certain things that I will not tell in this telling. I’m only interested in telling you what has happened to me since moving to California and I promise you a good read.

    Background can be important so let me give you some. I was orphaned at the age of five and had a total of four foster parents. I did the typical employment thing in high school. I found a job at a local minimart, saved money. And when I turned eighteen I left my foster home and found an apartment. I didn’t have much ambition to go to college. I didn’t have much money to even afford college. And with my grades being what they were, there wasn’t much hope in getting into a good school. Looking back, I might have done well at a community college but fate had other plans.

    I have to admit I was—and still am—an attractive woman. I’m six feet tall with bright red hair. Unlike most natural redheads I have not one freckle on my body. I weigh between one hundred forty-five and one fifty. My eyes are the color of mint, not the plant but an actual green mint you pick up after leaving a nice restaurant.

    I had three boyfriends, all at different high schools. All of them were flights of fancy. It didn’t take me long to figure out what they were after, nor did it take long for my family to move or for me to be transferred to a new foster home. Moving and new families quickly ended these relationships.

    I set my sights on finding a job as soon as I could after high school. I started with a temp agency and before long had a permanent job working at the Atlanta Convention Center. This is where I met Nathaniel Jeffries. He seduced me the moment our eyes locked on to one another. I was working at the ticket counter during a large finance convention. He’d already passed through the entrance. He’d walked inside but caught my eye after dropping his wallet.

    There was something in his look, a familiarity that I knew meant a deeper future. Chalk it up to clairvoyance, or just fate, but something in me said this man would bring me new experiences.

    He was a tall man. Six feet, two inches. His shoulders were broad in his black suit. Later, I came to learn that they were just as broad in the nude. His eyes were deep gray with small flecks of yellow surrounding the pupils. And his hair was the color of thick brown suede. His large hands gave assured handshakes. His teeth were the color of a porcelain bathtub. Roll all of this together, couple it with his square chin, and you had the Marlboro man without the cigarettes.

    Nathaniel introduced himself as Nate, a Californian who was in town on business.

    Now I have a reason to stay a bit longer, he’d said over coffee that first day.

    For the next year he visited twice a month. Until one day...

    Will you marry me? he asked.

    The weather was unusually warm for the last week of January. The sun had dried up much of the rain from the previous week and eastern Atlanta sighed with relief because rain had flooded certain sections of the city the week before. The park was quiet and cool as we strolled along a path near the lake.

    The setting sun highlighted the yellow flecks in Nate’s eyes. He’d taken off his jacket, exposing the short sleeves he was accustomed to in Los Angeles and those muscular forearms I learned to love as they picked me up and set me down in the bed; one moment in many similar moments after he’d arrived into town.

    What did you say? I asked. Part of the question came out in a hurried laugh.

    Will you marry me?

    Nate, I’m only twenty-six.

    So. And I’m twenty-nine. Plenty of women marry at ages younger than that. I want to start having children. What better woman to have them with than the one I met a year ago. He smiled, pulling me close so that I could smell the sweet peppermint from his mouth.

    I buried my head in his chest and laughed, holding my breath. A thousand reasons why I should marry him shot through my head like rays of sunlight from a cracked cloud.

    Being orphaned puts a whole new spin on the mental game of dependency. It completely wipes it away—or it had for me. Foster parents never take the place of one’s real parents; especially, when you’ve had four sets of them.

    I pulled away. Do you really want children?

    More than anything.

    I thought this was something you would only consider once your career had taken flight at the firm.

    I’m a fickle man. If children were part of my life perhaps a career wouldn’t be as important. He smiled that porcelain smile and drew me close again. We could try without the license? All these nights we’ve been sleeping with one another. It wouldn’t take much to change our child outlook.

    I pushed away. You know I won’t do that. It’s not fair to the child and it’s not fair to the parents. It’s a responsibility two people should prepare for by committing to it. This means a legal commitment.

    You know I’m joking. He used his hand to tickle me before I pushed away and ran.

    You’re not getting away that easily, he called as he chased after me.

    Giant oaks surrounded us, bearing witness to our childhood game. The smell of wet earth was below our feet as a field opened broad and I pushed my legs to escape him.

    I made it three hundred yards before I fell. He pulled me up.

    You are the most beautiful woman in the world Kansas Benjamin, he said.

    Where would we live?

    Los Angeles.

    Why not Atlanta?

    Why not LA? Make a change in your life. Break away. You know you’ve been here too long. Perhaps it’s time for Little Orphan Annie to step out of her world and step into a new one.

    Are you ready for a woman to live with?

    I’m ready as I’ll ever be.

    It won’t be hard for me to move. There’s not much in my possession to move.

    We’ll sell it. I’ll take care of replacing anything on the California end.

    I wonder what they’ll say when I quit work.

    They’ll be sad. You’re the prettiest thing that has ever happened to them. My god Kansas, you deserve more than this. You deserve a life that will bring you the world.

    And Los Angeles will bring me the world?

    Los Angeles is the world. It’s one of the most cosmopolitan places on earth. And many will tell you otherwise. I know. I know. Superficial. La La land. Well let me tell you something. Most who call LA superficial are only doing so because they either heard it from someone or they lived in LA. And eighty percent of those who live in LA are not even from LA. The city has a resonance like no other. You just gotta be open to seeing it.

    I raised my hands to the setting sun, gazing out over the grassy field and the lake beyond.

    I’m ready, I shouted.

    Nate pulled me in again, wrapping me up in his arms. I could feel the heat from his body through his shirt. I knew what he was thinking, what he wanted aside from the marriage and the move to Los Angeles. I pushed away to look at him and he smiled in a mischievous way. It was that same smile he’d have on his face when he set me down in bed.

    Let’s make a baby, he growled.

    It really wasn’t hard for me to leave Atlanta. As I said, I had very little to leave. I had no family in the traditional sense. My foster parents had split just before my eighteenth birthday. I saw my foster mother only once since moving out of the house. And the few possessions that I’d managed to accumulate were nothing more than a futon that doubled as my bed and couch, a small dining table, coffee table, three book shelves, and a kitchen full of cups, plates, and silverware. It took two weeks to give away everything I owned.

    Are you sure you don’t want me to box up the dishes and mail them? I asked Nate over the telephone.

    He laughed at the other end. No babe. I’ve got that taken care of. If you don’t like what I have here then I will give you my credit card and you can shop to your little heart’s content.

    I smiled, pushing it through the electric wires that kept us close. Okay. Can't wait to see you tomorrow. Habla espan’yull?

    "It’s español, he laughed. We’ll have you speaking Spanish in no time. Quit worrying about the honeymoon."

    I can’t help it. Are you sure I don’t need a passport?

    I’m sure, but the moment we get married I want you to apply for one. You never know when you might be whisked off to Europe.

    My smile evaporated into a sigh. I’m going to miss this place. Everyone at work asked where the honeymoon was. I told them Mexico. Are you sure you don’t want a formal wedding?

    I’m sure. There wouldn’t be to attend. Since both of us have no parents anymore. Or family...

    Don’t you think that’s bizarre? How both of us lost parents at young ages?

    It’s not unusual. So no, I don’t think it’s bizarre. My parents died of cancer. Yours died in an accident. The beep from a waiting call buzzed through the discussion. Honey listen, my office line is ringing off the hook. I’ve got to take this call. See you tomorrow?

    See you tomorrow.

    I love you.

    I love you too.

    I picked him up in a rental car at the airport the next day. We drove to city hall, full of civil servants and residents in need of civility. It didn’t take us long to find the appropriate office where we could tie the knot using a pen and a piece of paper.

    Nate carried me through the threshold of the office as we stepped into the hallway.

    Mrs. Jeffries, shall we get the hell out of Dodge and on that flight to Cabo?

    We shall, I laughed, happy to start a new life. Happy to be with a man who loved me, held me, cared for me like no one I’d known before; not to mention one who satisfied me until it seemed I couldn’t satisfy him enough.

    * * *

    We landed in Cabo San Lucas on a small airstrip outside the city. Our cab delivered us to a hotel that rose above the rocky coast and encircled a large stretch of white sand.

    The color of the hotel was like an autumn leaf just before it changes from red to brown. The building stood in sharp contrast to the blue waters beyond. It was more colorful than anything I’d ever seen in Atlanta.

    This is the desert, isn’t it?

    No babe, it’s paradise. Nate squeezed my hand.

    May I take your bags? A tall man approached from the lobby door. He smiled as Nate handed him our luggage.

    I’m glad I mailed most of my clothes to your place. I wouldn’t have wanted to lug them here.

    You and me both.

    We entered the lobby to the sound of water falling in a lush wave six floors from the ground. A giant waterfall was perched inside the hotel, bringing the rush of the element to the lobby guests. Its noise held a sense of paradise and made me think of good fortune to come.

    The stone that pushed up from the floor was blue marble, running the length of six floors. Men and women could be seen in the distant heights, walking along corridors that led to three glass elevators. At the sixth floor these elevators disappeared into the recesses of the hotel. I watched as one left the third floor.

    A large tapestry hung over the reception desk, as long as the waterfall itself and wider. It held the image of Indians and conquistadors reenacting a great battle. One of the conquistadors stood in a corner, marking a piece of land with his foot and holding a distant look toward the ocean.

    To my right a woman entered the lobby. She carried a feather duster and proceeded to clean one of three large coffee tables that sat in the middle of the lobby. These table were made from the same blue marble as the interior walls. I wondered where such a stone existed in its natural state and whether it was marble at all.

    We’re ready, Nate said. He put his arm around me as we walked toward one of the glass elevators. Someday I’m going to bring you back to Mexico. I can feel it.

    We stepped into the elevator. Fifteen buttons marked the silver panel, one button for each floor. Nate pushed number fifteen.

    The top floor? Are you joking? I smiled.

    No.

    You didn’t have to answer that.

    Are you always so impressionable? Damn, if this is the case then we’ve got a lifetime of impressions to make.

    As the elevator moved past the sixth floor we entered a dark tube before leaving the lobby. Darkness engulfed us for a brief second before sunlight poured through the glass. An adjacent tower stood opposite us with an identical elevator descending from the thirteenth floor. A blue sky with distant puffs of clouds stretched into the horizon until it touched the waters of the Pacific.

    I turned to my right and looked down. The height caught me by surprise. I retreated back a bit, touching Nate. He put his arm around my shoulders. It took a moment before I was willing to peer down.

    Far below us was a pool in the shape of a kidney bean. Umbrellas and chairs circled it. A large waterfall poured into it from the opposite side of the lobby. The beach lay several yards away. Two catamarans sat on the white sand. A third catamaran could be seen moving out to sea.

    Our elevator stopped and the doors opened. Nate’s arm pulled me through the entry.

    There are only two rooms at the top of each tower, he said.

    He and I approached the room closest to the elevator.

    Only the best for this weekend honey. Only the best, he said.

    It’s too bad it’s only the weekend. I could get used to a place like this.

    Nate opened the door and walked into the room. He took my hand and pulled me across the threshold.

    The room was four times bigger than the apartment I left in Atlanta. The carpet was a deep brick color and the drapes a vibrant yellow. Both stood in front of me, lining the view to a sweeping balcony that covered the wall from living room to bedroom to bathroom. And along the balcony were the windows, floor to ceiling, capturing the sky and framing it like an enormous picture.

    I noticed a small kitchen to the left and a grand piano to my right.

    Do you play? I turned to Nate.

    Only chopsticks, he replied.

    He left me to my own impressionableness as I surveyed our hotel room like a little girl on her first trip through a toy store.

    I walked into the bedroom. The bed wasn’t a queen. It was a king. Its frame was made of solid wood with four posters the girth of human bodies. I imagined a helicopter lifting the bed frame into the room because of its sheer weight. I stepped across the room and placed my hand on one of the wood before I noticed the bathroom.

    Sunlight poured through the roof into the bathroom, aided by a pane of glass six feet by seven feet. The bathtub could easily seat four individuals comfortably, and already a bath had been drawn with bubbles gently grazing the edge of its marble frame.

    I turned around to gaze across the long expanse of room, through the window and across the balcony.

    Nate stood under the door frame. So, do you like it?

    Tell me we live in a place like this in Los Angeles.

    No. We do not. It’s a bit more modest than this.

    I ran to him and jumped up, wrapping my legs around his waist.

    Shall we? I asked before kissing him.

    We shall, he replied. The smile didn’t leave his face between the door frame and the bed.

    Our honeymoon was a weekend of bliss wrapped in a resort. The hotel’s splendor was complimented by its white sand beach and the wonderful people we met that weekend. I soaked it all in and more, but as quick as our arrival to Cabo San Lucas was so was our arrival to Los Angeles.

    This whirlwind of travel caused me to remember the life I’d left in Atlanta. This is not to say that Atlanta didn’t have its share of wealth and beauty. It was just that... for the first time I was plucked from my comfort, plucked from my routine--my home--and given new eyes in which to see the world.

    I know. You think I sound like a little girl.

    Perhaps.

    For the next month I set to learn about

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