Finally, he cleared his throat. “Well, from my experience, I’d say people have to be good and ready to make changes, learn lessons. Sometimes that takes time. A lot of time.”
She watched through the window as Gary got into his green Saturn and sped off, the car sputtering and coughing as it went. It had needed a new muffler for the last six months and probably would for the next six, at least. Typical Gary. But she was the last person to judge him. She reached into her purse and extracted a cigarette, which she shakily lit. She inhaled and let out a long wisp of smoke.
Barnes raised his eyebrows and whispered, “Ah, no smoking.”
“Oh. Yeah. Right.” She dropped the cigarette in her coffee, and it sizzled.
“Ms. Albright, come with me to the party.”
She looked up directly into the detective’s eyes for the first time. “Pardon me?”
“Your Harvest Festival. Real big around here, right?”
She shook her head. “Why would you want to take me?”
“Why not? I could do a little investigating. You could introduce me to some of the locals. They might have seen April. Plus, some people think it’s fun.”
She paused while considering if she could actually go. She had just been thinking about this man. But her racing heart advised otherwise. “I don’t think so, Detective.”
He cocked his head, looking her square in the eyes as if trying to get inside her head.
She let out a sigh. “Thanks for asking, but I don’t go out.” She went to scratch her nose, and her sleeve brushed against her mound of napkin bits, scattering them across the table. Without waiting for his response, she got up and headed for the exit, the dog by her side.
She turned back and saw him reach across the table, sweep her pile of napkin bits into his hand, and dump them into his empty coffee cup. He made one more sweep of the table, clearing any last bits. A neat freak, she thought.
“Hey,” he shouted as she reached the door, “when are you going to call me Tuck?”
Chapter Eleven
“How’s it going?” Blue said as he entered the back office.
Jesse was logging books into the database, but she was finding it hard to concentrate. That damn detective. The thought of him, the way he looked at her with his piercing, knowing eyes, kept breaking her concentration. She was glad Blue showed up to drag her back to reality. He was wearing a worn MIT T-shirt and carried a large box stuffed with books. His eyes, a startling cool aqua, twinkled. Since growing a beard several years ago, he resembled a slightly sophisticated Jerry Garcia.
“It’s going,” Jesse said.
Blue placed the box on a table, and Saint Anthony came up to him, wagging and panting. “Hey, I heard about this guy. Nice boy,” he said, patting the dog’s head. Blue leaned his husky, teddy-bear-like frame against a file cabinet facing Jesse. “Went to a big yard sale yesterday. They were practically giving away some treasures.” He lifted a leather-bound book from the box. “A Thoreau.” He dug around and pulled out two more dusty hardbacks. “Dickinson and Barrett Browning.”
“That’s great,” Jesse said. She could understand Blue’s passion.
“Any calls?” Blue asked.
“Nope.” There rarely were. Another perk of the job.
He touched her shoulder. “You okay? You seem distracted lately.”
She laughed. “Just lately?”
“Well.” He smiled. “Maybe more than usual. You know, if you want to talk...”
She nodded, but they both knew she was not big on talk.
“You up for a casual dinner at our house? Beth’s famous linguine with clam sauce. She’d love to see you.”
She shrugged. “Not yet, Blue. But thanks.” Jesse wasn’t sure she would ever be up for that again. They had all been such close friends once. So many dinners and bottles of wine shared. She turned back to her computer. “I better log in these books.”
Jesse could hear him standing behind her, breathing. She imagined he was trying to figure out whether he should push or just give up. He exhaled. “Got to make a deposit at the bank. Back in a few.”
Not long after Blue left, the front doorbell jangled. Jesse was alone in the shop, so she would have to attend to the customer. She got up and headed to the front of the store, and there, browsing through the local authors section, was Barnes. Her heart leapt. She watched him a moment while hidden behind Biography and Memoir. He seemed completely absorbed in a book.
“Ahem,” she cleared her throat.
Barnes looked up at her with a smile. “Hello, again.”
“May I help you, Detective?”
“Well, yes, I believe you can.”
Saint Anthony came over and licked his hand.
“Hi, Brownie. How are you, boy?” He replaced the book on the shelf and walked toward her. “I’m sorry to disturb you at work, but I think you made a mistake.”
“A mistake? What mistake?”
He was standing close to her, inches from her face, which she found disconcerting. She stepped back for more personal space.
“You said ‘no,’ but I’m thinking you might want to reconsider it. I’m pretty sure you should go.”
She turned her head a bit. This guy sure has balls. “And how do you know that?”
“I’m good at reading people.”
“Oh, you are?”
He grinned a cocky grin.
“Detective Barnes, are you flirting with me?”
He laughed. “Can’t you tell?”
She smiled. It had been so long. “No, I’m not really sure.”
He closed the gap between them, inching in close again. This time, he lowered his voice. “Ms. Albright, I think, perhaps, you need to step out of your comfort zone.” He reached down and took her hand in his, and there it was—that spark again.
She tried to hide that her body shivered. She pulled her hand away, straightened her shoulders, and stood a bit taller. “That’s funny. That’s what my mother said I need to do.”
“Your mother is a smart woman. You should listen to her. Say yes.”
The door opened, and Blue walked in. He nodded at Barnes with a friendly hello as he headed to his office. The moment broken, she was all business again. “I’ve got to get back to work.” She turned toward the office.
“Ms. Albright.”
She stopped in her tracks, looking back at him.
“I have to say, you are a mystery. One minute, you’re like a scared bird. The next, you’re...” He paused, searching for the right word.
She thought he was going to say “a seductress” or “a pathological liar” or “a psychotic kook” because she did, at times, feel like all those things. She held her breath, waiting.
“An intriguing book.”
She let herself smile. She plucked a book from a pile on the wheeled library cart next to her and tossed it to Barnes, who caught it easily. “Well, you like to read, don’t you, detective?” And she turned and walked away.
AFTER FINISHING HER hours at the Book Barn, Jesse closed the store and rushed home. The detective was on her mind all day, as if he’d cast a spell on her. To occupy herself, she tried to catch up on her finds. She worked at the dining room table, lashing a rusty piece of coiled wire to a canvas with needle and a thick waxed thread. She glued red netting over an old photo of a woman in a graduation cap and gown. It was intriguing, the story she was telling with her finds. Her gut kept telling her they would lead to Sophie.
There was a knock at the door. Hoping it might be Barnes appearing as he had the first time, she wiped her hands on her jeans, trying to get the bits of glue off, then she went to see who was there. She peeked behind the curtain and saw Cooper. He never showed up unannounced anymore.
She flung open the door. “What are you doing here?”
“Sorry to come without calling—”
“Did something happen?”
“What? Oh, no. No news. Sorry.” He paused, taking her in. “You look good, Jess.”
“Yeah, right.” She knew she looked like a train wreck. She brushed her hair out of her face, self-conscious about the premature gray.
He was dressed in a stylish dark-blue suit with a light-blue tie that had thin stripes of white and tan. He’d never dressed like that when they were together. It was all jeans and T-shirts, hiking boots and backpacks. She hadn’t seen him in over a year, and he’d put on a few pounds. He also had less hair, and what was left was gray. But he looked good, solid and strong.
He noticed the dog, who stood next to Jesse protectively. “Who’s this?”
“I found him.”
“Cute.”
Then it dawned on her. “You’re checking up on me.”
“I was nearby. Had a meeting with a client over in Pittsfield. Thought I’d stop by.”
“Um-hm,” she said skeptically. She caught him looking around and could tell he wasn’t happy with what he saw.
“Can I come in?”
She opened the door wider and gestured inside half-heartedly. “I suppose so. But I don’t want to hear it.”
“Hear what?”
She gave him a squinty-eyed look.
“All right. All right. But, Jess, come on, you said you were cleaning up. Did you call Ray about painting? You were right. The place does need it.”
“I left a message. He hasn’t called back.”
She could tell Cooper didn’t buy it. He could always tell when she was lying.
“Maybe I better call him,” he said.
“You don’t have to. I said I’d do it.”
He walked in and wandered around the room, gazing at her finds, looking from one overflowing box to the next. He lifted a tattered straw hat from one box then replaced it. He moved aside the innards of a clock, spools of thread, and a piece of bicycle chain, then he shook his head. Jesse stood aside, watching him, her arms crossed defensively over her chest.
He turned and noticed Sophie’s jacket hanging on the coat hook by the door. He touched it gently. “Have you gone through her stuff yet?”
She looked away.
“Listen, Jess, I’m going to help you. This weekend. I’ll come. We’ll clean up. I want to help.”
She just shook her head.
“Jess. Come on. Let me help you. You can’t do it alone. You haven’t, and you won’t. Or let Blue or Beth help. They’d be happy to. Anyone. But we have to do it.”
Throw away Sophie’s clothes? Her collection of birds’ nests? Her life list, journals, or bird-watching books? Jesse couldn’t part with any of it. Didn’t know if she ever could. She couldn’t imagine letting the things rot and get moldy in some dank storage unit she couldn’t afford, either. “Why do I have to move anyway?”
“Jess, come on. Be fair. I’ve warned you for years that this time would come. I can’t go on paying two mortgages. I’m not made of money.”
“Why did you have to buy such an expensive house?”
“Who said I bought an expensive house?”
“No one. I just know that area is expensive.” She wasn’t about to confess her obsession looking for digital crumbs of information about his new life.
“That’s beside the point. We have separate lives now. I’ve moved on. Getting rid of this house will be good for you. You can’t maintain it. You’re rattling around in here. It’s too big for one person.”
She raised her voice, swatting the air angrily with her hand. “How do you know what I do? What I need? And what about my studio? I love my studio.” Cooper had fixed it up himself, turning the run-down chicken coop into a wonderful light, airy painting space.
He cocked his head. “But you haven’t painted in years. You’ve told me so. You don’t go in there, you said. Are you going to start painting again?”
She didn’t know. She couldn’t really imagine it. But then she couldn’t imagine never painting again. That was all she really knew how to do. She was firmly stuck. As stuck as a person could possibly be. She turned away from him and cupped her face in her hands, letting out a sob.
Cooper came over, put his arms around her, and gave her a hug. She nestled her head in the crook of his neck, inhaled, and remembered his scent, the feel of being in his embrace. She used to love his sweat smell after he returned from a hiking trip, metallic like pennies. Now he smelled of sweet, unfamiliar soap. New soap. New suit. New wife. New children. She didn’t like it. Any of it. She had to let this man go.
And as it had many times already that day, an image of Barnes standing in the Book Barn, smiling at her, floated past her eyes. Jesse suddenly realized she had actually gone hours without thinking of Sophie. Maybe she could move on. Then she felt that jab in her chest. A sharp sting of guilt. She stepped out of Cooper’s embrace.
“You should go. I said I’ll clean it up, and I will. Thanks for offering to help, but I’d rather do it myself.”
“Why be a martyr? There’s no way you can do it all.”
“I’m not a martyr. You give me no credit. You never did. It’s just a house. I know how to clean it and make it look good. You didn’t complain about how it looked when you lived here.”
“Because it wasn’t filled with all this crap.” He picked up a dusty broken basket from one box and a dirty sock monkey missing half its head. “Jess, you have a problem. You need help. What happened to that therapist?”
She grabbed the items out of his hands. “I need a therapist? Ha! Who ran out on their marriage, abandoned his wife and child?” Even if the child was missing.
“What? Is that what you think?”
She didn’t know what she thought anymore. She was confused and didn’t need him and his new lawyerly gibberish twisting things around. She just wanted Sophie back. “Forget it, Cooper. Go home to Cindy. Did she put you up to this?”
“Of course not.”
“I bet she can’t wait for this house to be sold so she can go on one of her fancy shopping sprees. More clothes and maybe some plastic surgery?”
“You have some crazy ideas.”
“Do I? Do I?” she shouted, shaking the deformed monkey doll at him.
“Listen, you weren’t the only one affected by this tragedy. I was there, too. I was her father! I loved Sophie!” He was practically hyperventilating, his face turning an unpleasant shade of red. He opened his mouth as if to say something else, then his eyes met the pencil markings indicating Sophie’s height on the pantry doorjamb. He touched the wood with his finger, and it seemed to calm him. He shook his head and turned to go. He noticed his old black leather jacket, his very favorite, tossed over a kitchen chair. “Hey, my leather jacket.”
She loved it, wore it all the time. “You gave it to me.”
“Well, not exactly, Jess. You kind of appropriated it.”
Their eyes fixed on each other and held there. He sighed. “I’ll be checking in with you soon. I’m serious, Jess.”
He walked out, and she was alone again. Well, not exactly alone. Saint Anthony was at her feet, his tail whapping the floor for attention. She knelt and grabbed him, smelling the comforting doggie scent of his head. “Fucking Cooper, with his young, skinny wifey and good son.” She needed a hug. Someone to be nice to her. She remembered what her mom and Barnes had said about stepping out of her comfort zone.
“Can I do it, Brownie?”
He licked her face. She went for her purse and rummaged in it, looking for Barnes’s business card. Then she remembered it was stapled to that article about April. She’d put it back in the kitchen drawer, the one with all the takeout menus, rubber bands, matchbooks, and old corks from wine bottles. Real junk. She found it right away on the top layer, and she pulled his card off the article and studied it. She picked up the phone and punched in his number.
“Ms. Albright, how nice to hear from you.”
She took a deep breath. “I’ve changed my mind. I would like to go with you to the Harvest Fest.”
“I’m so glad,” he said, a warmth emanating through the phone. “I was hoping you would.”
Jesse touched the locket around her neck, sliding it back and forth. She let herself smile. She’d done it. That wasn’t so hard after all.
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven,” he said.
She hung up before she had a chance to change her mind.
JESSE FOUND THREE RESPECTABLE outfits in the depths of her closet. The long-forgotten dresses and skirts were far better than her usual ragtag recycled look. She settled on a short denim skirt, cowboy boots, black tights, and a black velvet scooped-neck shirt. Not too revealing but definitely feminine. She looked at herself in the full-length mirror.
“Not bad, right?” she said to Saint Anthony, who was lying on the floor near her.
He lifted his head and yawned. She remembered the last time she’d worn the outfit, to celebrate their seventh wedding anniversary. Cooper had gazed at her, admiring how she looked. He whispered, “Let’s skip dinner,” in her ear and pulled her into a hot kiss. He’d grown a goatee that summer and looked dashing. Jesse had to admit she missed feeling desired by a man. Somehow, Gary didn’t count.
She turned back to the dog. “What am I doing? Should I cancel? I can still cancel.”
When he didn’t answer, she opened her makeup drawer and extracted a tube of mascara. She pulled out the wand, but it was nothing but a goopy, caked mess. She tossed it out. Rummaging in the bottom of the drawer, she found a lipstick that didn’t look like a health hazard. She swiped on the glossy pink.
At 6:52 p.m., Jesse opened her door to see Kentucky Marcus Barnes. Of course he was punctual. He looked handsome in black jeans and a blue turtleneck, worn under the same jean jacket he’d been wearing earlier, not a crease or wrinkle in sight. And a black porkpie hat was on his head. Jesse’s stomach fluttered with that nervous-to-see-someone feeling she hadn’t experienced in years.
“You’re right on time. Actually, you’re early. I need one more minute. Hold on.” She shut the door in his face, grabbed Cooper’s leather jacket, and put it on. She glanced at herself one more time in a mirror. She exhaled. You can do this.
She opened the door again, this time with Saint Anthony panting at her feet.
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