by Mary Frame
I’m on the move. “Grace, be a dear and bring your FBI friends down a block south of Eighth Street. I have a feeling we might be needing to get our friend Rudy and his other friends under control here right quick.”
“What other friends?”
“Remember how Rudy has been receiving deposits, and we may have traced it back to folks who like cornbread?”
She’s silent for a long moment. “Yeah.”
“I think Mr. Cornbread or his friends are coming to collect their product.”
“What? Now?”
“It would appear that way.” If my intuition is correct. And it usually is.
Grace’s voice is high and tight. “What are you doing, Judas? Are you on the move? Don’t get involved, we’re already on the way. There’s no need for you to play hero.”
“Now now, Gracie, I’m not getting involved. I just want to make sure none of my new friends get caught in the crossfire, so I’m going to lure our friend down away from the party a ways.”
“Dammit, Ju—”
I hang up on her.
Then I go after Rudy. Time for some magic tricks.
Annabel
Grace is biting her lip as she hands Taylor the phone back.
This side of the conversation did not sound promising.
“What is he doing?” I ask. “Is he okay? What did he say?”
Dammit, I sound like a preteen with a crush, which is a pretty accurate assessment of my feelings at the moment.
We’re sitting in the back of an FBI van, which wasn’t one of the creepy black vans. It’s actually a white van with a logo on the side for a stuffed bear delivery company.
Elaine was totally off.
Although it makes sense, black vans are so suspicious looking. If I was trying to be incognito, this would be a better way to blend.
Grace tracked them using their own satellite connection. She made it seem so easy, pushing a few buttons and then shazam. Taylor drove us to their location and we walked up and knocked on the back door.
They didn’t answer, totally ignoring us, until Grace started yelling out some tech jargon and mentioned Rudy’s name. Then they opened up and hurried us inside.
There are two female agents. Agent Sparks and Agent Ramos. Agent Sparks has dirty-blonde hair and is packing some serious heat in a black holster strapped around a white T-shirt that shows off her toned arms. Agent Ramos looks like a more muscular, angrier version of J.Lo. They are both totally kick-ass.
The van itself isn’t what I expected. There’s a minifridge and some computer equipment in the back, but it’s not super techy or fancy. There’s a bench seat, which is where Taylor, Grace, and I are all clumped up right in a row. Not as spacious as TV crime shows led me to believe.
The agents haven’t given us a lot of information. They mostly listened to Grace explain the story and then asked a bunch of questions.
Now we’re waiting. They want Rudy away from the furry party before they do anything. After all the trouble to get him there in the first place.
But now, it appears that plan has changed as well.
Grace doesn’t answer my question directly. Instead, she looks over at Agent Sparks. “Uh, so, Jude’s going to get him away from the crowd. He says to meet him a block south of Eighth. There may also be some mafia guys there.”
Agent Sparks raises one dark brow. “Okay. Let’s move. We’re not too far.”
Agent Ramos is in the driver’s seat. She starts the van and turns it around, heading in the direction of downtown.
“What is he going to do?” I ask Grace, my voice a bare whisper.
She shrugs, not meeting my eyes. “He’ll be okay. Jude can be a bit reckless, but he’s not dumb.” She finally looks at me, casting a ghost of a smile in my direction, but it’s small and unconvincing.
She’s worried.
The drive to Eighth Street is the longest five minutes of my life. I can’t help but go over and over what could go wrong. Rudy is armed and violent and insane. What if he shoots Jude? What if Jude dies? He can’t die, I just got him. My stomach churns when I think about all the time I’ve wasted avoiding him. Keeping him at arm’s length. What was I thinking?
I am an idiot.
When the van finally pulls to a stop, Agent Ramos turns to us. “Stay here.” She pulls a gun out of her jacket and both agents get out of the van.
Grace snorts. “Stay put. Not likely.” She pushes open the back door and races out after them.
Meanwhile, I’m stuck like a horse in the mud. I can’t move. I can’t even turn to look out the window. I’m breathing hard, like I can’t get enough oxygen into my lungs. This is the worst time for a panic attack.
Taylor puts a hand on my shoulder. “He’s okay.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I can see him right there.”
My head lifts. She’s pointing out the window and I follow her finger with my eyes.
Jude is there. He’s not dead.
He’s holding a gun on Rudy.
Or he was. Now the agents are taking over, and he’s passing off the weapon, pointing down the street at something.
Grace is jumping around him like a jitterbug.
I’m on the move, pushing out the back doors and running over to them.
Nothing can stop my legs from pumping me to him or my body from tackling Jude in a full-body kiss.
I don’t even care if Grace is watching, or that I shoved her aside like swatting a fly, or that the agents are taking Rudy into custody and he’s screaming and calling me and Grace stupid bitches.
I don’t care because Jude is alive and he’s wearing his pink and white Mr. Bojangles costume, but that doesn’t matter either because the head is off and I can press my face against him in an approximation of a kiss, but really, it’s a major face mashing.
And I’m sobbing. I’m sobbing right into his face.
“Hey, darlin’,” he says over my tears, and the rumble of his voice just makes me cry more. “It’s okay. We’re okay. Everything’s all right.”
He’s whispering endearments to me and I’m literally snotting all over his beard. When I can finally talk, I pull back a little. “You could have died.”
“But I didn’t.” His smile is beautiful. “I told you I’m good at sleight of hand. Taking his gun was easier than sliding a spoon out of a drawer.”
My head is shaking back and forth. “I don’t know if I can handle this.”
His smile drops. “You promised me you wouldn’t run.”
“I’m not running. I’m talking to you. I just basically attacked you. I’m also panicking. Freaking out. Ready to puke.”
He lifts me then, gripping my thighs, and I wrap my legs around his furry waist. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m safe. You know, you could have died, too, and you don’t see me wanting to turn tail.”
I pet his too-hairy, too-perfect, lovable face. “I’m not as strong as you are.”
“But you are. You’re here. We’re here together. We’re both strong.” His eyes are bright with intensity, staring into mine with trust and shining with so much love. Emotion he’d been showing me all along, and I just wasn’t ready to see it.
“I know. I get it. Waking up every day and loving someone is scary. You might leave me.”
He starts to protest but I stop him, putting a hand over his lips. “You could die. You could change your mind. We can’t predict what will happen tomorrow. It’s uncertain and risky and vulnerable and I’m leaving myself emotionally exposed to pain.” I swallow. “But I can’t imagine my life without loving you. Without you loving me. That would be no life at all.”
He blinks, hard and fast, then crushes his face to mine.
And then he’s crying and kissing and snotting all over me.
And I love every disgusting, romantic, pheromone-induced second of it.
Epilogue
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?
; Answer.
That you are here—that life exists, and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.
—Walt Whitman, “O Me! O Life!”
Jude
The bed shifts, jostling my limbs and luring me from slumber. Lips brush against my forehead, then flutter over my eyes, my cheeks. They find my mouth right as I reach for the culprit, tugging her closer and mentally berating the blankets and clothing separating us.
“Annabel.” My voice is husky with sleep.
“Merry Christmas.”
I blink my eyes open. Grey light filters in through the window. Annabel presses against me, one hand on my chest, the other tucked between us. She’s wearing reindeer-covered leggings and a green long-sleeve shirt, soft and flimsy.
“Are you the first present I get to open?” I ask, eyes trailing down her form all the way to the Santa socks on her feet. Granny got all of us Christmas pajamas to wear. We opened them last night. Something tells me she’d be scandalized to know what Rudolph can do to a man. Then again, it’s Granny, so maybe not.
She chuckles. “Everyone is already waiting downstairs.”
We spent all of yesterday at Granny’s, drinking mulled-cider moonshine and playing Christmas-themed charades until well after midnight. Everyone stayed the night—Fitz, Reese, Beast, Grace, Annabel, and myself—since there are plenty of bedrooms and Granny was so excited at the prospect of a full house on Christmas morning. She threatened to shoot anyone who tried to leave.
Her eagerness to enjoy the holiday is only superseded by my own, or perhaps Grace’s, although she’d never admit to it. We’ve never had a true Christmas experience. I tried to make the event special when it was just Grace and Beast and me, but none of us knew quite what to do with ourselves, since it wasn’t something we had ever experienced as children.
As enthusiastic as I am to enjoy my first real Christmas morning, it cannot eclipse the need for Annabel’s skin against mine.
I run a hand down her waist, yanking her more securely against me. “They can wait a bit longer, darlin’.”
Thirty minutes and my first unwrapped present later, we descend into the living room. I’m much more awake and Annabel’s cheeks are still flushed pink. It’s become my favorite color on her over the past month.
Grace sits crisscross on the ground in front of the tree, her red- and gold-snowflake leggings blending with the giant mound of presents behind her. I swear there weren’t that many before we went to bed last night.
“Finally,” Grace mutters and rolls her eyes at us, but she’s smiling. “They’re awake!” She yells.
Beast sits on the sofa, his red-and-green flannel pajama pants an inch too short for his long legs. Laughter drifts in from the kitchen, and then Granny, Reese, and Fitz emerge, each holding two mugs in their hands.
“We made hot cocoa,” Reese says, handing one of her cups over to Beast. She’s wearing a headband with reindeer antlers. “And there’s pie for breakfast.”
“Pie for breakfast?” Grace’s voice ascends an octave.
“It’s tradition,” Granny says. “Why don’t you be Santa’s helper and start handing out presents, there, Gracie girl.”
Grace grins, nearly vibrating with excitement at the permission to dig into the gifts tumbled around the tree.
Granny passes me one of the cups of hot cocoa and Fitz gives one to Annabel, kissing her on the cheek and murmuring, “Merry Christmas.”
I sit on the arm of a recliner next to Annabel, and Grace proceeds to sort and pile presents all around. I watch, not quite sure what to do next.
“Well, what are y’all waiting for?” Granny asks. “Dig in.”
More excited than I would like to admit, I pick up the top present in the stack at my feet and rip it open. It’s a T-shirt from Fitz and Reese that reads My other computer is your computer. I laugh and Reese grins at me.
“Thank you.”
She nods and turns to her own mountain of gifts. Everyone is opening at once, tossing the wrapping paper onto the floor. Beast is blinking down at a box of knives—professional chef knives—like he can’t quite believe it. Granny is wrapping a colorful knitted scarf around her neck and exclaiming over it while Grace beams. Granny’s been teaching her to crochet over the past month.
I want to savor this moment, hold it in my hands before it slips through my fingers like water.
Six weeks ago, I couldn’t have imagined it. I wasn’t sure I could convince Grace to stay in Blue Falls, but after living here for just a few weeks, I discovered it wasn’t difficult at all. Much like me, Grace has craved this sense of family and belonging—of home—even if she didn’t quite realize it herself. It only took a few Sunday suppers for her to take a shine to Granny and subsequently want to stay here forever.
It helps that Beast is happy with the culinary school at the university, and she wants to be wherever he is. I even convinced Grace to enroll in a few remedial college courses next semester, since she already obtained her GED over a year ago.
And she has no reason to hack for money, not any longer. The FBI was able to get her computer back for her and she subsequently sold them her product for a pretty penny. Although it hasn’t been easy for her to comprehend the leap from scarcity to excess. I’ve still found her dabbling, but I suppose old habits die hard.
Rudy is in jail, awaiting his trial. He pled not guilty to a variety of charges, including kidnapping, fraud, cyber theft, and police misconduct among others. From what we’ve been able to suss out, Rudy became involved in his own hacker pursuits when he went to college. He originally got a job in a neighboring county as an analyst working in computer forensics but transferred back to Blue Falls after a harassment complaint from a fellow officer.
We think it was while he was working in cybercrime that he came into contact with the Cornbread Mafia, and it likely didn’t take much convincing—read, money—for them to lure him to the dark side.
Annabel squeaks next to me and throws an arm around my waist. “I love these.” She’s holding up the notebooks I purchased for her, along with some nice pens. “Thank you.”
I lean down and brush a kiss over her mouth. She tastes like cocoa and I only get a flash of her eyes, bright and happy, before she’s tearing into her next present.
Annabel wrote the story of Rudy Quinn for the Daily Blue, digging into the downward spiral of a man who wanted so much to be important that he resorted to thievery and kidnapping. The story hit the streets of Blue Falls and reached beyond, gaining ground all through Texas and the rest of the country. The story included the photos of the shed where Grace was held, complete with pee bucket, which really illustrated the level of crazy to further rivet the public—and the police.
She’s been offered a ton of reporting jobs, but instead of taking one of them, she chose to work part-time at the local library so she can pursue her real passion again: fiction.
“Maybe I’ll suck at it,” she told me the day she quit her job at the paper. “But I won’t ever know until I try. And there won’t be any success without a little pain.”
I smile at the memory.
“Here, open this one.” She shoves a present into my hands.
It’s a hard, square object, no more than a foot in length and thin around the sides.
She watches me as I ease the wrapping paper off.
It’s a framed photo. I spin it over in my hands and a lump lodges in my throat.
It’s a picture of all of us at Granny’s for Thanksgiving dinner, only a couple weeks after the Rudy debacle. Annabel set up her phone with a timer at the end of the long table to take some pictures.
I knew she had taken them, but I’ve never seen any of them until now because she told me they hadn’t turned out.
Granny is in the center, sitting at the head of the table and smiling with a twinkle in her eye while she watches Beast carve the bird. Fitz and Reese are sitting to the left of Granny. Reese is talking, her mouth open while Fitz g
azes at her, a smile curving his lips. Grace is on the other side, already shoveling mashed potatoes into her mouth, having no comprehension of the idea of waiting until everyone is served before eating. Next to her, I have an arm around Annabel’s shoulders, pulling her into me and kissing the side of her face while she’s laughing so hard her eyes are nearly shut with mirth.
It’s a beautiful, messy, perfect picture of everything I’ve ever wanted and now have spread out before me.
Home. Family. Love.
Annabel grins down at the picture. “Isn’t it the best?”
My eyes rove over her face, then over the rest of the people in the room. Granny pours something from a flask into her cocoa. Beast still has a pile of gifts wrapped in front of him but is busy watching Grace, who’s given up on playing elf and is tearing open her own presents, squealing over a new backpack. Fitz is laughing, a partially opened foot massager in his lap from Reese, who’s leaning over him and pointing out all the ways it will help his “plantar fascia tissue” during track season.
My gaze ends where it all began: on Annabel, her brown eyes warm and full of the same emotion that fills my chest, as if she is the reflection of everything residing in my heart. And she is.
“It’s more than the best,” I admit. “It’s everything.”
The End
About the Author
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Mary Frame is a full-time mother and wife with a full-time job. She has no idea how she manages to write novels except that it involves copious amounts of wine. She doesn’t enjoy writing about herself in third person, but she does enjoy reading, writing, dancing, and damaging the eardrums of her coworkers when she randomly decides to sing to them.
She lives in Reno, Nevada, with her husband, two children, and a border collie named Stella.
She LOVES hearing from readers and will not only respond but likely begin stalking them while tossing out hearts and flowers and rainbows! If that doesn’t creep you out, email her: [email protected]