Fadeout

by Rolynn Anderson

  For years on end, Jan had promised her mother they’d take a long vacation together, a two-week cruise in the Caribbean or a trip to Italy. Three months after her mom called to tell her ovarian cancer was abloom in her body, Jan quit HighTech and flew to California. Amy was too weak for cruises or forays to Europe, so their big adventures together consisted of chemo stops at the hospital and nothing more stressful than drives along Big Sur. Something about the powerful waves beating against the coastline got her mother’s juices going. She liked to think the chemicals attacking her cancer were pounding against the disease with similar verve.

  But chemo and radiation were useless against the devil disease. They’d had a couple months together before Amy Solvang died, ninety pounds left of her, a trickle of the spirited woman she once was.

  I failed her and I can’t forgive myself for it. And I’m still angry with the General for not ordering her to stay alive.

  The General picked up the pace until they crested a hill adjacent to the thirteenth green. He stopped and shaded his eyes from the glare with his hand, appearing to salute the ocean. “There’s our Pacific. Looking calm and beautiful.”

  Jan and Elwood paused with the General to appreciate the view. “Gorgeous,” she said, relieved that the beauty of a golf course set against the ocean was something the two of them agreed on. For that reason alone their daily walks had value.

  Lord, how she wished she could speak to her mother. Wished, in this instance, she could talk to the dead as some people surmised. But no, she was a marketer, an observer of trends and living people’s habits and quirks. It wasn’t really hard to get to the core of a person’s priorities if you were observant. So why couldn’t she get to the core of hers?

  Oblivious to her turmoil, the General squared his shoulders and began walking, a signal they’d better get down to business. “I’ll meet with Roman Keller in your house while you and Elwood visit Bella.” He paused. “And shop for beds and chairs, you said?”

  Jan picked up the pace, bristling at his ironic tone. “Don’t start with the furniture, Dad.”

  The General held up his palm. “I haven’t said a thing. True, at the time Mom and I transferred the bulk of our furniture to the retirement home, I never understood why you gave the rest to Salvation Army instead of using it. Your mother said it was your way to make the house your own. When you took an ax to the wall between the living room and the kitchen,” he said, grinning, “I decided she was right.”

  Stopping to let Elwood sniff a boulder, Jan said, “Well, since I’ve handed Roman Keller over to you, and you’re covering the Vet salute, I’ll continue my research about the late, mysterious Mr. Barker and try to organize the eulogies. Cliff has a sister. Maybe she’ll speak for the family.”

  The General jotted down some words on his notepad. “Would Frank know the family well enough to persuade one of the kids to speak?”

  “Frank?” Jan stumbled. Oh God, I kissed a guy without Frank ever entering my mind. What is wrong with me?

  “Janny?”

  She waved her hand at the General. “Frank’s too busy to help us, Dad. He used to lobby for Cliff and the mayor, but I don’t think he knew Cliff’s kids.”

  Looking sideways from his notes, the General nodded.

  “You’ve got my cell phone number, right? Call me when Roman leaves.” At a quizzical glance from her father, she added, “Best he’s not there when I get home. I’ll start arguing with him and screw up whatever you’ve accomplished.” She could tell he was about to disagree. “Call me when he’s gone, Dad.”

  “Janny?”

  “What?” she said, startled by the General grabbing her elbow and stopping her.

  “Are you having second thoughts about throwing Roman my way? Any unfinished business between you two?”

  Was she that transparent? Or was her father learning how to read her after all these years? Either reason left her unsettled.

  She said “Heel” to Elwood, loud enough for the order to include the General, and stepped away from them both. “Roman’s all yours. My unfinished business is with Frank, who’s coming Sunday, by the way.” When she caught her father’s startled glance, she added, “We’ve been together twelve years, Dad. He has the right to be here, with me.”

  As usual, he straightened his shoulders, preparing to meet the enemy. She almost laughed out loud at the gesture, so predictable and so apt. But the idea of a skirmish between Frank and the General wasn’t funny. Since she’d been fighting her father hand to hand her whole life, wouldn’t it make sense Frank would be on his enemy list as well? Why had she hoped the General would like Frank? Why did it trouble her that the General didn’t like Roman, either?

  Elwood tried to walk and eye her expression at the same time, stumbling a bit in the process. “No problem, Elly. I know where I’m going and I feel fine.”

  Both lies. For the first time, she saw herself as shallow and weak, suddenly inept at neatly ordering her life. Her mother’s death and the events surrounding it had exposed questions and traits she’d never faced before. She felt adrift, with not a shoreline in sight.

  As the trio made the turn to the street where she lived, they walked without speaking. Yet the turmoil inside Jan raged, setting her heart to beating fast and hampering her breathing. Alarmed, she slowed her pace. She didn’t want to faint out here on the golf path.

  When her father gave her a worried look, she shook away his concern. “A little kink in my bad knee,” she fibbed.

  She thought of the suitcase she always kept packed, a habit she’d learned from her mother, which had served her well for the scores of trips Jan took for HighTech every year. Four sets of clothes, from a business suit to shorts and T-shirt. All her cosmetics, a week’s underwear, three pairs of shoes, a swimming suit. Jewelry. Two belts. The music box her mother had given her. Passport, updated. Birth certificate. Extra checkbook.

  The idea of being ready at a moment’s notice calmed her enough so that when she reached the end of her walkway, she was breathing regularly again. But then she saw the stoop, reminding her of Roman’s fall. She’d rubbed his arm for the longest time after he’d scrambled up from the ground. She recalled how the hair on his forearm felt in contrast to the smoothness of the skin in the crook of his elbow. Muscles rock-hard, so defined she could have grasped them between her thumb and forefinger to trace their edges. But she hadn’t, had she? Surely she’d merely brushed his arm in sympathy, not massaged the damn thing the way her brain re-played the scene for her.

  And then he’d held her and kissed her, and she’d not only let him do it, but she’d made it clear she liked the way his lips felt on hers and how his body molded to her own. God, the smell of him, a mixture of soap, spice, and salt. She couldn’t breathe in enough of his essence to please her.

  Frank was coming on Sunday and she couldn’t even remember what he smelled like.

  She closed her eyes, straining to keep the senses involved in kissing Roman Keller from taking root in her mind, especially when Frank was flying in on Sunday to talk about tying the knot.

  ****

  “Hel-lo, Jan Solvang. Don’t you have an interesting past?” Roman said to his computer screen, speaking softly in the company of other coffee drinkers. He took a swallow of his latte, tilted his computer away from Starbucks eavesdroppers and clicked on yet another tidbit about his event planner.

  His? He gazed out the window, wondering about his pronoun choice. She’d kicked him out of her house after the kiss and after the police. The woman was definitely not “his.”

  Back to the screen.

  Interesting. She’d listed her time as a Bellevue Parks Director; four summers at the job during her college years. Her sojourn at the University of Washington showed on the vitae. Cum laude, Bachelors. Cum laude, Masters in Business and History. Smart cookie.

  Sweet. HighTech hadn’t cleaned her résumé out of their files. The company must like touting the women they employed. Or used to employ. HighTech enumerated the j
obs she’d held with their company. Up the ladder; quitting before she bonked her head on the glass ceiling.

  He saved a copy of her résumé and typed her name into Google. Sure enough, references to Jan’s career at HighTech opened on the screen, three pages worth. Several newspaper articles about charity events. There was the one about her work with Georgette Johnson, the Senator’s wife. He focused on a picture of Jan with a United Way campaign manager. Trim in a suit. Smiling for the photographer. A rare moment of stillness. An always jazzed-up woman finally frozen.

  Jazz.

  He’d call her Jazz, hoping she’d slow down.

  Hmm. Something in the Seattle Times about an angry employee. She’d had him fired. He’d stalked her. She had a restraining order against the guy. A year ago. Was that part of the reason she’d quit HighTech?

  He glanced at his notes. Six years of college. Steady rise up the ranks at HighTech. Big salary at the end. Matching stock options. Early retirement. She’d be set for life.

  What was missing?

  No ring. He remembered a picture of her parents displayed on the end table in her living room. No others. What did that mean? And the letter that made her faint. What was in it?

  Roman found her Seattle address. Frank Thomas owned the place. Who was he?

  He let the Internet do its magic, feeling the rush his treasure hunts gave him. If he’d been an insect, his feelers would be quivering in anticipation.

  Not much in Google. A little bit in 411.com; interesting stuff in whitepages.com. More fiddling with bigfoot.com zeroed Roman in on Frank Paul Thomas. A man with three first names, for God’s sake.

  Roman took a sip of his coffee, barely registering the fact it was cold. He looked at his watch while he waited for the computer to think. Half an hour until he met with the General. He should be researching Senator Johnson. Or his grandfather. Or the funeral industry. Research on the pretty funeral planner wasn’t supposed to be on his priority list.

  He was about to abort his search when the screen filled up with screaming headlines regarding Frank Paul Thomas. He scanned the newspaper articles, wide-eyed with disbelief. “Shit!” he blurted, before he realized he’d spoken too loud. He caught the quizzical looks of several people seated close to him. While he grimaced in apology, he bookmarked the Internet reference to the site and shut down his computer.

  As he left the cool environment of Starbucks to step into eighty-degree weather, the shock of what he’d learned hit him as hard as the temperature change. Jan had secrets. With a little more digging he’d understand why a beautiful, smart, and successful businesswoman would leave a cushy job and a super-successful guy in Seattle to live in an empty house on the Central Coast of California. Temporary job: event planner.

  Easing into his car, he sat for awhile, his eyes on an older couple drinking coffee at a table outside Starbucks. She was saying something, looking earnest, wanting to be heard. The man leaned forward, gently caressing her arm as she spoke, reminding Roman of the way Jan had soothed him after the dog bite.

  Like that was going to happen again. And forget another opportunity to kiss her. When Jan learned he was delving into her past, she’d feel hurt. Violated.

  She was a woman with a strange past. Bustling and edgy, always on the move; hard to kiss when the mood struck him. No, she wasn’t the kind of woman whose touches and kisses he craved. Give him a calm, uncomplicated woman like Maura, his former girlfriend.

  You left her, you jerk. What kind of woman will satisfy you?

  Then, as he knew he would, he glanced at his computer, automatically planning the next steps for researching Jan Solvang’s life.

  He gripped the steering wheel while he visualized a way in. Today, when he met with Jan’s father to plan Sidney’s eulogy, he’d squeeze the General for information about his daughter. The next day, he’d meet with Pete and pump him for details. Fill in gaps. Find her soft spots.

  Why, if you’re not going to write about her?

  It’s what I do. It’s my nature.

  What a bullshit answer. Why?

  His conscience provided a response: So I can understand her.

  Liar. Once you start shoveling, you can’t stop digging for the reasons why people don’t measure up to your standards.

  And why do you think that is?

  So you can expose their faults.

  I’m gathering facts; the means justify my goal.

  Just keep telling yourself that.

  Roman rested his head on the steering wheel, exhausted by the hunt, even as he started the car’s motor. When he felt calmer he reversed out of his slot. The act of following the arrows through the parking lot helped him prioritize his next steps. Once he’d exposed the truth about his grandfather and Senator Johnson he’d take a well-deserved vacation.

  As for Jan Solvang? He’d be better off if he left her alone.

  Chapter Seven

  Roman’s plan not to think about Jan as more than a resource failed as soon as he pressed her door buzzer. The front stoop reminded him of his fall and her touch. Soft hands, long, slender fingers. She’d been soothing him, worried about his injuries, but to Roman, the contact had felt sexual, firing his pheromones.

  When Walter opened the door, Roman wished Jan had been the one to greet him. As he entered the house, he listened for her step, her voice. He gazed at the wall next to the door where he’d hauled her into his arms and kissed her, the memory so vivid his chest tightened.

  “She’s not here,” her father said, squinting as if Roman were a clueless Private. “She’s meeting with a client and furniture shopping. You’ll be gone before she returns.”

  Roman told himself it didn’t matter while he checked for the Barker folder on her desk. No such luck. She must have taken it with her. Still, her computer sat open on her desk, the rainbow screensaver beckoning.

  Raising an eyebrow at him as if he’d read Roman’s mind, Walter crooked a finger. “We’ll work outside. Only place with decent chairs.”

  Walter led him through the living room to the patio, so they had to pass Jan’s couch. Her bed. Roman resisted the urge to feel the couch, wanting it to be warm from her slumber. If he lifted the cushion would he find her negligee stored there?

  Wait. Was this a pullout bed affair?

  When Walter’s back was turned, he checked.

  No.

  She slept on top. A one-person bed. No Frank. Maybe not for six months. Not here, anyway. Yet the birth control pills he’d seen in her bathroom were dialed right, so…

  “Roman?”

  “S…Sir?” Roman brushed his hand on the arm of the couch and joined Walter Solvang on the patio

  “First name basis. Call me Walter.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And before we get started, I want to thank you for stepping in front of my daughter last night when that crazy woman came at her.”

  Roman nodded. They watched two golfers complete their second shots on the fairway of fourteen. Roman cleared his throat. “You know, the cops picked up Tess Barker last night and eventually took her over to her mother’s, but because Jan didn’t press charges, the woman is free, now. Jan shouldn’t be alone at night, sir.”

  Walter gave him a sharp look. “Jan says the lady was grief-stricken. You think she’s a real threat?”

  “I’d err on the side of caution, sir.”

  “Appreciate the advice.” Walter motioned for him to sit down at the patio table. “I want to tell you what I’ve learned about your grandfather,” he said, in preamble. “After that, we’ll see what questions you still have.”

  Roman realized he wanted answers about Jan, not Sidney. Still, the General’s mention of research bothered him. Why hadn’t he dug into his grandfather’s past to find out why Sidney had chosen him to deliver the eulogy? How come he didn’t have solid rejoinders for some of Jan’s assertions about Senator Johnson? Hell, Jan was a student at the Johnson Institute at the U of W, a perfect candidate for an interview about Harry. Why not jump
at the chance to use her as a resource instead of regard her as a thorn in his side?

  Could Jan be right when she accused him of subjectivity and unfairness?

  Impossible.

  Walter was talking. Roman registered the man’s precise manner of speech and deep, throaty laugh, so much like Jan’s. They both worked from notes, too. Well-prepared. Organized. Walter described an elaborate surprise party Sidney threw for Bella on her last birthday. Next he dived into a history of Sidney’s service in the Coast Guard, describing his love of patrolling the Pacific Coast.

  Roman’s mind drifted to the picture of Jan bending over to fix a sprinkler head. What a sweet view. When she rose, soaked from nose to toe, her T-shirt outlining her full breasts and trim waist, Roman had said a silent thank you to the water gods.

  “He was a leader, Roman. Sidney earned all kinds of awards worth mentioning at his memorial.”

  Roman nodded, appreciating Walter’s homework. For sure, Sidney’s life as a young man and his philanthropy in retirement were worth noting. But what about the majority of his grandfather’s career, including the nasty way he’d treated Roman?

  Keeping his pledge to listen politely, Roman remained foxholed while Walter, every inch a General, completed his assault, Roman attending with half of his senses while the other half waited for Jan to come home.

  They went on to consider a list of memorial speakers when Walter picked up his phone, punched in numbers, said, “The coast is clear,” and hung up without waiting for a response.

  Ten minutes later, Elwood came bounding out to the patio table, completely ignoring Roman and Walter. Thinking that was progress, Roman smiled and turned, anxious to see Jan.

  He could tell from her frown she wasn’t expecting him to be there. Her arched eyebrow at her father signaled irritation. Walter smiled, indicating he wasn’t sorry.

  “Jan,” Roman said, standing.

  She recovered quickly with a polite smile and a gesture for him to resume his seat. “Roman. How’s the work going?”