“It’s okay,” Steve said as I slid back into our booth. “I was just worried about you. It never gets easier does it?”
“No, not really.” I pick up my spoon and absentmindedly stir my soup. “It’s my own fault though. A lot of stuff happened and I never gave him the benefit of the doubt.”
“What do you mean?”
Ah shit, I thought. I almost let the cat out of the bag. “There was just a lot of stuff that happened before I left for college. It was too hard to come back here after living through it.”
That much was true. After the incident, I heard that one of the girls, one that happened after me, came forward and Charlie and his officers looked into the allegations, but nothing could ever be proved. Especially when the others refused to file a report, so the bastard got away with it. Part of me wanted to take Steve into the parking lot and tell him everything. I had been carrying it around for too long and it was just too heavy. But if I did that, if I told him what happened, I knew how he would look at me and I knew his eyes would be full of shock, disgust and pity. And then disbelief. The one person I told, who’d witnessed it, didn’t believe my version of the story, why would anyone else.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Steve said. “If it’s any consolation, I think he regretted not seeing you again. He talked about you all the time. He loved you so much.”
“Thanks,” I said softly.
“Are you ever going to tell me what happened to you, why you really left Mora and why you call your dad by his first name?”
I stared into his hazel eyes, torn. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. We can leave here right now, go wherever you want, and you can tell me all about it.”
“It’s not that kind of story,” I say bitterly. “We aren’t going to go back to my house, pop some popcorn and have a best friend get together where we tell each other all our dirty little secrets.”
Steve’s jaw dropped as if I’d slapped him. “JoJo, that’s not what I meant.”
“I know that. It’s just something that happened half a lifetime ago. No one believed me then, so what difference is it going to make if I talk about it now?”
“Um, I’m not a shrink, but obviously it still bothers you. You clam up whenever anyone looks at you too closely, you avoid all talk of Greg and the past, and especially if it’s someone you know from back then. What gives?”
“It’s none of your business,” I spat at him. “Quit sitting here acting like-“
“Like what?”
“Like you’re my damn husband or something. You’re my boss and my neighbor. Neither of those things put me under any kind of, of… shit, they don’t bind me to you. I don’t have to talk about personal, private things with you. Jesus Christ.”
“I doubt he’ll help you,” Steve muttered.
“Shut up,” I retort. “Why the hell are you so nosy anyway?”
“Um, cop, remember?” He jabs his thumb toward his shiny badge pinned to his chest. His little boy smile looking innocent. “I can’t help it, it’s in my nature.”
“No excuse,” I grumble. “You need to keep your nose on your face where it belongs and not in my business.”
“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I’ll just worry about you quietly. Contrary to what you believe, I consider you a friend. I don’t want to see you hurting.”
Something crosses his face just then, a pang of something sad and lonely. I reach across the table and clasp his hands in mine. “I’m not hurting. What happened happened so long ago that it’s just a glimmer of a memory. It doesn’t even matter. The only thing that concerns me is that people with the long memories bringing it up when Emma Grace is around. It’s not something she needs to hear.”
Steve nodded. “I understand. From now on I’ll mind my own business.”
“Thank you. Now can we eat before our lunch gets cold?”
Again, Steve nods. “Bon appetite,” he said with a fake French accent and picks up his fork, shoving a heaping mound of mashed potatoes into his mouth.
“I think you should let me leave early today,” I tell him. “Seeing as how it’s my birthday and all.”
Steve laughed. “We’ll see,” he said. “I might need someone to answer the phones for me, or something like that. I’m a helpless cop who can only eat donuts and drink coffee. I need someone to do the heavy lifting.”
I roll my eyes and stir my soup. “Can I ask you something?”
Steve swallows and nods. The words were on the tip of my tongue, all I had to do was open my mouth and ask. Just say, “Do you want to go out with me?” and put it out there. Instead, I said, “How’s your lunch.
“Oh,” Steve said looking down at his plate. “It’s good. Why? Did you want to try it?”
I shake my head no. “I was just wondering.”
“Oh.”
I feel the heat creep up my neck and into my cheeks. “Can I ask you something?” he said.
I glanced up, hopeful. “Yeah, what’s up?”
“Why Paul?”
Dumbfounded I look at him and say, “Huh?”
“Why are you dating him?” he clarified.
“Well,” I began. “I, uh, he’s interesting and always has interesting things to talk about.”
“Really?” Steve asked skeptically.
“What?”
“It just doesn’t sound like a good reason to date someone.”
I blink, seeing red. This man had the extraordinary talent to make me irritated one second and laughing the next. “So then tell me, what is a good reason to date someone?”
Steve shrugs. “Of course you have to be interested in them, but what about similar interests? Does he like the same movies or music as you?”
“Oh my God. You’re like the brother I never had.”
Steve cringes. “Jeez thanks.”
“Well, you are.” I replied.
Outside, fat raindrops splattered against the diners windows. I turn toward the street and watch as the weather dampened the street. “Guess we better get back before it gets too bad, huh?” I said, to which Steve replied with a nod.
He slid out of the booth, pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, and tossed some money on the table. I reached for my wallet but he stops me. “It’s my treat, remember. You agreed to eat with me and I promised to tell you why I’m in stealth mode like a polar bear and not a ninja.”
“Oh, yes, that. Why are polar bears stealthier than ninjas?” I slip my wallet back into my purse and follow Steve out of the diner.
“You ever saw one of those infrared cameras?”
“Like, live and in person?”
“No, like on TV or in the movies.”
“Yes,” I said. Maybe, I think. They show a person’s body heat or something like that.”
“Yeah, well, they don’t work on polar bears.”
“Okay why?”
“Because they keep all their heat in. Something about their fur, it helps them. So they can sneak up on hunters all stealthy like and maul you before you can scream like a girl.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “How do you know that crap?”
“Discovery channel.” He says simply. For a second I could imagine him as a little boy, all curious and getting into damn near everything, probably driving his mother batty.
On the street, we both hurry back to the station, clothes soaked from the thunderstorm rumbling overhead. “Well damn,” Steve said ducking inside the station. “You better run home and change before you catch your death in those wet clothes.”
I looked down at my wet sweater and soaked pants, then back up at Steve. His normally spiky black hair was flattened against his forehead, water dripping into his eyes. He squinted against the drops and stared back down at me.
“You asked me why I date Paul,” I said breathlessly.
Steve nodded perceptively.
“I date him because he asked. I waited for you to, but you never did.”
Steve stares at me incredulously. “Seri
ously?” he breathed.
“Seriously.”
I feel my heart speed up in my chest. I knew what I was doing. A tiny version of myself was inside my head chipping away at a wall that had dammed up all the emotion, all the tears and fears; not just over the last ten years, but during the course of my entire life. I knew that if I kept going down this path the outcome could be ugly, not only for myself, but for Emma as well.
On the opposite side of my head, plan B began to form. Each aspect falling neatly into place. I hope it wouldn’t come to that, but I had to cover all the bases.
Then I shook my head. I am sick of being cautious, sick of calculating the risks and worrying about the outcome. I am always so worried that I forget to live in the now, I forget to seize the moment and ride it, bucking and braying into the sunset.
So I let go; I let go of the fear and the panic. I lean forward and oh so gently brush my lips against Steve’s stubbled cheek, his breath introducing itself to my senses. “Thank you for lunch,” I said softly drawing back.
“It was my pleasure,” he murmured.
And with that, I pluck my car keys out of my purse and head toward my car to go home and change.
Chapter Four
The quiet of the rain has me remembering things from two months ago...
“Oh excuse me,” a deep baritone rumbled as I connected with a broad chest cloaked in a grey hooded Duke University sweatshirt. I jumped back clutching the novel, The Girl With the Dragon tattoo, to my own tee-shirt covered chest.
“Sorry,” I replied. “I got caught up in the synopsis of this story. I should’ve been watching where I was going.”
“It’s very good,” mystery man said. “If I may.”
“You may.” Mystery man chuckled pleasantly. I clutched the book to my chest, the air in the bookstore swirled, carrying the faint scent of caffeine and adventure.
“I’m Paul,” he said, shifting the stack of books in his hand. I caught a glimpse of the novel on top of the stack.
“Is that based on the movie?” I asked pointing at the paperback.
“Depends,” Paul replied.
“On?” I shot back. “Whether or not you have a name. I can always refer to you as the woman who bumped into me in A Novel Affair that rainy Saturday afternoon.”
“Sorry,” I blushed, “I’m JoJo, and it’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” he replied. “And to answer your question, no, The Life and Death of Charlie St. Cloud is significantly different than the movie appears to be.”
“Oh really?”
Paul nodded. “We could grab a cup of coffee and talk about it.”
It was, as the saying goes, all downhill from there. That afternoon, Paul and I sat in the coffee shop discussing our favorite novels to movies, agreeing to disagree about movies that were better as books and movies that were better than books. What we did agree on was the short list of movies that stayed as true as possible to the books.
After that day in the coffee shop, we started dating, if you could call it that. We went out to eat and to the movies, we gladly took Emma to different places in Sappho and Mora, and once, we went all the way to Seattle to some well-known blues club. That was as far as the extent of our dating went. We literally went places together. We both knew that the chemistry wasn’t there. The truth was that we just both enjoyed the others company.
I recalled Steve’s face as I told him I dated Paul because he asked. His jaw dropped and shock skittered across his features, drawing his bottom lip down, parting his lips in a small, surprised ‘O’. His eyes had gone as wide as saucers.
For a moment, I felt bad, but as I drive home, soaking wet and feeling the cold creep its way into my bones I find it slightly amusing. A good-looking guy like him being afraid to ask a woman out, it was all just a pinch too amusing for me not to laugh.
At home, I change into a pair of sweatpants and call the station to let them know I was taking the afternoon off. It was Friday afternoon; no one was going to miss me.
After leaving a message, I curl up on the couch with some Nicholas Sparks book I was positive I'd already read. Still idly turning the pages, but not really reading the words woven together on the page, it was a little after three when the front door opens and a book bag hits the foyer floor as sneakers squeaked across the wood floor.
“Mom?” Emma called.
“In here,” I called back, dog earring the page book and setting it on the coffee table. I sit up as Emma slumps into the room and flops down at the end of the couch, a puppy dog look on her angel’s face.
“What’s wrong pumpkin?”
“Nothing.” She muttered.
“Emma, baby, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she muttered again.
“Emma Grace,” I growl. I hate this moody, good-luck-and-might-as-well-grab-your-dental-gear-because-getting-an-answer-out-of-me-is-gonna-be-harder-than-pulling-teeth-out-of-a-newborn, attitude. It drives me batty.
“A girl at school was mean to me. She said I was fat and dressed like a hobo.”
“And what did you say?”
“That I might look like a hobo, but she smelled like one and that was way worse.” Emma looks up at me, waiting for me to yell, I supposed.
I squeal in laughter and high five her instead.
“It’s not funny mom,” she said after dropping her arm. “It sucked. I hate it here. I wanna go back to Los Angeles.”
I frown and try to think of something positive to say. Thinking of nothing, I tell her the truth. “Girls are mean everywhere Emma and if you think they’re bad here, they’ll be ten times worse in L.A.”
She sighs unhappily and lays her head on the arm of the couch. “I still hate it here.”
“I know,” I reply, rubbing her leg. “It’ll get better, just wait.” It wouldn’t, as far as girls like that one were concerned. It just surprises me that they were this nasty at such a young age. Yes. I thought, Emma does act older than her ten years, but part of that might have something to do with growing up in L.A. It was like there was something in the water out there. Girls walked up and down Rodeo Drive, looking older than their young years with their heavy make-up and minimalistic clothing. They get into trouble. Did drugs, slept around, and God only knows what else. Most of their parents were off doing who knows what - with who knows who, so they were left to basically raise themselves and this was the result. But since we moved to Mora, the L.A. mentality had begun to sort of fade away and Emma was what most people would consider a normal kid.
“I know it’s your birthday,” she said softly. “But can we skip Pasta Palace?”
I breathe an inaudible sigh of relief. “Sure, baby, if you want. We can stay home, watch a movie, and have some cake. Want to run to the store with me to pick one out?”
“Can it be an ice cream cake?” she ventured.
“Would it make you smile?”
Confined Page 4