Tell on You

  She’d never called him by his first name before. That recognition struck him with a peculiar poignancy. He realized how much he’d liked being ‘Mr. B’ to a beautiful, admiring girl. Gazing at Nikki’s lithe form, he saw her for what she was—a girl. Not so innocent, except in the manner of a ravenous lion cub. But a youth, to be sure.

  No, not a youth. Youth incarnate. She was immortality. Redemption. A fabulous dream, and now Jeremy had come to painful awakening. Even had he not been lying on the floor, choking on his own blood, he’d never have violated this nymph, even if she begged. What he’d craved was to be her hero.

  Instead he’d been her chump. And now his foolishness would cost him everything—now, when he’d finally begun to value what he had. Blind, stupid fool.

  “Nikki?”

  “Yes?” She rushed over, sank to the floor beside him.

  A scent of roses. Must be his imagination. How could he smell anything through the fractured mess of his nose?

  “Would you—?” Jeremy swallowed, trying to clear the mucus from his throat. “Please, would you get dressed and go find me some ice?”

  “Sure.”

  To his immense relief, she threw on her clothes and grabbed the ice bucket.

  As soon as Nikki was out the door, Jeremy tottered to his feet, reeling at a wave of vertigo. The blood-soaked towel slipped from his hand. But the bleeding seemed to be subsiding.

  Ice would help. He’d get some later.

  He lurched to the door, doubled locked it and fastened the chain. “Sorry, Nikki,” he whispered. He leaned against the closed door, exhausted and queasy. Shortly, he heard her knock.

  “Mr. B? You okay?” A pause, then more banging. “Hey! Open up.”

  “Nikki—I’m okay, but you have to go.”

  “But—why?”

  “Because nothing is going to happen between us.” Jeremy’s voice now firm, adult. “What’s happened was my mistake, and I’m sorry. But it ends here.”

  “But nothing happened!” Disappointment in her voice.

  “And nothing will.”

  “Don’t you even want the ice I brought you?”

  “Thanks. If you’d leave it outside the door, I’d be grateful.”

  “This is your mistake, Mr. B,” Nikki warned. “What you’re doing right now.” An ominous pause. “I can bring you down, you know.” Venom in that voice.

  Jeremy sighed. “No, Nikki. I already did that to myself.”

  “Your wife, then.” A malevolent laugh. “Wait and see.”

  The sudden crash of ice cubes cascading against the door made Jeremy recoil. He heard the rattle of the bucket dropping to the floor, the pounding of Nikki’s footsteps, trailing away.

  FORTY FIVE

  A HOWL ROSE IN Nikki’s chest, demanding release, as she jogged to her car in the motel parking lot. Car keys became her weapon. She slashed at random vehicles, gouging paint, picturing Mr. B’s face. You had your chance and blew it. Nobody got away with dumping Nikki Jordan.

  He’d find out.

  She reached her car, got in. Sat and drummed restless fingers against the steering wheel. Growing dark and she wasn’t supposed to drive at night with her provisional license. Nikki’s VW Beetle had been a gift from her father before he took off. He paid her insurance premiums, but she depended on her mother for gas money. If she got a ticket, Mom would jump at the excuse to ground her. Sure, Nikki could make it home before dark. But that was the last place she cared to be right now. She pulled out her phone and called Heather.

  “Something’s happened,” Nikki said. “Come and meet me.”

  “Kinda late,” Heather hedged. “We have school tomorrow.”

  “We?” Nikki echoed. “Thought you got suspended.”

  “Mr. Donnelly unsuspended me.”

  The hint of satisfaction in Heather’s voice stoked Nikki’s anger.

  “He called a little while ago,” Heather added. “He said I could come back.” Nikki’s jaw muscles clenched, hard enough to crack walnuts. Couldn’t anything go right for her today? “How come?”

  “He said there was some doubt about the—uh,” Heather stumbled over the words, “the authen-ticity of my signature on that note to Mr. B. My mom thinks we should sue the school. But my dad doesn’t want to.”

  “Really?” Nikki’s voice could have curdled milk. “Listen, I need to see you, Heather. Now. I’m in real trouble.”

  “What’s—?”

  “It’s about Mr. B.”

  “Oh.” Heather hesitated. “I don’t think—”

  “I’ll be at Starbucks. Hurry.” She hung up.

  “YOU OKAY MISTER?” The burly cashier at the pharmacy winced in sympathy as Jeremy handed him a bottle of ibuprofen to ring up. “You don’t look so hot.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Jeremy avoided eye contact with the man, whose narrow, pockmarked face attested to an acne-prone adolescence. Spying a rack of disposable lighters, Jeremy selected one and placed it on the counter. “Oh, and this.”

  He’d burn those damned snapshots of Nikki and him back at the motel. Who the hell put that detective on him, anyway? Not Melissa, according to Rick. Whoever did must have copies, or a digital file.

  Fuck, burn them anyway. If only for the satisfaction of reducing them to ashes. But first take the painkillers, and finish off the beers he’d left chilling in the ice bucket. Put some more of the ice on his nose.

  Send Melissa another message.

  The cashier rang up Jeremy’s purchase, clucking his tongue at the lighter. “Shouldn’t be smoking with an injury like that, sir.”

  “No.” Jeremy tossed down some bills. “I won’t.”

  “All right, then.” The man handed over his change. “You take it easy, huh?”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  Night had fallen when Jeremy pulled into the motel parking lot. As he got out of the Honda and closed the door, he heard the slam of another car door, like an echo. He turned in the direction of the sound, his pulse racing. Please, god, not Nikki. In the dim light, he recognized the figure walking toward him.

  “You!” He frowned at Rick’s approach. “You come back to finish me off? Break my legs, or something?”

  Rick halted, beyond Jeremy’s reach, and regarded him sheepishly. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have gone off on you like that. I got halfway to the airport, but couldn’t leave things this way.” He drew a few paces closer and studied Jeremy’s swollen face. “Aw shit, did I break it?”

  Jeremy shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.” The idea that anyone gave a shit about him tonight made him magnanimous.

  “No, it looks bad,” Rick insisted. “Let me drive you over to the ER to get it x-rayed.”

  “What, so we can sit around for hours in a crowded waiting room, with buzzing fluorescent lights and a blaring TV?” Jeremy shook his head. “No, thanks.”

  “But—”

  “Really, it’ll be okay.”

  Rick took another step toward him. “All right, then.” He spread his arms wide and closed his eyes. “Go ahead.”

  Jeremy stared at him in confusion. “What?”

  Eyes still screwed shut, Rick stuck out his chin. “Hit me, man.”

  Jeremy snorted with laughter, and immediately clutched his nose. “Oww!”

  Rick opened his eyes. “Ahh shit,” he groaned, as Jeremy covered his face.

  “It’s okay.” Jeremy held up the plastic drug store bag. “I got some ibuprofen and there’s two beers left up in the room. Hey.” He gave Rick a tentative smile. “Wanna join me?”

  Rick returned his grin. “For the beer? Yeah. I’ll pass on the ibuprofen.”

  “I don’t suppose you have anything stronger?” Jeremy asked hopefully. “Percocet or something?”

  “I’ve got some Valium in my bag. For the flight, you know? I’ll get it.” Rick went to open the trunk of his rental car.

  “Great.” Jeremy followed him. “Any chance you have a bottle of scotch in there, too?”

  Rick’s grin widened. �
�No, but I can get one. Back in five.”

  “Awesome,” Jeremy said. “Meet me upstairs.”

  FORTY SIX

  RECLINING ON THE BED, every pillow in the room propped behind him, Jeremy dumped four ibuprofen tablets from the container into the palm of his hand. He washed them down with a glug of scotch, leaned over and passed the bottle to Rick, who occupied the motel room’s only chair.

  “That’s a lot of pills.” Rick frowned. “You sure you don’t want to go to the ER?” The bottle poised en route to his mouth. “I’m still sober enough to drive.”

  Jeremy waved him off. He doubted either of them were sober enough to make it there.

  Rick shrugged and took a generous swallow.

  “Thanks for these.” Jeremy picked up the prescription vial of Valium from the night table. “They oughta knock me out for the night.”

  “Go easy,” Rick cautioned. “That stuff is potent, especially mixed with booze. Take one when you’re ready to sleep. They work fast.” He passed the bottle back to Jeremy, then leaned back in his chair, one denim-clad leg crossed over the other.

  Jeremy sipped the whiskey, feeling its heat rise to his sore face. “Why the fuck did you slug me, anyway?”

  “Cause you had it coming. Cheating on Mel like that.”

  “Who’re you? Sir Fucking Lancelot?” Piqued, Jeremy recalled how cozy Rick and Melissa had looked at the restaurant. “Who appointed you to be her goddamned champion?”

  “Hey, she deserves one,” Rick shot back. “You know, it really pisses me off that you lied to her. And me.” He leaned over for the bottle, took a swig and returned it to Jeremy. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said, “I know guys who do that stuff all the time.” Glassy eyes reproached Jeremy. “But not you.”

  “Yeah.” Jeremy stared at the label on the half-empty scotch bottle, rather than meet Rick’s gaze. “There was no sex, Rick, I swear. God knows how she tracked me here.” He picked at the label. “I dropped my key and she grabbed it, let herself into the room.” Jeremy peeled off a strip from the label and flicked it to the floor. “She threatened to make a scene. I had to let her stay.”

  Abandoning the ragged label, Jeremy drank more scotch. “B’lieve me, I know what a jerk I’ve been. The whole thing was a half-assed fantasy. An early mid-life crisis, maybe.” He passed the bottle back to Rick.

  “But why?” Resting the bottle on his leg, Rick stared at Jeremy with a bleary gaze.

  How to answer that? Jeremy reached for the vial of Valium, rolled it in his hands, as if absorbing its tranquilizing effects through his palms. “You wouldn’t know how it feels to be a failure.”

  “Wha?” Rick demanded.

  “No!” Jeremy cut him off, the scotch loosening his tongue. “You gotta career anna beach house, and—and always bein’ the one who gets the hot women. How would you unnerstand what makes a loser like Jeremy Barrett need to feel like somebody, for a change?” He groped for the bottle, but Rick held onto it, staring at him.

  Jeremy lowered his hand. “I know, I know. I messed up my whole fucking life, an’ I have no one to blame but myself.” He lunged at the bottle. “Will you gimme that thing, already?”

  Rick passed it over, shaking his head. “You don’t get it, do ya, pal?”

  Jeremy drank in silence.

  “Y’ know.” Rick gave a harsh laugh. “I’m a medi—medi-ocre jock who got some lucky breaks. But you—you’ve always been smart, and—and good. I mean it,” he insisted, as Jeremy made a face at him. “I’ve looked up to you since we were kids.”

  “Then you’re an even bigger moron than I am.” Jeremy swallowed more scotch, his face growing warmer. Despite his cynical rejoinder, Rick’s admiration touched him.

  “No,” Rick insisted. “You were my best friend. An A student. And then you married this great girl, who was crazy about you.”

  “Was,” Jeremy repeated bitterly.

  “No, man, she loves you.” Rick reclaimed the nearly empty bottle. “Iss that damned family of hers.”

  “Well, yeah.” Jeremy sank back into the pillows. His friend had made an excellent point.

  “But, ssee…” Rick slurred, “tha’s something I respect about you, buddy. You din let the Miltons buy you. You did your own thing, teaching and all.”

  “Yeah. So?” Jeremy burped. “What’ve I got to show for it?” Were the lights dimming? He thought about the scotch, but let his head sink back into the pillows instead. “Ev’ryone knows what a loser I am. My dad, he always knew.”

  Dropping the empty bottle, Rick lurched from his chair. He wobbled over and leaned on the bed near Jeremy’s feet.

  “Hey!” He pushed on the mattress to rouse Jeremy, who slowly opened one swollen, bruised eye. “Hey!” Rick shook Jeremy’s foot. “Listen’a me.”

  Jeremy opened the other eye and gazed at him woozily.

  “Your ole man loved you,” Rick insisted. “An’e wuz proud’a you. B’lieve me, I know.” He sank onto the bed. “Way he talked about you.”

  “Jez sayin’ that,” Jeremy murmured, fading.

  “Nuh uh.” Rick dragged himself up along the mattress, curling into a fetal position alongside Jeremy. “Mike loved ya. He’uz juss afraid you’d think ‘e waz’n smart enough.” He yawned noisily. “To ‘preciate your poetry, ‘n all.”

  “Yeah? That so?” Jeremy wanted to smile, but his lips felt too rubbery.

  “Abs’lutly,” Rick said, with a last burst of energy. He added, more faintly, “’Kay if I take a li’l nap ‘fore I go?”

  “Sure.” Jeremy drifted off, hoping he’d remember Rick’s reassuring words in the morning. His final thought as sleep enfolded him was that he’d forgotten to take any of the Valium.

  FORTY SEVEN

  FLUSHED AND BREATHLESS, HEATHER slid into a seat across from Nikki at Starbucks. “I—I can only stay a few minutes. I told my mom I was walking over to the library before they closed.”

  “You walked here?” Nikki stared as if Heather had told her she swam the English Channel.

  “It’s only half a mile.” Heather took Nikki’s napkin and blotted her sweaty forehead. “I couldn’t exactly ask for my mom’s car when it’s already dark, could I? With my provisional license?”

  Nikki suppressed an eye roll. Personally? She’d have taken the freaking car without asking. What a wuss. But Nikki didn’t need a confederate who possessed initiative—that was her department.

  “What’s going on?” Heather asked. “You said you were in trouble.”

  “I am.” Nikki fingered the straw protruding from her half-finished smoothie, avoiding Heather’s curious gaze.

  “And it’s about Mr. B?”

  Nikki nodded. “It’s bad.” She bit her lip.

  “Nikki—tell me!”

  “He tried to rape me.”

  Her revelation had the desired impact. Heather gasped. “What? When?”

  “Just now.”

  “But—where?” Heather cast a nervous glance around the coffee shop, as if rapists might lurk at the tables.

  “At the Meadowview Inn. He’s staying there because his wife kicked him out.”

  Heather shook her head, perplexed. “But—what were you doing there?”

  Nikki’s hand shot out, gripped Heather’s wrist. Hard. She fixed a steely gaze on the girl. “You swear not to tell?”

  “Oww! You’re hurting me.” Heather yanked her hand free. “Tell what?”

  Nikki’s blue eyes darted around the Starbucks before zeroing back in on Heather’s. “We’ve been seeing each other.”

  Heather stared, bug-eyed. “You and Mr. B? No way!”

  “Way. We’ve been meeting after school. He took me to the Watchung Reservation.”

  “Get out!” Heather’s eyes narrowed in disbelief.

  Nikki reached into her jacket pocket. “Here, see for yourself.” She passed the photo she’d snatched at the park.

  “Wow!” Heather gawked at the snapshot. “But—that’s illegal! He’s your teacher. Nikki, you have
to tell.”

  Nikki took back the photo, her eyes boring into Heather’s. “Tell?” she echoed. “How much good did that do you?”

  Heather flinched. “But—that was different. I—I made it up.” She swallowed and looked at Nikki. “So, what happened? At the motel, I mean?”

  Nikki leaned back and drew a breath, going over the story she’d crafted for Heather’s benefit. “Mr. B called me from the motel. I think he was actually crying.”

  “No shit!” Heather exclaimed, impressed.

  “He told me he had to see me. He was devastated. Of course, I said I couldn’t,” Nikki added hastily. “But then he begged.”

  “God.”

  “So I drove over there. It wasn’t dark yet.” She fiddled with her straw, doing her best to convey embarrassment, an emotion entirely alien to her.

  “What happened?” Heather prodded.

  Nikki paused as if it pained her to go on. “As soon as I came into his room, he put the Do Not Disturb Sign onto the door and locked us in. He even put on the security chain.”

  “Omigod! Didn’t you try to run?”

  “Yeah! But—” She hesitated. “But then he grabbed me. He said he was in love with me and couldn’t wait anymore. Then he—” Nikki put a convincing catch into her voice. “He tried to get my clothes off.”

  “Nikki! Did you scream?”

  “I did better.” A brave smile. “I slugged him.”

  “You hit a teacher?” Heather looked at her, in awe.

  “Uh huh. He’d left a can of beer on the desk and I grabbed it. Socked him right in the nose with it.”

  “Wow! You actually hit him.”

  “I had to. Self defense. When I think what might have happened…” Nikki shuddered. “Anyway, he went down, his nose all bloody and everything, and I got the hell out of there.” She blew out a breath. “And then I called you.”

  “Oh, Nikki. This is unbelievable. Awful.” Heather shook her head. “We should go to the police, right now. He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it.”

  A slow smile spread across Nikki’s face. “Maybe he won’t.”

  FORTY EIGHT