Running Into A Brick Wall

by Jacqueline DeGroot

  Done right, my body feels svelte, and loose, as if I could bend any which way and come back to a perfectly tall and erect posture, fully stretched with effortless ease from just about any contortion. The mind-bending effects are as beneficial as the body bending for me. A regimen of nine or ten poses always clears my mind and gives me a sense of well being, and considering I’d woken with angst and dread from a sound sleep, I knew I needed to take care of this stress or suffer through more headaches. I didn’t have the time to be incapacitated, so I promised myself I would be more stringent about scheduling regular exercise—especially now when so much was at stake.

  At eight thirty I called my sister. Mindful of the time difference, I knew she’d be up and getting ready for work. She was delighted to hear from me and I could actually hear her slowing down the start of her busy day to take the time to talk. After the hi-how-are-you-doing chitchat, I told her of my plans. She listened carefully and after hemming and hawing, advised me to tell Brick. She had serious concerns about me going solo on this, warning me of the dangerous position I would be putting myself in and giving me the impression that she had no confidence whatsoever in my subterfuge skills.

  “I think you’re going to either get hurt, get her hurt, or end up in jail. What if you kidnap a kid that really belongs to those people, supposing you can even find them to begin with?”

  “I have a really good picture of Jillie taken just a few days before she was taken and I also have an age progression showing what she’d look like today.”

  “Those things are just supposition, you can’t be sure.”

  “I won’t take her unless I’m sure. Do you think I want to be arrested for kidnapping?”

  “What I don’t understand is why you can’t let Brick know what you’re going to be up to.”

  “Gloria, he’s had so many bad leads and wild goose chases that even though he’d check it out as he does all the others, it would mean time away from the other important work he’s doing right now. And it would just devastate me to see him disappointed again, it’s easier if he doesn’t even know.”

  “You’re doing what you always try to do, the thing that keeps getting you into trouble, over and over again.”

  “Yeah, and what’s that?”

  “You’re people pleasing.”

  “What?” I held the phone from my face and felt my face scrunch in consternation. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re always trying to make other people happy, often to your own detriment.”

  “I do not get what you are trying to say. I think you’d better spell it out. Slowly.”

  “You bend over backwards to make things work out for everyone. You step in the middle of a fight and try to make everyone friends again. You hear someone say they want a red cashew nut and then you break your neck trying to find one for them.”

  “I don’t think there is such a thing as a red cashew nut.”

  “That was just an example. Remember in tenth grade when your teacher lost her camera on that field trip you took to D.C. and you spent the whole next day backtracking every single place she’d been?”

  “I found it, didn’t I?”

  “And she really appreciated it didn’t she?”

  “Not so much.”

  “Because she knew it was broken. It was easier and cheaper for her if everyone else got duplicates of their pictures and shared them with her.”

  “That was one case.”

  “One time in many. When you were dating Jared you did every single thing in your power to make him appreciate you. He didn’t even have to court you, or give chase, you fell right at his feet.”

  “That was not a simple case of people pleasing, I was in love with him.”

  “Yeah, well . . . you see where that got you. I’m just saying . . . you do not have to make everyone’s world perfect. Especially in this case. You could really screw things up this time.”

  “Listen, I only called because I wanted someone to know what I was up to in case things go flooey. In the event, my people-pleasing little ol’ self makes some kind of mistake. So, despite my well-meaning intentions, if I do end up in trouble, or God forbid, these people figure out what I’m up to, will you please call Brick and fill him in?”

  “And exactly how will I know to do this?”

  “I’ll call you at about this time every day just to check in. If you don’t hear from me by, say, ten o’clock every morning then I want you to call Brick and tell him what I was up to. Can you do that? Do you think you can possibly overlook my over zealous people-pleasing tendencies one more time, and let me see if I can do this one thing right?”

  “Yeah. Sure,” she said with obvious reluctance. “Let me get this straight: you call every morning, so I don’t have to—you don’t call, and I have to get reinforcements as you’re likely to be tied up in a closet somewhere.”

  “Yeah, something like that. But the thing is, you’re not calling to get me rescued, you’re calling so Brick doesn’t lose this opportunity to find his sister. That’s the important thing, letting him know what I’ve discovered about her.”

  “See, people-pleasing . . . you want him happy, and you’re not even thinking about what could happen to you.”

  “Isn’t that what you do when you care about people?”

  “You care about this guy that way?”

  “What way?”

  “You know what way. The same way you cared about Jared when you married him. You cared about him so much that you did everything he said and ignored everything we said. He convinced you that your family didn’t matter, that only he did. He made you give up everything you cared about so you could focus solely on him.”

  “You can’t seriously believe I’m dumb enough to let any man come between me and my family again, do you?”

  “Well, I would hope not. But you do have that people-pleasing thing going on, and I know how you get . . .”

  “Trust me, I am not going to ever sacrifice my happiness for a man’s . . . any man’s.”

  “Well that’s good to hear.”

  “But I would really love it if I could pull this off. Gosh, the look on his face when he sees his sister . . . it’s what I think about and dream about.”

  “See?”

  “Okay. Maybe you’re right. I do want to please him. But who wouldn’t? He’s a wonderful man who I care about.”

  “Do you love him?”

  I thought for a few moments before answering. “I don’t know. I know I love being with him. And he’s all I think about when he’s gone. But I don’t know. I kind of like being independent right now and I don’t want anyone I have to answer to.”

  “That’s understandable after all you’ve been through. Speaking of which, I saw your picture on the news again.”

  “I know, apparently it’s a slow news week.”

  “Have you spoken with your attorney?”

  “Oh yeah, many times.”

  “And what’s he saying?”

  “That he wants to go for more alimony and for half the franchises.”

  “Don’t you think you deserve that?”

  “I just want to be free of him. If I make him pay through the nose, it’s only going to come back on me. I know that in my bones.”

  “Sounds like you need a hit man.”

  “I had two of them and I made them stop.”

  “See? People-pleasing again. What were you thinkin’? Were you tryin’ to keep your lawyer happy? You know he would have been crying his eyes out if those guys had kept at it until Jared breathed his last breath.”

  “I don’t know what I was thinking. I just knew I couldn’t let them kill him.”

  “Well listen, if you really want to please me, and mom and dad, next time someone is in a position to take Jared out, let ‘em. That would please me greatly.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Meanwhile . . .”

  “Meanwhile . . . give me Brick’s number.”

  I gave her all the contact infor
mation I had for Brick Tyler, thanked her, and then told her I loved her. Then I made myself a bowl of oatmeal and headed out. Nebraska, Wyoming, Utah, Idaho, and Oregon—in their turn—awaited me.

  Chapter Twenty

  I was on Route 80 heading west and according to my little G.P.S., that I didn’t trust so much, I would have the pleasure of being on this road for another 688 miles—all of Nebraska and partway through Wyoming. It would be two days before I reached Route 84, and about an inch northeast of Salt Lake City according to my map, which I figured to be close to thirty miles as the crow flies. I was not looking forward to this part of the journey. I thought it might be boring. I was right.

  Everything interesting was north of where I was, even “Carhenge,” a ring of vintage cars painted gray and sunk part way into the ground, was too far north to consider detouring. The Druidic “stones” of Alliance, Nebraska could possibly be on the agenda for the return trip, I told myself as I sat in my Dolphin at a rest stop, maps and brochures spread out over the table and the seats.

  After a quick nap, I folded everything up and hopped back into the driver’s seat. I was halfway through Stieg Larsson’s The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo so I was being entertained, just not so much by the vista anymore. Although I had seen some lovely purple flowers peeking out from stony outcroppings here and there, and some moss-covered retaining walls that looked like they’d been there for centuries. They blended into the landscape so well that on meandering roads I was just about past them before I spotted them. I made it to Cheyenne with minimal effort and as I wasn’t really all that tired, I decided to try for Laramie. Huge mistake.

  The campground in Laramie was disappointing to say the least. The gravel road was lumpy and uneven. Even with my jacks lowered I wasn’t able to get the Dolphin level and the noise, oh my gosh, it was so loud. The price you pay for staying close to an Interstate I told myself, and searched in the cabinet beside the sink for my box of disposable earplugs. There was no way I was going to be able to watch TV so after a quick dinner of tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich, I relaxed in the tub with one of my romance novels. I’d had enough of trying to keep track of all the characters in the Stieg Larsson book and was taking a break with something frivolous where the only people I had to keep track of were the hero and heroine. Sadly, that left me missing Brick even more. I decided I’d email him.

  Not having the reliable Internet connection that was advertised in the flyer, I made my way to the office only to discover no one there. When I got back to my RV, I found my phone and punched in Brick’s number.

  “Wondering when I’d hear from you,” he said in a deep throaty voice.

  “Makin’ my way west, takin’ my time,” which was so not true, “and lovin’ life.”

  “Don’t tell me, you found a set of triplets.” I could hear his smile.

  “I don’t think I have enough body parts to keep a set of triplets satisfied,” I teased.

  “Trust me. You do.”

  “Hmmm. I should probably Google the next triplet convention, see where it is.”

  “You should Google ‘Ways Cops have of restraining naughty girls.’”

  “I already know how they do that.”

  “Do ya now?” I loved the way a brogue softened his voice when he was intrigued.

  “Silk ties, long boas, handcuffs . . . you have any of them handy?”

  “I might be able to scare up a pair of handcuffs, maybe even a blindfold.”

  “Would be nice if you could just beam yourself here.”

  “Where might here be?”

  “Laramie, Wyoming.”

  “Ugh. Not the prettiest part of the state.”

  “I know, and this campground doesn’t have a lot going for it. I should have stopped in Cheyenne.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Just wasn’t all that tired, wanted to push on.”

  “Why? What’s your hurry?”

  I knew I had screwed up as soon as I said it. “No hurry really. Just got in a groove, had a book on CD in the player, and was hoping I could find a lovely little park to sip some merlot.”

  “You’re too far south, everything of any consequence is farther north—The Grand Tetons, National Elk Preserve, Yellowstone, Cody, Jackson, even Thermopolis is north of where you are.”

  “Thermopolis?”

  “The Wyoming Dinosaur Center.”

  “Oh. I’m really sorry to be missing that . . .”

  “If I was close I’d take you to the Mural Room Breakfast Buffet at the Jackson Lake Lodge, a view to die for and a full breakfast bar where I could replenish my body after exhausting myself in your bed.”

  “What, no helicopter?”

  “I’m in D.C.”

  “D.C.? What are you doing there?”

  “Speaking at a conference on Internet chat rooms.”

  “Don’t you ever get tired of all the travel?”

  “Not the camping type, but I sure do hate all this commercial flying. It used to be fun a few years back, but traveling as I do is a grind.”

  “The airlines used to be more accommodating.”

  “Speaking of which, you told me once that you’d never flown, that time I was trying to get you to fly with me to Utah with Angelina. Then later I found out that you’d flown from Virginia to North Carolina to buy your first RV, and then you flew back to Virginia from Austin when Jared managed to surprise you at the house. Why did you lie to me about never having flown?”

  “You mean when we were outside of Shreveport?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I was afraid.”

  “Of what?”

  “Being on my own in Utah, without my home, with a little girl in tow. My motorhome is my security now not just my home, I didn’t want to leave it behind. ”

  “I was going to go with you.”

  “You always leave me.”

  There was silence on the line.

  “Yeah, I always do, don’t I?”

  “Yeah.” My voice was childlike and I heard the longing in it.

  “I’m going to have to work on that. But still you lied

  to me.”

  “I know. I’m afraid you’re going to have to punish me.” This time I adopted a mulish, pouty voice, just to tease him.

  I could hear his breath hitch. “Mmm . . . what did you have in mind?”

  “I suppose I’ll have to submit to your desires. Maybe stand in the corner or kneel at your feet . . .”

  Again . . . that husky, sharp intake. “Jenny, why are you doing this to me when I’m clear across the country? Jesus, I’m as hard as an iron pike.”

  “Save it.”

  “Save it? I can‘t stand in front of hundreds of police officers talking about online perverts with a pole tenting my trousers like this.”

  “Stand behind the podium.”

  “I’ll tell you what I’m going to stand behind . . .”

  “Promises, promises . . .”

  “Jenny, next time I see you, you’d better not bend over in my presence.”

  “Or what?”

  “My poker will be poking you that’s what!”

  “I will be so looking forward to that,” I laughed and then made some kissy noises. “Night Lover.”

  “Night!” he said with a gruff voice. I was thrilled I had him hot and bothered.

  I read for a little while, my ears stuffed with soft lime green plugs to drown out the noise of the Interstate. I was on my second glass of wine when I thought I heard my phone ring. I didn’t get to it in time, but the beep indicated there was a message on my voice mail.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  At first, I couldn’t make out the voice, what was being said or who it belonged to. Then my body stiffened as I realized it was Jared who had left the message.

  My attorney had told me he was back in the D.C. area, in a rehab facility that housed criminals who had either broken parole or violated terms of their house arrest. He’d had to have his jaw wired shut and that’s
why I couldn’t understand the muffled, garbled rantings—until I had played it over a few times.

  “Think you’re so smart,” “I hear you’re having fun screwing every man in sight,” “Don’t think this is over,” “Next time your ass is going to be rammed with a cannon,” “You and all your boyfriends are going to pay for this,” “Mark my words, we are not over,” “You belong to me, you promised yourself to me and I’m going to make you honor that promise,” “Believe me, this pain I’m in will not go unpunished.”

  When the prompts came on asking if I wanted to save or delete the message, I stored it. I would have to send it to my attorney’s cell phone tomorrow. I could not believe Jared was being stupid enough to allow himself to be recorded threatening me like that. I closed the phone and plugged it back into the charger. How had he gotten the number this time? I had a fairly new phone, only a few weeks old. The no-contract-no-statement type, the ones you bought prepaid minutes for. Very few people had the number: my sister and my parents, Daniel, his wife Julie and their daughter Angelina, my attorney, Brick, and of course, Randy. Diana had it, but her new husband, Connor, did not as he was overseas now. None of those people would have been careless with it.

  I thought back to when I had given each person the number and realized with sudden dread, that in each instance, I had passed the number on by email. He wouldn’t . . . He couldn’t . . . . But I knew he could. He hacked into my email account! There was no other way he could have gotten the number this time. I had been careful, very careful.

  What else could he know? I went over to my laptop and clicked on the icon for my email account and was surprised when the connection went through. Before I could scroll through the sent messages I heard the telltale ping of an incoming message. I clicked to see who would be emailing me at this time of night and saw only a subject line saying Wedding pictures. Thinking it might be from Diana, I clicked on it. It wasn’t from Diana.