Chapter 12
Breanne's Journal
Noon. That's when I dragged my ass out of bed. At least I felt better and more rested. That's when it hit me—I still didn't have a gift for Jayson's birthday. After checking the Internet for an hour while I had soup for lunch, I forced myself to bend time again.
* * *
Hank showed up at a quarter to six. I was ready—barely. Tired, too, but I was used to that by now. After getting Jayson's gift, I'd gone shopping for a dress—I didn't have many of those and it was probably expected by the crowd that would show up at Jayson's house. The dress was turquoise, narrow at the waist and flared just above the knee. I paired it with Larimar jewelry and pulled my hair into a twist.
"Baby, if you didn't look so tired, you'd be even more beautiful," Hank said, running a hand down my back. "Feel any better?"
"Yeah. Some." I did, and at least I wasn't having a breakdown after getting swatted on the ass.
"Maybe later, we can sit and have a talk with Jayson. He only wanted to get your attention yesterday. He likes you more than he lets on, and when we couldn't find you," Hank didn't finish.
"I thought we were dropping that subject. Besides, he called me a hostile friend not long ago. There's not much you can do with that, and then he smacked me."
"He didn't hurt you and he wouldn't hurt you."
"You know, I'm gonna leave that alone and not ask what he likes to do with those girls he handcuffs to—well—whatever."
"He has a deerskin flogger. And some other toys."
"I'm sure he does." I shivered as Hank led me out of the house and locked the door behind us.
"Baby, in case you didn't figure it out yesterday, Jayson is really good at aftercare. That's one of the reasons I agreed to train him."
"Hank, please stop talking." I felt queasy, and that wasn't a good thing. A part of me knew that people wanted the things Jayson and Hank did. It made them happy and complete in some way. The only point of reference I had in all that, however, was remembered pain, extreme terror and intense humiliation. I would never, ever, raise my hand for more of that.
"Not feeling good?" He stopped and pulled me against him, then proceeded to rub my belly. "It's not for you, Bree," he said softly. "Just see those things as what they are—toys to play with. That's what it is most of the time, baby. Play. First, last and always. Some people even get a religious experience from what they do, and their partner or partners help them get there."
"Hank, I really, really want to see it that way, but it gives me panic attacks and makes me feel sick."
"I know. Maybe we can get you past that, someday." I could almost hear him silently add that I needed to tell him what my problem was, because that would help. I just couldn't do that. Ever.
"Come on, Jayson will likely need rescuing from those people his parents invited."
"Who did they invite?"
"There'll be journalists there, socialites, the wealthy, people Jayson has no real desire to hang out with or get to know."
"Sucks being him, doesn't it?"
"Sometimes it does. Bree, you can't judge everybody by how much money they have."
"I know that," I muttered. "It's just that I've met my share of the wealthy, and for the most part, I've been unimpressed."
"You have money," he pointed out.
"And I have a charity set up to give most of that away. I also have investments placed so I can keep giving it away. To people—kids—who need it."
"Terry handles that for you?"
"I tell him which investments to make and he makes them. He's really good at that, and I pay him for his services. You look nice, by the way." He opened the truck door for me and I climbed inside. Just as before, he buckled my seatbelt and shut the door before going to the driver's side and climbing in.
"You think I look good?" Hank pointed a grin in my direction.
"Yeah. Women will want to lick you." Hank did look good. The usual jeans were gone and he was dressed in slacks, a nice knit shirt and a good leather jacket. His boots, too, looked more expensive than those he usually wore.
"I don't want to be licked. By other women." He put the truck in gear and backed out of my driveway.
"You're a single man, remember? Jayson, too. I'm just excess baggage that doesn't really fit in."
"Baby, if it wouldn't scare you, you might get swats for that."
"It's the truth. I don't hang around the people we're going to see tonight because they make me uncomfortable. I don't hang around the people who come into your bar because I feel uncomfortable. Want to have a conversation about fitting in now?"
"You fit in with the people from Mercy Crossings?"
"Not really. They're all doctors or nurses, and they think they're in a different league. They see my resume—somebody who has no college degree and for some unexplainable reason, can speak any and every language. They're not comfortable around me, which makes me uncomfortable in return."
"Why do I get the feeling you could test out of any college course you wanted to?" Hank pulled into Jayson's driveway and parked to the side to allow others to take the prime spots.
"I don't know why you have that feeling. I really don't want to go to the trouble to find out, either," I sighed.
"Ready for the interview?" Hank asked as we climbed out of his truck.
"I never got an email with any questions. How can I be ready for what I don't know is coming?"
"You should let Jayson know the writer didn't follow through. Sounds like a poor work ethic to me."
"I really don't want to do this, and I only want to talk about Mercy Crossings." If I were asked about my earlier life, I certainly wouldn't answer those questions.
"Don't worry; I'll be there with Jayson's mother."
"What will you do if he asks uncomfortable questions—threaten him with Jayson's flogger?"
"There's an idea," Hank grinned. "I can give him the flogging of his life."
"That's not scary or anything," I muttered.
* * *
"Breanne, how lovely to see you." Kathleen Rome met us at the door and wrapped me in a tight hug. After a moment, I hugged her back. Jayson was nowhere in sight and I was overcome with guilt that I was playing right along with his game to fool his mother.
"Hank, how are you?" Kathleen was all smiles as Hank leaned in to kiss her cheek.
"I'm fine, Mrs. Rome," Hank replied politely.
"I castigated Jayson for not coming to get you himself," Kathleen turned back to me. "He said he'd already asked Hank to pick you up. Something about an unsafe vehicle?" She lifted an eyebrow at me.
"It's a new car," I grumped. "He doesn't like it because it will fit in the back seat of his new SUV.
"Dear, perhaps you should listen to him and buy something safer."
"I hardly ever drive anywhere, except to the grocery store," I sighed. "I'm okay. Really." I didn't add that I could tell her how many light-years I'd traveled in the past two days. Not including the time bending in all that, and three days on the Larentii homeworld, mostly unconscious. All of that was without my (according to Jayson) unsafe vehicle. Besides, my TinyCar wasn't listed as approved for space travel anyway.
"Bree," Jayson's breath was warm against my temple as he gave an obligatory peck—he'd finally decided to show up. "Come on, the staff writer is waiting, and he brought a photographer with him."
"Jayson, no," I moaned. "I don't want my picture taken."
"You look perfect. Why not?" Jayson grasped my arm and pulled me along. "Besides, Barry Stokes has already sent one for the magazine—from a mission with Mercy Crossings."
"Jayson, I really don't want this." I covered my face with a hand.
"Breanne, it will do so much good for the charity." I'd forgotten about Kathleen Rome—she was right behind us. I wanted to moan. I didn't. My heart rate had definitely jumped, however. "I'm the one who spoke with Barry about the Mercy Crossings photograph," she added. "He was more than happy to oblige, since I donate ever
y year."
I wanted to tell her that I donated, too—my time, my skills and my money. I was getting pressured into this and I was beginning to dislike it more as time passed. Barry had agreed to Kathleen's request without consulting me. Sure, there was an agreement to sign when I volunteered, and one of the stipulations was that volunteers would promote Mercy Crossings in any way they could. I was promoting Mercy Crossings with an interview and my images.
It still pissed me off that I hadn't been contacted—either by Barry Stokes or Jayson's staff writer.
I had to leave Jayson's birthday gift with Hank while I was photographed ad nauseam, with and without the jacket I'd worn over my dress. It matched, but the dress was sleeveless and showed more of me. The photographer seemed to like that better.
"Baby, don't let them upset you," Hank whispered when he handed my jacket back—the photography session had taken place on Jayson's patio, overlooking San Rafael Bay. I was chilled to the bone; the San Francisco area is cool to cold on most days.
At least the staff writer did the interview in Jayson's breakfast nook, next to a huge window.
"Name's Sam," he held out his hand. I took it and refused to read him, just as I'd done with the photographer.
"When did you start working with Mercy Crossings?" he asked as soon as the introduction was over. Jayson, Kathleen and Hank all sat nearby at the kitchen island, while Trina and a few extra helpers worked in the kitchen to finish dinner before guests arrived.
"Two years ago." I almost breathed a relieved sigh when he didn't ask about my background first thing.
"Why did you volunteer?"
"I had something to offer—I read an article in another magazine, sorry—and they said that Mercy Crossings needed interpreters with unusual language skills. I have those skills. I walked into Barry Stokes' office in Los Angeles and volunteered."
"He says the same—I've talked to him the past two days," the writer nodded. "Barry says that at first he was skeptical, but that you turned out to be a godsend."
I wanted to snicker. If what Graegar told me was true, the writer might have hit on a partial truth without knowing it. Did I feel like a god? Hell no. I didn't even feel like a person most of the time—not any normal person, anyway.
"Tell me something you haven't discussed with Barry—or anybody else. Something that happened out in the field that helped the crew you were working with."
I had to think for a moment. "I guess it was when we were in South Sudan about a year ago. Do you know about the fuss Sudan had with South Sudan?" Sam shook his head. "South Sudan accused Sudan of supplying weapons to rebels, who were fighting South Sudanese forces. All of that was supposedly connected to South Sudan's efforts to build an oil pipeline through Ethiopia. They wanted to bypass their current exportation of oil through pipelines in Sudan. Two months after we left, they managed to reach an agreement, but while we were there, rebels in both Sudan and South Sudan were creating havoc in both places."
"What did you do?" Sam asked.
"While we were in the field, we were surrounded by South Sudanese rebels. Scared the crap out of our medical personnel—they're generally not allowed any weapons in sensitive areas and we'd just walked into a volatile situation. The official language in South Sudan is English, but there are tons of local languages, with plenty of borrowed words inserted into the official language, along with just local stuff being spoken. The rebel leader was Dinka, and knew most of the five associated languages connected to the Dinka people. He thought he'd throw a curve at us, telling us in English that they didn't want to harm us, but he spoke with the gun-toters at his back in his native tongue, telling them he planned to sell us back to the U.S. in exchange for better weapons and supplies." I shook my head as I silently recalled how scared I was at that moment. I'd employed compulsion when I called him out, but I wasn't going to tell Sam that.
"What happened?" Sam asked.
"I blasted him with his own language, telling him we were going to have his ribs for dinner if he didn't get the hell away from us. I guess I scared him enough—they climbed into their vehicles and left."
"That's awesome," Sam grinned. "Would you have had his ribs for dinner?"
"Not me, I'm vegetarian," I said. Kathleen Rome laughed.
* * *
"See, that wasn't so bad," Jayson grinned at me after the short interview was over.
"I'm just glad we stuck with Mercy Crossings," I mumbled.
"What?" Jayson turned back to me—he was leading me toward the massive formal dining area, where guests were gathering and ordering drinks from a bar set up for the occasion.
"Nothing. Just glad it's over," I said.
"Come on, you have to stay with me while I greet guests. Mom says so."
"Joy," I sighed.
"Bree, I don't like it, either," Jayson whispered, leaning down and pretending to nuzzle my neck. "Hank wants to kill me, I think."
"I'd help him," I muttered in reply.
"Shh, don't be upset." He rubbed my shoulders carefully. "Hank keeps trying to teach me that it's not always about me."
"That new SUV isn't about you?" I pulled back and gazed into brown eyes.
"Well, yeah, that's about me," he offered a lopsided grin. "Interview went great, by the way. Sam is definitely happy."
"Glad to be of service," I lowered my gaze.
"Hey," Jayson tilted my head up with a finger beneath my chin. "This is for Mom." He leaned in to kiss me. I wanted to jerk away. I whimpered into Jayson's mouth instead.
"Little girl, I'm not about to hurt you," Jayson broke the kiss and whispered against my ear. "Hank really would kill me."
* * *
"You didn't have to get me anything," Jayson said after the last guest left. His father, still on his business trip, hadn't made the party. I didn't want to read Kathleen Rome and discover how she felt about that. We sat around Jayson's massive kitchen island, sipping wine. I was wedged between Jayson and Hank, while Kathleen and Trina sat on the opposite side.
"I wasn't about to buy you a book—you'd never read it. You have work stuff to read," I pointed out.
"I thought this was a book," Jayson pulled the flat, wrapped package toward him and began to peel away the taped corners.
"Nope."
"I hope she got a fly swatter to smack you with," Trina said. Hank hid a grin. I wanted to dig an elbow into his ribs.
"What is this?" Jayson pulled the framed photograph from the protective sleeve after tearing wrapping paper away. I'd had to bend time twice to get the photograph and then get it signed before the driver's death.
A famous German driver posed with his Grand Prix racing car. He'd been dead for more than thirty years, and I'd had to be creative to get the photograph done by a reputable photographer of the era, bend time to get the photograph from his studio and then bend time again to get the driver to sign it. The provenance was included with the framed photograph—it was also signed on the back by the photographer and included a letter, which verified its authenticity.
"Holy shit," Jayson muttered. "It's the real thing. This is going in my office."
"I know how much you love cars," I shrugged.
"Jayson, I don't know that any of your girlfriends have ever gone to this much trouble for you," Kathleen pointed out. I wasn't about to jump in the middle of that. I really didn't want to know what his other girlfriends might do to please him. I didn't, couldn't and wouldn't ever compete with that.
"Breanne," Kathleen went on, "what plans do you have for Christmas?"
Oh, shit. I forgot that Christmas was only ten days away. I had absolutely no plans—that I knew of. "I don't know, yet. I usually don't plan anything, in case I get a call."
"I suppose that's smart, but surely they let you have a few days off. I know Jayson's bringing you this weekend, but you might consider having dinner with us. Jayson usually flies down the night before, spends the day with us and then flies back on the twenty-sixth."
"I take the week of my birt
hday off, instead of the week of Christmas. I get more things done that way, including my Christmas shopping," Jayson held up a hand to stave off what Trina was ready to unleash in his direction. I got the idea that his being home for most of that week forced Trina to work for him at the same time. Even without reading her, I knew she didn't appreciate it.
"I have a question," I said, breaking the uneasy silence between employer and employee.
"What's that?" Jayson turned to me.
"Who does your yard work? I think my yard needs stuff done."
"I'll get the number," Trina rose stiffly from her seat and stalked away. Jayson released a held breath.
"I think you'd better give Trina a couple of days off around Christmas," I whispered.
"All right, but I'm messy," Jayson rumbled.
"She'll clean it up when she gets back," I said. "And if I'm home and forced to do so, I'll bring you food so you won't starve." I'll admit, the smile I pointed at Jayson was completely fake. I wasn't lying, though. I would bring him food, if he wasn't smart enough to forage for himself. I wanted to add that he could probably get Belinda to buy, cook and clean for him, but I didn't.
"Here ya go," Trina handed a folded paper to me.
"Thanks." My smile was genuine, this time. Trina probably knew just as well as I did that Jayson was using me to make his mother happy. I promised myself a clean breakup with my pseudo-boyfriend right after Christmas. Stringing Kathleen along was a huge lie and I didn't want to be part of that.
Hank, too, had been curiously silent most of the evening, all while Jayson's invited guests gushed over his finally getting a steady girlfriend. I wanted to throw up.
"I'm ready to go home," I announced, standing up. If I drank any more wine, I'd either smack Jayson or fall asleep. Maybe both. "Happy birthday, Jayson." I walked toward the foyer, where my jacket and purse had ended up. If Hank didn't want to take me home, I had my own way of getting around. I was drunk enough to do it in front of everybody, too. I'd been too queasy to eat much during the meal, and the wine had gone straight to my head.
Blood Trouble Page 18