The elevator door opens. Chloe and James step out. Chloe looks left and right to find the stairwell that leads to the rooftop. She crosses the hall to another door, labeled Stairs with a green picture of stairs and a stick-person walking up them beneath it. Chloe throws open the door and quickly ascends. James follows her up.
Surrounded by concrete and ventilation shafts, Chloe walks towards the ledge of the building. James flanks her reluctantly.
“What are we doing up here?” he calls to her in the stillness.
Chloe marches towards the edge. “Showing you that I’m not crazy.”
James looks uncertain. He glances around, his heart fluttering in his throat, hardly keen on the situation. “Or confirming it,” he says, noting the direction she is headed. Chloe wonders if James thinks she is going to push him off or something silly like that.
Chloe stands on the ledge, balancing on the stout wall with her arms outstretched. James’ eyes fly open wide. He hurries to her, but keeps a cautious distance between them, as though he is afraid his mere presence will push her overboard.
She knows he is trying to hide his growing anxiety when he says gently, “I think we should go back down now.”
Chloe stares out over the city. There is no turning back at this point. “Do you have trouble sleeping at night, James?”
James seems relieved that she is talking to him again, as though that is somehow an indication that she is only joking around and does not mean to go through with this. “I don’t think so,” he says, calling boyish charm into his voice. Once again, trying to bring humor to the situation, “My problem is usually waking up.” He laughs hollowly, mirthlessly.
Chloe’s face remains a grim mask. “Do you remember going to sleep?”
After a pause, “Can you please come away from that ledge?”
Chloe closes her eyes tightly. This is going to shock him. This is going to horrify and terrify him, especially if he meant what he said on the beach about loving her. This will hurt him. Her heart aches. This is harder than she thought.
Willing her voice not to crack, “Tonight, try to remember.” In the same moment, she reminds herself that she has committed suicide twice in the last three days and is going to rouse in her bed tomorrow, unharmed. “I’ll see you when I wake up,” she promises.
With that, Chloe jumps to her death, throwing herself off the building, pitched headlong into the open air. She plunges downward, spiraling wildly, with the roar of the wind in her ears. And then there is nothing.
As she predicts, James is horrified. He stands for a moment, rooted to the concrete, breath eluding him as all color drains from his face. He slowly approaches the edge, ambling towards what he dreads most. He cannot lose her. Why would she…? Why would she do this?!
He looks down to see a crowd begin to gather down below around a body on the sidewalk.
•
Kathleen is cooking up a storm in the Jones’ kitchen. Preparing meals is one of her favorite pass times, even if they are only for two people. She loves cooking. More specifically she loves the look on guest’s faces when they taste it. She loves the abundance of the lord’s blessings in their life.
James sits by the counter, lost in thought with his elbows on the ledge and his fists bracing his cheeks up. He sighs quietly, in that lovelorn way she has grown accustomed to. Every time she sees that look on her son’s face, she wants to strangle that girl.
Kathleen notices the way his eyes droop and tries to ignore him, but it’s not working.
Kathleen knows all about the ring and how, when the moment was right, Chloe denied him without even knowing it. He didn’t even get a chance to propose. She knew by the way James looked when he finally came home that night.
The boy hasn’t been eating well, throwing himself into his architecture studies behind an “I’m fine” and a locked door.
That stupid girl… Any mother would be angry.
“Have you told her how you feel? Really told her?” she asks carefully.
James replies with a subtle nod. She can tell he would rather not talk about it when he says, “I was kind of suave about it too. Didn’t make much difference.”
Kathleen wishes she knew what to say. Her eloquence as a pastor does not always extend to eloquence in the home. Her better instincts tell her to advise him to move on and find a sensible young lady with a good head on her shoulders and both feet on the ground. But love is not so easily bartered. She should know.
Kathleen cracks another egg into the mixing bowl before she starts whisking. “Have faith,” she encourages. “It will work out.”
James folds his arms, pushing up his elbows over the counter to nestle his chin inside them. “Not so sure anything will ever change between me and her,” he whispers hollowly. “She’s on a downward spiral, about to crash.” He is right about that one. “Always carrying on about strange things… I can’t seem to do anything to stop it.”
“There is power in prayer. She got saved,” his mother reminds him. “That’s a start.”
“I pray for her all the time, as you so candidly pointed out last time she was over… It doesn’t seem to be working.” Kathleen feels bad about the secrets she let slip when Chloe finally came to dinner with them. She has asked James for forgiveness, and of course her beloved son gave it to her, but she still carries the guilt like an old stain.
James sits up and scrubs his face with his hands, his shoulders carrying a burden that only seems to grow. In spite of it all, “She’s such a great writer, mom. You should read her screenplay. Passion on the Cross. It brought me to tears. If it ever makes it to the screen, I’m pretty sure we’ll experience a worldwide reaction.” He frowns with determination. “I think a lot of people would come to Christ if they could see it.”
Kathleen takes a rolling pin to the blob of raw dough, flattening it deftly in preparation for the cheese and spinach loaf. “Maybe you need to make sure it gets to the screen.”
Just like that, the candle of hope seems to go out of his eyes. It is as though he can see what might become of Chloe if her work and talents are never realized by anyone but himself. Obviously, his opinion only holds so much weight, only so much merit, with Chloe. “95% of new screenwriters never make it,” he whispers.
Kathleen gathers herself to full height, bringing a fist against one hip while her other hand shakes the rolling pin at her son. “With God all things are possible,” she reminds sternly. Kathleen assumes a doting smile as her pride and joy. James manages a shallow smile back. Kathleen walks over and gives James a taste of her cake mixture.
He smiles. He likes it.
•
Chloe opens her eyes. Morning again. Nothing has changed, just as she knew it would not. The scene is still fresh in her mind, as is the rush of adrenaline in her veins. She imagines that is what sky diving feels like, minus the splat at the end. She gets out of bed and checks her phone to find one text from James.
“Dinner. Usual Spot. 7PM.”
Will he remember?
She wishes the text told her more. The unfeeling letters give no glimpse at his emotions. Chloe tosses her phone onto her bed with a light thud. She stretches. She should probably go to work today, assuming Sandra has not already fired her. Chloe grabs some clothes and heads into the bathroom to shower up and get ready.
Chapter 14
That evening, well past seven, James waits in their usual restaurant at their usual table on his usual side.
He is surprised he has not dented the table with how many times his fingers have drummed over the surface. There are two empty baskets of breadsticks and one salad bowl in front of him… and he lost count of how many times the waitress refilled his water glass and how many times another offered him complementary wine. Maybe he should have accepted the wine. Heck, he would be a bottle in by now.
He also chose to ignore the sympathetic sheen in their eyes.
The entire wait-staff knows them here by now and they are more than accustomed to seeing Chlo
e come in late. It’s embarrassing, but he has to accept it. He checks his watch for the umpteenth time. James has it in his mind to leave, telling himself every five minutes that he will wait just five more minutes.
Why does he feel like he has lost his dignity tonight?
He looks up to see Chloe hurrying through the restaurant, between tables and curious customers.
He smiles. What else can he do?
“Not bad,” he says. “Just an hour and a half late.”
“Work,” she replies. “Witch is on ma’ case. Says I’ve gotten tardy, so she made me stay late. You think she even knows what that word means?”
James assumes a wry frown, but he does find the comment funny. “You’re gonna get yourself fired if you don’t stop chasing ghosts.”
Chloe picks up the menu and scans through it. James does not see her glance at him from over the top of it. She licks her lips. “You uh… You remember anything from yesterday?”
James looks up from the menu he has memorized on multiple occasions. Maybe he could get a position as a server here. In fact, he is sure he could. His mind drifts back to yesterday, mulling it over. “Anything in particular?”
Chloe shrugs. “Just wanted to know if anything about yesterday…” She narrows her eyes, as if she is trying to be facetious, “stands out in your mind.”
“The park was nice,” he acknowledges. “And standing in front of that random building with you was very-“ he tries to think of a word that might appease her, “romantic.”
Actually it was anything but romantic.
Chloe kept staring up at the damned building, paying him no mind whatsoever. She closed her eyes, unresponsive to anything he had to say, and muttered to herself until she fainted. He caught her, but of course she was not conscious to see it. Nor was she conscious enough to see that he brought her home, safe and sound, and laid her in bed. He made no mention of it from her mother.
Nothing serious. He knew it was just from the heat and the fact that she locked her knees—nothing serious.
Chloe’s face lights up. She drops her menu on the table top. James jumps slightly, surprised. “What happened after that?” she asks eagerly.
James does not like where this is going. He has no interest in hearing about what happened in her fantasy land when she was closing her eyes. He eyes her incredulously. “Are you about to get all weird on me again?”
Chloe blinks, the light dashed from her face. “What do you mean?”
“Seriously, Chloe. I’ve been sitting here way too long, refusing way too much wine to muddle through all that weirdness.” A waiter comes and pour sparkling white wine into their glasses. He smiles and moves on to another table.
Chloe stares at the glass of wine with a dazed expression. James has a serious case of déjà vu, especially from the look on her face. She remembers.
“What is it?” James wonders aloud, disturbed by the lack of color in her face.
“This is white wine,” she whispers.
James blinks, his brows knitting together. He begins to slowly nod. “Ravenswood,” he adds. “Great brand.”
Chloe’s jaw works, but she cannot immediately formulate words. She shakes her head again, more adamantly this time. “The waiter poured red wine.”
James’ eyes narrow. “I was here when he poured the white wine. Complimentary wine is always white.”
James sighs, taking his napkin off of his lap and putting it on the table. “I don’t know if I can do this anymore, Chloe.”
“Do what?” she says, suddenly yanked form her revelry.
The fact that she has to ask tells him enough. Then again, there is duality in James’ statement. The fact that he is fed up as everything to do with, “Us,” but Chloe’s strange behavior is at fault as well.
Chloe frowns. “We’re just friends.”
“Exactly,” James replies, more sharply than he wanted to.
“What are we talking about right now?” Because clearly, this is not the subject she prefers.
James is stung by the memory of his confession on the beach and the silence that followed.
“I’ve been lying to you about something,” he blurts. He licks his lips and takes a deep breath. “I’m not just in love with your writing.” They meet eyes. James’ heart is hammering. It flutters wildly, but not in the same terrified way it did as a boy. “I’m also in love with the writer.”
James shakes his head and fixes Chloe in a deliberate stare, brimming with conviction. “Is there a point in our lives that I’ve never been there for you?”
“Not that I recall,” she says cautiously, picking up her menu again, probably hoping it will prompt a change in the topic of conversation. James will not have it. This needs to be resolved. He just spend an hour and a half waiting for her in the midst of a restaurant where people regard him so piteously that he wants to lash out at the next one to talk to him. It makes him feel stupid and led on and worthless.
He’s a man. He’s not someone’s puppy. He’s not going to wait around for Chloe forever, until she comes home and he can pounce on her.
“So why are we still just friends?” he wants to know. “After all this time, why aren’t we more than that?”
Chloe lowers her voice to a whisper. “You want to do this now? Here?”
“Yes,” James says, his voice continuing to climb in volume.
Chloe’s eyes grow, willing him to be quieter. She still uses that annoying harsh whisper voice. “Because I don’t love you—like that.”
James can feel his anger growing, which feels much better than the pain that would plague him were it not present. “You sure about that?” he challenges.
Chloe pauses, as if he should be anticipating what she will say next. When he realizes that is exactly what he is doing, he kicks himself inside. “I would know,” she states callously. “I think that’s how it works.” That was precisely what he did not want to hear.
James’ brows knit together, refusing to believe her. “Maybe you are incapable of feeling love,” he rebuts.
“That would make me a psycho,” she says carefully. Her eyes fly open, as though she is profoundly insulted. “You think I’m mental! I’m not a psycho!”
Now he’s in a hole and it’s only getting deeper. It comes out before he has a chance to stop himself. He was pushing his luck yesterday when he told her she was acting crazy. He did not call her crazy, but acting like it is not too far away.
“I think something is wrong and we can’t rule out any possibility!”
Now he knows he has crossed a line from which there is no return. He cannot take it back.
Chloe has obviously lost her appetite. She throws down the menu on the table with more force, rattling the wine and water glasses. “I used to feel safe around you!” she says, tears spilling down her flushed, furious cheeks.
The sight shakes James to his core. He wants to reach out and hold her, but at this point it would only mean disaster for the both of them. He has no idea how to deal with her anymore. He cannot let her walk on him. He has to stand firm.
Chloe chokes. “I used to feel normal when we were together, doing whatever. No matter what happened between us, you were always the one I could count on! But you are just like everything else in ma’ life! I can’t give you what you want, or what you need, so obviously I’m the one with the problem!”
James, blindsided and aching, does nothing to stop her as she leaves.
•
The beach’s beauty is lost on Chloe’s grief. She does not know why she chose this place to run to, given that this is where James first professed his love. She does not care about the waves breaking on the shore, or how beautiful the glittering sharps of shells look as they catch the last of the daylight. She focuses on the lonely calls of the gulls and weeps.
So true that one never knows what one has until it is lost. James was her only friend, her only confidant in an otherwise ugly, unkind world… and she managed to push him away too. She has never felt suc
h isolation. Chloe watches the sun go down alone. She cries into her knees.
•
James sits alone in his room with a bible open in his lap. The sun has set. He can see the lights of the city through his window, given that their house is situated on a slope. He tries to read an old familiar psalm, seeking comfort. He slams the bible shut. He stares out over the city instead.
That same night, Chloe sits before her laptop in her bedroom. A sense of profound peace has come over her. She has cried out all her tears. She is finished fretting over what James thinks. The screen is blank, cursor blinking, waiting for her fingers to start working their magic. She starts typing.
•
It is the end of another very long day at the precinct. The last of the police personnel are filing out of the building. Some of them are headed to some big hit at the theater. They invited her to go, but she is just too exhausted.
After shutting her computer down, Meryl takes a deep breath and stretches her arms above her head, cracking her spine. She brings her hands down and massages her greying temples. Her desk is a mess. It is a wonder she can even find anything anymore.
Tomorrow is her day off. She supposes it would not hurt to spend an extra thirty minutes tidying up so she does not have to start Monday in a sea of clutter. She starts organizing stacks of paper and sticky notes. She alphabetizes the files in her cabinet, adding those strewn over her desk to the compartment. She throws away unnecessary documents and report drafts.
When she reaches the bottom of the clutter pile, she finds a sticky note attached to an article involving a car accident. Meryl’s brows knit together. She stares at the name on the note for a long moment.
She reboots her computer.
Instead of a measly thirty minutes, Meryl spends an extra two hours at the station. She is the last to leave. Even the janitorial staff is done before her. She takes notes throughout her digging, piecing together information like parts of a puzzle. This case is uncharacteristically ill explored and she will have a thing or two to say to the team who compiled the data and wrote the report come Monday.
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