by Don Prichard
Jake!
Her chest expanded in a gasp, and her eyes zipped to his at the same moment he looked at her. His eyes flew wide open, and his lips tightened into a quick inhale. He faltered a step, recovered both pace and smile, and turned away his gaze.
Her breath tore out of her with claws. She felt a hand on her arm steadying her, saw it was the warden’s. Was that a grin quirking one side of Mendoza’s mouth? She stifled a glare and turned her attention to Jake and Dana, now standing at the nuptial arch.
She stared at Jake’s back, vaguely aware of the wedding ceremony. Emotions, raw, undefined, shifted and pooled and contracted like the colors of a kaleidoscope. When Jake’s voice rose strong and clear, affirming he gave his daughter with every blessing into Bentley’s care, she barely averted her eyes before he turned and took his seat in the row in front of her.
The chair creaked under his weight, moved slightly back as he adjusted his posture. For a crazy moment she wished it were she who sat behind him instead of Mendoza so that she could lean forward and inhale the smell of him. It would be clean, slightly musky with the sweat of the morning sun on his skin. A thin line of perspiration would gleam on his hair where the rim of his cap rested on his head.
Good grief, woman! She pulled her eyes off him and focused on Bentley and Dana, holding hands side-by-side as they faced the man preaching a sermon on God’s good purpose in marriage. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the glint of sunlight on Jake’s shoulder. She peeked at it without moving her head. It was a silver eagle with outspread wings, pinned on a shoulder board the same color and material as his jacket, only trimmed in red. The insignia of his rank—Colonel?
His hair must have been cut at the same time as his beard. The color was a dark chestnut, almost brown. A sprinkling of gray touched the hair at his temples. She had a quarter-view of his face. High cheekbones, no scar on his skin. Crystal said he had a scar, so it must be on his right cheek. Deep wrinkles creased the skin at the corner of his eye. She couldn’t tell the color of his iris. His eyelashes were short and straight.
Could he see—out of the corner of his eye—that she was examining him? She sat back against her chair and again focused on the bride and groom. The two were now facing each other, holding both hands, saying their vows. Bentley’s forehead was beaded with sweat, and Dana’s elaborate hairdo was beginning to sag. Eve touched her own “do.” It’d be just her luck to have hair and makeup drizzling onto her neck when the ceremony ended and she had to face Jake.
Seconds later, the preacher pronounced Bentley and Dana husband and wife, and they brushed lips in a chaste kiss. Eve snickered. Dana was a practical gal and was no doubt looking out that her makeup didn’t smear because of the heat. The bride was wearing more cosmetics than Eve, and Eve was glad she’d held back the hairdressers from applying more to her own face.
The wedding party and guests clapped at the introduction of the new Mr. and Mrs. Bentley Hampton. The couple, instead of marching back down the aisle, turned and walked to the back of the arch, through the now-open prison gate, and into the foyer of the central pod. Crystal and Brett, arm-in-arm, paraded after them, then Bentley’s parents, followed by the preacher and Jake, and finally Eve arm-in-arm once again with Warden Mendoza. The clang of the front gate shutting reverberated down the hall, with the thud of boots on tile testifying to the accompaniment of the six National Policemen behind them.
Flowers festooned the hallway leading to the main dining room, where two of the tables bolted to the floor were lavishly decorated. In spite of the fact that Eve and Warden Mendoza were the only guests, a reception line had been set up. The bride and groom greeted them first, then the bridesmaid and best man with wide grins, followed by Bentley’s parents and the preacher, and, last of all, Jake.
Even the warden smiled at the jollity of the lineup of merry-makers. Congratulations, compliments, and jokes were shared back and forth until, with a gulp, Eve reached the end of the line … and Jake. Her smile felt plastered, her handshake cold and clammy. Her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth, while her voice crumpled into her larynx. How could she even look him in the eye when she was the reason he was here. A prisoner.
“Judge Eriksson.” Jake held her hand with both of his. His fingers were strong, clasping hers with tenderness, warm like a toaster. He didn’t smile. His eyes, she saw, were blue. They swallowed hers, hungry like a starved man. His lips parted, and her heart jumped. “Eve,” he said, “may I call you that?”
Air shivered through her nostrils to her lungs, but her voice remained locked. She nodded. When he loosed her hand and tucked it into his arm, she let him lead her to one of the tables. Everyone else was already seated. She scooted into place on the bolted bench where Warden Mendoza sat. Every cell in her body tingled when Jake slid in next to her.
***
Jake's heart hadn’t stopped pounding since he caught sight of Eve seated in front of the nuptial arch. Had the same lightning that struck him struck her also? Her eyes had said so. For a fragment of a second, everything in him had shattered into splinters. His breath had disintegrated, his feet stumbled. If Dana hadn’t been on his arm, he’d have bolted down the aisle and swept Eve into an embrace that surely would have spiraled them to heaven’s door.
Every second of sitting on the seat in front of her during the ceremony had been a tug-of-war between torture and ecstasy. He was sure Dana and Bentley got married, but he didn’t hear a word of it. Instead, his ears caught every rustle of Eve’s dress, every creak of her chair, every whisper of breath in and out of her lungs. Was she as conscious of him as he was of her?
Or was he the big, bad prisoner who had dragged her and Crystal to Manila? Declining the prison tour with his children and Crystal yesterday had as good as declared her lack of interest in him.
Still, the heart was resilient. Today he had tromped the steps to heaven in anticipation of seeing her. In the reception line, he’d watched her every movement, the shifts in her facial expressions, the grace of her body as she advanced toward him. Had hung onto the laughter exchanged with his kids. Had relished her quivering hand and speechlessness when she finally stood in front of him.
A meek Eve had been a rarity on the island. He held back a delighted guffaw.
And now he sat next to her. Oh how he wanted to slide that one little inch closer so their shoulders touched! Her gaze was clearly averted from his, so he took up his fork to capture her attention. “This salad is from our fields. The men grow its components and sell it to the prison. Helps us eat healthier and puts money in the men’s pockets.”
She turned her head so that he had a three-quarter view of her face. Her cheeks were pink, her lips lightly lacquered with lipstick. He wanted to reach over and caress her skin with the back of his fingers. Kiss the curve of her neck. Move his lips on around to her throat and up to her mouth.
“What do they do with the money?” she asked.
He watched her bring a scant fork of salad to her mouth. Watched her lips close on the lettuce. He blinked and cleared his throat. “Some send it to family. Some buy clothes, books, candy, soda.”
Her eyes settled on his right cheek. It took a moment to realize their focus was his scar. Lee had told him she’d mistaken Jojo for Jake. No wonder she’d wanted nothing to do with him.
“How’s Crystal getting along?” His question eased their conversation into a comfortable exchange that even evoked laughter twice. At the next table, Crystal beamed at their mirth. It was still hard to believe the beautiful, confident fifteen-year-old seated next to his son was the same scrawny scaredy-cat he’d taken under his wing four years ago on the island.
The delivery of the main meal interrupted them, and the warden took advantage of it to engage Eve. Before Jake could regain her attention, the prison choir put in a second appearance to sing a medley of wedding songs. Puno conducted them with energetic gestures, white hair floating like an animated cloud about his head. Tenderness stirred a lump in Jake’s throat at his
friend’s gift of love. It had been a major undertaking for Puno to find men willing and able to sing parts, teach many of them how to speak the words in English, and then come together in such striking harmony.
After much applause, the choir exited, and a prisoner entered the dining area from the kitchen, pushing a wheeled metal cart draped in white. Atop it sat a cake glistening in white icing, a miniature bride and groom on top, and delicate fresh flowers pressed into each of the three layers. A stack of dessert plates lay next to it.
The man halted the cart within a few steps of the wedding party’s table, smiled in acknowledgement of the exclamations of praise for the cake, and left.
Jake frowned, brain and body on sudden alert. Wasn’t that a member of group one, Emilio’s men? Only men from Jake’s group were allowed to help with the wedding.
Dana and Bentley slipped with some awkwardness off their bolted bench to approach the cart. Bentley carried a dull table knife for slicing the cake since a sharp knife wasn’t permissible in the prison.
“Stop!” Jake slid off his bench. “Let me check that cake out.”
Everyone laughed, evidently thinking he was teasing the bride and groom.
Bentley grabbed Dana’s arm and backed away.
The cake looked fine. It just—
A man burst from the kitchen and hurled himself at full speed against Jake.
Mallet!
Jake fell backward. Scrambled to his feet.
Mallet grabbed the cart. Sped in the opposite direction. Two steps, and a flash from the cart lit up the room. A loud boom followed.
Chapter 68
Eve screamed as the explosion spit gray plumes into the middle of the dining room. The man with the cart stiffened, then collapsed to the floor. Three of the National Police ran toward him while the other three herded the wedding party to the hallway. “You must leave,” Mendoza roared at the wedding party. He led the way to the front gate at a spanking march.
“Eve,” Jake shouted. “Please! Come see me tomorrow. Detective Lee will bring you.”
Eve looked over her shoulder at him. The tabletops were in disarray. Ashes fluttered to the floor like paper feathers. The odor of acrid smoke crawled into her nasal passages. Across the room, men in uniform barked orders at the man on the floor and hauled him to his feet.
She didn’t know why, but she nodded.
***
Jake rose early, paced his cell until the electronic lock opened the cell doors, and hastened to the infirmary. Mallet lay on a bed in a locked cell. His whole head was in bandages with openings for his eyes, nose, mouth and ears. More bandages wrapped his chest and no doubt continued under the thin, white blanket to swathe his stomach and groin. An IV connected his right arm to a bag of dripping fluid on a pole. A plastic oxygen mask cupped his mouth and nose. Bruises and cuts, many of them stitched, dotted his arms, probably his legs under the blanket too. Behind him, a monitor blipped the pattern of his heartbeat.
There’d be no information wrung from his throat today.
Jake raced to Emilio’s pod, every hair on his body bristling. The room was full of men. Few of them worked in the prison trades, Puno said, because most of what they earned ended up in Emilio’s pocket. In the area between the cells and the wire cage protecting the guard on duty, men collected in small groups or sat at bolted tables and benches. Emilio stepped away from a man to confront Jake.
Jake grabbed him by the front of his shirt. “You planted that bomb!”
Several men encircled them, forming a barricade to the guard’s sight. Emilio snickered. “I heard there were unexpected fireworks at your little tea party.”
“You almost killed my daughter!” Jake let the spittle at the corners of his mouth sit. He pushed his face closer to Emilio’s. “The only reason I let you live is so I can attend your trial and execution. But if you ever try to touch my family again, I’ll wrench off your other three limbs and let you stew in your putrid impotence. In fact,”—he released the shirt and secured Emilio’s uninjured arm—“I should start right now. What d’ya think, an arm or a leg?”
Two men grappled with Jake and pulled him off Emilio. Emilio jacked back his good arm and rammed a flying fist into Jake’s cheek. Spittle and blood flew from Jake’s mouth. “I think your head will do as a good substitute, Chalmers.” Emilio’s men laughed, and his group crowded closer.
A gunshot jerked everyone’s face toward the prison guard. Above their heads, the bullet pinged off a wall and splattered into the concrete of another wall. “Next shot at your bellies,” the guard yelled. “Back off!” He pointed the gun at Jake. “You, go! Don’t come back!”
Jake spat on the floor and left. He didn’t dare risk defiance. If he got thrown into solitaire, he’d miss his appointment with Eve.
***
Jake cleaned up, and in midafternoon, joined Eve in a visitor’s room in the central administrative pod. Detective Lee provided them some privacy by replacing the prison guard who oversaw the room. He winked at Jake and stepped into the hallway.
Eve wore green cotton slacks, a sleeveless white blouse with an oriental collar, and flat leather sandals. The extravagant hairdo of yesterday was replaced with hair loose on her shoulders. Flashy jade earrings peeked from her curtain of hair, and an equally flashy jade necklace and bracelet belied any impression she might be a woman of simple tastes.
Gone, of course, was Jake’s impressive wedding attire. He wore khaki shorts and a plain navy tee, sandals on his feet and a day’s growth of beard on his face. After the wedding and its attendant fiasco, he had changed clothes and sent the uniform back to Brett’s safekeeping via Detective Lee.
“Thank you for coming.” He wished he could take Eve’s hand into his, but a table separated their chairs, and her hands were in her lap. Tightness framed her shoulders, and her face was sober. She doesn’t want to be here. His throat constricted, and he cleared it with a cough. His thoughts tumbled uselessly from his brain.
They sat in silence. Finally he said, “It meant a lot to me to see Crystal. To see you.”
Eve cast her eyes down.
This was going nowhere. What did he have to lose? May as well straight-out ask her the question burning in his soul. “Do you remember me now that we’ve met again?”
She peered up at him, opened her mouth in a small inhale. “Yes, and no.”
His heart jumped. He raised his eyebrows, waited for her to explain.
“An image …”—she shrugged her shoulders—“a fantasy … came to mind one day. A bearded man with auburn hair to his shoulders and a sword sheathed across his back. In times of pressure, I thought of him. He became my warrior, my protector, who helped me out.” A blush pinked her face. “Two months ago, I was surprised to find a photograph of him in Crystal’s bedroom. She said it was a picture of you, from when you returned home from the Philippines.”
Jake’s heart went into orbit.
She drew in another breath, this time a big one, and released it in a soft huff. “So you see, you were in my memory, but I didn’t know it. I had no idea what you looked like. All I knew of Jake Chalmers was that he was a prisoner, in jail for a murder he confessed to.”
Jake crash-landed.
“When I first got out of the hospital in Chicago, I had a nightmare. I was hiding, and a horrid man, a brute with scars all over his face, found me—”
“Jojo.”
She looked at him with wide eyes. “You knew him?”
“I fought him on the island so you could get away.”
“But … I was on the yacht with him.”
“You went with him so he wouldn’t kill me. I begged you not to.” Jake’s muscles knotted. If she had listened to him, none of this—the yacht, her memory loss, his imprisonment—none of it would have happened. It was hard to swallow back the words and not shake her by the shoulders with them.
“I … I thought the man in my nightmare was you. Someone in the DA’s office told me a man with a scarred face kept me captive on an is
land. Then I met Crystal, and she said you had scars on your face.” The corners of her mouth drooped. “I didn’t know you weren’t that man—Jojo—until I met with Detective Lee three days ago and he showed me pictures.”
“So there’s hope?” Jake’s head spun with the prospect of leaving this wretched place. Of winning back Eve’s love. Of making Crystal his daughter and Eve his wife. He blinked at the sharp pain that Betty couldn’t be included. The island family would limp a bit because of her absence.
“Hope for what, Jake?”
“That I can get out of here.”
She shook her head. Tiny little movements side-to-side. Over and over, as if she couldn’t stop. As if there were no hope.
His breath stilled.
Tears flooded Eve’s eyes. “Don’t you see? I don’t remember you … what happened on the island … none of it.” Her tears escaped and splashed onto her cheeks. “I can’t testify to what I don’t remember. I can’t free you, Jake. I’m sorry.” She didn’t try to stop more tears. Didn’t hide the quaking of her chest or the muted sobs that tripped from her throat.
“I love you, Eve. Do you remember that?”
She inhaled sharply. “I believe you. But, no, I don’t remember.”
His throat tightened. Did she remember loving him? Any part of it at all?
He couldn’t ask. A denial would be the equivalent of a firing squad. But he did dare to express it for her. “You loved me, Eve. I want you to know that.”
She gazed at him with sad eyes. Wiped her tears with the back of her hand. Stood. The legs of her chair scraped in protest against the concrete floor as she pushed back the chair. “I’m sorry, Jake. My memory is empty. And my heart.” Her voice faltered. “All of it … it’s been forgotten.”
The crack of rifle fire stung his heart as she walked out the door.
Chapter 69
The next morning, the strutted jangle of the hotel telephone awoke Eve. She stumbled across the room in hopes of catching it before it woke Crystal too. Once that girl opened her eyes, any hope of snuggling back down for more zzzz’s was lost. Especially when the day held their last visit with Jake before flying home.