by Roth, Ann
Jesse knew differently. He’d seen his mom after she locked up at the Rutherfords’. Glowing like she’d swallowed the porch light, with her eyes all soft and dreamy.
He knew what that meant. She had feelings for Mac, maybe even loved him. The warm way Mac looked at her meant that he cared, too. And the…
His thoughts dissolved as a muffled sound he hadn’t heard since kindergarten floated from his mom’s bedroom. Sobs, probably cried into her pillow so he wouldn’t hear.
The same, secret way she’d cried after his father had left. Jesse’s heart seized up, and for a few seconds he couldn’t breathe. His mother’s pain hurt that much. And it was all his fault. Just like before.
“You don’t want a woman with a son,” she’d said to Mac.
By the look on Mac’s face Jesse saw that she’d spoken the truth. That Mac liked his mom, but didn’t want Jesse. That was the real reason he was still leaving town.
Wishing he had the teddy bear he’d thrown away years ago, Jesse curled into a tight ball and squeezed his eyes shut. He’d tried so hard to be good, but it was never enough. He was…What was that word he’d learned in school last week? Defective.
No wonder Mac didn’t care about him.
Knowing he’d ruined his mom’s chance of happiness was almost unbearable. Pain cut like a knife slash. And Tyrell had explained how much that hurt.
Lying miserable and alone, Jesse pictured tall, skinny Tyrell, whom he hadn’t missed or thought of in weeks. Tyrell didn’t care that Jesse was defective. He still liked him. Had invited him into the Street Kings. To cheer himself up Jesse made the secret sign Tyrell had shown him when he’d pressed Jesse to join the gang, a hand gesture only other members knew. In a strange sort of way, circling his fingers together helped and he felt better now. He also came to a decision.
His mom had suffered enough. She deserved her chance at happiness.
“This time, you’ll get it,” he quietly stated. He’d make sure of that.
He didn’t want to leave the island because he liked living here. But if he went, Mac would stay. Jesse knew it. He’d pack a few things, whatever fit under the books in his backpack. Go to school to avoid a call from the principal, but instead of taking the bus to the library, he’d cut out at the end of the day. Walk to Halo Island Bank and empty the savings account his mom had opened for him. He’d been saving for an Xbox for a while now, and had put away almost a hundred dollars. From there it wasn’t far to the ferry terminal and a boat to Anacortes. He’d call Tyrell to let him know he was coming. Then he’d hitchhike to Oakland.
He’d never hitchhiked before, but Tyrell had. It wasn’t hard. You just had to smile and stick out your thumb. He’d never taken money out of his savings, either. A hundred bucks seemed like a lot, but how many times had his mom complained that stretching a dollar wasn’t easy? Jesse worried he wouldn’t have enough. He knew where she kept her rainy-day money—in an empty frozen-vegetable box in the freezer. The thought of taking it made him feel sick, but he had no choice.
Tears rolled down his cheeks. Just like his mom, he covered his face with a pillow and cried.
TUESDAY MORNING Emmy left for work without waiting for Mac. She simply scribbled a note, stuck it under the mat with the corner showing and unlocked the door. She didn’t know yet what she’d do tonight. Maybe she’d lock up after he left.
She had her pride, she told herself as she turned from Beach Cove Way onto Treeline Road, and had learned her lesson. The man didn’t want to spend even a fraction of his last weeks with her. Fine. She’d survived the breakup of her marriage, and she would survive this.
Ahead of her, a car pulled out of a small road not unlike Beach Cove Way. To avoid hitting it, Emmy braked. The tires squealed. Unless she wanted to get involved in an accident, she’d better pay attention to her driving. Yet even as she scolded herself to keep her mind on the road, her thoughts moved to Jesse and her own sorry neglect of him. Thanks to a selfish preoccupation with Mac, she’d all but ignored Jesse’s needs, putting him second. Well, she was paying for that now.
Since overhearing part of her conversation with Mac, her son had morphed back into his argumentative, defensive self. Which scared Emmy. She replayed breakfast this morning. Aware that her eyes were red from crying and not wanting Jess to know, she’d used eye-drops and applied concealer to the dark circles underneath before her son’s alarm went off.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” she said when he entered the kitchen, trying her best to pretend that nothing was different.
But she knew right away that over the past thirteen hours, everything had changed. If Jesse’s grunted reply and closed, hostile expression hadn’t alerted her, his too-baggy jeans and Street Kings T-shirt did. It had been so long since he’d worn those clothes she was sure he’d put them away forever.
Scared, she’d tried again. “What can I fix you for breakfast?”
“Nothin’.”
The old tension between them felt as heavy and uncomfortable as it used to be. Or was that her imagination? Battling despair, she tried again, smiling. “Are you sure? There’s time to fix pancakes or—”
“I don’t want you to make me anything! I can take care of myself.”
He found a bowl and a box of cereal and banged the cabinets shut, anger radiating from his jerky motions. Anger no amount of coaxing or willingness to talk had appeased. Emmy had even brought up yesterday afternoon, though Lord knew, last night she’d talked the subject to death.
“If you’re upset about Mac, don’t be. I—”
“I’m not, so get off my case!”
Shocked by the rage in his voice, she shut her mouth, and for the rest of breakfast, remained silent. When Jesse left, she barely rated a goodbye, let alone a kiss. At least he’d remembered to grab his jacket without a reminder. That was something, she supposed. She knew she’d have to work extra hard to bring back her son’s smile. If she could just figure out how.
Raising a boy alone seemed a never-ending challenge. With a sigh she signaled, then pulled into the library parking lot. She was early, but not as early as Sally, whose car was already in its usual slot. While Emmy drove into the adjacent space she wished she could relive the evening. She imagined walking with Jesse into the cottage and not talking with Mac until her son had stepped into the shower. Then he wouldn’t have heard what he shouldn’t have.
But there was no going back, and nothing ever came from wishing for what might have been.
As she unbuckled her seat belt and reached for her purse and lunch on the passenger seat, her cell phone rang. Thinking it might be Mac, that he’d missed her note and hadn’t tried the door, she reached for it with an anticipation she no longer wanted and certainly couldn’t afford. The display said, “Melinda Rutherford.”
“Hi, Emmy. Is this a bad time to call?”
“Not at all. I just got to the library, but I’m a few minutes early. How’s your uncle?”
“Much better, thanks. Good news. We’ll be home tomorrow, around dinnertime. Will you let Mac know?”
“Certainly.” Emmy was relieved that after today she wouldn’t have to leave him notes or wait around for him. She also felt wretched. “This is great timing, as your kitchen is almost done.”
“That’s Mac, finishing on schedule. We can’t wait to see our beautiful new space. What do you think of it?”
That Mac was very skilled with his hands, hands that would never again touch her. “I haven’t been inside since Friday,” she said. “But I’m told that most of the cabinets are in.”
“I’m so excited! See you soon.” Melinda hung up.
Determined to bury her heavy heart and make the most of the day, Emmy squared her shoulders as she crossed the parking lot. When she pushed through the library door she pasted a happy expression on her face.
STAYING UPBEAT was easier said than done, especially with few patrons in the library to distract her. By midmorning, while standing at the portable book cart, organizing volumes to resh
elve, Emmy lost the battle. Shoulders sagging, she morosely returned a biography to its slot.
Sally, who sat nearby working at her desk, frowned. “You look so melancholy. Did you get bad news today?”
“Not exactly.” Emmy pulled absently on her hair. “I’m having problems with Jesse again.” Sally, Mason and Patty all knew about her son’s reluctance to adjust to life on the island.
“He seemed all right on Friday. What happened?”
The older woman looked genuinely concerned, in a way Emmy’s mom had never been. Badly in need of a friendly ear and some motherly advice, Emmy bit her lip. “It’s a long story.”
“And it’s a quiet morning. I have time. Pull up a chair and sit.”
Emmy did. She told Sally about Chas and how Jesse had changed after he’d walked out. About Tyrell Barker and the Street Kings, and how in the past few weeks, Jess had rarely mentioned the gang or Oakland. She explained about Mac, that she’d foolishly fallen in love. She finished with the conversation Jesse had overheard yesterday and how his dark mood had returned. She shared everything except that she and Mac had spent a passionate night together. That was too private.
“Falling in love with an unavailable man was the wrong thing for me and my son,” she finished, “but there it is. This morning I’m nursing a broken heart. I’m also worried sick about Jesse.” She tried to smile. “Aren’t you glad you asked?”
“That’s a lot on your plate,” Sally said with a sympathetic smile. “I completely understand about Mac. As you already know, I think he’s pretty special. Even if you didn’t mean to fall for him, you and I both know that it’s impossible to control feelings.”
“That’s no excuse for ignoring Jesse. He deserves my full attention.”
“I’m not sure he does.” Sally frowned. “He’s at the age where boys start to stretch their wings and grow up. I’ve raised two sons, so I speak from experience.”
While Emmy mulled that over, Sally continued.
“I know how much you love Jesse, but who says his needs are more important than yours? They’re not.”
Emmy wondered over this. “That’s something I never considered.”
“You should. Kids are smart. If you don’t take care of your own wants and aren’t happy, no matter how much attention you give Jesse, he won’t be, either.”
Emmy thought about her own childhood and her emotionally distant mother. With startling clarity she realized she’d been so afraid of shutting out Jesse the same way, she’d overcompensated by smothering him with warmth and concern. Smother being the operative word.
“Wow.” She sat back and shook her head. “Has anyone ever told you that you’d make a top-notch therapist?”
Without an ounce of self-consciousness, Sally nodded. “Several people, including my husband. But books are my great love, and I prefer running the library. Something else just came to mind. Jesse no doubt senses your sadness over Mac. His dark mood could be a reflection of that.”
Certain that her son knew nothing of her broken heart, Emmy shook her head. “I’m positive he doesn’t. We talked a lot about Mac and me last night. I explained that with Mac leaving town, we could never be more than friends. I’ve been very careful to hide my deeper feelings from him.”
“He probably knows more than you realize. You might think about openly sharing your pain with him.”
While Emmy considered the suggestion, the door opened. A group from the Senior Citizens’ Center across town wandered in, and the conversation ended.
AFTER A NIGHT spent wrestling with decisions, Mac navigated the fog en route to the Rutherfords’, knowing exactly what he had to do. He was going to have it out with Brian and Ian, then fire their sorry behinds.
But since he still needed their help today, he’d wait until this evening. The rest of the project—laying the counter tile, taking care of the trim and whatever else was left—he could do by himself. And by God, he would finish this job on time, even if that meant working twenty hours a day.
He also wanted to ask Emmy a few questions. Such as why she didn’t tell him about Ian and Brian. That she’d kept their secret from him stung. Aside from that, he wondered how she was doing. Jesse, too.
Mac hoped she’d stopped beating herself up over her son. Knowing Emmy, she hadn’t. As he rounded the bend, he glanced far too eagerly toward her cottage. To his surprise, the place was dark. Her car was gone, too. His disappointment, as sharp as the new blade of his circular saw, surprised him. Because he needed answers, he told himself. And he still hoped they could be friends.
After the way things had ended yesterday? Yeah, right. With a self-derisive snort, Mac parked in his usual spot.
Figuring she’d unlocked the Rutherfords’ door, he trudged up the steps. He spotted the folded note under the mat. Opened it to find one terse, impersonal line: The door’s unlocked.
To this house. Not Emmy’s. He had no doubt that from now on, her door was closed to him. Glum, he wiped his feet and stepped inside.
AS THE DAY progressed and Emmy mulled over Sally’s advice, she decided the woman was right. Jesse deserved the truth. Yes, she cared deeply for Mac and, yes, she was hurt that he didn’t feel the same way, but that in time she’d get over him. Hopefully her frankness would encourage Jess to be equally open, the start of a better relationship.
Now that she’d made up her mind, she could hardly wait to see her son. When Mason pushed through the library door just before the beginning of his three-o’clock shift, she knew it wouldn’t be long before the school bus stopped down the block.
Mason shook out his umbrella. “It’s miserable out there,” he said.
The door opened again and a fortysomething redhead with apple cheeks and a windblown bun blew in. “Phew,” she said, laughing.
Emmy knew at once that this was Connie O’Connor, local storyteller and today’s after-school program guest. Sally and Mason, who knew the woman, called out greetings. Then Mason took his and Connie’s coats to the staff room.
“We spoke on the phone.” With a smile Emmy stood, rounded the desk and welcomed the visitor. “I’m Emmy Logan.”
“Ah, yes, Halo Island’s newest librarian.” Connie returned the friendly expression and shook Emmy’s hand with a cold but firm hand. “Welcome to town. It’s nice to meet you.”
Emmy offered her a beverage. The storyteller wanted chamomile tea, and Sally went off to brew herself a mug, too.
“The kids will get here soon,” Emmy said. “Let me show you where we’ll be this afternoon.” She ushered Connie into the meeting room.
“Could we push the chairs and tables aside?” Connie asked. “That way everyone can sprawl on the floor.”
“That sounds fun.” Emmy imagined sitting near Jesse—not too close, but close enough to watch his face while he enjoyed the story—and smiled to herself.
Just as they finished clearing a space, Mason peeked in. “The munchkins have arrived.”
Ready to greet everyone, especially Jesse, Emmy waited by the meeting-room door. Kids filed in. As always she spoke to each one, with Connie joining in. No sign of Jess or Peter yet, but they were often last. She finally spotted Peter, but oddly, Jesse wasn’t with him.
“Where’s Jess?” she asked, wondering if her son had deliberately dragged his feet to be late, as he had those first few times.
Peter shrugged. “I don’t know, Ms. Logan. I haven’t seen him since lunch. He said he wasn’t coming today.”
Emmy widened her eyes. “He wasn’t on the bus?”
Peter shook his head.
“Maybe Mrs. Hatcher asked him to stay after school for some reason,” Emmy said.
But wouldn’t Jesse have called to let her know? Then again, he’d been so angry this morning he just might want her to worry. That was probably it, Emmy assured herself. Yet the first shards of alarm pierced her stomach. She hunkered down in front of Peter and peered at him. “I want you to think carefully, Peter. Did Jesse say anything to you about where he planned t
o go this afternoon?”
The boy bit his lip. “He wasn’t supposed to skip the after-school program, was he?”
Emmy shook her head. Peter paled, his face pinched in worry, and she realized her teeth were clenched. She forced a friendlier expression. “It’s okay, Peter. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
She patted his shoulder, then straightened and moved to Connie’s side. “My son is missing,” she said in a low voice. “I need to figure out where he is. Would you mind introducing yourself, or should I call Mason?”
The storyteller’s eyes darkened with concern. “Don’t worry about me, I can do it. Just go find your boy.”
“I’ll bet he’s feeling bad about this morning,” Sally said when Emmy told her. “He probably went home.”
“He doesn’t have a key to the house.” And it was cold and rainy outside. He could be at the Rutherfords’, but after yesterday, Emmy doubted that. “I think I’ll call the school.”
“Jesse was unusually quiet today,” Liza Hatcher said. “I asked him if he felt sick, but he assured me he was fine. I can’t imagine where’d he’d be. Unless…The students have an assignment due on Friday, so he might be in the school library. Hold on and I’ll put you through.”
Jess wasn’t there, and after what seemed an interminably long time as Emmy was routed to various areas in the school with no one able to locate him, she grew increasingly worried. Finally there was nothing to do but hang up. Mason and Sally, who stood waiting across her desk, looked as anxious and upset as she felt.
“Well?” Mason asked.
Emmy clasped her hands together, barely registering how clammy they were. “No one at school has seen Jesse or knows where he is.”
“Don’t you think you ought to check with Mac?” Sally said.
A call couldn’t hurt. Mac’s cell phone rang eight times before clicking to voice mail. Without leaving a message, Emmy disconnected. “He doesn’t answer.”
“Go home,” Sally said. “And please let us know when you find Jesse.”