“I can’t.”
His tan complexion whitened and he swallowed hard. I saw his hands shaking slightly as he closed the box and placed it in his pants’ pocket. He stood up slowly then sat down beside me on the bench. Staring at the ground, he said quietly, “May I ask why?”
I looked back toward the open glass doors. Inside, couples laughed together and danced, each one lingering to steal an extra private moment or embrace. Beautiful, unforgettable memories were being made as the sound of the brass instruments flowed outside while the singer belted each note of the jazz hit with great bravado.
In the center of the crowd I spotted Michelle and Edward. They were dancing slower than other couples. Edward was a large man with blond hair, bright blue eyes and nearly ten years of military training. Of all the Cross children, he was easily the most stoic. It was very uncharacteristic for him to show so much public affection towards his wife, but there he was, holding her close and tenderly brushing her raven hair behind her ears as they both stared at her baby bump with sheer bliss. I tried to picture Rick and I standing there, but I couldn’t. I felt like we were about to make a huge mistake and the thought terrified me.
“Too soon.”
He stared at me until my eyes met his. “What do you mean?”
The older couple finished their champagne and hurried back inside. The gentleman, a man in his mid-fifties with less hair on his head than above his lip, glanced at us before closing the doors behind him to avoid the scene he assumed would follow a failed engagement. I watched as the couple blended in with the crowd before standing up and crossing to the other side of the terrace, further away from the doors. Rick followed after me. Resting my arms on the terrace wall, I watched as my breath floated away in small, white clouds against the black night sky.
Taking my hand in his, he pressed, “What’s too soon? Jordan, I love you. I can’t imagine my life without you.”
I tore my gaze away from the moonlight and met his. Before me stood the man of my dreams. Despite Rick Michaels being the most gorgeous man I ever laid eyes on, somehow his kindness managed to surpass his good looks which made him even more attractive. For some reason, this man loved me and wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. A girl like me never gets a guy like that. I’ve always attracted the worst kind of guys. The jerks. The losers. But Rick? He was perfect. As I stared at him, I couldn’t figure out why I was so opposed to his proposal, but I knew I couldn’t say yes.
I felt tears welling in my eyes and blinked to fight them back. “I love you, too,” I whispered, hoping my voice wouldn’t crack. “But it’s too soon.”
His brow furrowed as he searched my eyes. “How is it too soon? We’ve been together for almost two years.”
I smoothed my hair, brushing several loose strands behind my ears. “We have, but Rick, this isn’t the right time. You’re proposing because you feel . . . obligated.”
Anger flashed behind his crystal-blue eyes. “I don’t feel obligated to do anything. I mean, this isn’t how I planned to do it, but that doesn’t mean it’s the wrong time.” He loosened his navy-blue tie and crossed the terrace. After a few moments of silence, he faced me once more. The anger was gone and replaced with his normal, calming presence.
He led the way across the terrace to a set of stairs I had until that moment not noticed. After walking down six steep, stone steps, I found myself on a lower-level that offered several tables and chairs, a waterfall against the far-right wall, and a clear view of the city because this level’s partition was wrought-iron instead of solid stone. He pulled two wrought-iron chairs from beneath a small table and we sat down.
He swallowed hard before shaking his head. “I did this all wrong. You deserved a more romantic setting and a better proposal. I may’ve rushed this, but only the timing.” He paused, his eyes searching mine. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. That’s why I’ve been working late so much. I’ve been saving to buy us a house. When my boss called me in his office this evening, I hoped I’d be getting a raise, not a plane ticket. But Jordan, just because this is sudden doesn’t mean it’s wrong. Maybe this was the push I needed to actually say the words. We have a week until I have to leave. Will you at least think about it? Maybe we can get engaged and I’ll go over there to get settled. You can get everything together and I’ll fly back for the wedding.”
“Rick, you’re still rushing things. You plan to get settled and come back for a wedding? If we do that, we may as well just hop a flight to Vegas. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t need the black-tie event my sister had, but I would like something nice.”
Rick’s eyes flashed. “Do you want me to talk to the ambassador? He has lots of connections and maybe he can set us up with a priest and-”
I felt the knot in my stomach tighten as I said the six words I never imagined uttering to Rick Michaels: “I think we need a break.”
For the third time that evening, I watched the color leave Rick’s face. The expression in his eyes shifted between horror and disbelief. He scratched his chiseled jaw and blinked. “I’m sorry. What?”
Saying it a second time came easier. “Rick, we need to take a break.”
He shifted in the small chair, still shaking his head. “A break from what?”
I grabbed at his coat as I felt it slowly sliding off my shoulders. “From us.”
He began to pace the terrace. After several long moments, he knelt down beside my chair. “Jordan, you can’t mean what you’re saying. I get it. My proposal was off and the timing was bad, but . . . breaking up? Why? There’s no reason!”
I stood up, too. “I said I think we need a break. I don’t mean we should break up forever.” Releasing his large, warm hands I turned towards the moon again. It was the only way I could say what I needed to say. “I love you, but this . . . it’s happening too fast. I just know we’ll regret it if we rush this.”
“This isn’t supposed to happen.”
Taking a deep breath, I turned around to face him. “You’re about to make a huge move, one that could completely change the course of your life. You need to focus on your career right now, not be worrying about a wedding and me. I really think this would be good . . . for us both.”
“How is being apart a good idea?”
“I . . . I don’t know. All I know is this feels wrong and I think it would be best for us to take a break and, you know, sort things out.”
“I don’t need to sort anything out,” Rick snapped, crossing his arms. “I know who I am and what I want from my life. My father’s death made me realize life’s too short. Getting engaged may seem wrong to you, but it feels right to me. Really right. I can’t stand the thought of my life without you in it,” he paused, sighing. “But . . . I know you, Jordan, and I can tell your mind’s made up. I guess you need to decide if I’m worth taking a chance on . . . so I’m going to give you your space. Just know that I am always here for you. I’ll always love you.”
Although it had been only nine days since Rick and I said goodbye, it felt like a lifetime as I spoke with Michelle that Monday afternoon. I could tell she was apprehensive talking to me and there was something on her mind that she couldn’t bring herself to say. As I walked around that department store, staring absently at well-insulated sweaters and thick, wool socks, I found myself growing tired of the forced small talk. “Michelle?” I interjected as she was describing her sister-in-law Nadia’s latest boorish comment, “is there something you wanted to ask me? I just . . . it feels like you’re stalling.”
The other end of the line went silent for a moment. “Well, yes, there is a reason I called,” she paused, laughing nervously. “I guess I didn’t know how to approach it.”
I checked the price on a pair of light-gray socks that were marketed as the best ski socks on earth. Apparently, the best ski socks on Earth are also the most expensive ski socks on
earth. “Michelle, look,” I began, searching a bargain bin for thick socks, “if there’s something you need to say, it’s okay. Just say it.”
I heard her take a deep breath before hastily saying, “Well, I got an email from Arthur last week. It was a group message with his pictures from London. Did you see it?”
The image of Rick and the redhead flashed across my mind. “Yeah, I saw it.”
After more awkward silence, she added, “Well, I don’t know if you were aware Arthur went over to help Rick get settled . . . I think it’s his school’s fall break or something. Anyway, there was some boring political something or another going on and my father-in-law invited Arthur and Rick. That’s what some of those pictures were from,” she paused again. “Jordan, I don’t know what happened between you and Rick but it tears me up inside that you guys broke up. I consider you more family than those hags I’m now legally related to and when I saw that picture of Rick . . . I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah,” I grabbed two pairs of light-blue wool socks and swallowed hard. “That makes two of us.”
“Come stay with us for Thanksgiving.”
“What?”
“I’ll understand if you would rather not spend a holiday with Rick’s family, but . . . I didn’t know if you planned on going home. I don’t want you to be alone. And I’d love to see you again.”
“I already have plans, but I appreciate the offer. Seriously. It means a lot.”
With that, we ended the call and I went back to my shopping without another thought to her offer. I should have told Michelle not only yes, but hell yes. Had I known then that by heading out west, I would unwittingly thrust myself into another dance with Death, I would’ve hopped the first cab I saw and headed straight to the Cape. Or to Gloucester. Or even to Louisiana. I would have gratefully gone anywhere that would not put me in harm’s way. That is, had I known.
5
Jon and I said goodbye at the Green Line station and I spent the rest of Monday cleaning up and packing. It’s amazing how much you need for a four-day trip. By the time I attempted closing my black-cloth suitcase, I had to sit on it in order to zip it shut. I was busy dusting the blinds in the living room when my cell phone rang. My mother’s number flashed across the screen.
Saying a silent prayer for peace, I answered. “Hello?”
“Jordan?”
“Hi, mom.”
“Well, sweetie, I suppose since I haven’t heard from you that means you still aren’t planning to come home.”
I closed my eyes. “Nope. I booked a flight to Durango for tomorrow morning.”
Silence greeted me. Jon was right. No one had called because she was trying to manipulate me into seeing things her way. Finally, she spoke. “Well, sweetie, I can’t say I’m happy, but I guess you’re an adult now and I don’t really have a say in things, do I?” I didn’t reply. “Anyway, I wanted to let you know Grandma Pearl is coming and since you won’t be here, I thought she could stay in your old room. You don’t mind, do you?”
I had to hand it to her. When my mother wanted something, she pulled out all the stops. A visit from grandma may not strike you as shocking, but you don’t know my grandmother. Grandma Pearl is my father’s mother who lives in up-state New York. In my life, she has only visited New Orleans once. She hates traveling and the South even more. It broke her heart when her eldest son decided to attend law school in Louisiana and then married a local woman and stayed there. She refused to attend their wedding and kept in touch by an occasional phone call or letter.
I could not imagine what promises my mother made to convince Grandma Pearl to spend one of her favorite holidays south of the Mason-Dixon Line, but it must have been huge. I knew that my mother was gloating over my silence, taking it as a possible surrender. As usual, she underestimated me. “That’s fine. I’d love for Grandma Pearl to stay in my room.”
“You’re still not coming?” her voice cracked.
At that moment, I actually found myself reconsidering. While a ski trip with Heather was just what I needed after the break up, seeing my family, especially my grandma, could be therapeutic too. “Wish I could be in both places at once, but I can’t. I’m sorry. Christmas is only a few weeks away. Please give Grandma Pearl my best. Tell her I’ll try to visit soon.”
This time, the silence on the other end was weighted with my mother’s fury. I could tell she was either composing herself or debating how to proceed. Inevitably, she gave up. “Well, I’m sorry you won’t change your mind, sweetie. I know Grandma Pearl would love to see you since she never seems to get down here.”
I considered reminding her that Grandma Pearl and I lived less than four hours apart and I’ve spent more time with her since moving to New England than my mother ever had, but decided against it. “Yeah, it’s a shame. Tell Grandma I’ll come see her at Christmas.”
“Well, that’s doubtful since she doesn’t know if she’ll even be home for the holiday. That woman’s such a . . . never mind. She was so looking forward to meeting what’s-his-name, but oh, well. C’est la vie.”
I clenched my teeth and counted to ten. “Listen, mom, it’s been great catching up but—”
“I can take a hint. Well, sweetie, what can I say? Hope to see you soon!”
“Bye, mom.”
As I ended the call, I exhaled deeply. I glanced at the photo of Rick and me on the end table. He smiled back at me. Standing there, I considered all I had accomplished over the past few years – from graduating college nearly fifteen hundred miles from home to starting my own successful, private investigation firm. I have always been able to land on my own two feet.
London isn’t all that bad. I’m sure there’s a need for a private investigation firm somewhere around there. Scotland Yard can’t be bothered with every case, right?
I found myself staring down at Rick’s contact in my phone. I had actually decided to call him when I remembered the picture in Arthur’s email. Rick smiling as he kissed the red-haired stranger. I shoved the phone in my jeans’ pocket.
“What’s the use?” I asked aloud as I picked up the duster and started on the living-room blinds again. After finishing the dusting, vacuuming the living room and bedroom, and mopping the foyer, kitchen, and dining room, I decided one of two things was true, my apartment was either really dirty or I was in worse shape than I thought. Too tired to go out and too lazy to cook, I settled for my favorite meal in college, fruity cereal packed with sugar. I was halfway finished eating when the phone rang. Muting the television, I smiled when I saw it was Heather.
“Hey, girl!”
“Hey,” she sighed.
“What’s wrong?”
“The usual. You know, Alson. First, the real star of the show, Roch Turner, decided he doesn’t like some of the scenes so he’s not gonna do them. But, my boss, Nancy loves them so she said to re-write them for Alson.”
“Hmm,” I chewed a mouthful of sugary goodness and swallowed. “Sounds reasonable. What’s the problem?”
“Well, in one of the scenes, Roch’s teaching his daughters to ski. It’s supposed to be this, you know, like poignant moment or whatever. I’d rather cut it, but Nancy said it could be ‘character-building’ for Alson. If that little jerk had half the character of his character . . . anyway, he freaked and called his agent. David, his agent, he’s in the hospital! David asked me to keep an eye on Alson since, you know, he can’t go to Colorado. And then Nancy tells me that she needs these scene revisions tonight! So I’ve got two hours to fix the scenes, try to get maybe an hour of sleep, then meet Alson at LAX. Ugh! I swear, Jordan, if I knew about all these headaches, I never would’ve taken this stupid job.”
Placing the empty bowl on my wooden coffee table, I stretched out on the couch, careful not to put too much pressure on my left arm. “Heather, you were made for this job. You can do those revisio
ns in your sleep. See? Multitask!”
“Jordan!”
“Look, you’ve been writing since we joined the school paper in the fifth grade. Remember? I think I wrote some pathetic review of a lame movie. You critiqued the cafeteria’s cleanliness and that article led to a complete overhaul. You’re a revolutionary!”
“Oh yeah,” Heather laughed. “Lunch lady Dolly always gave me crappy portions after that.”
“See? You’re a fantastic writer! Don’t think about the deadline. Just write. It doesn’t have to be perfect, does it? I mean you can change little things as you go, right?”
“I’m supposed to submit the final draft, but . . . I’ve seen them make split-second decisions while shooting . . . and the actors sometimes ad-lib.”
“They ad-lib? Seriously? Oh, you’re fine. If they can ad-lib, you’re not working with some kind of cinematic dictator. Sounds pretty laid back.”
“Laid back? What show are you talking about? Listen, I’ve gotta go, but looks like our girl time may be interrupted by more than just your little buddy.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“Because,” she groaned, “I’m gonna have to baby-sit Alson! When David asked me to watch out for Alson, I thought he meant that, you know, figuratively. Turns out when I said yes, David told Alson’s mom. So she decided not to come at all. Somehow, I got volunteered to watch that jerk on and off the set. If you weren’t coming . . . honestly, I might’ve killed someone.”
“Whatever,” I laughed. “You know, I can get on your nerves, too. So if you still feel the need to murder someone, find Alson.”
Bitter Retribution (Jordan James, PI Series) Page 4