Just Jenny

by Sandra Owens

  No, I wasn’t. “Jenny, I’m just a man doing his best to get along in this world. Don’t make me something I’m not.”

  She lifted her head from my shoulder, her eyes studying me as if she could see my deepest thoughts. I hoped the hell she couldn’t. If so, she would see a man who’d failed to listen to his wife’s cry for help. I had to live with that every fucking damn day. To hear anyone say I was special made me want to smash my fist through the wall.

  “I think you misunderstand.” She put her hand on my cheek, and I forced myself not to lean into her palm. “I’m not saying you’re special, you know, like some kind of superhero. I mean that I like you a lot, and I don’t want our sleeping together to be nothing more than a matter of getting our jollies off.”

  I tried not to laugh. I really did. “Get our jollies off?”

  She punched my arm. “That wasn’t meant to be funny, Dylan.”

  “Yet it was.” I gave in to temptation and pressed my face against her palm. What was it about this woman that soothed my soul?

  “Okay, it kind of was. I don’t want you to fall in love with me because nothing’s going to stop me from going on my world tour, but for me, sex with a man has to mean something.”

  And here I was, planning to give her the don’t-fall-in-love-with-me lecture. “You’re a constant surprise, Jenny Girl. Let’s make a promise now. No falling in love for either of us.” I held out my hand, and we shook on the deal.

  “But we can definitely like each other, right?” She bit down on her bottom lip as if worried about my answer.

  “We sure can.” She had no worries about that on my side, and when she smiled, I smiled back.

  “Does this mean we’ve gone past the pretend stage?” She tilted her head, studying me. “I mean, that’s part of my hesitation. You know, it’s not real if it’s make-believe.”

  “We left pretend behind at the restaurant when we decided we wanted to get to know each other better, don’t you think?” I regretted I’d even used that word with her, since she seemed to be hung up on it. “Are you okay with that?” Please be okay with it, Jenny Girl.

  “As long as we both agree to the rules. We can’t go past the like-each-other stage. No messy love business.”

  I tapped her nose. “By the rules. Got it.” Why did that make me a little sad? It was what I wanted, too. “Since you’re working the rest of the week, would you like to do something on Saturday?”

  “Have you seen one of our waterfalls yet?”

  “Nope. You want to be my waterfall tour guide?” I’d thought when I first met her and realized she was interested in me that we would have a few tumbles between the sheets, then both move on. Instead I was dating her, romancing her, and I was enjoying it. Yeah, there’d be a long shower for me tonight that included a little hand relief, but when Jenny and I did have sex, I was pretty sure she would be worth waiting for.

  “Want to watch a movie? I’ll make us some popcorn.”

  “Yay!” She hopped off my lap.

  “I take it that’s a yes?” She was grinning like a kid. A few times when she’d do or say something that reminded me how full of life she was, I’d start to compare her to Christine, especially at the end. But every time I shut that thought down. She wasn’t Christine, and I wasn’t going to start comparing them.

  I let her pick the movie, expecting something romantic. She surprised me again when she found Arsenic and Old Lace on a cable channel.

  She squealed. “This one is so funny. Have you seen it?”

  I hadn’t, and that was all it took for her to insist that I had to watch it. She was right. It was hilarious. We made out a little more during the commercials, and too soon the movie ended and it was time to take her home. I didn’t want to and almost asked if she wanted to spend the night, just sleep, nothing more. But my reason was selfish, and it wouldn’t be right to use Jenny to try to keep Christine’s ghost at bay, so I didn’t.

  I was pulling out of my parking lot when my phone rang, which reminded me that I needed to get Jenny’s number.

  “Talk to me,” I said when Tommy’s name came up on the screen. He wouldn’t be calling this late at night if there weren’t a problem.

  “Chief, I think you better come over to Jansen’s house.”

  “He causing trouble?”

  “Not anymore. He’s dead. His wife shot him. Now she’s threatening to shoot herself.”

  An image of Christine on that gurney flashed in my mind, making my stomach take a sickening roll. “Location?” I memorized the address, then told him I was on my way. “You know where Crooked Creek Road is?” I asked Jenny.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “We’ve got a situation. You mind riding along? When we get there, you can take my car and go on home. I’ll hitch a ride back with Tommy.”

  17

  ~ Jenny ~

  “No problem,” I said, wondering what the situation was, but Dylan didn’t offer any more information. He’d gone real quiet, in fact. “Go through town, take the first left after the post office.”

  He flipped a switch, and a flashing blue light on the dash came on. We sped through town, and speed demon that I am, I thought it was cool. It only took ten minutes to get to the address, but my excitement at racing through town died at seeing two other police cars and an ambulance parked out front.

  “What’s going on here?”

  Dylan parked on the grass in front of the house. “Don’t know yet.”

  I was pretty sure he knew more than he was saying, but I let it go. Obviously something was seriously wrong, and I didn’t want to distract him.

  “Wait here,” he said before jumping out of the car, then jogging up to Tommy Evans.

  While they talked, Dylan kept glancing at the open door to the house. I craned my neck, trying to see inside, but the only view I had was of the foyer and what I assumed was a coat closet door. Neighbors were gathered on the street, and I turned on the ignition long enough to roll down my window.

  “I heard two shots,” one of them said.

  “I thought it was three,” another stated.

  Someone was shot? I tried to think if I knew anyone who lived on Crooked Creek Road, but no one came to mind. It appeared that Dylan forgot I was in his car because he headed for the open door of the house without looking back. Was I supposed to go ahead and drive home? He’d told me to wait, so I didn’t know what to do. Finally I settled on waiting a little longer to see if he came back to the car.

  The people on the street quieted as Dylan stood at the open door, talking to someone. I strained to hear him, but couldn’t. Why didn’t he go on in? Tommy, along with a female cop I recognized as Kim Payton, and two EMTs watched from the sidewalk leading up to the house.

  Something was going on, and I tried to think of a reason Dylan wouldn’t go inside. Was there a hostage situation? That would explain what I was seeing. I already knew someone had a gun from what the neighbors had said. The idea of that made me nervous. What if Dylan got hurt?

  Fifteen minutes passed and still Dylan talked. Then he disappeared inside the house. I wanted to yell at him to come back out. Tommy and the other cop approached the door, their hands on the guns still in their holsters. I put my hand over my chest, pressing it against my rapidly beating heart. My shoulders hunched, preparing to cringe at hearing gunshots.

  There wasn’t a sound, not from the neighbors huddling nearby, not from the EMTs whose gazes were focused on the open door, the same as mine, and not from the two cops with their shoulders pressed against the doorframe. I’m not even sure any of us were breathing. Maybe another twenty minutes passed, and then the cops disappeared inside.

  Not long after, Kim poked her head out, gesturing to the EMTs. They rolled their gurney into the house. I still wasn’t sure if Dylan had meant for me to go, but I couldn’t. Not without seeing him walk out, safe and whole. An SUV with a logo on the side identifying it as the county coroner pulled onto the driveway, parking behind the police car. A woman exited
, a black bag in her hand.

  Oh God, someone was dead. The only reason I was able to stay in the car and not run searching for Dylan was that there had been no gunfire since he’d walked into the house. Shortly after the coroner entered, the EMTs came out, rolling the gurney to the ambulance. Shocked, I stared at Gertie Jansen as they pushed her past me. I hadn’t known the Jansens lived here, but I did know her. She was in my mother’s book club and had been to my parents’ house on several occasions.

  Her head was wrapped in gauze and one eye was swollen shut. She had obviously been beaten. Had her husband done that to her? I’d heard he had a hot temper, but to do that to his wife? Now I understood why Dylan had been quiet on the way here. Was Mr. Jansen dead?

  The ambulance sped off, siren blaring. I should probably leave, but I couldn’t make myself do it. Dylan wouldn’t take this well if his officer was dead, and I wanted to be here for him. So I waited.

  “I thought you’d left.”

  I jerked awake at hearing Dylan’s voice. He sat in the driver’s seat, staring out the windshield. I hadn’t heard him get in the car. “You said, ‘wait here,’ so I did.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. I should have told you to go home.”

  I’m glad he didn’t. I think he needed me, even if he didn’t realize it. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “What I want to do is forget the last two hours.” He shifted in his seat, facing me. “Will you come home with me? Stay the night? No sex, just be with me.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Forget I asked.” He turned the key in the ignition.

  I put my hand on his leg. “I’ll come home with you if you’ll tell me why you want me to.” His Mustang rumbled, vibrating under me, wanting to go do its job of carrying us away. “Why, Dylan?”

  He gripped the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white. “Because I can’t be alone with myself tonight.”

  But why? I decided it didn’t matter why because I couldn’t leave him to face whatever demons were plaguing him. And he had demons. That I could plainly see. “I’ll come with you if you’ll promise to talk to me,” I said. Whatever was going on with him, he needed to get it off his chest. I knew all about holding things in. If not for Autumn and Savannah forcing me to talk about losing Natalie, I think I might have exploded from grief.

  His eyes flared as he looked at me. “You drive a hard bargain, Red. Come home with me and maybe I’ll tell you why I need you tonight.”

  It was like spinning the roulette wheel at Harrah’s in nearby Cherokee. You win. You lose. But what the hell. I was willing to gamble for the first time in my life. “Take me home with you, Dylan.”

  He exhaled a long breath, and I had the thought that he’d believed I would refuse. I probably should have, but he needed me. Without another word he made a U-turn, heading back toward town.

  “Would you like to make a detour to your place, get some things?” he said once we’d passed the shops and restaurants.

  “Sure. That would be great.” He went silent again. It was killing me not asking any questions. What had happened in that house that had upset him? Without knowing, I had no idea what to say.

  He didn’t get out of the car when we arrived at my apartment. It only took me a few minutes to throw a toothbrush and some makeup into a small case. I grabbed something to sleep in, a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and undies, stuffing them into a tote along with the makeup bag. When I came back to the car, Dylan was on the phone. I tossed my overnight bag into the back seat. It was impossible not to listen to his conversation.

  “Get her a good lawyer,” he said.

  Gertie? I’d come to the conclusion that Gertie had shot her husband.

  “No, we’re not going to question her without an attorney present. You saw what he did to her.”

  I found that interesting and insightful. Obviously he meant Gertie, and from watching police shows on TV, I would have thought he’d want to interrogate her as soon as she was able to talk, hoping that she didn’t ask for a lawyer. Instead he was protecting her.

  Dylan intrigued me more every day. I was learning that he was a complicated man, which only made me want to peel away his layers, learn what made him tick. He rolled down the windows as we traveled to his place, leaning his face toward the opening as if he needed the fresh air in order to breathe.

  Something was eating at him, something more than what had happened tonight. Why I felt that, I wasn’t sure, but I hoped he would open up when we got to his apartment.

  The first thing he did when we walked inside was to go straight to the kitchen, where he filled a tumbler with scotch. I dropped my overnight case onto the counter and waited for him to tell me why he was pouring scotch neat straight down his throat.

  18

  ~ Dylan ~

  Why had I brought Jenny home with me? This was a night to down this bottle of scotch until I was too drunk to see Jansen’s wife holding a gun under her chin, her hands trembling so hard I was afraid she’d accidently shoot herself.

  Was that how Christine had held my gun, her hands shaking, before pulling the trigger? I’d never know, but now that image was in my head where I feared it would live forever. At least I didn’t have to witness Mrs. Jansen blowing her brains out. I’m not sure I’d ever be right if that had happened.

  “Dylan?”

  I set down the empty glass, resisting the urge to refill it. What I should do was put Jenny in the car and take her back home. I wasn’t good company tonight, and she didn’t deserve my black mood.

  “I need air,” I said, walking past her to the balcony. She followed me out, and as I stood at the railing, my hands gripping the metal, she wrapped her arms around me, resting her head on my back. I sucked in air like a suffocating man, but I didn’t dare close my eyes. When I did, it was Christine’s face I saw transposed over Jansen’s wife’s. As Jenny held me, the warmth from her body slowly seeped into my skin and I could breathe again. Was I a bad man for needing Jenny here with me when I was battling my demons?

  For months after Christine had taken her life, I’d had episodes like this, where I couldn’t get air into my lungs. A word that reminded me of her, a picture, a woman with her hair color would steal my breath, and not in a good way. After many sessions with my therapist, the attacks had faded, and I’d hoped they were gone forever. Guess not.

  I turned in Jenny’s arms. She was rainbows and sunshine, and I wanted to crawl into her skin and live there. “I should take you home.”

  “You invited me to stay with you tonight. You can’t take it back now.” She took my hand, pulling me to the patio chair. “Sit.”

  I did. She disappeared into the apartment, coming back with two glasses and the scotch bottle. If she planned to get me drunk, I was onboard. She poured three fingers into both glasses, handing one to me.

  “Drink.”

  “Yes ma’am.” I liked how she was bossing me around, taking away my making any decisions.

  “Don’t pour it down your throat like you did the last one. Sip it.”

  I held the glass up in a salute. Obeying her, I only sipped. It surprised me that I was good with her taking over. That wasn’t normally me. I was used to being in control, being the one to lead others. Somehow, though, she knew just what I needed tonight. For that, I owed her some kind of explanation.

  “Mrs. Jansen shot and killed her husband tonight after he almost beat her to death.”

  “I kind of figured that out.” She reached over, putting her hand on my leg. “Although that’s awful, that’s not what has you so upset.”

  She was intuitive, my Jenny Girl. I swallowed the rest of my scotch. Talking about Christine wasn’t easy. The only people I’d told everything, other than my therapist, were my brother and my former captain. But sitting here with Jenny, my owl hooing in the distance and the scotch loosening my tongue, I wanted to tell her.

  “Mrs. Jansen still had the gun in her hand that she had shot her husband with. S
he held the barrel against her throat, threatening to pull the trigger.” And I thought she’d fully meant to, even though I’d begged her to give me the gun, promising her that I would get her help. Finally, desperate to find a reason to stop her, I’d told her about Christine, then I’d told Gertie Jansen that if she made me watch her pull that trigger, I’d see her face every night in my dreams along with my wife’s. When she’d finally held out the gun for me to take, I’d wanted to fall to my knees and weep.

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  I turned my hand over, lacing our fingers, and told myself to just spit it out. “My wife did the same thing, only she followed through.” The scotch in my stomach threatened to come back up, and I swallowed hard.

  “Oh, Dylan. How awful for you.”

  Surprised, I looked at her. “Why do you say awful for me? Shouldn’t you be saying how awful for Christine?”

  “Because she’s not here to say it to. Yes, how awful for her, but you’re the one left to live with what she did. My mother’s brother committed suicide. It devastated the ones he left behind who loved him. My grandparents and my mother lived…still live with the guilt that there was something they should have done to prevent it. I know you feel the same way.”

  She’d named my problem, and all I could do was nod.

  “Did you see her do it? Was that why Gertie holding a gun to her throat upset you tonight?”

  “No, I came home to find my captain and some cops in our apartment, waiting for me. She was still in there. They wouldn’t let me see her because she didn’t have a face left.” I was going to be sick and sucked in air in an attempt to settle my stomach.

  Jenny stood, put her hand on my neck, and pushed. “Put your head between your knees and take deep breaths.”

  I felt like a wuss, but did as she said. After a few moments of deep breathing, the nausea went away. Embarrassed, I stood, going to the railing. “I should have seen the signs,” I said with my back to her.

  “Hindsight is always perfect, Dylan. But here’s the thing. She made the choice to do what she did, not you.”