“No. A couple of his wrestling friends pushed me around. I was . . . humiliated. And so I went back to the theater.”
In the darkness Jessica nodded, even though she knew Ted couldn’t see the gesture. “Did any of the boys recognize you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“So there’s no evidence that you were there.”
“Not that I know of.”
Now, Jessica thought, now. Seal the deal.
“I’ll never talk again about Paula Fawkes, and you’ll never ask me about the money. And Ted, if you ever do talk to me about the money, the police will get a tip that you were at the Warner house two nights before Sam was murdered, threatening him. And how long before they reopen the case against you?”
Ted shifted, and whispered, “Why, Jess? Why are you doing this?”
Jessica said, “Because I can.”
Ted felt Jessica’s hand slip away, and he wished now he had kept his mouth shut, had never raised the subject of the money. What was going to happen next? How could he ever—
Jessica rolled over and kissed his cheek, his lips, and then tongued his ear, and her hand worked across his chest, lightly scraping his skin, flicking his nipples, and she threw off the sheets and blanket, and in the dim light he realized what she was wearing, and he was stunned that he was getting erect.
She had on what she once jokingly called her “please jump me” lingerie, a silky black thing with straps, cutouts, and lace that she had worn the night of their first wedding anniversary. It really looked good on Jess, and he got harder, thinking of Paula Fawkes, who wore such slutty stuff all the time, but he couldn’t remember the last time his wife had taken this out. There was something just so deeply arousing in seeing his wife wearing something so hot instead of her usual dull stuff.
He kissed her and kissed her, deep and hard and raw, and he squeezed her breasts, flicked her erect nipples, gave them the attention he knew she loved, and, like performing an old familiar dance, he slipped into the routine of hot lovemaking that they hadn’t done for a very, very long time. And then . . .
She pushed him.
What?
He had taken off his shorts and was starting to roll her over, but Jessica pushed him again, on his shoulder, more insistently, and she whispered, “You just lie back.”
So he did. Not an unusual position but not typical for them. Jessica straddled him and he slid in with no difficulty, just moaning with pleasure, and he decided he didn’t care what position they were using.
Later Ted was gently sleeping and Jessica was on her side, her back to his back, her legs clenched together. Eventually she would have to get up to clean herself and get rid of this ridiculous Victoria’s Secret knockoff, but she was still enjoying the afterglow of one intense orgasm. Considering everything that had gone on today, she was surprised at how quickly and how deeply it had rippled through her, but she knew why.
There were lots of names for what a couple did together, from sport screwing to lovemaking to comfort sex, or even angry screwing. But this was the first time Jessica had done a deal fuck, to ensure that Ted kept his mouth shut from tonight on, and she had enjoyed riding her husband, being on top of him and sealing the deal.
Ted kept on sleeping. Jessica stayed awake for a while, smiling with the glow of satisfaction.
SAM WARNER’S STORY
Last Monday Night
When he was a kid, the thought of walking alone at night through the Warner Town Forest would have scared him shitless, but Sam Warner was going along a quiet trail in the dark, alone and feeling badass and happy. And why shouldn’t he be happy? Another party at his house last Saturday had gone off great, even though Percy Prescott had stopped by, some dad from somewhere had tried to barge in and had gotten himself tuned up, Emma had puked over his dick, and Craig had gotten pushed around some. Still. Tonight was going to make it all right.
He walked along with confidence on the narrow dirt trail, not feeling scared at all, like little Sammie would have been back in the day. But ever since he had slid into puberty and picked up wrestling, there was nothing to be scared about. Ever. And even if there was a bit of pussy inside him, good ol’ Mum had done her part to make things less scary in the woods. Up ahead on the trail was a small lamp set to the side, letting off a glow of light. Most of the trail was lit like this, even though about half of the lamps weren’t working. Another one of Mum’s special projects to improve Warner. She and some dimwit committee had spent months working on ways to “improve” the town forest, and someone had come up with the idea to put in lighting so the place would be more “inclusive” and “welcoming.”
That had kept her and her idiot chatty friends busy for a year, debating lighting options, pricing, finding out if the lights were “green” or not and whether they came from a company that was environmentally conscious, blah-blah-blah. In the end they picked these lights, which were solar-powered, and one day Sam overheard Pop telling one of his golfing buddies that “the silly bitches didn’t even realize that most of the lights wouldn’t work because they were in the middle of the woods.”
He passed one of the lights and smashed it with one good kick.
He checked his iPhone. About five minutes to go. He put the iPhone back into his coat pocket, right next to the thumb drive of him and Emma. At first Sam thought about giving Craig a drive with a video showing him giving Craig the finger and saying, “Fuck you, fag!” but he decided that wouldn’t be the safe thing to do. Better to give him the drive with the video, and only the video, and make sure he erased the original.
Craig was a wimp, but there was something scary about his computer skills, and Sam didn’t want the bitch hacking his computer and screwing things up or, even worse, going after Mum and Pop and having his dense parents start questioning why their computers were getting screwed up.
Besides, he had at least a half dozen similar videos—without the puking over his Johnson, thank you very much—hidden in a folder on his computer, so it wasn’t like he didn’t have enough whack-off material to last him for a while.
The narrow trail descended, and he could hear the tinkling of water from the forest stream in front of him.
Nope, he’d do what Craig asked and then wait. Maybe a month, maybe next year, maybe after graduation, but one day Sam would get his revenge, settle up accounts. That’s how he rolled.
Last year a wrestler from Methuen had made a point of pinning him to the mat and whispering in his ear, “Take this, honey,” before letting off a real stinky fart. Yeah. Lots of laughs, but last month there had been a rematch, and Sam had managed to pin the joker down and say, “Honey, right back at ya,” and later the guy had gotten to his gear and found someone had smeared dog shit over his civvy clothes.
Revenge could take a long time, but it was so satisfying.
There. The little wooden bridge.
“Craig?” he called out. “You out here?”
Nothing.
He checked the time again. Right on time. So where was Craig?
“Hey, girlfriend, you here?”
Still no answer.
He walked up and down the little bridge, maybe ten feet or so in length, letting his strong hands feel the railings. This bridge had been built by Pop and at least was still standing. Pop was proud of the Warner name, and while Mum was out trying to save the world, Pop was at his own meetings, trying to “improve” Warner. He was so goddamn proud of the Warner name that he spent lots of money putting plaques around town, tracing his family’s genealogy, and he even flew to the UK—with Mum, leaving Sam behind—to go to the Brit town his ancestors supposedly came from.
“Craig?”
Big freakin’ deal. Sam wished that ol’ man Warner back in England had stayed put. Maybe by the time Sam came along, the Warners would have been earls or dukes or something like that instead of being the boring stiffs Mum and Pop were, and—
Footsteps. Coming up the trail.
He peered down the other side of the b
ridge. Now he wished Mum and her girlfriends had done a better job of putting in the lights.
“Craig?”
The footsteps came closer and then stopped.
“Craig?”
Sam walked a bit along the bridge, then stopped at the near side. Screw that. He wasn’t begging for anything.
“Craig, you there? You better not be alone, you know what I mean?”
Footsteps on the bridge.
“Craig?”
Something else came to him just as a bright light struck his face, causing him to close his eyes, hold up his hand, and he was about to shout back, protest, say something, when her voice shouted: “Rapist!” and another light suddenly flared—much brighter, harsher, and louder.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Two weeks had passed, and it was five minutes to closing at Warner Savings Bank on this Friday, and Jessica couldn’t believe how contented she was. It had been a busy week, with lots of good stuff happening at the bank. Outside it was a sunny, perfect day in downtown Warner, and soon she’d be leaving to attend a meet where Emma was competing.
She was cashing out her drawer, preparing a deposit, getting the paperwork together, as the new girl, Stacy Kiln, struggled next to her.
“I don’t know,” Stacy said, shaking her head. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to this.”
“Oh, you will, don’t worry about it,” Jessica said.
At the next teller station, Rhonda gave her a slight smile. It was usually Rhonda’s job to train new tellers—a task she hated—but Jessica wanted to repay her friend for helping her out during the earlier weeks when it seemed like everything she had worked and sweated for was about to collapse, so she had volunteered to train Stacy. Boy, had that made Rhonda happy.
Percy was over at his drive-up station, and he gave her a little wave, and she smiled back at him, and she tried to think if she was feeling guilty or not about how close she had come to turning him in—even with no evidence—but decided that it was too much work.
It all came down to one thing. Love. Especially a mother’s love for her daughter.
“Jessica?”
Standing in the lobby, just on the other side of her next teller please sign, was Ellen Nickerson, the branch manager.
“Hi, Ellen,” she said. “What’s up?”
“When you get your drawer put away, do you have a minute?”
Jessica nodded. “Sure, but if you don’t mind, it has to be quick. I’m going to my daughter’s cross-country meet and it starts in less than a half hour.”
“It’ll be quick, I promise.”
Jessica grabbed her drawer and said to Stacy, “Tomorrow, get in a few minutes early, and I’ll show you some little teller tricks I’ve learned over the years to get through the day faster.”
Stacy had flaming red hair from a bottle and a rough complexion, and her revealing clothes were cut for someone about twenty pounds lighter, but she was like a scared puppy, and with her station next to Jessica, Stacy had latched on to Jessica as if she were an all-knowing mama who would look out for her.
“Gosh, thanks, Jessica,” she said, “I owe you so much, you have no idea. Honest.” Jessica then walked to the vault. She unlocked the cage door, got in, put her drawer into the vault, closed it, and spun the dial, and then Rhonda came in, carrying her own drawer.
“How’s the new girl working out?” Rhonda asked.
“Lousy, but she’ll turn out okay,” Jessica said.
Her friend said, “Hey, can I ask you something?”
“Sure, but the Ice Queen needs to see me. What is it?”
Rhonda’s face flushed and she looked away for a moment, as if she were embarrassed—or scared?—to say what was on her mind.
She said, “Look . . . just curiosity, that’s all. But when we were at the town common for Sam Warner’s service, we were talking about Larry Miles. And how he died when he was rock climbing.”
It was like a seam in the vault had suddenly opened, blowing cold air on the back of her neck. “Sure. I remember.”
“Well . . .”
Jessica said, “Rhonda, please. Ellen wants to see me.”
“It’s just this,” Rhonda said, her voice a bit shaky. “You said something about him dying because his crampons fell apart. But I didn’t know that. It wasn’t in the news how he died. They just said it was a climbing accident. How did you know?”
Jessica stared at her oldest and best friend, one who had stuck with her while Ted was accused of murder, who had helped her when she was calling in sick two weeks back. And what she really, really wanted to say was this: That man wanted to fire you. He wanted to hurt you and your family. And I wasn’t going to let that happen. And one day when he was in Boston for a staff meeting, I went into his office where he kept his climbing gear and with a few twists of a screwdriver I did what had to be done.
But she shrugged. “Oh, Ted probably told me. You know how he has friends in the police.”
Rhonda reluctantly nodded. “Probably.”
Jessica touched Rhonda’s hand. “Now, I really have to go.”
In her office, Ellen was looking as sharp and as managerial as ever, wearing a bright yellow dress-and-jacket combo that looked pretty good on her, all things considered. She motioned for Jessica to take a seat and Jessica did so.
Ellen managed a smile. “How’s everything at home?”
“Couldn’t be better,” she said, which was true.
“Glad to hear it. I can’t imagine the pressures you and your family went through, with Ted being falsely arrested like that. Thank God you can put it behind you. Ted doing all right?”
Jessica said, “It’s funny—his lawyer told him that with the news of his being innocent coming out, his real estate business might take a jump. And you know what? She was right. This week’s been the best week he’s had in almost a year, and the Concord zoning board has approved a development he and his partner have been working on for months.”
Ellen said, “Well, I’m happy to tell you that the good news is still coming your way.”
“How’s that, Ellen?”
She turned her computer screen around to give Jessica a look and said, “You’ve successfully upsold four customers in the past two weeks, one who has nearly a million dollars in combined deposits and assets. Even if you were to stop right now, which I don’t think you will, you’ll be the lead this month among all the tellers. That’s very good news, Jessica.”
She couldn’t help but smile at Ellen and think, Yes, three weeks ago you were looking to fire my ass. “Thank you,” Jessica said.
“No, I thank you, and the bank thanks you,” Ellen said. “Which brings me to another happy topic. Since you’ve shown such a commitment, I’ve made some phone calls, tugged in a few favors, and it looks like I can get you that scholarship for your community college courses. How does that sound?”
Jessica smiled. “That sounds wonderful, Ellen. Let me think about it.”
Ellen looked shocked. “Think about it? Really? But when I told you that the funds were gone, you—”
Jessica stood up, recalling the $12,000 she had gotten from Ted’s partner and how $10,000 of it had ended up with Gary Talbot to quiet her bitch ex-sister-in-law. She had kept $2,000 to pay for her upcoming education.
“I think I can cover it myself,” she said, thinking, Sweetie, I don’t need your sympathy. “Now, really, I’ve got to go.”
It was cold and blustery on the Warner playing fields, but Jessica didn’t mind. Her coat was buttoned up tight and her hands were in her pockets while she waited, waited for her Emma to emerge from the woods. The stands were nearly empty and there were just a few parents here. She didn’t recognize any of them, which meant that they had to be from the other school running today, Lowell.
Coach John Webber was standing by himself, watching and waiting with the clipboard, and Jessica thought of her Emma running in the woods over there, hopefully taking the lead, hopefully scoring a win today, one more win, whi
ch would get her to statewide competition sooner than expected and make more colleges aware of her skills.
What a wonderful day.
And then after college, Jessica would have that trust fund to use in any way she saw fit, so career opportunities that Jessica had never had at her daughter’s age would be open for Emma, a golden future for her golden girl, and a satisfied voice inside whispered, You did it, you did it all for Emma. You did it.
And a young man’s voice shattered her bliss and stillness. “Hello, Mom.”
She quickly turned. It was her stepson, Craig. And this was the first time—ever!—he had called her “Mom.”
He looked at her with a firm, hard gaze, no joy or affection there.
What was wrong? What did he know?
Jessica found her voice. “Hi, Craig,” she said. “What’s up?’
In the woods next to her high school, Emma Thornton once again had the smooth trail to herself, a familiar and welcome feeling. She had outpaced her own track team and the poor runners from Lowell, and all that was ahead for her was the finish line and another victory. But as she kept her breath even and steady, kept her pace strong and regular, she was thinking about her idiot stepbrother and what he had said to her just a few minutes ago, right before the track meet started, leaving her with no time to call Mom.
“I’m going to see your nutty mom later,” he had said, “and I’m telling her every . . . single . . . bit.”
And all Emma could say was, “She’s not nutty!” and Craig had laughed and said, “Frankie Aikens—his dad is good friends with Bruce Fortner, from Carlisle, and he told me everything that your mom did back then. Everything.”
Her feet pounded with satisfaction on the dirt path. Just a few minutes more and she’d emerge into sunlight, and she would win again. But what of Craig? And what of Carlisle?
Emma didn’t want to, but she remembered.
Three years ago, in her eighth-grade school year, it had become clear that Emma had the talent, strength, and grace to be a track star. She had started running for Warner Regional Junior High and in a matter of months had shattered all the track records for her class and was on her way to breaking a few more statewide.
You Will Never Know Page 25