Starcrossed Hearts

by Star Crossed Hearts (lit)

  While walking around the corner into the laundry room, she found herself face to face with Charlene, who was loading clothes into the dryer.

  "Shit you scared me!" Charlene cried, but she smiled good-naturedly and, for the first time, Jessica could see a resemblance.

  "Sorry. I forgot you were here."

  "Sorry you had to remember, then," Charlene quipped, tossing a dryer sheet in with the wet laundry. "These things really work?"

  "I guess so. They make things smell nice. Mac says they remind him of his mother--" Jessica’s words trailed off as she realized what they might mean to Charlene. But Charlene was grinning at her.

  "You know, I was thinking the same thing." Her smile faded a little. "Your mom still alive?"

  "Yeah. She lives in Seattle." Jessica leaned back against the wall and watched as Charlene made quick work of sorting the rest of the clothes and reloading the washer. "You, uh, think you could teach your brother how to do that?"

  Now Charlene laughed out loud. "Don’t hold your breath," she advised, leading Jessie back into the kitchen. "In our house, all that shit was women’s work. My dad, God love ‘em, was a hard-assed Scot. Mom might as well have been an Irish washer-woman. And when I finally got it, what a slave she was, well, I just sorta got really mad at her. I wanted her to be strong, and stand up to him." Charlene poured herself and Jessica a cup of coffee. Her voice became more serious. "I know she didn’t have a choice. It was just the times. Back then, that’s how you showed you loved your man. Work, work, work."

  Jessica pondered her words. In a few sentences, she had explained so much.

  "So, I guess what I’m saying is, don’t blame Cory if he doesn’t know squat about laundry and dishes."

  "Oh he’s great with dishes, he’s a nut about keeping this kitchen clean. I’m the one who’s a slob," Jessica confided suddenly.

  "He didn’t come home last night."

  "No."

  "Is that common?"

  Jessica gave her a level stare. She was prying again, but somehow it didn’t seem so offensive today. "No, it’s not."

  "I’m sorry. I’m being a nosey bitch again. Just tell me to shut up, like you did last night. I’m used to it, believe me."

  "He’s trying to deal with what happened, Charlene. He’s so sensitive. One thing I’ve learned about Mac, it takes him awhile to process things. He needs time, and sometimes, space. It’s hard for me, because I tend to be very quick to accept, to forgive, to absorb things. And…" she added a second thought, "I was drunk when he left."

  "Well, I gotta tell you, you sure surprised the hell outa me last night."

  Jessica smiled. "I promised myself I would never get drunk again." She took a gulp of coffee, then made a face as she realized she hadn’t put any milk in it. "I made such a fool out of myself once at a party…I almost lost him over it."

  "Sounds like me. I promised myself…a few things…about two years ago. It was tough, man! But I’m still clean." Charlene retrieved the milk carton from the refrigerator. "Calm that down for ya?"

  Jessica smiled at her sister-in-law.

  "Jessie, I can call you Jessie, right? I need to tell you…I’m really sorry about what happened that day I came for the car. I had no right to treat you like I did. Sometimes…sometimes I just say everything wrong. Sometimes I feel like I have to be tough, all the time, you know? Anyway, I’m sorry, and I’m sorry about your friends, too. It must have been rotten for you."

  Jessica looked at Charlene, seeing the honesty in her brown eyes, the sincerity of her apology. Moving slowly at first, she put down her cup and went to embrace Charlene, once more feeling the tears sting as Charlene hugged her tightly.

  ~ * ~

  Near brain-dead from exhaustion, Mac fought drowsiness and forced himself to think about what he’d read. The sun was coming up, the night manager was preparing to leave. He looked at Mac from time to time, undoubtedly wondering what could keep a man sitting in a diner all night long reading.

  Mac pushed his fingers through hair, still surprised at feeling most of it gone. He looked out the window to see his bike and one car in the lot, and past them to the sea and the gray horizon.

  Dane was still in love with Jess.

  Jackie had read the journal. The entries had ceased in December, the night Devon was born.

  "It was Jackie. But it’s over now," Dane had said before losing consciousness.

  The journal was on the balcony, just a few yards from the bodies.

  The gun in the plastic bag, Jackie’s weapon…matched the one they’d used on the set the day before.

  He flashed on Dane’s departure from the set, the paper bag stuffed in his pocket. The gun, of course. He also recalled the fight Dane had with the prop man that morning.

  He looked back at the journal; it was fascinating and yet so very hateful to him. He considered walking outside and tossing it into the sea.

  Dane was still in love with Jessica. How could he not have known? All these months, working side by side, the confidences, the partying, camaraderie, and yes, brotherhood. Dane had become like a brother to him. Yet he coveted the very thing that Mac held dearest in his life. He remembered all too well the times Dane had tried--and failed--to take Jessica away.

  "God," he whispered to himself. He felt as if he was being torn into pieces. Dane had saved his life. Dane had been there to help Jessie through her labor. Dane had trusted him and coached him through a very difficult role, all the while struggling with Jackie’s blackmail. And Dane had discovered the live ammunition in the gun--probably saving his life again. If he had truly wanted Mac out of the way, it would have been easy.

  And still…the image of Dane kissing Jessica had been indelibly burned into his memory. So long ago, and yet, like yesterday. He remembered how close he had come to duking it out with Dane, right there on the driveway. Indeed, Dane invited him to take the first punch.

  Then there was the fact that Jessica had wasted no time in getting to Singapore when Dane had been hurt. And why, what was the real reason she was there, yesterday, at Dane’s house?

  Fatigue jumbled Mac’s thoughts, but the burning question remained clear enough. Should he confront Dane with the journal or let it be?

  The manager had taken off his apron and was sliding into the booth opposite Mac. He was a big man, heavy set, with a round face and, Mac now noticed, kindly eyes.

  "Bestseller?" he asked, gesturing toward the book on the table.

  "Could be," Mac replied.

  "Not many people spend the night with me unless they’re lost. You lost?"

  "Yeah." Mac looked back toward the ocean.

  "Maybe I can give you directions. Know where you’re goin’?"

  "That’s the thing. I don’t know." Mac smiled briefly at the man, who was holding out his hand.

  "Name’s Frank. I own this poor excuse for a motel." He shook Mac’s hand.

  "Mac. And I thank you for not booting me out of here."

  "Takes awhile, sometimes, to figure out which way to get somewhere," Frank said, examining his fingernails. "Me, I usually end up going the direct way. It’s like there’s a fire, see, and if it’s a choice between sittin’ by the road, choking on the smoke an’ all, waitin’ for it to go out, or gettin’ on that bike and just screamin’ through the damn thing, I’ll go. With all that damn smoke, you can’t ever see what’s happening."

  Mac tilted his head and stared at the man across from him.

  "But that’s just me," Frank added with a smile. He got up and went back to the cash register, watching the empty parking lot. "I hope that kid I hired to work mornings isn’t stiffin’ me."

  Mac slipped the journal back into his pocket and stood.

  "Thanks, Frank. Guess I’m goin’ to a fire."

  Once back on the bike, the cool ocean breeze slapping him in the face, Mac’s thoughts began to clear. He suddenly realized that facing Dane with what he knew was the only way he could go home.

  ~ * ~

  It was wa
rm for April, everybody said so. Jessica lounged by the pool, still fighting her headache, one ear tuned on the open door to the house where she could hear Charlene’s sing-songy monologue as she stacked blocks before a wobbly Devon.

  "Look at you, sittin’ up so big! Oh-oh, oh-oh, I got ya!"

  Jessica shook her head softly as Devon squealed with delight over his aunt’s playfulness.

  From the kitchen breakfast bar, Mac watched his sister adoring his young son; beyond, through the glass, Jessica lying in the sun behind dark glasses. He walked into the living room and stood behind Devon where he practiced his sitting skills.

  "He’ll never be happy lying down again," he murmured, and Charlene looked up in surprise. Mac squatted and brushed his fingers across Devon’s silky, sparse blonde hair. "Now you can see all the places you can’t get to, huh Slugger?"

  The baby looked up at Mac and smiled a drooly smile. He grasped the finger Mac held out to him in his tiny hand.

  "Where you been? You look like hell," Charlene commented.

  "Any news?"

  "She’s been on the phone. She didn’t tell me anything."

  Mac stood and went out to join Jessica on the patio. She moved over, giving him space to sit on the chaise, then took his hand.

  "Heard anything?" he asked.

  "He’s been in surgery all day."

  "All day? For a bullet in his shoulder?"

  "They took that out last night. Today they are working on his leg. His knee."

  Mac was quiet while he digested this news. He squinted toward the sky, then back toward the pool.

  "Thought you’d be down there."

  "I didn’t want to go."

  "You can go now, I’ll stay with Dev."

  "It wasn’t Dev. I--I just didn’t want to go alone."

  Now Mac met her eyes, barely visible through the sunglasses she wore. "That doesn’t sound like you. Last time he got into a scrape, you traveled around the world to be with him. Seven months pregnant, besides."

  "A scrape?" she asked, now pulling the shades from her face to peer into his eyes. She sat forward, searching his face for the reason behind his tone. "What’s the matter?" she finally asked.

  "I’m…" Mac rubbed his eyes and pushed back his hair, as though it had fallen over his face, which of course it had not. "I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep. Let me--Let me get myself together and I’ll take you. If you want."

  Before he could stand, Jessica leaned close to him and kissed him on the cheek. "I missed you. I’m glad you’re home."

  Mac nodded and left her for a shower.

  Their visit with Dane was brief and strained. He was sedated and largely uncommunicative, Mac himself feeling withdrawn and separate. Jessie seemed not to notice as she struggled with her own grief. But in the days that followed, each seemed determined to create a sense of normalcy they both so desperately needed. She worked in the garden, he worked on his truck. Incognito, they left Devon with Charlene and caught a matinee in town, seeking something to laugh about together. And by Wednesday afternoon, a tentative calm had settled on the household. Charlene had taken up at least temporary residency until Mac could decide what to do with her.

  "I hate April. Ever notice how nothing good ever happens in April?" Mac said as he glanced over the tax forms he’d just signed. "I’m filing for an extension. This can’t be right."

  "Teddy called. I invited him to stop by," Jessica told him as she stood folding baby clothes.

  "Property taxes too. It was April when that lunatic Elliot showed up…"

  "It was last April when we made love for the first time. It was April when I moved into this house. It was April when you told me you loved me." She continued to fold tiny shirts and miniature blue jeans, and Mac could not help a smile, despite his foul mood.

  "What time is Teddy coming?" he asked, closing up the file on the taxes.

  "Dinner. By the way," she continued, walking back to the laundry room and calling over her shoulder, "Dane is going home tomorrow."

  Mac’s smile faded as he considered this news. With Dane out of the hospital, there would be no reason not to confront him. He began chewing his lip as Jessica reappeared.

  "He’s going to need someone to help him for awhile."

  "And? So?" Don’t say it, Jessie. Please.

  "I don’t know what you’ll think about this, but…maybe…maybe Charlene could do a few things over there until he’s better able to take care of himself. He’s gotta hire somebody anyway, and she’s so good at that stuff…"

  Mac’s mouth dropped open and his eyebrows lifted. "Char? With Dane?"

  "He really wants Alex to come home, but there’s no way he can manage alone…"

  "Char?" Mac began to laugh. "I don’t know, why don’t you ask her?" He continued to chuckle. "If you think they could stand each other."

  "I’ll talk to him about it first. I offered to take him home tomorrow."

  "I can do that."

  "No, it’s okay. I’d rather you go out and buy me a car. I can handle Dane."

  "You’re going to carry a wheelchair up those steps. I’ll handle Dane. We’ll get a car this weekend. Together." He gave a "final" look, one he rarely used with Jessica, and she set her jaw but said nothing. She missed the darkness in Mac’s eyes as she sailed past him on her way out.

  ~ * ~

  Dane leaned his head back into the couch pillows and closed his eyes. "I can’t believe this."

  "Can’t believe what?" Mac asked, pulling two beers out of the bar refrigerator in Dane’s den. He opened them both and handed one to Dane.

  "This fuckin’ cast on my leg again." He groaned, leaning forward slightly to adjust his leg which was propped on an ottoman.

  "How’s the shoulder?"

  Dane sneered in response, then took a long draught of beer.

  "Forget I asked." Mac also tilted his beer, taking in about half the can before placing it on the fireplace mantel. "You going to Jackie’s funeral tomorrow?"

  "Wouldn’t miss it for the world."

  The small talk out of the way, Mac could wait no longer. Opening the zippered portfolio he had brought with him, he withdrew and tossed the journal onto the couch beside Dane, then shoved his hands into his pockets. "Thought you might be looking for that."

  Dane’s expression could have stopped a runaway train. Mac forced himself to take a deep breath as he paced the living room uneasily.

  "And yes, I read it. Read every damned page."

  "You had no right--"

  "I know that, and I’m sorry. Be that as it may, I read it."

  "You’re sorry. And did you do that to punish me, or yourself?"

  Mac stopped pacing briefly and stared at him.

  "You’re pissed off," Dane continued, his voice steady.

  "Christ, Dane, you’re in love with my wife! How do you expect me to feel?" Mac began pacing again, his agitation building. "I thought--I thought that was all over. I thought we were friends!"

  Dane watched him cross the room in front of him. "We are friends. And it’s a damn good thing I’m laid up here," he began.

  "Why? Because otherwise I might beat the shit out of you?"

  "No. Because I would beat the shit out of you."

  "What??" Mac stared at Dane in angry disbelief.

  "See this?" Dane held up his right hand, slowly curling it into a fist. "I’ve been saving this for you since October, and I was just beginning to think I’d never have to deliver it."

  "Your arrogance is astounding!"

  "I never told you about Singapore, did I? I spared you the grisly details but you’re gonna hear them now. After the baseball bats--oh, and they were nice, Mark McGwires, I think, American made--they had me down, Mac, had me spread eagle in some nasty sewer of an alley, where even the rats were afraid of them, and they were preparing to castrate me with some rusty machete or something--I couldn’t see from the blood and sweat pouring into my eyes, even if I had been sober. That’s when Singapore’s finest showed up and crack
ed some skulls."

  Mac’s face reflected his horror as he listened to Dane’s story.

  "The next thing I remember is Jessica--your wife," he added sourly, "raving at me to wake up so she could go home."

  He paused, his eyes not seeing Mac but instead blind to all but his memories.

  "She was my angel. She took care of me. It was Jessie who changed the bandages and washed out my eyes when they got so--bad. She bathed me, she gave me injections when the nurses in that fleabag hospital wouldn’t touch me. She read to me and massaged my broken body in hopes that I might someday walk again."

  Mac turned his back and braced his arms upon the mantel of the fireplace while Dane continued.

  "It was days before I got up the courage to ask about you. Hope against hope, Mac, that she had left you, that I might just have another chance."

  "And did you try to seduce her?"

  Dane grinned at Mac’s question, slowly shaking his head. "Of course I did. We had the Musak, you know, piped into the room, and except for that big rip in the curtain, it was almost kinda dark. She spoon fed me caviar, sipped champagne from a Dixie cup--well, mine was in the drip bag, but still--the bed was kinda small, Mac, and she got tangled in the tube running into my nose, and then that damned bedpan kept getting in the way…"

  "Sometimes you are so crude you make me sick."

  "Sometimes you are so stupid you make me sick!" Dane chuckled to himself before his hostility resurfaced. "I gotta tell you pal, when I heard the truth about you and where you were, I was livid. I would have gladly turned you over to those hoodlums back in that alley." He paused, his anger growing. "How dare you! How dare you leave her alone like that?"

  Mac spun around, his face a picture of agony.

  "It was wrong! I know that! But she, she was part of it too. She should never have let you slither through the door. She could have stopped you--"

  "I pushed her."

  "I didn’t see any pushing. Her hands were free."

  "She’s a sucker for a hard luck case. That heathen Elliott was a walking sob story, and she married him. I pulled her strings when I met her, and I did it that day, too."

  "Oh, so now you’re saying I’m just a sob story?"