Lucky For You

by Jayne Denker

  It turned out Jordan wasn’t ready anytime soon. Not that week, not the following week. Not February, although when he was feeling softhearted, Will entertained a silly fantasy that she’d show up on Valentine’s Day, maybe with a stupid teddy bear for him. Or maybe a not-so-stupid teddy. He even bought her a beautiful heart pendant from one of the year-round resident silversmiths, just in case. But no Jordan. He shoved the box with the necklace toward the back of his top desk drawer. And he entered the darkest part of winter in the Catskills alone, heart as frozen as the landscape and as numb as his fingertips.

  His family, friends, and neighbors watched him closely all through March. They didn’t come right out and say anything—well, not many of them did—but they watched his every move, his every flicker of emotion. He caught their concerned glances out of the corner of his eye, but if he looked right at them, they looked away, acted like everything was the same as always. And then he’d hear them murmuring to one another, see them studying him and nodding knowingly. He knew what they were saying, even if he couldn’t make out their exact words. Poor sucker. Knew she wouldn’t stick around. Hooked him and then wrecked him.

  In April, he was better. The ache in his chest eased, and sometimes he went for an hour or more without thinking about Jordan. He did his job well, as usual. He laughed easier. He still had too much time on his hands, but one day those restless hands did something unusual: picked up a pair of scissors and the full-color ads from the Sunday newspaper. Almost absently, he started cutting geometric shapes and arranging them on a blank sheet of paper. It had been years, but he fell back into the familiar motions as though he’d just left off yesterday. He was creating patterns—complex ones that turned back in on themselves in optical illusions or appeared three dimensional, looking like one thing from one angle, but something entirely different from another. And he enjoyed it—so much that he went to the craft store and picked up lots of different-colored and -patterned scrapbooking pages. He didn’t care who saw him (and of course people saw him); he didn’t care what anyone thought. He wasn’t inclined to pick up a needle and thread and turn these designs into quilts, but this . . . putting pieces together . . . it helped him focus, helped keep him sane. Helped him put his own pieces together.

  Then he ran into Holly and Mac at Café Olé, when he and the rest of his family took their dad out for a birthday dinner. The couple came up to the table, said hello to everyone, wished John a happy birthday. Then, as the Nashes went back to their meal, Holly put a hand on Will’s shoulder and said, “She’s fine. Doing well. Chin up, all right?”

  But when Will asked, a little too desperately for his own taste, “What’s going on with her? Where is she?” Holly only patted his shoulder, repeated “She’s fine,” and she and Mac went to their table. He tried to ignore the sympathetic looks from his mom and Gabe. And even from Cam—that was the worst. They’d wanted him to talk about it, had tried to approach him in the weeks after Jordan left, but he’d turned them all down flat. By now they’d gotten used to not saying anything.

  By May, he was done. He stopped driving down Maple Avenue to check the house for signs of life. He stopped looking for her on Main Street. He went back to the Nail and Bail, because she was never there. Kyra was, but he never took the bait, no matter what she tried, and eventually she wouldn’t even look at him when he came in. And he was fine with that.

  Work picked up: The tourist crowd was starting to trickle in as the art galleries reopened for the season, and that was always good for nailing a few speeders. He spent some time with Summer’s teen group. He hung out with Jesse. He even stopped in to Beers with his brothers, and by himself once in a while, and although some Marsden residents avoided him—a few even walked out when he walked in—most of his neighbors were glad to see him out of uniform and just being a regular guy.

  Yep, by May, he was doing all right.

  So of course that was when Jordan came back to town.

  Chapter 31

  Jordan fell into step beside Will on Central, just as he hit the home stretch of his morning jog. It was an absolutely glorious morning, the sky as blue as his eyes. And oh, she’d missed those eyes. And the rest of him. But those eyes, they’d haunted her at night, when she curled up under the covers alone and recalled the way he’d looked at her, so openly, as though he were trying to drink in her every feature and claim them for himself. She couldn’t see his blue eyes now; they were squinted against the brightness of the morning, the sun a thin but brilliant yellow, the daffodils and tulips opening at the edges of lawns gone emerald green, with no sign of the ridiculously powerful thundersnow two nights before.

  It had been a fabulous welcome home, driving in that stuff. She’d cursed the heavens, and they’d given her the finger right back, in the form of lightning bolts. Jordan appreciated the effect, and the message certainly wasn’t lost on her. She’d screwed up. She’d done everything all wrong—again. She shouldn’t have stayed away so long, she shouldn’t have left in the first place, she should have left but never come back. Who knew anymore?

  No. She’d done the right thing—or, at least, she’d had the right reasons. Maybe she shouldn’t have kept them to herself, is all. But she had, and now she had to suck it up and deal with the consequences. Big-girl panties and grow a pair and all those clichés.

  When Will glanced over at her, then looked straight ahead, stony faced, never slackening his pace (she suspected he even sped up, damn him), she figured now was a good time to start the whole sucking up and dealing thing.

  “Hey.”

  After a moment he said, neutrally, “Hi.”

  She didn’t expect him to answer at all, so even his brief response made her stumble. Will quickly glanced over, on the alert in case she fell, but she straightened and caught up with him in a couple of strides. “I’m fine, thanks for asking. You look . . . healthy.”

  Silence. Then, “Thanks.”

  “Don’t . . .” she panted, grateful to see the Nashes’ giant Victorian up ahead on the right, as they crested the rise. “Don’t you want to say I look healthy too?”

  More silence. Eventually he said, “When did you take up jogging?”

  She could barely speak. “Who . . . said . . . I did?”

  They reached the end of the Nash driveway, and Jordan stopped abruptly and bent over, one hand grasping her side, the other on her thigh. She couldn’t catch her breath. She didn’t think she ever would. Nope, she would just keel over and die right here, at the edge of Will’s parents’ property, like a bit of roadkill or something horked up by a cat. Oh—her cat. She wanted to ask about Fred, but she couldn’t speak. She was too busy trying to remember how to breathe normally.

  “You really shouldn’t just stop like that,” Will said, his voice still neutral. “You should walk a little. Maybe stretch.”

  Damn him, he wasn’t even a little bit winded. All she could do was nod and heave, nod and heave.

  “Are you all right?”

  She held up a hand in protest, in case he was coming closer to see if she was having a heart attack. “Gimme a minute.”

  Then Will walked away. She didn’t notice at first, but when she squinted up to where he’d been standing, he wasn’t there any longer. She glanced around wildly, spotted him most of the way up the driveway, turning onto the walkway leading to the back door.

  “Will!” she called, still breathless, but he disappeared. Jordan plopped onto the grass, not caring if it was still wet from the last melted snows, and closed her eyes. “Shit.” Propping her elbows on her knees, she pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, where tears were springing up. Tears! She hadn’t cried in ages. Yeah, this had been a massive fuckup on her part—the biggest of her career as a professional fuckup. What did she think Will was going to do, be elated that she showed up after going AWOL for four months? Give her a hug? Take her to bed?

  Well, yes, even though she knew it was a long shot. This was more what she feared would happen, knew would happen. He didn’t
want to see or her talk to her. She was going to have to get off his parents’ lawn before he came out with his pepper spray and his taser to run her off or take her into custody for trespassing. She wouldn’t be surprised if he did. She wouldn’t blame him, either.

  Because of those thoughts of tasers, when something touched her bare arm, jolting her nerve endings, she jumped a mile. But it was only Will, pressing a cold bottle of water to her skin. She looked up. He wasn’t being playful—just trying to get her attention.

  “Drink this,” he said curtly. “You look like you need it.”

  She murmured, “Thanks,” then devoted all her attention to getting the cap off and downing as much of it as she could before her body gave out, ignoring the ache in the middle of her chest as her heart broke at how impersonal he was acting.

  “Don’t give yourself a cramp.”

  “I’m fine.” No answer. Time to go for broke. “So. You hate me, huh?”

  “Jordan, stop.”

  “I just jogged several hundred . . . inches for you. The least you can do is talk to me.”

  Will propped his hands on his hips. “I got out of the habit. It has been four months, you know.”

  Yep, just what she expected. Yet she didn’t have any easy answers. She’d practiced all sorts of explanations on the drive back to Marsden, talking to herself in her car and hoping other drivers would think she was on a speakerphone, but nothing sounded right. If she trotted out any of those stories now, she knew they’d sound hollow and rehearsed. “I told you I needed time. It just happened to take four months.”

  “To do what? Wipe out . . . us?”

  “That wasn’t what I intended.”

  “Too bad. Because it’s what you accomplished.”

  “Will, listen—”

  “Go home, Jordan.”

  “But—”

  “Jordan.”

  Wow. That voice brooked no argument. She got to her feet and brushed off the seat of her pants. “Fine. I’m at my grandmother’s house. Just so you know.”

  “Not for long.”

  “I’m not leaving this time.”

  “I’ve heard that before. You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t believe you. Besides, you won’t have a choice.” He paused. “It might have a buyer.”

  Shit, shit, shit.

  When Will told her to go, she went. And she decided to keep her distance, at least at first. She wasn’t giving up that easily, but somewhere along the line recently she’d picked up a bit of patience. She’d learned how to read another person and adjust her approach depending on the signals they gave off, instead of just barreling ahead with her own agenda. William Nash was going to be the beneficiary of her newfound interpersonal skills.

  Okay, except when it came to Fred.

  I want my cat.

  She held her breath. Would Will text back or just ignore her? If he’d only answered her texts the night after she’d left, she would have stayed in touch with him the entire time she was gone. But he hadn’t, except to tell her to stop. So she’d backed off and gone about her business. She’d been tempted to call or text him a thousand times, but she forced herself to take her fingers off the buttons every time.

  He answered now, though.

  You can’t have Fred. You gave him up.

  He’s my cat.

  Not anymore.

  He’ll always be my cat.

  He’s comfortable with me. He’s happy. Don’t confuse him.

  Will had some nerve, playing the cat confusion card. Why wouldn’t Fred be fine coming back to her? She’d fed him and loved him and nurtured him for months before . . . okay, before she took off. But asking Will to take care of him while she was gone wasn’t the same as giving him up for good.

  No, he was still her cat, and she was going to get him back.

  “I heard you were back in town.”

  Jordan jumped and let loose a string of curses.

  She turned to Cam—how had she not heard him come up those wooden stairs behind her?—and crossed her arms, trying her best to look unsurprised. “I’m here for my cat.”

  “You sure that’s all?”

  “I’m not a thief.”

  “Well, not lately.”

  Jordan narrowed her eyes at him. “Shoo, Camster. I’ll be done in a minute.”

  “Will’s working.”

  “That’s what I’m counting on.”

  “Me too.”

  “Wha—?”

  But Cam was already bounding down the stairs, laughing to himself. Jordan shook her head, wondering not for the first time where along the way Cam had lost his mind—if he’d ever had one to begin with, of course. She let herself into Will’s place and looked around. No sign of Fred. She turned on the lamp in the corner. The room was empty.

  “Fred!” she called in a singsong voice. No cat.

  She looked in the bathroom—Fred liked to curl up in the sink, the crazy animal. No cat. She looked behind furniture, under the bed, and in the closet. Not there. He would have been hard to miss, what with Will’s penchant for keeping everything clean and tidy. Honestly, there wasn’t one item out of place. The only thing that was a bit unusual was a stack of colorful paper centered squarely on his desk, flanked by glue sticks, scissors, a straight edge, and several sharp craft blades. Jordan’s lips parted in surprise as she sifted through the pile of brilliant, intricate, colorful designs. Quilt designs? But these could be art as they were, on paper. What had the boy been up to while she was gone?

  A noise outside snapped her out of her daze. Right—get the cat. “Frederick! Freddy!” No cat.

  Jordan hurriedly straightened the stack of designs, remembering the first day she’d come to town, back in September, driving Will crazy by pushing things on his desk out of place, and she smiled to herself. He had been so fun to mess with. It should have been enough, just to keep her amused, but somewhere along the way she’d gotten attached. Ridiculously attached. Now here she was, trying to steal her cat back from him. If she’d tried to predict, back then, where she and Will would be eight months later, she’d never have come up with any of this—the good or the bad.

  With a sigh, she acknowledged that Fred probably was out and about in the cool spring evening, likely hunting the rodent population into extinction. If he were at her place, he’d be curled up with her on the couch, warm and lazy, not banished to the cold—okay, mild—wilderness—okay, yard.

  Jordan looked over the room, making sure everything was the way Will had left it. At the last minute she slipped one of the designs, a colorful, layered star-shape, out of the stack. She hoped Will wouldn’t notice it was gone. She hadn’t stolen anything in years, but for some reason she had to have this.

  She went outside and closed the door behind her . . . to find a police car in the driveway, its lights flashing. The driver’s side door was open, and two figures were standing next to it. Will and Cam.

  “What the hell!” she shouted.

  Cam called back, “Hey, there was a prowler. I had to call 911. Good thing Will was on duty, huh?”

  Jordan tucked the paper into the waistband of her jeans, under her shirt at the back, then stomped down the stairs and across the lawn in time to hear Will say to his brother, “You had to report a ‘prowler’? You couldn’t just tell me Jordan was here?” Then he turned to her. “You can’t have Fred.”

  “You’ve said that already.”

  “Er, I’ll just leave you two to it.” Cam scooted away while she and Will glared at each other.

  “You forfeited custody,” Will said. “You left and didn’t say when you’d be back. That’s abandonment.”

  “He’s not a child.”

  “Good thing.”

  “Is that it? You think I’m irresponsible?”

  “Irresponsible. Selfish. Thoughtless. Uncaring, unfeeling—”

  “Okay, I get it.” Shaking her head, she muttered, “You have no idea.”

  “Don’t,” Will interrupted, looking disgusted. “Whatever dramatic
tale you’re going to try to spin, just forget it. Don’t bother.”

  He started to get back in his cruiser. Jordan heard herself say, loudly, “My dad went to prison.”

  That stopped him. Half in and half out of the car, he paused, processing this. Finally he stepped toward her again and said quietly, “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t you mean ‘like father, like daughter’?”

  “Wasn’t even thinking it.”

  “Yes, you were. Anyway, it was for fraud. His trial was last month. I had to testify. I didn’t know anything, though. He did all his . . . illegal stuff when I was away at college. Undergrad. He made sure he kept me completely in the dark.”

  “And your mom too?”

  “I think she knew more than I did. Hell, maybe the mailman knew more than I did.”

  “How’s she coping?”

  “Fabulously. She’s in Mexico with her Reiki master.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “All my parents’ assets were seized. Everything they owned, including the house. Restitution, the court said. But Mom wasn’t going to let Dad drag her down with him. She’d socked some money away in a secret account under my name, but I didn’t even know it existed. When my dad’s trial was over, she emptied the account and took off. So she got her tropical beaches with her creepy spiritual healer, which is all that seems to matter to her.”

  “Jordan . . .”

  “Hey, I sure don’t need her around. And I always said they should’ve gotten divorced ages ago. Now maybe they can be happy. Well, that might take a while, for my dad. But eventually.”

  “And you’re okay with all this?”

  “Let’s say there are other things in my life I’m more upset about.”

  If Will picked up on her hint, he didn’t let on. “You didn’t just find out about your dad.”

  She hesitated. “No.” She knew what he was getting at. “My oblivion runs deep, but I could only put the pieces together recently. I guess it started about five or six years after we moved to Connecticut. My dad must have gone through a dry spell with his business, because for a while we were spending less—we let go of our help, lived on frozen food, that kind of thing. And then suddenly it all turned around. For a while we had gobs of money—all those expensive Christmas gifts I mentioned—and I never questioned it. I just thought my dad’s business was doing better.”