Jake grinned. “This is going downhill fast, isn’t it?”
“Yes, and I can’t wait to see what you throw at me next.”
“Cute fairy garden.”
“Seriously?”
He sipped his drink and, with a swipe of his middle finger, brushed a piece of lemon pulp from his bottom lip. “I looked up those violent thoughts you mentioned,” he said. “Did my homework.”
“Gold star for you.”
He leaned forward, legs splayed, arms on his thighs, hands around the glass. “I found something called harm OCD. I’m guessing that’s what you have?”
She blew out a sigh and settled opposite him, curling up her legs. “Some people brand us predators, abusers, psychos. Other people think we’re merely certifiable. And you know what? It’s hard to discount those attitudes. I mean, if your brain was capable of imagining something horrific, you wouldn’t think too highly of yourself, would you?”
Jake swirled his drink, then raised his glass and took a long gulp. She watched his Adam’s apple bob. He put down the glass and threw himself back against the futon. “And you think Maisie has this harm OCD, too?”
“I don’t know how hers manifests, but it’s irrelevant. OCD is OCD. We all use the subcategories, but they don’t mean anything. Religious OCD is no different than contamination OCD. It’s all about the feeling, the sense, that something’s not as it should be. Then we overreact as our fight-or-flight response goes haywire. For example, I see images of me deliberately running people over with my truck, even though I would never do that. But those thoughts are terrifying even if you know how to deal with them, which Maisie doesn’t. Jake, what’s going on?”
“Callum’s having second thoughts about seeing a child psychologist.”
She smacked her glass down on the coffee table. “You’re kidding.”
I failed her. I failed her then, and I’m failing her now. I should never have left her. I should never have run away. What have I done?
Katie folded her arms over her head. Breathe in, breathe out.
“You should follow through with the support group. Mentoring gives you a different perspective on your own”—Jake grinned—“shortcomings. Assuming your idea gets off the ground, y’all going to have a code of confidentiality?”
“Of course.” Katie lowered her arms. “How is that relevant?”
“If we talk about something, here and now, will it stay in confidence?”
“Yes, if it’s about helping Maisie.”
Liar. I’m a liar. What if I don’t want to help Maisie? What if I don’t have OCD and I really want to hurt her? What if I’m a psycho?
A thought is just a thought; it has no power.
A siren roared through downtown Durham, and in the distance, cars raced along the Durham Freeway. Jake stood and walked over to the window, where a luna moth had settled.
“Callum has a problem with the concept of therapy.”
“I know, Jake. This isn’t news to me.”
“I can talk him around, but it could take a while. In the meantime, I don’t want things getting worse for Maisie. Coming to you wouldn’t have been my first choice, but I don’t have too many options.”
“Wait. You’re asking for my help? But you don’t trust me.”
“No offense, darlin’. I don’t trust anyone.” He placed his hand on the glass, covering the huge green moth.
“Jake, are you bisexual?”
“Do what?” He swung round, his mouth open, his expression, for once, unedited.
“This thing between you and Cal. Are you—”
“I heard you fine the first time. You think I’m in love with the guy who’s the closest thing I have to a brother? Are you itchin’ to get me riled up? Act like you got some sense.” He shook his head and muttered something.
“Sorry, but I’m on my second vodka—you make them strong, by the way—and you’re talking in riddles.”
“No. I’m not bisexual. Can we move on? Good.” Jake turned back to stare out the window. The luna moth hadn’t budged. “I was hoping you could help Maisie while I try and help Callum.”
“Are you setting me up? Cal will never let me take the lead on this.”
“He isn’t asking. I am.”
SEVENTEEN
JAKE
Saturday morning, and Jake was sitting on the concrete steps outside Durham Sculpture Workshop, sweating like a whore in church and lying to his best friend. Shielding the screen of his phone from the noontime glare, he reread the text, swallowed his own steaming pile of horseshit, and hit “Send.” Did it count as lying if you were acting for the higher good—Lord have mercy on my dumb soul and all that?
To keep things real simple, he’d wrapped up the lies in a big bow of truth, and everyone had fallen for it. Callum believed that Jake was covering for Maisie, who was making a secret present for her daddy; Maisie—now this was the toughest piece of gristle to force down his gullet—thought she and Katie were designing a surprise gift to give Lilah after the baby was born; and Katie believed she was spinning a cover story so that Maisie didn’t rat anyone out. For now the plan worked, and that was all Jake needed to know. Worrying too far ahead was as pointless as inviting a vegetarian to a pig pickin’.
He laid his phone on the concrete, rested back on his elbows, and, closing his eyes, raised his face to the sun. Giving up one of his last Saturdays at the pool sucked, but the sun was doing a fine job of baking him and the blacktop. Five minutes and he’d scoot on over to the shade. The last thing he needed was to alarm Maisie with a sunburn.
Hopefully things were progressing well in the building behind him. He should thank Katelyn—Katie—one day. After all, her sinkhole of a marriage had led to everything good in his life: helping to raise Maisie, getting to see more of Delaney—okay, that part hadn’t worked out too well—and meeting Gus, the founder of Kids Act, right after Gus was diagnosed with stage four lung cancer. He went to his grave believing Jake was the answer to his prayers, although truthfully it was the other way around. Jake had expanded the program to include the twelve-week moviemaking sessions, added the summer camps, and changed the name to Kids on Film.
The idea was simple. Campers and students did everything: wrote, acted, directed, and dealt with the props, hair, and makeup. It appealed to boys and girls with all kinds of skills, but the acting classes were still his favorite part. Some of those kids had been with him since day one. He taught them life skills and helped them figure out how to be confident, how to take charge, and how to be vulnerable. Vulnerability was a strength—not that he could ever convince Callum.
Was that Katie’s idea behind the support group, to break down those walls? Things had been easier when he could evaluate her by one action. Threatening your baby was wrong. No debate necessary there. But now things weren’t quite so clear-cut, and he knew—oh, he knew—that regret could yank you backward worse than a fender bender ending in whiplash.
In the distance a motorbike revved and drew closer. Much closer. Jake opened one eye as Ben pulled into the space in front of him, then tugged off his helmet and shook back a mess of hair. Did the guy not own a comb? Ben slid off his bike with a grace that contradicted his height. Jake sat up, both eyes open now. Good old Ben, the boyfriend, was an easy read. Confident, a little intense, and seriously ripped.
“Morning.” Ben pushed at the long sleeves of his tee, even though they were already jammed over his elbows, and glanced at his macho black watch. “Or rather, afternoon.”
“Nice wheels,” Jake said. “Vintage?” Like he knew or cared.
“Seventies. BMW/5, a toaster tank. All original, even the paint.”
Clearly the bike was an issue of pride. Why people invested energy in possessions made less sense than domesticating a raccoon. Jake had a good bicycle because he worked it hard and he needed to be safe on rural roads; he had a Honda Fit because he needed a versatile compact. His car was bright blue because the dealer didn’t have another color.
“Y
ou’re not hanging out with the girls?” Ben said.
“Not sure I’d describe Katie as a girl.” Playing the jerk was the easiest method of self-defense, as easy as blocking a scene for the camera.
“Really? I would.” Ben gave a smile that seemed to say Like me, don’t like me; I don’t give a shit.
Jake stood and brushed off his butt.
“This is a miserable place to wait unless you wanted an excuse to admire my sculptures,” Ben said.
“Those are yours?” Jake pointed with his thumb. Who knew steel could curve that way, could look so fluid, so elegant? And they had to be, what, twelve feet tall? Funny thing, though, the more he looked at the closest one, the less he could identify the shape. At first glance, he’d taken it to be a contemporary flower, but now the movement suggested a belly dancer or a ballerina.
“I could see that one as a centerpiece in a garden,” Jake said. “A big public one.”
“Her sister? She’s in a botanical garden in Maryland.”
“How d’ya know it’s a sister?” Jake turned back to Ben.
“I hated to split them up. Seemed they should stick together—same as Katie and Delaney.”
The way he emphasized Delaney’s name told Jake all he needed to know. Clearly Katie didn’t keep secrets from Ben. Not that she knew all the secrets. Maybe he’d play along, see where this ended up. “You gonna take me behind the studio and whup my ass for something I did a lifetime ago when I was drunker than Cooter Brown?” The dumb southerner was always his favorite role.
“I’m not judging you.” That quiet smile again. “Well, I am. Delaney’s someone I care about.”
Cute, loyal, and talented—Katie’d snagged herself the Triple Crown of boyfriends.
Jake sighed. “Guess we share something.”
Ben appeared to be grappling with a decision. The guy should definitely work harder at concealing his thought process. “Want to grab a coffee?”
“In this heat?”
“Iced tea?”
“Make it sweetened and you’re talking my language.”
“We’ll have to take my truck.” Ben nodded at a piece of rusty junk on four wheels. “I don’t have my spare helmet with me.”
“Sure. Why not?”
They walked across the parking lot in silence, and Jake opened the unlocked door and hopped up onto the passenger seat. Darn plastic was hot enough to grill steak. Jake made a mental note to not touch anything on the inside until they’d gotten a nice cross-breeze going.
“Sorry.” Ben joined him several minutes later. “I was texting Katie so she knows where we are in case Maisie needs you.”
“Thanks, man.” He was seriously off his game. Hadn’t even thought twice about leaving Katie alone with Maisie. Callum would skin him alive if he ever found out.
They rattled off, and a breeze did, indeed, blow through the open windows. Not exactly a cooldown, but preferable to AC.
“I’m guessing you know how my past intersects with Katie’s,” Jake said. He wasn’t about to blurt out everything. It was likely Ben knew plenty, but no good ever came from telling on others.
“I know her side of the story, which is all the information I need.”
Ben braked hard to let a little old lady cross the road, and his arm shot in front of Jake. Good reflexes. He probably held up traffic to rescue stranded turtles, too.
“Her ex-husband and I go way back. Way back.”
Ben drove with one elbow leaning on the open window. “Blood brothers, right?”
“A little cheesy, but yeah. Let me ask you a question.” Jake raised his face, and the breeze caressed his cheek, his chin, his neck. “Why’re you being nice to me?”
“How do you know I’m being nice?”
Jake gave a laugh. He may have met his match in Ben Holt, the guy with blackened fingernails, steel-gray eyes, and the slightest hint of attitude.
“I look out for my friends,” Ben said, “and if I’m going to have a conflict of interest with someone, I like to know up front. My turn for a question: Why do you hate Katie?”
“I don’t.”
A young brunette walked up to the light and stopped. Bit too skinny for him—nothing to hold on to—but she was hot enough. Durham was a captivating city. Cosmopolitan. He should hang out here more. Check out the nightlife.
“All those years Katie was with Callum . . . ,” Jake continued, watching the brunette. Cute ass. “I’m not sure I knew her. I didn’t take the time. She seems different now, different from the woman I—”
“Didn’t know?”
Jake turned toward Ben, who was squished into his seat. Life had to come with more than a few challenges when you were that tall, although Ben appeared to be the kind of guy who was always at ease. “She seems to be someone I could admire—if we didn’t have all that history. But we do, and I need to make sure her intentions are aboveboard. There’s a lot at stake here. Maisie’s happiness is—”
“As important to Katie as it is to you.”
They fell back into silence. The truck rolled to a halt at a red stoplight, making a god-awful vibrating noise.
“Do you know how she became a welder?” Ben said.
Jake shrugged.
“I was doing this show up in Asheville, and Katie walked in. Marched right up to me and asked if I ever took on interns.” Ben spoke as if tripping on a memory. “I was going to say no when she started talking about why she took up welding—to overcome her fear of fire. I was intrigued, so I told her to look me up if she ever came to Durham. Three months later, she was on my doorstep. She’d dragged Delaney here so they could both start over. Katie was passionate, eager, and determined. For her, I changed my rules.” Ben glanced sideways.
“You got something against interns?” Jake couldn’t run his business without them.
“My process is solitary. I don’t want to be in someone else’s headspace when I’m working. I certainly don’t want to be explaining what I do.”
“It wasn’t that way with Katie?”
“Wasn’t, isn’t. She learned from observing.”
“Like a good actor.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Ben said. “When I took her on, she revealed nothing of herself, and that made me even more curious. I figured she had some dark secret and she’d tell me when she was ready. It took her five years. My baby sister was an addict,” he said. “Mental illness isn’t a joke, and Katie’s suffered enough. She’s worked hard to get where she is, and I won’t have anyone hurting her.”
“Are you warning me off?”
“Yup.”
Jake smiled. “I like you, man.”
“Thanks. Let’s keep it civil, shall we?”
“You’ve got to know Callum’s a mess over this.”
“Maybe he should have considered the implications of locking his wife out before he acted on that particular impulse.”
“He had his reasons.”
“No doubt he did. As I said, that doesn’t interest me.” Ben flicked on his turn signal. “Having Maisie in the studio is incredibly hard for Katie. She sees danger everywhere—a thousand ways Maisie could get hurt. But Katie’s making today happen, because nothing is more important to her than helping her daughter. And I think she deserves respect for what she’s doing. Which means if you take that for granted and mess with her, you’ll get me plus everyone else in the studio on your case, and Trent has a dubious past that includes jail time.”
“For what?” Jake asked. “Armed robbery? Drug activity?”
“Gay rights parade. He attacked a guy who made homophobic comments about his boyfriend. The point is, the studio looks after its own.”
Through the rusted-out crack in his footwell, pavement rushed by in slashes of gray. Jake kept his eyes lowered. “Do you believe people can change?”
“I guess.”
“Katie’s not the only one who used to be someone else.” Jake looked up at the dashboard. “I used to be that guy. An asshole I didn’t expected anyone to li
ke, least of all me. Sex was my drug of choice. Still is, if I’m being entirely honest. When I slept with Delaney at Callum’s wedding, I needed a quick fix. Problem was, stone-cold sober the next morning, I realized I liked her. I liked her a lot, man. And that scared the shit out of me because that feeling? It wouldn’t go away. No matter how far I ran.”
Ben nodded slowly, as if he understood, but how could he? Even Jake wasn’t entirely sure what had happened that first time with Delaney—other than him living up to expectations. Being the lowlife who decided to nail the girl all the other guys wanted. Man, she was hot in that bridesmaid dress. A blind monk would’ve noticed. And then that dark mood settled, the one that used to fill him with an overdose of self—self-loathing, self-pity—and finally fear. Delaney was supposed to be one night of escape. She wasn’t supposed to haunt him for years. Years now in the past, or so he had believed until two days ago.
EIGHTEEN
MAISIE
Maisie glanced at the Star Wars tattoos on her arm. Uncle J had put them on yesterday, right before he drove her home from Ms. Katie’s studio, and already they were wearing off, but in a crazy bad way. They were ruined. Ruined like everything else in her life.
Her dad and Lilah were arguing, and their words made her head hurt and her tummy ache. But she had to be brave, she had to listen. Uncle J always said if you slowed the world down, you could hear your next move. “Never jump in, fists swinging,” he would say as he pretended to be a boxer. “Think with your head first, then your heart.”
Holding Lulabelle across her mouth and nose, Maisie tiptoed down the stairs and tried to think with her head first. ’Cept it was full of those awful thoughts speeding around, and her heart was going so fast it could explode, and oh, gosh, now Lilah was yelling. Yelling!
Her dad had been so happy when Lilah became his girlfriend. On their wedding day, when Uncle J was trying to pin the flowers on her dad’s jacket, and she was hopping from foot to foot because her dress was super scratchy, Uncle J said, “You’re one lucky bastard.” And instead of telling Uncle J off for using a bad word, her dad brushed at his eyes, and she ran up to him and threw her arms around him and said, “Don’t be sad, Daddy,” and her dad laughed and said, “I’m not, peanut. I’m happy. This is a new beginning for us.” Which was super confusing because Maisie didn’t want a new beginning. She wanted everything to stay the way it had always been. The three musketeers: her, Uncle J, and her dad. And everyone told her she must be so happy to finally have a mom, and she wasn’t, but if she had been happy, maybe her parents wouldn’t need to argue. What if it was all her fault?
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