by P. Dangelico
My feelers, however, go up when I start to see news trucks from local stations parked all along Main Street.
I grab a few items that I need and forgo the rest. I need to get back to the Cottages as quickly as possible and snoop around to see if I can find out what this is about. Who knows, maybe Martha Stewart is in town or something.
I head for the kitchen, which is where I find Dad. He looks at me funny. “Have you seen Jake?”
Strange question. It’s just past noon. Jake usually paints until sundown. Unless it’s a Tuesday or Thursday, like today, then he’s coaching the kids, in which case he gets done around five.
Regardless, Dad’s got me worried now so I text him. Five minutes later, still no response. This is out of the ordinary. Jake always answers a text. He’s never not answered a text. I try to call but it goes straight to voicemail without ringing. He’s turned his phone off. My heart starts beating super fast, that old intuition telling me this is not a drill.
“I’m going to the rink. It’s a coaching day. Call me if he shows up here,” I tell my father and jump into the Mercedes.
All my fears are realized when I get to the Arena. The parking lot is swarming with news trucks and unmarked vehicles. Parking at the curb, I run to the door and have to fight a crowd of reporters six rows deep.
“Hey, they’re not letting anybody in,” one of them hollers at me.
“I’m a hockey mom,” I yell back.
The doors are locked. I bang and bang but I can’t see a soul. My anxiety level peaks at this point.
“What story are you guys all here for?” I ask one bleached blonde reporter once I escape the scrum.
“Pro hockey player. He was a really big deal a few years ago. One of the best. New evidence just emerged that he wasn’t driving the car that killed his teammate. The guy that died was.”
Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.
I jump in the Mercedes and tear out of the parking lot, headed straight for the farmhouse. His Expedition isn’t in the driveway like it normally is, but I suspect he parked it in the garage to avoid detection. In fact, there isn’t a news van in sight.
The front door is locked so I go around the back. Again, no luck. I spy through the windows and see no one is home.
Dejected and riddled with anxiety, I get back in the car and call him again. It goes straight to voicemail. Either he doesn’t want to talk, or he doesn’t want to talk to me. Either way it sucks.
I’m distraught on the drive back home. Somehow, I know this is my fault. Maybe it was the article on the boys. Maybe it was someone at S.I. who decided to dig deeper into the details of the police report. Who knows. But I need to see him and speak to him. I need to make sure he’s okay.
I grab my laptop out of the Austen and go check the Hemingway as soon as I get back to Comfort Cottages, knowing that I would find it empty.
Falling into bed, I sniff the pillow that carries Jakes scent. I miss him already and I have no idea where he’s gone.
I turn on the computer and that’s when I see it in the banner at Yahoo. ABC breaking story and Jake’s picture. He’s dressed in all black, including his sunglasses. It must be Mike’s funeral because his arm is around a woman who’s crying. She too is dressed in black. I click on the article and my eyes go immediately to the author.
Ben Hall.
Chapter 20
For two consecutive days I stay in the Hemingway waiting for him. All his clothes are here. He’s got to come get them at some point. I’ve called a million times, but the call either goes directly to voicemail or rings twice and goes to voicemail. I’m so worried I haven’t shed a single tear. A wall of ice has formed around me and nothing can get out.
On the Fourth of July, Gina convinces me to come to the park for fireworks. In reality, I refuse vehemently, but she doesn’t take no for an answer. Her little red BMW comes buzzing up the hill and she honks and honks until I’m forced to get dressed and join her.
“What are you doing here,” I ask Gray when I see him in the back seat of the car.
He smiles tightly. “Moral support.”
I get in and buckle up. Turn to my friend and admire her flawless makeup and even more flawless life. “You two are together, aren’t you?”
“No,” says Gina at the same time Gray says, “Yes.”
“Which is it?”
“Yes,” says Gina at the same time Gray says, “No.”
At the park, among the hundreds of families and couples lounging on blankets laid out all over the field, I hit rock bottom. I’ve never felt so alone in my life. Then it gets worse. By some strange coincidence, I spot my parents in the crowd. My father leans down and kisses my mother.
I want to scream. I want to cry and throw a tantrum. I had love. I had the love of the best man I have ever known or will ever know and I screwed it up. Because that’s what I do. I get carried away and screw things up.
For the next three hours, I suffer through some of the most spectacular fireworks I’ve ever seen. There’s something intrinsically romantic about fireworks, which of course reminds me of Jake.
Then I have to suffer through Gray holding Gina’s hand and kissing every single one of her fingertips. They gave up trying to hide it as soon as we got out of the car. It reminds me of Jake. Because everything reminds me of Jake.
By 9 p.m. all I want to do is crawl under Jake’s sheets and breath in his scent. I’ve been doing that on the regular lately, taking hits every couple of hours just to get a piece of him.
Nobody warns you about the withdrawal symptoms. Nobody tells you that detox is more excruciatingly painful than never having known how wonderful real love is.
When Gina drops me off, the lights in the Hemingway are on. My feet can’t carry me fast enough. I race to the threshold of the open door and find him inside. Jake is back––and he’s throwing stuff in his luggage.
“Jake…” My voice is so weak and shaky I barely recognize it as my own.
He pauses the packing and looks at me. His face is blank, remote. I hardly recognize him. At least when he was Scrooge there was some emotion there. This version of Jake, I don’t know. He’s retreated so far back, I’m petrified I may never reach him again.
“I didn’t do it.”
“He knew every detail.” He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. It’s done. I’m leaving. I’m checking out. I’m paid up until August so we’re good, yeah?”
He throws the rest of his work-out clothes in the bag. All black. Sneakers. Sweatpants. Track pants. Underwear. He’s wearing black now. For a man who’s so good with color, he doesn’t care for it in his life.
I take a step closer and he zips up the bag. “Don’t come any closer.”
He sounds so cold, so remote, I stop in my tracks. My heart is beating as fast as a rabbit caught in a trap. I swallow down the fear and sense of loss, but it does nothing to stop the tears running down my face. And once they start, they continue unchecked.
“Please hear me out.”
“I’ve been doing damage control for the past five days…It’s over, Carrie,” he says, without sparing me a single glance.
“Jake. You know me. I love you. You know I would never, ever do anything to hurt you.”
“I know nothing.” His chin lifts and his gaze meets mine. It’s completely shuttered. “I know I told you something no one else on the planet knew, and now it’s everywhere.”
Grabbing the overstuffed duffle bag, he walks past me without touching or looking at me. Like I’m beneath contempt. He doesn’t even pause by the door. He walks right out of my life as if he’d never been the best part of it.
“Are you sure?” Hal looks like he’s in physical pain.
“No. But I’ve got to get out of here and I’ll listen to what they have to say.”
The Huffington Post made me an offer. It’s nowhere near as good as Ben’s was. However, the Post isn’t a rat sucking traitor like Ben is.
I figured out how Ben broke the story. Ben did not br
eak the story…I did.
We rented out the Hemingway a few days after Jake checked out. The new Mr. and Mrs. Elmendurst liked to have vigorous sex in the shower. I heard every single word of their dirty talk from the other side of the wall.
So in the end, Jake was right. It was all my fault.
I’m going back to Cali tomorrow. I can’t stay here now. Too many reminders. Maybe it’s for the best. If love is so fragile, probably best to stay away.
“Sorry about the column.”
Hal smiles. “Don’t worry about the column, but listen here…I’m gettin’ old and tired. One of these days I’m going to retire and nothing would give me more pleasure than to hand the keys over to you.”
I’m crying again. I’ve been doing a lot of that lately. “I’ll think about it.”
I swing by Queen to say goodbye to Gina. As if I haven’t shed enough tears already, her and I exchange a few more.
“I really think he’s going to come to his senses soon.”
She doesn’t know Jake like I do. The man is an iron curtain when he wants to be. “No, G. He’s not.”
Back at the main house, I find my mother sitting outside on the veranda, reading a book.
“Mind if I sit?”
Glancing up, she lifts her sunglasses and smiles. “I would love for you to sit,” she tells me. “Have you heard from him?”
I shake my head. “No. He’s very stubborn. It’s probably one of the reasons he’s so successful at everything he does.”
“Yes, he’s quite impressive.”
“And he did it all on his own…foster kid.”
We sit in silence for a while looking out at the lake. It’s a comfortable kind of silence. Seems like being in each others company is getting easier each day. All the turbulence gone. “When does it get easier?”
“Are you asking your mother or are you asking Dr. Zelda Anderson?”
It takes me a minute to answer. “I’m asking my mother.”
“The time it takes to heal is the measure of the love you give.”
In that case I’ll never be over him.
“You may not want to hear this, but you are so much like me in so many ways…your exuberance, your love of the chase…but the love you give, the size of your heart…that’s all your dad.”
I wipe the dampness from my cheeks and swallow.
“Be patient with yourself. Let yourself feel it. You’ll know when it’s done. And then it will be done for good.”
The next morning, Nan waits for me on the porch steps while Dad loads my luggage.
“Goodbye Elvis you sicko.” I pet his massive head and he hisses. “Bye Nan, love you.” I kiss her weathered cheek, sniff the combination of cigarettes and Shalimar, and she slips a check in my hand. Gene and Zelda drive me to the airport. On the way, I glance at Nan’s check. Twenty thousand dollars. I’m shocked and grateful and sad at the same time. I’m always sad now. At the gate, I hug them both and promise to visit soon. The whole thing seems less weird every day.
On the plane, I link up the wifi and do what I have resisted doing for weeks. I Google him. He’s given two interviews. Bob Costas and some woman I don’t recognize. Maybe a Canadian reporter. He looks so handsome, all polished and primped. His hair perfect, the beard trim. The suit impeccable.
But it’s the vacant look in his eyes as he explains to Costas that he did it to protect the memory of his best friend that breaks my heart.
Nobody deserves to be loved and worshiped more than Jake does. He’s had so little of it in his life and all he does is keep trying to give it away. I contemplate writing him an email, but all I do is cause him pain. It’s probably best I stay out of his life.
“I look like a beached whale. Just say it,” Jackie says as soon as I step in the house. Charlie puts down my bags and goes to give her a kiss.
“Nah, you look like someone who’s ready to squirt a baby out soon.”
“Ew, that gross.”
Five days later, Jackie waddles into the pool house and grunts as she falls into the couch. “I’m so happy you’re here,” she says, shoveling ice cream into her mouth while we binge watch Euphoria. “You have no idea how much I missed you. I almost made Charlie go fetch you like five times.”
She’s been very sentimental lately.
“Well good thing you almost got me killed for nothing,” I mutter. Jackie starts bawling and I start laughing. “I’m kidding! Jeez. This poor kid of yours. I feel bad for her.”
If it wasn’t for Jackie, I would’ve never met Jake.
“Have you tried calling him again?”
I’ve had a lot of time to think lately.
“No…I’m done trying. If he believes that I would do that to him, then I don’t know if we ever really stood a chance.”
Jackie nods pensively and doesn’t argue. Jackie is the most pragmatic person I know. If she thinks I’m doing the right thing by staying away, then it’s probably the right thing to do.
“Carrie! Jackie is going into labor prematurely! We’re headed to Cedar Sinai. Meet us there!”
The call came in when I was interviewing with Kate at the Huff Post and I sent it straight to voicemail.
Charlie sounds panicked. Charlie has never been anything other than chill since the day I met him an eternity ago, which means there must be something legitimate to panic about. It sends me into full-tilt hysteria.
I run around the underground parking garage of the building where the Huff Post is located like an inmate released from prison for CoVid. Right now, I have zero recollection where I parked Jackie’s Land Rover.
After wasting a good twenty minutes, a security officer takes pity on me and comes to my rescue with his golf cart. By then, my sister’s Stella McCartney blouse is soaked in sweat, and my hair (that Jackie insisted I leave down) is a Colombian necktie wrapped around my neck.
When did it get so unbearably hot in L.A.? I don’t remember it being this freaking hot. Somehow while contemplating the heat, I start longing for cold winter nights and snowstorms. There’s something seriously wrong with me.
By the time I get to the hospital, Jackie is in labor. I take a hold of her hand while Charlie is on the other side, but after the baby’s heart rate spikes the doctor tells her it’s time for a C-section.
They take my sister away and I send up a silent prayer to keep her safe. On my left, Charlie is crying.
“I know I’m just another silly parent, but I swear this is the most beautiful child ever to be created,” Jackie croons with a broad smile on her face.
She’s high as a kite on endorphins. She must be because I don’t remember her ever looking so peaceful. It seems like Jackie did more than give birth to a perfect baby girl. It looks like she killed some demons in the process as well.
Watching my sister with her daughter makes me realize everything I thought I wanted pales in comparison. Because this…this is it. Loving and being loved. Giving and receiving it is everything.
I miss Jake so much tears funnel down my face. Jackie turns from watching Athena’s small sleeping face in her arms and when she sees the tears, she smiles. “I don’t what her to be her history. I want her to be bold and brave.”
“And when she screws up?”
“Tomorrow is another day to get it right.”
Brushing the dampness away from my cheeks, I nod.
“What are you doing here?”
I make a face. “Celebrating the birth of my niece, you dunce. What do you think?”
“I mean, what are you doing here, Carrie?”
Nothing meaningful. The tears start falling again at the same time Charlie walks in. He takes one look at the two of us, mutters something to the effect of, “Sisters,” and walks out.
“Go get him.”
“He thinks I leaked the story to Ben.”
Jackie makes a face. “Convince him otherwise.”
“I don’t think I can.”
Jackie eventually falls asleep and Charlie conks out in the chair next
to her. These two help me keep the faith that maybe one day I’ll be as lucky. I can only hope.
It’s almost ten when I get back to the house in Pacific Palisades. I pull into the driveway, ready to hit the garage door opener, when a large figure sitting on the front steps of the house stands.
He’s dressed in black track pants and a zip up hoody. A large duffel bag is hanging from his hand. I would know the shape of that man from sixty feet in a snowstorm.
Everything comes bubbling to the surface at once: love, pain, regret, the hurt. My hearts begins to race with a mix of love and anxiety.
Parking the Land Rover, I step out and Jake gives me the smallest of smiles. He walks over to the car and stops right in front of me. His gaze moving over my face like he can’t believe his lying eyes.
“Hi.” Then a deep sigh.
I can barely answer. “Hi…what are you doing here?”
“Can we talk…inside?”
I nod because, unlike him, I give people the benefit of the doubt. Especially someone I love.
He walks into the pool house, glancing around. “Nice place.”
“What are you doing here, Jake?” Now that he’s here acting sheepish all I am is angry.
“I came to see you.”
“It’s been a month.”
He nods. “Yeah, I know.”
“You walked out and you wouldn’t let me explain.”
“I know.”
Frustration builds and soon I can feel the tears rising up, trying to break loose.
“I loved you. I loved you more that I have ever loved anyone and you wouldn’t even listen! You said we would always talks, and the first sign of trouble, you cut and run.”
He’s nodding, gaze cast down. “I know. I’m sorry…I never let myself love anybody. Not after my mother. But then Mike grew on me. He wouldn’t leave me alone. He forced me to be his friend…and then he died. And I was alone again.
“Then you came along and I…” He huffs. “I liked you right away. I didn’t think I deserved anyone like you, but I couldn’t stop wanting you. I just...Everyone I loved died…so I tried to…”