“No, he’s not -”
“Oh yes he is. I’ve been around forever. I know when a guy has the hots for a chick, believe me.”
Does he? No…if he did, wouldn’t he have made a move by now? He either had extreme willpower or Betty was full of shit. Betty was full of shit…
“Whatever, so Scott seemed nice.” She changed the subject, pulling her hair up while reaching for the zipper in the back.
“Yeah. He’s really protective of Joe and Karen. I like him. He’s a good guy.”
“He seemed nice. So, how do you know him?” she asked as she struggled to pull down the zipper from behind.
The question seemed innocent enough when she asked it. The resulting silence from the other side of the door, however, spoke otherwise.
“Betty?” Jane asked after a few moments.
“Yeah?”
“Is that a bad subject? You don’t have to tell me, forget I asked.” Jane ceased her struggles, concentrating on the door between them. She strained her ears after a full minute of silence before Betty finally spoke in soft voice.
“He was…Marcus’s partner. That’s Joe’s dad.”
“Joe told me about him last night,” Jane replied in an equally soft voice.
“He did? Oh see, he must really like you. He wouldn’t talk about that to just anyone -”
“He didn’t really have to. I kind of read him last night.”
“Wow. So you…know.”
“Some of it, yes.”
“It was horrible. Still is. Joe has a hard time letting that go. He needs to move on.” Betty must have been practically plastered to the door on the other side; her whisper rang out clear as a bell between the seam of the door and wall.
“Scott tried to look into it, but no one wanted to listen. They felt like they had their man, nothing he did helped…and then, well…I don’t even like to talk about it, let alone think about it. It was a horrible thing that he did. Karen was crushed. Joe was mortified. Kevin was oblivious.”
“Who’s Kevin?” Jane whispered back.
“Joe’s brother.”
“The other boy in the pictures,” she surmised verbally.
“Yes.”
“Where is he?” Maybe she was pushing her luck…
“He’s dead too.”
*****
“Oh! Don’t you look pretty! Here, stand by Joe, let me get a picture for my wall,” Karen stated as Jane stepped out from the hallway into the living room.
Joe stood transfixed near the far side of the room as Jane stepped into his line of sight. She wore her hair down; soft waves of sable framed her perfect face, her body encased in a form fitting dress of a purplish color. She had great legs, they looked even better with high heels. She was stunning. It was impossible to get his tongue to move in his mouth so he gulped instead.
Did anyone hear that? How embarrassing. Play it cool. She’s a weed.
He watched as she looked down nervously, tucking her hair behind one ear.
“Come on, Jane. Go stand next to Joe. Don’t you two look so cute,” Karen gushed excitedly.
He was dressed in a sport coat with a crisp white shirt, no tie. To say he was gorgeous might be an understatement, she thought as she looked at her shoes. Her strappy new shoes that fit like a second skin…
“It’s not Prom,” she heard his dry remark before looking up, eyes locking with his across the room.
“You never went to Prom; this is the closest I can get. Let’s have a picture.”
“Sorry Mom, we need to get going, wouldn’t want to miss a minute of this awesome evening ahead of us. Come on, Jane,” he breathed out sarcastically as he walked toward her. Karen aimed the camera in his direction.
“Turn around Joe,” she commanded, but he ignored her, reaching out to Jane and grasping the wool coat draped over her arm.
Apparently, he was not fond of pictures; evidenced by the fact that there were absolutely no pictures of Joe as an adult amongst the many that took over the wall and the entertainment center.
She turned as he opened the coat, allowing her to slip her arms inside the satin lined sleeves. Karen was saying something in the background but between her pounding pulse and crackling nerves, it was impossible to make out.
“You look nice, Jane,” his softly spoken compliment caused some kind of unwelcome fluttering in her stomach as he settled the coat around her shoulders. He was so close.
“Thanks…ahh, you too,” she mumbled. The faint smell of some kind of cologne permeated her senses. He smelled as good as he looked. In a word: delicious.
“Don’t forget. Ass whoopin’,” Betty’s voice broke into her thoughts causing her to blink and turn her head toward the kitchen. “Man, I wish I could see his face right before you punch his lights out.” Betty added.
“I’m not punching his lights out.” Joe grabbed Jane’s hand and urged her toward the front door.
“Just think about it. That’s what I call closure,” her voice trailed after them as he gently ushered Jane out on to the small porch, closing the door behind them.
“They’re crazy,” he stated under his breath after the door gave a final click. “And I’m the one that needs therapy, right.” He wasn’t speaking to her, more to himself as he stared at the front door before turning abruptly.
“Let’s get this over with,” his demeanor changed back to cool in an instant as he grasped her elbow and led her down the few steps to the walkway below. An almost awkward silence ensued as she stole glances at him during the walk to the car. It almost felt like a date, especially when he opened the door for her and held her arm as she folded herself into the cool leather seat. She wouldn’t delude herself into thinking this was anything but what it was.
The door slammed and as soon as he removed himself from her side of the vehicle, she glanced over to the front door of the house to see Karen, Betty and Michelle, the nurse, watching from behind the glass storm door. They were all smiling broadly; Betty gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up sign for some unknown reason to which Jane mimicked back half-heartedly.
He started the car and immediately pulled from the curb. She hadn’t known him very long, but could tell: he was lost in his own thoughts. Several times during the ride she would open her mouth only to close it abruptly. It was killing her not to ask about Kevin. Were his and Marcus’s deaths related? The mystery surrounding Joe and his past was intriguing to say the least. It was hell only knowing small snippets of the situation and the need to fill in the blanks was gnawing at her brain. She slid a sideward glance to his profile and the muscles in his jaw were tense, accentuating the angular planes of his face even more. Asking him anything now would be a mistake. A huge mistake.
They passed street after street, the scenery changing from businesses to residential to a mix of both.
Finally, after at least ten minutes of complete silence in the car, she broke it.
“We don’t have to do this, you know,” she stated gently.
“We’re not. That was the hall we just passed.”
She immediately turned in her seat and watched a rather huge, elegant building recede from her line of vision before she turned to regard him.
Relief washed through her immediately. “Thank god – I was really hoping we didn’t have to go. I’m no good with crowds,” she breathed out.
“I know,” he replied bluntly.
“So, where are going?”
His answer was to turn into a small parking lot next to a brightly lit building. A large neon sign with the words ‘McCreary’s Pub’ was emblazoned in script on the front and side of the building.
“We’re going to a bar?”
“Sure. Anything’s better than that reunion, trust me. We’ll just have a drink and hang out, go home in a couple of hours…hopefully Betty will be gone, mom should be in bed. We’ll get up early and get out of there before the Inquisition begins -”
“Sounds like a plan,” she agreed as he turned into a parking space.
The bar was dimly lit, homey, with a distinct flare of an Irish Pub accentuated with brass railings and dark wood. The space was sparsely populated with a few people scattered throughout the open room, some seated in booths, a few seated around a large rectangular bar that jutted out into the middle almost separating the two sides of the room.
“We’ll sit here. I’ll be right back,” he stated as he led her to a booth before wandering over to the bar. Settling herself, she took another glance around before her eyes fastened on a tri-fold menu propped up between bottles of ketchup and mustard. Pulling it out, she opened and perused the list of what was primarily bar food – mainly appetizers with a few Irish-sounding entrees. Her stomach decided to participate by giving a small growl, reminding her she hadn’t eaten in hours. From the smell permeating throughout the room, it definitely appeared that grease was the main component of most of the offerings. Pretty much everything was fried on the menu.
“Are you hungry?” Her eyes wandered from the menu to his face as he dropped two matching drinks on the heavy wooden table before tucking his body in to the booth across from her. Jack and Coke’s, she assumed but then again, maybe just Coke. The glasses were awfully large.
“Yeah. You?” she answered.
“I could eat. What do they have?”
She pushed the menu toward him and watched his facial expression, or rather his grimace of disgust as his eyes scanned down each page of the menu before meeting hers over the small expanse of the tabletop.
“What do you want? They don’t have waitresses here; I have to go up to the bar to order.” He gave a slight nod in the direction of the bar.
“Potato skins, ranch dressing.”
“No, for real, what do you want?”
“Oh…ummm…” she pretended to ponder a moment before continuing, “Potato skins…ranch dressing,” she stated in a matter-of-fact tone, waiting for the inevitable lecture.
“Be right back,” was his only reply before he left her once again and walked across the room. Her eyes couldn’t help but attach themselves to his form. The cut of his coat was perfect, the body beneath a stark contrast to the professional, suave looking man wandering through the room. An involuntary sigh escaped her lips much the same as any other female that laid eyes on him. Shaking off her internal musings, she sipped the drink ascertaining that yes; the Coke definitely was spiked with Jack. And he was going to order her potato skins – holy crap; he must be distracted if he didn’t even offer up the slightest resistance. She expected the argument, but it never came. The man was seriously distracted. Her eyes averted immediately when he turned from the bar after speaking with the bartender.
He settled into the booth once again, his eyes watching the door, assessing the room and everyone in it, except her, she noticed. Clearing her throat nervously, she finally couldn’t take the silence any longer.
“So…did you change your mind on the way over here?”
“About what?” he responded absently as he continued to stare at what she assumed was the front door.
“Going to the reunion? I mean, we came all the way out here, if you just wanted to waste time, we could have gone anywhere,” she prompted. His eyes finally made their way to Jane’s as he took a deep breath.
“I thought about it. Then I realized that it doesn’t matter to me what those assholes think. Who cares, Jane? It was fifteen years ago. Betty and Mom mean well, but what’s the point?”
“Did you have any friends in school?”
“Sure. Even nerds have friends, Jane.”
“You were a nerd?” she barked out a small laugh. Unbelievable that the man seated across from her would be anything but what he appeared now.
“I was a huge nerd. Like a ‘Dungeons and Dragons’ kind of nerd,” he replied with a slight smirk.
“What’s ‘Dungeons and Dragons’?” she asked as she placed her chin on her hands, her elbows resting on the table.
“I’m guessing you weren’t a nerd, were you?”
“No. I was a cheerleader.”
“You were a cheerleader,” he stated with bland disbelief.
“Yeah, I know. I have all the coordination of a newborn giraffe,” she muttered seriously. “I can’t believe they let me on the team. They did, however stick me in the back for pretty much everything we did.”
“Hmmm. So, you were pretty popular then, huh?”
“I guess so. So tell me about High School,” she prompted, trying to steer the conversation back to him.
“So back then, did you just blurt stuff out to people like you do now?”
She grabbed her drink and took a sip, debating how much she wanted to reveal.
“No. I mean, I knew stuff, but for the most part I kept it to myself. I would see things like who was going to win Homecoming Queen, or sometimes if we were going to win or lose a basketball game – which by the way sucks if you’re a cheerleader and you know your team’s going to lose. That was weird. Just little things, nothing too crazy. Nothing like now.”
“Did your parents know?”
She immediately grabbed her drink for another swig. His eyes were focused intently on hers.
“I don’t talk about them,” she muttered after swallowing.
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t, that’s all. Can we talk about something else? Let’s talk about you being a nerd.”
“Let’s talk about the accident. You said it all changed after the accident. What happened?”
“Joe -” She shook her head as a warning scowl crossed her features.
“Jane…I told you about me. I want to know about you.”
“You didn’t tell me crap about you!”
“I’ve told you more about me than I’ve ever told anyone, including my Mom. So spill it.”
She immediately grabbed her drink and downed about half of it before setting it down and pushing it away from her.
“I’ll tell you if you tell me something.”
“Deal. Go.” His attention was focused solely on her at that moment. Any other woman would be delighted with the attention. Jane shifted uncomfortably in her seat instead.
“I don’t know where to start,” she muttered absently.
“Start at the beginning.” For some unfathomable reason, he was so intent on finding out more about the woman seated before him. It made no sense. The less he knew about her, the easier it would be…
Her fingers were fidgeting in front of her, he noticed as she sat silent for a few moments.
“I was an ‘oops baby’,” she finally stated softly, staring at a spot on the table directly in front of him.
“What’s that?”
“You know, they weren’t planning on me. My sister was eight years older than me. They only wanted one kid and…I just didn’t fit into their plans. That’s all.” She shrugged and reached for the drink, taking another healthy swallow.
“So, alright…” he prompted as she set the glass back on the table.
“So, they named me Jane, Joe. Like an afterthought. Like, ‘what do we name this thing we don’t want?’ ‘Oh I don’t know Jim, let’s just call her Jane’,” she revealed snidely. “My sister’s name was Anastasia. Like they thought long and hard about that shit and they gave her this kick ass name and I got Jane. Plain Jane. Seriously. I believe they planned it that way just to remind me that I suck.” She stopped her hand from reaching for the glass yet again. The alcohol was warming her body, relaxing her. Loosening her tongue - which was no doubt part of his evil plan.
“You really think that?”
“I know that. They both had careers – I mean really good careers. Mom was the VP of nursing for the Veteran’s Administration, Dad was an Executive at Chrysler. I had a nanny. I tried so freaking hard to be perfect but it’s like they were so annoyed that I disrupted the life they had planned…Oh, I hate those fuckers…”
“Jane!”
“Sorry. It’s the drink.” She nodded her head toward the half empty glass.
“Te
ll me about your sister.”
“Tell me about your brother,” she countered quickly. His eyes widened a fraction before settling back to a normal gaze.
“You first,” he stated gently, his eyes still probing hers, making warmth spread throughout every portion of her body. Or maybe it was the drink. Whatever…
“She was awesome. She was so beautiful and so popular and could basically do no wrong. She was really sweet to me. Like she felt bad for me, took up for me all the time. I would do anything for her. I worshipped that girl. My parents did too. But it was all a freaking lie. She used me just like she used them.” She gave up the inner battle and grabbed the drink, downing the rest of it.
“What happened?”
A slow nod and a wistful expression were her only response.
“Jane?”
“She was a…drug addict. She hid it really well. She was stealing money and jewelry from my folks. I got blamed for it because I lived with them. I saw it. I mean, I had visions of her shooting up, sneaking into the house; taking the money. My folks didn’t give a crap about me anyway; I just sort of let them think what they wanted. I tried to tell them once. They grounded me. I think they were just waiting for me to turn eighteen so they could boot me out of the house and focus on their careers and their travel and all the things they wanted to do but couldn’t because of me. And then come to find out that the one person you think actually gives two shits about you actually doesn’t? That was really something.”
“You don’t talk to them anymore,” he supplied for her.
“You asking me or you already know that? I think you already know that.”
“I do. What happened?”
“Can we just talk about you now? Let’s talk about you -”
“Let’s not. What happened, Jane?” He was pushing his untouched drink across the table at her.
“Are you trying to get me shit-faced?”
“Yes. Tell me,” he replied rather bluntly.
A long sigh escaped her lips before she lifted her eyes to his once again.
“She used to sneak me into the bar with her. I thought it was the coolest thing. I was twenty. We were both pretty wasted one night, we got in a car accident, she was driving, we hit a tree; my head went through the windshield. She was OK. Do you know what she did?”
This Guy Kills Me Page 23