“Oh. Okay. Sure.” She sounds hurt.
“I’ll be down in the morning though,” I offer. “I’ll see you then. When you get back from church.”
And I’ll see Jake, I think. She’s right. I can’t avoid him forever.
After we hang up, I go online and google Jake Gibson. I try Jacob Gibson too, since presumably that’s what Jake is short for. I even try Jackson Gibson, though it sounds awful and doesn’t fit the biblical naming scheme of Leah’s family.
Nothing.
Well, not nothing. There are tons of Jake Gibsons—TV producers, actors, lawyers, football players. But for the Jake Gibson I’m interested in, the only things that show up are a couple of local newspaper articles about a summer riding camp he runs, his dad’s obituary and some track-and-field results from back in high school. He has a Facebook page too, but his privacy settings won’t let me see anything, and given that I’ve never seen him comment on any of Leah’s posts, I’m guessing he doesn’t use it much anyway.
So much for that.
I smooth out the scrap of wrapping paper and tuck it under the corner of my keyboard. Then I search for articles about the recent bomb threat at the hospital. There are several, but they’re all pretty much the same—the few facts the police released, a request for the public to come forward with any information, and a rehashing of the threats from last year and Jennifer Lee’s resignation. I bet she wishes they’d stop printing her name.
A gift-wrapped package was found…
No convenient detailed description of the wrapping paper.
I shake my head. I’m being crazy. Jake’s just a jerk, like plenty of other people. He’s anti-choice and he doesn’t like me dating his sister. Which is a drag, but it’s also not a huge deal. And it definitely doesn’t make him a murderous lunatic. I crumple up the piece of paper and toss it in the recycling bin under my desk.
Enough craziness.
I wake up smiling the next morning. The sun is streaming through my bedroom window, and I’ve been dreaming about Leah.
I sit up, stretch and yawn widely.
Today is going to be a good day. I can feel it.
I dress quickly, bolt down a huge bowl of granola and nuts and yogurt, and head to the barn. No one’s there—it’s Sunday morning, and they’re all at church. I groom Buddy till his coat shines and take him for a ride in the woods—a good long one to make up for yesterday’s getting cut short. The sun streams through the bare branches of the trees, and the air has that cold, crisp feeling of fall. Buddy acts like a two-year-old, tossing his head and snorting and taking big sideways leaps of alarm over every harmless shadow and fallen twig.
“You big baby,” I say, feeling a flood of affection for him.
I hear someone approaching, and Leah appears around a bend in the trail, riding bareback on her gray mare. “Franny,” she says, out of breath. “I was hoping I’d find you guys. How’s Buddy? Better, I guess, or you wouldn’t be riding.”
“He’s fine today,” I say. My ears feel hot at the memory of yesterday’s lie.
“Good.” She brings her horse alongside mine. “Mom and Jake are off looking at some old equipment on a friend’s farm and won’t be back till dinnertime. Got plans for the rest of the day?”
“Uh, yeah. I do now,” I say, giving her a goofy grin.
Leah grins back. And my perfect morning is followed by an even more perfect afternoon.
The next day, everything falls apart.
I get home from school to find Detective Bowerbank in the living room, sitting on the couch beside my mother. “What happened?” I say, my heart in my throat. “Where’s Dad? Is he okay?”
“It’s fine,” Mom says. “Dad’s fine. He’s at work. There’s a security meeting.”
I look at Rich. “A security meeting. Something happened? What’s going on?”
He leans back on the couch, folds his arms across his belly and sighs. “Hello, Franny.”
“Hello, Rich,” I say. “Don’t torture me. Something happened, right?”
He nodded. “Your mother received a letter at work. A threat.”
“What did it say?”
He slides a page to me across the coffee table. “This is a copy. We’re having the original checked for fingerprints, DNA—anything.”
I stare at it. It’s not a letter. It’s a photograph.
My hand flies to my mouth as if I can catch the breath that has suddenly whooshed from my lungs.
“Franny,” Rich says. “I know this is upsetting, but try not to worry. We’re looking into this. We’re going to put some extra security measures in place—”
I touch the photo. It’s of my house. My parents, on our driveway.
With bright-red Sharpie targets drawn on their chests.
“Franny, wait!” Mom says, getting to her feet.
I run up to my room, throw myself on my bed and lie there, curled up in a ball.
A minute later Mom knocks on the door. “Franny? Can I come in?”
I don’t answer, but she lets herself in anyway and sits on the edge of my bed. “It’s horrible, I know. Scary.” She rubs my back, moving her hand in slow circles. “But we’ve been living with this risk for years. It’s going to be fine.”
“You don’t know that,” I choke out. “You can’t promise that.”
Her hand stops moving. “I can’t promise it,” she says, “but I do believe it. So does your dad. And so does Rich. He’s looking into everything, you know. Interviewing people, following up every possible lead…”
Except Jake Gibson, I think.
If I tell him about Jake, I might lose Leah.
But if I don’t tell him…
If I don’t tell him and it turns out that I’m right…
Then I might lose my parents.
Chapter Twelve
Leah sends me texts all evening, but I ignore them. I can’t imagine telling her what I’m thinking. And I can’t imagine talking to her and not telling her.
Late that night, I phone Detective Bowerbank. I don’t want to have to talk to him in person, so I call his office phone and leave a message. I tell him about Jake and how he’s been acting toward me and what he said about my parents being baby killers. I tell him that it’s probably nothing and that I’m probably being stupid and that I’m sorry I’m wasting his time.
I don’t mention the wrapping paper, because I don’t want to admit to snooping in Jake’s room, and besides, who doesn’t have wrapping paper?
My message is a garbled mess, and I wish I could just erase it and start over. After I hang up, I lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling.
I can’t stand the thought of losing Leah, but I don’t think I could survive if something happened to my parents.
In the morning my parents head to work, and I go off to school like everything is normal.
Only it isn’t.
I feel sick to my stomach all morning. I send Leah a text at lunchtime. Miss you.
She replies a couple of minutes later. Miss you too. How come you weren’t at the barn last night? I called you 100 times.
So nothing’s happened yet, obviously. And maybe nothing will. Maybe Detective Bowerbank will listen to my message, laugh a little about how crazy I’m being and press Delete. I hope he does.
I’ll be there after school today, I text.
Her reply is instant. YAY! XO
XXXXXXXXXXXXOOOOOOOOO, I send back.
I want every one of those in person.
I picture Leah’s wide eyes, her full lips, the way the corners of her mouth lift and her cheeks dimple when she smiles. Me too, I tell her.
I have Biology after lunch, which I usually like, but today I spend the class thinking about Leah and hoping desperately that she’ll still feel the same way about me at four o’clock. That nothing will have changed.
My lab partner elbows me. “What’s wrong with you today?” She gestures at the half-dissected cow eyeball in front of us. “I thought you’d be in future-vet heaven, but yo
u’re like… somewhere else.”
“Sorry,” I say. The eyeball blurs and I blink back tears. “Back in a minute.”
I dash to the girls’ washroom, which, luckily, is empty, and dial Rich Bowerbank’s number. Voice mail. “Hi, it’s Franny,” I say. “Listen, about that message I left last night. Just ignore it, okay? I was just freaked out about the threats and being paranoid. I mean, lots of people aren’t comfortable with abortion, and it doesn’t make them deranged losers. Or, you know, stalkers or murderers or whatever. So, uh, what I said about Jake? Just pretend that never happened. Um. Sorry.” I hang up before I can ramble anymore.
He’ll probably think I’m the one who’s a deranged loser.
That’s fine with me.
After school I head straight to the Gibsons’. I think at first that the barn is empty—the lights are off. I switch them on—
And see Leah, sitting on the tack box in front of Buddy’s stall. Her arms are crossed, and her mouth is a thin, straight line.
“You’re home early,” I say stupidly. Like that’s the point.
“Because Jake called me,” she says. “Because the cops were here. Interviewing him…” She starts crying. “Franny, how could you?”
I shrug helplessly and stand there, just inside the barn door. Twenty feet away from her, and it feels like a mile.
“They searched his room,” she says.
“Don’t they need, you know, a warrant or something to do that?”
“He said they could,” Leah says coldly. “He told them to look around. Let them look through his emails too.”
“He did?”
“Yeah. Because he has nothing to hide, Franny. Because he hasn’t done anything.”
I slide down the wall so that I’m sitting on the cold cement floor. “I’m sorry, Leah. I’m so sorry. But—”
She cuts me off. “He didn’t even know what your parents did until he heard you telling my mom the other night.”
“Let me explain,” I say. “Please.”
“Fine. Explain.” Her voice is like ice.
“There was another threat,” I say. “Yesterday. A photo of my parents leaving our house, and targets were drawn on their chests…and I was so scared that something might happen to them. And Jake…the things he said…”
“You should have talked to me, Franny. I could have told you he’d never do anything like that.”
“He’s your brother,” I say. “You trust him. Of course you wouldn’t think he’d—”
“Yeah, he’s my brother. I trust him because I know him.” She meets my eyes for a second and then looks away. “And I thought you trusted me.”
“I do,” I say. “Of course I do.”
“If you trusted me, you’d have talked to me. Not acted like everything was fine and then gone behind my back and told the police that Jake might be some crazy killer.”
“I couldn’t risk not saying anything to the police,” I say. “Because if I didn’t…if I just said nothing and if you were wrong about Jake…and if something happened to my parents…then it’d be my fault.”
We stare at each other in silence for a long moment. I can’t see a way forward. Can’t see a way out of this.
And there’s no going back.
Leah stands up. “I’m going up to the house,” she says.
It’s over, I think. She’ll never speak to me again. She hates me, and Jake hates me, and their mother will hate me as soon as she hears about what I’ve done.
I’ll have to move Buddy to some other stable.
Then the door swings open behind me, and I scramble to my feet.
It’s Jake.
Chapter Thirteen
“I can’t believe you have the balls to show up here after what you did,” Jake says. “Telling the cops lies about me. Telling them—”
“I didn’t lie,” I say.
“Right. That’s why they were here this afternoon, going through my room, asking questions about where I’ve been.”
“All I said was that you called my parents baby killers,” I say. My voice is louder than I mean it to be. “Which is not a lie!”
“No law against calling it like it is,” Jake says. His fists are clenched. “You’re crazy. A crazy dyke.”
I flinch. For a moment, I wonder if he might hit me.
“Jake,” Leah says. “Don’t…don’t use that word. Not like that.”
“Stay away from us,” he says. “Stay away from my sister.”
I look at Leah. Her face is white, her eyes wide and shining with tears. “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“Just go,” she says. “Please. Just go.”
I’ve lost her. Leah’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and it’s over. It’s my fault, and there’s absolutely nothing I can do. I feel empty. Hollow. Every part of me aches.
I turn to leave.
And my phone rings. I hesitate, but I can’t ignore it. Because the first thing that comes to mind is my parents. I take a few steps away from Jake and Leah and answer the call. “Hello?”
“Franny? It’s Rich Bowerbank.”
My heart thuds painfully in my chest. “What is it? Is something…has something…my parents?”
“Your parents are fine,” he says quickly. “But there’s been an incident.”
“An incident? At the hospital?” I glance at Jake and Leah. They’re both staring at me. Jake still looks angry, his fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tight. Leah’s mouth is open, her fingers pressed against it. “What happened?”
“Everyone is fine,” he says again. “A man came into the clinic. He pulled a knife and—”
My knees turn to jelly, and I sit down abruptly on a bale of hay. “A knife?”
“Oh my god,” Leah says. “What’s happened?”
I ignore her. Turn away slightly, pressing the phone to my ear.
“He was disarmed very quickly by security,” Detective Bowerbank says. “We have him in custody. We’re still investigating, but it looks like he’s responsible for all of the threats. The phone calls, the letters…”
I start sobbing. Relief, I guess. I feel like an idiot, but I can’t help it.
Leah is at my side, her face wet with tears. “Franny? Franny, your parents? Are they…has something—”
“They’re okay,” I say. I can hardly breathe.
“What happened?”
I end the call and stick the phone back in my pocket. “Someone showed up at the clinic,” I say. My voice sounds strange. “With a knife.”
“Holy crap,” Jake says. He sounds kind of stunned.
I whirl on him. “You thought I was making this up or something? Making a fuss about nothing?”
“Not exactly,” he says. “But—”
“Doctors get killed,” I say. “For taking care of patients. For doing a procedure that, regardless of what you think about it, is legal and safe.” I glare at him. “At least, safe for the patient.”
He sticks his hands in his pockets. “Well, at least now you know it wasn’t me.”
He’s right. Which means I ruined my relationship with Leah for nothing. Because I’m an idiot.
I turn and walk away. I’m half-hoping Leah will stop me—come running after me—but she doesn’t.
She just stands there beside Jake and watches me leave.
My parents are both in the kitchen when I get home. Mom’s grating cheese; Dad’s stretching out a lump of dough.
“Hello there, Franster,” Dad says. “You’re home early. Buddy okay?”
“Fine.” I burst into tears.
They both stare at me. “What is it?” Mom asks, sounding alarmed. “Rich said he spoke to you. They arrested the guy, Fran. It’s all over.”
I shake my head. Dad leaves his pizza dough on the baking tray and puts his arms around me. “Come here, Franny-bear. It’s okay.”
I’m crying in great heaving sobs. “Sorry,” I say. “Sorry.”
He just holds me, my face a
gainst his chest.
I sniff, pull back and wipe my nose on my sleeve. “I’m probably getting snot all over your sweater.”
“No worries,” he says. “I’ve got pizza dough all over yours.”
I laugh through my tears.
“Franny?” Mom says. “Did something happen? Or…”
“Me and Leah,” I say. “I think maybe we just broke up.”
After I explain everything that happened—the things Jake said, how I snooped around his room, what I told Detective Bowerbank—Mom looks as if she might start crying herself.
“You poor kid,” she says. “Your dad and I—well, you know why we do what we do. Why it’s important. But we didn’t want all this to affect you.”
“Seriously?” I roll my eyes. “How could it not, Mom?”
“I know, I know. But…” She shakes her head. “I wish you’d talked to us.”
“You had enough to worry about.”
Dad has returned to his pizza, stretching the dough, spreading pesto sauce on it and slicing mushrooms as we talk. “So are you going to apologize to him?”
I stare at him. “To Jake? You’ve got to be kidding.”
He shrugs. “Well, you did suspect him of doing some terrible things.”
“Because he said some terrible things,” I say. “He’s the one who should apologize.”
Dad just sighs and shakes his head.
Chapter Fourteen
I’m undressed and crawling into bed when my phone rings. Leah.
“Hello?” I say.
“Hi. Uh, it’s Jake.
I sit up, my heart instantly racing. “Jake?”
“Don’t hang up.”
“I wasn’t going to,” I say. “What is it?”
“Look. Uh, I just wanted to say sorry that I flipped out about you telling the cops about me.”
I don’t say anything for a few seconds. When I told Dad I thought Jake should apologize, I never in a million years thought he actually would.
“I get why you did it,” he says. “If I thought my mom was in danger, I’d probably have done the same thing.”
Under Threat Page 5