Between the Lines

by Jane Charles

  Ellen is nodding. At least she’s listening and not judging yet.

  “Then he was interested in a woman closer to his age, an adult in her early twenties. The babysitter didn’t like it and thought if she told this woman that she and the teacher were involved, the woman would simply go away.”

  “How was he arrested? Did the woman believe her and report him?”

  “The girl made her declaration in front of a police officer, fireman and a Baxter counselor. Once a sixteen-year-old claims to be in an intimate relationship with a twenty-five-year-old man, they are under obligation to report it to the authorities for investigation. They hated having to do it because the guy is a friend, but accusations like that are never taken lightly.”

  “They all reported it, even the counselor at Baxter?” She seems surprised.

  “Yeah. Each filled out a report.”

  Ellen

  That is not what I was expecting to hear. Sure, I anticipated there would be defense of the guy, but not everything Gabe just told me. Of course, it is easy enough to check out. Not that names will be in the police reports, but I could get enough information to check out his story.

  Do I have Baxter all wrong? It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been convinced shady things were happening when they weren’t. And, once again I have to wonder if that girl in the hospital was just messed up, or pissed that she was kicked out and putting the blame everywhere else but on her.

  Has this been a colossal waste of time?

  I look up and meet Gabe’s blue eyes. Well, not all of it. I did meet him, though I’m not sure where I stand or if anything is left. A whirlwind romance that lasted not even a week.

  Why isn’t he at Baxter today though? I don’t buy his story that he isn’t needed, but I doubt I’ll get the truth from him. So, maybe I shouldn’t quite give up my research into the school just yet.

  “What is the criteria for admission?” I pour the dark liquid into a cup and hand it to him.

  “Talent.” He takes the cup from me and sits on a stool.

  “That’s it?” I take my cup and settle at the marble counter island, across from him. “There are hundreds, if not thousands, of talented high school students. I can’t even figure out how someone would even apply to the school.” There isn’t one place on their website for admissions.

  “They’re recommended. Kids don’t apply, though I’m sure Baxter does get their share of letters and email asking about admissions.”

  That I don’t doubt, since they didn’t list it. At first, I assumed it was an oversight by a shitty web administrator, until I realized it was intentional. “Who recommends them?” This is a much more comfortable conversation than the one about my past. It’s as if we’ve crossed a bridge from the ugly to possibly having respect. I doubt we’ll ever be lovers again. Too much damage and mistrust. Besides, it’s too dangerous for Gabe, but as long as he is no more than a source of information and I keep myself from getting personally involved, he should be safe.

  Safe! Is anyone safe?

  What if the judge grants their motions?

  I can’t go back. I can’t sit in a courtroom and face them again. If the judge order my appearance, will I even live to make it to the courtroom?

  He can’t! He just can’t. They need to use my earlier testimony. If not, then I’m leaving the country. Going where nobody can find me. It’s not like I have anything or anyone keeping me here.

  Well, except Gabe. If there is anything now, it might be friendship, if that. But, too much has happened and once again, I’m alone.

  What if they find a way to track me to another country? What if Krestyanov comes looking for me to make sure I can never testify? Is any place safe?

  The judge has to rule against him. He just has to. I can’t face them. I can’t revisit that place. My chest and throat tightens and it’s getting dark in my peripheral vision. I need to stay calm. Don’t borrow trouble. It hasn’t happened yet.

  But, what if someone does decide to come after me? I deserve it. At least, that is what my sister said. It was the last thing she ever said to me before she walked away, never speaking to me again.

  A warm hand closes over mine and my panic shifts, lightening and I glance up. Gabe is staring at me, his blue eyes full of concern.

  “Are you okay?”

  I blink. “What?”

  “You asked me a question, I answered you, but you didn’t respond. It’s as if you went somewhere else.”

  I swallow against the tightness in my throat. “Sorry. I’m just tired. That’s all.”

  I’ve got to quit thinking about my father, my family, trials and all the horrible men my father associated with. This is my chance to learn about Baxter and I need to concentrate on that. “How did you say kids get into Baxter? Referrals? No. Recommendations. Who recommends them?”

  “Counselors.”

  That makes no sense. Counselors would want to keep kids at their schools. The more students a school has, the more funding they get. If counselors kept recommending students to other places, especially out of district, they wouldn’t keep their job long.

  “How do all these counselors know about Baxter since their website is pretty shitty?”

  Gabe shrugs. “No idea. I just teach English and writing.”

  Bullshit! He knows a hell of a lot more than he’s telling me.

  “Why aren’t you in witness protection? You’ve pissed off a lot of dangerous guys.”

  I don’t want to talk about this, but he isn’t going to let it go. “I’ll tell you, if you tell me about Baxter.”

  “No deal. I don’t have anything to say about Baxter, other than what I’ve already told you.” He shakes his head.

  I look him dead in the eye, but he doesn’t shift his gaze. Either he’s very good at lying or Gabe believes the bullshit he’s telling me. “I don’t believe you.”

  We sit there staring at the other, neither willing to break or say anything further. Gabe picks up his coffee and sips, never breaking eye contact. I’m not about to either. I’ll learn what I need to know and he needs to understand that.

  He swallows and puts the cup back on the counter. “It appears we are at an impasse.”

  “It appears so.”

  A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “So, what are your plans today?”

  I blink at him in surprise. He’s giving up? Or, is this a trick? “Beyond a shower, I’m not sure.”

  He takes another drink of his coffee and stands. “Good. I’ll be back at one. Be ready for an outing.” Then starts limping toward the door.

  “What?” I come to my feet. “Where are we going? Why?”

  He turns to face me, grinning. “I haven’t figure that out yet, but it is too fine of a day to be stuck indoors glaring at each other.”

  “We don’t have to be in the same place. You can go back to your apartment and I’ll stay here.” Though the idea of going somewhere, anywhere, with Gabe, sends a little thrill down my spine. Maybe it isn’t all over? Even if it’s just friendship, it’s a hell of a lot more than I thought I had a short time ago.

  “Have you looked outside? The sun is shining and it’s in the seventies. We need to take advantage of that.”

  Would it be possible to have conversation that didn’t involve my family or Baxter? As much as I want to know the truth, maybe I should give it a rest, for today. Maybe being out somewhere with Gabe would help me forget, even for a short while. It’d almost be like I was a normal person. Just like I felt those few days in New York.

  Before Scott called.

  The door clicks before I answer. He’ll be back in about two hours and a thrill runs through me before I down my lukewarm coffee and head to the bathroom to shower and get ready.

  Gabe – 26

  The brace feels secure and I test the weight on my leg. I don’t use it often, except when I know I might be doing a lot of walking. I wish I would have had it with me in New York, but I wasn’t thinking straight when Ellen suggested w
e go. But, walking in the park, on a warm day, shouldn’t be a challenge. I could use some of those endorphins that Ethan was talking about in class. So could Ellen.

  I don’t know if she’s just tired or upset. She was certainly shaken after I confronted her about her father. For a minute, I thought she was headed into a panic attack while we were having coffee. I’ve seen that look on my students often enough, and they’ve pulled themselves back, sometimes, like I watched Ellen do. Does she regularly suffer from them? Does she take anything?

  I’ve never had one, but I’ve witnessed them, and they suck. A few kids had to be heavily medicated and sometimes gone from the classroom for a few days until they recovered. It must be hell having to live with something like that.

  Maybe sunshine and fresh air will help. I grab a couple of Frisbees and toss them into my backpack with some bottles of chilled water. The park I have in mind has a disc golf course, which could be fun. Hopefully she plays. If not, we can toss the Frisbee around, unless Ellen wants to do something else. I know what I’d rather do, but sex is currently off the table given the state of our relationship.

  Relationship! Do we even have one? This is probably the screwiest relationship I’ve ever been in, but despite the lies and half-truths, I still want her. I’m far from finished getting to know Ellen and I hope to hell she isn’t done with me either.

  My stomach grumbles and I glance at the clock. It’s nearly one and I haven’t eaten today. Half a pot of coffee isn’t going to get me far. Hopefully, Ellen is up for a bite. Maybe a picnic in the park.

  I shake my head and laugh as I head out the door. Picnic in the park with a beautiful girl. It’s something I’ve never done before, but seems like a good plan. Especially when that girl is Ellen. And, it should turn out to be a pleasant day if we avoid two specific topics: Baxter and her father.

  They had wanted to put her into witness protection?

  Ellen admitted as much, but she didn’t go. Why the hell not? Simply changing her name and moving to the other side of the country isn’t going to cut it. Maybe it would have worked, if she would have disappeared into oblivion and not published her blog. I can’t believe that hasn’t grabbed somebody’s attention by now. Dangerous somebodies.

  Then again, maybe they’re all already convicted and in jail. If so, there wouldn’t be a threat, would there?

  I don’t know much about the criminal element, cartels, mafia or organized crime, but the movies make them out to be scary enough. If I were Ellen, I’d be doing nothing to bring attention to myself. Then again, I could be making a lot out of nothing.

  When she opens the door, Ellen’s wearing a pair of faded jeans and a grey Cubs t-shirt, which takes me by surprise. “You’re from Nevada,” I point out, nodding to the shirt.

  She grins. “I always root for the underdog.”

  “They haven’t won a World Series since 1908. The last time they were even in the playoffs was in 2008. A hundred year stretch, and still not making it, is worse than being an underdog.”

  Then she laughs. “That’s right. You lived in Illinois as a kid.”

  “There’s always next year.” I wink at her.

  Ellen waves her finger. “Next year, is this year.”

  I laugh again. I’ve got to hand it to Cubs fans, they’re eternal optimists.

  She grabs her purse and locks her door and we head down the stairs. “Do you know the stats of all the major teams?”

  “No. I don’t really follow baseball.”

  “Yet you just dished on my Cubbies.”

  “When you live in the middle of Illinois, you’re usually either a Cardinals fan or a Cubs fan, and each year it’s an intense rivalry.”

  Ellen grins. “I think I’d like it there.”

  “Only if you’re a Cardinals fan.” I laugh.

  “So, where are we off to?” Ellen asks as we step outside. The sun is warm and spring is in the air.

  When the hell did I get so sappy? I’m a jock, not a romantic.

  “Lunch and the park?”

  Her eyes brighten. “Good. I’m starving.”

  We make our way to the small parking lot behind the house. My SUV is next to her Audi. “I’ll drive,” she calls. “We’ll put the top down and enjoy the day.”

  Being the guy, I thought I should drive, but what the hell. It is a hot car. Almost as hot as its owner. How fast does this baby go anyway? Maybe we should head up into the mountains instead of the park outside of town.

  I follow her to the driver’s side and she frowns up at me. “I’m driving my car,” she points out.

  “Yes. And, I’m opening your door.”

  She blinks, then smiles as I grab the handle.

  “Why thank you, good sir.” She starts the engine and then pushes a button and the top begins folding itself back before I get to the passenger door.

  The tan leather is as soft as butter and the seat cushions every part of my body. I could get used to traveling in such luxury, but can’t even imagine how much this car set her back. Then again, her father is, or was, a multimillionaire, though I would have thought the feds confiscated everything that asswipe owned, including bank accounts. Then again, guys like Ellen’s father don’t keep their money in the States. He probably has it setting in the Caymans.

  “Nice car.” It practically purrs as we pull out onto the main road.

  “Thanks. It was a graduation gift from my grandparents.”

  Oh, so it wasn’t purchased with Daddy’s illegal fortune. And which grandparents? The ones with the problems with the estate? Or, was that a bogus story too?

  “I told them it was too much. I lived in New York and was staying there for my post-graduate degree. This baby has spent more time under a tarp in a garage than on the road.”

  That’s just fucking sad. “Well, at least you get to drive it now. A beauty like this belongs on the open road.”

  Ellen grins as she shifts into fifth gear just after merging onto the highway. She pushes a button on her steering wheel and classical music swells from the sound system. I don’t recognize it, not that I ever listen to classical music, so that shouldn’t be a surprise. “Who’s this?”

  “Not who, but what.”

  “Okay, what?”

  “I guess who is correct too.” She laughs. “Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake.”

  “A ballet, right?”

  “Yes.” Ellen just shakes her head. She never did get a chance to culturize me. “There’s dance at Baxter, right?”

  “Sure.” The only thing I know about the dance department is what makes it into the school newspaper.

  “Do they hold performances?”

  “Sure.”

  Ellen’s shaking her head. “You’ve never gone.”

  I shrug.

  She rolls her eyes and focuses back on the road. “I know there is a concert next week. What kind?”

  “Orchestra, not the band.” This I do know for certain, but only because Ethan wrote an article about the music and composers they were highlighting. These are the types of articles I also send to the local news media. Just because the school is private doesn’t mean concerts, plays, recitals and exhibits are. Tickets are available online and once a person passes the proper screening, they are allowed entrance. Not that I’m overly confident with their screening of late.

  “Do you even attend the performances?”

  My face heats. “It’s just not my thing.” Though I should support the kids more, I suppose.

  She sighs as if disappointed.

  I look out to the passing scenery. It’s nice being with her again. I get what happened in New York and why. What I don’t get, is why she thinks something bad is happening at Baxter. I study her profile. She’s slightly moving to the music. If she wasn’t driving, I bet she’d be dancing, probably going through the steps in her head. The music is moving. Maybe I’ve been missing out on a lot by not attending performances.

  Maybe, just maybe we can salvage what started and move forward, except I’m
not sure what she’s thinking or feeling.

  I relax further back in my seat, let the music wash over me and glance out the window, just enjoying being with her, watching the trees starting to leaf out and wildflowers blooming at the side of the road as we head to our destination…going in the wrong direction I realize too late.

  But, I didn’t exactly tell Ellen which park or where we’d get lunch, and I don’t really care. I just like riding in this car, with Ellen, and no particular destination in mind.

  “I wanted to be a ballerina.”

  This takes me by surprise and I glance over. I shouldn’t be surprised though. I did find her dancing that first morning.

  Fuck, so much is falling into place and I glance at her. “That apartment is yours, not Paige’s.”

  Her face colors. “No, it belongs to Paige. I didn’t make that up.”

  “You still practice though.”

  “She does have the space, barre and mirror.”

  “How did you get interested in ballet or did your mother make you take all kinds of lessons and that one stuck?”

  She laughs. “We were in Russia because Father had to meet with business associates and he took me to see the Kirov Ballet. I was only five, but I fell in love with the music and the dancers. I begged and begged to take ballet and he finally allowed it when I was eight. I was going to be the greatest prima ballerina.” The smile slips from her face. “It’s the first time I met Uncle Victor.”

  “Victor?”

  “Krestyanov. Before he moved to America.”

  I read that name several times in the reports. Russian mafia, specializing in human trafficking. Young girls from Russia trained to be high class prostitutes. Kept on exclusive estates for the single purpose of servicing rich clientele.

  Ellen’s knuckles are turning white from gripping the steering wheel so hard. I need to get her mind focused somewhere else, at least while she’s driving. “Why did you stop?”

  “The lessons ended when Father was arrested.” She blinks and glances to the side mirror. “I was good. Really good and looking into dance schools at the time.”