by Helen Brenna
She breezed into the living room. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“I thought you were planning on finishing the fireplace today.” She studied the stones. “Not a good day, huh?”
“No.” He still had a good three feet of rock left to lay down.
“What’s going on?”
“It happens. Everyone has bad days every once in a while.”
“Not you. On bad days you tend to get even more accomplished.”
“Yeah, well, there’s a first time for everything.”
“Jesse—”
“Sarah, leave it, okay? You said your piece the other day. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. You can’t fix this.”
She didn’t say anything.
The moment he glanced back, he regretted raising his voice. “I’m sorry. I just need to be alone.”
“No, you don’t. You’ve been alone enough.”
Now it was his turn to keep silent.
“You need to go tonight.”
There was no need to say where. They both knew.
“It might bring some closure for you. It might—”
“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” He turned on her. “You don’t know what I went through. There hasn’t been a single day that I haven’t thought of the accident first thing when I wake up in the morning and the last thing before I fall asleep. There is no such thing as closure for me on this.”
“How do you know unless you try?”
“I know.”
“Jesse, Hank came for a reason. I think he might have hit on something that might help both of you. What have you got to lose?”
What very, very little remained of his self-respect, that’s what. Hank’s wife and family would be there. It was hard enough having looked into Hank’s eyes. God knows why, but the man had forgiven him. Hank’s family hadn’t. How could Jesse face them?
“I don’t completely understand what you went through,” she said, more gently. “Honestly, I can’t even imagine it. I can’t help but feel like this is the right thing for you. If you don’t do it, you just might regret it for the rest of your life. But if you do…”
“Stop, okay! Stop, Sarah.”
“If it makes a difference,” she whispered, “I’ll go with you.”
He looked into her eyes, held her gaze. The compassion and friendship Sarah offered was almost too much for him. With her by his side, for a moment, he imagined he could do about anything.
Do something. Anything but nothing.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”
USING THE CAR that she stored in Bayfield for mainland trips, Sarah drove into the Ashland community-center parking lot and turned off the engine. Jesse had barely said a word since they’d gotten on the ferry and left Mirabelle, and she was afraid to say anything that might make a mess of this already frightening night.
She turned toward him, studied his solemn profile, and suddenly what Hank had asked Jesse to do sunk in for her. “Maybe I was wrong,” she said, worried for him. “Maybe you shouldn’t do this.”
“No, Sarah. You were right. More right than you’ve ever been about me. So was Hank. I have to go in there.”
“Jesse—”
“I have to do this. I have to face them. I have to face what I did, but I understand if you don’t want to go.” He glanced at her. “You don’t need to come inside.”
“I know.”
Abruptly, he climbed out of the car and started toward the main entrance, his head down, his feet moving as if on automatic pilot. Slowly, she followed him, at a loss for what to say, what to do. Her emotions were so conflicted, she wasn’t sure she could speak. No matter what, though, she wasn’t letting him face this alone. Hurrying now, she finally caught up with him at the door.
“Sure you want to come in?” he asked.
“I’m sure.”
He held the door open and then led the way through the building. They found the designated room and stood in the hall for a moment, listening to the presentation. The room was full, holding at least fifty people, and a MADD volunteer was speaking. She introduced a man whose entire family was killed by a drunk driver. The audience was silent as the man relayed the story of his devastating loss.
Jesse bent his head and ran his hands through his hair. When he looked up again, he seemed to spot Hank in the back row of the room at the same moment Hank spotted him.
Hank smiled as he rolled his wheelchair toward them. He was a handsome man, the wheelchair and his thin, almost spindly legs a complete contradiction to the athletic look of his upper body. “I’m glad you both came,” he whispered.
Silently, Jesse nodded.
“I’ll go up before you. In about five minutes. I’ll talk about the impact the accident had on my family, my life. Then it’ll be your turn.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“That’s entirely up to you, Jesse. I’d suggest you simply tell your story. In your own words. As honestly as you possibly can. Take as much time as you need. Or use as little as you want. Afterward, we’ll answer questions.”
Jesse took a big breath and stuffed his hands in his pocket.
Sarah lamely placed her hand on his upper back and held it there, not knowing what else to do.
“This is gonna be hard, I know,” Hank said. “And I should warn you again. My wife is here. My parents. A couple brothers and sisters.”
Jesse had explained earlier that having pled guilty to the charges all those years ago, he’d never been forced to confront Hank’s family in court, other than at sentencing. Now there was no way around it.
At that moment, an attractive woman, a brunette with piercing brown eyes, came slowly out into the hall, her eyes boring into Jesse. Sarah reached for Jesse’s hand.
Jesse clenched Sarah’s hand, but held the woman’s gaze. “Mrs. Bowman,” he whispered, his eyes misting. “I know this doesn’t mean much, but I’m so sorry for all the pain I’ve caused you and your husband.”
She rolled her eyes. “Your apology means nothing to me. You ruined my husband’s life—you ruined my life.” Resolutely, she shook her head. “I don’t know how Hank has been able to forgive you, but I guarantee you that won’t be happening with me.” Then she walked down the hall, clearly not willing to listen to the program.
Hank sighed. “Sorry about that.”
“Are you kidding? She’s right.”
“Actually, what she is, is bitter. Angry. And damned hard to live with.”
“So I can add ruining a marriage to my list of offenses,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“No, Jesse. That is definitely not your fault. This kind of stress has a way of either cementing together all the fissures in a relationship or…deepening them. I think you can guess which way we went.” Hank tipped his head toward the rear of the room. “My parents and siblings are there in the back row. They don’t want to meet you, just yet. But I think that’ll come. In time.”
“I don’t blame them. I still haven’t forgiven myself. Why should they?”
“Because it’s better that way.” Hank glanced back at Jesse. “Well, I’m up next. You ready for this?”
“Not even close, but I’ll do my best.”
Hank rolled back into the room. A moment later, the same MADD volunteer who’d introduced the last speaker, announced Hank’s name. He went to the front and introduced himself.
Sarah felt Jesse’s hand trembling in hers. She tightened her grip around his fingers. “You can do this.” Lame again, but it was all she had.
As if looking at her might be too much for him, he kept his gaze on Hank and said, “Thank you for being here, Sarah.” Then he let go of her hand and went to the front of the room.
Sarah slid into an empty seat in the back row, clasped her hands tightly in her lap and prayed that her urging him to come here hadn’t been one hell of a big mistake.
“My name is Jesse Taylor,” he said, glancing out over the audience. For a second, he caug
ht her gaze. Then he took a deep breath and began. “On a Saturday night in October…about four years ago, I drove…drunk…for the first time. I almost killed a man that night. That man was Hank Bowman. I hit him with my truck.” He paused to gather himself. “I hit a human being with the front of my truck. Slammed his body right into a brick building.”
Tears gathered in Sarah’s eyes as she tried to imagine the courage it took for Jesse to humbly pour out his heart and soul to this group. To stand up and face Hank’s family.
“You can all sit there and say to yourselves…well, that wasn’t me,” Jesse went on. “But the truth is that it could’ve been. I’m here to tell you that once—once—is all it takes to forever change not only the course of your life, but ruin someone else’s…”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
A THUNDERSTORM WAS HEADING their way. As they approached Mirabelle’s shores in the water taxi, the wind gusted, and the surface of the water turned choppier by the second. Jesse glanced behind him. Nothing short of a fantastic light display, courtesy of Mother Nature, thunder rumbled miles away, and lightning crackled down from the dark purplish-black night sky.
“Sorry, man,” he said to the taxi driver as the man docked his boat in the marina. “Looks like you might get wet.”
The man chuckled. “You folks, too, if you don’t hurry home.”
Jesse hopped onto the dock, took Sarah’s hand and helped her up beside him and then paid the driver his fare along with a healthy tip. “Stay safe, and thanks.”
“You betcha.”
In silence, Jesse walked beside Sarah away from the marina. He felt exhausted and drained, as if adrenaline had been pumping through his veins and his emotions had been on overdrive for hours. Most of him felt just plain heavy with the weight of all that had been said and shared and exposed tonight, but there was a part of him that felt damned close to free. It was a tentative feeling, kind of like stepping through that prison gate and out into the real world all those months ago. It was a feeling he didn’t want to put too much hope in, but it was there all the same.
He wasn’t fool enough to believe that tonight’s admissions in front of that crowd and his commitment to continue to speak about once a month with Hank had taken away his guilt. There were still tough moments awaiting him in his future, moments where he knew he’d hate himself as much as he did that first morning after discovering Hank’s spine had been severed. But this was a start, a few steps down a path that with any luck would lead to him being able to look at himself in the mirror again without entirely hating his reflection.
He and Sarah reached Main Street, and he hesitated. “I’ll walk you to your apartment.”
Nervously, she crossed her arms in front of her as if she were cold and glanced into the sky. A gust of wind whipped her hair into her face. “You don’t have—”
“I know.” He didn’t want her to be alone. He didn’t want to be alone. He wanted to tell her how much it meant to him that she came tonight. In no time, they reached the stairs leading to the second floor of her building and they both stopped.
Sarah should’ve started up the steps, or he should’ve turned. Instead, neither of them moved. He took a deep breath of cool, sweet spring air, and whispered, “Thank you for urging me to go tonight. For driving. For sticking around. For holding my hand.”
“I’m glad I went.”
“Good night, Sarah.”
She reached up, gently ran her hand down the side of his cheek and then turned and went up the steps.
He wished he could explain to her how much she’d come to mean to him. He wished… “Sarah, I couldn’t have done that tonight without you.”
“You’d have managed,” she said, looking down at him from the landing above.
Before he realized what he was doing, he was walking up the steps, following her. She’d put the key in the lock and had opened the door. He went to her, not really understanding, but feeling drawn to her all the same. “I wouldn’t have managed. Not without you…tonight…having you there…”
“Shh.” She touched her fingertips to his lips.
As if God had turned on a faucet in the sky, rain suddenly poured straight down outside in sheets. If they hadn’t been under the roofed walkway outside her apartment, they would’ve been soaked in seconds.
“Do you think He’s trying to tell us something?” Jesse grinned as he glanced at Sarah. The moment the worried expression on her face registered, he sobered. “You okay?”
“Sure.” She rubbed her arms up and down. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Honestly? I hate thunderstorms.”
She didn’t just hate them, she was downright scared.
Lightning flashed over the water, not far off shore, and Sarah started shaking. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“No need to be,” he whispered. He could think of only one thing that would take both their minds completely off the storm, but that would spell disaster. Instead, he reached for her hand. “It’s all right.”
“Will you stay with me?”
“Sarah, I don’t think—”
“Please?”
“All right, but just until the storm clears.” And keep your hands to yourself.
They went into her apartment. She closed the door and locked it. “I feel so silly.”
“Everyone’s afraid of something,” he said, trying to make light of the situation.
“Yeah?” She turned. “What are you afraid of?”
You. How I feel when I’m around you. More than anything else, leaving Mirabelle. But he couldn’t say any of those things. “June bugs,” he said with a smile. “Give me the creeps.” He pretended to shiver. “Those big, brown bodies. Those spiny, jagged legs.”
She swatted his arm. “That’s not the same.”
“Like hell. You want to see a grown man scream like a little girl just throw one of those buggers at me sometime.”
She chuckled. “I can see you.” Then she was laughing and tears started streaming from the corners of her eyes, but within seconds, her tears of laughter clearly turned to tears of sadness.
“Hey,” he whispered. “What’s wrong?”
“One fall, right at the end of the harvest, my dad and I were in an orchard picking apples.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I was about Brian’s age. Without warning, a bad thunderstorm came on us. We were drenched in no time. I’ve never been as cold as I was that day.”
She paused, as if remembering. “We ran to the nearest woods for shelter, and my dad pulled me under a tree,” she went on. “Lightning seemed to be hitting all around us. He took the brunt of the weather by snuggling me in front of him and hunching over me.” She took a deep breath and a new round of tears fell. “About a week later, he died from pneumonia.”
“Oh, Sarah.” Without thought to the consequences, he pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry.”
“I know it wasn’t the storm that killed him, but I’ve always felt as if it was my fault that he died.” Full of emotions that ran the gamut, she looked into his eyes. “I’d like a reason to no longer hate thunderstorms.”
He kissed her palm. As he took her face in his hands, she pulled him toward her. Their lips met in the softest kiss he’d ever known. Their tongues touched and gently explored. Their breath sweetly mingled. For a moment, they clung together as if time had been suspended.
Then, like a wave rolling, cresting to completion, everything changed. Soft turned to hard, sweet to urgent, and gentle to frantic as they tripped sideways down the hallway. She pushed him back against the wall. He ran his hands under her shirt, cupped her breasts over her bra.
He knew it was wrong. He knew it was about as unfair to Sarah as unfair got, but, God help him, he wanted her—needed her—so badly that his insides ached.
When she pulled back for a moment and looked up at him, her eyes so clearly saying she felt the same as him, he simply couldn’t find the strength to leave. She needed him tonight as much as he need
ed her.
“Brian?” he whispered, the air puffing from his chest. “Where’s Brian?”
“He’s staying at Zach’s.”
The last barrier fell away.
For her sake he had to try to put a stop to this. Didn’t he? “Sarah, this—”
“Oh, no, you don’t. You started this. We’re finishing it.” She tugged his shirt over his head and kissed him, first on his mouth, then on his neck, then down his chest, all the while working on the button and fly on his shorts. She licked the edges of his tattoo, twirled her tongue along the swirling lines and then finally nipped at his nipple.
He sucked in a breath, trying to hold on to his sanity. Then she pushed his shorts over his hips, dipped her hands beneath his boxers and that was all she wrote.
He groaned as her fingers moved over him, pleasure and pain all rolled into one sweet caress. “Sarah, careful.” Quickly, he gripped her wrists and drew her hands away. “Condoms?” He sure as hell didn’t have any. “Please say you’ve got protection.”
“In my bedroom.”
Her room was a surprise, the decor as soft and feminine as the rest of her apartment was bold and brazen. At the moment, though, he didn’t care that muted greens and blues mixed with soft whites and pale yellows to create a haven of relaxation. There was only one thing he wanted.
She went to her bedside table, pulled out an unopened box and chuckled. “Wishful thinking.”
“About who?”
“You.” Her eyes darkened. “I haven’t…since Bobby.”
Damn. He’d forgotten. “Sarah, are you sure…”
“As sure as I’ve ever been about anything.”
As she walked toward him, she drew her shirt over her head, unzipped her jeans and shrugged out of them. Her bra was a wild pattern of purples, hot pink and black. Her thong, what little there was of the scrap of fabric, was solid black. Like her hair. A bad girl masquerading as a good girl. Every man’s dream.