No Greater Love

by Susan Rodgers

  “I made a new mix!” John Paul hollered in her ear, making an effort to be heard above the music bomp-bomp-bomping in the background. His breath smelled of garlic; Jessie hungrily eyeballed the assorted dips and chips on the table in search of its source.

  “I found some new music I want you to hear. Mostly Euro-dance stuff. You’ll like it!” Then he stepped back and stared at her. “Annie! Your hair! It’s purple! It’s purple, your hair! Almost like Charlene’s!” He ran a hand through Jessie’s new lavender locks as she blushed and leaned forward to kiss his cheek.

  “Did you have a nice Christmas, JP?” she asked him, reddening further as she turned back to the table to load up on munchies.

  “What?” he yelled.

  “Did you have a nice Christmas? You know, Santa, Jesus, presents, all that jazz?” she hollered back. John Paul’s new music mix was a steady beat of up-tempo dance tunes, and it was deafening. Jessie could feel her eardrums reverberating with every electronic auto tuned drum.

  “Yeah! Great! I love it too!” he yelled back, mistakenly thinking she was referencing the music, and then he waved and disappeared into the crowd.

  Drifting back into the corner, Jessie munched on hummus and grapes, a lean dark bottle of Guinness holding fort staunchly on the table at her side. In the room were lots of folks she knew from the pub, including Charlene and that new girl from France who just moved to Edinburgh. What was her name? Katya? Catherine? Katrine…that was it. Watching the girl dance with Jacob, who had made her acquaintance in Paris and who seemed entirely enamored with her perky little breasts and pixie burgundy tipped spiked haircut, Jessie felt a momentary jealousy. Burying a broccoli floret in ranch dip, she let her curious eyes wander down to Jacob’s hands on Katrine’s hips. They were strong calloused hands from playing guitar. Working hands, that’s what they were, and Jessie swallowed uncomfortably as she watched him glide them up and around his friend’s waist, their hips moving in unison as Katrine placed small arms around his neck.

  He was an enigma to Jessie. A man-whore, to a point, although not without discretion. He was very choosy about whom he took to bed. Jacob was the strong silent type but, like Jessie, he spoke volumes through the lyrics in his songs. He and Jessie were in the same company many times, but they rarely spoke. The only exception was during the times they sat and played guitar together. In those cases, usually perched on the uneven chairs of the old dinette set in his open concept kitchen or cross-legged on her floor, they only shared thoughts about the tunes, or what to eat, smoke or drink. Occasionally he would look up at her, darker blue eyes poring into her lighter ones, eliciting an electric shiver in the hollows of Jessie’s body. Those moments were sacred – they were the times she could see the wheels in his brain turning, and the pressure in his heart increasing. Often wondering what he thought of her, Jessie didn’t generally stop to consider what she thought of him. Now, on the dance floor, she let her mind wander over what she knew to be true about Jacob Ryan.

  He was a gifted and determined musician. His father, Tom Ryan, although apparently mostly a mystery to Jacob, was a well-known singer-songwriter, a man with whom Jessie herself had shared the stage. Jacob played locally and on short tours around the UK and Europe and, occasionally, in the States. The boy had eyes that could look right through you, as if he were constantly sizing you up. He was quiet, an observer, a man who preferred to let others do the talking. Jacob loved women, but Jessie figured he wasn’t as bad a man-whore in the way Charlie had been on occasion. Instead, this twenty-six-year-old used women to fill a hole in his life, perhaps in his soul. He knew they coveted him - he could see it from the stage when he sang. The conquests would have been easy even if he wasn’t standing behind a microphone strumming on a guitar, the muscles in his forearms bulging now and again as he played, his shirtsleeves rolled up. The intense saturated blue eyes won him any woman he wanted with merely a glimpse in her direction.

  He was aloof, distant, and Jessie noticed when she was at his place watching movies (she always led them into choosing films with no connection to her or her North American friends), when he took a woman into his bedroom he often left the door ajar, as if lovemaking were a casual affair to him. She would tiptoe past to go to the bathroom and silently peek in as she wandered by. The first time she stole a look inside Jacob’s bedroom Jessie was surprised and intrigued to see a large black Celtic cross tattooed on his bare back. It was erotically enticing to Jessie who, for some strange reason, found comfort to see that he always slept with his back to the girl, often with a pillow tossed casually between them. Jessie admitted she desired him in a way she hadn’t cared for anyone since Josh. But, for that reason, she kept her distance. Their relationship up to this point remained confined to music although that in itself was a sharing of souls.

  Jacob, in many ways, was Jessie - alone and adrift.

  Jessie was both somewhat relieved and in turns green with envy as she watched Jacob dance with Katrine ten feet away in the center of his Edinburgh flat. Loose faded jeans drooped over bare feet, and over the waistband fell a black T-shirt emblazoned with some classic American band whose logo Jessie couldn’t discern from where she was standing. John Paul had set up red and green lights that flashed ethereally in time to the music so, on the beat, Jacob’s face flashed in spooky shades of crimson and jade that later on would become even more dreamlike and bizarre as substances Jessie ingested took over her body.

  She consciously pushed Josh far from her mind on this icy Boxing Day night in Scotland. Jessie dropped her paper plate in the garbage and turned back to her beer. She looked around for Charlene and, spotting her, she waved.

  “Up for a smoke?” she hollered.

  The girls grabbed random coats from the top of the messy pile, then went outside and lit up a joint. It quickly made its wee smoky presence known in the starry night.

  “Did you reach your family okay, Annie?” Charlene tossed in casually, the question in her weird American / Scots accent jarring Jessie as she took a deep pull from the weed.

  “Yeah,” Jessie lied, the endless ache in her belly returning. “You?”

  Charlene settled against the old stone building and took the joint from Jessie’s outstretched fingers. “Yep. Em, they’re not missin’ me. They’re all doin’ their own thing.”

  She acted like she didn’t care, but Jessie could see the sadness beneath her friend’s veneer, as she expected Charlene could see beneath hers. She shrugged. They were their own made-up family, here, now.

  “Whatever, Charlene. They’re the ones missing out.”

  Eyes downcast, Charlene shoved cold hands in her pockets after giving the pot back to Jessie. “I know. It’s just…hard to be here and not be there. Especially at Christmas. But if I were home, in the States, I’d be missing everybody here. It’s a no-win thing. You know?”

  Watching her lean despondently against the historic stone, Jessie knew exactly what Charlene was saying. But what was the point in dwelling on it? Hell, as far as she was concerned, life was about missing people. She took another puff of the funny smoke and felt her mood start to lighten. The corners of her lips turned up in a small smile.

  “Well, I know it sucks, Charlene, but if you were home with your family would you be getting laid tonight?” She poked her in the arm. “Huh? You would be sitting around watching It’s a Wonderful Life, sucking back endless pints of eggnog and scarfing chocolate fudge, that’s what you’d be doing. Getting fat. Wishing you were getting laid.”

  Charlene laughed. “Who says I’m getting laid?”

  “John Paul hasn’t taken his eyes off you! He’s counting the seconds!”

  “Annie, you’re a nutcase!”

  You have no idea, thought Jessie sardonically. She dropped the stub of the joint in the tin can they kept by the stoop for just that purpose, then grabbed Charlene’s arm to pull her back inside, but her friend resisted.

  “What about you? There are a few new fellas around here tonight who I’ve noticed already h
ave their eyes on you!”

  “Well I don’t have my eyes on them, Charlene.”

  “No, you’re still stuck on the dead guy.” Charlene nodded towards the leather thong around Jessie’s neck.

  Pausing, Jessie glowered at her. “Ouch.”

  “Come on, girl, have some fun. Lighten up tonight.”

  “I intend to,” Jessie said, cocking her head towards the bomp-bomp-bomp of the music eking out of the building’s pores. “I like this song. Come on, let’s dance.” She twisted around and whipped open the outside door, and vaulted two steps at a time up towards Jacob’s flat. Charlene followed, shaking her head. Annie was a closed book.

  Back inside, the girls laughed and drank and danced until they were falling over and quite numb from toes to fingertips.

  It was a good party, one that allowed you to be whoever you wanted to be in Edinburgh that night. After days of loneliness and misery, it was exactly what Jessie needed. She needed to stop her brain from firing, from shouting accusatory remarks and adding to the nagging judgments that perhaps what she had done – leaving Vancouver - was wrong. Necessary at the time, but wholly and unmistakably wrong. Jessie shoved thoughts of Josh and Dee and Stephen and Charlie and all the rest of them away, but not before their fleeting images passed through the incessant Technicolor viewer in her mind.

  She joined Charlene in the dancing, another beer in her hand, and was Annie Hayden, purposefully and with a wild style and verve. By three a.m., she was spaced out and more of an observer than a participant, but at least the thoughts of what her friends were doing back in Van were banished to the dusty corners of her mercifully inebriated mind.

  ***

  Carlotta was pleased. The dinner went well, and Deirdre seemed to have been able to push thoughts of Jessie aside. The group was lively and fun, fuelled by Christmas beverages, and the conversation was animated and occasionally even insightful. This, to the maid, was amusing in itself. A few years ago there would have been no hope of assembling this varied assortment of folks. Josh in particular would not have been at the table. It did not go unnoticed that Missus Keating seated Josh next to her. Carlotta was amazed and pleased. She adored Josh, and was happy to see him enjoying himself, albeit with a new woman.

  Still, there was an elephant in the room, and its name was Jessie Wheeler.

  There came a point in the conversation when there was a slight lull. That would have been manageable in itself and wouldn’t have turned the tide of the evening on its own, but there was a force at play that was bigger than the people assembled in the Keating’s grand dining room, with its expansive windows and richly appointed tapestries.

  Charles had asked one of his sound engineers to create a new music mix for the evening’s gathering. The only request was to be certain not to include any of Jessie’s music. Charles knew her presence would loom large enough amongst their gathering. Even though fifteen months had passed since her disappearance, and everyone was moving along with his and her lives, Christmas was a difficult season. It wouldn’t do to announce Jessie to the room as if he wanted the people who loved her to remember her, to force unwanted emotions called forth like sinners simply by the sound of Jessie’s voice.

  But that’s precisely what happened while the conversation hushed for the first time as the guests sat back and patted their full bellies, pushing their empty raspberry stained dessert plates away. The sound engineer was either hopelessly careless, or was trying to make a point to a producer whom he knew suffered deeply over the loss of a girl he never spoke about. And the universe conspired with him. The timing was impeccable.

  Christian’s piano playing warmed the room. Lilting and falling, melodious and true, the first mellow notes lifted to the ceiling and filled the corners with their demanding message - listen. It wasn’t as if none of them had heard her music over the last several months – in fact they all had, in stores, in restaurants, on the radio. But this evening was sacred; it was meant to be a time for joy, a time to heal. Regardless of the fact that they all hoped Jessie left of her own volition, because the other options were unthinkable, and certainly the clues pointed to that – there was still the fact that they were all on some level deeply angry with her. And of course there was always a deep anguish tied in to her absence. They all felt it yet they rarely spoke of it, or her, anymore. Life was to be lived. They had to move on.

  But then there she was, suddenly – unexpected, uninvited - at a time when the little extended family was celebrating, marching bravely forward with their grief buried inside hurting hearts.

  Without exception, everyone recognized what was happening from Christian’s first plaintive, furtive note. Heads perked up as disbelief etched each face. All through dinner music had played quietly in the background but now, in the silence, it was deafening. Charles’ in-house sound system was of course extraordinary in its ability to deliver digitally encoded signals denoting bass and treble, piano and voice. They knew it was coming; they tensed in preparation. Then Jessie’s voice was floating clearly and crisply in the heavens that enclosed the little group.

  I see you in my dreams,

  your face wet with the falling snow

  turned towards me as we kiss

  in love and faith and hope.

  Your body warms me this Christmas night

  as your fingers brush against my cheek.

  I see the snowflakes, feel the wetness there

  but it’s only tears, and I push away the loss.

  I beg for the sweet release of sleep.

  It was that Christmas song, the piece recorded in the Keating studio, produced by Charles less than two weeks before the ill-fated August concert. It was recorded at a time when Jessie was alone and defeated, the victim of Deuce McCall, who had forced her to meet him and have sex with him, and to be essentially his. It was recorded at a time when everyone, including the assembled group here tonight, thought Josh was hurting her. Nobody realized its implications at the time, but they all should have known better. Jessie always spoke to them through her music. Her message was abundantly clear when the song was released after her disappearance.

  She loved Josh, and she mourned his passing from her life.

  Jane reached for Charlie’s hand and squeezed it tight. He was grateful, but completely immobilized by what he was hearing - this voice from the past. Stephen sat frozen, and Sue-Lyn peeked discreetly over at him. She raised an arm and set it carefully around his shoulders. Josh couldn’t breathe – in his mind he went someplace else. It was the only way he knew to deal with the divine sound of her voice and the wistful tones of the piano in a song about him, that ambushed him. In a song for him; every word and note was long since etched inside his brain, wound tightly within his heart.

  As the song continued, Charles made a move to get up and turn it off but Jonathon reached out and grabbed his arm, stopping him. It seemed Jessie was suddenly there with them instead of someplace unknown, her destiny as mysterious as the disappearance of any lost child. They sat as one until Charlie could stand it no more. He forced himself to look over at Josh who was sitting across and slightly down the table from himself.

  I recall you making angels in the snow,

  your arms wide and filled with hope.

  I lie down beside you but you melt away,

  I reach for you and all I find is a puddle of tears.

  If I had a Christmas wish

  that I thought might come true,

  I would ask for the stars to hear me

  And send me only you.

  I love you again as I drift back into sleep,

  you lie beside me in our bed.

  We are lovers again and it feels so right,

  I touch you and kiss you; I call you sleepy head.

  Charlie was astounded Josh was managing to hold himself together. That was the hardest realization of all - although they all loved her, the choices that hurt all of them were made for him. Jessie left Josh in order to keep him safe, she sacrificed her career, her friends
hips, her life perhaps – for him. And he had to sit here in their presence and be reminded of that, as were they all. Worse – he had to sit here amongst them and listen to her calling him, telling him how much it hurt to lose him.

  But he wasn’t as strong as he appeared. Josh’s knuckles were white. As Jessie continued to sing, he stared at and gripped the edge of the table as if there were nothing else to bind him to the earth.

  To a point, Michelle was a softy. She knew the power of Jessie Wheeler. She understood she could never come close. Still, she was surprised when the chair next to her own screeched. All of them jumped when Josh tossed his linen napkin onto his empty plate and stumbled past Carlotta to the restroom, where he could be alone with this sudden powerful onslaught of emotion.

  You smile, and we love again

  as the ocean calls outside our window.

  The waves echo in the snow.

  They are frozen, as is time.

  I wake, and once again I know

  That it’s only a memory, this you that I see

  in my dreams at Christmastime.

  You are no longer real

  unless I sleep, then there you are

  in my arms, under the moonlit stars.

  And the love for you I keep

  always and forever.

  And the love for you I keep as I sleep

  always and forever.

  It was as if she were holding him - and them - hostage, screaming at them from somewhere in the unknown, from off in the ether:

  Listen to me, I am Jessie, hear me