No Greater Love

by Susan Rodgers

  Katrine leaned over and whispered to Jessie. “Go. You know how he eez. This eez how Jacob want to say goodbye.” She rubbed her friend’s back. Jessie turned to look at her, unsure, her eyes filled with questions. She had not played live on stage for anyone in a very long time. She certainly didn’t sing. And she was still somewhat angry with Jacob for turning her in.

  Slowly she slid first one leather boot and then the other out of the booth. She was a little tipsy and she, Katrine and Charlene had slipped out more than once for puffs of weed, but overall her mood was so low even a slight buzz eluded her.

  She accepted JP’s guitar from Jacob, settled carefully on the vacated stool, and took a minute to adjust the capo. She knew the song without asking Jacob. It was one of their favorites.

  Jacob started the tune by picking softly, and then Jessie joined in. He sang to her then, a song he introduced as No Greater Love. Other than their playing and his singing, and the occasional cleared throat or cough, there was no movement or sound in the pub. Everyone recognized the special nature of this tune. It was a goodbye song. At the bar, Stephen and Charles were mesmerized. Jacob’s eyes didn’t leave Jessie’s. The deepest core of their anger had slowly eroded away over the day, and other than a deep hurt at each other’s treachery, mostly what remained was a deep and enduring respect and love.

  I woke this morning to a songbird outside my window

  It sang a song of love

  Its blue wings spread and flew it somewhere far away

  I watched it go and then I went back to bed.

  I stayed there in my mind

  In the place where that songbird flew

  I followed it from dawn to dark and then back again

  Because I knew it would lead me to you.

  I was asleep when we met

  But awake when we played music in the glow

  And although I love you I love you I love you

  I know you have to leave me - I know you have to go.

  There are things I think

  You don’t understand

  I have my dreams and I have my heart

  And they protect me in my Scottish land.

  John says there is no greater love

  Than to lay down your life for a friend

  I know that you feel this more than anyone

  So I pray when you think of me, this you’ll understand.

  I love you I love you I love you

  I know you have to leave me. I know you have to go

  But remember me with truth and grace

  As I will you, I know.

  As Jessie listened to Jacob’s husky voice she surmised rightly he must have spent some time today in Katrine’s company. Perhaps the French woman lent her touch to the lyrics. Jessie met Katrine’s steady glance and was touched by the glistening emotion in her friend’s eyes. Seemed Katrine agreed with Jessie’s difficult decision.

  Musicians, thought Steve, always the drama.

  But then he chided himself. What were they thinking, taking Jessie away from here to deliver her at the feet of a man she once loved who had replaced her with someone else? Jacob’s song summed it up. Sacrifice for the greater good, that was the theme of the night, and of what Jessie was getting into back in Canada. Was she sacrificing herself? No doubt, regardless of what happened with McCall. Jacob? Yes. Absolutely. This little group of friends in a world that she seemed to covet – one without fame but that still fed her soul with music? Yes. For what? The chance to lure McCall and then end his reign of terror? Yes. And maybe to mend some broken relationships, and then who knew…perhaps she would return here.

  Steve looked around at the people in the pub. Mostly they were artist types but there were also some serious blue collar Scots in here, people whose speech he could not discern, so thick was their brogue. These were real people living real lives. So this is what Jessie coveted. The pure sweet pleasure of the normal.

  He watched as Jessie handed John Paul back his guitar and as Jacob set his on a nearby stand. Then he saw Jacob’s fingers wrap around Jessie’s and pull her forward. Jacob led her outside, stopping for a quick second at their booth for jackets first. She didn’t look at either Steve or Charles, instead passing by them with her head down, like Jacob’s puppy following behind. Steve caught himself wondering if she would back out and stay here after all, in this city, with friends who embraced her as a regular girl. He leaned his head on his hands, elbows resting on the bar, wondering.

  Steve could see the couple end up outside by the window, their legs visible against the old bubbled glass. He let them be.

  Outside, Jessie accepted a cigarette Jacob handed her.

  “Thank you,” she said simply. “For the song.”

  “Yeah,” he answered. What more was there to say?

  After a few puffs he led her to a nearby alley and pulled her close. They held each other silently for a long time, and then Jacob kissed Jessie on the neck, then beneath her earlobe, on her forehead, her eyes, cheeks, lips.

  In response, Jessie whispered, “I do love you, Jacob.”

  “Come back to me?” Jacob murmured but his heart cried foul. He didn’t think she would.

  Instead of answering, Jessie buried her face in his chest, kissed his neck. At the same time she broke his heart.

  He placed his hands on either side of her cheeks and looked imploringly into her eyes. “No more running away,” Jacob demanded. “No more. Whatever you decide, Jessie - stick to it. Be strong. I’ll always be here for you.”

  Jessie drew away, thrusting her hands in her jacket pockets. “Jacob,” she said, “Charles is in there tonight. He’s listening to you play. Share your music with the world, if that’s what you want. Come to Canada and work with him, with me. But take some of your own advice. You’re asking me to stop running away. Well, maybe you also need to stop running. I have a feeling there are a lot of people out there missing Jacob Ryan too. We’re all runaways here. Aren’t we?”

  “Okay,” he said.

  “Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll see you,” she said. And then, “Say goodbye to the others for me. Please. I can’t.”

  He nodded, his eyes pleading. He wasn’t ready to let her go. After a moment he spoke, his voice thick with emotion. “Well. You know what Katrine would say.”

  She cocked her head at him. “I can only imagine.”

  He imitated Katrine’s French accent. “ ‘Ave one orgasm a day. You stay ‘eal-ty. Eet is good for you, no?”

  Laughing, Jessie turned away. As she wandered on two feet and a heartbeat back up the hill, she glanced back once to see him standing there, hands in his jean pockets, somber.

  He stayed there a good ten minutes and puffed on some weed before stepping back down into the pub, which smelled of Guinness and good times.

  Inside, he started to walk by Steve and Charles, but Steve grabbed him by the arm, stopping him. Jacob shook his hand off. “She’s not coming back in. She just needs a little space.”

  Charles slipped him his card. “Thank you Jacob. For looking after her, I mean. For the music, too.” He hesitated, and then added, “Call me anytime. Once things settle down with Jessie maybe we can make some music together.” It was his way of thanking the quiet blue-eyed musician. Business was easier to understand and convey than the raw emotions this day wrought.

  Jacob eyed him warily. He seriously doubted he would hear from any of this entertainment royalty crowd ever again. Including Jessie. He figured he was just a pawn in their game at this point.

  Steve shook Jacob’s hesitant hand. “Don’t give up on her,” he said. “She’s worth the fight. Stay in touch.”

  Jacob paused. “What’s the goddamned point?”

  And he turned and joined his friends, throwing an arm around Katrine.

  After a while Charles and Stephen gathered their coats and emerged back out into the cold, both a little concerned Jessie might at that moment be fleeing yet again. But they found her in the homey flat, hudd
led up in the big overstuffed chair covered with a rust-plaid fringed blanket she purchased at one of the tourist shops on the Royal Mile, waiting for Jacob to pass by her window. More than an hour later, when he finally trudged by, he didn’t look up.

  Jessie forced herself up from her comfortable nest. She made cappuccinos for her and Steve after Charles went back to the hotel for some shut-eye, and then Steve silently helped his old friend pack her things.

  In the morning their escape from Jessie’s ruse would be complete, and Edinburgh would be forever relegated to the place where only the very best of memories go.

  ***

  Chapter Nineteen

  Charles hired a car and driver. He, like Jessie, wasn’t brave enough to try driving on the left side of the road. The driver, a teeny woman whose up-do was brushed back so severely under a peaked cap she appeared almost bald, pulled up in front of Jessie’s flat before the sun was up. Yawning, she sank back into her seat with a steaming coffee in a paper cup while her passengers finished their last minute preparations.

  Jessie and Stephen were also stifling yawns. The night before, after shoving Tedsy into an already bulging knapsack, Jessie had crawled onto the couch where she dozed off and on between anxiety attacks over the reception she expected to receive in Canada. Also settling into her brain for good was the reality she was leaving more than just her tranquil flat. She was leaving good friends again, and – Jacob.

  Asleep in Jessie’s chair by the window, Steve jerked roughly awake when he heard footsteps on the stairs. He didn’t nudge Jessie until after Charles took some of her things downstairs. Sleep offered a certain reprieve from the hazards of life, and Steve wanted to give Jessie that little gift – an extended respite from the hurts she would experience today.

  Then, it was time. He woke her gently, with a light touch on her forehead, brushing back loose wisps of lavender hair. He knelt before her so when Jessie opened her eyes she would see someone who loved her.

  “Hey,” he said softly. “Sleepy girl. It’s time to go.”

  She wrinkled her brow quizzically, forgetting where she was and thinking he was a part of her dream. Then a familiar ache creased her belly and she sat up, wishing for the umpteenth time her life was turning out differently.

  In the bathroom Jessie brushed her teeth slowly, dragging out the horrendous thing called leaving. Charles was waiting patiently with the diminutive driver at the car and so it was Stephen who peeked in at her, who urged her on. He found Jessie sitting on the toilet lid, shoulders slouched, the toothbrush still seesawing back and forth accompanied by lonely tears, one elbow cradling the other over her stomach, and her knees and feet turned inwards. She peered up at him through wet eyelashes, trying in vain to keep her emotions in check.

  Steve grasped the hand she extended towards him and gave Jessie a little pull to help her rise from the porcelain perch. Jessie spit, rinsed the toothbrush, and then wandered beside him to the small living room. He handed her the hooded jacket and she slipped it on, then he left her for a moment so she could say goodbye on her own.

  It only took Jessie a minute. Most things – her couch and the oversized chair, stools at the counter, kitchen gadgets, bed – were staying. She said a silent prayer in the hope she would one day return to this place of refuge, a place she felt helped her start some kind of healing process.

  She left the flat, quietly closing the door behind her.

  Downstairs, outside, Steve and Charles were waiting. They knew this day would be tough going. Charles embraced Jessie before disappearing into the front seat of the car. Steve eyed her warily and then gestured silently towards the building across the road. Jessie looked over, squinting through the early morning semi-darkness, and saw Jacob framed by a streetlight, his back against the brick, hands thrust deep into his jean pockets as usual. He didn’t make any moves towards Jessie apart from raising a hand in greeting – or was it goodbye?

  Feet staunchly planted on the cool ground a shoulder’s width apart in an almost defiant stance, Jessie matched his movement, raising a hand to mirror his. Then she slipped into the car alongside her lanky co-star and friend, and was spirited away.

  ***

  Small mercies were welcome in Jessie’s life. Climbing into the relative anonymity of the Keating jet, a luxurious cave resonating Dee’s affection for subdued creams and beiges, was one of those. She was vaguely pleasant to the captain and flight attendant, a young married couple recommended by Matt and recently hired by Charles for their discretion and attention to detail. Briefed on their purpose in Edinburgh, neither of the new staff was surprised when Jessie turned up in her semi-punk attire and air of somewhat angry detachment.

  The woman, Victoria, a slim athletic Canadian Chinese gal with smooth iced mocha skin, a firm chin, silky black hair clipped back from her face, and a soft jasmine fragrance encircling her, intuitively sensed where she was most needed. With an air of professional objectivity, head raised and shoulders back, she led Jessie to the back of the airplane where a small enclosed bedroom would offer privacy and the luxury of sleep during the flight. The attendant had an uncanny ability to size up her passengers’ requirements. Victoria had quickly discerned that the black circles under Jessie’s eyes were relaying an emotional need to cuddle up with a fluffy blanket and a goose down pillow. In the tiny bedroom, after gently closing the door behind them, Victoria eased back the inviting white cotton-eyelet duvet while a grateful Jessie yanked off her boots, skirt and leggings and then reached up under her top to slip off her bra. Her coat was already discarded, hung by Victoria in the tiny closet by the plane’s entry. Victoria fussed with the pillows and then held up the duvet so Jessie could slide onto the comfy heavenly mattress. Drawing her legs up tightly to her belly, Jessie exhaled in relief before wrapping one arm around her pillow and hugging it tightly. She was too tired and wrought to cry, but she managed to mumble a sleepy thank you to the thoughtful flight attendant before closing her eyes.

  “Would you like some juice or anything to eat before you sleep, honey? Maybe a bagel or some yogurt?” the attractive Asian girl asked as she brought the luxurious thick duvet up over Jessie’s knees and tucked it carefully under her chin.

  “No, I’m okay,” Jessie mumbled. She was sinking into a dreamless sleep before Victoria had even nudged the bedroom door closed.

  Stephen curled up in a welcoming leather seat and soon he, too, was sound asleep. Charles read the paper and watched the news, wondering what the stations would be reporting when they got wind of Jessie Wheeler’s return home. He wrote some notes about McCall and suggestions for security detail, as well as for their publicist. Unable to avoid thinking about Deirdre and the joy – and then likely disappointment at Jessie’s reticence – she would face upon seeing her girl again, he finally allowed himself a sigh of relief. Jessie was in the airplane with them, she seemed committed to coming home and trying to work things out on some level and, as far as he knew, there were no more truths – or lies – to uncover. Josh had to be considered, not because Charles harbored any hope he and Jessie would reconcile, but simply because there was a chance he was still a likely target of Deuce McCall.

  Seven hours later Jessie stumbled sleepily out of the tiny bedroom. The jet had departed the runway in Edinburgh at eight a.m. Scotland time but, oddly enough, it was now seven a.m. Vancouver time. In two hours they would land at Vancouver International. Jessie fully expected Matt would be greeting them, but she wondered about Dee. She ran a hand through her edgy, unruly locks. Soon she would have to face the heartache etched in every line on Dee’s face, the knowledge that she, Jessie Wheeler, had left such a caring woman in the dark, wondering, for what felt like an eternity.

  Plunking herself unceremoniously down in the seat next to Stephen, Jessie glanced over at Charles across the aisle. He was dozing, and she felt a surge of love for his tired face and silver tie. He often dressed in business wear, even on regular days, and she loved that about him – that he cared enough about himself to present a c
ool sophisticated demeanor regardless of the circumstances. Jessie hoisted herself out of her own spacious seat for a second and reached with tentative fingers to straighten the blanket Victoria placed over Charles when he fell asleep. Tucking cautiously so as not to awaken him, Jessie paused for a second and studied the man. He had lost a little more hair, and looked older than she remembered. But he smelled of Charles and of home. For the first time she felt a surge of gratitude that he and Steve made this trip and forced her hand.

  Stephen smiled down at her as she sat back in her seat. “You can act the bitch all you want to, girl, but there’s still a softie in there.”

  “You never were one to mince words, were you?” she regarded him smarmily.

  A scent of jasmine caressed the air as Victoria bent over Jessie. “How about that juice now, honey?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Jessie responded, somewhat groggy still. “Orange, please. And I guess I’ll take that bagel too.”

  As the flight attendant straightened, Jessie asked, “What’s your name?”

  “Victoria. My husband Will is the pilot. And you are Jessie,” she added, saving Jessie the uncomfortable duty of feeling the need to explain her presence. “It’s nice to see you.”

  Jessie was too anxious to smile at her but she nodded in acknowledgement, pulling her sweater down over her hands and twisting a cuff around an index finger.

  “Now,” Victoria said with authority, “how would you like that bagel?”

  “Toasted with just a little butter,” Jessie answered nervously. “Thank you.” It felt weird to have someone waiting on her again. The bagel was going to taste like sandpaper, she was so apprehensive about seeing Matt and Dee, but it was worth a shot. Her stomach was indeed growling at her.