Yeah, some things changed, Ethan thought. The weather, for example. Sports scores, too. And the way your face looked in the mirror from year to year. Those things changed with the flip of a button or the turn of a calendar page. He knew that. The problem was, not everything changed. Not the things that got inside your skin and marked you forever. They stayed around and haunted you until you went mad.
11:00 a.m.
Dakota stared at her reflection in the mirror. Swollen eyes. Red cheeks. Black corkscrew curls that stuck out in every direction. She picked up her hairbrush and threw it straight at the mirror. Hard. Hard enough to splinter her reflection into twenty different faces. She backed away from the spider web of broken glass and swore under her breath.
Lying bastard. Arrogant sonofabitch who thinks he can just erase a year. Just pretend it never happened. Just walk back to his wife like I was—
Dakota bit down on her thumbnail. “Like I was what?” she said aloud. “A distraction? Something to keep his mind off the rest of his life?”
Well, that was beyond depressing. Something stirred in her stomach, an awful nausea that gave her goosebumps, and she leaned over the toilet just in time. He took everything. My heart. My life. And any hope at settling down for the long haul.
Wiping her mouth, she blew out a long breath. It had only been an hour since Sean had left. An hour since he’d broken her heart. And all the rest of the hours in the day, the weekend, the months ahead, stretched out like boulders for her to leap. Within twenty-four hours, everyone in town would know. Everyone would stare. And nearly everyone would talk about her behind her back. She sank to her knees on the tiled floor. Little Lakeside, population nine thousand or so, would wind its grapevine around her misery so fast she wouldn’t even have time to breathe.
Dakota sat for another minute or two, a tiny ball in the bathroom, and listened as the rooster clock in her kitchen crowed eleven o’clock. Arms wrapped around her knees, she rocked back and forth, trying to soothe her heart. It didn’t work. She couldn’t stay in town. She couldn’t deal with the looks of pity. The whispers at the restaurant. The silence from all the other guys at the police station who came in every Saturday for lunch. But where the hell could she go?
I don’t know why you never come visit me.
The voice spoke inside her head as if Dakota’s best friend had walked into the apartment and sat down beside her.
Nothing better than sunshine and Southern charm to heal a broken heart.
Dakota opened her eyes. Sarah Wiggins. Her best friend. Of course. They’d survived middle school lunchroom together. Senior prom and graduation. The way Dakota’s mother split two days after her daughter walked across the stage to receive her diploma. Cradle to grave, Dakota and Sarah used to promise each other, with pinkies crooked around each other. Friends ‘til the end.
She stood and studied her broken reflection. Maybe visiting Sarah wasn’t such a bad idea. She’d have to take a few days off from work and raid her bank account, but who cared? It wasn’t like she had a house or a wedding or a damn engagement party to save up for. Forget mooning around town, waiting and not waiting to run into Sean. Forget sniveling in her apartment, waiting for a phone to ring that probably wouldn’t. She had vacation time saved up at the restaurant. She might as well use it.
Though Sarah had moved to Tennessee nearly a decade ago, Dakota had never managed to visit. You should come down, her friend always said as she comforted Dakota over the phone through one break-up after another. I don’t know what you’re waiting for.
Well, now she was going to. This visit was long overdue. Dakota tore open the medicine cabinet in search of antacid. While she was there, Sean’s aftershave and a spare razor went into the trash, along with his purple toothbrush and pint-sized Listerine.
“Fine, stay with your wife. See if I care.” She stormed into the bedroom, ripping a photo from the bulletin board in the hallway, where Sean’s smile leapt out at her, playful and secretive. She crumpled it and shoved it into a trashcan. “I’m going to Memphis. For the weekend. Maybe for the whole damn week.”
She wondered if Sean would miss her.
Then she wondered if Sean would even know she’d gone.
Dakota sighed. It was her own fault for getting involved with a married man in the first place. For a minute, she thought about calling his wife, about revealing all the details about where her husband had spent his nights for the last year. Then she shook her head. Mollie would probably just look at her with a pitying gaze. Or break down in tears. Either way, Dakota didn’t want to be known as the waitress from Little Lakeside who broke up marriages or begged for attention from men who couldn’t give it.
She tore the sheets from her bed and balled them into a pile on the floor. Down came another photo of her with Sean at the beach, along with a seashell necklace she’d draped around the picture frame.
“Good riddance.”
She yanked the necklace in two, and pearly pale shells spilled across the floor and under the bed. Into the trash went the half-melted candles that stood around the room, testament to marathon sessions of lovemaking. She grabbed the hand-painted wine glass Sean had bought her at the country fair, but an edge caught the corner of her dresser, and shards of glass splintered across the floor.
“Ow!” A spot of crimson bloomed at the edge of her heel. Bending, Dakota spit onto her thumb and wiped the blood away. No more pain. Not from Sean. Not ever.
The room looked a wreck, but she couldn’t have cared less. She pushed a pile of clothes out of the way, sat down at her desk and booted up her laptop. How soon could she find a flight to Memphis? The computer screen flickered for a moment, and she reached around to jiggle the wires. That thing’s a dinosaur, Sean had told her more than once. Let me get you a new one.
She hadn’t let him. She didn’t need a new one; she rarely used this one. As she fiddled with the power cord, her fingers caught on something, and she leaned over to look. A flash drive. Was it hers? She doubted it. She pulled it out and stuck it into her purse. Maybe Robin’s—she’d let her co-worker use the laptop a couple of times to work up a resume. Or Sean’s? Probably not. Dakota could count on one hand the number of times he’d used her computer.
An hourglass spiraled on the screen and then beeped after a few seconds. She peered at the results of her search. Two flights were scheduled to leave for Memphis that afternoon. Perfect. If she hurried, she could catch the first one. She glanced up at the calendar above her desk. How long could she stay? Three days. Let’s try for three. Or maybe even four. But then her heart dropped. Red circles marked nearly every date left in the month—three double shifts at the restaurant next week.
“Well, damn.” During the month of June, it seemed as though everyone in the surrounding states wanted to get married in Little Lakeside’s historic stone church. Next week, the restaurant was booked solid with wedding parties and rehearsal dinners, and Nigel had threatened to fire anyone who couldn’t work a full schedule. Dakota scowled. She’d been planning on a good few days of crying into Sarah’s pillows, going out on the town, forgetting all about Sean Murphy and his hollow promises.
“Okay, well, fine.” She’d do what she could. Scrolling down the screen, she found a flight that would get her to Memphis that afternoon and return her to Little Lakeside two days later. Credit card in hand, she punched in the numbers and secured her reservation.
Dakota left a quick message for Sarah and threw some clothes into a duffel bag. Watered her plants and let Nigel know she’d be back in time for Monday’s shift. With each minute that passed, her heart lifted. Her bad mood eased. I’m getting away. The words sing-songed inside her head. Away from this town. Away from the memories. At least for a day or two.
The thoughts lifted her spirits as she showered and called a cab.
Dakota walked into the airport less than an hour later. Through the enormous windows, beyond the taxiing planes, New Hampshire’s green, gorgeous landscape spread out as far as she could see. S
omething skipped inside her stomach, a bubble of anticipation, a butterfly of nerves that buoyed her through the ticket counter and the security gates and into the waiting area. She’d flown only twice before, once when her mom splurged and took her to Disney, and the other when a lawyer she’d dated years ago had taken her to Philadelphia.
Otherwise, from the day she’d been born, she’d spent nearly every waking minute of her life in the same hundred-mile radius. She’d gone to school with all the same people, heard all the same stories, knew almost all the faces by heart. She knew the way New Hampshire sunshine snuck up on you in May, and she knew the way December wind chilled you to the core of your bones. She knew the way people shaped their vowels and the way they dropped their eyes when strangers came into town. She knew the slope of the mountains and the expanse of the meadows.
And for twenty-five years or so, she’d been perfectly content here. She’d skied in the winters and boated in the summers and spent her days and nights hanging out with her friends from grade school. She’d fallen in and out of love. She’d found a job, a home, a life. But now? Now she needed to spread her wings. To leave the northeast, if only for a day or so. To escape the disappointment of dating that seemed to follow her wherever she went.
She settled herself into a plastic chair and let herself think of sunshine and southern charm.
SEAN MURPHY OPENED one eye as his cell phone rang. Stretched full-length in his recliner, with the television blaring out last night’s sports scores, he leaned over and checked the screen. It wouldn’t be Mollie. They’d made plans to meet for coffee around two, before they headed to the marriage counselor and tried to salvage whatever relationship still existed. Probably wouldn’t be Dakota, either. Not just yet.
Private, read the screen. A cold hand grabbed him by the balls as he answered. “Murphy.”
“You watch the video?” asked a low, gruff voice.
Sean thought about not answering, but he didn’t have much choice. He’d already picked up the phone. “Yeah. What do you want?”
“I figure fifty grand’ll keep my mouth shut. In small bills, by noon tomorrow. Meet me out back of the Yellow Whistle.”
“You’re out of your fucking mind. You’re not getting a dime from me.”
The caller laughed. “That‘s what you want? No problem. But I’m pretty sure there’s a couple of people down in the mayor’s office who might like to take a look at that video. See what I saw the police chief doing last week when he was supposed to be protecting and serving all the good people of Little Lakeside. Looks to me like the only thing you were protecting and serving was yourself, Chief Murphy.”
Shit. The video. On the flash drive. In a panic, Sean emptied his pockets. Where the hell did I put the flash drive?
“I doubt Mayor Brody is gonna look highly on his chief of police after I show him evidence of you buyin’ E from Tommy Jones.”
Tommy Jones. Two more words that made Sean’s skin itch. That graying geezer was a small-time drug dealer, a homeless drunk who’d gotten himself thrown in jail every few months for possession of marijuana. Until Sean found out he was dealing something else. And until Sean decided he wanted a piece of the action.
“I’ll take care-a you, Tommy,” he’d told the old guy, “‘long as you have a little something for me when I want it. Okay?”
“I already told you,” Sean said into the phone. He gritted his teeth. “No one in town’s gonna believe a high school dropout over me. I don’t care what you think you have on video. Any jackass can splice some images together.”
“Maybe,” the caller said. “But if you think I gave you the only copy of that video, you’re dumber than I thought. When I show up at the next town board meeting and offer it up for their viewing pleasure, I’m pretty sure they’re not gonna be thinkin’ about who spliced what. They’re gonna be wonderin’ why I got a picture of you roughin’ up Tommy outside the gas station. They’re gonna be wonderin’ how long their police chief has been supporting a habit.
“And they’re gonna be wonderin’ how fast they can get you in cuffs and dump your ass in jail.”
Sean ended the call without responding. His fingers itched themselves into restless fists, and he looked around for something to hit. Or throw across the room. His chest tightened. The kid had another copy of the video? Big deal. He’s a punk, a drop-out. His mom’s in rehab. No one’s going to listen to him. This was a pathetic attempt at blackmail, that was all, a kid looking for attention. Nothing he couldn’t handle.
Still, where had he left the damn flash drive? Sean went through the pockets of the coat he‘d worn last night. He went through his pants, his closet, the backpack he sometimes carried to work. Nothing. He clenched his fingers at the back of his head and forced himself to think.
One week ago, he’d gotten the first telephone call, from some stupid adolescent claiming he had something the chief might want to see. Sean hung up, figuring it for a prank. But two days ago, he’d gotten a second call, more insistent. And yesterday afternoon, the kid with the pockmarked face and sour breath had stopped him on his way to Dakota’s place. Whispered something about knowing the secrets Sean kept and shoved a small piece of plastic into Sean’s hand. Then he promised to call with instructions on how Sean could pay him off and avoid public humiliation.
Sean cursed out loud. So he’d slipped up. Once. Some cocky dropout wasn’t going to get away with thinking he could blackmail Little Lakeside’s police chief.
But where had he left the damn evidence?
He’d been on his way to Dakota’s. That had to be it. Sean closed his eyes and retraced his steps inside his head. Up the stairs. Into her kitchen, her living room, her bedroom, where they always ended up first before getting a pizza or renting a movie. Jesus, I left it plugged into her laptop, he thought with a jolt, remembering how he’d woken up at three in the morning to watch it.
Panic set in. How had he forgotten it? But the answer was easy. He’d worked fifteen hours of overtime this week. His brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders, that was for damn sure. And Dakota had thrown him out of her place so fast that morning he didn’t have a chance to get it back.
Christ, what an idiot. Sean glanced at his watch. Had she seen it? Had she found it plugged into her laptop? Doubtful. Dakota rarely used her computer. Plus she’d been so worked up, he couldn’t imagine she would have calmed down enough to sit in front of a computer screen for longer than thirty seconds.
He let out a long breath. All he had to do was get back inside her apartment. Of course, that was easier said than done, considering the way they‘d left things an hour ago. Sean eased to a seat and forced himself to think. He’d just call her. Tell her he had to come back and get his stuff. Tell her not to bother waiting, that he still had had his key and he’d leave it on her table while she was at work.
He nodded. That should solve the problem. One call to Dakota, who was probably still wallowing in her tears, and he’d have the flash drive back. Then, later that afternoon, he’d take a ride down to the neighborhood where the kid hung out and rattle him enough to make him cough up any other copies of the video. And then, in a few hours, everything would be back to normal in Little Lakeside.
Sean picked up the phone and dialed.
Noon
“Heads up!” Mike tossed the basketball to Ethan, who dribbled around Paul and went for a lay-up. And missed.
“Ha!” Dark hair flopping into his eyes, Paul jabbed a finger at Ethan’s chest.
“Get outta my face.” Ethan jogged down the court to guard the opposite basket.
“What’s the matter with you?” Mike asked as grabbed the rebound. “You look like shit.”
“Nothing.”
“You girls gonna play or talk?” yelled Howie from mid-court. “You’re already down by six. Wanna go for eight?”
Mike shrugged and glided down the court so fast that Howie only had a chance to slap at Mike’s arm as he passed. This time Ethan was ready. At the last moment, Mike passe
d him the ball, dropped back to guard, and pumped a fist as Ethan laid it up, a perfect two points.
“Yes!” Mike turned to Howie. “You were saying?”
“It’s about time you guys started playing like you meant it,” Paul said. “You’ve been looking like a couple of soccer moms the last ten minutes.”
“Time out,” said Ethan. Jogging to the sideline, he collapsed on the wooden bench and reached for his water bottle.
“You okay?” Mike pulled out a towel and mopped his forehead.
“Fine.” Ethan dumped the rest of the water down his throat and rubbed his left shoulder. Every once in a while, his joints creaked a little, reminding him the days of college ball had long since slunk into the past.
“Hey.” Mike laid a hand on Ethan’s elbow. “I mean it. You look like you slept about two hours last night.”
“I feel like it.” Though his headache had disappeared, Ethan’s energy level hovered somewhere just above empty. His stomach roiled and he looked around for another bottle of water. He glanced over to mid-court, where Howie and Paul were taking foul shots. Across the grassy park, a couple of girls walked by, blonde and long-legged, and Howie’s head swiveled like it was on casters. He ran one hand over his hair so that dark orange spikes stood up in all directions.
“Hey, babe!”
The girls ignored him.
“You up for a little one-on-one?”
As Ethan watched, Howie elbowed Paul in the ribs. “Or how about two-on-two?”
Continuing their slow path around the basketball court, the girls passed Howie without a word. At the far end, just before they reached the fountain in the park’s center, they raised their right hands in tandem, middle fingers extended to the sky.
Mike chuckled. “Idiot.”
Ethan kept quiet. Most days, he could tolerate Mike’s two friends from the office. Today, though, Howie’s mouth and Paul’s cocky attitude were working their way under his skin in no time flat. He glanced at his watch. No way he’d last another couple of hours. They usually played all afternoon, then stopped for a burger and a beer or two late in the day. But Ethan’s mood hadn’t lifted since getting out of bed, and he wasn’t sure he’d make it much longer.
Countdown: Ethan Page 2