Chasing The Case

by Joan Livingston

  “My head’s fine,” I answer. “But things could be better.”

  I haven’t seen Jack since that Sunday. He called that night to ask how I was and to apologize. I haven’t heard from him either, although according to my phone, he hung up three times before I answered. I called back, but each time his phone went to voice mail.

  Jack’s hands are on the steering wheel as if he’s ready to peel out of here.

  “How’s your sister?” I ask.

  “She’s okay. She’s home and she’s got her dogs. She’s got me. That’s enough for her.”

  “I’m relieved they didn’t put her in jail.”

  “Me, too. There’s really no other place for her.” He pats the steering wheel. “Listen, Isabel. I don’t blame you for what happened.” His voice drops. “I’m just having a real tough time dealing with all of this. I haven’t been able to think about anything or anyone else.”

  “I understand,” I tell him, which is about the stupidest thing people ever say. Really, how could I understand? But I’m trying. “I heard you’re reopening the Rooster.”

  “I need the money. Those lawyers are expensive,” he says. “I gotta find a cook. I’ll hold off on music for now. It just doesn’t seem right.”

  I read between his words, or I’m trying at that, too.

  “Jack.”

  “Yeah, Isabel?”

  “If you ever wanna come by and just talk, that’d be fine.”

  His head bobs in a steady beat.

  “I just might, Isabel Long,” he says, and after a pause, "Let me think about it.”

  I say good-bye and through the falling snow run into the house. I want to get inside before Jack sees me crying. I’m already bawling my head off when I reach the front door. Behind me, his pickup makes its way up the driveway’s steep incline.

  Now I’m inside and leaning against the front door. Ma sits in her chair with her pets. The TV is on low. She’s wondering what she could do for me. We Ferreiras are not an emotional family, but I am breaking into little pieces in front of her.

  Okay, Isabel, get a hold of yourself. It was only a fling, but a fun one. Jack’s the only man you’ve been with outside of Sam in how many years? He owns a bar. He was your boss. His sister killed a woman, and she might have done the same to you.

  But there is something I really like about Jack.

  “Ma, I’m gonna go upstairs for a while and lie down,” I tell her.

  She leans forward in her chair as she stares out the window.

  “You might not want to, Isabel,” she says. “I believe you’ve got company.”

  “Company?”

  I go to the window. Jack’s returned. He parks his truck and steps toward my front door. I swipe the tears from my face with both hands.

  I don’t wait for him to knock.

  “You came back.”

  “Well, Isabel, I thought it over.”

  He makes a grin, a shy grin, an uncertain grin, a grin I haven’t seen before. He runs his hand over his hair.

  I smile.

  “Aw, Jack, I’m really glad you did.”

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