Paradise Falls (5 page)

His shoulder brushed hers. There wasn’t room on the arm rest until he put both hands on the wheel and rolled his shoulders. The new car smell mingled with the leathery scent of his cologne.

Jacob slipped the car into gear. “We should go to the police,” he said.

She looked out the window. “There’s no point.”

“Elliot… I mean, that man put his hands on you.”

Jennifer sighed at the hopeless situation. “Don’t you think I’ve tried? I know what will happen to me if I make the senator’s son look bad.”

“What?”
 

“Nothing,” she said.
 
“Nevermind. There’s nothing I can do. I tried.”

“There’s a state police barracks not far from here.”

“They won’t help, either. Who’s going to arrest Senator Katzenberg’s son?”

Jacob’s hands tightened on the wheel, and the leather creaked. He peered through the windshield wipers. “You know, I don’t actually know where I’m going.”

“Just go straight up the hill. It’s the white duplex on the left, with all the junk on the porch.”

“Every house here has junk on the porch.”

Jennifer snorted. It was a short trip by car, less than five minutes. She looked out the window. “We’re here.”

He drove past the house, made a sharp three point turn, and then guided the car to the sidewalk. The rain slowed its drumming on the roof. Steam rose from the sidewalks and the air was heavy with humidity. Jacob got out and unlocked her bike from the rack.

“Okay then,” he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.”

Don’t let him go!

“Wait,” Jennifer said. “I didn’t mean to brush you off, earlier. Come inside and towel off at least. I’ll get you something. A drink,” she added, hastily. “This way.”

She took the bike by the handlebars but Jacob insisted on rolling it up the front walk. He hung it on the rack where she showed him, and kept his distance as she fished out her keys. Jennifer unlocked the deadbolt, stepped inside, and beckoned him to enter.

The outdated décor and clutter embarrassed her. “It’s not much.”

Jacob ducked to pass underneath the low lintel, and Jennifer closed the door behind him. He stepped into her cramped living room with the air of a kid waiting to be confronted by his prom date’s father. Jennifer shook out her jacket and hung it on a hook by the door. She flinched at Franklin’s picture.
 

What are you doing?

“What are you wishing for?” said Jacob.

“Excuse me?”

Gingerly, grasping the ‘beak’ by two fingers, he lifted one of the origami cranes from her crafting table. She had over a hundred of them scattered around the duplex, in her classroom, and a few in various coat and jacket pockets.

“You know the story of the thousand paper cranes,” she said.

“I’ve heard it.”

She shrugged. “I don’t really wish for anything. It’s just a way to busy my hands. Sometimes I make them while I read, or grade papers.”

He pulled the elastic holding together his ponytail and his wet hair draped around his shoulders. Jennifer scrambled to find him a towel. It had been so long since she actually washed dishes that dust fell off the one by the sink. She found a clean one in a drawer.

Her stomach fluttered when he looked at her, and it was a feeling so old, it took her a moment to recognize it. She broke from his gaze, desperately hoping the heat on her cheeks was from exhaustion, and that she wasn’t blushing. She stepped past him into the kitchen and pulled out one of the old wooden chairs from her grandmother’s table for him.

Jacob sat down.“This is kind of small. The table, I mean.”

“That was the ‘kids table’ at my grandmother’s house,” Jennifer said. “Tea? I don’t drink coffee.”

“Please.”

She set a teacup full of water in the microwave and turned it on. The inside light threw its harsh glow into the gloomy kitchen. She flicked on the overhead light and the ceiling fan lazily turned. The house was warm because the rattling air conditioner in the upstairs bedroom couldn’t keep up.

“I should have offered you iced tea,” she said. “It’s too hot for tea.” She didn’t have any iced tea; she could only offer him a half empty carton of orange juice and bottled water from the refrigerator.

She felt silly for the way her eyes widened and her stomach sucked in when her gaze snapped to him. Crossing her arms over herself and looking away until the microwave chimed, she put a teabag in the cup and set it in front of him. He took the string in the tips of his long fingers and bobbed the bag in the water.

“Milk?”

“No, thank you.”

Good. I don’t have any milk. She stopped keeping milk in the house after the fifth or sixth carton went sour. Franklin drank milk like water and she kept it in the house of out habit for a few months after his death.

Her ring itched.

Jennifer pulled out a chair and sat down, folding her hands neatly on the table. Jacob’s hands were huge compared to hers. Delicate and rough at the same time, and his left hand had bendy breaks in the fingers.

Curiosity got the best of her. “Were you in an accident?”

“Yes.” He flexed his fingers. “It’s wasn’t as bad as all that. Miss Katzenberg-“

“Call me Jennifer,” she said.

“Only if you promise to call me Jacob.”

“Jacob,” she said.

“Jennifer, you have to do something about Elliot. How often does he harass you like that?”

She shrugged. “It’s been a while. A year or so. I thought that he was bored with me, and maybe he’d stop.”

Jennifer took her wedding band and twisted it around her finger, feeling the metal rub against her skin. Why was she telling him this?

“My husband was his brother. His younger brother. He could never stand that Franklin ‘won’ me.”

“It’s not your fault.”

She wanted to say something, but she felt like she’d swallowed a mouthful of sand. She was sure everyone in town knew what happened, but only two people had ever told her it wasn’t her fault, Rachel and her sister, Katie. Jennifer’s own mother told her it was her fault.

 
Jacob smiled as his eyes traced over the curve of her jaw, locking on her eyes before following the path of her shoulders down her arms.
 

Her heart sped up when she realized he was probably picturing the curves of her body under the baggy blouse. The more intense the feeling grew, the heavier her wedding band became. Jacob was an exceptionally attractive man, and he admired her as if she was an attractive woman.

“I suppose I should get going. It’s a school night, after all.”

Concealing her disappointment was a challenge. “Oh,” she said.

What are you doing? You just met.

He drank the remaining tea, and set the cup on the table. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Don’t go yet!

Why did she want him to stay? She looked around the drab kitchen and wondered what the hell she was doing by inviting him into her house like this. He was already moving.

She nodded as he stood up. Jennifer stumbled over her feet to get to the door and opened it for him. She opened it for him and when he began to step out her arm shot out and she grabbed his wrist. He turned, his eyebrows climbing in surprise.

“I’m sorry I blew you off at lunch. I didn’t mean to be rude, I-”

“It wasn’t rude. You had a lot on your mind.”
 

Yes, like you. “It was rude. I’d like to make up for it. I’d like to see you.”

“I wasn’t planning to take a sick day.” He smirked.

You know what I mean.

“I mean… see you.” Jennifer mentally damned her thick tongue. Couldn’t an English teacher be more eloquent? “Socially, I mean.”

He turned back to face her stepped back up onto the threshold. He was so damned tall, she had to look up to meet his gaze. She still held his wrist. When she let go, her hand flopped to her side and she had no idea what to do with it.

She stared at his lips while licking her own. He looked away.

“We’ll make plans,” he said. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yes,” she said.

He walked down to the car. The rain fizzled out, and the sun peeked from behind the retreating clouds. Jacob waved before sliding into the driver’s seat. The car rumbled to life and he pulled away, leaving her staring after him.

What did you just do? What on Earth possessed her to ask him out? She twisted her ring on her finger and stared out the window. She glanced over and saw the honeymoon picture staring back at her. Her ring dug into her skin.

“I like him” she said, to no one in particular.
 

She moved away so she couldn’t see the picture, or it couldn’t see her. Her hands shook.
 

You’re being stupid. He does one nice thing for you, and you’re ready to fall into his arms.

It wasn’t one nice thing. He all but risked his life for her. No one ever tried to defend her from Elliot. No one but Franklin, and Franklin was gone.

Isn’t that a funny coincidence? He just happens to show up at the right time. He knew my name. He’s probably some kind of stalker. Then there’s those scars, and his hand. Accident? What kind of accident? Where did he learn to fight like that?

“Shut up,” she muttered.

After a shower, sleep almost took her a few times, but she chased it away. Jennifer sat upright on the beach towel she spread on the bed for a while and stared at the ceiling, before she put an old oversized Sentinels jersey that hung halfway to her knees, and a pair of thick padded socks with little grippers on the bottom.
 

Jennifer piled a stack of pillows behind her and rested her tablet on her folded legs. She opened the web browser app to find a cheap refurbished laptop to replace the one Elliot destroyed. She could probably afford a new one, if she wanted. She sighed. She could definitely afford a new one.

You don’t need a new computer. A used one will work just fine.

Habit opened the bridge memorial web site instead. A picture of the monument built by the old bridge footing filled the screen with its list of names. Dread churned through her as she scanned the list for the thousandth time.

Her last name stood out among the others when she reached the K section. Franklin Katzenberg.

Three other names hovered a few lines above: Eric, Catherine, and Candice Kane.

Jennifer gasped and her hand clapped over her mouth. Jacob’s sister was named Candy Kane. She looked at the date of birth and did a quick mental calculation. She was twelve when she died.

“Oh God,” she breathed.

5.

The wipers flicked back and forth, throwing sheets of rain off the windshield. The rain tapered to a drizzle when he pulled away from Jennifer’s house, but picked back up again as he drove. Jacob’s twisted hand choked the steering wheel, sending shooters of pain through his forearm as if the boot heel still ground on it.

He passed the memorial at the footing of the old bridge, and stared straight ahead until the Aston Martin took the turn onto Hill Road with authority. He worked the shifter and focused on keeping the car on the road until he reached the top of the hill.

Jacob’s assistant waited inside the converted carriage house that served as a garage. Faisal opened the car door, and as Jacob stepped out, his assistant looked inside and sighed at the wet marks on the seats and floor.

“I’ll have that water taken care of, sir.”

“Whatever,” he said. Worrying about the car left a sour taste in his mouth. “How’s the work going?”

“We’re at ninety percent.”

“I need completion by the weekend.”

Why the rush? You’re not having guests. You can’t seriously be considering taking her up on her offer.

Entertaining the idea of taking her out was something he didn’t have time for. He’d have to let Jennifer down gently. Getting close to anyone would paint a target on their back.
 

She wasn’t supposed to be here.

Jacob scanned the perimeter. Every rock and tree could hide an enemy.

The workmen set up the main floor and bedrooms, the last unfinished parts of the house. A pair of carpenters worked on the built-in shelving for his library while another team dragged the huge refrigerator into the kitchen. Booted feet stomped upstairs as workmen rolled out carpeting, wrestled heavy antiques into place, and slapped fresh paint on the walls.

Lacking doors, the cabinetry frames in the bare bones kitchen resembled a wooden honeycomb. The steel door in the corner would appear as a common pantry when all the cabinets and appliances were in place. Now the quarter inch thick door with its four deadbolts and steel reinforcements stuck out like a sore thumb.

Faisal jogged down the newly built stairs, and Jacob followed after locking the door from the inside. The basement was half as big as the house. A desk and computers were just past the bottom of the stairs. Next to that were the filing cabinets that housed paper records, photocopies of microfilm, and anything else too precious to trust to electronic storage. He kept a cot at the far end. The bedroom upstairs was for show.

A vault in the corner served as his gun safe. Weighing six tons and almost ten feet wide by eight feet tall, a crane had to bear it into the house. Exercise equipment lined the opposite wall: mats, two heavy bags, speed bags, squat racks, the works.

Jacob pulled off his polo shirt and tossed it out of the way before holding out his hands. Faisal applied the wraps, and then Jacob pounded the heavy bag with his fists. Slight and barely more than a boy, Faisal braced himself against the swinging bag.

“You seem angry, sir,” Faisal said.

“I am angry.”

“Why?”

“She’s still here.”

Faisal leaned around the bag. “Why would that make you angry?”

“I thought she’d be remarried by now,” he said. Faisal’s loafers skid on the mat from the force of his punch. “I can’t believe she’s still in this awful place. She’s not supposed to be here.”

“Sir, if I may,” Faisal said. “Is it not for the better? You spoke of her before.”

“You may not,” Jacob said, and sighed. “Katzenberg was trying to force her into his car.”

“Which one, sir?”

“The son. Elliot.”

“Alone?”