Captured Again (14 page)

Jake had always been that way, easily finding the simplest and quickest way to make her happy—making her feel as if his entire world revolved around her—but upon closer inspection, she saw it wasn't as simple as she'd first thought. Beside every Mason jar lit by a candle was a matching Mason jar holding a picture, the picture magnified by the thick glass—seven jars reflecting Gabby and Jake. Pictures snapped by someone else, capturing the faces of two kids growing into adults together, through the years. Two kids who only had eyes for each other. Casual shots, unexpected and natural, one for each year they'd been together.

She remembered, as she'd held each jar one by one, trying to recollect the exact moment the picture must have been taken, she’d thought again how lucky she was to have a man who had stood beside her through everything. She'd gotten to the last jar, but it was empty. No candle... No picture...

“Jake, you forgot one,” she'd said to him.

“Naw, I didn't forget it. See, that jar is bigger than the rest. I thought we'd save it until we had three faces to put in it. Wanna skip dinner and start tryin' right now?”

He'd winked at her and then swiftly pulled her close. Before Gabby had known what he was going to do, he’d gently pushed her down onto the blanket, where she'd put on an exaggerated effort of getting him off of her, only to make his win even sweeter. They'd made love under the big oak, with the stars peeping through the branches.

“I love you, Gabby,” Jake had whispered into her ear, afterward.

“I love you more,” she'd whispered back, looking from his eyes to gaze up at the stars. “Look, Jake. Look how beautiful it is.”

He'd held her a few minutes more, pressing his face against hers before rolling over to stare at the stars with her. The moment was broken by a long, gurgling growl.

Jake had laughed, never embarrassed with her, and helped her sit up before they both had hungrily dug into the basket his mama had rushed to prepare, having had it ready for him to scoop up on his way home.

They'd eaten their dinner, playfully spork-fighting over the last of the shared Styrofoam containers of slaw and mashed potatoes, their fingers greasy from fried chicken, and wrestling over the last flimsy paper napkin.

Gabby had teased Jake, calling him an animal when his napkin had nearly disintegrated from repeatedly trying to wipe his hand. He’d grunted and pushed her down on her back, with his chest to hers, and then sat up and straddled her on the blanket, threatening to wipe his big paws on her shirt. She had giggled at his empty threats. She'd known he wouldn't do it; he was all gentleman and fluff under that country boy gruff. He'd followed his threats with a long kiss. Gabby had felt the grease on her face as he tenderly ran his fingers over her cheeks, lost in their kiss, and she hadn't minded one bit.

“Gabby!” Dr. White said again, startling her from her thoughts of Jake.

“I'm sorry. What did you say?” Gabby asked, flustered to see Dr. White leaning forward in his chair, looking worriedly at her, and embarrassed to have gotten lost in her memory of the last time her husband had made love to her. She turned away, hoping he couldn't read her face.

“I thought you'd fallen asleep. Your eyes were closed and you wouldn't answer me. Where did you go? Talk to me.”

Gabby looked up again, meeting his eyes. She could see he hadn't a clue where her mind had been, and she was relieved. “I... I was... just thinking about Jake.”

Dr. White leaned even farther, nearly on the very edge of his chair, and anxiously asked, “What, Gabby? What were you thinking about exactly?”

Gabby swallowed back a lump. “I was just thinking what a great guy I had.”

CHAPTER 19

Emma
tucked her hair behind her ear and fidgeted in her seat, looking everywhere except at Dusty. Now that she was here, on an actual date, she felt prickly in her own skin.
Why am I so friggin socially awkward? Dammit!
She willed her body to relax and think of some positives:
I’m freshly showered. Okay, there’s one.
She’d hurried, having to leave Dusty sitting in the reception area while she’d used the studio locker/shower room. She was ready by their agreed upon time of seven, and Dusty had seemed surprised to see her back so soon.

She’d felt confident when she’d walked out to greet him again, clean and wearing strappy sandals and her best Miss Me blue jeans with a sheer top, allowing a peek at the lacy tank top underneath, only to find Dusty looking uneasy, and silly, his frame too big for the colorful, decorative chairs in their lobby. She rescued him just as Rick stepped out of the elevator on his own way out. She’d been lucky to see him coming; she didn’t want these two face to face again.

“Can I start you with some margaritas?” the waitress asked, helping to break the clumsy silence Emma felt trapped in.

“I’ll have a sweet tea,” answered Emma.

“Make that two,” Dusty said.

The waitress smiled and told them she’d return in a few moments to take their order after they’d had a chance to look at the menu.

“Dusty, I hope you don’t feel like you can’t have a beer—or whatever—just because I’m not drinking,” Emma said.

“Nope. I’m driving,” Dusty answered with a smile. “I can have a beer at home if I want one. I never drink at restaurants.” He looked down at his menu.

Emma mentally kicked herself for bringing it up. Now what if that opened up a conversation about her pending charge of driving under the influence or drinking in general? She normally liked to avoid that subject.
Bonehead,
she thought to herself. She, too, focused her attention on the menu, finding what she wanted right away, and put it down. She looked up at Dusty, and caught him staring at her before quickly looking back down at the menu again; his face looked as blank as her mind felt.

Get it out in the open so you can stop worrying about it,
she silently reprimanded herself.

“I don’t normally drink,” Emma blurted out. “The other night, when you arrested me, that’s not who I really am anymore. I actually quit drinking a long time ago. But it’s never a problem if people drink around me.”

“That’s cool,” Dusty answered. He shrugged his shoulders.

Now how stupid do I sound? I quit drinking a long time ago, but he caught me drinking and driving. Idiot.

Awkward silence again.

“Okay, I didn’t explain that right, and it’s probably TMI, but I need you to understand. This is going to sound ridiculous. About once a year or so, I have a few drinks. Usually it’s just two and then I leave. I do this to confront it when I’m feeling weak. See, alcohol used to have a hold on me, and the typical “program” doesn’t work very long. So I figured out what works for me, and I do that.
I
can’t have a simple drink with dinner, or a few with friends. That would be like me throwing out a welcome mat and inviting that problem back into my life. I’m not like other people. If I let it in, it would take over everything—take over my life—and leave me with nothing. The fear of it hangs over my head constantly. So I confront it head-on and alone. I don’t make it a social thing. It’s just me and the drink. I throw back a few, and tell it to stay out of my life. Then I walk away—just to show it I can. To show I’m still free from it. That keeps me in control. That’s
my
program.”

Dusty shrugged his shoulders again and his mouth squeezed together in a firm line. Then he raised his eyebrows and asked, “How’d that program work out for you the other night?”

Another blush heated her cheeks, but he sounded genuine, not sarcastic at all.

“It didn’t. This time there was more to it than that. I wasn’t focused, and I made a mistake. But I won’t make another.
My
program works when I work it.”

Dusty nodded his head and smiled. “Good. Sounds like you know what you did wrong then.”

I’m giving him way too much information. He’s going to think I’m a loser. Just shut up, Emma. Just shut up now.
Emma gave a nervous laugh. “Yeah.”

Dusty looked away from her, his eyes sweeping the room. The air between them became still again and Emma sighed.
This is not going well. Reminder to self, don’t date anymore. You are a social freak.

She checked out the restaurant, noticing the other couples leaning in, talking to one another, seeming at ease and happy to be out. Obviously this wasn’t their first date.
Shit, shit, shit, what can I say?
Emma frantically thought.
This is so embarrassing.

Her phone rang. Relieved, she reached for her bag and dug it out, apologizing to Dusty. “I’m sorry. This is my sister. I need to tell her where I am.”

“No problem. Safety first,” Dusty answered and grinned.

“Hello?” Emma answered quietly.

The waitress showed back up with their tea, setting it down and looking at each of them before turning to walk away. It was obvious she wanted to take their order and Emma had put her off by leaning the opposite way with her phone, avoiding eye contact.

“Hey, Emma. What’re you doing?” Gabby asked.

“I’m out with Dusty Rowan. We’re at the Mexican restaurant on South. You know the one? And he drove. My car’s still at the studio.”

“What about Rickey?” Gabby asked. Her voice was loud, and Emma tried to adjust the volume on her phone without looking obvious, but Gabby’s voice still seemed to bounce around the high backs of their booth. She glanced at Dusty.

“What about him?” Emma answered, looking back down at the table, playing with her napkin.

“Is he okay with you going out with Dusty?” asked Gabby. Emma’s eyes shot up to Dusty and he’d definitely heard his name. He tried to look away as if he didn’t, but it was too late. Emma saw that he’d clearly heard Gabby.

“I don’t need to ask his permission,” Emma answered, feeling her cheeks warm. “I really need to go, Gab. I’m sitting at the table with Dusty. He probably thinks I’m rude,” she said, looking up at Dusty again. He shook his head quickly from side to side.

“Okay, be safe. Call me or send me a text to let me know when you get home,” Gabby answered. “And have some fun! Love you.”

“Love you, too. Bye,” Emma said, and put her phone back in her bag.

“Sorry. We all kinda check in with one another like that, and it’s not often I go out so I just wanted Gabby to know who I was with,” Emma explained to Dusty.

“Not a problem with me. I think it’s a great idea. A pretty, single girl like you can’t be too careful. There’s a bunch of crazies out there, but I promise you, I’m not one of them,” Dusty said and followed it with a smile.

“So... about your job. Have you worked there long?”

“Since I was sixteen,” Emma answered. “I’m still part time while I finish school.”

“Wow. That’s a great job. Is that what you’re going to school for? Animation production or something to do with that?”

“No, I just happened to luck into that job. When I was younger, I had a very squeaky voice. My sisters called me munchkin. I was always smaller than them too. But we were out one day at the zoo, and we were laughing at the monkeys—I of course laughed the loudest. Then some random guy just walks up and tells me he just
has
to have my voice. I thought my mom was going to knock his lights out, but then he handed her a card and told her he worked for a studio. He was looking for cartoon voices. He said I was a natural. I’ve been doing it ever since. It’s great money for a part-time job, but I’m not sure I want to do it forever.”

“There were a lot of people in that building. I had no idea it took so many people to make cartoons. Maybe there’s something else you can do there. What do all those people in the cubicles do?” Dusty asked, seeming to be very interested.

Emma was relieved. This was a safe topic and perfect to break the ice and sweep away the uncomfortable silence. She could talk about cartoons all night.

“Oh, yeah. There’s the writing—which I have absolutely no talent at—then there are people who only do sound effects. I do some of my own sound effects when they’re in the script, but usually a professional sound effect artist comes in after me and peppers theirs over mine. And, of course, there are the animation artists; they sketch the sequences, kind of leaving them floating out in space. Then the colorists take over and digitally colorize the sketches, and there’s the storyboarding and music recording, at the front end—editing at the back end. There’s all kinds of careers in cartoons. We’ve even got a few executive-level positions.”

“Hmm. I had no idea it was such a big business behind that little storefront,” Dusty said, looking impressed.

“Oh, this is small potatoes. Think how big Pixar is. We’re just an itty bitty fish in a very big pond. Anyway, we’re lucky to have a studio in a city this size, especially since most cartoons are done overseas now.”

The waitress came back and took their order. Emma looked around and realized she and Dusty looked the same as everybody else now, just a regular couple having dinner and talking. She felt herself finally relax.

“So what about Rickey?” Dusty blurted out.

Emma tensed again.
Where did that come from?
She didn’t know how to answer him. She just sat there, speechless.

Dusty continued. “I mean, I overheard your sister mention him... and it was obvious back at the office he’s really got a thing for you. Did you date long?”

Emma smiled wide. “No. Rick and I sometimes hang out—as friends—but he always wants more, so I stopped hanging out so much with him.” She shrugged. “He keeps asking, and I usually say no. He’ll eventually move on for good. He dates several girls.”

Dusty tilted his head, studying her. After a long pause, he answered, “I don’t know, Emma. He seemed pretty obsessed with you. Not that it’s any of my business. But I can understand why. You’re all kinds of awesome behind that microphone—
really amazing
.”

Emma blushed. “It’s just a character voice, Dusty. That’s not me.”

“It was more than a voice. The way you moved, the way you danced... The poor girl beside you looked like a rock.”