Finders Keepers (28 page)

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Authors: Fern Michaels

BOOK: Finders Keepers
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“That's a pretty silly question, Jessie.”
“If it was a silly question, I wouldn't have asked it. Do you?”
“Why else would I fly to Washington every weekend?”
“Sex. You said our sex was the best you ever had.”
“Sex is sex. I could have sex seven days a week with seven different women if I wanted to. I chose you.”
“Am I supposed to be thankful or grateful? I want to hear the words, Tanner.”
“Have you been talking to that
squirrely
friend of yours? That's it, isn't it? You finally located Sophie, and she's full of wedding plans and you're getting all misty-eyed. You're starting to think about getting married. Right or wrong? You're leading up to something, Jess. What is it?”
Jessie crooked the phone between her ear and her shoulder so she could massage her temples. The pain inside her head was so intense she thought it would spin off her shoulders. “I did not locate Sophie. Marriage is not something I'm thinking about right now. Since you have an aversion to saying the words I need to hear I will assume you do not love me. There doesn't seem much sense in prolonging this conversation. Why were you calling me all day anyway?”
“To tell you I'd be up tomorrow. Irene died this afternoon. I thought you would want to know. The funeral's the day after tomorrow at St. John's.”
It was hard to think with the bongo drums beating away inside her head. “I'm sorry. Irene was very nice, and I liked her. But . . . I won't be here, Tanner.” On an impulse she said, “I'm leaving for Atlanta tomorrow morning,” she lied. “You'll have to stay with your father.”
“Atlanta! What about school and your finals. I don't want to stay with my father.”
“Well, you can't stay here. My landlady will not approve of you being here alone. I'm sorry. You could stay at a hotel.”
Tanner's voice turned frigid. “Or you could stay here for the funeral, which would be the decent thing to do. Why are you being so selfish? Or is it that you don't want me in your apartment? Are you giving me the old heave-ho, Jessie?”
“I told you, I have plans. I only have one exam left. My professor agreed to work with me and is allowing me to take it at seven tomorrow morning. I only met Irene once, Tanner. It's not like she's a blood relative.”
“She was my father's wife once.”
“That has nothing to do with me.”
“So you won't stay. You're going to Atlanta even though I want you to stay.”
“Yes.”
“If you don't know where Sophie is, why are you going?”
“Does it matter, Tanner? I don't ask you to account for your time. I'm going, and that's the end of it.”
“You're damn right that's the end of it.”
Jessie blinked when she heard the dial tone in her ear. The headache banging away inside her head left her almost immediately. Her eyes started to burn. “I will not cry. I absolutely will not cry,” she muttered over and over as she went to the kitchen to fill her coffee cup. She stopped in her tracks halfway into the living room when she realized she felt an overwhelming sense of relief that left her feeling peaceful yet drained of all emotion.
Tomorrow morning she would check into a hotel until after Irene's funeral. She could study there, take her last final exam, at which point she would make decisions regarding her future. A trip to Atlanta wasn't such a bad idea, nor was a trip to New Orleans out of the question. She had to find Sophie.
Jessie did three things before she brushed her teeth and turned down her bed. She dialed Jack Dawson's number one last time. When the answering machine clicked on, she hung up. She then listened to Tanner's irate messages, erasing them as they ended. She unplugged the phone; then she disconnected the machine, and shoved it in a drawer.
 
Jessie slipped the envelope containing her check for three months' rent under her landlady's door with a note saying she wasn't sure when she would return. She left Sophie's phone numbers in Atlanta and New Orleans, with instructions they not be given out to anyone. Nor was anyone to be admitted to her apartment while she was away. At the last moment she added a twenty-dollar bill to cover any long-distance calls the landlady might have to make on her behalf.
Everything had been taken care of. She'd attended her graduation, graduating
summa cum
laude,
cleaned out her refrigerator, disconnected all the appliances, had her prenatal checkup, asked the post office to hold her mail until otherwise notified, had her Jeep serviced, and was now ready to go. The letter in her hand felt hot and dry. Should she mail it or not? It probably didn't matter one way or the other since she hadn't heard from Tanner in over a month. She'd hoped he would show up for her graduation, but he hadn't. It was all the proof she needed that Tanner Kingsley didn't love her but then in her heart of hearts, she'd known that.
Mail the letter or not? All she had to do was leave it on the hall table and the landlady would mail it for her. In the end she stuffed the envelope in her purse. Some things were better left alone.
Next stop, Atlanta, Georgia.
 
The antebellum house in Atlanta was tomb quiet. Jessie felt like an intruder when she let herself into the house. It took less than thirty minutes to realize that Sophie hadn't been back to the house since their return to the States following the tragedy of her mother's death. There was no waiting mail and none of the servants had heard from her. Everything was clean and polished. Sophie's room was tidier than she'd ever seen it. Tears puddled in her eyes.
“Where are you, Sophie?”
she whispered.
Jessie sat down on the edge of the bed. She wanted to cry so bad she bit down on her tongue to stop the hot tears burning her eyes. She got up, knuckling her eyes as she opened closets and drawers, hoping for some kind of sign. There was nothing. Sophie had so much of everything it was hard to tell what was missing and what wasn't. She searched the desk and came up empty-handed.
Choking back her sobs, Jessie went outside to her friend's old playhouse. The bean-bag chairs they'd used at Christmastime were back in the playhouse. She sniffed, a smile breaking out on her face. The small rooms smelled like Sophie. This time the tears escaped and rolled down her cheeks. She allowed herself to cry then for her friend and herself for what they had both allowed to happen. Sophie was alone somewhere. She was here, alone. It wasn't supposed to be like this. For years they'd sworn to one another that they would only be a phone call away. For all she knew Sophie could be on the other side of the world. She continued to cry. In her entire life she'd never felt as alone as she felt at this moment. She knew what she was feeling was grief. It had to be grief, because nothing else could hurt this much. She likened it to the highest mountain, the endless desert, the deepest part of the ocean.
Jessie slept, curled into the bean-bag chair, awakening at midnight. She knew there would be no more sleep, so she carried her bags back to the car and set out for New Orleans. She could take her time and drive all night and be there by morning.
The long drive was uneventful. She stopped once for coffee around three-thirty and then again at six for a quick breakfast. She arrived at the house in the Garden District a little after eight in the morning. The door was ancient, the lock just as old and worn, the key from her key ring, ornate. The house smelled of mildew and dust from being closed up too long. She spent ten minutes turning on air conditioners and opening the blinds. Everything in the apartment was covered with a thick layer of dust. Sophie wasn't here and she hadn't been here for some time. The refrigerator held two wrinkled apples and a half bottle of Evian water. She slammed the door shut so hard it bounced open again. She closed it properly the second time.
Jessie searched the apartment from top to bottom but found nothing to indicate where her friend might have gone. Sophie liked to travel light. More often than not she traveled with only her purse, her passport, and a wad of cash, preferring to buy things on the run.
With nothing better to do, Jessie cleaned the apartment. She sighed with relief at four o'clock when she returned the cleaners and buckets to the pantry. She showered, washed her hair, dressed, and headed for the market, where she stocked up on enough groceries to last her a few days.
On the fifth day of her stay, Jessie woke to make a mad dash to the bathroom. The dreaded morning sickness the doctor had warned her about left her gasping for breath. She fixed tea when her stomach settled back to normal. She needed to think, to plan. She couldn't exist in this limbo forever. The last two days had left her feeling like a runaway gypsy with no roots and no future. She tried not to think about Tanner and where he was and what he was doing. It simply hurt too much to think about the man she thought she was in love with. Was she being fair in not telling him about her pregnancy? A child needed a father. A child should carry his father's name. What kind of mother would she make?
The phone behind her rang. To her ears the sound was fierce and angry. Should she answer it or not? Her greeting was cautious.
“Sophie, is that you? I've been calling you for weeks. Where were you?”
Weeks. She'd been here five days, and the phone hadn't rung once. Who was this person? Her voice stayed cautious. “This isn't Sophie. I'm Jessie Roland. Who are you?”
“Jack Dawson. Is Sophie with you?”
“No, she isn't.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“No. Do you?”
“I wouldn't be calling if I did. What are you doing in Sophie's apartment?”
She didn't care for his tone. “Why do you want to know?”
“Because I do. Well?”
The fine hairs on the back of Jessie's neck moved. “I'm visiting.”
“Are you here for the wedding?”
“What wedding?”
The exasperation in his voice was unmistakable. “Sophie's and my wedding. We're supposed to be getting married in two weeks. I haven't heard from her in six weeks. She said she had things to do and places to go, and she would be in touch. It's natural to think, since you're her best friend, that you're here for the wedding. So, where is she?”
“I have no idea. I've been trying to locate her myself for weeks now. Did she go out of the country?”
“Not to my knowledge. I've been in Arizona for the past few weeks on a cleanup job. I've tried calling her, but there was never an answer. Sophie hates answering machines and refuses to own one.”
Jessie's heart fluttered. “The wedding is still on? I thought . . . Sophie more or less . . . I assumed it was on hold.” Her heart kept fluttering. Was this man someone Sophie
used
to know? Did she run away from him? Jessie clamped her lips shut.
“As far as I know it's still on. I ordered my tux even though it's a small private wedding. Sophie picked up her dress. That much I do know. My entire family is coming for the wedding. It better come off. I need to ask you a question. Has Sophie always been so . . . mercurial?”
Mercurial. Uh-oh.
Jessie unclamped her lips. “More or less. If I hear from her, I'll have her call you.” She hung up the phone. In minutes she was in Sophie's bedroom, pawing through the closet. Pushed far in the back, an ankle-length swirling creation hung on a scented, padded hanger inside a clear plastic bag. White satin shoes and a small veil were in separate plastic bags hanging on separate hangers. As she moved the shoes and veil farther back she noticed a second garment bag. Sophie's going-away dress. No, the ticket on the hanger said Jessie Roland. Sophie had picked out her maid-of-honor dress. Even through the clear plastic she could see that both dresses were exquisite. The labels inside both dresses said they were designed by Oscar De La Renta. She thought about her thickening waistline. If the wedding came off, she would have to have the seams let out. If. The biggest
if
of them all was what was she to do if Sophie didn't return in two weeks?
More mystified than ever, Jessie returned to the kitchen. She looked around helplessly. All she could do was wait.
Where are you, Sophie?

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