Jacob's Ladder (17 page)

I shook my head. “I don"t know what to say.” I sat down on the bed and watched him.

“I don"t need you to say anything. It"s my problem.”

“Not exclusively,” I reminded him.

“I want what my parents had.”

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“But also to be fucked by a man?”

He muttered a curse. “I don"t know why I"m bothering. You"re rooted firmly in the basest, crudest terms of physical gratification.” He searched around for his socks and his shoes and slipped them on.

“That didn"t seem to bother you
at all
when I was sucking your dick.” Now I was getting angry. “I see. I"m an animal, and you want a true marriage of two minds.”

“I warned you not to make fun of me.” As he tied his shoe, he yanked so hard he tore the lace. He pulled the other side hard enough to tear it too, then threw the ends down onto the carpet.

“I"m not making fun of you.” But maybe I was. “I think you have unreasonable expectations, and I know you have conflicting desires. I know you want to love someone and be loved in return. I know you want the kind of marriage your parents had—”

“Exactly.”

“I also can"t help but notice that you"re the one who"s been following me home late at night and—”

“I wanted it to be
you
inside me. If it"s not you, it doesn"t mean shit. It"s not worth letting go of my principles if it"s not
real
. I guess it"s not your fault that for you it can be just anyone.” He turned and strode out the door, slamming it behind him.

Later, long after his truck had roared to life and rumbled out of the parking lot, I wondered if I"d alienated him on purpose. Probably I had. One time, while I was living with Sander, just putting one foot in front of the other, I found some Nietzsche quote—“Whoever despises himself still esteems the despiser within himself”—and pinned it up on the bulletin board at Il Ghiotto. No matter how many times I looked at it, I"d still gotten on the bus after work and slogged home to Sander, whether he was there or not, allowing my life to unfold in an endless pattern of predictable disappointments.

Finally, spectacularly, and probably entirely by accident, I realized what it meant and let my mouth run faster than my brain. I"d so completely pissed off JT

that there could be no going back. I didn"t despise myself for being who I was, and I never would. I wouldn"t allow anyone to make me feel bad about that. That was a line I could draw in the sand.

JT tugged at my heart like no one ever had. He seemed so young to me.

Melodramatic on the one hand, yet on the other I admired his determination to be whole, to unify his physical and spiritual natures. I liked that he thought about things like integrity, when I mostly just fell into relationships without thinking at all.

I assumed that he"d find a nice Jewish girl, and I hoped he could make it work, hoped he could find the type of love his parents had found. I wanted him to have his happily-ever-after.

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Maybe I"d find one too. I wanted exactly what he wanted. I
did
want a life with someone. But I wasn"t about to go binge dating or joining singles" groups. I wasn"t going to attempt any of the other oddly specific things he did to find love.

More important, I believed I could find what I wanted with a man. But if I couldn"t, I didn"t want it at all.

Anyway, JT was gone, and I would be leaving the following day with Dan.

* * *

Since I got no sleep the night before, I knew how I"d look in the cold, predawn fluorescent light outside of Miss Independence Pies before Muse even had a chance to utter her shriek, but the piercing sound drew every eye my way anyway.

“What the hell happened to you?” Bianca asked. “Don"t you have a mirror?” Candace looked picture perfect as usual, as cool and blonde as a runway model. “Bianca, give the man a break. He"s healing from the injuries he sustained and a very serious illness.”

“Nuh-uh, that face says rode hard and put away wet. It says I was at Nacho"s Bar drinking, and I did not go home alone. Tell Mama the truth, honey. Was it worth it?”

“Bad night,” I growled, and everyone but Muse backed off.

Candace was about to reply, but Mary Catherine drove up, her headlights blinding us temporarily as she sang out a cheery hello from the open driver"s window. We stamped our feet and blew thick mist into the air as we waited for Mary Catherine to disembark and open the door.

“You need coffee?” Muse asked.

I didn"t do anything more than glance at Muse, but she scurried inside ahead of me as though I"d given her backside a swat, and looked for me a few minutes later near the mixer with a mugful of hot and black, holding it out like an offering to a god.

“Thanks.” I grinned ruefully, the scent of the coffee melting some of the frost from my sense of humor.

“You look like you got no sleep.”

“I got some,” I prevaricated. “A little.”

“I take it you weren"t sleepless for anything good.”

“No.”

“And you don"t plan on talking about it.”

I glanced at her. “What do you think?”

“I think if you wanted to talk about it, you could. It wouldn"t go any farther than these four walls.”

I blinked in disbelief and turned on the machine to start the dough. For once I wished this particular mixer didn"t have a slow-start feature, making it so it 96

Z. A. Maxfield

wouldn"t spew all over if you started it up fast. I"d have liked to make a mess. A mushroom cloud of flour and fat to mirror my mood.

“All right, I lied,” she amended, pinkening up. “As soon as one of us left the building, we"d talk. No one would have to twist our arms or anything, and all your secrets would become public knowledge.”

“I appreciate your honesty.”

Muse grinned, sipping her coffee. “No point in lying.” And just like that, it became bearable to think about JT and the way I"d blown it the night before. It became funny in the face of all the other relationships I"d screwed up over the years. Letting go of my pride and my common sense, I told Muse obliquely that I"d advised JT to allow his girlfriends to fuck him up the ass.

“Well, aren"t you just Mr. Romance?” Muse shuddered delicately. “I"m guessing you picked the worst possible moment to offer that advice?”

“When will I ever learn to keep my fucking mouth shut?” I turned off the mixer, added the mixture of water and apple cider that was the secret flavor enhancer of Miss Independence"s piecrust, and started it up slowly again. I glanced around and caught sight of Analise talking to Bianca. Actually talking. And it wasn"t my imagination, but that morning she was actually wearing lipstick. It was nude colored, but it gave her mouth a wet gloss that made it look plumper and more attractive.

“Wow.” I nudged Muse.

“Oh I know.” She spoke softly. “She"s blooming before our eyes.” Something about that made my heart kind of plump too. “It"s fucked up being scared all the time. It takes a lot of energy.”

“Yes, it does.” She helped me pull the dough for its trip to the refrigerator.

We worked that way for most of the morning, my mood less sour as the day wore on. Ken stopped by to say that he had an appointment for another look at the building by the fire station and to press Mary Catherine into going with him. He had some rough numbers worked up; apparently he"d spoken to some contractors about turning the place into the café she wanted.

“The drywall and decorating we can do for ourselves,” Ken told us. “Jordan is good with his hands, and a lot of folks around here are willing to help out if we ask.

Most of them will only expect a pie or two out of the deal.”

“It must be amazing to live in a place like this.”

“I"ve lived here all my life, and Jordan comes from a small town. It"s just the way things are.”

“I hope everything works out for you,” I said sincerely.

He frowned. “Have you decided to leave, then?”

I stopped what I was doing, making a base for a special Mary Catherine type of pie: cooked tart apples covered by the custard and nuts of a traditional pecan pie.

Half apple, half pecan, and all delicious.

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“I"m going to go to my brother"s place. He called to say he"s coming to get me today.”

“I thought you might be considering coming here to stay.”

“Well, sure,” I said. “I"m giving it some thought, but I still have things in LA. A place. People. Maybe a job, but I"ll think about coming back.”

“Did something happen?” Ken asked, fixing me with a curious stare.

“No. But I landed in this town all fucked-up, and I want to wait before I make any big decisions.” I thought about it. “Or little ones even.”

“I guess I can understand that.”

I held out my hand for him. “Like I said, I wish you all the best, you and Mary Catherine, and I hope it"s a huge success.”

“Thanks.” He shook my hand. “And I"m sure MC would welcome you anytime, so don"t be a stranger. Please think about working with her here. She really likes you.”

“Thanks.”

I watched him leave with Mary Catherine in tow; she glanced back at us, surveying her little kingdom before she closed the door on it. My cohorts in pie and I picked up speed, and consequently there was time for Candace to run out and pick up a nice lunch from a Chinese place down the block a ways.

We were sitting around a patio table outside, eating out of cartons with chopsticks, when Dan drove up. He got out of his car and walked toward where we were sitting, and the first thing I noticed was the absence of a smile on his face.

Ordinarily a detail like that, something so small and seemingly insignificant, wouldn"t even stand out to me, but this was Dan, my brother, the hero of my childhood. The only person in the entire world from whom I was guaranteed a smile by the mere fact of my existence, and he wasn"t smiling.

His step was measured and slow, and when he reached us, he barely said anything but led me a few feet away where we could talk privately.

“What"s the matter?” I asked, wondering if he"d tell me. How long did the quid pro quo of privileged information exist between siblings after childhood? “Do not tell me BreeAnna"s angry just because you wanted to do me a solid. How can it bother her if—”

“She"s cheating on me. I left her.”

I froze. “
What
?”

“She"s seeing someone from church.” Dan"s lips tightened painfully. “I"ve thought she must be involved in an affair for a while…but…I finally got proof, and I couldn"t ignore it anymore.”

“What happened?” I couldn"t imagine. True-blue Dan finding his skinny shiksa ice queen with another man.

“I found some things.” He shook his head. “Letters. Videos.”

“No. Fucking. Way.”

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Z. A. Maxfield

That seemed to make him smile, and he met my eyes for the first time. “Way.” A pale but legible copy of the boy I"d known as a child shot me a quirk of his lip.

“You can check them out yourself, since I uploaded them to Xtube.” I was shocked—and completely delighted—by his anger. “You
didn’t
.”

“It seems I did.”

“Good heavens.” I gazed back at his car.
Probably not a good time for a happy
family reunion
. “What are you planning to do?”

“I took a motel room in the place where you"re staying. In fact it was the owner who told me where I could find you.”

“That was Carl. When you walked in, did he say „just a minute" or put you off?

Did he make you wait?”

“Yes, he was reading the paper, and he said, „I see you, give me a sec," and finished the article.”

I laughed. “I
love
that old man. What a piece of work.”

“He reminded me of…” Dan pressed his lips together.

“Yeah.” I agreed with the unspoken thought.

“Anyway, I could use a break. My lawyer is filing for divorce. I"ll be giving Bree the house.”

“That"s shit! After what she did?”

“It"s a small price to pay for my freedom, Jakey.” He wrapped his arms around himself as if he was cold. “Honestly my first thought was what a fucking relief. I feel like an overfilled Macy"s Parade balloon that someone"s just…cut loose. It"s magnificent and terrifying at the same time.”

“Sure it is.” I realized that his lack of smile had more to do with uncertainty than unhappiness. I threw my arms around him and gave him a hard hug. “Can I buy you a beer?”

“Oh
fuck
yes.” He relaxed, as though I"d said a word that made all his muscles go limp at once. Like he"d been unplugged. “And keep them coming until I"m passed out. We can take a cab back to the motel.”

“No, we can"t. But we can walk.”

“You"re kidding.” He allowed himself to be pulled along toward the group of women we"d both felt staring at us for the entire length of our conversation.

“Family emergency, ladies. Duty calls. My brother needs me to get him drunk.” Muse was the first to laugh. “By all means. What should we tell Mary Catherine?”

“Tell her my family and liquor come first. You"ve got everything under control, right?”

Candace drew herself up. “Certainly we can do without you, but I"m not entirely sure it"s wise to be complicit in—”

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“Give it a rest, honey,” Bianca told her. “Man needs a drink, let him have a damned drink.”

Candace growled back at her, “For your information,
Bianca
, it can"t be said that anyone necessarily
needs
a drink. While alcohol is certainly going to make him feel better for a moment as he loses his inhibitions, in the long run, its depressant properties are counter—”

“I know we don"t gotta listen to you going on and on about alcohol, seeing as to how you were born with a silver toilet around your head. I"ve seen you drink, honey, and it"s not as pretty a thing as you think it is.” Muse intervened, “What I think Bianca means is that it"s unwise to—”

“I know exactly what Bianca means,” Candace said icily. “She means it"s not pretty to have flaws. Like when she has her legs locked around some stranger"s neck simply because it"s last call and—”