Jaden Baker (58 page)

“What about you?” he asked.

“Me?”

“Yes,” he said. “It’s only fair. I told you my dark secret, you tell me yours.”

He was deeply curious about Libby. After spending a day with her, he still knew little about her. His story should buy one of hers.

Usually upbeat and somewhat perky, Jaden was surprised to see reserve in her eyes. Her childhood couldn’t have been as traumatic as his. He was intrigued by her change in demeanor. Or maybe his tale of early life tainted the moment. He tried lightening the atmosphere.

“I was going to try to be the dark and handsome stranger, but now you know some of my secrets, I’m not as strange and mysterious as I was to you this morning.”

She gave him a wry, crooked half smile. “Well. You’ve won this round. Honestly I’m not that interesting. I don’t have any stories to equal yours.”

“That’s a good thing.”

She nodded as she bit her bottom lip. “Well. I guess I had an uneventful life.”

“Can you elaborate?”

The sadness returned.

“There’s really not much to tell. I wasn’t abused or neglected. I had everything I needed.”

Jaden got the impression she was holding back; there was more to it than her vague statement. Whatever it was, the memory could not be more painful than his mother murdering someone and being imprisoned for it. The longer Libby kept the secret from him, the more interested and curious he became, leaning forward in his seat, anticipating her words.

“And...” he prompted.

Libby sighed and gave him a weak smile. “And my parents didn’t care about me. They were the typical power-driven, ambitious rich people. A little cliché. They ignored me, they were so busy with their adult lives. It’s one thing to live in squalor and complain about your family life, but when you have everything... I never wanted for anything, I was healthy, well taken care of. I don’t know... I feel a little weird complaining about my less-than-perfect parents to you,” she said.

He frowned at her. “I still want to know. Just because I grew up the way I did doesn’t mean I have no realistic perceptions of nuclear family life. Please, just tell me.”

“You read a lot?” she asked, making a funny expression by twisting her lips.

“Yes. So?”

“No, it’s a compliment. You talk differently. Anyway, fine, yes, I’ll tell you,” she said.

“My mother’s a feminist, and she believed she was doing the best thing for me by working instead of staying with me. Of course a child doesn’t care about anything except if her mother loves her or not. My father was always busy with his job. So both of my parents were workaholics, totally devoted to their careers, and I...wasn’t interesting enough.

“When I was a teenager I rebelled, and, as my therapist later tells me, I was doing it as a last attempt to get their attention. Like I needed a therapist to tell me that. Anyway, I did the whole Goth thing, with the black clothes and the eyeliner, but my mother told me it was good I was expressing my ‘individuality’ and went right back to ignoring me. I tried to fail. I got straight As. Went out for sports. I tried it all but I wasn’t remarkable enough for them. After a while I stopped caring.

“But when I was sixteen, my parents did something...” she trailed off, shaking her head.

Jaden leaned forward. “Did what?”

Libby blew air out her lips, lifting her bangs. “When I was sixteen they brought a girl home.”

“A girl?”

“A teenage girl. My age. She was fruiter than a farmers market. Totally crazy. And they brought her in, under our roof. Said she needed help. Yeah,” she said, looking at his puzzled expression. “I didn’t get it either. They gave Christine more attention than they’d ever given me, so I ran away. I moved in with my maternal grandmother for a while and emancipated, then got the hell out of there.”

Jaden shook his head. “Sorry.”

“You get what you get. I haven’t seen my parents since I left.”

“Have they looked for you?” he asked. It seemed the logical follow-up question.

“No idea. I stopped caring. Screw ‘em. At some point you have to decide what you allow to bother you, and how much leeway you give other people in forming opinions of yourself. It took a while for me to give up on my parents. You’re right, you know. It’s a curse to love people who don’t give a damn. Gosh, I sound so dramatic,” she said, rubbing her face. “I’m a better person for moving on with my own life. Ironically, that’s what they always hoped for me, I think. To be totally independent of anyone. I don’t regret leaving them or that crazy girl. Christine and I did not get along. She was nuts. I’m not sorry I left those...fruitloops, for lack of a better term.”

The two of them were silent for a moment, their different, yet somehow similar stories, hanging in the air. Like the previous silences with Libby, there was no discomfort.

After a few minutes, Jaden was inspired. He took his bottle of water and raised it in the air. Libby smiled and did the same.

“To craptastic upbringings,” he said, bumping his bottle on hers.

“To falling really, really far from the tree,” Libby said, grinning now. They drank the water until both bottles were empty, then threw them clattering into the kitchen.

“Why Washington? Or have you always lived here?” he asked.

“I moved from California, like everyone else. As to this state, well, I couldn’t live anywhere humid, so there goes the whole East coast. I didn’t want to deal with hurricanes or tornados, blizzards and frigid weather, so there goes the Midwest. Arizona and Nevada are too hot and dry—the affordable places at least, and I couldn’t see myself living in Utah or Wyoming. I liked Seattle, all the water and the gorgeous mountains. Felt right. Far enough away from home, but still livable, still by the ocean. You?”

“Hopped on a train. It brought me here.”

“Oh. Luck of the draw, then.”

The conversation turned to happier subjects: books. They had similar favorites. Libby took a few from her shelves, reciting random quotations aloud, laughing when Jaden finished the quotation before she did.

She had a musical laugh, rhythmic with mirth and joy. When she was especially happy her whole face split into a grin, crinkling her eyes, dimpling her cheeks. Occasionally she snorted when something was exceptionally funny, and the longer the night went, the punchier she became, snorting more regularly.

Around ten thirty, Libby announced it was time for her to go to bed, and Jaden felt a little annoyed, but said he too was tired. She took to the stairs, her dogs trailing her. They had not seen Cat all day. He put cat food on the counter in case Cat got hungry enough to brave walking though the house. Jaden followed Libby upstairs and she waved a cheery goodnight to him before disappearing into her bedroom, leaving him alone in the hall.

“Goodnight,” he said under his breath and went into the guest room, his room for now. Once the door shut behind him, so did the happy evening. Tiredness crept into his eyes then trickled down his body and all he wanted to do was lie down and rest. What a day it had been. Tomorrow he would worry. Tomorrow he would plan. He had stayed out of Archcroft’s searching spotlight for years. He could stretch that into a lifetime with careful planning. Tomorrow.

While brushing his teeth he analyzed his face. A five o’clock shadow was approaching six, making a scratching sound when he ran his fingers down his cheek to his chin. He’d forgotten about that noise. He would have to shave again in the morning.

Back in his bedroom, Jaden peeled off his long sleeved t-shirt and shed his jeans, then climbed into bed, pleasantly tired, surprisingly relaxed, and feeling uncharacteristically light. He took several deep breathes and closed his eyes, slowing his heart into sleep mode.

There was a knock at his door, and Libby peeked her head inside. Jaden pulled the covers to his chin. “Yes?” he said.

She let herself in. She was wearing a long t-shirt and nothing else, which was still more than he had on.

“I wanted to talk more,” she whispered, smiling.

“Now?” he asked, but he didn’t mind the interruption. “Okay.”

She came closer and pulled back the covers. He found himself moving to give her room. Was this happening? She didn’t seem the type to jump in bed with someone she only met that morning, but then again, maybe (delightfully) she was.

Go with it, his brain told him. Stop analyzing.

The relaxation exercises were rendered moot as she put her hand on his chest, ducking her head under his chin.

Libby was warm.

“What did you want to talk about?” he asked her nervously.

She propped herself up and smiled slyly at him then took his face in her hands. She leaned in and waited for him, her lips inches above his, and all he could think of was kissing her. He couldn’t believe it. Again his brain cheered him on, encouraged him to go for it, not to wonder why she was here. So he did.

He knew why people used the clichéd expression of butterflies in the stomach. Pleasant flutterings of red hot joy tickled all over him, and every pore and nerve in his body was giggling with fleeting pleasure.

Libby wrapped a leg around his waist, and he traded positions with her, rolling to the top of her, his right hand slipping under her shirt. He felt her smile into his lips and her kissing was more enthusiastic, rougher.

It came so naturally to him. He was shocked. Even when he fantasized about being with a woman, he was sure he’d make a fool of himself, or at least be embarrassed by his body of scars. Libby either didn’t notice them or didn’t care. She asked for no explanation. As her fingers danced down his spine, she showed no sign they were even there. Well, if she didn’t care, why should he?

Both of her legs were wrapped around him as her breathing became heavier. From the little exposure he had to this type of scenario, which he’d gleaned from books and magazines, that was a good sign. She wanted to continue, go further, have him have her.

“I didn’t give you permission,” said a gruff and calm voice.

Joseph Madrid stood by the bed, a cattle prong in his hand. When Jaden went back to Libby’s face to see her reaction, Madrid stuck the prong in his side and sent a shock through him.

His eyes snapped open, he sat up in bed, breathing heavily.

A chorus of ribbiting frogs, and the glow of moonlight confirmed he was alone.

It had only been a dream.

He swung his legs out of bed and hung his head, regaining composure, reminding himself it wasn’t real, despite how tactile it had been.

Picking up his clothes from the floor and putting them on, Jaden tiptoed through the hallway to Libby’s bedroom door. He grabbed the doorknob and tried to turn it. But it was locked.

His released a regretful sigh, his shoulders sagged, his head hit the doorframe.

Of course it had been a dream. Jaden slumped back to his room, feeling foolish.

Joseph Madrid had been the real part. But Libby. She was the fantasy, and only in a dream would she ever want to be close to him.

The rest of the night was dreamless, and he was grateful. When he trumped downstairs he found Libby in the kitchen, wearing jeans and a black t-shirt with white animal footprints screen-printed onto the back: the split hoof print of a deer with two different dog prints on either side of it. There was no writing on the front to give him a clue to its meaning.

“Morning,” she said without looking at him. She was reading something on her phone. “How did you sleep?”

“Fine,” he lied, and decided to never mention the dream to her. “You?” he asked, because that was the polite thing to do, and he wanted to be polite.

“Not bad,” she said. “I hope you’re not a coffee drinker.”

“I’m not usually,” he said, though he could go for one. With vodka or valium.

“I have juice, water, and milk,” she said, taking a sip from a mug. “And the makings for hot chocolate if you’re so inclined. And by makings I mean a little pouch of powder that one rips and pours in.”

“Water is fine,” he said. She grabbed him a glass and ran it under the faucet. Her phone rang right as she was handing the glass to him.

“This is Libby,” she answered.

Jaden took the glass, his fingers brushing against hers, and the nerves in his body exploded like they had in the dream from last night.

“Oh hi!” she said, grinning. She flashed him a look then stepped away and went to her office, closing the door. Curious, Jaden tiptoed behind her and pressed his ear to the shut door.

“I’m glad it’s working out so well for you.” Pause. Laughter. “Well sure, I can do that.” Pause again. “Oh, no, really, that’s fine. I have time today.”

A knife through his gut. Of course, he was just charity to her. She was talking to someone more important.

“Lunch would be great. Just tell me when and where,” Libby said.

Probably a boyfriend. Some tall, strapping, testosterone-tripping, sophisticated-dressing, glasses-wearing, wine-drinking, scholarly, stupid boyfriend. He was amazed at how angry the thought made him. If he came back to the house with her, Jaden would kill him. Make it look like a sudden heart attack.

“That sounds great,” she said, her voice getting closer to the door. Jaden sprinted on his toes into the kitchen, scrambled around for a magazine, and sat on the couch, looking casual.