Surge (St. Martin Family Saga: Emergency Responders) Book 3: St. Martin Family Saga: Emergency Responders (13 page)

“What’s yesterday?”

“We broke up yesterday.”

Clay slammed a metal storage door closed on the truck and turned to Jackson. “She has her family now. Don’t worry about it.”

Jackson frowned. “Can you just ask Eve to go check on her? Please.”

Clay harrumphed all the way to the driver’s side, but pulled his phone out and called Eve.

When he hung up, Jackson asked expectantly, “Well?”

Clay exhaled through his teeth. “She’s on her way over.”

Jackson’s shoulders sagged in relief. He knew Clara had left her best friend behind at Tulane and would ultimately be alone with her pain. The thought of her suffering in her little apartment all alone caused acid to burn in his throat. He wanted to gather her in his arms so they could mourn the loss of Bug and Cracker Jack together.

Chapter 13

Clara sat on
her couch surrounded by wadded up tissues. She was supposed to be working, but she’d called in sick because she couldn’t stop crying. Luckily, she was off for the next few days.

She’d checked her social media, email, phone, and instant messenger accounts relentlessly. She’d heard nothing from Jackson. Not even a status update.

As soon as she’d updated her status to
feeling heartbroken
a lot of her friends messaged her to find out why. She couldn’t very well tell them. No one had known about their relationship. Yet she felt a strong desire to speak to someone. Maybe she needed to hire a counselor. Or maybe a psychiatrist was more what she needed. She felt utterly devastated and depressed.

You’re not good for me … I need something different.

Those words haunted her. They’d taken root inside of her and were starting to grow into something ugly.

She’d come up with a list of reasons why she wasn’t good for him. Even wrote them down. The scar on her back burned as she contemplated it as one of the reasons. An image of Lexi formed in her mind. What could she do to act more like Lexi, to look more like her?

A knock at her door had her scrambling to scoop all of the tissues into her arms. She dumped them in an empty planter behind the TV. Shoot! Her place was a mess and so was she. Whoever it was now pressed on the buzzer. She went to the peephole and looked through. Just Eve.

Clara opened the door.

Eve’s wide eyes settled on Clara. “Oh my God. Clara.” She offered a sympathetic smile.

Clara frowned and rubbed her hand through her hair to mat it down while Eve walked into the living room and took a seat on the couch.

“Your face is so swollen. Are you okay?”

“I’ve been upset. I think I cried for twelve hours straight.”

Eve looked around the space. “Have you never unpacked?”

Her stuff was still in boxes and her framed pictures leaned against the wall stacked against one another.

“Um … I don’t really … I kind of lived with Jackson.”

Eve leaned forward and touched her knee. “Tell you what will make you feel better. How about I order Chinese food and we hang your pictures?”

Clara leaned her cheek against the back of the couch. “I don’t want to stay here.”

“All right, then you can come stay with Clay and me.”

She pulled her knees to her chest.

“You know you’re twelve years younger than Clay.”

“Yes, but I was twenty-three, not sixteen, when I met him.”

“That doesn’t matter. We’re only ten years apart. You’re twelve!”

Eve placed her palm on her forehead. “Clara, I don’t think that’s the issue.”

“Well it should be!” Clara screamed through her tears.

“No, it shouldn’t. Clay loves you. Jackson took advantage of the St. Martin’s generosity when he had sex with you at the estate when you were sixteen. That betrayal is what has upset Clay so much.”

“But it wasn’t like that. Please, Eve. You’re the only one who can talk to him. You’re the only one he has patience with.” Clara stopped, not really wanting to spill the next words because they were so intimate, but she needed to make Eve understand. “I needed Jackson’s touch that day. He sensed that. He has a way of always knowing what I need. Sometimes even before I know.”

She removed her old baggy T-shirt and turned. Eve’s gasp for breath was sharp against the quiet of the living room. “I had a bad accident. If he hadn’t been there I would have died. I was left with horrid scars. I thought it would have been better if I’d died because at least I wouldn’t have to see the scars everyday for the rest of my life. Scars that I wanted to make disappear.”

She put her shirt back on and turned around to face Eve. “I almost had some really painful surgeries, but Jackson talked me out of it. As a teenager I thought the mutilation of my back was the end of everything. Thought no one would ever take a second glance at me. But that night Jackson made me feel beautiful and wanted and sexy and loved.”

Eve swallowed. “Clay hadn’t told me about your accident. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for my accident or sorry about me and Jackson?”

“Both.”

Clara grasped Eve’s hands in hers. “I can’t exist without him Eve. Please, you’ve got to help me. Be my ally against Clay. Help me make him understand. I’ve known Jackson for twelve years and during those twelve years I always knew he was the only man for me. Always knew we’d live our lives together. He’s not just a phase, he’s life to me.”

“You seem so much older than eighteen.”

Clara nodded. “I know. I’ve always been kind of strange. It’s hard living under a microscope. I was the youngest of seven. Six older brothers who would move entire mountain ranges if I needed them to. And that part of it is wonderful. But it’s the meddling they do in my personal life that’s not so wonderful. I used to wish I’d been born first or as a boy because then they wouldn’t overly protect me as they all do. Don’t get me wrong, I love every last one of them. But I need to be able to make my own decisions and mistakes and just to live my life the way I want to.”

“I’m glad you weren’t born as a boy.” Eve smiled at Clara, her gray eyes sincere. “I believe in you Clara Grace. I understand what you want. I’ll be your faithful ally. But I won’t lie to Clay. I won’t keep things from him either.”

“I understand and I’m sorry about New Orleans. I hope everything is okay now. I can talk to him if you want.”

“Oh, honey I took care of him. Don’t you worry. He can’t stay upset at me.”

≈

That night Clara helped Eve with dinner. They prepared lasagna with salad and garlic bread. When Clay walked through the door, Eve wrapped herself around him like she hadn’t seen him in six months. Like those soldiers’ wives at the airport gates when their men come home. They engaged in an intimate embrace and kissed for several minutes. Sighs and moans could be heard as Clara walked toward her room to give them the privacy they clearly needed. It was like they’d forgotten she was even in the room. Cookie, the papillon mix they’d acquired during the hurricane trotted behind Clara.

She crawled into bed and let the blue feeling take her where it wanted. She cried. Not the gut wrenching, can-barely-breathe-through-the-tears crying she’d done all day and night, but steady slow-moving tears. Eve and Clay’s intimacy made her ache for Jackson’s embrace and the light scent of his cologne mixed with the mint of his breath. Her eyelids became heavy and she let them close.

“Clara Bear.”

Clay stood over her next to the bed. “Time for dinner.” He patted her head and then leaned in and kissed her hair. “Glad you’re here.”

She followed him to the kitchen.

As they ate Eve and Clay spoke about their plans to purchase a vehicle for Eve.

“I don’t really need a car. I like to walk.”

“It’s not safe for you to walk everywhere.”

“If safety requires loss of my freedom then I’d rather take my chances.”

“No. You can’t just think about how the danger affects you. If something were to happen to you, I’d be devastated.”

Eve huffed. “Fine, Clay, I’ll drive everywhere, but promise me you’ll take me for long walks as soon as you get home.”

His hand covered hers. “I promise to walk with you to the ends of the earth.”

“Oh vomit!”

They both turned to Clara. “Er … sorry … I’m just really missing Jackson. Did you see him? At the station today, did you see him?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And how was he?”

“He was fine.”

“Did he say anything about me?”

“Clara, I don’t think this is the best road to go down.”

She stood and threw down her napkin. “Oh, you don’t? Well, what if I’d meddled in your relationship with Eve? Would you have let me tear you apart?” Drops were steadily streaming down her face as she ran to her room and slammed the door. She plopped down on the bed.

The shadows on the wall moved and she turned into the face of Clay kneeling at her bedside.

“Just leave me alone.”

“I know it’s hard, but it will be better this way.”

“It won’t be better. He was everything to me and you pushed him away with your
you are dead to me
macho bullshit. Not to mention beating him to a bloody pulp.”

“He took your youth and innocence. You were sixteen.”

“He didn’t take it. I gave it to him.”

Clay clicked his tongue and exhaled sharply. “He asked me to check on you.”

“Is that all he said?”

Clay looked down, shielding his eyes from her. She sat up in the bed. He was keeping something from her. “Tell me.”

“I don’t know, he said you guys broke up.”

“He broke up with me.” She bawled.

Clay’s forehead furrowed.

“What?” She placed her hands on his shoulders. “Tell me. God, please tell me.”

“I got the impression from what he said … how he was acting that it was a mutual breakup.”

“How was he acting?”

“Intense, low energy, brooding. But then he’s always like that.”

“He’s not always like that.” Her tears slowed and she sniffled. “Is that all he said?”

“Hmm?”

“Did he say anything else about the breakup or about me?”

“No.” He stood and walked out of her room.

Clara was skeptical, but she wouldn’t press her brother anymore. She pulled Jackson’s shirt from her bag and laid it across her pillow. Inhaling deeply, she smiled for the first time in over twenty-four hours.

Chapter 14

It was eleven-thirty.
He’d been working hard for over sixteen hours and now Jackson returned to a Clara-less apartment. Had she been there she would have greeted him at the door, taken everything from his hands, kissed him, massaged him, showered with him, made love to him. Tears filled his eyes. It had been ingrained in him that men should not cry so much. But now that he was a man without hope he let the tears flow.

Sighing, Jackson sat down to read the mail. He opened an envelope labeled:
Time Sensitive Document.
He’d been approved for a loan he’d applied for before the breakup. He’d had an idea, but now it seemed it would never culminate in the happily ever after he’d been so sure of. He’d not thought it possible, but with that realization his world became even darker.

He tossed the envelopes on top of the coffee table and then walked slowly through the apartment, as if he thought something sinister was waiting for him around the corner. He pulled fresh clothes from the dresser and pressed play on the iPod speaker. When the sounds of Clara’s music hit his ears he turned to see her iPod in the dock. She hadn’t taken it with her. In fact, it appeared that she hadn’t taken any of her things and for the first time in over twenty-four hours he smiled. He knew his girl and he knew her lack of finality meant she refused to give up on them. Still he’d hurt her and her family. He couldn’t see a way for them to be together that wouldn’t require her to choose between him and her family, a decision he would not allow her to make. He knew what it was to go through life without the support of family and he wouldn’t let her choose him over her family. He thought of her happy, surrounded by her loving brothers and father and mother.

Hoping a hot shower would soothe his sore muscles he turned on the water and let it heat. He stepped into the tub and saw all of her bath products including the loofa she would use on him when he came home from a long day and night. His throat burned and tears fell and mixed with the water from the shower spray.

When he finished his shower he pulled on the clothes he’d set aside and then plopped down onto the bed. He was immediately surrounded by her fresh, clean scent. He hugged a pillow and closed his eyes tight imagining it was her body his arms were wrapped around. For a few moments he could pretend that none of it was true. Her scent was so strong he imagined she was in the bed next to him, giggling the way she did when he couldn’t even keep his eyes open.

Minutes later her scent was dissipating, blending with his own. Franticly he paced to the kitchen and retrieved a zip lock bag from beneath the counter. He stuffed the cases from her pillows into it and zipped it up tight. When he spotted two of her worn shirts on the floor he grabbed those and placed them in the bag with the cases.

He set the bag next to him on the bed and rested his head in his hands. He was losing it. He needed an endorphin release to get rid of his pain. A vigorous bike ride is what he needed. He gathered his keys and wallet and shut the door behind him. Jumping on the bike he pedaled as fast as his legs would allow. He raced away, enjoying the wind in his hair and the burn in his thighs. Gaining speed, he adjusted the gears to allow for maximum torque. Her face, her body, her sighs filled his brain. The love they’d shared for two incredibly glorious years was now broken and he had to find a way to let go.

He took the bridge with more speed than he ever had before. When he hit the top he sat straight and left only one hand on the bars. Lifting his head to the sky he let the moist warm air beat against his face. He’d remember her as an angel, as he did his parents. A phantom memory that could make him happy, and sad, and calm, and anxious. He’d remember that at one moment in his life he’d been part of a love so great it could carry a man through a lifetime. Two years was all he’d been given, but it was enough. Her vitality for life would carry him through his.

His front tire locked on some tire tread in the road. Vibrations shook his bike hard and his back tire fishtailed. Using his weight he tried to apply more pressure on the front handlebars to counter the effects, but he was no longer in control. The bike went to the left, his body went to the right and his head collided hard with the ground. Skidding vehicles could be heard all around him. His senses slowed and he couldn’t hear things as clearly as before. His vision went spotty and his eyes closed. She was there, Clara, talking him through the pain, telling him he’d be okay and speaking about cheese and what the cows had eaten.

Then she was seven and her bright honest eyes stared into his:

“You will be part of our family forever because marriage, don’t you know, is unbreakable.”

“But we’re not married.”

“But we will be. I’ll marry you into the family so you won’t feel lost.”

“I’m not lost.”

“You are lost. Like the time I got left at Macy’s because I was hiding in a rounder. I was lost. I didn’t have any family. I was scared and alone. But they never stopped reaching for me. That’ll be you and me,” she said as she pointed to herself and then to him.

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t you want to marry me?”

“If it means I won’t be lost, scared, and alone, and that you’ll always be reaching for me, then I’ll marry you today.”

She giggled. “I can’t marry you today I’m only seven.” She held up seven fingers.

≈

Jackson’s body ached worse than the time he had a bad case of influenza. A faint humming funneled around the wisps of fog in his head. People mumbled about fractures and cracked bones. He managed to force one eyelid open. The vision before him was blurry, but he’d spent so much time in this place he’d recognize it even if seeing it through a thick sludge: Baton Rouge General Hospital. Those were
his
fractures and cracked bones the doctor and nurse spoke about.

He recalled his bike ride and some tire tread in the road that caused him to go out of control, but he could remember nothing after that. Knowing the signs and symptoms of concussion, he knew he had one before they discussed it. CAT scan had already ruled out traumatic brain injury. That was a good prognosis. Or was it?

He’d be alone in his recovery and rehabilitation was long and hard. He’d witnessed it when he did orthopedic rotation. He’d never seen anyone do it alone. Family supported the patients’ efforts and motivated them to premorbid status. He was alone. He wouldn’t be motivated or supported. No one would be coming to worry for his life or to bring him cards and teddy bears. No one would cry for him. At least if he’d died he wouldn’t have to figure out how to survive and recover without Clara.

With those thoughts he depressed the button on the patient-controlled morphine drip and closed his eyes.