When I See You (35 page)

"Great. Well that's just great. I would hate for your job, which you say you're very good at, to be put in any kind of jeopardy because you were inappropriately fucking a patient."

"Are you
threatening
me?" Kate asks, incredulous.

"Do I need to?" Jordan says with a little laugh. "No. I don't think I do."

Kate gasps and says nothing more.

I imagine she's silently berating herself for underestimating Jordan Holloway. I can't quite wipe the smile off my face after Jordan says this.

For another ten minutes, Jordan asks Kate perfunctory questions about the flight from D.C. and living on the east coast, while I listen in this fascinated stupor to their superficial banter.

As if choreographed, Jordan squeezes my hand. "Brock, we should get going. Max is going to be looking for me. For you."

"Who's Max?" Kate asks in bewilderment.

"My son. He's almost four. Brock's parents have been great about watching him, but we really should get back."

"So soon? I was hoping you'd be able to stay longer, Brock."

I get a little squeamish. I'm in the middle of a battlefield I can't even see. I'm not sure how to handle this.

"Well, it's getting—"

"He can't stay. Max will want to see him. Thanks for the medication. That was sweet of you to get it for him. Really," Jordan says. "You do go above and beyond the call of duty; don't you?"

"I suppose so," Kate says.

She's been outplayed, and she's just figured this out.

"Seems that you do," Jordan says. In one swift movement, she pulls me up from the sofa. "Let's go."

Another two minutes sail by, and we're going down in the elevator. I'm off balance over the battle that's just taken place in Kate's hotel room and the woman who grips my arm beside me. Like Kate, I've underestimated Jordan in every way. I sway with the elevator movements and the unexpectedness of what's just transpired.

"So, what did you think of Kate?" I finally ask.

"You really want me to answer that?"

"Are you going to be pissed for a long time?"

"Not long. I feel better already just being in the elevator."

I imagine her smiling and can't help but smile in the general direction of her voice.

"Why, Jordan Holloway, I do believe you enjoyed yourself in there," I drawl. "Just for humor's sake, can you tell me what she looks like?"

"She's got a blond bombshell thing going on. She's trouble with a capital T. You'd be better off with Ashleigh. Safer, anyway." She laughs a little and links her arm with mine. I envision her smile again, and grin.

"What? And, you're here to rescue me? I need saving?"

"You know what would be nice, Lieutenant?"

"What?" I ask, uneasy by the sudden wistfulness I detect in her tone.

"If you would just trust me enough, to tell me, what's really going on with you."

I don't answer for a few minutes. She sighs and sounds impatient.

"I don't think that's a good idea," I finally say.

"Can I ask you something else?"

"Yes."

"When are you going to finally see me?"

I don't answer. After a few seconds, I hear her as she moves across to the other side of the elevator as far away from me as possible. It's as if the electric current between us has been shut off. I wave my hand in the air, attempting to feel for her presence, but she stays back away from me now. I hear her heavy sigh to my far left. Then, the elevator dings.

There's a rush of movement from the left again. A minute later, I grasp the sides of the doors and step out. This sense of vulnerability assails me. I'm lost for a few minutes. She's left me.

Then, I hear the tapping of her shoes against the pavement, but the sound of her retreats farther away from me.

"You're all I see," I whisper. Of course, she doesn't hear me. I can barely hear myself say it.
Coward.

"I'll get the valet to bring the car around." Her voice echoes along the parking lot walls.

And, I don't answer.

≈ ≈

The drive back to the ranch is surprisingly pleasant, considering the tension of the past three hours.

Some sort of truce has been called between us again. Maybe, she feels sorry for me. This thought makes me feel uneasy again.

I listen intently to her as she hums along with the songs playing from the radio. Her earlier frustration with me all but forgotten, it seems.

I lean back against the headrest and close my eyes. The medication seems to make me relax as much as the way she's humming along to the song on the radio.

"I hate riding in cars ever since that first tour in Afghanistan when Humvees were getting blown up right and left by IEDs. And now, that I can't see, I really hate it. But with you driving, I'm actually okay."

She stops humming. "How much?"

"How much what?" I ask, automatically opening my eyes and turning my head towards her.

"How much did it just cost you to just admit to that? What you just said."

"Nothing," I say in surprise.

She pats my left hand. "See? We're making progress."

"Can't see."

"You will."

We bask in the warm essence of the latest peace offering between us.

"Cardamom," she says a little while later.

"Cardamom?"

"Just a little. In the pancakes. Sometimes, my French toast. Not hardly any. I don't know what it is about that, but people rave about them when I add it. So, now you know something that Ethan never knew." She sighs and begins humming the melody to another song.

I lean my head toward her, completely overwhelmed by the cloaking darkness, and what she's just said. How I wish I could see her. Just for a second. Just one glimpse of her.

I reach out and trace her lips. She's smiling. I smile back.

I don't think about it. I just say it.

"When you were frosting cupcakes. The "Nemo" ones? That's when I knew."

"Knew what?" Jordan asks.

"We could never be friends."

I turn my head back toward the window and fully embrace the blackness. She stops humming again and downshifts the gears as we must reach the ranch driveway.

"What did that cost you?" Jordan finally asks.

I detect the sudden fear in her voice. Unwittingly, I commit to the truth with the next breath and the next three words.

"My best friend," I finally say.

She draws an unsteady breath as if the air's been ripped from her lungs.

My memory of that fateful day with Ethan returns as if a light has been switched on. All the images come flooding back. The dust swirls. The unfamiliar dark boots I saw through the scope that day. The enemy. Calling out the coordinates. Ethan's anger. Mine. The chaos. The danger. The endless trek back to camp, carrying Ethan and all the gear. I was so sure I'd saved him. And then, I remember the absolute horror of seeing his bloodied face, half gone. The panic. The blood. The pain. The darkness descending upon me. Everything about that day rushes back.

"I remember," I finally say. The blackness moves in. I close my eyes and lean back against the head rest.

"He was distracted. So was I." I grimace as the memories assail me. "He got your letter where you told him you might be pregnant. He'd come to realize all he'd been missing. We were both distracted. In different ways. By you," I whisper. My voice breaks. "I saw the dust-up first. I warned Ethan, but he must have shifted from the coordinates I'd given him. That's why he missed. And, it's my fault."

I flinch as if I can, again, hear the fatal bullet that killed Ethan whiz past me. The eerie sound of metal meeting flesh and bone returns, as if it were happening all over again, making me shudder.

"Then, we were ambushed. There were bullets flying from everywhere. I tried to save him. Save him for you, Jordan. But I couldn't. And now you know. Now you know why we can never be friends."

My soliloquy ends. It's met with her absolute silence.

The Porsche comes to a stop. She turns off the engine and puts the keys in my hands. In the next second, her car door slams. I hear the furious click of her shoes against the garage floor, but the sound quickly fades.

I don't run after her. I hold my head in my hands and immerse myself with the blackness. It seems to have invaded my very soul. I can feel it.

And, she hates me now. I've made sure of that.

After a long while, I drag myself out of the car.

I glance up at the garage light, startled by the revelation that I can actually see it.

I can see.

The truth sets me free. Yes, but at what cost?

*≈*≈*

Chapter 20. We fall down

Jordan

It's too much. I can't process what Brock has just told me. I can't. I rush into the side entrance of the Wainwrights' house and race past the kitchen doorway in search of Max. I take the stairs two at a time up the grand staircase and sweep past Brock's bedroom door and mine.

This kind of desperation takes hold. I must see Max. I must see him. I have to get to him. I rush at his bedroom door, turning the handle at the same time.

"Max, Mommy's home. I'm here."

I make a whimpering sound as I stare in horror at the rumpled bed sheets. The blankets have been flipped back. But, no Max. In a daze, I walk out the door, down the hall, and traverse the stairs.

Janie is there. She's holding on to Brock and half-crying.

I stare in bewilderment, beginning to experience some kind of delayed shock.

"Max. Where's Max?"

"Brock can see," Janie's saying.

She's smiling, overcome with undeniable joy. I want to smile too, but I can't. This overriding sense of dread takes over.

I glance over at Brock. His eyes hold a mystical light, exhibiting both joy and pain. His revelation of a few minutes ago is already far away from me.

"Max. Where is he? He's not in his room," I say slowly. "He's not there."

"What?" Janie asks, finally connecting with my words. "We put Max to bed a half hour ago."

Somehow, I find relief in her reassurance, I dully watch as she races up the stairs two at a time and calls out "Max" at regular intervals. Her voice comforts me.

"Jordan, where would he go?" Brock asks. He looks worried. I reach up to smooth the worry lines on his face as if I can undo the terror that's begun to seep its way into me.

"I don't know," I say. My body begins to shake. I start pacing.
Think. Where would he go?

"Where would he go? Think, Jordan. What was he talking about doing when you called him earlier? Where would he go?"

"I don't know. He wanted me to read him a bedtime story."

Henry walks in. He has this stricken, glazed look, as if he's having trouble breathing. Fear begins to claw its way in with more persistence. Janie sounds more panicked as she calls out for Max from upstairs.

"What did you do today?" I ask Henry.

"We were out by the back forty, repairing a fence. He helped me feed a baby calf. The only thing we didn't get done today was the fishing. He wanted to go to the pond where I told him his dad and Brock used to fish, but it was getting too dark. I told him we'd do it tomorrow," Henry says. "He wasn't happy. He said…I'd promised."

I'm looking at Henry, distracted by his strange contorted facial movements, but still trying to figure this all out. Then he makes this gasping sound as if he's struggling for air.

Where's Max?

I watch Henry as he falls to the floor. There's this long, helpless, wordless sound from him. A cry for help.

"Dad!" Brock rushes over to him, checks his pulse, and clears his airway in the next few precious seconds.

Shock descends upon me like a heavy cloak. I can't make myself move. I just stand there, but then, I stagger over to help Brock.

It takes a few minutes before Henry's last words begin to resonate with me. "The
pond
," I say in horror.

Brock leans over his dad while he yells for his mom. Fear takes firm hold. I can only watch as Brock picks up the phone and dials 911. Janie races back into the room and Brock spends a precious minute telling her how to do CPR, while he performs it on Henry at the same time.

Then, with this uncanny sense of dead calm, he takes my hand and pulls me along to the garage. He starts his father's truck, buckles me in, and guns the engine. We race toward the pond.

In a few miraculous minutes, we're there. Naively, I half expect to see Max just sitting there, waiting for us, but there's no one there.

There's nothing.

The harsh black night is partially softened by the white of the moon, but this eerie feeling settles upon me. It's hard to breathe.

Too late.
The words chirp at me like a little foreign bird.
Too late.