Blood in the Past (Blood for Blood Series) (2 page)

She took a breath and tried again. “Okay, well, how does this work? Will you be back to follow up, or is there a number I—I mean
we—
can call if there’s anything we’ve forgotten?” Her voice cracked once, prompting another sideways glance from her roommate. Officer Kyle reached over his partner’s shoulder and handed a business card to Jillian, not Mel.

Calvin was his first name. Calvin Kyle. Jillian liked his first name even more than his last. Put together, they sounded like a smooth action movie hero, like James Bond or a character from
Mission Impossible
or
Ocean’s 11
.

Calvin turned to Mel. “I’ll be back to check on you both in a couple days.” His voice rumbled deeply, yet buttery. His eyes sparkled, or so Jillian thought, when his gaze lingered on her a moment. She felt certain he spoke purely for her benefit.

CALVIN KYLE RETURNED
two days later. Waiting had driven Jillian mad, but when she opened the door and saw him, her stomach melted. “Hi, uh, Officer.” She was careful not to sound too obvious by using his name. “It’s just me here at the moment. Mel’s at class.” She suspected he might be there for her though.

“No, I came to check on you both. I keep my promises.”

Jillian ushered him in and led him upstairs to the apartment. The sticky stairs sucked at their soles, saving them from an uncomfortable silence. Or perhaps exacerbating it; Jillian couldn’t be sure. When they reached her floor, she opened their door and he brushed past her, his uniform rustling against her T-shirt. Jillian felt her face warm as if the sun had crossed the threshold with him. “Okay, well, can I offer you some coffee or something?”

She watched from the kitchenette as Calvin made himself comfortable on the futon by moving aside throw pillows and textbooks. “So hospitable.” He laughed, settled into the cushion, and twisted to face her. “Do you have lemonade?”

“Iced tea?”

“Perfect.”

Jillian poured two glasses of iced tea. The ice cubes jostled and clinked as she approached him, her hands quivering with anticipation. She’d picked up on his attraction to her. He was there. In their apartment. To see her.

Now what?

Calvin shuffled through her note cards, then flipped through a few pages in her
Contemporary Clinical Psychology
text. “What are you studying?”

Jillian fumbled over the polite, yet personal, question. She managed to point at the cover of the textbook in his lap. Even if he was there for her, the absence of formalities unsettled her. She’d expected follow-up questions regarding the mugging, or even news that they’d caught the guy, however improbable that scenario. She felt more comfortable with subtle flirting than blatant advances. Then again, he’d only asked about her area of study. Finally, she found her words, speaking deliberately to keep from stuttering. “I’m getting my Master’s in Clinical Psychology. This is my last year,” she said, pointing to the cover of the textbook.

“Okay, that’s it. I’m outta here.” He half-stood with both hands up in mock concession. “I don’t trust head doctors.”

Jillian giggled into her hands. “Why does everyone say that?” She didn’t even know which “everyone” she was referring to, but it felt like the right thing to say. With every shared laugh, Jillian knew his visit had little to do with the mugging.

Calvin shrugged. “No one likes to feel transparent, I guess. Makes them vulnerable. We all have secrets and private thoughts, experiences we’d rather keep to ourselves.”

“That makes sense.” Jillian failed to stop her gaze from falling to Calvin’s wedding ring. He didn’t seem to notice. “But that’s part of the reason I chose that major.” He slid closer and, with wide eyes, silently urged her to continue. She did but with solemnness to her tone. “I was a foster child. The good homes were few and far between. The bad homes were real-life nightmares, and no one wants to talk about their nightmares, right? I guess I just wanted to know why people are the way they are and do the things they do.” He didn’t say anything, and all of a sudden, Jillian felt a flush of embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Mel doesn’t even know—”

“It’s okay. Let’s talk about something else.” Calvin placed his iced tea on the table. The glass slid an inch when the condensation met the cheap wooden surface. He interlaced his fingers and crossed his legs, imitating a cheesy, late-night talk show host. “So, Ms. Jillian, are you originally from Philly?”

“Yes, all parts. Northeast, West, South, and now North.” Amused, Jillian heard her voice regain some of its luster. “As you can imagine, I moved around quite a bit.”

“I see.” He reached for his tea, took a sip, then returned the glass to the table. “Do you have a favorite?”

“Yeah—the one part I never lived in. Center City.” Jillian exhaled, slightly betraying her lighthearted tone.
How can I love a place I’ve never spent much time in?
“City Hall, Love Park, Rittenhouse Square. And those towering buildings. They must have such spectacular views.”

Jillian’s eyes ignited with excitement. Her dream since making it to college was to have her own practice, perched high above the city in one of those sky-high office buildings. A small sigh escaped her lips.

“I’m sure you’re right about that. So, what do you like to do in Center City? Suppose I were to take you somewhere, where would you like to go?”

“If you could ‘take me somewhere?’” Jillian repeated, incredulous.

Calvin shrugged. “Sure.”

Jillian let the space between them grow, scuttling to the opposite end of the futon. “But...you’re married?”

“I am. But, it’s...complicated.”

Jillian remained still, staring at her hands, begging them not to squirm. She’d known he was married. Fantasizing about his interest in her had been acceptable. But he
was
interested in her. That was different. That was wrong.

“Is my being married a problem?” he prodded, reaching to place a hand on her knee. Jillian withdrew but didn’t have far to go. The armrest of the futon was already jutting into her side.

“I don’t know. I, I think you should go.” She brushed her thick, black hair behind her ears, dropped her hands to her lap, and fidgeted with her fingers. She didn’t dare look at him, or she might change her mind.

Calvin stood without a word and saw himself to the door. Jillian sat motionless, but her mind juggled an innumerable flurry of questions. Maybe she shouldn’t be so hasty. He was truly interested in her, and she was letting him walk away without knowing the whole situation. Perhaps he and his wife were in the process of separating. Perhaps his wife just wasn’t a good person. Perhaps Jillian should find out, give him a chance.

When Calvin’s hand reached for the knob, she jumped up and sprinted to the door, oddly compelled to act. Just as he was closing the door, Jillian pried it open. Calvin froze in the hallway, his back toward her. “The Franklin Institute! If I could go anywhere in Center City, I’d wanna go to the Franklin Institute.” She demoted her cries to a whisper and added, “They just renovated the Planetarium.” With that, Jillian closed the door softly before he could respond. She leaned against it and slid to the floor.
What did I just do?

The next day, Mel banged on Jillian’s bedroom door, startling her awake. Grateful she didn’t have class until noon, Jillian stretched her arms over her head and yawned. She’d tossed and turned all night over her attraction to a married man.

Before Jillian could say, “Come in,” Mel entered the room. The effects of the mugging—dark circles and a down-turned mouth—were still on full display. “Hey, I found this pushed under the door. Has your name on it.”

She tossed the envelope, and Jillian watched it soar across the room end-over-end. She caught it, and Mel left before she could look up.
Curious
, she thought. She didn’t recognize the handwriting. She tore it open. Inside were two tickets to the Franklin Institute.

***

The ceiling twinkled and gleamed with the display of the stars and planets visible from that exact point on Earth, during that exact time of year. The generous air-conditioning sent a wave of crawling, shivering pinpricks over Jillian’s bare arms. Calvin noticed and curled an arm around her.
What am I doing here?
she wondered,
suddenly glad she sat to his right, so his wedding ring was out of sight for the moment. Jillian had no idea how to feel about their first date or the way he looked at her, listened to her. The feeling of being wanted flustered her. She had gone unwanted for far too long, her entire life even. Her father abandoned her pregnant mother, who then dumped Jillian in front of a hospital as an infant. Year after year, every household thereafter only took her in to collect a government paycheck.
Don’t I deserve a real relationship, however complicated?

After that afternoon at the Planetarium, Jillian fell for Calvin at a feverish pace. His desire felt so different from the foster homes, from the many schools and neighborhoods, and from the hundreds of faces that had passed in and out of her life, overflowing her world with rejection. Yes, Calvin was married. But for once, someone who already had a family wanted her—truly wanted her. So she held tight to Calvin Kyle.

They shared beds at hotels near the airport and candlelit dinners at restaurants in Jersey and Delaware. Their affair stretched from weeks to months. Calvin held doors for her and bought her trinkets. She’d never been in a similar relationship. Or any serious relationship, in fact. Calvin made her feel as though she had a voice, as though she was worth it. She didn’t know what
it
was, but it made her feel alive. She could live a thousand lifetimes in a single day with Calvin. And she’d die a thousand deaths before she’d let him go. But one thing nagged at Jillian.

Calvin paid for their dinners in cash. She charged the rooms to her credit card, and Calvin reimbursed her. The arrangement pestered her somewhat. Keeping their relationship hidden was curious, since he insisted a separation between him and his wife was imminent. She’d asked him about it one night after he’d stuffed a handful of twenty-dollar bills into a black leather checkbook and handed it off to their waitress.

“Can’t leave a paper trail for the little woman,” he had joked.

“Yeah, about that.” She’d looked up at him from the chocolate mousse she’d been toying with and frowned. “Where is what we have going if you’re married?”

Calvin had answered with a garbled mess of words. The topic of leaving his wife remained the one blemish in his otherwise smooth demeanor, the one flaw in their romance.
I don’t even know my rival’s name
, she thought bitterly. But she knew his daughter’s name: Lyla.

He spoke of her constantly: how she had graduated at the top of her class—pre-med at the University of Pennsylvania—and was currently serving her last year as a surgical resident at one of the more prestigious local hospitals. Calvin gushed with pride over her. Jillian assumed he didn’t leave his wife because Lyla would be crushed.

But what about the crushing weight of his marriage on our relationship
, Jillian often asked herself. But she held on. She held on against her better judgment because, for the first time, she had something—someone—to hold on to.

Early spring turned to late summer and it was their five-month anniversary. Jillian picked Calvin up at one of their meeting places. The tops of her brown breasts glistened in the rays of sun peeking through the sunroof. The strings to her bikini draped down from the back of her neck and tickled her collarbone.

“Happy anniversary, darling,” she said with a beaming smile as Calvin stepped into the coupe.

He barely chuckled before pulling the door shut. Jillian leaned to her right for a kiss and met empty air instead. She disguised her humiliation by reaching into the glove compartment for a different pair of sunglasses, mumbling that they matched her bathing suit better.
Had Calvin forgotten about their anniversary?

During the drive, Jillian tried to recall if Calvin had responded differently on anniversaries past. He hadn’t really, so she assured herself he simply thought it was cute and youthful that she celebrated by month instead of just by year.

With her feet planted in the warm sand of Rehoboth Beach, she watched his skin deepening in the sun, his hair fluttering in the ocean breeze. Salt stained his legs from their earlier traipse near the approaching tide. Jillian cradled a book in her hand, but her lover’s physique interested her far more than her novel. Rays of light glittered in the few gray hairs of his chest and sideburns. Sweat sparkled in the creases of his muscles. She desperately wished he’d turn to look at her so she could feel the warmth of his gaze coupled with the heat of the summer day. But facing the ocean, wearing a smirk, he appeared preoccupied.

Jillian followed his line of sight to see what had ensnared his attention. She scowled at the two girls her age frolicking in the surf topless. Calvin clearly enjoyed the view. The lifeguard’s scolding shouts punctuated the thoughts bombarding her mind. Jillian found herself obsessed with everything that had happened that day. He had most certainly forgotten their anniversary. He hadn’t spoken more than a dozen words during the three-hour car ride to Delaware, and he hadn’t stolen a single glance at her since they’d arrived. Then he became distracted by other women.
Am I losing him?