In Her Way (13 page)

16

Missing You

A little while later, once we're all talked out, Daddy slaps his hands down on his thighs and stands up.

"Thought we might grab some steaks at Charlie's to grill up for lunch. That sound okay?"

My hand subconsciously rubs at my stomach as I say, "More than okay."

Daddy and I take a trip into town, visiting all of my favorite places for ingredients (and a secret shared daddy-daughter ice cream detour). As I look out the window on the drive back home, a deep breath pulls into my lungs and sits there happily for a few seconds. For a girl who's just moved into a new town, going home feels sweet and safe and sure.

When we walk back through the front door, there are signs of more cooking in the kitchen and smells of baking in the air. Mama's at the desk next to the kitchen, and she's got on her accounting glasses (you know, those real thin ones that are only half rimmed and have straight cut tops). She must've used the time we were gone to get lunch started and get some weekend work done, too. Daddy and I grab a few beers from the fridge and head back outside to get the grilling started.

We don't say much, this guy who raised me has never been known for being very talkative, but we lean back, close our eyes, and tip our faces to the sun once things are sizzling on the grill. I curl my legs up next to me in the chair and drift off into a lovely afternoon nap until Mama comes out and wakes me up. Daddy's gone, probably up doing some weekend chore around the house.

I follow Mama inside and we chat for a while about her work, friends of mine from high school and what their parents say they're doing now, and the latest drama happening in Mama's best friends' lives. I swear Wendy and Carol are just about the most trouble prone people on the planet (well, I would've until I met Kaylee). These two ladies, though I love them like second mothers, are like two hens and all they can seem to peck up out of the ground is pure problems. If it's not a dog with some rare disease, then it's a grandchild with an attitude so bad he got kicked out of school followed by a hit-and-run car accident down at the corner of Johnson and First.

Dealing with so many of their own problems, you'd think C-Dubs (that's what I call them) would be great fixers. Oh no. Nope. Wendy's only fix, to all problems, is she tells you to eat a clove of raw garlic. Yep. Sick? Garlic. Tired? Garlic. No money? You guessed it. And Carol's no better. Her only response is, "Everything happens for a reason."

I think Mama, with all her kind, calm, there-ness, is the only thing keeping those two from completely derailing.

The door opens while Mama is in the middle of a story of how Carol got in a huge fight with the local Safeway about the lines in their parking lot being too worn to see, and my nieces run inside. Their little squeals of delight lift my spirits the rest of the way to the moon. I sink down to catch their flying bodies as they careen through the kitchen screaming, "Auntie Jules! Auntie Jules!"

Isabella smashes into me first, a jumble of thin, pokey five-year-old limbs. She has longer legs, being the eldest. But Jordyn, who's two, bounces along right after her sister, doing that oh-so-cute staggery toddler run. I wrap them up in my arms and squeeze tight, planting kisses all over their warm faces and necks. They laugh and squirm until I let them go.

When I get up and smooth down my hair that's been churned up into a fro by the girls’ tiny hands, my brother Matt is standing in front of me.

While all my brothers took after our daddy in tallness, Matt's the one that seemed to be made of all the exact same stuff as Daddy. He shares the same, short cut sandy hair, the same crooked smile, those same gray eyes that make you feel at home and calm, right down to his flat working-for-a-living nails attached to gritty fingers just like Daddy. It's only fitting he was the one to stay in town and go into business with the guy.

I wrinkle my nose. "Hey you," I say as I walk forward and fall into his arms, soaking up his Matt smell (for the record, his is metal shavings, and mint -- from all the gum he chews).

"Good to see you, Jules." Matt's my only brother who doesn't call me Minty. I guess that's the one thing he doesn't share with Daddy. He folds his arms around me and pulls tight, lifting me up off my toes for a second before setting me down.

"Jules!" My sister-in-law, Lindsey, walks into the kitchen and stretches her arms out toward me.

"Hey!" I fight past Matt who decides to do that bratty big brother, football block, thou-shall-not-pass routine. Lindsey helps me push him aside and we pull each other into a hug.

For a girl who grew up with a bunch of smelly brothers, I hit the jackpot with my first sister. The same age as Matt, Lindsey is almost the same height as him, too (their girls are going to be TALL). She's a substantial gal. Not in a bad way, she's just got one of those super athletic builds and always looks like she could climb a mountain at a moment’s notice or kayak across the ocean if she so desired. Oh, and she's just about the kindest person you'll ever meet (she also does a mean Kermit the Frog impression).

"How have you been? Our little business owner." She beams, flashing one of her famously big smiles. Lindsey was voted best smile in high school.

I duck my head a bit. "Oh, it's great. You guys know, though." Matt became a partner with Daddy just a few years ago and Lindsey does some of their marketing since that's what she got her degree in.

After catching up, we all fall into place, rotating through helping setup, cook, or play with the girls, until lunch is on the table and we're all sitting down to Daddy's famous steaks and Mama's equally famous smashed potatoes and roasted asparagus.

After only a few bites, I hear my phone ring where it sits in my purse by the entryway. Everyone looks over at me, but I wave a hand at them and decide to ignore it for now. I'm enjoying my family time too much and I'm planning on filling my soul up to the brim with I-love-these-people happiness before I even start to think about back home. I sigh in resolve as it stops ringing and I focus back on the conversation at the table, on filling my bucket.

The second round of ringing bumps that bucket, making it slosh from side to side uncomfortably, but it's the third round that topples it right over. My face tingles and flushes hot then cold. I can't keep the worry from parting my lips and moving up my neck in waves of heat.

"Excuse me." I try to smile, but it doesn't happen, so I just swivel away and grab the damn thing out of my purse.

My fingers shake as I right the thing. The word, "Home" shimmers across the screen and a chill shimmies its way up my spine. Someone's in my house? Calling my cell phone? What the hell? I close my eyes, taking a deep breath before answering.

"Hello?" I step out on the porch.

"Oh! Jules! Thank goodness -- I -- he's -- they --" She breaks into loud sobs and if she says anything after that, I can't understand it.

"Kaylee?" I feel my pulse drop a few beats a minute after realizing that there isn't some creepy stranger calling me from within my house. But I regain those numbers plus some once I realize how crazy scared the girl sounds. "Calm down and tell me what's wrong." My heart is hammering at my rib cage and my stomach clenches in on itself.

"Andrew never came to pick me up to get my new phone. I didn't have any way of calling him, so I went to his house and it was... he's gone. They took him."

Everything drops to the floor, my phone, my stomach, my heart.

17

Trade-sies

I swear and grab the phone as it bounces across the front porch. "Gone?" I fumble to right the phone in my hand. "Who took him?"

"Who else? The Russians! I don't know what to do."

I blink and hold onto the porch railing to steady myself. "How do you know?"

"His place is a wreck. The door was kicked in and I found blood." I can hear her pacing around wherever she is.

"Blood?" The word catches in my throat. "A lot?"

"Just a little, but still."

I take a deep breath. "Okay. Just stay at my place. I'll be about an hour, but I'll be there." I hang up and walk back inside, pushing the what-help-will-I-be? worries aside for the moment.

Mama's already packing my lunch up in a Tupperware container when I close the door behind me. My shoulders slump forward. She tips her head at me in that I-know Mama way. Daddy gets up from the table and wraps his arm around me.

"Everything alright?"

I can't even breathe, let alone talk, so I just shake my head.

"Business troubles?"

I don't even know how to describe this, so I just wobble my head from side to side.

Daddy nods and rubs his rough hand along his jaw. "Well, darlin'. You drive safely back. You let us know if you need anything. Anything at all." He leans in close. "I'll get your bags, you go say your goodbyes."

I walk over to Mama, trying not to look her in the eyes because I hate all this lying stuff and eyes just make things so much harder.

"Mama, I'm..." I try, I really do, but I can't think of anything intelligent, lie or not.

She pats me on the back and pulls me into a tight hug. "I know, pun’kin. You're a business owner now. You've got priorities. We get that, sweetie. Don't you spend two seconds worrying about us. We're happy to have seen you for the time you were here."

My face is all smooshed into her shoulder, so I try my best to nod. She lets me go and I head into the dining room. Matt's eyes lock onto mine.

He gives me a narrow eyed nod, his Matt way of asking, "You okay?"

I shrug, holding my shoulders up for a long time before I let them drop. All I really feel like doing right now is curling into a ball, crying, and yelling that none of this is fair. I puff out a long breath and pull a goofy face at my brother because it's better than breaking down and sobbing.

Lindsey stands to hug me, then the girls take their turns. All too soon, I'm out of the house, following Daddy's lanky frame down the walkway to White Lightning. As much as I wish science would get its butt in gear and make teleporting a thing, I also feel a strong tether to this place and find my feet moving slowly as we approach my car. Maybe it's just that I'm leaving someplace safe and going into who-knows-what.

I pop the trunk and Daddy places my bags in side, then he faces me. He pulls me to him and I wrap my arms tight around his middle, my face squishing into his worn flannel button up shirt. Daddy's scent is cedar wood. I know that's funny since he works with metal, not wood, but it's not from his job. Daddy keeps all his clothes in his big cedar dresser, which tints everything he wears with that lovely earthy scent.

"Love you, Minty darlin'." He squeezes tight. "Whatever it is you're dealing with, you remember one thing, you've got a full toolbox in here." He knocks gently on my skull and asks, "Okay?"

I press my lips together and nod, hoping he can feel the movement as a form of response. Then I break away from him and drive, looking back at him in my rear-view mirror as he waits and waves like he always does until I turn out of sight. There have been many times that I've wished I lived closer to my parents, but this is by far the worst and most fervent.

The drive that follows is the longest hour I've ever gone through. Every possible scenario runs through my mind, every possible question. And the thing is, the only thing that really matters, is that I care for him. Like really care for the guy and I feel stupid that I haven't said anything. Daddy was completely right. I've been looking at him as an obstacle and now I'll never know what could've been because the mob has him and they're not well known for their letting-people-live-ness.

Before, it was all about my business failing if I split myself in too many directions. Now this is a person. Suddenly, my business focus feels silly and unsubstantiated. All I can think of is if Andrew is okay. Holy smokes do I hope he's okay.

I'm sweating profusely and am close to having a full-on heart attack by the time I pull into my driveway behind Kaylee's car. It only takes me two minutes of shallow breathing and in-my-head pep talking to get up the courage to leave the comfort of my car for the uncertainty and chaos that waits inside.

The door is locked, thank goodness. I insert my key, turn it, and open the door a crack at first, waiting for Kaylee to explode at me as I enter, as frantic she sounded on the phone. But as I peek in, I can't see her.

"Kaylee?" I peer left around the corner and I see her sitting on the couch, her shoulders shaking through silent tears. I shut the door firmly behind me and make my way over to her. "Hey," I say gently. I'm here."

I hope the words mean something more to her than they mean in my head, because along with all the terrible thoughts that went through my head in the car were the complete feelings of inadequacy that these mob-dealings have cropped up. I mean, I'm a dentist. What am I going to do against organized crime bosses? And Russian ones at that (those guys are hearty). All of the movies I've ever seen with Russian mobsters, they rotate through a steady stream of downing glasses of straight vodka (not shots, glasses), stabbing knives through people's hands into tables, and burying bodies in snow banks. (Because come on, it's a big country and who's really going to look through all of those snow banks?)

Kaylee's make up, the new, edgier Kaylee makeup, runs down her whole face and makes me jump when she looks up at me.

"It's my fault." Sobs rack her slim shoulders and she buries her face in the couch. I cringe slightly thinking of all of that running mascara finding a place on my upholstery and thank the interior design gods that I chose a charcoal colored couch and not a cream one.

"What? It's not your fault." I take a page outta Mama's book and rub my hand on her back.

"It is!" She pulls her face out of the couch for a second. "I called my family. I broke the rules."

I shake my head, but can't help but think that she has a point as I say, "No, that's not it. It's probably something different."

Suddenly, the rational business-owner side of me comes out. We need to start getting things done, putting a plan in motion. Sure, we could sit here crying and freaking out for hours, but Andrew's out there. Somewhere. I pull on her hand and make her sit up while I grab a pad of paper and a pen.

"Okay, we need to figure out a plan. I saw a show once that said every hour in a kidnapping counts and even though Andrew's not a kid, this is still a napping (remind me to find a more fitting word, because right now that sounds really nice and not at all representative of this situation) and we're a good few hours into it already."

Kaylee wipes at her nose, sits up, and nods.

I click my pen open and say, "So you know it was them because...?"

“He's Andrew. He's always on time, always where he says he's going to be. Plus, his house is never a mess." Old Kaylee comes out for a second as she rolls her eyes at his neatness. This seems to trigger everything again, though, and she folds over into more sobbing.

I know it doesn't sound like very good reasoning, but she's got me nodding my head in approval. She's right, really. He is Andrew. He is all of those things. My chest pulls tight as I think of Mama and Daddy's advice. Advice I may be much too late to take. I shake away the idea. I can't even start to think about any of that until we get this guy back.

"So it sounds very likely that they have him." I tap the pen against my lips as I think. I narrow my eyes. "But you're here." I let the words hang in the air.

Kaylee nods, not getting what I'm thinking.

"You're here. They took
him
."

She nods again in a yes-this-is-obvious kind of way.

I face her. "Why wouldn't they have just taken you?"

Kaylee's eyes search my ceiling as she thinks, but I can't wait.

"You're the one they're mad at. They need you, not Andrew. Taking Andrew just gets them the possibility of a heck of a lot more time in jail." I tap the pen faster as I think. "That means they still don't know where you are."

I point the pen at her. Kaylee jumps.

"That's it! They know he's your Marshal, but if they knew where you were, they would've just taken you." Then something stops me. Something that doesn't make sense. "Your trial's been over for almost a year, though, hasn't it?" I try to think back to last weekend when she was filling me in on the timeline.

She nods and then her hand flies up to her mouth. "Oh." Her eyes go wide.

"What?" I grab onto her shoulders and shake her a bit when she doesn't start talking.

"His trip." The words are as flat as her new straightened hair. "He told me that's what he was taking care of, they're going for an appeal."

I let go of Kaylee's shoulders, sit back, and try to put it all together. "Oh shit. Okay. So they really want you out of the picture this time. Enough to freaking capture a United States Marshal to get it."

Kaylee tips her head to the side and says the very thing I was just realizing. "They have to know that Andrew won't tell them where I am." She shakes her head and for once since I've gotten home, her voice isn't wobbly, but sure and set.

She's right. Andrew is a trained Marshal and a pretty stand up guy from what I've come to know. I can't see anything they do to him making him give up her location. I take a moment to cringe at the idea of "anything they do to him", but we have to keep moving forward if there's any hope for the guy.

"Right."

Kaylee pulls in a big gulp of air. "Maybe they want to do trade-sies."

My eyebrows rise up in question. "Trade-sies?"

She nods. "Yeah, trade me for him."

Despite the fact that I highly doubt the Russian mob would ever be caught dead planning something called trade-sies, the girl does have a point. Is Andrew a hostage they're hoping to trade for Kaylee? They have to know the government would never do that. Right? Or would they?

I cross out everything on my pad of paper and put it down on the table.

"We need to go to the police, Kaylee."

At the word, her face scrunches up like I've hit her and she moves away. She shakes her head frantically.

I place a hand on her arm. "Look, I know that one cop turned on you, but they're not all like that. Obviously these local cops aren't working with the mob because if they were you would be gone, not Andrew."

"The cops don't know I'm here, remember?"

I hold out a hand. "See. So they're -- oh, I see. They haven't given you up, but maybe it's because they don't know you're here to be given up in the first place. Got it." I nod.

She pulls in a deep breath and watches me, seems to be expecting more.

"Then it's gotta be the Marshals. Andrew's their guy. They need to know. They can help."

Kaylee's frown lightens a bit, but she shakes her head and says, "They barely believed me last time I called. They're never going to take me seriously."

I pull out my phone, pull up the number we dialed just last week, and push the phone toward her again.

"I don't care. It's worth a try."