In Her Way (8 page)

The place is cute. Someplace I've never been, but have seen on my travels around town. It's kind of a standard seafoody type restaurant on one side, but in the dark little bar I find out from Andrew that they make fantastic signature cocktails.

He sits across from me (phew), only after he's sure that I'm comfortable.
Pick yourself a gentleman, Julep
, Mama's words frustratingly float through my thoughts. I almost want to swat them away.

Just friends! I want to yell at them. But they perch on my shoulder and remind me of how Mama always used to say that as Daddy opened doors for her and held her hand as he helped her up and down and everywhere. It was one of her more frustrating sayings because, duh, who would pick someone who wasn't kind and caring to be with? As I grew older and made some... mistakes, I realized that I (along with many other girls) could pick someone who wasn't. And I'm not saying that treating a woman like she's super special and delicate is the only thing that makes a good man, but it sure doesn't hurt.

Not that it matters now, because obviously I cannot, nor am not, dating Andrew.

I pull my thoughts back to the table as he hands me a menu. We peruse, making ooh and yum noises as we see things we like.

"Ummm, they have a coconut cream martini." I think I drool a little.

Andrew nods. "Keep looking."

My eyes scan the list and my mouth waters a little more at each new drink I read about. Peanut butter cup martinis, a fresh peach Bellini, chocolate margaritas, and something called a Toasty Monkey.

"I have to try that one." I point at the last drink.

Andrew laughs. "I've always been kind of worried about drinking anything named after an animal that throws it's own excrement, but it does look tempting."

"Which one is that?" A waitress walks over with two waters. Once she places them in front of us, she pulls out a pad of paper and a pen.

"The Toasty Monkey," I say, my eyes getting wider with each word.

She lets her head fall back. "Oh, it's so good. You've gotta try it."

"Done." I nod.

"I'll take a Manhattan please."

I know you won't judge me, so I'll tell you that even though I'm totally all for equality and do not buy into gender stereotypes, I do feel a bit fuzzy-happy about the fact that he ordered such an old fashioned man's man drink. Not really because I think it makes him manly, but because it reminds me of my grandpa Bob who loved a good Manhattan.

Once our waitress goes over to the bar to start our drinks, Andrew looks over at me and meets my eyes. His dirty-blond hair which was once slicked to the side is now falling forward and I have to sit on my hands to keep them from reaching across the table to gently push it back off his forehead.

"So there's actually kind of a reason I asked you here," he says.

My heart feels like it's trying to win some Olympic-level qualifying sprint. I swallow and take a deep breath.

"Other than congratulating me on my business?" I take a sip of the water in front of me, purely needing-to-act-nonchalant, not actual hydration needs.

Andrew scratches at his chin. "Yeah. Other -- well -- on top of."

I send intense friendship vibes in his direction that might hopefully dispel any inclinations he might have to tell me something sweet and perfect and of the business-death nature.

"I just have this feeling about you, Jules." He shakes his head and looks down at the table. "You've got things so together and, well, I trust you."

I turn my head slightly. This doesn't feel romantic. My heart beats a little slower. Plus I like the thing about feelings, and the together compliment was nice, too. The trust part has me a bit confused. I must look it, because he keeps explaining.

"I'm going to be leaving for about a week or so and I was hoping you'd watch over Kaylee for me while I'm out of town."

"Oh! Kaylee? Yeah, sure. Where -- uh -- where are you going?" I stutter, tripping over my relief like it's an old dog laying in the path of the bathroom in the middle of the night.

He squints. "Here and there. Work stuff."

Okay, now I definitely do not understand his job at all. Why would a job coach need to travel here and there? Why would he need people to look after his clients while he was gone? Especially when they've already gotten jobs.

Some people are harder to read than a book written in stars, darlin'
. I hear my mama's voice and can almost feel her hand rubbing my back, trying to make things better.
If they're important to you, you'll keep trying to learn their language.
She's right. Usually is. I just have to decide if this is all worth it to me. I really do want to be friends with Andrew, and that means giving him a little room to be mysterious. I'm sure I'm not an open book, either.

"Well you can count on me," I say at last.

"Thanks. Here, let me give you my number." He moves to grab his phone from his pocket.

"No!" I yell, stopping him. Having Andrew's number feels dangerous, feels like I might call him when I'm weak, feels like we might be more than friends. I laugh in an attempt to cover up the awkward yell I just released. "Um... no. That's fine. I'm sure Kaylee has it, right? Plus, we'll be fine. Nothing ever happens in this tiny town anyway." I wave my hand in the air, hoping to dismiss any worry he might feel.

Apparently it works, because he nods and leaves his phone where it's at.
Our waitress walks over with our drinks, we clink our glasses together, and I'm happy for a distraction so I can get my thoughts straight. And also, this monkey drink is freaking amazing! I close my eyes and make involuntary yummy noises. When I open them again, Andrew is watching me. I catch just a whisper of a smile in his eyes, but mostly his face screams sadness. He notices I'm looking back at him and pulls his face into a full smile. The change seems to be akin the back-and-forth crap that's been happening in my head since I met the guy. Heck, maybe Andrew's just as confused as I am.

"So tell me your craziest dental story." His eyes hold onto the smile.

I look up and squint. "Hmmm... well that's hard. There are a few." I tap my fingers on the table. "Oh! There was this one kinda-smelly old guy when I first started out. I was examining him and suddenly I felt something crawling on my hand. I looked down and there was one of those baby spiders. As a trained professional, I stopped flicked it off and went back to work without much more than a pause."

Andrew nods, looking slightly impressed, but still unsure how this makes for a great story.

I hold my hand up to show him there's more. "A few seconds later, I feel something else on my hand. There are a bunch more! When I stop and try to see where they're coming from, I notice a small stream of them leaking out of the guy's long beard. He had a freaking spider sack in the thing!" I shiver all over again.

Andrew smacks his hand on the table as he laughs. "That must've been a nasty old beard." He watches me, full-on one-eye-squintier smiling at me now. "Alright, what else?"

"One of my hygienists accidentally sucked up someone's fake eyelash before. I guess it was a little loose and she got too close to it with the suction tool and… foomp!"

Andrew leans back and lets a laugh pour out. It's the kind of sound that reaches the very center of my ribcage and holds tight. I can't help but join in.

A bit later, our drinks are gone (and have been happily replaced) and we've moved on to embarrassing stories about ourselves. I've got him howling as I describe a time in college when I spilled chicken teriyaki all down the front of white capris on a date and had to walk around with teriyaki pants the rest of the day. But he wins with a story about complaining to someone at a new job about a fellow co-worker, saying the most dreadful stuff, and then finding out that person was actually her husband.

I smile; so glad I decided to stop all of that wondering and just focus on being friends with him. As I sit there laughing with him, I know for sure that I want to take the time to learn his language.

9

Um... What?

"Just being friends with a guy? Well, that's very mature of you," Em says the next night when she calls to find out about my drinks with Andrew.

"Yeah. You were right. It's taking too much of my energy to keep wondering, reading into every thing he does or says."

"Gosh. I feel like someone really smart kinda already told you that."

I chuckle. "Yes. You're very smart. Congratulations." I tuck my feet under me and snuggle into my couch. "Whatcha up to tonight?"

"Well." Her voice brightens like a dimmer switch turned all the way up and I can almost guarantee her elbows are squeezing tight against her body as she continues. "I'm actually going out with that firefighter, Anthony, the one who asked for my number after Toast-gate. He called last night."

"That's awesome, Em! Wow. A firefighter. Living the dream."

She laughs and goes on to describe where he's taking her, ask for my opinion on what to wear, and what route to go with her makeup. Just as I finish telling her that I think she should definitely go light, natural, there's a knock at my door.

"Hey, Em. Gotta go. There's someone here."

"K. Call me tomorrow and I'll dish."

We hang up and I unfold my limbs, run a quick hand over my hair to make sure it's view-able (because if it doesn't feel crazy, you know you're probably okay), and jog over to my front door. Being a single lady, I do my usual stand on my tip toes move to check through the small window at the top so I can see who it is.

Kaylee stands outside. My head shoots back in surprise and I fall back onto my heels. There's a moment where my stomach clenches tight at the thought that something might be wrong, but then I remember that Andrew must've told her I was watching out for her while he was gone. Either way, I can't let the poor girl stand outside all night, so I flip open my lock and swing the door toward me.

"Kaylee? What's up?"

She pushes past me in a jangle of metal bracelets and flying hair and shoves the door shut, locking it before she locks eyes with mine. "This whole thing isn't working, that's what's up!" Her voice is quivery and her words spill out much too fast.

The heel of my hand presses to my forehead and I squint in my confusion. "Wait? What's not working?" Does she all of a sudden hate working for me? And she's decided this during the weekend?

"I'm freaking out! This witness is not feeling protected! At all!" She sits on my couch, just on the edge, and her neck cranes as she looks out my front window onto the street.

My body tingles cold. What did she just say?

"Whaaa?" is all I manage to eke out.

She opens her hands and nods her head as she says, "Andrew's only been gone for a couple of hours and I've already seen a member of the family in town. How could they find me? I didn't do anything wrong this time. And now I'm Andrew-less and he's left you in charge. No offense, I'm super glad you know." She looks at me earnestly. "It's so hard keeping it a secret from everyone, but what the heck are you going to do if a member of the Borstov crime family comes at me? At least Andrew has a gun." She stands up and paces through my front room for a second before closing my curtains and turning to me.

Her words are like her singing at work, constant, loud, and becoming overwhelming very quickly. I stumble forward and sink into a chair, letting my elbows prop me up before I ask the one question that's been growing bigger and more important ever since Kaylee started talking.

"Wait. Are you in Witness Protection? Is Andrew your -- your guy? What do they call them? Marshals?"

Suddenly I feel like that guy in Jurassic Park who's hunting the raptor only to have a totally different one come up beside him and rip him to shreds. Maybe Andrew wasn't the biggest threat to my business after all? Maybe it was sitting (and singing) right in front of me this whole time.

Kaylee stops and her eyes narrow. "Why are you acting like this is a surprise?" She lets her head fall back. "Don't tell me I did it again!" She focuses on me again, pointing now, and walking forward. "But you said you knew! You said Andrew told you."

I put my hands up and she stops a few feet from me. "Told me he was helping you get a job, prepare for interviews. I thought he was your job coach."

Kaylee's whole face seems to collapse; she takes a big breath in and then commences some sort of hyperventilating. Her hand starts a combination of fanning in front of her face and shaking uncontrollably. "Shit. Crap. Shitty. Crap. Crap." She paces again, her whole body jerking as she stops and switches direction. "Oh hell. He's going to make me move. Again." She stops, lets her head drop forward, and rests her hand on her forehead.

"So you are?" I stand up and walk slowly toward her. "In Witness Protection then?"

Kaylee turns her face toward me, her lip trembling a bit as her eyes meet mine and she nods.

Now it's my turn to pace, to freak. "Shit. Crap. Oh hell, is right." I focus on breathing. "And they're here? The people? Your people?" At the last question, my blood seems to freeze in my veins. Witness Protection is for like mob people who've turned on their buddies, given information in return for protection.

She holds up her hands. "My people? No, you've got it wrong."

I watch the young, innocent looking, twenty-something in front of me and narrow my eyes. Of course she wouldn't call them "her people." Anymore, that is. I've been working with a criminal for the past few weeks and now she's in my freaking house! I back up and try to control my breathing. I plaster a fake smile on my face.

"Jules, I'm not one of them." Her eyes start gathering water faster than a freaking rowboat with a watermelon-sized hole in it.

I stop and take in the small, young, mostly clueless girl in front of me. Of course she's not. What was I thinking? This girl is no hardened criminal. Plus, she said the Borstov family, and she definitely doesn't look Russian.

I lean back and watch her. "So you're not a criminal? You didn't turn on them?"

She shakes her head. "Andrew calls people like me Trouble Magnets." Her face scrunches into a sad smile. "Wrong place, wrong time. I stumbled on a murder and my deposition brought down a fourth of the family." She shrugs her shoulders.

The words "Trouble Magnet" make me feel faint. Oh goodness, and I've invited one right into my this-can't-fail dental practice? I let my head fall back, sit for a few minutes, and breathe until I feel like my chest isn't going to explode anymore. That is, until... "Wait, aren't you like not supposed to tell me that stuff? Am I part of this now?"

I cannot leave my new business to go on the lamb. I cannot go without talking to my family! This cannot be happening and if I can't even afford to be in a relationship right now, I certainly can't afford this. It's not one of my prouder moments, but for a second I seriously consider telling her I can't help and sending her on her way. I know.

But then three things happen simultaneously. First, my daddy's voice enters my thoughts.
There's nothing that shows someone's got integrity better than when they stop what they're doing to help someone or something helpless that can't do anything for them in return.
I remember the day, too, when we were walking in the woods and he stopped to put an egg back in the small nest it had fallen from.

The second thing that happens is that Kaylee's eyes meet mine, looking a whole heck-of-a-lot like I'm sure that little bird's would've if it had popped out of its shell someplace other than that nest -- lost, confused, needy. The third thing was more words in my head, Andrew's words this time, from last night. "I trust you."

Okay, crap. There's no way I cannot help this poor, helpless creature. The decision feels like it's been made for me even though I'm the one who has to deal with the consequences. I kind of expect something big to happen as my thoughts give in. As I agree to help in my head, I look around my house, but I'm not sure what I expect to see. SWAT people crashing through my windows because I'm involved in this now? Police banging on the front door? Wait. Police. That's it!

"The police! Let's go see them! They'll help." I walk toward her, grab her small wrist (the one without all the jangle-y bracelets), and pull her with me as I reach for my keys.

She pulls her wrist free and stops. "That's what I'm telling you. I saw one of the family members today, one I remember seeing from the trial, and he was talking to a policeman. The cops are dirty here. We go to them, we're dead."

The inclusion of me in this "dead" thing stops me quicker than a brick wall. "No cops?" I let the words sink in. "You're sure it was him?"

Kaylee nods. "He had real fuzzy dark hair, almost like a baby chick's feathers."

I pause. Okay, that totally sounds like someone I wouldn't forget either. "Shit. Okay, so dirty cops means no cops. That really happens? The whole cops turning thing?"

Kaylee nods somberly. "During my trial there was a cop who sold out and told them where I was being held. Luckily Andrew was with me."

I take a deep breath in and nod. Then I snap my fingers. "Andrew. What about Andrew? Don't you have his number?"

Her gaze suddenly flicks to the floor and she crosses her arms in front of her. "I -- well it's kind funny -- but -- when I was out today, freaking out after seeing the guy -- I  -- er -- ran into a stall in the bathroom at the grocery store to hide, but I jumped when I heard someone else in there with me... and I dropped my phone in the toilet." The grimace that crawls onto her face makes it impossible for me to laugh or get mad like I equal-amounts want to.

"Can't you put it in rice or something?"

"I wasn't going to reach into a TOILET, Jules! Gross!"

My eyes open wide as I ask, "Wait? You left it there? It's in the toilet? Still?"

She opens her hands in a how-should-I-know? way. "I guess. I was hoping you had Andrew's number, since you guys have hung out a few times."

My lungs pull tight at the thought of Andrew. An embarrassing weight settles on my chest. Here I was perseverating on what I would say to him if he confessed his love for me because I was trying to keep things casual, but he never liked me at all; he was just doing some sort of extensive background check to make sure I wasn't tied to the Russian mob or might endanger his witness. My face burns red at the thought. Then I remember the embarrassing spectacle I made of myself last night when I freaked out about the potential of having his contact information. Holy crap was I wrong about all of this. (In my defense, I'm not sure "your secretary is in Witness Protection and this guy you like is a U.S. Marshal" are normal conclusions one should reach in any situation.)

"No." I shake my head. "I never got his number. He has mine, but just the office line. He never called me anywhere but on my work phone." My words feel small, stupid, and like they very much want to hide. And (I know it's wrong, but) I really want to not be the only one feeling stupid, so I start in on Kaylee. "What about your backup? Don't you have your numbers backed up on some server?"

She scrunches her nose and shakes her head. "I don't know anything about that."

"When you add a new number, it asks if you want to create a back up."

"Oh, that! I never knew what that was, so I just say no each time."

I close my eyes and try to focus. I did tell the guy that I'd look out for Kaylee while he was gone. And if she really did see this poofy-haired Russian mob dude in town today, then she might really be in danger. Also, selfishly, I really don't want to lose my secretary-that-everyone-adores a week after my business has opened, Trouble Magnet or not. We need to do something.

"Well, we might not be able to call Andrew, but what about the Marshals office? You trust them, right?" I ask, hopefully.

Her jaw clenches, sending a tiny tremor down her jawline. "Oh, them? Yeah, sure. I guess."

My chin shoots forward. "You guess? What? What's wrong with calling them?"

"It's just -- they -- there's been a few --"

"Spit it out, girl."

"I kind of have a reputation with them. I've made some mistakes and Andrew has had to move me a few times. They threatened to kick me out of the program after the last one, but Andrew told them he would move me by him, where he lives so he could keep a better eye on me and that I wouldn't be causing them any more trouble." She looks down at the floor.

"Look, sorry, but we don't have Andrew's number and I doubt it's going to be listed, your phone's in the toilet (still), so bad reputation or not, they're all we have. Maybe they can get in touch with Andrew."

Having heard her excuse and deciding that it's not good enough, I pull out my phone and start looking up the number to the nearest branch office. Kaylee paces next to me, sighing, and running her hands through her hair. I ignore her and press the dial button, then shove the phone toward her.

Kaylee takes the phone as if it's a large spider that might bite her. She grimaces at it for a second, but then holds it up to her ear.

"Hi," she says and for a second I wish she didn't sound so much like a little girl, but on the other hand, maybe that's good.

I can hear someone speaking on the other end, but not what he or she is saying.

"I'm Kaylee Taylor, but that's not my -- er -- yeah." As she listens, Kaylee's cheeks turn a little red. She must've forgotten whom she was talking to. Of course the Marshals office would know that's not actually her name.