Just One Day (8 page)

“What?”

“That’s right,” he said, walking past me. “You still telling me you don’t know what I’m talking about?”

I turned in place, stunned. All I could do was shake my head. He gave me a long look that I couldn’t read.

“Right before the fire, I applied for a loan to buy some of the land on either side of here.”

I remembered what Jarvis had told me about that, so I nodded.

“So you do know about that?” he said, pointing.

“Just what Jarvis told me.”

He closed his eyes. “Jarvis.”

I nodded again. “He and May told me you were having trouble with a land deal—that was before I knew you were
you
.”

He blinked several times. “When was this?”

“This morning,” I said, flinging my hands to the sides. We had just had this conversation. “At breakfast? You came up to our table?” At his non-reaction, I continued. “Seriously, do you not remember that moment?”

“Yeah, I remember,” he said, as if he were suddenly somewhere else.

I shook my head. He really was Jekyll and Hyde. Maybe I was better off not with him. I gestured with a hand. “Go on.”

He continued to look at me oddly, but did a little head shake and kept going. “They turned me down, so I went somewhere else. Got preapproved, but when they contacted the owner to let them know of an interested buyer, turns out that Beringson
was
the owner.”

“Why didn’t they tell you that when you applied for the loan?” I said warily.

“And then everything flipped,” he said, ignoring my question and shoving trash aside with his shoe. “My house burned down, and suddenly Beringson wanted to buy
me
out.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“Because they bought out who I was financed with, and—”

“Saw the chance to score the rest.”

“Bingo,” he said, pointing at me. Not like we were in agreement, but like he’d just shown me Hell. “I didn’t want to sell. Not here and not my personal property. So they devised a new plan. They had it all reappraised and shockingly decided I’d been underpaying for years.”

“Seriously?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Now they’re trying to repossess.”

I was infuriated, and trying not to attach the Brad I knew to such a horrendous thing. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Yes, it is,” he said, facing me. “And it’s been going on for years now. All through Beth’s death, Jamie’s issues, legal crap and unending insurance nightmares, the one constant has been Beringson Bank and Trust.” His jaw tightened. “And Brad Marcus.”

I took a step forward. “But Brad is just one man. He’s one of the masses—”

“Who has single-handedly led this crusade, Andie,” Jesse said, crossing his arms. “He’s come here himself twice to sweet-talk me and throw condescending insults on his way out.”

My stomach burned, knowing exactly what he meant. I just didn’t want it to be true. I’d seen the absolute golden side of Brad. The side that was so amazing. I’d also seen his business persona on occasion. I knew Brad was ruthless when it came to business, but I never thought of him as heartless.

“Brad came here?”

Jesse stepped close enough for me to see the tired fight in his eyes. “I can tell you exactly what he looks like, down to the bleached teeth and the tailored Kiton suit.”

My last little shred of hope fell. “Shit,” I said under my breath.

“Yeah.” He tugged at his wet T-shirt. “I’m not as ignorant as I look.”

As he strode past me, back toward the horrible remnants of the storefront, I turned to watch him retreat. My whole body hurt.

“I didn’t know any of this, Jesse,” I called out. “You don’t believe me—fine. But I’m telling you I knew nothing till May and Jarvis—”

“Jarvis—” he said through his teeth as he spun around. He crossed the space between us in two steps, grabbing my hand. “Come here.”

I went, not that I had much of a choice. He pulled me along with him, behind the bar counter that remained squatting like an island in the middle of mass chaos. Along with the five-hundred-pound register and commercial refrigerator. It amazed me that the bar, register, and stools were left unbothered. Then again, they were like the old cars built in that same era, solid and virtually indestructible, and probably all bolted together in concrete with the place built around them. It was sad to see such a landmark be taken down like that. A couple of the metal signs remained behind the bar, on the wall flanking the pantry where I’d been.

Next to them, where the pantry wall-door now stood ajar, was a still-dangling photo of Jarvis and May. It hung crooked and cracked in the middle, but still there. Resilient, like the people it portrayed, I thought.

“Is this who you met?” Jesse asked, pointing.

They smiled at me from the photograph, looking maybe ten or so years younger. Jarvis’s eyes weren’t quite as saggy and May’s hair had more of a style. They were sitting on the bench out front, him with his arm slung across the back behind her, and May leaning in toward him. They looked to be laughing at something.

“Yes,” I said, not seeing the reason for the melodrama. He pulled the picture off its nail and handed it to me. “What?” I asked.

He didn’t answer, just returned my gaze, unblinking. I blew out a loud breath and shook my head, glancing back down at the photo. And did a double take.

At the bottom, in small print, were dates under their images.

Jarvis Martin James ~ and ~ Celia May James

1931 – 2011 1933 – 2011

Chapter Nine

“Two thousand eleven,” I said, trying to process the information that refused to cooperate with my logic. “That doesn’t make sense.” I held it up to Jesse. “This is done like they’re—”

“Dead,” he finished with a nod. “Exactly. They died last year, within eight months of each other.”

I started to laugh and handed him back the photo. “Okay, whatever,” I said. “I’m tired, but I’m not that tired.” I pointed to where the booths used to be. “I had breakfast with them, Jesse. This morning. You saw us.”

I started to walk back around the counter, looking up at the rain that continued to fall. I was getting weary of being wet.

“I saw
you
,” he said. “You were alone.”

I turned on my heel and fixed him with a what-the-hell look. “You’ve hit your head or something,” I said. “They were sitting across from me.”

“Did they eat?” he asked simply. “Order anything?”

I opened my mouth and then paused. “No, but they drank coffee.”

“They always have coffee.”

I backed up. “What?” I shook my head as I stared at him. “You’re a loon.”

“No, I’ve just seen them a few times myself,” he said. He turned the framed picture over and held it in front of him for me to see.

Taped on the back were two newspaper clippings, starting to yellow at the edges from the tape. Obituary announcements. I read the first few lines of each before they swam in a sea of new tears.

“That’s—not possible.”

“I was a pallbearer at both funerals, Andie,” he said, hanging the picture carefully back up on its nail, as if being straight mattered anymore. “I promise you it’s possible.”

I blinked my vision clear, knocking the tears free. I was the one that was a loon, not Jesse. Not only had I lost my dignity, and my self-respect, but now that I was seeing ghosts my sanity was probably in question as well.

“But—” But what? I didn’t know. There were no other words.

“They seemed real?” Jesse said, and I realized that those were the words I wanted.

“Yes.”

“I know.”

I looked up and met his eyes, and realized his anger wasn’t in them anymore.

“You’ve seen them, you said.”

He nodded and looked back at the photo. “Jarvis died in his sleep one night, with no warning. After that, May just—I don’t know—gave up. She wasn’t long after him.”

I remembered how they were together, finishing each other’s sentences. Best friends. Soul mates.

“At first, I thought I was losing it,” he said. “I’d see them early in the mornings, just a glimpse, and then nothing.” He shook his head and looked over to that same place. The empty spot where we’d sat. “That was their booth,” he said. “They came for breakfast every morning without fail, after they sold the diner to me. It was their baby, it’s all they knew.”

“They still do.” He looked back at me. “Jarvis said they’re usually here every day by eight, but they were late today.”

Jesse laughed. It was unexpected, and the sound bounced around me. But it quickly caught in his throat and I heard him draw in a quick breath as he swiped at his eyes with a finger and thumb. He leaned against the bar with both hands as if the weight of what had landed there had finally reached him.

“Where the hell will they go now?” he said under his breath.

I stepped forward as the quiet rang around us, and reached out, afraid of his rejection, but equally afraid of not trying. I knew he was angry at my connection with Brad, but I couldn’t just—walk away. The pull was too strong, or I was just too delirious, but suddenly I needed to feel connected with
him
.

“Jesse,” I said, trying to turn him by the arm.

He didn’t budge, and the fear settled deep in my stomach. Swallowing my pride, I reached up for his face and felt the hard set of his jaw relax when I touched him. He stiffened a little as I turned him to me, closing his eyes, but not before I saw the beaten-down look in them.

“Don’t—”

“Shh,” I said, wrapping my arms around him and burying my face in his chest.

It was a gamble, and I stood there terrified, praying it wouldn’t backfire. Loving how he felt against me, even with both of us soaking wet. Hoping to quell some of the despair I saw blanketing him. When I squeezed him tighter, something in him finally clicked, and his arms came around me. One hand twisted in my wet hair, and he pulled me tightly against him.

It was more than a hug or an embrace. It was feeling life against life—somehow I knew that. It was proof that we weren’t dead. I could almost feel the pain coursing through him, and I wanted to fix it. To somehow take his pain this time. I suddenly couldn’t stand to know he was losing everything again.

I felt him kiss the top of my head, and it was like a magnet, drawing me toward him. I lifted my face as he held my head and kissed slowly, softly down my nose to my lips and landed there with gentle kisses that started a warm burn in the tips of my fingers. It was right, and magical, and intoxicating, and when he pulled back to press his forehead against mine, I felt the withdrawals.

His hands were on my face as he kissed my lips again and looked into my eyes with even more turmoil than before.

“I can’t—”

“What?” I breathed.

He shook his head, not losing eye contact. “I can’t do this, Andie.”

Not this again. “I’m not Brad,” I said. “I didn’t do it, I didn’t know about it, I swear—”

He laid a finger on my lips and closed his eyes.

“But you belong to him.”

Every inch of my skin raised in goose bumps. When his eyes opened, the pain there was about me, not Beth, not his son, not the diner or Jarvis or May.

“And I’m not that guy.” He ran the finger across my lips and down my cheek. “Brad Marcus is a snake and a liar and he doesn’t deserve you, but that’s not my call to make. You’re his woman.”

He backed up a step and let his hands fall.

“Please don’t do this,” I said, not recognizing my own voice. I knew he was right. I knew everything he said was logical. I knew I needed to find my own thoughts and figure out where my heart was and do it all in the right order. But right that second, logic wasn’t anywhere near me.

There was a moment’s pause between us where everything stopped. And then he turned and walked around the bar and around the corner, not looking back.

* * *

Brad’s woman.
I can’t brand you, but . . .

I felt like I was back on that godforsaken boat again, wanting to throw up.

I didn’t know what time it was anymore, and didn’t care. It didn’t matter. The one thing I knew with full clarity at that moment was that I was not anyone’s woman. And it had nothing to do with Jesse. He made it quite clear that I was tainted goods, and at the very least
occupied
goods, so that wasn’t even a deciding factor.

I turned in a circle after he walked off, taking in the view, noting the rain had calmed to a sprinkle. The diner was out in the middle of nothing, with a flooded highway, but I had to wonder if someone was going to come check on him. Emergency vehicles or something. There had to be people around, or maybe they were all in the same state of hell we were.

We
. There was no
we
. It was just him. Because I was Brad’s woman, and that made me the Antichrist.

Shreds of paper and cloth from God only knew where fluttered in the breeze left behind. The stairs were open and exposed, making my stomach clench to think of Jesse sitting there while a tornado destroyed everything around him. Where a back door once stood was now just a gaping hole into the ripped wall, and through it I could see the back storage building he had mentioned, sitting up higher than even the diner.

I picked up the photo of Jesse’s family, with the crack across the middle, and carried it behind the bar. Finding a bare nail where a sign had been, I hung the picture next to Jarvis and May. Out of reach of the rain.

Then I headed toward the back, toward his storage building. I had nothing else. Jesse didn’t want me there. I had no way to leave or navigable road to walk, although I could tell the water was receding with the slackening of the rain. I refused to be some pathetic female begging a man for anything, and I had nothing to beg for, anyway. I did nothing wrong. I never paid very close attention to Brad’s business dealings, not that he shared much of that with me. I never lied to Jesse about who I was seeing because we weren’t really talking about that. We were too busy talking about his dead wife and having sex on the floor.

“Oh God,” I muttered, wiping unbidden tears away and blinking up at the sky to knock out any future ones. I was done with crying. I was tired. I was drained. I just wanted to go sit alone somewhere with a roof and have some peace. Get away from Jesse and his rant against me. And that wasn’t fair of me, I knew that. His rant had diminished the second we kissed again, and it was more about my
belonging
to the devil than what that devil had done to him. The storage building that he’d said was his boathouse looked still intact, ironically enough, so once I got through the door that no longer was, I traversed the walkway up to it.

The wooden walkway was a little beaten up, but still good, and the building, though minus a door and a few shingles, looked no more than just a little wet. I walked in and strolled around to a nearby bench, inhaling the musty aroma of wet wood. Jesse’s boat was parked on a trailer, a canvas tarp stretched over the top and boat seats bulging underneath. The tarp looked old and worn in the stretched places, as if it hadn’t been taken off in a good while. I blew out an exhausted sigh as I settled onto the bench at the back of the room, behind the boat, surprised at how comfortable a wooden bench could be. I rolled my head back and forth on my shoulders with my eyes closed, trying to relax the day out of my knotted-up muscles. Who was I kidding? I’d need Brad’s masseuse to unbraid all those knots. Brad’s masseuse. Assuming I’d still be with him? I hugged my arms to myself, trying not to think about being in Jesse’s. That had been a mistake of monumental proportions. “What have you done, Andie?” I whispered. “How many lives did you screw up today?” I covered my face with my hands. “I had no business ever leaving home—coming here—damn it, I was so stupid.”

I dropped my hands and opened my eyes to let them travel the room, but they didn’t make it far. The skin on my back started to tingle, spreading over my shoulders, arms and legs. My face went numb, and the italicized letters in front of me swam in wobbly lines.

Just under where the edge of the tarp grasped the boat’s lip, painted in faded blue and white, was the word
Beauty.

* * *

Sunlight poured through the building where the door once was, pulling me from the exhaustion-borne coma. I was confused—and sore. My back muscles protested as I moved to stretch, and my feet hit something solid as I attempted it.

Something rough and net-like stuck to my face as I tried rolling over. I batted at it, meeting up with something soft and flat. And kind of smelly.

“What the—” I mumbled, pushing the offending object away.

I pried my eyes open, fighting against swollen eyelids and too much crying, and felt the previous day descend upon me.

“Oh yeah,” I whispered to myself, and then focused on what was around me.

I was in my dad’s old boat, which I vaguely remembered crawling into during a final meltdown of epic proportion. Pulling the tarp off and throwing it to the floor and throwing myself inside. My dad’s boat. That then evidently belonged to Jarvis and then Jesse. What were the odds? My dad had to be ecstatic that two men after him loved his baby as much as he did. And one was—

“Good morning,” came Jesse’s voice from behind me. I jumped and everything rocked beneath me. I remembered that the boat and I were perched on a trailer so my hands shot out to steady everything. Or they tried to. One of them was trapped under a blanket.

“Holy hell,” I said, pushing myself to a sitting position. And that’s when I saw Jesse. He was on the bench I’d occupied the night before, his head leaned up against the wall. “What’s going on?” I asked.

Jesse just moved his head back and forth in a slow acknowledgment. “Nothing. Interesting bed choice, though. Comfortable?”

“No,” I said, grimacing as I tried to get in a more upright position. “But sleep wasn’t the intention.” I glanced down at the mildewed and partially dry-rotted life jacket I’d used as a pillow. I rubbed at my cheek. “I assure you.”

The whole evening was hazy, like I’d dreamed it—a product of the extreme day we’d had. An extreme day that ended with my father’s old boat looking right at me.

“Where did the blanket come from?” I asked as I pushed it off.

“Me,” he said, as he got up slowly, creaking and popping as much as I had. “I have a couple that I keep in a bin back here. Probably not the cleanest.”

I waved it off. “Neither am I,” I said, attempting humor that my newly pounding headache wasn’t buying into. “Thank you, though.” I looked him over as he leaned his elbows on the boat. “How long have you been in here?”

He yawned and scrubbed fingers through his hair. “I don’t know. Most of the night I guess.” He looked at me. “Came looking for you and found you asleep. Figured I’d stay with you.”

His face was close enough to touch and I wanted to. He was scruffy and looking rough and tired and worried, but all I could think of was that he ended up with that boat and then he stayed with me all night while I slept. And a million other things that all led to the same place.

I licked my dry lips. “This was my dad’s boat.”

His eyebrows moved toward each other. “What?”

I pointed down. “This boat. It has
Beauty
written on the back, and my initials scratched into the seat under—here.” I leaned over and ran a finger on the side of one of the bench seats.

Jesse looked, and then met my eyes. “Seriously?”