My Kind Of Crazy (11 page)

For the next three days, Jonah and I stay in the hotel suite
while the police investigate my kidnapping, my father’s death, and the fact
that my barn burned down. Somehow I feel like they’re all connected, but what
the man asked me when he kidnapped me is still chewing at the back of my brain
like an itch I can’t scratch. What tape was he talking about, and where did my
father
really
put it?

Part of me wonders if the tape wasn’t in the barn, and
that’s why it was burned down. But why kidnap me to ask me where the tape was? And
if he was attempting to kill me, why would he start a fire in the barn and not
the house? Frustrated with the questions rolling around in my mind, I close my
laptop lid to find Jonah’s face on the other side.

He’s sitting in one of the leather chairs with his legs over
one arm and his arm draping over the other as he reads a book. I never tagged
him for the reading type, but then again, I don’t know much about him. The
scene before me reminds me of a man who is completely comfortable with himself
and what he’s doing in the moment. Like this, Jonah doesn’t remind me of a man
on the edge who is about to lose control.

Each morning he gets up to take his medication like
clockwork at seven. I know it makes him dizzy and a little nauseous because he
refuses to eat breakfast, but it’s like he’s finally resigned himself to the
fact that the medication
does
help. Maybe a part of him misses Tom’s
injections into his thought process, but that part must be much smaller than
the part that wants to have a semblance of normalcy.

“What’re you reading?” He flips one of the pages calmly as
if he knows I was watching him this entire time. I see the hint of a smile play
across his lips while he pauses his reading to glance at me.

“Slaughterhouse-five.” My brow furrows, and I slide off the
stool to get a better look at the cover. Sure enough, it has
Slaughterhouse-five across the front.

“I’ve never read it.” His shocked look makes me feel edgy,
so I take a step back and flop back into a reclining chair to give him some
space. Jonah gently puts a clean napkin in his place and leans forward with the
book between his hands.

“Would you like me to tell you about it?” Part of me wants
to say that yes, I want him to explain to me the book that he’s reading. But
the phone in the room rings and I furrow my brows as I stand out of my seat. Jonah
looks as though he’s about to reach for it, but I playfully grab it before he
does.

“Hello?” I have laughter in my voice when I answer, which
must take the woman on the other end off guard.

“Oh, Ana! Well, hello! It’s Mrs. Hash.” There is a pause as
she puts something over the receiver. I assume that she’s either yelling or
speaking with someone, and she doesn’t want me to hear. When she removes
whatever is dampening the noise, I hear someone banging pots together. “I’m
sorry for the delay. My nephew is over, and he’s quite a handful!” She chuckles
nervously, and I smile into the phone.

“I understand, Mrs. Hash. Were you actually trying to reach
my room or someone else’s?” I assume that she must be attempting to reach her
brother or sister who must be staying in town.

“No, no honey! I was actually trying to reach your room. You
see we’re having a little gathering at my home this evening, and I was hoping
that you and Jonah could make it.” The fact that Jonah Quinton is staying with
me must be all over town if Mrs. Hash knows. They’re not exactly on the up and
up here.

“Let me talk to Jonah and see if he’s up to it.” His eyes
meet mine when I say his name, and he looks quizzical. I put my hand over the
receiver to block out my voice and pull the phone away from my body. “Mrs. Hash
wants to know if we’d like to go over and have dinner at her place tonight. She
said it’s some type of get-together or something.” He looks as though he’s
uncomfortable with the idea of going out, but perhaps it’s the thought of
having a home cooked meal that has him nodding in accession.

I quickly hold the phone up to my ear and pull my hand away
before he can change his mind. I’m really in the mood for a home cooked meal
too.

“Sure, Mrs. Hash. What time would you like us to be there?” I
hear her trying to tame her nephew once more before she finally gets back on
the phone with me. She apologizes, and I repeat my question to her with an
acceptance of the apology.

“Well, how about five this evening? Everyone else will be
arriving around six, but if you want to arrive early and make yourselves
comfortable, that will be fine.” I heehaw around with my answer in my own mind
for a few seconds, and then agree to be there by five. We exchange pleasant
goodbyes, and I put the phone back into the receiver.

“She wants us to be there by five, what time is it now?” It
strikes me as amusing that we’ve fit right into the role of being an item in
the town’s eyes. I also feel a flutter of nervousness at that thought.

“It’s ten thirty. That leaves you plenty of time to get
ready and fret over what you’re going to wear.” He has the book open again and
flips the page after his sentence. Indignant, I cross my arms over my chest and
lean my backside against the breakfast bar with what I know is a sour look on
my face.

“Who said I’m going to fret over what I wear?” If he were
well-versed in the tones of women, he would be smart enough not to answer that
rhetorical question. But Jonah Quinton actually opens his mouth to respond, and
what comes out shocks me to the core.

“You spent an hour and fifteen minutes in the bathroom
getting ready yesterday, just because the pizza man was going to be delivering
dinner that night. You spent only half an hour getting ready when the guy from
the Chinese food place was coming by the previous day. I can only assume that
you will spend three to four hours fretting over what you’re going to wear in
front of all those people.” The first thing I want tell him is that he
shouldn’t be paying attention to how long it takes me to get ready, and my
second thought is that I was taking so long because I didn’t want
him
to
think I looked ugly in something. It’s not really his words that shock me; it’s
my reaction to them.

“I, well, maybe I just wanted to look nice for myself!” My
face flushes with embarrassment at the words that just flew out of my mouth and
my tone. The tone was too high pitch to be believable, and the words were
absurd. I never took the time to make myself look presentable when I was at my
father’s farm house, but at that time Jonah hadn’t kissed me like he did in the
hallway only a few days prior to this moment.

“Right, well you might as well start primping now. Neither
one of us have much to do today, right?” I want to tell him that he’s wrong; I
have a lot to do today. My blog has been suffering, and the gig website I’ve
been perusing is starting to wonder if I’m dead. There is a lot I need to do
today, but I might as well get showering done and over with.

So with not another word more, I waltz to the bedroom door
and turn around to glance at him before I slip into the small room. His eyes
meet mine and a tiny twitch at the corner of his lips tells me he’s fighting a
smile. “This doesn’t mean I’m going to spend the rest of the day getting
ready!” I tell him, pointing at him for emphasis.

“Get in there and get ready, princess, before I come to the
realization that I should have gone first.” He turns another page in his book
infuriatingly slow, and I close the door behind me with half a smile on my
face. I idly wonder to myself why making Jonah Quinton smile makes me happy.

He’s right, I take an hour and a half just to get my makeup
on, brush through my hair and blow dry it with the tiny, cheap device I bought
from the drug store down the street yesterday. I feel like some woman in a
mystery thriller movie who is staying in a hotel room with a hot guy to stay
away from danger. It’s too bad it’s not as erotic as I would like it to be, or
exciting.

Finding something to wear to this excursion will be more
difficult. I’ve used up all of my long sleeved items, and I’m forced to put on
the sweat shirt I wore the first day here. I pull it off the hook on the inside
of the bathroom door and slip it over my scarred arms. The tiny, white lines
are a reminder of my own flaws and weaknesses. I tried to use creams and oils
to get rid of the reminders, but they have never faded.

A doctor told me once they were too deep to fade.

After I’ve mentally prepared myself for the ridicule for
wearing a long sleeved shirt again from Jonah, I slip out of the bathroom and
into my room. I grab the bag with my dirty items in it and swing it over my
shoulder. Then I slip on my shoes by the door without bending down, and open up
the door to the main living area. He’s still on that same chair with the same
book in his hands, but he’s almost finished.

“You read fast,” I tell him as I put my bag on the counter
and grab a bottle of water from the fridge.

“You’re moving out already?” He asks jokingly, but I can see
a hint of truth in that question when he looks up at me. I give him a rueful
smile and sip on my water before I answer, making him wait.

“I’m doing laundry downstairs. Do you need anything washed?”
As soon as that question comes out, I realize I may have overstepped my
boundaries. We’ve developed a fragile friendship at best I suppose, but not one
that would constitute me doing his laundry. Jonah must see the discomfiture on
my face and shakes his head as he looks back down at the book.

“I’ll get it a little later, maybe tonight. You want a book
to read while you’re down there?” I grab my trusty laptop bag from the living
room area.

“No, I’m going to catch up on some work while I’m down
there.” There’s this awkward moment where I’m standing there with my bag over
my shoulder, the laptop case on the other side, and the bottle of water in my
hand. I don’t know what to say to him, so I just start walking towards the
door.

“Be careful,” Jonah says quietly to me without looking up. I
feel the hint of a smile tug at my lips as I open the door and slip out.

The outside air smells like a town, which makes me miss the
farmhouse even more. I can smell the scent of the doughnuts baking in the
bakery downtown, and I can smell the exhaust from a car that needs a tune-up. I
hurry down the steps to the first level and into the small laundry area for
guests. Thankfully it’s empty, so I get straight to throwing all my clothes
into a washer with a quarter. Then I rest my laptop on a bench and plug it into
a wall outlet to keep it charged.

I’m typing away like a madwoman when the door pushes open,
and the little bell above it dings. At first I don’t pay attention to whoever
entered the facilities, and then I smell the cologne. My nose twitches once
with my recognition and I hear the washer buzz to let me know it’s finished. I
gently close the laptop and try to ignore the new laundry facilities patron,
until I realize that he’s been standing in the doorway silently for over a
minute now.

“You’re like a bad rash that I can’t get rid of no matter
how many creams I try. I’ve told you I’m not selling my father’s farmhouse.”
The eerie smile that Mr. Taylor always seems to reserve for me plays across his
lips, and I feel my stomach flip over inside of me. The man gives me the
creeps.

“Jonah Quinton or you mentioned me to the police. Do you
know where I’ve been for the past three hours, Ana?” The tone in his voice is
dangerously calm, and I realize that I’m alone in this room with him near the
only exit. I try to act normal as I put my clothes in the dryer without losing
him from my peripheral vision.

“My apologies, Mr. Taylor, but I did not mention your name
to the police.” He looks down at his manicured fingernails and picks at one of
them like a speck of dirt is of the utmost importance right now. I take a few
steps back to get closer to my laptop.

“Oh, even if you had you wouldn’t tell me, sweetheart. I’m
not stupid. No, I’m just here to deliver a message to you.” I wait a few
heartbeats, and when he finally doesn’t answer me I bite the bait he’s
dangling.

“What message and from who?” I lean down and grab the laptop
from the bench, pulling out the charging cord gently.

“The message is from me, and I’m telling you to tread
carefully. You don’t want to be making more enemies in this town than you
already have.” He finally looks up from his nail with his frightening, angry
gray eyes, and I close the laptop lid methodically. It would be a waste to have
to break it over his head, but I’m willing to lose this afternoon’s work to
defend myself.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I whisper. I wish my voice
would come out stronger, but I’m terrified in this moment. Maybe I should just
scream, but I don’t want to seem like a fool when people show up, and he’s not
around. What if no one believes me? A tiny voice in the back of my mind whispers,
Jonah would believe you, and he’d kill this man.

“Good day, Ms. D’Salvatore. I sincerely hope you don’t end
up like your father did.” My skin grows cold at the barely veiled threat, or is
it veiled at all? Before I can tell him to leave, he does just that. He
disappears as quickly as he appeared in the doorway, and I watch him whistle as
he walks back to his car, checking his cellphone on his way.

I should have brought my own cellphone down, and next time I
won’t forget it.

For the remainder of my time in the laundry room, I watch
the windows for any returning vehicles. My laptop is closed on the bench as I
lean against one of the washers with my arms crossed. I won’t be in this room
long enough for someone else to come inside and threaten me. By time the dryer
dings to let me know it’s finished, I have come to a second conclusion. I will
not tell Jonah about this because I know that it will only worsen the
situation.