Not Even Past (30 page)

Jeanne tried to pull away, but Donne held her tight.

“I spent the last six years thinking about you. When Bill told me the truth … it took me until now to get over it. To get right.” He breathed deep. “And then you come back. You can’t do this to me any longer. You won’t.”

Donne tensed his finger. Jeanne closed her eyes. The trigger felt the pressure and started to move.

His nightmare was about to end.

“Mom?”

A small voice from the bedroom. Donne loosened his grip.

“Mom, are you okay?”

Jeanne opened her eyes. A tear dripped from her right.

“Stay in the bedroom!” she shouted.

Donne looked over her toward the bedroom door. A small boy stood there. He was in bathing trunks and T-shirt. A tremor ran through Donne’s body. His gun hand fell to his side.

“William,” Jeanne said. “Stay away.” Her eyes went to Donne. “You will not touch him.”

Donne blinked. Once. Twice. Air caught in the back of his throat.

“Who is that?” he asked.

Jeanne said, “My son.”

William ran to her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Jeanne put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him tight. Donne stumbled backwards.

“How old is he?”

“Don’t hurt my mom!”

“He won’t,” Jeanne said. “Don’t worry, baby. He’s not going to hurt anyone.”

“How old?”

It all swirled into focus. The books strewn on the couch were comic books. There were action figures off to the right, Iron Man and Doctor Doom. The room smelt like coffee and chlorine.

“Six,” Jeanne said.

Suddenly aware of the gun in his hand, Donne jammed it back in his pocket. Quick math. Quick math.

“Is he …” Donne trailed off.

Jeanne gave a short shake of her head. Ice formed in Donne’s throat.

“Bill?” Donne asked. His voice was a whisper.

Jeanne looked at the orange carpet. The feeling went from Donne’s legs, and he dropped to his knees.

Jeanne whispered something to the boy.

“No,” he said. “He’s going to hurt you.”

She shook her head. “No, he won’t. I promise. We have to talk.”

“Who is he?”

“An old friend.”

“Friends don’t hurt other friends.”

Donne said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m not. I won’t.”

Ohmygodohymygodohmygod.

“We’re playing a game,” Jeanne said.

William let go of his mother and stared at Donne. His mouth curved into a frown and his hands balled into fists. He held the pose for a few seconds, then turned and went back into the bedroom. But not before he retrieved his action figures.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Donne asked. “Why did you just leave me like this?”

Jeanne exhaled. “Now you know why I came back.”

“I’
VE MISSED
everything, Jackson. His first word. His first step. His first haircut. I missed his first day of school. Me. His mother. I missed it all. So I came back.”

Donne said, “But you got kidnapped.”

Jeanne walked over to the couch and sat down. After looking toward the bedroom door to make sure it was closed, she exhaled. Donne got off his knees and sat on the floor. It felt like his chest was empty, the only remnants of his insides the constant throb of his wound.

“I was tired of hiding, tired of missing William grow up, and I made a mistake.”

Donne didn’t miss her words. The image of the boy walking in here, seeing his mother with a gun to her throat, ran laps around his brain.

“What would you do to see your own child, Jackson?”

The throb had its own rhythm now. It sambaed against his pectoral muscle. “He’s not mine.”

“Would you lie, cheat, and steal?”

Donne slammed his fist into his open left hand. “Does Bill know?”

“He’s known a long time. Since before—”

Donne tapped his pocket.

“I was happy, Jeanne. Finally.”

“How dare you? It was my son.” Jeanne shoved her hands in her pockets. “My dad is dying. My mom can’t do it on her own.”

They let that sit in the air. Donne put his arms straight out behind him and leaned back. His back cracked and his shoulder whined. His eyes felt heavy, and they burned. Sleep called him as the last bits of adrenaline escaped his body.

Donne shook his head. “You should have stayed away.”

“And what would have happened to William? He’d roam the streets like Oliver Twist?”

Donne laughed. “Ever the English teacher.”

Jeanne didn’t return the chuckle.

“That was our problem, Jackson. It wasn’t the drinking. Not the coke. That was a part of it, but not the whole thing. But you didn’t know me. You never knew me. English? I was working in the education department. And you never even knew that.”

Donne pulled his knees in and leaned forward, hugging them. His back cracked some more.

“You cheated on me,” he said. “Then you told me you wanted me back. Two weeks later you died. Or ran.”

“And you cheated on me, remember?”

Vaguely.

“You weren’t a good person back then, Jackson.” She rubbed her chin where the barrel of the gun had been. “And it doesn’t seem like you’ve gotten any better.”

Jeanne got off the couch and went over to the counter. The mug clattered against the Formica top, and she picked it up. After emptying a sugar packet and adding cream, she poured a cup of coffee. Judging by the smell, she must have just made it. Jeanne didn’t offer, but Donne didn’t want any.

“What did you know? Why did you hide?”

Jeanne shook her head. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Her words fell flat. There were too many holes, too much damage done for it not to matter. Donne looked around the room for signs of anyone but Jeanne and William. Nothing.

“Where’s Bill?” he asked.

Jeanne shrugged, and gulped some coffee. The mug was steaming, but the heat didn’t seem to bother her.

“Come on, Jeanne. What’s the point of lying now?”

She turned to face him and leaned against the counter. Took another sip of coffee.

“Have you ever heard of a scorched earth policy?”

Donne didn’t say anything.

“I want to start over with William. I don’t want to hide anymore. I want to be able to spend time with my parents. I want to be more than what I was. No more lying. No more fear.”

Donne patted his pocket.

“So you’re going to run again?”

“I don’t want to. Have to be near my dad. But Stern …”

William knocked something over in the other room. He called out an apology.

“You’re in with him, aren’t you?” Jeanne asked. Her voice was steady. She rolled her shoulders and then took another small sip of coffee.

He didn’t answer. The woman he’d loved and then mourned for so long was standing in front of him, unharmed. She was drinking coffee, talking, hitting him with sarcastic barbs, and wanting to start her life over. For Donne, the room should have been spinning. Instead, the waters were calm.

“How else could you have survived getting shot like that? It was Henry’s building. He had to help you.” Jeanne shook her head.

The words weren’t coming.

“So, then what? As payback, he wanted you to kill me?”

“No. Yes.” Donne said. “It felt like it was all me.”

Jeanne nodded. “He pushed you to it. That’s what he did in the army.”

Donne thought back to his time with Stern. Thought about Luca telling him to lay low. Bigger things were ahead.

He adjusted his jaw and felt the joint pop like a knuckle. Tension eased in his neck for an instant.

Donne thought about Jeanne’s words, let them settle in his brain.
Scorched earth
stood out.

“Where is Bill?”

“I don’t care,” Jeanne said. “I only care about my family.”

Donne opened his mouth, then froze.

“You’re not the woman I knew,” Donne said.

Jeanne tilted her head back and finished off the coffee. She put the mug down and let it rattle on the Formica again. It tilted, but held its edge and settled back into place.

“You’ve never been the man I thought you were.” Jeanne walked toward the bedroom. “I am going to play with my son.”

Donne sat on the carpet until she closed the bedroom door. He exhaled, and pushed himself to his feet. His body ached, and he felt hollow. Donne went to the door and unhooked the clasp. He turned the handle.

All of the air left in him went out of him. He reached down to his pocket.

Bill Martin stood on the other side of the threshold.

B
ILL
M
ARTIN
was faster. He was always faster. Always able to think on his feet.

His fist connected with Donne’s jaw, snapping his head back and sending him stumbling back into the hotel room. The pistol in Donne’s pocket landed on the floor with a
thunk.
Donne rolled to reach for it, but Martin—again—was faster.

“You’re dead,” Martin said. He stepped over Donne, fists clenched. He was between Donne and the revolver. “I killed you.”

“That rumor is gaining steam.”

Donne stood up and brought his right arm up to ward off any blows. His left arm hung limp at his side. It was screaming at his brain, however. He must have landed on it funny and destroyed whatever healing had been going on.

Martin reached into his jacket, but Donne had seen that move before. He turned on his heel and ran out on to the hallway leading toward the stairs. Martin shouted something—a phrase—but it came down the hallway garbled, and Donne didn’t understand. The acoustics of the motel weren’t made for public arguing, apparently. Privacy was a selling point.

He took the stairs two at a time, but could hear footsteps on the concrete behind him. Donne leapt the last three stairs and landed on asphalt. He rolled to his right, into a bush. Now both his shoulder and his chest were screaming at him.

At the very least, if Donne were shot here, there would be witnesses. The motel manager would have to call the police. Martin would be screwed. Donne’s former partner barreled down the last flight of stairs, his focus on the parking lot. When he hit the last step, Donne leapt out and tackled him, wrapping his right arm around Martin’s waist. They both went down in a heap.

Donne’s chin dug into the asphalt and his teeth clattered together. He could taste copper in his mouth. Meanwhile, Martin moaned as he rolled on to his back. Donne pushed himself to his feet and pushed Martin’s gun away with his right foot. Then he walked over and kicked Martin in the ribs. Martin grunted and grabbed at them.

Donne said, “Leave me alone.”

Through gritted teeth, Martin asked, “What did she tell you?”

“That you were living your life.”

“In that case, tomorrow I’m going to get these ribs checked out.” Martin rolled toward Donne. Donne kicked him again. Martin curled into the fetal position.

“You’re getting off easy,” Donne said. With his right wrist, he wiped blood away from his nose. The screaming pain had turned to white noise. There was so much, his body barely noticed it. His nerves had been overworked, and now they were just giving up.

Or maybe he was going into shock again. Either way, he didn’t care.

“The hell you know?” Martin asked. “Don’t know anything.”

He started to uncurl himself, but Donne took a quick step forward. As if he were going to be kicked again, Martin curled himself up. The grass rustled beneath him.

“Jesus.”

Martin spat on the ground. Donne couldn’t be sure, but the shade looked red. Maybe he’d cracked a rib or two. Donne bit his lip to keep from chuckling. This was a long time coming.

The front desk manager—cell phone in his hand—had made his way out on to the front walk and was staring at the two of them. He yelled that the two of them needed to knock that shit off or he
would
call the cops. The accent made it seem like there had been a time when he’d bluffed. Donne waved at him as if to say
No worries.
Then he turned his attention back to Martin.

“Stay the hell away from Stern. Just help her.” Donne tried to rolled his shoulder and loosen it, but it wouldn’t move. He was going to have to drive one-handed.

“Will you be there tomorrow?”

Donne didn’t answer. There was nothing to say, no reason to give anything away. Just listening to an old man spin his bullshit and go home. Martin was toast.