Reverb (9 page)

She wants him to pull her face to his and kiss her. Tenderly. Passionately.

Truck whizzes by, startling him. Mist and droplets sparkle in the headlights as he brings his hand back to the wheel, focuses forward, guns the engine and enters the crowded, fast-moving highway.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he says gently, his accent momentarily refined.

“I’m sorry for yours, too, James.”

He slowly nods. “Fucking sucks, being orphaned.”

Kate manages a smile through her tears. Again, she’s surprised by his acute perception, and willingness to express it.

They listen to several tunes of smooth acoustic rhythms. James keeps his fingers still. The disk changes and begins with wailing electric of Incubus. Fast, pounding beat adds to her angst that grows with each passing mile. Kate feels herself falling into the rabbit hole, blackness looming. Beyond Sacramento is San Francisco—home—alone. Again. Still. Back to the seemingly endless search for her prince.

“We should be in the city in fifteen minutes. It’s where I take off, and you get back to your life.” He doesn’t look at her.

She imagines asking him to stay with her until he’s well. She’d care for him. They’d bond, and like in the movies, he’d leave to reconcile his past then come back to her. She considers offering to take him to Tiburon again, give her the opportunity to network with more of his friends, keep track of him, but doesn’t. “Okay,” comes out of her mouth. “So, you’re off to Tiburon, then?”

He nods.

Kate looks outside. Housing developments line the highway on both sides now. The tall glass buildings of Sacramento sparkle with moonlight against the black backdrop of night. Brandon Boyd sings
Drive
against the wet road din. “What’s in Tiburon?”

James stays focused on driving, as if she’s not spoken. Kate thinks he won’t answer her but then he says, “Money. Enough to get me set up some place safe. If I’ve got any left."

“And if you don’t have any left?”
I can save you...

“Then I’ll be living a whole other kind of lifestyle than I hoped. Probably be a lot colder, at least in the beginning.” He flashes a quick grin. “Don’t worry about me, Kate. I’ll be fine. Money or not, I can be very resourceful.”

“I don’t doubt that. For the asking, you could probably get most anything you want.”

“Clearly not. Or I’d have my life back.”

She stares at him. “You mean the one you tried to throw away?”

James glances at her with a furrowed brow.

Kate’s broken the glass wall and steps through. “Why did you try to kill yourself?” She has to know. She just can’t leave it.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Did you really want to die?”

“Yes.” He stares at the road.

“Do you still?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes.” He glances at her again then looks forward. “It doesn’t matter. I told you, I don’t want to discuss it.”

“Why? I’ve thought about it in dark moments. I’m sure lots of people have. Suicide isn’t exclusive to artists and intellects, you know.”

“My decision to slit my wrists wasn’t motivated from melancholy. I was trapped in hell and it was the only way I could think of to get out.”

“Pretty radical solution.”             

“A permanent one, to be sure, but at the time it seemed warranted.”

“Don’t you care that it’s a mortal sin to take your own life?”

He smiles. “No.”

“Well, then don’t you care that you’d be hurting people that love you?”

James stares out at the highway. His jaw tightens, his expression darkens, then veils, but Kate feels the weight of his sadness. She watches him for a second then has to look away. She’s all too familiar with that level of alone. Just hard to believe someone like James knows it, too.

Tall glass buildings of downtown twinkle and loom in the distance. James stays in the left lane and keeps pace with traffic. They pass a blue Acura on the right, and Kate looks at the white, middle-aged male driver on his cell phone. He never glances her way. The world is so encapsulated now. How was she to find a partner with all of us so immersed in our tight little universes.

She looks at James. His long lashes look even longer with wetness. He’ll be gone in five minutes—the Prince Charming that never was. His beauty belies his manic behavior earlier, his battered body under his dark fleece shirt. “Promise me you’re not still suicidal.” She stares at him, searching, wonders if her voice is as small as she feels. “If you kill yourself, I could burn in hell for handing you the opportunity.”

He laughs, but grimaces, like it hurt. “You’re concern is touching, really.” His smile fades quickly. He does not address her request. He looks straight ahead and Kate is sure James is consciously avoiding looking at her.

“God, you're friend John was
right
.” Anger, disgust, guilt jockey for lead emotion. Suddenly the car feels stifling. She can’t catch her breath. “I'm such a sucker, letting you talk me into taking you away from friends who could have helped you.”

“You're not.” He glances at her quickly then back at the highway. “You can’t save me, Kate. And I can't save you. We’re going to have to do that for ourselves.” He glances at her again, sighs, like he gets his words cut. “Look, don’t get caught up in my façade, Kate. There’s nothing behind it. Not anymore. There probably never was, I just didn’t notice.”

“I don’t think achieving excellence is nothing. And I’m pretty sure tuning out is a typical guy thing.”

James laughs. “It may be. But I’ve been told that’s a lousy excuse.”

“What was her name?” Kate asks, even though most of her doesn’t want to know.

“Julia. But it never really was, and now it never will be. And I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Well, what about Julia?”

James shoots her a piercing glare. “What about her?”

“Don’t you care you’d be hurting her if you killed yourself?”

“Either way, I'm hurting her. So I’m alive. We can’t be together. I’m wanted for drug trafficking, escaping lawful custody…murder.” He does not look at her. “To her, I’m dead either way.”

Kate watches at him. He said ‘murder,’ that he's wanted for
murder
. And for the first time she feels afraid of him. James could be crazy—one of those guys who’s calm most of the time, then goes psychopath every now and again. “You said you left a mental institution in Scotland ‘without permission.’ Were you there for killing someone?”

He jaw tightens again. “I won’t discuss this. I’m sorry I mentioned it.” Quick, nervous laugh. “I wasn’t putting you off when I told you I wasn’t the best person to be around right now.” He glances at her again and sort of shrugs, wipes his nose with his shirtsleeve and runs his fingers through his hair again, but it falls back in his eyes.

All fear of him dissolves. Kate can not fathom him as evil, or even crazy. He’d just admitted to ‘trafficking.’ A drug dealer seems plausible, though not probable as a career musician. She imagined drug dealers to be hardened people. Underneath his manic behavior, James seems fundamentally a gentle man. Kate feels it to her core. “I’m not scared of you.” She blushes. Aloud it sounds taunting, defensive.

James laughs, and winces. “I’m not scared of you either, which is a first for me with a stranger in quite a while.”

“I didn’t just tell you I murdered someone.”

“I didn’t say I murdered anyone. I said I was wanted for murder.” He glances at her for an instant before he catches sight of a road sign. James changes lanes abruptly and turns off Hwy. 50 on to Hwy. 5 heading north. He takes the first exit, then drives back under the freeway, then takes the next right into Old Town Sacramento.

It’s like stepping back two hundred years as they cross the train tracks into the old western town. Streets are lined with wide wood boardwalks, covered by decorative balconies supported by slender wood columns every few feet.

“Damn if I remember where the hell it is...” James pushes the stereo off hastily.

“What is?”

He doesn't answer. She’s not sure he heard her, his attention focused on navigating the narrow streets.

Buildings are all gold rush era, with lavish Victorian facades, crammed right up against each other, each with their own intricate designs. All the shops are closed for the night, the tourist town virtually deserted. Though the roads are paved it feels as if they’re not. James slows the Blazer almost to a crawl to get around several horse drawn carriages meant for tourists along the side of the street.

He turns off the main drag, back under the freeway into modern downtown Sacramento, then into the large parking lot of an Amtrak train station. He parks near the entrance, turns off the engine and headlights but leaves the keys in the ignition, then looks at Kate.

“You okay?”

“You’re asking
me?

“You okay to drive?”

“Yes.” No. “Don’t go.” She hears herself whisper. “I’ll take you to Tiberon—”

He shakes his head, looks around at the almost empty lot, then back at her. Sighs. “Thank, you, Kate.”

“Right. I wrecked your car and you're
thanking
me?”

He smiles. “Thanks for helping me out tonight,
after
the accident. For taking me to Martin and John's. Giving me a lift here. We're square. You did all you could. Thank you.” James stays fixed on her. “You take good care, Katie McConnell.” He takes her hand and kisses her palm, his warm, thick lips tingling, spreading warmth up her arm, through her chest, belly, right down to her crotch. He looks at her a moment longer, gives her a soft smile, then looks back out at the lot again. He does not meet her eyes again as he gets out of the SUV, nor glance at her as he moves to the front of the Blazer holding his side, then stops and puts both hands on the hood for support.

Kate gets out and joins him at front of her car. “I’m an idiot for listening to you. You’re
not
okay.”

“I’m just a bit off balance. Give me a minute.” A moment passes and he straightens, then runs his hand through his hair as he eyes the parking lot again.

“James, get back in the car. We can go back to your friends. You can come home with me, just until you’re well...” She sees the cop car as it crosses the intersection bordering the lot.

James sees it too. He slides his arm around her shoulder and pulls her into him, hugs her, holds her tightly, and for a second she feels him with her. She buries her head in his chest, breathes in his musty, masculine scent.

He speaks softly into her ear, “Godspeed, Kate.” Then he gathers her face in his huge hands then kisses her, on the forehead. He lets his hands slide from her face, holds her captive with his eyes another second, then glances at the cop approaching the parking lot and walks away, towards the train station, and a moment later disappears inside the building.

And James is gone.

Cop enters the lot and cruises slowly toward the front of the station. Buzz cut, stern expression, he eyes Kate suspiciously as he approaches. She’s done nothing wrong, but he still intimidates her. She glances at the station, then goes around her car, gets behind the wheel and waits for the cop to leave the lot before she drives away, onto I-5, toward home.

“Kiss him goodbye, Katie.” She speaks aloud to no one. Then loneliness sucks her in. She’s become so isolated, with most of her friends getting married, moving on. She rarely hangs out with Z, her newly wed secretary, anymore. And bar hopping in the Castro after work with her boss, Ed, (who renamed himself Fred, ah la Freddy Mercury) is great for eye candy, but not much else. It's been easier to hide in a novel at night, and get swept up into more exciting lives than living her own. Fall for the hero, always the archetype of a knight with a bit of bad boy thrown in, saving the heroine from a life alone.

Then she flashes on James. ‘There are no white knights, Kate. You don’t need one.’ She smiles with his memory. He's right, of course. No one, nothing can save her—but her. And beyond just meeting someone, she’s going to have to risk
committing
to someone, loving someone, actively participate in creating ‘happily ever after,’ instead of living vicariously in fiction.

Chapter Six

The doorbell rings with the sunrise. Even through the distorted peephole view, Steve recognizes him. It’s hard to mistake him for someone else, looking like he does.
Great.
James is just about the last person he wants to see. But Steve always knew the man would come back to haunt him. He puts down the bat, decodes the alarm behind the potted palm and opens the door.

“Hey Stephen.”

“How are you doing, James?”

“Been better. Sorry about the hour.”

He stands aside for James to come in. Stephen knows what he’s come for. And the hour might just work to his advantage. It’s possible James could be in and out before she wakes up,
and we were up late last night
…

“You know why I’m here?”

“I’m assuming it’s not for the killer waves at Maverick’s.”