St. Nacho's (20 page)

“We have only your brother’s word that Jordan has any involvement in --”

“Excuse me?” My sister, heaven bless her, jumped to my defense. “And just why would my brother lie?”

“Perhaps he wishes to hide his own violent nature and is blaming Jordan, just as he’s allowed Jordan to take the blame for the accident that killed that boy, Bobby Johnson.” Four pairs of eyes, not including mine, regarded him with varying degrees of hostility.

“And just what do you mean by that?” My sister fairly sizzled with indignation.

“I mean your brother has a proven track record of causing trouble and leaving others to deal with the repercussions of that. It’s one of the reasons I care so much about Jordan, that he was willing to take on suffering that should have rightfully belonged to someone else.”

“Are you on crack?” snapped Julie. “You’re not from around here, but --”

“Julie, this isn’t helping to find Jordan,” I said.

“But someone has got to tell this…this person that whatever Jordan’s been --”

“Julie --” I began.

112

Z. A. Maxfield

“Jordan was violent with Cooper, just last night. The evidence of that is very clear,” said Shawn, who had been watching as Mary Lynn translated the conversation.

“We only have Cooper’s word for that, and frankly, it makes me just that much more concerned for Jordan.”

“Bill, would you please say something?” My sister gripped the sleeve of Bill’s uniform.

“At least about the accident.” All eyes turned to Bill.

“Bobby’s accident was before I was on the job here,” Bill admitted. “But from what I understand from officers who were first on the scene, that day there were at least three witnesses who said they heard Cooper arguing that he was too impaired to drive, and telling Jordan that they should probably take a nap to sleep it off before they left. That was the reason Cooper was never charged.”

Julie looked at him with some curiosity.

“I checked, when he came back to town,” he told her. “I knew to expect trouble when Jordan got out, and when I heard your brother was coming back, I looked up the case.”

“Why would you do that?” Julie asked him.

Bill reddened under his tanned skin. “Because I wanted to know if I’d need to keep an eye on your little brother.” He leaned over to kiss her cheek. “To keep him out of trouble.

For you.” Julie’s turn to blush.

“So what you’re saying, if I understand correctly, is --” Stan fumbled for words. “Jordan may have…prevaricated about his role in Bobby Johnson’s accident?” Mary Lynn, who was still signing the whole conversation for Shawn, spoke. “At the time it was quite clear. Jordan and Cooper had words and Cooper urged Jordan to stay at the party. Cooper said he was unable to drive. Jordan argued that he was fine and asked for their truck keys. Cooper handed them over and they left, and on the way out of the driveway, Jordan struck and killed Bobby Johnson, who was riding a tricycle on the sidewalk behind them and couldn’t be seen in the rearview mirror as the truck pulled out.” Mary Lynn said this so matter-of-factly that I hardly even realized she was talking about me. When she got to the word tricycle, though, I had the sensation of being sucker punched and experienced a kind of electric shock of shame. I couldn’t look at anyone at that table. Like a coward, I put my head down on my arms. I had cried every tear I was capable of crying over Bobby Johnson in rehab. Now I was just numb. I felt a strong hand on my back and looked up to find Shawn’s eyes on me. They were filled with compassion and love. Right then, his faith in me was unbearable.

Outside, the rain was beginning to come down in torrents, and the wind was whipping it so that it didn’t fall straight to the earth. I remembered what Jordan had said about feeling like not even gravity worked anymore, and found I did have more tears for Bobby Johnson, after all, and plenty more where they came from for Jordan, as well.

St. Nacho’s

113

Chapter Seventeen

Ten o’clock is closing time at Hallowed Grounds on Sundays. When it rolled around, we were all still sitting there, drinking coffee and worrying about Jordan. Someone had gone to the deli and gotten an assortment of submarine sandwiches and chips, which my sister cut into fourths and served buffet-style. There were only a handful of other patrons because the weather became fiercer by the minute.

Great slashes of lightning lit the sky and thunder rattled the windows. Shawn looked concerned. I put a hand on his arm to get his attention. “Mary Lynn, would you reassure Shawn that this isn’t the apocalypse? I think the weather is making him nervous.” Mary Lynn signed something and Shawn shook his head, looking a little embarrassed.

“We don’t have weather like this in Santo Ignacio. I can feel the thunder.” He put his hand on his chest.

I laced my fingers with his other hand and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “You get used to it,” I told him and Mary Lynn signed.

“I hope not,” he countered.

“I didn’t plan to stay out this late,” said Mary Lynn, looking at the clock. “Mark told me he didn’t want me to leave until it let up, but I can’t stay all night.” She got up and moved away a little distance to call her husband on her cell phone.

I took the opportunity to use a few signs on Shawn -- asking if he was all right and offering him something more to drink. He seemed delighted that I tried. My sister got up to begin closing everything down, and the rest of us, Stan included, helped her out.

“I really should be going,” Mary Lynn said.

I could see she was hesitating. “It’s all right,” I told her. “You’ve helped out so much.

Thanks.”

114

Z. A. Maxfield

“I hope everything’s all right with Jordan. Would you call me the minute you find out where he is? Even if it’s the middle of the night?”

“I will,” I said. “I promise. Is your car here or at the library?”

“Here.” She rolled her eyes. “I felt like such an idiot driving it two blocks, but now I’m glad I did.” I took my sister’s umbrella and held it over her head as I walked her out to the diagonal spot her car occupied at the curb and she got inside. As usual, the umbrella helped not at all, and I was soaked to my skin when I returned to the coffee shop.

My sister gave me a minuscule towel to dry myself off. Shawn, who was wearing a short-sleeved shirt over a long-sleeved T, gave me his outer shirt. I pulled mine off over my head to put his on and my sister stared hard at my back.

Stan, who had said very little for most of the evening, spoke. “I see you, too, are a practitioner of the entertainments you claim Jordan is seeking.” He gestured toward my back with its thin scars.

“I got those scars from someone who would never be considered even remotely connected to any legitimate part of the BDSM community. That was revenge.” I’d never talked about it, but it wasn’t a secret. “Someone was angry with me for something bad I did.

I’m not proud of it. I scar easily.” I took out my cell phone, sorry Mary Lynn was no longer with us, and filled Shawn in. Talking about my scars, I sent.

He nodded.

Later, I typed. There was no point. To Stan, I said while I tried to type just enough to keep Shawn in the loop, “For Jordan, finding the place where pain turns into numbness is going to feel like a drug. When he gets very anxious, he always looks for a way to escape.

That’s my theory about why he may do it. He’s found that pain takes him outside himself for a short time. I guess he needs that sometimes.” Stan compressed his lips into a thin, disapproving line.

Shawn texted me, Do you need that?

No. I don’t, I typed. I don’t find I run away much anymore.

“Good,” Shawn said. He took my hand and kissed the knuckles. I smiled. Stan made an impatient sound.

“Why isn’t he calling?” He ran a hand through his thinning hair. His boyish face looked old. Whatever else there was to say about Stan, he did care about Jordan, and he was taking this very hard.

“Jordan is complicated,” I reminded him. “He isn’t like other people. He’s angry and hurt and disappointed and scared. And he feels guilty still. He’s never really been able to face that.”

“I had hoped I’d helped,” Stan muttered. He looked like he was about to make this more about him than Jordan. Something about that made me angrier than was strictly necessary, so I got up and walked to the window.

St. Nacho’s

115

The storm raged outside and water was beginning to seep under the doors. I got some towels and laid them over the puddles.

“I’ve got to do something,” Julie said behind me. “I’m going to go to my office and start calling hospitals in the city.”

Bill stood up. “I’ll go with you.” They went together, hand in hand, leaving me alone with Shawn and Stan.

I met Shawn’s eyes and couldn’t help rolling mine.

“I think I’ll go check your apartment again, just in case,” Stan said, getting up and heading for the door. I rolled away the towels and let him out, and then I closed the door and leaned my head against the glass. In no time, I felt Shawn’s arms wrap around me.

“Why don’t you play for me?” he asked. “While we wait.” My violin was tucked behind the bar where I’d stashed it when I’d gotten here from work. “It will take your mind off it.” I sat in one of my sister’s comfortable overstuffed couches with my feet up and noodled around. I could put the instrument to my shoulder with Shawn resting his head beside it, and he would feel the music as if he were playing it. We sat that way while I played Mendelssohn’s “Violin Concerto in E Minor” until Stan came back.

He sat quietly in a chair on the other side of the room. When I stopped, Stan said,

“You’re very gifted.”

“Thank you.” I started to put away the instrument.

“Don’t stop on my account. I find it rather…soothing,” he admitted.

I continued, playing whatever pieces came to mind. Sometimes it was hard to hear the music over the storm. After a while, Julie came out and sat down with Stan. I felt Shawn drifting off to sleep, his body relaxing and his breathing evening out. His large hand with its many rings drifted to my lap in a perfectly innocent way. Right onto my dick. It made me smile, but I didn’t stop playing.

There was a loud noise from the office, and Bill rushed in. “I’ve found him,” he said.

“He’s all right. At least I think he is.”

I stopped playing so abruptly that the motion woke Shawn. I finger spelled “Jordan” and “found.” Then I moved my hands up and down like I was balancing something to indicate “maybe.” I said a silent thank-you to Mary Lynn for teaching me that sign.

“He was in a private BDSM club as a guest of one of the members,” Bill said, and I took out my phone.

Shawn covered it with his hand and said, “Later.” I nodded.

“He was unruly,” Bill was saying. “He didn’t want to leave when they asked him to.

They felt he’d had enough, and he got argumentative.” I cringed. I hoped to hell he hadn’t done anything that would get him sent back to prison.

116

Z. A. Maxfield

“They put him out,” Bill continued. “And called the police.” My heart sank. “Is he in jail?”

“No,” Bill said. “He’s at United Hospital. He’s all right. He asked to be taken there.”

“What?” I asked. I was trying to make sense of everything Bill was telling me, but it wasn’t clear. I was tired and I’d had an emotional day. I felt my violin begin to slip from my fingers and jumped, only to realize that Shawn was trying to take it from me to help put it away. I smiled at him and he leaned over to kiss my cheek.

“According to the officer who took the call,” Bill said, “Jordan said he felt like he should go to the hospital. He asked for a voluntary commitment.” I shook my head. I didn’t understand. “I want to see him.”

“I’ll take you,” said Bill, already getting his coat. “You might need me. It’s a piss-poor night to drive. I’ll bring my truck around.” He unlocked the doors and went out into the rain, which was lashing down. I was numb or I would have realized what he’d said. An enormous black Silverado crew cab pulled up lit like an emergency vehicle. I stared at it in shock. Stan was already headed out the door to meet him, and my sister was waiting for Shawn and me to exit so she could go last and lock up. I was frozen in place; the realization that they were all waiting hadn’t yet broken over me. I eyed that black truck, and the worst day of my life replayed itself over and over in my head like a song I couldn’t get rid of.

I took a big step backward, nearly knocking Julie over in the process. Stan and Bill were staring at me from inside the vehicle. Only Shawn understood what was happening.

“Can we have a minute?” he asked my sister, who looked at me like I was a stranger.

“I have to lock up.” She waved her keys.

Shawn took them from her and said, “Go, I’ll lock up. I want to talk to Cooper.” Julie left through the door and skittered out into the rain, leaping into the truck and closing the door behind her to keep the rain out. Lightning illuminated Shawn’s face.

“Do you want to go?” he asked me simply.

I nodded.

“But you’re afraid.”

I nodded again.

He flicked my forehead, then kissed me like a soldier on V-J Day. “Better get over it, then. You need to be there for Jordan, and you’re not going to be able go by bike on a night like this. You have to remember what’s important.” Leave it to someone who had never heard me speak to understand me so clearly.

I started to panic and then to argue, but he pushed me out the door into the rain. He turned to lock the door behind him, and I had to run to the truck because I still had my instrument, and even in its case, my instinct to preserve it was more powerful than my fear.

St. Nacho’s

117

But only until I got into the truck. Once there, I found myself seated next to Stan as Shawn leaped in on the other side of me, and I started to have the mother of all panic attacks.

“Drive,” Shawn told Bill, who had turned to me when I got in. Bill raised his eyebrows but said nothing, turning back around, pulling out onto the empty street, and heading for the highway into the cities.

“What’s wrong?” Julie asked me. I kept my eyes closed. I was shaking and beads of sweat were popping out on my skin. It was completely hopeless to explain. Stan watched me as though I were a science experiment, but Shawn understood and tried to help. He crushed me to him and whispered nonsense into my ear.