Winter Oranges (18 page)

Waking up alone was a cruel reminder of how ridiculous his and Ben’s situation was. After the night they’d had and the things they’d shared, they should have been granted the luxury of waking up side by side and snuggling together as the morning sun worked its way into the silent room. But no. The other half of Jason’s bed was empty as ever. The snow globe sat on his bedside table, but Ben was nowhere to be seen. He was somewhere inside the globe, completely out of Jason’s reach. The instructions etched onto the bottom of the globe seemed to taunt him, even with the first two letters half-obscured by scratches.
SHAKE GLOBE
. But no matter how vigorously he did so, Ben didn’t appear.

If only he could call, or send an email, or even leave Ben a letter in a damn magical time-traveling mailbox. If only there were a way to tell him that he was thinking about him already. That he knew already, within two minutes of waking, that he’d be thinking about him nonstop all day. But he didn’t. All he could do was wait.

He spent the morning bouncing aimlessly around the house, the snow globe in his hand. The kitchen, the dining room, the veranda. But it was way too cold to sit outside for more than a minute, so he continued his pacing inside. The hallway, the bedroom, then the living room, but watching TV was no fun without Ben, so he ended up back in the kitchen, staring onto the patio, remembering the night before. It seemed so crazy—that sudden urge to kiss Ben, and from there, the instant blossoming of their friendship into something new and unexpectedly exciting. And now here he was, set adrift in his own house, waiting for Ben to appear.

Still nothing.

He made himself lunch, unloaded the dishwasher, and washed a load of laundry, all the while expecting Ben to appear, but he never did. He knew Ben had been tired after their time on the patio, but he hadn’t expected him to be gone so long. Was Ben upset about what had happened between them? Embarrassed? Maybe even angry?

Jason didn’t think so. Ben had seemed pleased enough with the surprising development of their relationship. Jason didn’t think his absence was due to regret.

What then? Maybe something was wrong. Maybe Ben was ill, or had suffered an asthma attack. Maybe he was lying sick—or worse, dead—in his cabin in the globe, and Jason could do nothing. He paced the living room helplessly for half an hour before being interrupted by his doorbell. He was glad for the distraction.

Sheriff Ross waited on his doorstep, her thumbs tucked into her pockets. She smiled when he opened the door, although it looked forced. “Good afternoon, Mr. Buttermore.”

“It’s Walker.”

“Okay then, Mr. Walker—”

Christ, that wasn’t any better. “I’d rather you call me Jason.”

She tilted her head forward slightly—not quite a nod, but clearly a gesture of acquiescence. “Jason, then. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Not at all. Would you like to come in?”

Her eyebrows elevated in surprise. He’d only asked because it was damn cold standing there with the front door wide open, but the glint in her eye told him she was a bit excited to be invited into his home. “Sure. Thanks.”

She closed the door behind her, glancing around with unabashed curiosity, although she didn’t venture past the vestibule. “Not quite the bachelor pad I was expecting.”

“You mean no stripper poles?”

She laughed. “No stripper poles. No kegerators.” She pointed into the living room at his couch. “And I never would have pegged you as a pink-flower kind of guy.”

“I bought it fully furnished.”

“That explains a lot.”

“Would you like a cup of coffee?”

The smile she gave him was far more genuine than the one she’d worn when he’d opened the door. “No. But thank you. I’ll only take a minute of your time.”

It seemed silly to stand there talking in the hallway, but she was all business. She put her hands behind her back like a soldier given the “at ease” order and rocked back on her heels. “I hear you caused quite a commotion in Best Buy the other day.”

Jason groaned. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Yeah. I heard that too, and from more reliable witnesses than
StarWatch
.”

“Is that what this is about? Best Buy?”

“Yes and no.” Her words may have been ominous, but her tone was light. “The employees have all assured me that nothing untoward happened in their store. But they’ve also told me that they’ve had a swarm of people asking about you ever since the story ran. And a couple of them left business cards.”

She pulled one out of her back pocket and handed it to him. His stomach dropped as he read it. “A photojournalist.” The word twisted on his tongue, turning into something that felt like an obscenity. “As if what they do counts as journalism.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you, but unfortunately, there isn’t much I can do to stop them. And public records are, well,
public
, obviously.”

“Meaning it won’t take them long to figure out where I live.”

She did her little half nod again. “Exactly. I’ve asked my boys to swing by this way a bit more often than usual. With any luck, we can head them off before they get far.”

“That’s why you’re here?” he asked. “To tell me the photographers might find me?”

She shrugged. “Thought you deserved fair warning.”

The gesture surprised him. It felt like something a friend might do, and yet, he barely knew her.

She gestured behind her toward the garage. “Anything ever happen with your guesthouse?”

Yes. A whole hell of a lot, but nothing he was inclined to tell her. But it seemed she’d moved away from assuming his call had been drug-induced. “Nothing much.”

She raised her eyebrows at him, clearly wanting a bit more than that. Jason waffled, torn between not being able to tell her the truth and his desire to convince her it hadn’t all been in his head.

“It was a mix-up,” he said at last. “Somebody who’d been hiking up in the National Forest. He took a wrong turn and got a bit lost. Wandered onto my property, then freaked out when he saw you and hid. But nothing to worry about. Once he figured out where the road was, he left, and I haven’t seen him since.”

“All right. Well, give me a call if anything else happens.”

“Will do.”

He followed her out the front door, watching her as she went down the veranda steps toward her car.

“Hey, Sheriff?” he called after her. She turned, and he held up the photographer’s card. “Thanks for coming out here to warn me. I really appreciate it.”

She grinned, her eyes flashing with humor. “Least I can do for my baby sister’s former future husband.”

Sheriff Ross’s departure left him in a funk. His house had so far felt like the safe haven he’d hoped it would be, but now his old paranoia kicked in. He found himself glancing out the window every few minutes, scanning the tree line for any sign of a photographer. He’d left the previous owner’s No Trespassing signs at the end of the driveway, but he doubted that would be enough to deter a photographer. Especially not one who made his living selling pictures to
StarWatch
.

In the end, he decided he was wasting his time worrying about it. He spent a couple of hours researching voodoo shops and even went so far as to contact a few of them, but the results were the same as when he’d tried the supernatural experts. They either laughed at him, asked for a bucket of cash in advance, or suggested ways to rid his object of unwanted spirits.

The last thing in the world he wanted was to get rid of Ben.

He considered trying the online genealogy sites again, but he remembered the frustration he’d felt the first time around. He needed somebody who knew more about these things than he did.

Why not hire somebody?

It wasn’t hard to find a list of professional genealogists. He chose one at random and called her, assuming he’d get some kind of voice mail. He was surprised when she answered.

“Hello?”

“Uh . . . Hi. You’re Linda Casteel, the genealogist?”

“I am!” She sounded both excited and surprised, and Jason wondered how often she received calls for her services. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I’d like to find information on a family who lived in Tennessee during the Civil War. I have reason to believe I’m related to them, but I need to know for sure. I tried looking online but didn’t get very far.”

“Researching online is hit or miss, especially going back that far. It all depends on whether the records you need have been scanned in by anybody yet.” Paper rustled in the background. “What were their names?”

He gave her the info he had on his family, and on Ben, Sarah, and their parents, as well as Theodore’s name.

“Not to be indelicate,” she said, “but when it comes to genealogy, there’s fast and expensive, or there’s slow and economical. I can travel wherever the records are, but of course that costs money. You’d be paying for travel expenses, including room and board. Or I can wait until one of my colleagues has business in the same area. Some genealogists will look things up as a professional courtesy. Some ask for a commission, but it’s usually small. It’s a slow process, but if time isn’t of the essence, it’ll save you a lot of money.”

Jason debated. He wanted to say money didn’t matter, but when he thought about how much plane tickets were compared to his bank account, he knew putting her on retainer wasn’t an option. Besides, he wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was Ben. “I think I’ll need the economical option.”

“Most people do,” she said. “I’ll send you the paperwork and get started right away.”

It was a step, but it felt inadequate. He wondered how Ben would feel about it, but Ben was still nowhere to be seen. Jason hated having him gone. He hadn’t felt lonely in his new house until now, knowing Ben was so close and yet unreachable.

He drew all the curtains—somebody might make it up his driveway unseen, but at least they wouldn’t get any pictures of him through his windows—and settled down to play
FIFA Soccer
on his Xbox, although his mind was only halfway on his game. Mostly, he was wondering about Sheriff Ross and photojournalists. About Linda Casteel and lineage and magical snow globes. And about Ben, who still hadn’t made an appearance.

Shortly after dinner, his phone rang. He was pleasantly surprised to see Dylan’s name splashed across the screen. He paused his game and answered. “Hello?”

“JayWalk! I hear you made a giant scene in Best Buy.”

Jason shook his head, chuckling. “I did no such thing.”

“Not according to
StarWatch
.”

“Well, God knows they’d never tell a lie, so it must be true. I did indeed make an enormous scene. I might even have punched somebody.”

Dylan laughed. “I have to admit, it didn’t sound like you. What really happened?”

“I walked into a Best Buy. I looked at CDs. I walked back out. Chaos ensued.”

“Typical. How’s the house treating you?”

“It’s great.”

“Oh.” Dylan lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Are you getting lonely?”

“Not at all.” Not until today, at least. But once Ben returned, everything would be back to normal.

A moment of silence, and then Dylan said, “Not even a little bit?”

“Not really, no. It’s nice.”

“Oh,” Dylan said, sounding a bit surprised. “That’s too bad.”

Too bad Jason wasn’t lonely? It took him a moment to understand—Dylan’s question about loneliness hadn't been a mere formality. It had been an offer. He was asking if Jason wanted company, and Jason had unwittingly declined. It was something that had never happened before. He wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved. “What’s up with you?” he asked, trying to fill the awkward silence.

“Doing the holiday thing with the family. Heading back home in a day or two.” It was a testament to their years of friendship that he didn’t ask Jason about his own Thanksgiving. He knew there was no chance Jason would spend it with his parents. “Listen, Jase. I wondered if you’d read the script yet?”

“What script?”

“Seriously? We have to play this game? Fine. How many scripts are you sitting on right now?”

“Uhhh . . . one.”