When the Heart Lies (11 page)

“You don’t look good. Are you okay?” Scar asked.

“I don’t know.” She did know. She felt powerless and unsure of the future. Even a bit heartsick. She wouldn’t see Jackson again. Regardless, that’s the way it had to be.

“Jackson’s kicking himself for taking you out last night.” Scar said.

“I went because I wanted to. It’s ridiculous for him to blame himself.” Suddenly, the emotions of the previous night overwhelmed her; she couldn’t contain herself and bumped Scar, being silly. “If by any miracle we were ever alone together again, I’d probably strip myself naked within five minutes, and we’d be tangling limbs, unable to get enough of each other.” She laughed, but then sobered her tone, trying to convince both of them of the validity of her next statement. “I don’t want those kinds of distractions
.
Besides, his confidence is annoying.” The way he looked at her was problematic, too. Because she reveled in it. She didn’t want to, but she did.

Scar laughed. “Ha, I’m certain the feeling is mutual…ya know, with the naked tangling stuff.”

A little flutter tickled her stomach. She tried to avoid it. “Dr. Pierce is letting me leave; my ride will be here soon.”

“Great.”

She looked at Scar. “I hope it’s not out of line to ask, but why’ve you been here so much?”

Scar hesitated briefly. “I’m bipolar. This place reins me in. I feel safe here. Other times, I get down and need to snap out of it. Being here helps.”

“It must be hard being here so much. Well, at least this place is comfortable.”

The bipolar —it’s hard sometimes, but I’ve learned to stay on my meds, and Jackson’s a big help.”

“Seems like he’d be helpful. I suppose I should say goodbye to him.” Strange as it seemed, it was as if she’d known him for a long time. And even though he infuriated her, he was appealing. Not a safe mix.

“He’s very helpful. This morning he needed to take off to do some stuff for work though. I’m not sure he’s going to be back before you leave.”

Her mouth opened to speak, but slowly closed again.
Why do I care if he said goodbye?
He was being nice to a needy stranger. No more.

“Here’s my number in case you need anything,” Scar said. “You can call me, you know.”

“I know. I’ll call if I can.”

“Why wouldn’t you be able to call me?”

“I’m not alone often. Do you have an e-mail address?” She imagined the chances of getting an e-mail to Scar would be slim. E-mailing her when she returned to New York would have to suffice.

“Yeah, I’ll write it down for you. You want me to put Jackson’s phone number down?”

It took nearly half a minute of contemplation before deciding not to take the number. She had no doubt she would call if she became weak, but adding one more man to the circus she called life would complicate things further. She needed to fix what was already broken and forget about Jackson. “Thanks, but no, having his number wouldn’t be a good idea.”

Wayde and Max walked through the door. Max smiled and ran to her. She opened her arms, wrapped them around him, and laid her chin against his head. When holding him tight, he often filled her with the strength to go on. Scar lifted her hand a little and said goodbye.

Kinsley smiled, lifted her hand in return, and headed out to the car with Wayde and Max.

Wayde opened the trunk, and she put her purse and small bag in. She wished she could throw him in with them. After slamming the trunk hood down, she got into the back seat with Max. Wayde had driven Savannah’s car; that was unusual, but she was thankful for the privacy of the back seat. His truck would have forced her to be closer to him.

He leaned over and looked into the window. “What the hell are you in the back seat for?”

“I want to be with Max.” It bothered him. Things always bothered him. From now on, she’d only appease him when necessary.

“I don’t want to sit up here alone. I’m not your chauffeur.” He leaned with one arm propped on the roof and stared up at the sky. After taking a long drag of his generic cigarette, he flicked the butt from his fingers with the finesse of a thirty-year smoker. He continued staring at her.

“I said I’m sitting with Max.”

“Have your way now, but don’t think I’m putting up with this new attitude when you get home.”

“That shit box isn’t my home.” She bit her tongue; she was pushing the limits talking to him the way she was.

“Only home you got.”

She gave him a dismissive shrug, dropped her head against the window, and held Max’s hand. He fell asleep after the first ten miles. Eventually, she dozed off, too. When she woke, they were close to Wayde’s house. The landscape was dull and boring, not the Florida people think of. It was the other Florida where the terrain was nasty, and the people were poor. She stared out at the rundown shack housing of the predominantly Mexican migrants who picked the oranges. They had an invisible world of their own, separate from the community.

The drive was long, and when they finally turned into the driveway off the long stretch of dusty road, a wave of nausea swept over her. She hoped she’d never have to return to the place again. Her mind wandered to places she didn’t want to go, and she relived the last three months with Wayde. She wasn’t sure what was ahead of her, but something was, and not knowing worried her.

The house was small, like a box with windows centered on both sides of a door, and other than the acre the house stood on, it was surrounded by orange groves. A big, crooked, southern oak with downy moss hanging from the distorted limbs stood in the yard. The oak was picturesque, but its eerie appearance gave a sense of foreboding. Beside the house was another dirt road, and about a mile down stood a single-wide trailer with a barn and horse ring. Veda, her only friend, lived there.

With no assistance, she wrestled Max from his car seat and headed into the house. They entered through the kitchen door. The delicate floral print wallpaper covering the walls, in far too busy a pattern for the small room, had yellowed over the years. No doubt sped up by Wayde’s heavy smoking. The strong smell of stale cigarette smoke hung in the air twenty-four-seven. She squeezed through the narrow doorway into the small living room trying not to wake Max in her arms. The trampled beige carpet felt like concrete beneath her feet. The room, sparsely furnished with only a couch, loveseat, and antiquated console television that barely worked without cable, was gloomy. She tucked Max into his bed in the living room. Not in a bedroom of his own as Wayde promised. The stripper slept in there. He told her about Savannah when she arrived. Savannah was only staying for two weeks―three months ago. She kissed Max’s forehead and hoped if she got them home soon, he’d never remember the last few months.

In the closet of a kitchen, the small table and fridge were so close together she had to squeeze between them. She crouched down, opened the bottom cupboard, and stared at the bottles in front of her. Hard liquor never agreed with her. Still, she hoped a couple shots would help her sleep until Max woke up. After retrieving a bottle of vodka and a shot glass, she fell into
the chair and poured the first shot. She was still looking at the glass when Wayde came into the kitchen.

“What the hell are you doing with that?”

“I’m hoping the alcohol will put me to sleep. Maybe I can get lucky and dream I’d never been here.” She was asking for trouble talking that way, but she was angry and frustrated.

“Maybe I can lay down with you, and you can get lucky.”

Now, you’re the one dreaming.

When she’d first arrived at Wayde’s house, he made it clear he wasn’t taking no for an answer. He’d convinced her she’d made her choice, and he told her he was going to be sure she got what she came for. Between her tears and her cutting words, sometimes she did get lucky, and he left her alone. At other times, she wasn’t lucky at all.

After downing the first shot, she poured another. She sat with her back three inches from the refrigerator. Wayde took his permanent seat on the long side of the table. The best seat in the house. If the stripper, Savannah were home, she’d be sitting across from her. And if the door opened, Savannah would cuss and scoot in a few inches to let whomever it was in. Usually, it was her married redneck boyfriend. The only other person who came to the door in the three months she’d been living with them was Savannah’s aunt, Wayde’s ex-sister-in-law. The aunt made it clear she’d only come to see ‘what kind of woman gonna go live with some man she don’t know and drag her kid along too’.

“You better watch how you’re talking to me,” Wayde said. “Don't know what you got full of while you were gone, but you’d better watch your mouth.”

“I’m going to lie down.”

“Shit, all you do is sleep. No wonder your husband got rid of you.” He didn’t look at her when he spoke. He just stared at the wall in front of him and took a big fat drag of his cigarette.

She downed her second shot, got up from the table, and set the glass down firmly in front of him.

When she went to bed, Wayde opened his cell phone and dialed. The call went directly to voicemail. He hesitated and then began to speak. “She’s home from Lakeside. Just how bad do you want to keep her here? And why don’t you ever pick up my calls. I’m getting sick of talking into the air. I love you.” He sighed and closed the phone.

Chapter 7

Jackson and Olivia’s limo pulled up next to an indiscriminate row of brick buildings with storefronts along the bottoms. He scanned the near desolate streets. The limo, against the backdrop of the noticeably poor neighborhood, appeared larger-than-life and out of place.

His brow rose. “Celebrity Den?”

Olivia laughed. “The joint’s unpretentious, like Xavier, and the food’s good. He had a meeting this morning at the youth center he funds. Most likely, he’s here already. He’s never late.” She put on more lipstick and checked her hair.

They walked toward the back of the narrow, dimly lit restaurant. Although small, a long mahogany bar with a mirrored backboard stretched the length of the room reflecting the light, making the space appear twice as large. The Den would be a terrific location to shoot a mob movie. Almost every inch of wall space was covered with photos and Hollywood memorabilia. Marilyn Monroe, Frank Sinatra, Sammy Davis, and the like. Olivia approached the furthest table, and a tall, well-dressed man stood to greet her and kiss her cheek.

He turned and shook Jackson’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Jackson. I’m sorry we haven’t met earlier. I didn’t realize the job would draw out this long or become more in-depth. I expected Kinsley to get on a plane and come back home long before now.”

“Pleased to meet you, too, Mr. Wentworth. Thanks for meeting with me. Three months is a long time not to know who you’re working for. If not for my friendship with Olivia, I would never have agreed to the anonymity.”

“I understand. Please, call me Xavier.”

Xavier had already attended to Olivia’s chair. Plainly, he and Olivia were intimate friends. Jackson took a seat and waited for their small talk to wind down.

Once their conversation quieted, Xavier addressed him. He appeared composed, but his words conveyed his distress. “I’ll explain why I hired you, and you can feel free to ask whatever you like.” He stopped talking when the waiter came around.

Xavier went on. “After Kinsley and Nick were separated a couple months, she met a man, Wayde, over the Internet, of all places. This surprised me. She’s generally levelheaded. When she and Nick split, she became distant. I’m sure she had other issues on her mind.” The little lines creeping from his eyes deepened with each word. “She and I have always had a good
relationship, and I tried to advise her. It was no use. She’d made up her mind, and once she does, it can’t be changed.

“Yeah, I got that impression. The other issues… she mentioned other issues, are you aware of what they were?”

His question remained unanswered.

“I’m worried about her and Max being with this man. I want her home. No doubt she can be excitable at times, but nothing that would lead to hospitalization.” Hesitating, Xavier lowered his head, focusing intently on the sugar packet he tapped and twirled side to side. “This situation is tough for me, Jackson, because she’s a very devoted mother. She’d never want to put Max in danger, but if there’s trouble, I may have to get Max out. I’d rather not do that to her. I did a background check on Wayde. He was clean, maybe too clean. Investigate his more personal past. Go as far back as you need to. Everyone has a secret, and I want to find out his.”

A slight nod confirmed Jackson’s agreement. After spending last night with Kinsley, he was convinced further investigation was in order. “A good idea at this point. Is she going back to his house when she’s discharged today? She said she wanted, needed, to get out of this on her own. I can’t help wondering why she wouldn’t come home and try to figure things out here in New York.”

“I’m assuming she’s going back. She hasn’t called. She knows she can come home anytime. When she left, she asked me not to contact her and told me she needed some time. I’d like to respect that. Technically, I’m watching her, not contacting her. Not very honest, but they’re important to me. If I need to step in at some point, I will. I can’t do anything if she wants to stay. In fact, she can be quite stubborn.” He laughed.