Because I'm Watching (29 page)

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Jacob woke up.
He woke up.

He had slept.

Now he woke up. In his bed, in his bedroom with a window that was open and uncovered. He felt …
normal
?

It was very weird to feel normal.

No. Good. He felt good.

Because … last night he had confessed. He had admitted to Maddie that because of his fundamental flaw, his ultimate failure, his brainiac kids had died.

Yet Maddie hadn't been repulsed.

He had burst into tears like the world's biggest tittybaby.

She hadn't laughed at him.

He had cried for what felt like hours, loud, snorting, gasping sobs. Tears and guilt had flowed in torrents.

She had hugged him. She had given him her T-shirt to cry into.

He'd had sex.

Maddie had made it a celebration of life.

This morning, he was proud to recall he had kept his vow to go slow. The second time, and the third time, too, he had spent long moments and hot kisses making sure she was satisfied. If he remembered anything about women—and that part of his memory seemed to be intact—he was pretty sure he had succeeded. He guessed making love was like riding a bike. Once you knew how, you never forgot.

Making love to Maddie was like riding a bike … down a steep hill, pedaling hard, wind in his face, grinning madly, and screaming with terror and exaltation.

Of course … she wasn't in bed with him now.

He leaped up, started out the door, caught a glimpse of sunshine streaming into his wrecked house, ducked back, grabbed a pair of shorts and pulled them on, decided they were going to fall off if he wasn't careful, scrounged around on the floor until he found a belt, cinched it around his waist, and headed out.

Maddie was bending over, rummaging through his refrigerator.

Nice ass. She had put her clothes back on, but still … very, very nice ass.

He didn't think she knew he was behind her, but she said, “I was going to fix you breakfast, but you don't have much in here.”

His gaze traveled around his empty living room. The construction crew wasn't here yet, therefore … “It's Monday morning. Grocery delivery tomorrow.”

“Oh.” She straightened. She turned and came right over to him, slid her arms around his waist, and hugged him. Turning her face up to his, she asked, “How are you?”

When most people asked that question, it was perfunctory. With Maddie,
How are you?
was a solid inquiry with concern and affection behind it, and she truly wanted to know the answer.

Since he truly wanted to see her form more words with that sinful mouth, he said, “I might live. I might … want to live.”

She watched him still, waiting for him to expound.

So he did. “I feel empty, like I had been filled with horrible things and now only the stains are left.”

“You cried. You washed the bad things away.”

She had beautiful eyes and she watched him as if she liked him, understood him. He didn't deserve her … but he kissed her anyway.

She kissed him back.

He started walking backward toward the bedroom.

She dragged her feet. “Jacob, I can't.”

“Why not?”

“I have a deadline. I have to go work.”

“This won't take long.”

Maddie laughed. “Is that supposed to entice me?”

“No, this is.” He kissed her again, deeply, lovingly, putting all his heart and soul into telling her without words how much he—

The damn phone rang.

She pulled her head away.

He murmured, “No, no, no. It's not important.”

“Not important? How do you know until you answer?”

“It's my mother.”

“How do you
know
?”

“She's the only person with my phone number. I don't know how she got it. She has connections.” He paused. “Or she blackmailed someone.”

“You don't want to talk to your mother?” Maddie seemed shocked. She eased out of his arms.

“Mother is a difficult woman. Opinionated. If I talked to her, she'd tell me what to do. It's better if I don't—” He got distracted watching Maddie's ass as she walked away.

She said, “I'll take care of it,” and answered the phone.

“No!” He made a lunge for the receiver.

Maddie avoided him. “Jacob's place. He's busy right now. May I take a message?”

Jacob flopped into the recliner and covered his eyes. His mother was accustomed to talking to Moore. He could only imagine the look on her face now.

“My name is Maddie.” She kept her voice bright and cheerful. “I'm Jacob's neighbor. I ran into him a few weeks ago in his house.”

Jacob uncovered one eye.
I ran into him a few weeks ago in his house? Really, Maddie?

Maddie continued, “He's great. He's a little thin, but he liked my cookies.”

He uncovered the other eye and glared.
Her cookies?

“Just last night. He was having a moment, so I stayed. I'll have him call you when he gets out of bed.… Um-hm … Um-hm … Okay, I'll tell him. Nice to talk to you, Mrs. Denisov. I hope to meet you someday soon!” Maddie hung up the phone and put it on the cradle. “There!” she said to Jacob. “I helped.” She turned to go.

He sat up straight. “Wait a minute! What did she say?”

“Oh.” Maddie turned back, faking surprise that he cared. Or maybe she
was
surprised that he cared. “Your mother said not to worry about calling her, to just enjoy yourself.”

“She thinks we're sleeping together.”

“We
are
sleeping together. And she sounds very relieved.”

Jacob stood and wandered toward her. “I'm relieved, too.”

“Relieved?” Maddie didn't know whether to laugh or be insulted. “Is that what you are?”

“Rejoiced? Reborn? Reinvigorated?” He smiled at her. Simply smiled at her. And he was right. He was reborn; all the bitter, troubled lines of his face had somehow been rearranged to show interest and delight … in Maddie Hewitson. He offered his hand. “Come with me?”

She extended her hand, then curled her fingers into her palm.

When monsters disrupted the night and sad ghosts haunted the day, discipline became the lodestone of Maddie's life. Two thousand words a day, every day; that schedule ruled her life. “I've got to get in my words.”

“Words? How about these?” He deepened his voice. “Come live with me and be my love—”

“Oh, not poetry.” How did he know she loved poetry?

“And we will all the pleasures prove—”

She put her hand over his mouth. “Stop that right now.”

His eyes pleaded and cajoled. He kissed her palm, took her hand away, and laced his fingers through hers.

Life rewarded the disciplined.

Yet Jacob stood there skinny, barefoot, and bare-chested, his head recently shaved and his cheekbones taut against his skin, and all she wanted to do was go live with him and be his love. For the first time since Easton had been murdered, she had connected with another human being.

No, more important, she had helped another human being. That alone had given her satisfaction and a sense of worth, and those emotions would have been enough. But Jacob had amply rewarded her with passion and pleasure.…

Temptation beckoned, and for this moment, she knew she would yield.

He watched her too closely, knew her too well, saw her surrender, and moved quickly to take advantage. He led her into the bedroom and she shut the door behind them. He scooped up a blanket and guided her onto the enclosed back porch.

She glanced around at the ancient washing machine and the plastic pots of dead violets on the windowsill. “Um, Jacob?”

He opened the back door and walked down the rickety wooden steps into the narrow, fenced backyard. He turned to look up at her; the green, sunlit grass grew as high as his knees. He said, “Mrs. Butenschoen insinuated my yard is an overgrown disgrace.”

“She did, did she?”

“I believe if there's one thing that would annoy and perturb Mrs. Butenschoen more than an overgrown lawn, it's illicit pleasure enjoyed in broad daylight on the overgrown lawn.”

A smile tugged at Maddie's lips. She looked around; unless a neighbor actually looked over the fence—and the chance of that was tiny—she and Jacob could make love out here unobserved. Of course, even that small chance added a piquant element to the idea, and the thought of Mrs. Butenschoen's horror made the concept almost irresistible. Or perhaps merely … irresistible. “Are you sweet-talking me?”

“I hope so.”

“Then I've heard enough.” She launched herself off the porch into his arms.

He caught her, fell backward, and rolled.

She wrestled with him, laughing, the scent of grass wild with summertime and with love.

Skinny though he was, he was still stronger. She landed flat on her back. The blanket was gone, lost in the tussle. The tall, damp grass closed in around them and the whole world was nothing but blue sky, green grass, and Jacob Denisov warm and strong above her.

That was enough.

*   *   *

Jacob brushed at the green stain on Maddie's bottom. “When will you come back?”

“When I get my words written,” she said firmly. “The sooner I start, the sooner I can return.”

He gave her a gentle push. “Then go.”

She pouted over her shoulder at him.

Pulling her back, he kissed her, then pushed her again.

She walked down the stairs, across the street, and into her house, dropping grass seed like Hansel and Gretel dropped bread crumbs.

He stared into space and thought about his mother, about her very real concern for him, about how much she must be worried. Then he thought about her talking to Maddie and realizing he'd been doing the wild thing with his neighbor. He thought about the struggle his mother must be facing between her Old World morals and her belief that men were so shallow, sex cured their every problem.

He imagined the look on her face when she spoke to Maddie.

And he laughed. A single, loud, hoarse bark of laughter.

The sound surprised him. The urge surprised him. The emotion … surprised him. He hadn't laughed in … he didn't remember the last time he had really laughed. And what was more … he laughed again. Out loud. That stark bark of laughter grew into a long, donkey-like bray that shook his whole body. He picked up one of those ugly flowered sofa pillows, placed it over his face, and laughed until his belly muscles hurt. He collapsed into the recliner, pillow still pressed to his face, and laughed, and at some point he stopped laughing and simply sat, and thought about Maddie, his family, his life, and most of all his kids, his brainiacs, living and dead. Because really, it all came down to them.

Three of his brainiacs had forgiven him. Brandon had told him that. Repeatedly, he had said that three of them had forgiven him.

One would never forgive him.

Two did not live long enough to have the chance to forgive him.

For two years, Jacob had been determined on one course—penance while looking for peace. Then when peace proved elusive … suicide.

Maddie had called on him to live for his fallen comrades and his wounded friends.

He had wanted to die for them.

But was Maddie right? Did he owe his brainiacs a sacrifice? Or did he owe them a celebration of life, a greater life, a life lived more fully to make up for the time they had forever lost?

And was that nothing but his own cowardice speaking, urging him to stay on this earth when he should leap to his death?

Because whether he sacrificed himself or lived for tomorrow, Maddie was definitely right about one thing—no one else owed his kids this debt.

Only him.

Only Jacob.

He himself had to make that decision. And he had to make it soon.

 

She fucked him!

 

I can tell. Bc she's happy.

 

I'll make her sorry.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

As soon as Kateri drove her police cruiser up to Norway Hall, she knew she was in the right place. Shiny blue ribbons decorated lampposts, the same kind of ribbons that decorated Sienna's box lunches.

Cute. Pretty decorations and subliminal advertising at the same time. Sienna never missed a trick.

And Kateri reeked of bitchy cynicism.

Also, the sign outside proclaimed,
LUIS AND SIENNA'S ENGAGEMENT PARTY
!
COME ON IN
!

Two exclamation points. Adorable.

Kateri was late. One of the tourists had done her the favor of smoking shit and steering his rental ever so slowly into a ditch, and by the time she finished arresting him for driving while impaired and arranging to have his car towed, she considered not going to the two-exclamation-point engagement party. After all, who could blame her?

She had to go, of course. Had to show up with a smile on her face, a gift in her hand, and congratulations on her tongue. She wished she were a better actress, because somebody—everybody—in this town was going to gossip about her and Luis, and the entertainment for the evening would be scrutinizing the Native American female candidate for sheriff for immanent breakdown, or at least cracks in her façade. She had puttied those cracks, but a too-close examination might reveal that her toothy smile was wide and fixed.

She grabbed the gift bag—she'd picked up a blue Fiesta dinnerware gravy boat from one of the shops downtown—then hesitated about taking her walking stick. With her sometimes unsteady balance, the stick was useful in a crowd. Yet for no good reason she didn't want to carry it. It wasn't vanity, exactly, more her desire to appear healthy, strong, and confident.

Okay, that was vanity. But surely vanity for a good reason.