Burying Water (20 page)

It must hurt, because it takes him a moment to face Jesse again. When he does, rage is burning in his eyes. “George!” he hollers to the bartender, who immediately picks up the phone. Throwing Jesse into a headlock, Dean leads him out, the crowd parting for the two angry men.

The hands that pulled me back earlier fall from my arms. “Sorry about that. I didn’t want you getting in the mix.”

I turn to see the guy Jesse walked in with beside me. “Thanks.”

“They need Licks here, right?” He nods toward the scattered fries.

I frown. “Licks?”

Jesse’s friend stares at me for so long, an unreadable look in his eyes, that I begin to get uncomfortable. Finally, I hold my hand out. “I’m Water.”

“Right.” He takes my hand. “Luke.”

“Luke,” I repeat. “Nice to meet you. Are you from around here?”

He shakes his head. “Portland. On my way to Boise tonight, and I thought I’d stop in Bend and see Jesse for a bit.”

“Do you know him well?”

“I guess you could say that, yeah. We lived together.”

Lived together?
He must know Jesse
very
well. I know this is prying, but I’ll blame it on the beer if anyone accuses me of being nosy. “Do you know why he moved back to Sisters?” And why he and Sheriff Gabe were fighting last night?

“Uh . . .” Luke drops his gaze to the floor, as if he’s searching for an answer there. “I think he just missed being home.”

I can’t tell if Luke doesn’t know the real reason or if he’s lying. “I can understand that. It’s beautiful here.”

“You like living here?”

I smile. Finally, a question I don’t have to lie about. “Yeah, it’s a great place.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have—” He cuts off abruptly, a frown zagging across his forehead. “I need to go. Uh . . . I’m going to go outside and wait for the cops with Jesse.” He grimaces. “Bartender called them.”

“Crap . . .” Jesse’s going to get into more trouble with his dad. Because of me.

Why would he even do that?

“Maybe I’ll see you around.” Luke heads for the door, his steps quick.

After a brief visit to the restroom to make sure my hair is all fixed, I head back over to our table to hear Bonnie say, “I thought Dean and him were over all that.”

I sit down beside Amber, who’s not bothering to hide her scowl. “Over what?” I ask.

“Something that happened to Dean’s best friend, Tommy, back in high school.”

Tommy
. . . “The kid who was stabbed?”

Amber lifts a questioning brow at me and then clues in. “Dakota told you.”

“Yeah.” I give her a sheepish shrug.

“I didn’t say anything earlier because I didn’t want you to worry about having Jesse next door after . . . you know.” She snorts. “Funny, I figured Dakota was too stoned in high school to even know what was going on.”

“Did you say Dakota?” The redhead rolls her eyes. It’s obvious that everyone at this table shares Amber’s opinion, though some are more catty about it than others.

“I’m going to get some fresh air,” I tell Amber. Maybe I can help by talking to the officer about what happened.

She sighs, dragging herself up. “Yeah, I guess I should come with you and see if my brother’s in handcuffs. I’m sure my dad’s here by now.”

I spot the sheriff’s emblem on the white car as soon as we step outside. Jesse’s sitting on a step under the watchful eye of a police officer, his elbows resting on his knees, glaring at Dean, who’s talking to the sheriff.

“Do you know what set him off?” Amber asks.

“I’m not sure.” Did it even have anything to do with me? Or was I just an excuse for Jesse to pick a fight? Is he that kind of guy?

We watch as Dean nods to Sheriff Gabe and turns back toward us. His eyes catch mine briefly but he ducks his head and keeps marching, until he disappears into the bar. I’m guessing Dean isn’t as interested in knowing me as he was earlier.

With a holler and a wave from Sheriff Gabe, the other cop leaves Jesse and his friend sitting on the curb and drives off.

“I guess he’s getting off for that,” Amber says as we watch Jesse and Luke climb into Jesse’s car. “Probably easier for everyone.” She sighs. “I’m heading back in.”

Sheriff Gabe looks over at us, his lips pressed into a firm line. “I’m actually going to ask your dad for a ride home.”

Amber frowns. “Aren’t you having fun?”

“Yeah, I am,” I lie. “I’m just tired.”

She shrugs, giving my arm a squeeze. “Okay. See you later.”

I make my way over to the sheriff’s car. “Could I get a ride? In the front, preferably,” I add with a smile.

He dips his head. “Sure, Water. Come on.”

The farther away we get from the bar, the more I relax. His police radio keeps going off until he turns the volume dial all the way down. “I’m not supposed to be on duty anyway,” he explains, adding softly, “though I don’t really know what that means anymore.”

“You should take a vacation. I’d love to recommend somewhere, but . . . you know.”

His head nods slowly, but his solemn mask never cracks. It doesn’t seem as though he finds my attempt at amnesia humor funny. I can guess that he didn’t enjoy having to bail his son out tonight. “So how come you wanted to leave? You weren’t having fun?” Sheriff Gabe finally asks.

I think about that question as the tick-tick-tick of the turn signal fills the silence in the car. “Not really,” I admit finally. “I just didn’t feel like I fit in there. Amber’s friends are nice and all, but . . . I don’t know. Maybe it was too much for me.”

Maybe I would have enjoyed myself had I been with Jesse.

Or maybe I’m just more of a loner.

He chuckles. “Amber’s friends can be too much for
me
. Amber always was the social butterfly growing up. She didn’t mind the attention at all.”

“I feel like I’m so different from her in that way. Maybe I wasn’t before, but I am now.” I pause before adding, “Thanks for not arresting Jesse tonight. I think that was partly my fault.”

He nods once but doesn’t ask any more questions. I’ve probably created enough work for him as it is. “Wouldn’t have done anybody any good.”

“Will you get into any trouble over that? You know, with voters and letting your son off and stuff.”

His forehead furrows deep. “This is my last term. I’ll be resigning after this. Retiring, technically.”

“Really? The way Ginny and Amber talk about you, I thought you were meant for that shiny badge.”

“Doesn’t hang quite right on me anymore.”

The rest of the drive is silent.

It isn’t until I’m sitting alone on my back balcony, taking in the canopy of stars, that I really think about what happened tonight. I trail my finger against the long ridge running down my face. How many more times will I hide this scar, only to surprise a guy who might otherwise think I’m pretty?

Who will then pass me by once he discovers that I’m not?

I sit back and wonder if I’ll be able to find someone who sees beyond it. It’s just a scar, right? A blemish on the outside.

And a confused girl with no past on the inside.

Mostly, though, I sit and wonder about the guy next door. I wonder where he is right now, because he’s not in his garage.

And that makes my heart heavy with disappointment.

TWENTY-FIVE

Jesse

then

It’s just after ten by the time I turn into the driveway. I take the potholes extra slow for Alex’s sake, but I can’t avoid them completely. Her fingers curl around the door’s molding with each bump.

She argued with me when I told her where I wanted to take her, but after I promised that it would be fine—that no one would see her like this—she relented, throwing together an overnight bag. I pulled her BMW into the garage and then I helped her into my car, a wary eye on the cameras. I didn’t want to bring it up but she must have read my mind, because she told me that she knows how to delete footage and Viktor never checks anyway.

So, just like that, I left Portland behind, with Alexandria Petrova in my passenger seat. I didn’t even go home to grab a change of clothes, because I wanted to get her as far away as I could, as fast as possible.

I round the house, passing the sheriff’s sedan that I hoped wouldn’t be there but knew probably would.

“There’s a police car in your driveway, Jesse,” she says slowly.

“I know. It’ll be fine, I promise. And it’s not a police car. My dad’s the sheriff.” I keep heading down the narrow path toward my garage. I call it “my garage” because my granddad used to own this property and he left that building to me. Sure, it’s on my parents’ land and they cover the electricity bills, but the space within—to work, to sleep, to be happy—is mine. No one’s going to go against a dead man’s wishes. Not even the sheriff.

An outdoor spotlight appears in my rearview mirror and a moment later, a figure steps out from the sliding door off the kitchen, flashlight in hand. It takes three minutes to walk from the house to the garage and he’s already on his way.

I hit the automatic button to the double door that I keep with me at all times and roll into my big, beautiful garage. Under other circumstances, I’d be floating on a euphoric high right now—pulling my dream car in here for the first time.

But right now, I have a beat-up girl in the passenger seat and if my father sees her looking like this, no one’s going to be happy. Hell, he’ll probably haul me in for questioning. It wouldn’t be the first time.

I unfasten her seat belt for her. “We’ve gotta move quick, okay?”

She nods and picks up her purse. I grab her bag from the backseat and then run around to the passenger side to help her out. Thank God the garage’s entrance is angled toward our neighbor’s house—an old hermit lady who’ll be locked up in her bed by now—or he’d see right in here.

In seconds I have the back door unlocked. I guide Alex up the narrow stairs and into the small attic apartment, the air cold and stale. “Here, just sit still. Or better yet—” I lead her to the stripped bed, the bedding sitting neatly folded. My mom must have been in here. “Lie down. I’ll come back soon.”

She eases herself back until she’s lying on my bed, staring up at me, her eyes wide with panic. “Please don’t tell him, Jesse. I don’t want to explain this to anyone.” I’m guessing that if she’d known my father was a sheriff, she never would have agreed to this.

“I won’t. Promise. Just don’t move, because this floor will creak.” I lean down to kiss her forehead, adding with a whisper, “And he doesn’t believe in ghosts.”

One side of her mouth—the good side, the one that’s not swollen—curves up in a smile. “Thank you, Jesse.”

I don’t want to leave her but I do, heading back downstairs to find my father—Sheriff Gabe Welles—scanning the interior of my car, an open bottle of beer in his hand and another one tucked under his arm. He doesn’t drink much and when he does, it’s only one or two. “Hey, Dad.”

He glances up at me. “Hey, Jesse. Your mom didn’t tell me you were coming home this weekend.”

“Last-minute decision.” I watch him as he quietly circles the car, his hand sliding over the body. Without a word, he holds out the extra beer and I take it. Neither of us is a big talker. “So you finally got it.”

“Drove it off the lot today.”

He smiles to himself. “So that sparked your last-minute decision.” A pause. “How much?”

“Just under sixteen.” That’s what the papers say. Do I think it’s accurate? Probably not. That, or Viktor’s a rich fool with more money than he knows what to do with. Rebuilding the engine on a car like the Aston Martin wouldn’t be cheap, but there’s no way it’s worth almost half a year’s net salary for me.

“You had that kind of money saved up?” I don’t miss the suspicion in his voice. It’s the same suspicion I’ve faced for the last ten years, since my friends and I got picked up for lifting a six-pack of beer from the local gas station. Of course, I’ve done plenty of regrettable things since then, too, in his eyes, but it seems that I also can’t do anything right anymore. I went to school and got a full-time job. I pay my bills on time. I stay away from the kind of idiots I hung out with in high school. I don’t think it’ll ever be enough.

Then again, considering I’m driving what may or may not be a stolen car, and I have another man’s wife hiding upstairs, maybe I’m still doing a lot wrong.

“I’ve been working hard. And I just rebuilt a DB5 engine for this rich asshole. He paid me well.” Not a lie.

“Huh . . .” He holds his hand up. No need to explain further. I toss my keys to him and, leaning into the open driver’s-side window, he cranks the engine. Even though that rumble is far from the smoothest I’ve ever heard, it still gets me excited. I hear the release on the hood pop and move to prop it up. We come together in front of the car, arms crossed. The Welles Men pose, my mom always calls it. There’s an old picture of my granddad, my dad, and me—at maybe ten years old—standing in a row right here in this garage, in front of my dad’s Mustang, our arms crossed in the same way.

“What does it need?”

“Dunno. I’ll find out this weekend.”

He nods slowly.

“Where’s Mom? Amber?”

“Hospital. Your mom’s there for a long stretch and Amber’s pulling nights with overtime.”

Perfect
. “Amber’s still going to Europe?”

He sucks back on his beer bottle. “So she tells us. We’ll see.” If my twin sister actually goes ahead with this idea of hers—to travel the world for a year—I’ll probably be the most surprised. She’s always played the role of small-town sheriff’s daughter effortlessly, charming the right people, smiling for the cameras, weighing her decisions carefully to ensure she doesn’t make one that might look bad for my dad. She thrives on being the center of attention in our small universe, and in high school, she was just that—Rodeo Queen, class valedictorian, and the winner of several state championships in horseback riding. She could have applied to almost any program at almost any school, and yet she chose to stay close to home. A part of me thinks it’s because she doesn’t want to become a tadpole in the ocean.

Taking off and wandering around the world alone just isn’t something she’s cut out for.

I suck back the rest of my beer and then cut the engine. “I’m heading to bed, Dad.”

He frowns. “This early?” He glances at the clock on the wall, which somehow keeps working even though I don’t remember ever changing the battery. Granted, I’ve always been a night owl and it’s only ten thirty. Still, his cop radar is always on.

“I’ve been working nonstop. I’m beat.” I give my eyes a good rub, not just for effect but because I really am exhausted.

He nods to himself. “Right. Glad to see you doing well, Jesse. Make sure you check the damper on the woodstove.” He turns his flashlight back on and picks his path down the road, heading toward home. I watch him for a while. He’s in his mid-fifties, and he’ll be sheriff until he loses an election or is forced out. I think he was born to wear that badge. He’s good at it, too. Gabe Welles is revered as hard-nosed and righteous, the kind of man who wouldn’t balk at questioning his own son for attempted murder when two pieces of shit pointed their fingers his way.

Hitting the garage door—we’re four miles from the closest neighbor besides Ginny Fitzgerald next door and yet I always lock up—I leave the hood up and shut the lights, wanting to get back to Alex.

She’s exactly where I left her, hugging the edge of the mattress. Asleep.

On nothing more than a mattress cover, in a cold, dank attic, Alex curled up into a ball and fell asleep. She probably didn’t sleep a wink last night or today. If she’s like me, she hasn’t slept well since last Sunday.

I don’t want to wake her to make the bed, so I instead dig into the cedar chest in the corner to find my grandmother’s favorite blue-and-red checkered blanket. I was only eleven when my dad’s mother died. My granddad, in good shape until the day he succumbed to a massive heart attack, decided to turn the attic space into an apartment for himself. Previously, we had all lived together in the main house. Given my parents’ work schedules, the arrangement worked well for taking care of Amber and me when we were kids. But granddad wanted nothing to do with living in the house with teenagers.

I cover Alex with the blanket, hoping she doesn’t mind the wool texture. Then, after quickly washing up in the small bathroom in the corner, I start a fire in the woodstove, turn off the lights, and edge into the old brown Barcalounger, the only piece of living room furniture left in here and a rickety piece of shit that squeals in protest with my weight. I don’t want to assume that Alex would be okay with waking up next to me in bed.

Leaning back slowly, I get as comfortable as I possibly can. And then I close my eyes and listen to her low, shallow breaths.

“Jesse.”

My head springs up with a deep breath of panic. Alex’s face appears in my blurry vision. I guess I managed to fall asleep in this old chair after all. Now I feel worse than when I sat down.

“Come.” She takes my hand and tugs me until I get out of the chair, leading me to the bed. It’s still dark out, but the fire casts enough glow.

“Wait, let me get the—”

“No, this is perfect. Really.” She’s still whispering. The girl who drives a BMW Z8, and wears probably two years’ worth of my salary on her finger, curls up on an unmade bed with an old wool blanket and says it’s perfect.

I don’t think I’ll ever judge another person based on a first impression again, thanks to Alex.

Grabbing a pillow, I dump my keys and phone onto the nightstand and slide into the other side of the double bed. Alex stretches the blanket over my lower half and then presses up against my shoulder. I instinctually lift my arm and she doesn’t waste a second tucking herself up against my body, resting her head on my chest, her palm over my racing heart.

To say I’m turned on would be wrong, because Alex is hurt and all I want to do is hold her until she feels better. But I feel at ease. And I want her to be at ease too, here in my world, where there is plenty of room for her, where I won’t let Viktor hurt her.

I can’t say who drifts off first but when I do, it is with a sense of contentment that I don’t ever remember feeling before.

My ringing phone beside my head wakes me up. It takes me a second to recognize where I am, and another to notice Alex lying next to me, still asleep, her pale blond hair draping her face like a curtain. At some point she detached herself from my chest but she’s still molded to the side of my body, keeping me warm. The fire went out long ago, leaving us with the one electric baseboard heater and a chill in the air.

“Yup,” I croak, unable to manage a whisper, my deep voice too groggy first thing.

“What happened to you?” Boone’s voice asks at the other end.

Giving my eyes a good rub, I stare up at the pitched ceiling, gathering my wits. Morning light streams past the gauzy orange-and-yellow striped curtain, showing me the detailed webs of several spiders up in the ceiling beams. I should probably clear those out before Alex notices them. “What do you mean?”

“You left work early and I never heard from you again. What was in NoPo?”

I sigh. It’s hard not to jostle the bed when I get out but I do my best, tiptoeing over to the window, giving my body a good stretch. “My payment.”

“You serious?”

“Yup. Decent shape, too.” I’m torn. Three hours driving that car here and I know I’m never letting it go, though I probably should.