Sitting at the edge of his neatly made bed in his room at the station, dressed in clean jeans and a t-shirt, Jackson puzzled over the text he’d received this morning from Blaire.
Busy day today. I probably won’t answer if you call. I’m fine. See you after I get off work at 3. XO, B.
He pushed to stand and chewed the inside of his cheek while eying his surroundings consisting of a small wooden desk against the cream-colored wall, a closet, and a three-drawer dresser. A picture of Blaire adorned his desk, but nothing else sat atop it, save for a pen.
Her words seemed innocuous, but he couldn’t put his finger on it—something about the message seemed off. The communication felt as sparse as his surroundings were simple.
He’d been in a panic ever since she called him last night informing him that Karlos had texted her. But between tones and his regular duties, he’d had little time to deal with her distress and his need to fucking fix the situation, stat.
He clicked on the phone icon to see if Agent Vogel had called him back. Goddamn it. Nothing. The minute he got off the phone with Blaire last night, he’d called and left a message with the FBI agent.
He caught sight of Mark, passing his open doorway, wearing a towel around his waist.
Jackson lifted his chin. “Hey, Hubs.”
Mark backed up and peered into his room. His dark hair hung wet along his forehead. “What’s up?”
“Know any higher-ups in the police force?”
Mark cocked his head to the side and thought a moment. “Not really. Kowalski might. Ask him. He’s duty chief today.”
“Will do, thanks.”
“Any time.” Mark disappeared from sight.
Jackson reached for his sturdy black leather boots which stood next to the bed and shoved his feet into them. He leaned over to zip them up. Then, he made his way to the chief’s office.
The door hung ajar, so he knocked on the jamb and eased it open.
Kowalski had the landline handset pressed to his ear. He raised one finger into the air and mouthed, “One sec.” Then, he gave his attention to whomever he spoke with. “Okay. Okay. We can do that. Yes, we’ll be out there. Okay. All right. I’ll touch base when it gets closer to the date. Uh-huh. You, too. Goodbye.” He cradled the handset back on the phone receiver and looked at Jackson. “That was Joe Johnson.”
“Ah,” said Jackson. “What’s our Fire Inspector up to?”
He leaned against the door frame.
“He wants a team of volunteers to be on standby at the Fourth of July fireworks out at the fairgrounds. Singer Springs got permits to host a fireworks display this year, but with these drought conditions, it could prove a clusterfuck of fires for the department. Joe tried to get it shut down, but the people have spoken. They want their pyrotechnics. First, we have to get through the Summer Arts Fest, and Farm Days, though. I’ll have to gather volunteers for those events, too.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “What can I do for you?”
Jackson swallowed and said, “I need to get in touch with a higher up in the police department.”
Kowalski’s forehead creased. “Everything okay?”
“Not really. Blaire has an ex coming after her. She has an unlisted number, and the guy started texting her. So, somehow he found her number.”
“Damn.” Kowalski leaned back in his squeaky desk chair and folded his hands over his belly. Behind him, the sun streamed in ribbons through the Levolor blinds, creating a pattern of light rectangles along his balding head. “Has he made any threats to her?”
“No.”
“Is he likely to?”
“Not sure. The guy’s not high on the moral compass of life.”
“Dang. Well, I can get you the number of Police Chief Kitroeff, but I’m pretty sure he’s going to say unless threats have been placed on her life, or the guy shows up at her doorstep, they can’t pull resources to put the manpower into investigating a text message.” He lifted his hands from his belly and turned his palms up. “You know how the system works.”
Jackson sighed. “Well, can you text me his number anyway? Just in case threats do escalate? I’m telling you—he’s the lowest of the lows. He runs a cartel down in Venezuela.”
“Hell. How’d your sweet little Blaire get involved with a cartel in Venezuela?”
“He’s a wealthy dude. She didn’t suspect his affiliation with the cartel until it was too late.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Good that she got away safely, though. Keep me posted. If you need anything—anything at all—let me know. We’re family after all.” Kowalski smiled. Deep dimples appeared in his chubby cheeks.
The word “family” stirred a strange ache in Jackson’s chest every time it got bandied about at the station. Talk often revolved around the “brothers and sisters” of the fire department. They looked out for one another, far better than any of his experiences with his family to date.
“Thanks, chief. Will do.”
He made his way out to his truck and tried to formulate a plan for the day. He’d thought he would get to spend it with Blaire. On the phone last night, she hadn’t mentioned anything about working today. He thought she had the day off.
Maybe she picked up some clients. Maybe she needs to stay busy to keep her mind off of Karlos.
With time on his hands, he stopped by the building supplies store on the way home and bought some lumber and chicken wire to fortify Blaire’s garden, until he had to go meet with Jake.
Several hours later, with the garden protected and satisfaction in his soul, Jackson left the dogs loose in the backyard and drove into town to meet with his brother. He never knew which version of his brother would show up when they got together—high as a kite Jake, whimpering and complaining Jake, or sober Jake. He parked the truck in front of the diner and looked up to see Jake standing by the door.
Jake shifted side to side, rubbed his hands along his thighs. He worried his fingers around and around as Jackson approached. His body didn’t carry that slack-jawed slump from a heroin high. Instead, it looked more like withdrawal.
“Hey, Jackson,” Jake said.
“Hey,” Jackson said. “You okay?”
“Me?”
“No, the door behind you. I always talk to inanimate objects,” Jackson said, his anger spiking. He didn’t want to play games with Jake today—or any day for that matter.
“Oh. Well, sure. I’m okay. Why?”
“I don’t know,” Jackson said, opening the door. “You seem sort of nervous.”
He stepped into the foyer.
Black pendant lights hung overhead. Framed pictures of the kind of art he’d call “quaint”— pictures from the fifties of Singer Springs’s old farms, men riding tractors, and women serving tables of farmhands and the like—covered the walls.
The sunny restaurant, with green booths and white Formica topped tables, held several customers. The hum of clinking silverware, conversation and dishes being hauled in plastic bins by the busser staff filled the air, accompanied by the smells of fried food. Waitresses practically sprinted from table to table.
“I’m, uh…” Jake’s gaze slid back and forth. “I’m trying to get clean, you know?”
“You mentioned that, yeah.” Jackson fiddled with the keys in his pocket. “That’s good. Don’t you need a program to support you? It’s hard to go it alone.”
“I’m fine,” Jake said. “I don’t need to be babied.”
Jackson sighed and nodded to the pretty brunette hostess in a long, pink and blue-flowered dress, who hurried toward them with a glass coffee carafe in her hands.
“Over there,” she said, a grateful smile on her face. “We’re short-handed so go on over to that booth, and I’ll be by in a few.”
Jackson crossed the white-tiled floor toward the booth, trailed by Jake. He slid into the seat and then pushed aside the silverware sitting on a white napkin and placed his forearms on the table.
Jake’s body seemed to stutter into his seat, as if unsure how to move.
“Looks like you’re having a rough go of it,” Jackson said. “Support could be helpful.”
Jake reached for the fork in front of him and twirled it around. “I’ll be fine. This will get better.”
Sweat beaded on his forehead.
“Well, there’s fine, and then there’s supported fine. You know, people to lean on when the going gets rough.” Jackson smiled.
“I don’t need people. I’ve got you. I’m fine,” Jake snapped. “What’s going on with you?”
He cocked his head and squinted, looking across the table through one eye.
“Oh, I had to mend the garden enclosure I built to keep the dogs out of Blaire’s garden,” Jackson said.
“Blaire’s garden,” Jake said in a sing-song voice. “Your precious Blaire.”
Jackson glared. “Zip it, Jake. If you start talking trash about me, my life, or especially my girlfriend, I’m getting up and leaving.”
“Sorry,” Jake mumbled.
The hostess rushed over, bearing a glass pitcher of water and two menus. After placing the menus in front of them, she turned over the two glasses sitting at the edge of their table and filled them.
“What can I get you two to drink besides water?”
“Coffee’s fine,” Jackson said.
His thoughts slid toward Blaire. That text—it didn’t sound like her. Usually, she’s warm and funny. And sexy. Today’s text just seems off to me.
“I’ll have a Coke,” Jake said.
“Okay, got it. Your waitress will be over in a second.”
“April!” one of the waitresses hissed.
The hostess looked up.
The waitress pointed and glared at the line forming in the foyer.
“Oh, dear.” April turned and scurried away.
Jackson picked up his menu and scanned it. He decided on a burger and fries and put the menu back down.
April returned with a coffee and a Coke.
“Here you go, guys,” she said, smiling. She took off like jets were attached to the bottom of her shoes.
Jake studied him with narrowed eyes.
Jackson reached for a couple of sugar packets in a little glass container at the back of the booth. He tore them and poured the sugar into his coffee. Then, he grabbed a wooden stirrer and swirled it in his cup before taking a sip. His mind spun into thoughts of Blaire again.
She sounded better when she texted me about her new number. Or did she? Then, we were slammed at work, and I couldn’t follow up with her. Maybe I misinterpreted.
“You don’t think I can change, do you?” Jake said, his expression defiant.
“What? Fuck that, Jake, of course, I think you can change, but addiction is hard to master. I think you need some sort of program.” Jackson tapped his fingertips against the table. “You seem like all you want to do is fight today. I’m not in the mood. I’ve got more than enough on my plate.”
“Perfect life isn’t so perfect?” Jake smirked.
“Goddamn it, Jake, quit with the jabs. I told you—I’m not in the mood for this. In fact, if we’re honest, the thought of spending a weekend in the woods with you, if you’re going to be like this, doesn’t appeal to me in the slightest. I asked you to go camping to spend time with you, not listen to you bitch and moan about my so-called perfect life.”
Jake lowered his gaze to the table. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s my body. You’re right, this is hard… to quit, I mean.”
“Well, stop taking it out on me. I’m proud of you for trying.” Jackson sipped his coffee.
“Really?” Jake’s head popped up, and his eyes widened.
“Of course. I’ve wanted you to get clean for a long time.” Jackson fiddled with his silverware.
The waitress stopped by, took their order, and raced away.
“I can do it,” Jake said.
“Great,” Jackson said. “I’d love it if you got clean and sober. That would make the camping trip a completely different experience. We’d be with you, not with your addiction.”
“Fuck you,” Jake said.
Jackson clenched his hands into fists. He took a deep breath and slowly released his fingers. “Sorry, Jake, it’s just a fact.”
“I get it,” Jake said with a scowl. “No one likes a user.” He paused for a moment and stared out the window. “Remember when we went ‘camping’ after Dad left?”
“When we found that old tent in a dumpster? Man, that thing was a piece of shit,” Jackson said, smiling.
“But we wanted to do something that normal kids would do so we could talk about our fun camping trip at school on Monday,” Jake said. With a rare grin plastered upon his face, he looked younger than Jackson had seen him in years.
“Yeah,” Jackson said, chuckling. “So we stuffed food and clothes in a pillowcase, and you strapped the tent to my back. I don’t think that’s what a normal kid would have done.”
Jake began to laugh. “And then we hiked up to the top of the hill behind the trailer park.”
“And put our tent up in a cow pasture,” Jackson added.
“Only we didn’t know it was a cow pasture until we opened the tent flap the next day and we were surrounded.” Jake kept laughing.
“I didn’t know you could run that fast,” Jackson said. He guffawed. “I still have this image of you running down the hill with black and white cows streaming along beside you.” A belly laugh left his throat.
The waitress brought their burgers and set the plates in front of them. “Can I get you anything else?”
Jackson scanned the back of the booth for catsup for his fries.
“All good here.” He smiled at her.
She nodded and whirled away.
Jackson picked up his burger and began chowing down.
“And then there was that time you decided to teach yourself how to bake using that old recipe book Mom left,” Jake said. He took a bite of his burger. Mirth shone in his eyes.
“Oh, jeez, don’t remind me. I found flour and eggshells throughout the kitchen for months. And remember that little kitten you brought home?” Jackson took another bite of his burger.
Jake shuddered. “The one with the demon eyes?”
“Yeah,” Jackson said through a mouthful. “She’d sit on the kitchen counter and just stare at me when I did homework at the table… just stare and stare and stare. She gave me the heebie-jeebies. I sure hope she didn’t cast spells on the neighbor we gave her to…what was her name again?”
“Mrs. Wilson. God. What a bitch. I hope she did cast spells.” Jake took another bite of his food.
“I had to sleep with the lights on after we got rid of her. I kept thinking she’d haunt me for giving her away.” Jackson washed down the last of his burger with his now cold coffee. Then, he started in on the fries.
By the end of the meal, Jackson’s spirits had lifted. They’d swapped more stories from the past and shared in the kind of brotherly camaraderie he didn’t realize he’d missed so much. They’d been tight growing up. Drugs and life had separated them. Now he looked forward to going camping with his brother.
Outside of the restaurant, he clapped Jake on the back and said, “It’s heartwarming to see you looking so good, Jake. Keep up with the sobriety.”
“Thanks. I will.” Jake cast his gaze at the asphalt parking lot. “And sorry to show up in a bad mood. It’s the withdrawal.”
“I know. You’ve got this, Jake,” Jackson said, adding a few more pats on his brother’s back.
“So, Jackson…”
“What?” Jackson felt around his pockets for his keys.
“Do you…you know…do you ever miss Dad?”
Anger exploded in Jackson’s belly. “Miss the son of a bitch who abandoned his two kids and left them to fend for themselves? Hell, no, I don’t miss him.”
Jake’s mouth turned down in a frown.
Jackson’s eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. That’s not what’s bugging you, is it? You’re not trying to find Dad again, are you?”
“What? Me? Why would you think that?” Jake said. His gaze slid toward the mountains. He jammed his hands into his pockets. “You’re always thinking the worst of me, you know that?”
Jackson sighed. He cocked his head and scrutinized his brother. “I’m sorry. I can see you’re trying to change. Why did you ask me that?”
Jake shook his head. “No reason. I just wondered.”
“Okay. You just wondered. I gave you my answer, not that it’s any surprise. Anyway, I’ve got to go.”
“All right. Fine.”
“Do you need a lift or anything?”
“No,” Jake said, with a shake of his head. “I can manage. I’ve made it this far, haven’t I?”
Jackson blew out his breath. “I’ll see you next time, then.”
He turned and strode toward his truck. As he sped away from Mountain Grub, he decided to stop by Hip, Hip, Hairay and say hi to Blaire. Maybe she would be between clients. She only had an hour to go until she was off, but he wanted to share his good news with her—his brother was getting sober.
He flicked the car radio on and hummed along with “Body Like a Back Road,” by Sam Hunt as he drove. He cranked the steering wheel, turning the truck onto Sun-A-Do Avenue, where the salon was located. Then, he turned into the parking lot of the beauty shop. When he didn’t see her Honda anywhere, he frowned.
Maybe she’s off already? I’ll check with Lola.
He lowered out of the truck and strode toward the front door. Pushing the door open, he stepped into the salon.
Lola stood behind an older female client, holding scissors over the client’s head and a comb full of the client’s hair in the other hand. Her eyes lifted to the mirror, regarding Jackson in the reflection.
“Hey, Jackson. What can I do for you?”
He stopped by the front counter. “I’m looking for Blaire. Did she finish early?”
Lola lowered the scissors to her side. “Honey, Blaire isn’t working today.”
“She’s not?” His mind began to whirl. “She said she had a busy day here today. She texted me this morning.”
Lola shook her head. “She must be mixed up. She’s not scheduled until tomorrow.”
Fingers of panic wrapped around his windpipe. “So, you haven’t seen her today?”
“No, sugar. Haven’t seen her all day.” She lifted the scissors and began cutting her client’s hair. “Isn’t she at home?”
“I didn’t check yet. She told me she’d be busy all day and…” His cheeks heated. “Maybe I misunderstood. Sorry to bother you.”
“No problem,” Lola said.
Jackson backed out of the salon and closed the door.
Once he sat inside his truck, he tugged his phone free and read the message again.
Busy day today. I probably won’t answer if you call. I’m fine. See you after I get off work at 3. XO, B.
“She said she’d get off work at three,” he muttered.
Dread tightened his rib cage. This couldn’t be good. She’d lied to him. And, the last time he had spoken to her, she’d been in a panic.
Where had his Blaire gone?