Chapter 15
15
There are other storefronts like this one across the country,” Cynthia Ross narrated over a sweeping shot of Adornments, from the door to the jewelry case to the Coco Chanel quote on the back wall, “where you can rent everything from apparel to accessories. Most of them are based online, but Jessie Stanton’s brainchild—Adornments in Santa Monica—opened yesterday to a small crowd of Southern Californians on that never-ending scouting expedition for designer labels at a price they can afford. If you need a little Chanel or Valentino for an upcoming event and have already taken out a second mortgage or opened an equity line of credit, you might try paying Jessie Stanton and Adornments a visit. This is Cynthia Ross for the weekend’s Fashion Trends. Stay stylish, Los Angeles.”
Piper, Jessie, and Amber formed a circle and hopped up and down, squealing at pitches that summoned dogs everywhere. In fact, Danny felt pretty sure Frank heard it from out at the beach.
Jessie broke free from them and closed the laptop. “It was so nice of Cynthia to let us preview the piece,” she said. Turning to Piper, she added, “Should I send her something?”
“She loves Anna Shea.”
“Perfect.”
“I’ll get on it,” Amber declared.
“Keep it under a hundred dollars,” Jessie said as Amber rushed past Danny out of the office.
He scratched his jaw. “Anna Shea’s a . . . shoe label?”
Piper chuckled and rubbed his arm. “Chocolates. But thanks for playing.”
“A C-note for chocolate?”
To Jessie, Piper added, “I’ll check on the tent and make sure it’s cleaned up out there.”
“Thank you.”
Jessie sported a wide, satisfied grin as she sank into her chair and set her ocean-blue gaze on Danny.
“It was a successful day, yes?” he said, perching on the corner of the small desk. “Feeling pretty good about yourself?”
She shrugged. “Pretty good.”
“Here ya go,” he said, casually holding up his palm.
“What?” She stared at his hand strangely. “I don’t . . . I don’t know what that means.”
He lifted it into the air and nodded. “Slap it. You look like you’re dying to give yourself a high five. I’m here for ya, kid.”
Jessie crackled with laughter and flew to her feet, slapping her palm against his with unexpected brute force.
“Feel better?”
She nodded, sniffing. “Kinda. Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“Oh, and thanks for coming back, by the way.”
“For all the good I’ve been,” he said with a laugh. “All I’ve done is stand around.”
Jessie rounded the desk until she parked in front of him and touched his arm. She reminded him of the morning ocean, those blue eyes of hers calling him closer like the Pacific often did.
“I haven’t known you long enough for this to make sense,” she said, “but I feel like my confidence is attached to you somehow. I feel stronger when you’re around, Danny. I’m really glad you were here today.”
“Then . . . I am too.”
She leaned forward and gently kissed his jaw. Afterward, she only backed away a few inches before rubbing her chin. “Beard burn.”
“Yeah, but it’s a personal style choice,” he teased. “I don’t guess anyone would understand that better than you.”
“No, I get it. It works for you.” She rubbed her chin again. “But would it affect your personal style to use a little conditioner or something?”
He didn’t ask her out loud, but he wondered if they actually made such a thing. Conditioner for beards?
“And yes,” she said just above a whisper. “They make moisturizer for beards.”
“Yeah. Sure,” he covered. “There’s a product for just about everything, isn’t there?”
“Just about,” she replied, grinning.
When she still didn’t back away from him, something unrecognizable grabbed ahold of Danny and nudged him forward until his lips pressed softly against Jessie’s. After a few short seconds, before his hand even made it upward to cradle the back of her head, she jumped. The lagging reality of the situation finally made it to the censors in her brain, no doubt.
“Sorry,” he blurted.
“Yeah.”
“Really, I—”
“Right.”
“I just—”
“Okay. I need to help Amber close up the store,” she said, backing away farther. “And I guess you’re probably dying to get out of here.”
“Well . . .”
“But thank you for coming, Danny.”
“Sure.”
“I’ll see you later.”
“Yeah.”
He hadn’t had a kiss that awkward since high school.
* * *
Jessie hustled Amber toward home so she could tell Piper what happened with Danny. She could hardly wait for the front door to close.
“Well, what did you say to him?” Piper asked once Jessie had quickly spilled the details behind the closed door of her office.
“I think I said, ‘I guess you’ll be leaving now. Thanks for coming.’ ”
“You’re joking.”
“Nope.”
“Yikes. Well, how was it? . . . The kiss.”
Jessie smiled in spite of herself. “He has very soft lips.”
“Well, that’s something, isn’t it?”
“But his whiskers are scratchy. Jack always had such a velvety soft face.”
“So you’ll get him a Clinique basket for his birthday.”
“Yeah, I could do that.” Suddenly, her good sense gene kicked in. Always a day late and a few thousand short, it seemed. “No. I’m not going to be still kissing him on his birthday, Piper.”
“Why not? When’s his birthday?”
“I don’t know. That’s not the point.”
“What is the point then?” she asked with a laser-focused glare.
“I’m not capable of making good decisions when it comes to men. And even if that weren’t true, I am married.”
“To a deserter.”
“Yes. But still married.”
“And a cheater.”
“Probably. Still. Married!”
“Are you serious?” Piper asked with a sigh.
“If only I weren’t.”
“Let’s say you weren’t married. Would Danny Callahan be someone you’d take for a spin?”
“Like a bicycle?”
“No, like take him out for a date to see if you click.”
Jessie dropped to the chair and propped her feet on the corner of the desk, crossing them at the ankle. With a grin, she admitted, “Oh, we click.”
“Yes?”
“We click all over the place.”
“Then—”
“Yeah,” she interrupted. “Married.”
“I hate Jack,” Piper muttered. “I really do.”
“You know what my Grampy would say? He’d say, ‘That’s a lotta hatin’ yer doin’ there, Pah-per.’ ”
“Well, I’m not wild about your Grampy right now either then.”
Jessie giggled and shook her head. “Let’s head out.”
“Okay. How about we swing by the restaurant for dessert and coffee on the way home?”
“From one side of Santa Monica to the other . . . by way of Beverly Hills?” she asked with a chuckle.
“Yes. I’ll drive.”
Jessie hadn’t eaten anything since the low-fat blueberry muffin and coffee Amber had brought her earlier in the day, and her stomach rumbled at the mere idea of Tuscan Son.
“What are you waiting for?” she said as she hopped up and grabbed her bag. “Let’s go.”
* * *
“Malibu Fitness. This is Jennifer.”
“Hi, Jennifer, this is Jessie Stanton,” she told the receptionist on the other end of the phone.
“Oh, Mrs. Stanton, how are you? We haven’t seen you in for Pilates in a while.”
“I know. I’ve been crazy busy. I wonder if you could check something for me. When is my membership due for renewal?”
“Sure. Hang on for just a moment and I’ll check our records.”
While she waited, a knock at the door drew her across the living room to answer it. She found her neighbor Gabi standing on the other side.
“Hi, Gabi.” She pointed to the phone in her palm and adjusted the Bluetooth on her ear. “What’s up?”
“I just stop by to see about my dish.”
“Oh! Come on in.” Gabi followed her inside and closed the door behind her. “I’ve been meaning to return it. The tamales were out of this—”
“Mrs. Stanton?”
Jessie raised a finger and whispered, “—world!” She smiled at Gabi and tended to the phone call. “Yes, Jennifer. I’m here.”
“It looks like your membership was up last week.”
Figures.
“Would you like to renew right now?”
Jessie deflated. She didn’t remember the price tag on her gym membership, but she did recall Jack balking at it when she’d joined for the purpose of working out there with Piper.
“No, I don’t think so. I’ve moved further down the beach, and I think I’ll have to look into finding a Pilates class closer to home. Thanks, Jennifer.”
“Everyone will be so sorry to hear that. I hope you’ll stop by and say hello if you ever get back.”
“Thanks. I’ll do that.”
Okay, she would probably never do that. But there was no use in being rude. Or unfurling her recent life story.
As she disconnected the call, she headed into the kitchen and picked up Gabi’s Pyrex dish from the counter. “I can’t thank you enough for the tamales, Gabi. If I had any skills in the kitchen whatsoever, I’d invite you over and reciprocate. But maybe we can order takeout some night.”
“I like that,” she said, beaming. “I hear you say you want to find Pilates? There’s no Pilates, but there are good yoga clahsses at the YMCA on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. Zumba on the weekend.”
The YMCA? Jessie could hardly picture herself dropping to a mat on the linoleum floor of a YMCA.
“Thanks, I’ll think about that. I was headed out, so . . .”
“Oh, okay. I go too.”
Jessie picked up her keys and bag. On the other side of the front door, she twisted the keyring around her finger and started to say good-bye to Gabi, but an eruption of noise from the street end of the driveway stopped her flat.
“Would you get a move on? We’re going to be late.”
Her ears perked as she recognized Danny’s voice.
“Keep your shirt on, bro. I just had to lock up the work closet.” Definitely Riggs.
The two of them moved into view around the corner of the building, their backs to Jessie and Gabi as they stalked down the driveway toward Danny’s Jeep parked at the curb.
“Ay, it must be Wen-esday, sí?” Gabi commented.
“Yes.”
“Every Wen-esday right at this time, Danny come over here to get Aaron. I always wonder where they go.”
“They meet here?”
“Chez. Each Wen-esday at six o’clock.”
“Hmm. See you later, Gabi.”
She didn’t exactly mean to hurry to her Taurus, speed around the building, and catch up to the Jeep at the light; but when she did, Jessie’s curiosity sloshed against her good sense and she called Amber.
As she followed Danny and Riggs out to the boulevard, she asked, “Amber, how are things going?”
“Fairly well. We’ve had a pretty steady stream of people.”
“Any of them result in business?”
“Actually . . .” Amber paused. “Four apparel rentals and three accessories for the day.”
“Really? That’s not bad. Did you get those chocolates sent to Cynthia Ross?”
“With a gushing thank-you.”
“Excellent. Listen, are you all right on your own for a bit longer? I have a quick errand to run on my way over.”
“Sure. Do what you need to do. I’ve got it all in hand.”
“Thanks. See you soon.”
She questioned herself about half a dozen times on the drive to who-knew-where behind Danny’s Jeep. Jessie, what are you doing? The answer never came, but its absence didn’t slow her down. Following at a safe distance behind them, the adrenaline rushed through her veins at an alarming rate of speed. Investigating an investigator. Not the smartest thing she’d ever done on the fly but, for some inexplicable reason, Jessie simply had to know more about Danny Callahan. Where did he and Riggs go every Wednesday evening like clockwork? She’d just lag behind them long enough to find out the answer, and then she’d turn back. It wasn’t like she was going to climb through bushes and spy on them or anything.
Danny steered into the parking lot of a white building with wide brick stairs in the front, but Jessie slowly passed them by. Utilizing the next street to make a U-turn, she backtracked and pulled into the parking lot as Danny and Riggs headed up the steps, pushed through double white doors, and went inside.
United Community Church, the small sign in front declared. Fellowship at 6 p.m. Worship service at 7 p.m.
“Church?” she muttered. This was where Danny and Riggs hurried off to every Wednesday night, rain or shine? “Heh.”
She suddenly recalled Danny’s explanation of the circle of thorns tattooed around his bicep. “A reminder of my faith,” he’d said, and she’d thought it a pretty interesting take on faith. The only religious person she’d ever known had been her grandpa, and he sure didn’t feel the need to tattoo anything on his body to remind him.
On the drive back to Santa Monica, she wondered about Danny. Why had he flinched the way he had on that day she’d touched him . . . and then felt compelled to kiss her the next time she did? And what in the world inspired the kind of religious fervor that would make a guy tattoo thorns on his arm?
When she reached the store, just one customer stood at the counter chatting with Amber, so Jessie went ahead to her office. Her intentions of reviewing the receipts for her first couple of days in business took a nosedive under those nagging questions about Danny.
A ring of thorns. Like the one Jesus supposedly wore when he was crucified, she supposed, and she opened a browser on the laptop and typed in the first sets of words that sprang to mind: ring of thorns tattoo, reminder of faith, history of tattoos.
She spent the next hour reading about how Jewish law thought tattoos to be an affront to God, and went on to skim various accounts of people’s choices behind getting tattooed, and how meaningful they can be in trying to dig down to the heart of someone’s personality. She struggled in admitting that there was only one person whose heart she wanted to dig into. So she typed in his name.
Danny Callahan.
It turned out that the name wasn’t all that unique. It also belonged to an American philosopher from the 1930s; a song title by someone named Conor Oberst; various owners of Facebook pages and LinkedIn profiles; and a former Navy petty officer whose wife had been killed in a head-on collision.
Jessie’s heart stopped beating for just a moment before it kicked into overdrive, racing and thudding against her chest. She clicked on the first link about the Navy petty officer third class and—sure enough—there was Danny, wearing a crew cut so short that she might not have recognized him except for the familiar steel blue eyes looking back at her from the screen.
He and his wife were driving toward San Diego, presumably back to the naval base after a three-day leave, when they were involved in a head-on collision. The passenger—Rebecca Callahan—was killed on impact. The driver—Daniel Callahan—had a blood alcohol level of .108, well above the legal limit.
Jessie’s stomach knotted as she looked back at the night they all dined at Tuscan Son, and he’d quietly exchanged his Negroni for a club soda.
If anything could turn a drinker into a teetotaler, this article about Danny’s past—dated September 2006, she noted—surely indicated something that could. The sweet, soft eyes of Rebecca Callahan burned a warm hole straight into Jessie as she considered the horrifying realizations and guilt with which Danny must have had to learn to cope. She couldn’t even imagine that kind of torment. It put her straying liar of a husband and his disappearing act into strange and sad perspective.
Two soft raps on the office door preceded Amber’s head poking around it. “Knock, knock,” she sang.
Jessie closed the laptop and looked up at her.
“Do you have any objections to me bringing in a little card table and setting it up in the corner of the store room so I have somewhere to eat my dinner?”
“That’s fine.”
“Can you cover the front while I run next door for a salad?”
“Sure.”
“Want anything?”
“No, thanks.”
Jessie followed her out into the store, and she sat down on the stool behind the jewelry case as the door jingled behind Amber. Less than a minute had passed before the bell clinked again to announce the entrance of two stylish twenty-somethings.
“That’s her,” one of them muttered, and they both smiled at Jessie. “We saw you on the weekend news,” she said more loudly. “We couldn’t wait to come in and check out your store.”
“Wonderful,” she replied. “Feel free to look around, and let me know if you have any questions.”
They turned out to be nothing more than lookie-loos, and they left again before Amber returned from a thirty-minute dinner break. Jessie had just started polishing the jewelry display case with the Windex and roll of paper towels Amber had stashed under the counter.
“Have you given any more thought to the website idea?” Amber asked, dragging a second stool closer to her.
“What website idea is that?”
Amber chuckled. “Riley said the store needs an online presence beyond Facebook. Remember?”
“Oh, right. I haven’t, really.”
“She was here for the opening, but she said she didn’t get a chance to talk to you. She’s offered to get us set up with a site, and then she’ll teach me how to update it.”
Taking a moment to reflect on the strange way everything had come together for her, Jessie lost track of her conversation with Amber.
“I’ve met a lot of great people at my church, but I think she’s the nicest. She’s always willing to lend a hand when someone needs it.”
She blinked back to the moment and tried to think of a more delicate way of asking, but the words tumbled out of her. “Amber? You go to church?”
“Of course!”
The reply tickled Jessie. Oh, of course. Like church attendance was as natural as bathing or shopping.
“I go to Emmanuel Christian, out in Van Nuys. Why? . . . Hey, would you like to come with me sometime?”
“I’m not sure we can both be out on a Sunday,” she replied. Never mind that I’m not really interested in—
“Maybe we could go to an early service and get here in time to open the store at ten.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. But thank you for inviting me.”
“Okay. If you change your mind, let me know.”
What was it about the topic of church lately? It seemed to be closing in from every direction.
“Do you ever go to Wednesday services?” she asked casually.
“Sometimes, when I can. I don’t suppose I’ll be making it now since I close the store during the week. But they have a great Bible study for singles on Wednesdays at Emmanuel.”
“Maybe we can work something out if you need that night free.”
Jessie nodded, but her thoughts moved to Danny and Riggs, wondering if their Wednesday church attendance was geared toward the single life, too. Perhaps Danny had met a nice Christian girl at one of those Wednesday Bible studies. Someone with warm eyes like Rebecca once had. Someone who kept him coming so faithfully week after week.
“Anyway, do you want me to tell Riley to go ahead and get started?”
Jessie swallowed around the sudden dry lump that had risen in her throat. “Sure. If she’s willing, I guess we’d be fools not to take her up on it, right?”
* * *
“Do we hafta go to church again today?” Jessie asked me after she pushed the newspaper away and crawled up into my lap and replaced it.
“You don’t wanna go, huh?”
“Not really. Do you mind an awful lot?”
“Nah,” I says to her. “I don’t mind. Don’t mean we’re not goin’ though.”
“Why do we hafta keep doin’ the same thing, Sunday after Sunday, Grampy?”
“ ’Cause it’s somethin’ worth doin’,” I told her. “No better way to spend a Sunday morning’n thankin’ the good Lord for all he give ya.”
She thought about that for a minute before curlin’ up her pretty little face into a knot. “Can’t we thank ’im from someplace else?”
“We could,” I says. “But we ain’t gonna.”
She groaned and whined about it, but she came back all dressed up not an hour later, and she held my hand all the way down Eaton Street and five blocks over to the church steps.
“Don’t know why God needs me to wear such fancy shoes if we’re gonna walk to church, Grampy.”
“ ’Cause He wants to enjoy you all spit-polished and purdy.”
“But it’s so hot out. I wish I could just send him a picture postcard instead.”