Jenny wished it was darker. She wished she was in a place so dark she couldn’t find herself. So completely invisible she’d never be found again by anyone.
She lay in her undersized bed and tried to sleep, tried to hide from thoughts that might dissolve her right back into her old, unlovable self.
When she was engaged to Johnny, she’d been a much better human being, a nicer, kinder human being. She’d been a girl who trusted everyone to be true to their word and the world to be more like an ideal Hollywood movie, where the happy story ended with a kiss, a white wedding, children, good careers, a house in the suburbs, and anniversaries celebrated. There would always be an enduring love and a long, happy life. That wasn’t who she was after Johnny. Scarred now, as if he’d taken a knife to her instead of words.
Feeling sorry for herself didn’t seem warm and fuzzy all of a sudden. She should call Ed Warner—immediately. But if she was the one to call, there would be whispers again among Bear Falls people: “Poor Jenny Weston. She’s getting even, you know.”
What was wrong with Johnny? He got exactly what he wanted. He had Angel and a few kids, another on the way . . . so what was he doing with Deanna Moon? And why had he destroyed the library?
She lay still listening to the soft wash of wind in the pines. Again and again, she flipped from one side of the bed to the other and then finally got up to sit at the window and look at the stars and that sliver of moon. She thought about the two men she’d let into her life. Neither of them wanted her.
Johnny didn’t. He’d heard she was coming home and was determined to make her miserable.
The pines waved in eerie shadows, geometric triangles, ragged squares.
She hugged herself though the breeze coming through the window was warm.
Before she knew what she was doing, Jenny snapped on the light and got back into the clothes she’d shed and laid over a chair earlier—clothes she’d been wearing all day. It didn’t matter. Who cared what she wore? Not to the place where she was going.
She brushed her hair then stuck it back into a ponytail, wrapping a red rubber band around it.
She bent to look in the dresser mirror and thought she needed at least a little makeup, then asked herself if it was for her or someone else.
When she decided it was for her, she patted on blush and a good, hard swipe of lipstick.
When she looked as good as she wanted to look, she grabbed her shoulder bag and left the room, closing the door behind her, making her way down the hall and out the back door on tiptoe.
***
It was dead dark and scary. Deer moved in the darkness—or were they raccoons? Could be a bobcat—no, a bear. She drove only as fast as she felt was safe, never overdriving her headlights. There was no plan, only driving up and down the main streets of town, beginning with Johnny Arlen’s house. The lights were on in almost every room, but only one car was parked in the driveway. That car wasn’t Johnny’s blue pickup.
She drove past Bear Falls’ two saloons, then went back down Elderberry to where Deanna Moon lived. No blue pickup.
No Johnny anywhere in town. Useless quest, but she couldn’t leave it alone now that she’d set her mind on talking to him. She drove out of town toward the turn on to US 31, the place where her dad had been killed. But she couldn’t think about that right then. No thinking about loss.
She drove the twenty-five miles to Traverse City, and then over to Cass Street, to Junior’s Bar. She turned into the parking lot behind the bar and checked the cars parked there. No blue pickup—not one among the many in the lot.
She sat a while, wondering what she’d missed, where she hadn’t checked. A car honked behind her, forcing her to move. No sense going home. She parked, got out, and went into Junior’s, being stopped on the way in by a drunk who wanted to buy her a beer, which she politely declined.
A few couples sat along the bar, heads together. A trip to the ladies room told her Johnny wasn’t in the poolroom.
It was after midnight. The place was emptying out. A workday for most.
She had a beer at the bar and nursed it so she wouldn’t have to order another. The bartender, maybe feeling sorry for her—a lone woman—tried to strike up a conversation, but she only stared and didn’t answer.
Twelve thirty. People were no longer coming in. She told herself to give it up, that she hadn’t thought anything out well enough, that she didn’t know what she’d say to him if he did show up, that she was beginning to be embarrassed sitting on a barstool and giving her phony expectant look every time the door opened, glancing at her watch as if waiting for someone. All of it was wearing thin.
She paid and left the bar, walking out to the dark parking lot and looking for her car, since she hadn’t been thinking straight when she’d walked in.
A man stepped out of the dark, from beside a dumpster near the alley.
“That you, Jenny?” The voice was familiar.
Johnny stepped in front of her, putting his hands up to stop her.
All she wanted, now that he stood in front of her, was to get away. Why did she feel she had to talk to him about any of what happened? He was drunk when he destroyed the Little Library. It had nothing to do with her.
“I’m glad to see you.” Johnny’s voice was soft. He swayed slightly, a shadowy smile on his face. His hands reached out to take her by the shoulders. “I hope you’re looking for me.”
She felt his hands on her and remembered how strong Johnny was. She tried to pull away. He wouldn’t let her. She gave in, stood still, looking up at him—small knives of moonlight in his eyes, shadows over his face. She felt sadder than she’d ever imagined she could feel in Johnny’s hands.
His dirty brown hair hung to his shoulders. She wanted to reach up and push it back, away from his face. Crazy thoughts and feelings ran through her head. She ached to lean in and hold him gently. She’d loved him. He’d loved her. There were remnants there—of wanting to take care of him, of thinking she could save him. He was still the man she’d loved completely.
“You were lookin’ for me, weren’t you?” he asked, trying hard to stand straight and smile at her directly with both eyes open.
Jenny said nothing. She couldn’t have spoken if she tried.
He pulled her closer. She put her hands against his chest.
“I knew you would come around,” he said.
Love didn’t come with a conscience. Parts of her body responded in ways she didn’t know she could feel again.
It took her a few minutes to get enough breath to speak.
With her hands against his chest, she said, “I’m here about what you did.”
He stumbled back. “What did I do now? All of you blame me for everything anyway. Could stop all this and we could still be—”
“You destroyed Mom’s library. To get even with me for . . . what?”
He fell back another step, righted himself, and peered hard at her. “Who told you I did that? Liars. People make trouble for me, ya know. Ever since we had our, you know, with Angel and all. Just make trouble for . . .”
“Deanna’s mother stopped you.”
He looked at the ground and finally shrugged.
“What gives you the right to hurt my mother the way you did?” she demanded.
Johnny blinked a few times. “You don’t know anything, do you? You don’t know what I’ve been livin’ through.”
“You’re the cause. Always were. You wanted Angel.”
“No, no, no, no . . .” He shook his head. “Before that. When . . . you know . . . when your father got killed.”
His face was wet. He reached toward her with a pathetic hand.
“Jenny . . .” He moaned her name.
Jenny took one last look and ran toward her car. She got in, locked the doors, started the engine, and backed out, moving around Johnny, who stood under a streetlight with his head down. A sad and ridiculous, staggering figure.
Poor Angel, Jenny thought. She thought she’d won the prize.