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HANNAH MISSED HANGING out with Chris. There really wasn’t enough to do in the modular now that they were trying to keep it as germ-free as possible. To keep from tracking anything in, she wasn’t walking around the site on her breaks and lunch like she used to do. In fact, she pretty much stayed put from the moment she punched in until she headed home at quitting time. And she didn't mind either. Whatever it took to keep that little boy safe, it was worth it. But it didn't stop the hours from dragging when she had to be here on her own.
Scotty had somehow managed to catch a cold, even in the sterile room. Though everyone had taken the required precautions and more, the poor little guy had spiked a fever and was so sick Chris and Harry weren’t even going home to shower or change clothes.
Fortunately, Harry was keeping everyone updated via her Facebook page, and Hannah was scrolling through the pictures now. Chris was sitting in a wooden rocker holding a flushed Scotty against his chest. Their eyes were closed and there was no doubt they were both exhausted. Scotty just looked so tiny it broke her heart.
There were other photos, obviously taken by Chris. Obvious because the boy was crying and reaching out to him. From what she could see, he felt safer in his daddy’s arms when he wasn’t feeling well. She wondered if it bothered Harry, given all she’d been through with him before marrying Chris. Then again, maybe it was a relief to have someone to share the scary parts with. And the good parts, too, of course. But they needed to weather this storm before they could experience the good parts. She only hoped they had that chance.
After a few minutes she pushed away from her desk, crossed the small floor space, and pulled the bottle of peroxide and a freshly washed rag from the cupboard beside the refrigerator. Chris and Jon had done some research and decided the inexpensive first aid treatment was the safest, most chemical free way to clean the office until Scotty’s immune system took over. So every day – and sometimes twice a day if Jon had to come in for any reason – she wiped down the desks, computers and all their paraphernalia, doors, knobs, handles, and even the floors with it.
They were spending a small fortune to keep plenty of it on hand, and it was a lot of work, but Hannah couldn’t complain. It helped her pass the time, especially now when she was about out of her mind with boredom. She truly hoped that this last hour would go by quickly. When the phone rang, she hurried back to her desk, grateful to have some real work to do.
"C & J Construction. How may I help you?"
"Hannah? Hey, it's Ed Winslow." She felt her heartbeat speed up a little.
"Hi, Ed," she managed to stammer. "What can I do for you this afternoon?"
"I’ve been trying to get hold of Jon for the past couple of hours, and all I’m getting is his voicemail. Do you know if he has his phone with him?"
"As far as I know he does. Hang on and I’ll call one of the crew and see if they can send him up here."
"Thanks. I appreciate it."
Hannah pulled up the number for Ted Barclay, and waited while he tracked Jon down.
"They’re looking for him now," she told Ed, wondering if something was wrong. Wondering if it would be out of line to ask. Deciding that it would be, she kept her questions to herself, and then wasn’t entirely sure what to do. It wasn’t often she got a chance to talk to her father.
"If they can’t find him, have him call me as soon as possible. It’s not an emergency, but I really need to speak to him."
"I’ve got him on the cell now. Hang on just a second." She moved the landline away from her mouth. "Jon? Ed’s on the other line. He’s been trying to call you for a while now."
"Yeah. I forgot to charge my phone last night. The battery is dead. Tell him to hold on. I’m just down the street and will be there in a minute. You can hand me the phone."
She relayed the message to Ed, and there was no further conversation. About thirty seconds later, Jon tapped on the door and she opened it and handed it out. He smiled before turning his attention to his friend, and Hannah resumed wiping down the office. She'd rather have stood in the doorway to eavesdrop, but knew it would be wrong – no matter how worried she was.
When the thought had crossed her mind that the call might have something to do with the stalker, she wanted to scream. That was usually the only reason he called during work hours. What could it be now, she wondered, hoping against hope that whoever it was would give up and just leave him alone. Leave everyone alone.
She jumped when there was another rap on the door, and she hurried over to get the phone, taking the wet rag with her so she could sanitize it immediately. It was clear from the expression on Jon’s face that something had happened.
"What is it?" she asked, not really wanting an answer.
"The stalker struck again," he said, sighing. The look of disgust on his face warned her that it wasn’t good. "Apparently he found a sale on spray paint."
‘Stay away from him’ was now decorating Dan, Sam and Chris’s garage doors, both of Cal’s catering vans, and the front window of Dan’s realty office.
"Since he seemed to hit everyone this time, Ed drove out to the house."
"Oh no."
"Oh yeah." His expression turned from resigned to angry. "My living room walls and futon are covered in red paint."
"No! He was in your house?"
"Apparently so."
"Fingerprints?"
"Probably not. Not the stalker's at any rate. He’s been too careful for all this time. I doubt he’d screw up now."
They were silent for a few moments, just standing there looking at each other, not sure what to say or do.
"I’ll come out with you after we close up today and help you clean it up."
"You don’t have to do that, Hannah."
"I know. I want to."
"Thanks. I appreciate it."
With that he smiled, sort of, and started walking back out to the site. She noted that his shoulders were slumped. Whether it was because a crazed lunatic had been inside his home, or had vandalized his property – and that of his friends, she didn’t know. But it had to be discouraging. And frightening. It seemed impossible that this monster had been terrorizing everyone for such a long time and the police couldn't figure out who it was.
~~~~~
JON STOOD AT THE WINDOW watching the taillights disappear down the dirt road. Dan and Sam had taken off first, and Ed was right behind Hannah. With the guards' cars interspersed between them, it was quite a procession.
When Hannah had first talked about spending time with her real father, he was pretty sure this wasn’t the kind of situation she’d had in mind. She'd been a real trooper about it though. But then so had the guys. Since their insurance companies were hiring professionals to deal with their graffiti damages, they’d all pitched in to paint over the red warnings because there really wasn’t any way to wash it off unfinished drywall. They'd also had quite a discussion. To date, the security guards had tailed everyone when they left their homes, which was why the stalker had been able to pull a Picasso without getting caught.
Starting tomorrow though, they were going to be doubling up on the guards. Even for Hannah, now that she was ‘dating’ him. She’d balked at the idea for about a minute, until everyone ganged up on her and insisted that she was going to have to suck it up. She was officially in their circle now, and since it seemed that no one was safe now, they weren't taking any more chances.
It was a good thing they made better than good money at their chosen professions. They'd already paid a small fortune to hire the two companies, but starting tomorrow, it was going to cost a lot more. From here on out, someone would always be watching their homes, as well as following them wherever they went. Almost like they were celebrities, Jon thought with a shake of his head. He sure hoped none of them were ever featured on television, because if they were, it would mean that something bad had happened. Something really bad.
~~~~~
HANNAH WONDERED WHAT Jon would do to cover up the spray paint when she came back out to the house Friday night. It still showed through the two coats of flat white paint they’d used earlier in the week, but she knew he’d figure something out. Apparently he’d spent the time between then and now installing an alarm system, deadbolts on both doors, and better locks on all of the windows. Now the remodeling was back on track and she was coming back out to help. Except it was more than simply helping him.
In addition to his being right about their needing to know each another better in order to pull their bogus relationship off, she really enjoyed working with him. Jon was a patient teacher, and Hannah thought she was doing quite well at taping the drywall seams. Once they were finished in the dining room, he was going to show her how to ‘mud’ them, a skill she doubted she’d ever need, but one which sounded kind of fun.
At the moment, he was up on a paint splattered stepladder doing the seams she couldn’t reach. Not being especially fond of heights, even heights that weren't terribly high, she was totally okay with that. At least she had been okay with it until he warned, "Heads up," just as a glob of mudding compound landed in her hair.
"Heads up? Why?" she asked, glancing up at him. He was trying not to grin, something she found very endearing. "Did you want it to land in my eye instead?"
"Well... It's going to be a lot harder to get out of your hair than it would have been to wash it off your face. Still, it’s something all drywall finishers should experience once in their life." She watched as he set the putty knife on the top of the ladder and climbed down. "Here, let me help," he said, standing close and wrapping his fingers around a handful of hair.
"I wouldn’t call me a drywall finisher so much as someone providing free labor."
"If you want to be technical, it's actually more like free, on-the-job training."
"Quite the jokester tonight, aren’t we?"
"Hey, a sense of humor is a good thing, right?"
And thus began a comedy routine that could rival Martin and Lewis. One after another, they told the silliest jokes they could come up with, and Hannah found herself starting to enjoy the work even more than she had before.
"Why did the pirate go to the Caribbean?" she asked, squatting down to apply a thin layer of mud on another seam.
"He wanted a lovely bunch of coconuts?"
"Not. He wanted some arr and arr." Granted her imitation of Jack Sparrow left a little to be desired, but Jon started chuckling, just about the time his phone rang.
She watched him pull it out of his back pocket and glance at the caller I.D.
Blinking to see if she was hallucinating, she realized his face had undergone a transformation she wouldn’t have believed possible if she hadn’t seen it for herself. From laughing at her stupid joke to looking as though he’d turned into cold, unfeeling stone in the space of a moment. Even his voice when he said, "Hi, Ma," had been so toneless and devoid of emotion that he could have nailed a role in a living dead movie.
After a few moments of silence, she heard him say something about sending a check in the morning and then, less than sixty seconds after the phone had rung, he ended the call. There had been no idle chitchat, no mention of the weather, or a how are you doing, just the hello, a quick listen, and the promise to send money. He hadn’t even said goodbye.
He seemed to take a few seconds to compose himself, as though shaking something unpleasant off, and then he laid the phone on the table and grinned at her.
"Where did you hear that one? Third grade?"
"Uh- Yeah, probably about then," she stammered. Wow. Talk about an about face.
And just like that, they were back to their comfortable camaraderie. Or what he was trying to pass off as comfortable. She felt as though she needed to shake something off herself...mostly confusion. There wasn’t a soul she could think of who had ever reacted to a parent the way he'd just done.
"Why are all the frogs around here dead?"
"No clue."
"Because they keep croaking."
She hoped her laugh sounded more real than it felt, because it hit her in that moment that he wasn’t just a reserved guy, and it hadn't been a love interest who had broken his heart. No, at some point in his life, Jon’s mother had hurt him deeply. The only thing she didn’t know was in what way. But she wondered what could have been so awful that it would cause a personable man to turn into an unfeeling robot.
~~~~~
"YOU’RE LOOKING A LITTLE down in the dumps today," Chris observed, glancing up from the game he was playing. Scotty was over the cold and doing well, better than ever in fact, according to him. The photos Harry continued to post showed a smiling little boy again, much to everyone's relief.
"I’m fine. Just tired," Hannah lied, not taking her eyes from her computer screen.
"Do you want to take off early?" he asked, his tone gentle, concerned. She felt the prick of tears in her eyes and opened a desk drawer, taking a moment to blink them away before glancing back at Chris, a smile curving her lips.
"No. I’m fine. Really. But thank you. I might take you up on that the next time there's a great sale at the mall though."
The last thing she wanted to do was be alone today, and there would be enough endless hours from the time she punched out until she went to bed to get through as it was. She didn’t need any extras, sweet as the offer had been. It would have been nice to spend the evening at Jon's, but the trim he wanted for the house was on backorder so she wouldn’t be going out for a few more days.
He’d grinned like a mischievous boy who'd decided to skip school when he told her they had the night off. It was just too bad that tonight of all nights, she’d wanted to work herself to exhaustion.
~~~~~
"LONG DAY," JON SAID, stopping near the foot of the steps as Chris locked the door to the modular.
They strolled to the mostly empty parking area together. Except for the security detail they’d hired to patrol the site, and their personal guards, they were the only other people on the site. Sometimes it felt like they were in a ghost town, and with the dark clouds and setting sun, it was more than a little creepy.
"Yeah, no kidding. Too bad the inspector couldn’t have shown up a couple of hours earlier."
They couldn’t finish the flooring until the plumbing was approved, so tomorrow they’d be able to start on that. Finally. It was the last major job before all of the houses were ready to go on the market. Unfortunately, since they were only using hardwood and tile, it would be a time intensive chore.
"You heading up to the hospital?"
"Yeah. After I get a shower and grab some clean clothes for Harry."
"Tell her I said hi, and give Scotty a kiss and hug from me," Jon told him, unlocking the door of his pickup. Chris, who was doing the same, glanced back at him, his brows raised.
"I will. But I have to ask, what’s up with Hannah today?"
"What do you mean?"
"I don’t know. She seemed too quiet. Said she was tired, but I think it was more than that. There were a few times this afternoon when I’d have sworn she was about to cry."
"I have no idea. She hasn’t said anything to me."
"You’re not getting ready to dump her, are you?"
"What? No."
"Well, maybe she’s getting ready to dump you then. That bothers some women, you know. She might be worried about hurting your feelings."
"No. Everything is good between us." Given that they weren’t really dating, he knew that couldn’t be it. But he did wonder what was going on now. If Chris thought she was on the verge of tears, then she probably had been – and for some reason, that bothered him. He didn't like thinking that something had upset or hurt her.
"Are you seeing her tonight?"
"Hadn’t planned on it."
"Maybe you ought to think about changing those plans." With that Chris waved, climbed into his truck, and drove off.
"Hmm." Jon sat behind the wheel, letting the engine warm for a minute, lost in thought. Then, pulling out his phone, he pressed the number for Jet’s Pizza, placed his order, and headed off in that direction.
~~~~~
"JON?" HANNAH HOPED she'd wiped all traces of tears away as she stood facing her boss and pseudo boyfriend. The ‘boyfriend’ who was holding a pizza box and a two-liter bottle of cola.
"I brought supper," he said, taking a step into the apartment. Without thinking, she stepped aside to let him in.
"Why?"
"I just thought it might be nice to spend a little time together when I’m not working your butt off fixing my house."
"I really appreciate it, but...tonight’s not really a good night," she murmured. He ignored her and set everything on the counter, and then opened both cupboard doors to find what he was looking for. When he did, he pulled out a couple of glasses and plates.
"Oh, I think it’s a perfect night." In less than a minute he had their supper ready and sitting on her tiny table. "C’mon. It’s getting cold."
With a sigh, Hannah crossed the room and sat in the chair he held out.
"Thanks."
They ate most of the meal in silence, only broken by the crunch of perfectly baked, thick and chewy edge crust. She wondered why he was there. It wasn’t like they hadn’t eaten similar meals at his place, but usually they talked about work, or the things he was planning to do to get the house ready to sell. While he wasn’t a overly chatty person, he was definitely more talkative than he'd been so far tonight.
"So," he finally said, staring at his plate for a moment before looking up at her. "Chris thinks something’s bothering you."
"What? I told him I was just tired."
"Well he thinks you’re getting ready to ‘dump me,’ and since I know you’re not, I thought I should see what’s going on."
"Nothing. Really, I’m fine."
"Well, I can see that you’re not, and I’m not leaving until we talk about it."
"Jon-"
"Nope. We might not really be dating, but we really are friends and I can't, in good conscience, leave you alone when I know something’s wrong." When she didn’t say anything, he just waited, watching her patiently until tears filled her eyes again.
"You can talk to me, Hannah," he said, his voice soft. He laid his hand palm up on the table between them and when, after a brief hesitation, she put hers in it, his fingers closed around it.
"It’s not a big deal. My- My dad died a year ago today."
"Sounds like a big deal to me."
"I just miss him," she whispered, pulling her hand back, jumping to her feet, and walking to the window.
It was dark outside but she could see a light snow falling under the streetlights. She heard Jon walk up behind her, felt his hand on her shoulders as the tears she'd tried to blink away spilled over and rolled down her cheeks.
"Want to talk about him?"
"I’m sure he's the last person you want to discuss, given what he and my mother did to Ed."
"Hannah, maybe I don't like what they did, but I do like you. You didn't know about any of that until last spring, so you loved him for most of your life. I don't mind being a listening ear, I promise. Is that a photo album on your sofa?"
"Yeah. I was looking at pictures when you got here."
"Can I see them?"
"I guess. If you want to."
"I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t."
~~~~~
THE LAST THING JON wanted to do was look at pictures of the man who had stolen Ed’s daughters. Granted he couldn’t have done it without their mother’s consent, but still... He had to have known right from wrong, and what they’d done should have been considered a crime. But it wasn’t Hannah’s fault. The jerk was the only father she’d ever known, and she was hurting. Much as he wished it didn't bother her, it did, and he wouldn’t feel right leaving her alone.
Curt Fletcher looked like a normal, happy guy, and the photos showed him smiling in a variety of situations. Some at work, some at picnics, most with the girls.
He noticed that there was little resemblance between the sisters. Where Hannah was blonde haired and blue eyed, and always seemed to be smiling, her sister’s hair was almost black, her eyes dark. She didn’t smile as much either. Then again, neither did their mother, unless she was near her husband. Hannah must have gotten her coloring from her.
"Nice family."
"I thought so."
"Thought so?" That was a strange way to put it.
"Well, my sister is a drug addict and alcoholic. My mother turned out to be a liar and child thief. And my dad is dead. Not to mention the fact that he had to have known what my mom did, so he must have been okay with it. Not quite the family I thought I had."
"But you still miss him."
"Yeah," she whispered, reaching for a tissue and bowing her head. Sighing, Jon sat the album on the end table and wrapped an arm around her, drawing her close to his side. "Don’t be nice or I’ll just cry more."
"Maybe you need to get it out of your system."
"And maybe I don't. I didn't come here to get all maudlin over my past. I came here to get to know my real father."
"It doesn't alter the fact that you had another father. The one who raised you, and the one you loved."
"But it was all a lie, Jon. They stole Mary and me from Ed. The letters proved that. They proved he loved us. All those years he really loved us, and they wouldn't let him see us. Wouldn't tell us he never stopped wanting us. Who can blame him for being furious with them. I'm so mad about it all that sometimes I think I'll explode."
"You can't change what's happened, Hannah. You can only move forward with the information you have now."
"I know. It's harder to do than I thought it would be though."
"You'll figure it out."
While she didn't completely lose it, she did cry then, fighting against it for all she was worth. He suspected it was partly because she'd lost the father she'd grown up with, but also because of the father she'd never known. The father who had been ripped from her life by unscrupulous, selfish parents who never gave a thought to what two little girls might need.
Eventually, Hannah leaned into him, laying her head on his shoulder, and Jon pulled her closer.
It felt weird, but it also felt kind of good. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been on a date, much less held a woman in his arms. If he had a little black book, it might be time to break it out. One thing was for sure, when this charade was over, he was going to have to consider finding another short-term girlfriend. Except the idea of dating someone else didn't hold the same appeal that it might have a month ago.
"Okay now?" he asked when it seemed she was finished.
"Yeah. Uh- Thanks, Jon. I appreciate you being here."
"Hey, what are friends for?"
"For helping someone get it together after they realize what a dysfunctional family they have?"
"Think you've got the market cornered on dysfunctional?" he asked, rolling his eyes – but only because he knew she couldn't see him.
"Well, I don't know anyone else who has one, so yeah."
"Trust me, they're everywhere. Some of them just hide it like pros."
"Voice of experience?"
"Maybe," he hedged, working his arm from around her shoulder and stretching to ease the tightness that always filled his chest when he thought about his joke of a family. "I think everyone's is to a certain extent, don't you."
"I have no idea. Scary thought if it's true."
"No kidding. Well... Tomorrow will be here before we know it. I should probably head on home." He found he couldn't meet her eyes when he got to his feet and grabbed his jacket from the back of one of the kitchen chairs. "I'll see you in the morning?"
"Bright and early," she promised. She seemed to hesitate for a moment, then stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. "Jon, thank you. And I mean it. Really. Thank you for caring enough to come over tonight."
"Hey, I'm just glad it helped." He pressed his lips against her forehead, then turned and headed down the stairs.