July 2013 - Chicago, IL
Dad met me at O’Hare the next afternoon, catching me close to his familiar scent and then drawing back with an ill-concealed wince. His perfect nose wrinkled as he observed, “Kiddo, did you get caught in a fire on the way home, or what?”
I giggled a little; Dad was impeccable as always, his dark curls without a hair out of place, his casual, summer-weight designer suit and gold pinky ring set with a tasteful diamond to match his wedding band, his teeth professionally whitened. He smelled of aftershave and a hint of his cologne, which Lanny handpicked for him. He was dressed for work, had taken off the afternoon to pick me up.
“No, I just haven’t had a chance to wash my jacket,” I explained. Dad didn’t need to know that it wasn’t technically my jacket, I had no intention of washing it, and that last night I had slept in it (and nothing else). I was wearing it over a short green sundress and green flip-flops. I had settled my sunglasses over the top of my head.
“Isn’t it a little too big for you?” Dad asked. His tone was just on this side of critical. My dad, the control freak/fashion police. But again, I was back in Chicago. I would never have considered dressing this way at college, or even to go out on the town, less than two months ago.
“It’s my new look,” I said to tease him, and then pointed at the baggage claim to redirect his attention. “There’s mine!”
“So what have you learned, daughter of mine?” Dad asked as he shouldered my duffle and led us to a taxi.
I filled him in on some of the details, and he appeared to be listening intently, but I knew him well enough to realize that he was fairly distracted. He was such a consummate lawyer that his current expression fooled most people, but not me. I finally concluded, “I feel like I’ve done some good. I like Al a great deal. I’ve enjoyed working for him this summer.”
“Hon, I wish you didn’t have to worry about it one more minute,” Dad said then, loosening his tie a little, as though he hadn’t processed what I had said. His gaze moved out the window and he added, “But I am so proud of you for working out in no-man’s land for the summer. It is good experience, if nothing else.”
I nodded as though I agreed with his condescending words.
“And Ron is very appreciative. And that’s nine-tenths the battle, making contacts, doing favors, getting ahead of the next guy. Ron will open doors for you down the road, in return for helping him now.”
“I thought possession was nine-tenths,” I teased lightly.
Dad and Lanny took me out for dinner at Jerome’s, one of our old favorites. Dad insisted gently but firmly that I leave the jean jacket at home, and so it was that I was clad in a designer dress Lanny kindly lent me, sleek and black. I was tall in heeled sandals, and couldn’t help but wonder what Case would say to this whole evening – how I looked and where we were dining. In comparison to Jalesville, it was posh on a scale almost incomprehensible. Linens and crystal, champagne and forks for every course. People murmuring in quiet conversations at nearby tables, anonymous as fish in the sea. Lazy jazz from a quartet in the bar.
I looked around and felt as though my heart might shred apart from homesickness. I wanted to be at The Spoke. I wanted to hear Case playing his guitar. I wanted to be at the Rawleys’ dinner table, around the fire with the guys, in my little office on Main Street, recognizing nearly everyone who walked by out the window.
What in the hell has happened to you? I wondered, as Lanny perused the wine list with her plump lips in a slight pout; though I suspected this was due to a recent collagen injection rather than any sort of current petulance.
Dad rose smoothly from his chair then, offering his lawyer smile to someone beyond my shoulder. I turned just in time to see my former classmate Robbie Benson making his way through the tables behind the maitre d, smiling just as toothily.
For the second time in the last half-minute, I thought, What in the hell?
Robbie joined us and shook Dad’s hand as though concluding a business deal.
“Jackson,” he acknowledged. “Lanny, it’s a pleasure as always,” and then to me, “Tish, it is wonderful to see you. You’ve been getting some sun out west, it appears.”
“Hi,” I said, somewhat weakly. Robbie was clad in black tie, just like Dad, and took the seat that the maitre d quietly withdrew from our table.
“Rob is going to be joining you in Jalesville for a spell,” Dad explained.
I’d forgotten this might ever be an option and I felt a flash of anger, as though they were conspiring against me.
“I think I have things under control,” I said, just a little heat in my voice.
Robbie knew me well enough to pick up on this irritation, which tickled him to death, I could tell. He hid a smile behind his shiny copy of the wine list. Lanny glanced at me as though slightly interested in the conversation.
Dad sighed and said, “It’s not about that, I assure you. He needs summer clock hours too, and contacts.”
“I have the distinguished honor of house-sitting for Ron. His manager needs two weeks off. Maybe ‘cabin-sit’ is the more appropriate phrase,” Robbie pondered. He was too perfect-looking, disgustingly so, with polished skin and robin’s-egg-blue eyes, teeth from a mouthwash commercial and his wannabe Kennedy brother haircut. He was sun-bronzed and I recalled that he had just returned from abroad.
“Don’t expect me to entertain you when you’re there,” I told him caustically, and Dad rolled his eyes.
“We’ll have a bottle of the 2003 reserve cabernet,” Lanny murmured to the sommelier as he approached our table discreetly.
“Oh, I won’t,” Robbie assured me, eyes on his menu. I could tell he loved torturing me this way; we’d always been as competitive as siblings.
“Are you flying back with me on Thursday too?” I asked.
“No, I’m driving out. I’ll be there by late Friday, early Saturday,” Robbie said. Without looking at me he teased, “We’ll have fun, Tisha.”
I sent my dad a scorching look and he muttered under his breath, “You look just like your mother.”
I took this as a compliment, as my mother was the best-looking woman I knew.
“For real,” Robbie said, cajoling me with his tone. “I won’t be in your hair. I won’t even be in town for more than two weeks. I have to be back here before August is done. I need the goodwill bump, I admit. I need Ron to know that I’m willing to do what it takes.”
“Speaking of the devil,” Dad said then, though his face was again wreathed in his most charming smile as someone else approached. Dad murmured, “Game face, Tish.”
I turned just in time to see Ron Turnbull and his wife Christina en route to a table. My heart snagged on something sharp but I smiled graciously as the two of them paused to greet us.
“Well if it isn’t my two hardest-working interns,” Ron said, jovial and smiling, though this expression did not detract in any way from his basic air of intimidation. He asked me, “Glad to be back in civilization, my dear?”
“Yes, but I’ve been enjoying working for Al,” I said as smoothly as I was able, as the words ‘fairly despicable’ floated unchecked through my mind. “I feel as though I’ve accomplished a great deal there this summer.”
Ron winked indulgently at me. He said, “It’s a lovely place to spend a month, I’ll give you that.” To Robbie he added, clearly teasing, “Just remember, young man, no house parties in the cabin.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Robbie said, on guard and at his most deferential. I could tell it was taking everything he had to keep his eyes from popping out at the sight of gorgeous Christina Turnbull, who was perhaps all of twenty-eight, with ice-blond hair and ice-green eyes, breasts the size of ripe coconuts; Lanny’s lips had instantly pursed and her spine had straightened at this imminent threat to her status as the most desirable woman in the room. Christina, appearing bored as always, regarded her nails, the view out the window, though I was observant enough to see the sidelong look, quick as a flash, that she sent my father.
Interesting. And ick.
Dad didn’t appear to notice this. Instead he said to Ron, “Tish tells me that she and Al are this close to running Capital Overland out of town for good.”
Ron’s silver eyebrows lifted just a fraction. He said, “Impressive work. And here I was considering selling to them.”
He saw the stun on my face, which I couldn’t suppress in time, and he reassured, “Only joking, my dear.”
“I still haven’t discovered everything, but I intend to,” I said, with some asperity; maybe it was the power of suggestion, what Al and Helen Anne had said about him, but I suddenly found that I quite disliked his patronizing attitude. Or maybe I was just pathetically hoping for praise as I explained, “I’m looking into a connection between the local power plant selling to Redd Co. and the Yancys sweeping in so conveniently. The timing is too perfect.”
Dad was smiling admiringly at me, subtly, which did my heart good. Ron’s expression didn’t change as he said, “Lovely and smart. A lethal combination,” and then he had the nerve to wink at me again. Christina Turnbull looked right at me, for the first time. I doubted she even knew who I was before this moment. I met her eyes and tipped up my lips, though I couldn’t quite convince my eyes to likewise smile.
“We’ll let you dine,” Ron said then, and I pictured how he had appeared the times I’d argued before him in appellate court, while still in school, how fucking much I’d longed to impress him. To Robbie and me he added, “Good luck on those exams, the both of you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Robbie said at once.
I nodded my own thanks, as Dad and Robbie both rose and shook Ron’s hand before the maitre d escorted them to their own private table.
By the time dinner was over I was more than ready to go home, despite Robbie’s sly coaxing to come and have a drink; Grace and Ina both texted to say they would love to see me, but my heart wasn’t in it. I was exhausted, and besides, all four of us had two days worth of testing ahead of us. We hadn’t just graduated law school for nothing.
Later that night I lay sleepless in the guest room in Dad and Lanny’s townhome, which they had purchased my first year at Northwestern. It was a place with sweeping panoramic views of the skyline that glimmered like a seductive promise beneath the black and always starless sky (far too much light pollution here for a chance to make a wish on any stars), a glittery promise of my future career here in the city. I rolled to my other side, as restless as if I was staying in an impersonal hotel. My only comfort was curling into the scent of Case’s jacket, again the only piece of clothing I was wearing, my bare legs chilly in the sleek sheets of the guest bed, here in the ultra-air-conditioned space.
Case, I thought again and again. I didn’t even have his number, I couldn’t so much as call him right now.
I miss you.
I miss you so much that I hurt.
I thought of his words at the fire last night; I had thought of little else all through my plane ride from Billings, and all the hours of today. He had confirmed that he still felt something for me and that he would not allow himself to continue.
You’re leaving, he had said.
I pressed my forearms to my face and considered the insanity of maybe not leaving. Of staying in Jalesville, of working there.
Tish, I reprimanded myself instantly. You can’t even consider that. You’ve been working towards a career here since you were eighteen years old.
I flopped to stare up at the ceiling fan, whirring silently above me.
Angrily I thought, Why the fuck is that thing running anyway? It’s freezing in here.
I threw off the covers and stumbled to shut off the fan, then sank to the wing chair near the window, naked beneath Case’s jacket, wrapping it even more securely around my body. Did he wonder if I still had it, if I had brought it with me to Chicago? He probably figured that I had left it at the Rawleys’ place, along with Peaches. I breathed in the scent of him, which still lingered in the jacket, inhaled it like a drug, and at long last drifted to a restless sleep.
***
I had survived the bar exam, for better or worse.
Under the hot Montana sun, late Thursday afternoon, I retrieved my car from long-term parking at the Billings airport and drove east, back towards Jalesville, fracturing the interstate speed limit as I was so rabid to get there. I kept the windows at half-mast, letting the scents of the foothills rush inside the car, fumbling my phone from my purse to call Clark.
Wy answered and I felt a smile break over my face as he said, “Hi, Tish! You home?”
“Almost,” I told him. “I’m so excited to see you guys. Can I stop and pick up Peaches in about an hour here?”
“Case has her,” Wy told me, and my heart beat faster at just the sound of his name.
“He does?”
“Sean’s allergies were acting up, so Case brought her home with him,” Wy said.
“That was nice of him,” I said. And then, “Can you tell me his phone number so I can call him when I get back to town?”
“Sure,” said Wy. “I gave him yours too. You have a pen?”
“Just tell me, buddy, I’m driving. I’ll remember it,” I told him.
Wy rattled off all ten numbers, including the 406 area code, and I committed it directly to memory. I said, “Thank you. I’ll see you guys tomorrow night then.”
“All right, Tish! Sounds good,” Wy told me.
I was all shaky and tried about five times to dial Case’s number, all without success; I called Al with no trouble, leaving him a voicemail that I was back, and drove through Jalesville, peaceful and lovely under the amber-gold evening sun, with a sense of homecoming. I was parking in my spot at Stone Creek before I knew it, phone still in hand. I lifted my free hand to my mouth and traced over my bottom lip, pressing it in the center, my heart crashing like a breaker against the shore, a wave I could not control.
Inside, I decided. I’ll go inside and then I’ll call him.
I hauled my purse and my bag up the stairs, holding Case’s jacket to my breasts, and unlocked 206. The door bumped against something, but it didn’t occur to me that something was wrong; I just shoved harder, irritated. I stepped inside and then paused, frowning as my eyes roved over my space, before a cold chill broke out along my spine and I froze. My purse and my bag slid down my shoulders and hit the floor.
My apartment floor, which was covered with my things. Trashed, as though a bunch of teenagers had thrown a roof-shaker of a party. My coffee maker in pieces on the kitchen floor, my clothes strewn everywhere, along with my shoes, a drawer from the dresser in my room, overturned in front of the television. The placemats from my table, the picture on the wall, the hanging quilt, all torn from their original locations.
“What?” I whispered faintly. “What the hell?”
I looked frantically around, as though whoever had done this might still be lingering, and then anger flushed through my entire body. Still clutching Case’s jacket, I stormed through my apartment, finding the sheets ripped from my bed, the contents of my bathroom cupboard littering the hall. More drawers overturned in here, my underwear and bras all over the place.
What the fuck?!
I marched back to the living room and retrieved my purse, dialing Case as though by instinct; he answered between the second and third ring.
“Tish,” he said before saying anything else, and his voice made my knees weak. I sank to a crouch.
“Hey,” I said in response, but that was enough for him to know that something was wrong.
“What is it? Are you all right?” he asked at once.
“I’m home,” I told him, trembling now. “I’m home and someone has been in my apartment.”
“What?” he asked.
“Someone’s been in here and ripped apart all of my things,” I said, and tears leaked over my face, infuriating me.
“I will be right there,” he said. “I want you to go outside and call 911. Will you do that?” When I was too choked to reply, he said more urgently, “Tish. Will you do that?”
“Yes,” I said. “Please hurry.”
I put his jacket on, over my green sundress which I had once again worn for travel. I curled it around my body, stumbling down the steps and out into the sun. I sat on the curb and dialed 911; the woman on the line assured me that someone would be right over. Minutes later I spied Case’s maroon truck and I sprang to my feet, gladness rising so swiftly within me that I felt dizzy.
He parked and climbed determinedly from his truck. I met him halfway, crazy for the sight of him, devouring him with my eyes; his burned a path straight through me. Nothing had seemed more natural than to be collected against his chest, where I clung. I didn’t care what he thought about that, I simply held him as hard as I could.
“When did you get home?” he asked, his arms tight around me. I could feel his heart beating against my breasts. And then, “Did you call 911?”
I nodded, so reluctant to draw away from him, but I wanted to see his face. I felt like I had already taken too many liberties and I let my arms drop back to my sides. He cupped my right elbow before releasing me altogether, and he asked softly, “What happened?”
I tucked hair behind both my ears, as my face felt hot and sweaty. I could not look away from his eyes, his beautiful eyes that were so worried for me. I said, “I just got home, hardly ten minutes ago, and when I opened the door, I saw…” I paused and drew a breath, steadied my voice. “Everything is torn up, broken, my clothes are all over the place…”
“What the hell?” he asked, his eyebrows knitting. “I’m glad you called me.”
“Wy gave me your number,” I explained, and just as I said it a cop car came crunching into the lot.
“There’s Jerry,” Case said at this, and he was so reassuring, turning with me to address the man climbing from the white SUV with a revolving light on the top.
“Spicer, what’s going on?” asked the sheriff, an older, mustached man with black hair going salty-white, visible beneath the back edge of a gray cowboy hat. To me, he extended a hand and added, “Jerry Woodrow. You’re Patricia Gordon, the new lawyer, is that right? I haven’t had the pleasure.”
I straightened my shoulders and said, “Yes, that’s me. Good to meet you too.”
“Not the best circumstances, I’ll give you that,” Jerry allowed. “What’s going on this evening?”
I told him what I had found and he listened patiently, then said, “I’ll go and have a look. Did you notice anything missing?”
I shook my head. “It didn’t occur to me to look.”
“That’s all right. You stay here and I’ll be back directly,” Jerry said, resettling his hat.
“I still have your jacket,” I told Case, which was a ridiculous thing to say, as Jerry disappeared into the apartment.
Case smiled a little at this and said, “I noticed.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” I told him, and I meant this so very much that my throat ached. “So glad.”
He studied me intently. He said, “Me, too. I was supposed to play at The Spoke in an hour or so, but I told Lee I’d do it tomorrow night, instead.”
“Thank you,” I whispered. “And I kicked the bar exam’s ass,” I went on, even as another round of tears brimmed in my eyes. Impatiently I swiped at them with the cuff of his jacket.
“Of course you did,” he said, smoothing a hand over my right shoulder, though only briefly. He added, quietly, “I’m glad you’re back.”
“Me, too,” I whispered.
From up on my balcony, Jerry called, “Ms. Gordon? Would you be so kind as to come up?”
Case and I joined him in the apartment; Case drew in an angry breath at the sight of my place. Jerry met us in the living room and said, “My first instinct would be a robbery, but there doesn’t appear to be anything missing. TV still here, radio, DVD player. Do you have any valuables, smaller things?”
“Not really,” I said. “My pendant watch from my father is the only thing…”
“Will you see if it’s here?” Jerry asked patiently.
I hurried to my room; oddly, my cut-glass jewelry holder remained undisturbed on my dresser; my Cartier timepiece glittered at me from its usual place. I called, “It’s right here.”
“Strange,” Jerry mused. “You told dispatch you’ve been out of town since Monday, is that right?”
I nodded. “I just got home from the airport.”
“I’ll check with the neighbors, ask a few questions,” Jerry said. “No one had access to your apartment that you were aware? No one who might be an asshole and throw a party while you were away?”
“No,” I said.
Derrick Yancy flashed through my mind then, but I needn’t be a lawyer to realize that I had less than no proof of this.
“Can I clean up in here?” I asked Jerry. “Do you need to, I don’t know, check for fingerprints or anything?”
He shook his head. “Not typically in these circumstances.” As though teasing me, he asked, “You didn’t find a body or anything, did you?”
“Jesus, Jerry,” Case muttered, clearly annoyed with his friend’s dad.
Jerry sent us a grin, tipping his hat brim. He said, “For now, I’m going to assume that some kids broke in here and trashed the place. Who knows? Maybe they heard you were out of town, maybe a neighbor has a teenager. Oh, and call your insurance company tomorrow, first thing, get a quote for property damage.”
“I will,” I said, feeling helpless and therefore angry.
“I’ll help you clean up in here,” Case said.
Jerry went to knock on my neighbors’ doors, but even I guessed there wouldn’t be much help from them; not even all of the apartments in the building were occupied, as it was a new place. I straightened a chair first thing and hung Case’s jacket along the top, as I was too hot wearing it; for the next fifteen minutes, Case and I worked in almost complete silence, both of us brimming with things we wanted to say, but couldn’t. I stuffed all of my lingerie back into its drawer before I did anything else, while Case righted chairs and filled a garbage bag with the broken pieces of my coffee maker and my radio.
Next I collected all of my clothes and threw them in my room, bundled up my sheets and took them to the washing machine down the hall, feeling utterly violated; someone other than me had touched these, had torn them from my mattress. I wiped angry, frustrated tears on my shoulder as I shoved quarters into the machine, harder than necessary. When I reentered the apartment, Case said immediately, “I don’t like the thought of you staying here alone.”
I looked at him with everything I wasn’t supposed to feel rioting through me. I forced myself to say, “It’s fine. I’m just fine here.”
“I think you should stay with Clark,” he insisted.
Stay here with me, oh God, please stay here with me, I wanted to beg, but wouldn’t. I knew he saw this in my eyes, I knew it, as he drew in a deep breath.
“At least for tonight,” he said, more softly.
Jerry popped back into the apartment door then, almost crashing into me. He tipped his hat again and said, “Ms. Gordon, pardon me. No one seems to have heard anything. I talked to the super and he told me he can’t believe this sort of thing could happen, go figure. He said he’ll make sure he puts a lock on the door in the lobby sometime soon, as just anyone could come in right now.”
I shivered a little at this thought.
“I hate to say it, there’s not much more I can do tonight,” Jerry told me. “I don’t think you’re in harm’s way, to be honest. This sort of thing happens. Be sure to latch that deadbolt on the door, as a matter of practice, if you haven’t been. And don’t hesitate to call if you’re concerned about anything else tonight.”
“Easy for him to say,” Case said after Jerry took his leave. My place was reasonably tidied up; my insides, however, were not. My nerves were shot. Case studied me and said, “You’re exhausted. I won’t let you stay here alone tonight. I’m going to drive you to Clark’s.”
Anger at him bubbled inside of me, unexpectedly. I wanted him so very much and I couldn’t want him, and it was destroying me. I said, “I’m all right. I don’t want to needlessly worry Clark.”
Case’s eyes took on even more heat as he insisted, “He cares about you. He would worry more if you didn’t tell him about this.”
“I know,” I admitted, our eyes clashing. I could feel the pulse beating in my throat. We were facing each other, no more than five feet apart; Case was holding a full garbage bag. I said, “I’ll latch the deadbolt. I won’t be scared to stay in my own place.”
“Dammit, Tish,” he said then, startling me. My attraction to him seemed to be a living thing that grew more every second I was around him; currently I figured it was about the size of the state of Montana. I would be lying if I didn’t acknowledge that his authoritative tone made me hotter than all the coals in hell.
I put my hands on my hips then and fired back, “I appreciate your concern but I won’t be scared to stay here. I won’t. Whoever did this wants that.” Somehow I knew this was true. I asked, “Has anyone been back out to your place?”
He shook his head, his eyes burning right back at me. Gone was the tender concern that had permeated all of our interaction when he’d first arrived, barely an hour ago, replaced instead with a red-hot intensity that seemed to be sucking all of the air from the room. He said, throttling down the emotion in his voice, “I know one has to do with the other.”
I wanted to tell him everything, about what I’d seen in my mind while we were in Miles City last Saturday, about what Derrick had said in the hallway. But I didn’t know where that would lead. All I knew was that I wanted Case to make love to me right now, forcefully, to grab fistfuls of my hair and bend me over the kitchen table. Already I had forgotten everything but him, and this terrified me. I was so unprepared to feel this way.
“I think so too,” I said faintly. My heart was so loud I was sure he could hear it. But I squared my shoulders and said, “I won’t be scared here. Damned if I’ll be scared here.”
“Tish,” he said again. “I’m bringing you to Clark’s.”
“I think you better leave,” I said, even though it was the last fucking thing I wanted. “I think you better go right now.” Otherwise I was going to lose all of my thinly-veiled control.
“You are so goddamn stubborn,” he said then, fire in his voice. “You want me to leave? I’ll leave.”
“Stubborn?” I repeated, and my voice was unpleasantly shrill.
“You’re stubborn as hell,” he said, but there was admiration in his tone, along with the frustration.
“Goddammit,” I said then, helpless and furious, both. I snapped, “You should talk!”
He dropped the garbage bag and came to within a foot of me, and his eyes were all over me, caressing my face. I felt jolted by heat and light that burned hot trails through my body at this proximity to him, all the air in my lungs having vanished. Slowly he cupped my face with his strong hands and I shivered, turning my chin into his touch, grabbing his t-shirt with both fists.
He held my face, cradling me, sliding his palms over my skin, down the sides of my neck to my shoulders, bare in my sundress, as though touching something unimaginably precious. The expression in his eyes made me come utterly undone. He leaned and pressed his lips just beneath my right ear, breathing against me, making a small, hot spot with his tongue.
I threw my arms around his neck and clung to him, hearing inadvertent pleading sounds flowing from my lips. He kissed my jaw, tasting me, curling both hands deeply into my hair and tipping back my head so he could kiss my throat with hot, sensual kisses. He took my chin between his teeth and red fireworks burst against my eyes.
“Oh God, oh my God,” I moaned, pressing even closer to him. I was breathing so hard it sounded as though I had just sprinted nonstop from Chicago to be here, in this moment with him.
He drew away then, his own breath harsh and uneven, his heart thundering against my breasts.
“You’re ripping me apart,” he said, his voice hoarse and rough, his hands almost painful in my hair, his grip was so tight.
“Case,” I gasped out.
He let me go then, turned as though in a fury, grabbing up the garbage bag and saying around a husk in his throat, “I’m calling Clark to come and get you.”
“Case,” I demanded, shaking with desire and stun and the primal need for more.
He didn’t so much as look at me as he opened the door and informed me, “You are not staying here alone tonight.”
He could have slammed it on the way out, but he didn’t. I put both hands to my mouth, trying to contain the feelings that were hurtling through me. I sank to a crouch then, burying my face in my hands. Through the open patio door, I heard his truck fire to life and then the sound of him driving out of the parking lot.