Anyone but Him

by Theresa Linden

  I dropped my gaze to it, but my mind remained on Saturday. Why would Jarret have taken me to Sean’s apartment and not even spoken to him?

  The bright label on the file folder caught my eye. And the words written in my sloppy printing with what looked like a black Sharpie: A-Z Women’s Choice Clinic.

  CHAPTER 16

  THE SQUEAK OF the front door opening made me glance up from a cookbook and tuck my hair behind my ear. The sight of Jarret strutting into the house, dress shirt half unbuttoned and hanging out, made me suck in a breath. His unkempt look appealed to me in some strange way.

  Our eyes met and a smile flickered on his face. He stopped near the door to his weight room. “How’s it going?”

  “Okay.” My mind sorted through appropriate wifely comments. “How was your day?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t feel like I got anything done, kinda distracted.” A lingering gaze told me I was the source of his distraction.

  The temperature in the kitchen suddenly getting to me, I racked my brain for something else to say. “Dinner’s almost done.”

  “Smells good. Think I got time to work out?”

  The thought of Jarret asking me for permission overwhelmed me. “I... sure.”

  I prepared salads and rinsed dishes, and Roland set the table, while Jarret clanked around in the weight room and showered. Twenty minutes later, he returned dressed in jeans and a rock concert t-shirt with a low neckline. Coming to stand on the opposite side of the kitchen island, he watched my every move.

  Oven mitt on one hand and knife in the other, I peeled the foil back from the glass baking dish I’d set on the island counter between us. Heavenly aromas filled the kitchen, making my stomach rumble. I couldn’t wait to—

  “Lasagna. For real?” Attitude heavy in his tone, Jarret’s lip curled and he drummed his fingers on the countertop.

  Did he know I’d made it because it was Roland’s favorite? Yes, he must’ve. Oops. I should’ve thought that one through. What was Jarret’s favorite?

  “Don’t you like lasagna?” I cut large squares and arranged them on plates. One plate I slid toward him, two more I carried to the table.

  “Yeah, sure. Who doesn’t like lasagna?” He took a seat at the head of the table. “So, you went shopping, huh?”

  I nodded and sat adjacent to him, across from Roland.

  Roland flashed a smile and pushed aside the folders he’d been sifting through. “Smells delicious.” He slid the plate closer. “I love lasagna. I haven’t had lasagna since—”

  “Get me a Coke,” Jarret said to Roland, who popped up obediently. Then Jarret turned to me. “What else did you get at the store?”

  I had to push back irritation over Jarret’s bossiness and Roland’s puppy-like obedience before I could answer. “Lots of things. Ice cream, beets, cereal, pizza rolls, milk... Roland paid for it.”

  “Well, ain’t he nice?” Jarret seemed like a different person around Roland. He resembled the teenage Jarret I remembered, the arrogant, controlling one who, when that control slipped away, swore, glared, and lost the ability to use proper English.

  Roland handed him a Coke. Jarret thanked him with a nod.

  “Well, I didn’t have any money,” I said. “Do I have money?”

  Jarret huffed and cracked open the Coke. “Of course you do. Except, I, uh, I canceled our credit cards.” He peered through grumpy eyes. “I thought your purse had been stolen. I canceled everything Saturday. I’m sure we’ll get the new ones soon. But, well, I’ll go to the bank and get you some money. How much do you want?”

  “I don’t know. I should have some money, shouldn’t I?” I’d explored the contents of the leather-trimmed corduroy purse that he’d found in my car. The wallet contained a five-dollar bill, a few of my business cards, credit cards—useless now—and a pocket of change. Other items in the purse included a wide-toothed comb, a compact, lip balm, a plastic rosary, a notepad, several pens, and two candy bars. Except for my business cards and a photo of my family, it could’ve been anyone’s purse. Nothing felt familiar. More importantly, I’d found no cell phone and not a single note or address to investigate.

  “What happened to the money you snagged from my wallet?” Jarret’s tone held a trace of annoyance. “I had about eighty bucks in there.”

  As he spoke, a thought occurred to me. Jarret had searched my purse first. Would he have taken anything from it? I shook my head to rid myself of the idea. Why would he have? “What? Eighty dollars? I forgot about that. It must be in one of those purses.”

  “Those purses?” His voice rose. “Those are your purses. You still act like—”

  “So, uh, should we pray?” Roland said with a shy glance at Jarret and then at me.

  After the blessing, Jarret took a swig of Coke and leaned back in his chair. “So, what do you need money for?”

  I chewed and swallowed before answering. “I don’t know. Do I have to give you a reason?” Dad used to ask Mom that same question and it never seemed to bother Mom. Why did I find it so annoying? Maybe all married couples handled the money situation that way.

  Jarret gave Roland a rude glance, as if he blamed Roland for my offending question.

  “Best lasagna I ever had,” Roland said, tipping his chin to me. He was good. He knew how to deflect anger.

  Jarret glared at his plate and picked up his fork. “Well, no, I guess you don’t need a reason.”

  “Good. Because I don’t have one.” Having no money simply added to my feelings of powerlessness and captivity. Maybe he saw it like that too. If I had money, I might use it for a one-way plane ticket.

  Jarret poked his lasagna with his fork. “It’s just that you don’t usually go shopping... without me.”

  “I don’t?” I scrunched a brow.

  “We go together, or you make me do it.” The hint of a smile passed over his lips, fading as quickly as it came. “If you don’t tell me what you want the money for, how am I to know...” His jaw twitched and he winced as if struggling interiorly between what he wanted to say and what he should say. “Well, how much do you want?”

  “I don’t know. None, I guess.” I’d just find the eighty dollars and not worry about it.

  He shook his head and turned his dark eyes on Roland. “So, what else did you two do today?”

  Roland detailed everything we’d learned at work: my recently-completed assignments, my current assignments, the loss of my camera... But he claimed “client confidentiality” when Jarret asked to see the folders Roland had brought home. Jarret’s face twitched. He scraped his chair out as if ready to fight, but then he glanced at me and scooted it back in.

  If I wasn’t there, what would he have done to Roland? Roland did say Jarret needed me. Did my mere presence encourage him to use self-control?

  “So, who was there?” Jarret finally cut into his lasagna. “Who was at Wright?” He gave me a sideways glance.

  “Oh, everyone, I guess.” I found myself gazing at the low neckline of his shirt. In the emails Roland had shown me, I’d claimed Jarret wore the Scapular. Did he still? He didn’t seem like someone with devotion to the Blessed Mother.

  “Everyone?” Jarret caught my eyes on his chest and a smile flickered on his lips, a look of longing in his eyes. He probably thought I was admiring his build, not checking for a Scapular.

  Face burning, I dropped my gaze. “Candice, Victor, Sean, Mitch... I guess that’s all, right?”

  “Yeah, that’s all. That’s the gang. Who did you...” He shoved a forkful of lasagna into his mouth.

  Who did I what? What bothered him about the people I worked with? Sean had insinuated that Jarret was jealous of him. And we had driven by Sean’s apartment. Hmm….

  “Did you tell Roland what we did Saturday?” I used a cheerful voice. I wouldn’t ask him directly.

  “What do you mean?” Eyes on his plate, he took another bite.

  “Driving around?” I looked at Roland. “Did he tell you?”

  “Uh, yeah.
He said you guys went searching for your car.”

  “Did he tell you who we saw?”

  Jarret’s gaze snapped to me. He opened his mouth but then shut it and shook his head at his plate.

  “No.” Roland watched Jarret, probably noticing his sudden discomfort. He didn’t ask the obvious question who?

  I smiled at Jarret. “Why don’t you tell him? Tell him who we saw?”

  Jarret shook his head at his plate again and fidgeted with his Coke can. “Nobody. We were looking for your car.”

  “Really?” I maintained my pleasant, nothing-bothers-me expression and tone. “Are you going to pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about?”

  His eyelids fluttered. Frowning, he met my gaze. “Okay. We saw Sean.”

  “Is there a reason you thought my car would be at Sean’s apartment?” As the question left my mouth, I realized what that would imply, and my voice and expression softened mid-sentence.

  “No,” he whispered. “It didn’t, it didn’t make sense to look there.” His weak voice and the sad look in his eyes made his answer seem like an apology.

  Not knowing how to respond, I picked up my fork and turned my attention to my lasagna.

  Jarret’s eyes remained fixed on me.

  I shouldn’t have brought it up, and he should stop staring at me like that. I chewed self-consciously and swallowed hard. I reached for my iced tea as he reached for his Coke.

  He still stared.

  “We’re going back to Wright tomorrow,” I said, wanting to break the tense mood. “There’s more I want to look into. And I’d like to get back into my job. I was doing research for an attorney who has a case against an abortion provider. Did you know that?”

  He nodded. “You told me.” He took a bite and finally stopped staring.

  I exhaled. “I was relieved to find out I was working on that case.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “I saw an appointment with A-Z Women’s Choice Clinic in my appointment book in the kitchen. That’s why I asked you if I was preg—” Oh no. My heart stopped beating and my face froze. I shouldn’t have said that.

  His fork clattered to the table and his eyes turned hard. Then he scraped his chair back and stood. “You would never...” He shook his head as if the rest of the sentence was too terrible to utter. “I’m taking a walk.” He stormed out of the house.

  As soon as the front door closed, Roland broke the distressing silence. “Why’d you say that, Caitlyn?” His accusing gaze pierced through me. “You know what he’s been through. I don’t think he’s gotten over that.”

  “Oh. I—I didn’t know how he’d taken it back then. Not really.” I thought back. Jarret had practically forced Zoë to have an abortion. It wasn’t until the day of the appointment that he’d come to his senses—largely due to Roland’s intervention—and he’d gone after Zoë to stop her. Then he’d stayed by Zoë’s side throughout her pregnancy, only to get dumped after the baby was born. Had he truly regretted pushing her to abort the baby?

  Tension flooded my face and forced me to frown. “I’m sorry, Roland. It’s just that, when I first saw that appointment, I thought...” Unable to think of a nice way to word it, I blurted out, “Do you know Jarret has girls over when I’m not home? And he talks to girls on the phone and there’s a hotel bill on our credit card and...”

  Roland shook his head. “What are you saying? Jarret wouldn’t, I’m sure he doesn’t... He loves you.”

  “Well, maybe you’re wrong.” I threw my fork at my plate and it bounced onto the table. “I don’t recall Jarret having the highest standards. And when I saw that appointment in my book...” I motioned toward the kitchen and found myself waving my arms as I tried to explain. “Well, I figured I was so depressed over our relationship that I must’ve lost my mind. I can’t remember anything, Roland.” My voice scraped out high and my forehead wrinkled with the turmoil of my emotions. “Try to see things from my view. You’re so protective of him, but he hasn’t always been worthy of your protection, your defense. And me... Have I changed so much? I feel like the same girl I was in high school, with the same hopes, the same goals, the same values. If you had ever told me I’d wake up one day as Jarret’s wife...” Lips trembling out of control, I squeezed my eyes shut and bowed my head.

  “Caitlyn, your lasagna!”

  I jerked back, locks of my hair dragging through the sauce.

  He tossed me a napkin. “Now that you know the appointment wasn’t to... to get rid of, well, now that you know...” He reached across the table and grabbed my hand.

  Eyes welling with tears at his touch, I dropped the napkin and met his concerned gaze.

  “Are you pregnant?”

  A tight smile stretched across my face. “Yes.”

  “That’s great. That’s wonderful.” He squeezed my hand. “You’ll make a great mother. And give Jarret a chance. I know he’ll be a great father.” Releasing my hand, he sat back and joy lit his expression. “I’m gonna be an uncle.”

  Tears ran down my smiling face. No words could describe the happiness the baby inside me gave, but why had I ended up with Jarret? Why not Roland?

  “I think you’re wrong about him cheating on you. You should talk to him.”

  “I know.” Roland might have been right, but I wasn’t ready for that.

  CHAPTER 17

  THE HUM OF the fan in Wright Investigators nearly drowned out the playful chirping of the early morning birds. I inhaled. I loved the aroma of coffee and the fresh, dew-drenched air that the fan sucked in through the open windows.

  Roland sat beside me, hunched over my cluttered desk. He looked nice in his gray short-sleeved dress shirt, although his suitcase had left it terribly wrinkled. And his dark hair still had the waves I adored, though it was much shorter in back and on the sides than it had been in high school. It gave him a more mature, suavely handsome look.

  Glancing at me, he cleared his throat.

  I averted my gaze and returned my attention to the computer monitor. Back to work. We aren’t eighteen anymore. And Roland isn’t the one I fell in love with.

  Appointments, confirmations, observations, interviews—

  The hum of the rotating fan seemed to buzz in my ear. And Mitch… Did he ever stop muttering and snickering to himself? And what were Candice and Victor arguing about in the back of the room?

  I sighed, refocusing on the monitor. What was I looking for anyway?

  Roland seemed to have a clear idea about whatever he was doing. He made his way through a stack of files, staring at each one for a considerable amount of time before setting it in one of two piles.

  Before I could think of something productive to do, my stomach growled and my hand shot to it, my thoughts turning to the baby. I should find a snack before the hunger turned to nausea. I’d eaten a late breakfast, so I shouldn’t be hungry yet. I had slept in to avoid a confrontation with Jarret. Roland must’ve slept in, too, or else Jarret had ignored him. I expected to hear him grilling Roland about our plans for today, but he’d puttered about the house in relative silence until he finally left for work. An hour later, I’d forced myself out of bed. After a breakfast of pancakes and eggs, I dressed in another professional outfit, a slender dark-blue skirt and coordinating top from the “I would never wear that” side of the closet. Then Roland and I had left for Wright Investigators.

  I gazed with indifference across the room at Candice and Victor. Candice shook her head, obviously annoyed, and Victor raised his hands in a gesture of surrender and turned away from her. I caught the words “abortion provider” but not the rest of what he’d said before storming from the office. Which reminded me…

  “Do you think I should reschedule my appointment with A-Z Women’s Choice Clinic?”

  “What?” Roland glanced.

  “Well, since we’ve established that the appointment was work-related, maybe I ought to see what I can find out.” I rolled a pencil back and forth on the desk.

  He shrugged. “W
hat would you say?”

  I shrugged, picking the pencil up and weaving it between my fingers. He had a point.

  Roland closed a file, dropped it into one of his two piles, and faced me. “Well, unless someone’s seeking revenge, I don’t think we’ll find any leads in these.”

  “Oh?”

  “These are closed cases, irrelevant, unless you were onto something or someone.” He opened his mouth as if to say more, his gray eyes locking onto mine. He breathed, glanced to either side and leaned close. “Caitlyn, I was thinking,” he whispered inches from my face, his eyes half closed and his thick lashes drawing my attention.

  The smell of his cologne dazzled me, taking me back to the strong feelings I had for him at eighteen. I struggled to return to the present moment. “Thinking what?”

  “I don’t know how to say this, but you obviously abandoned your car at the park.” He paused. “So, something happened to you there, probably something bad. Your purse was in the car, so you weren’t robbed. So I wonder, I mean, I have to ask...” He pressed his lips together and then swiveled his gaze up to my eyes, the gray of his irises deepening. “Could you have been violated?”

  His question shuddering through me, I sucked in a breath and jerked back. My mind reeled. I would’ve known the next morning, even with the amnesia, right? My thoughts turned to the morning I’d woken up shocked to find Jarret in the same bed. He’d said we made love the night before. But I wouldn’t have known without him telling me. I hadn’t felt violated. No, I couldn’t have been. I wouldn’t have allowed the intimacy with Jarret if I had been, and I would’ve had pain in more places than my head.

  I forced myself to make a reassuring smile. “No, something else happened that night.”

  Roland’s left eye narrowed as if he didn’t share my confidence. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m certain.” I snapped my gaze from his and flipped open a file.

  “It’s the camera,” Sean said. Wheels squeaking, he rolled his chair backwards to my desk and spun around to face us.