Caught Up In Raine

by L. G. O'Connor

  She smiles kindly through her red-rimmed eyes. “Thanks, Detective Henshaw.”

  When he gets to us, he pulls me into a firm hug. His face is all business when he steps back. “Jilly, can you and Raine step away with me for a minute?”

  His words send a tingle of worry down my back, and Raine stiffens next to me. We haven’t heard much about the incident with his father since we gave our formal statements this past Monday. Thankfully, we haven’t had any unwelcome visits, either. Raine’s father was released from custody after being charged with breaking and entering and assault charges. We still aren’t sure how he made bail given his lack of capital. The trial date is set for next month, and I’m eager to hear if John has any other news.

  We walk around the corner into the courtyard.

  John takes a deep breath and scrubs his hand over his face. “The last thing I wanted to do today was to bring you both bad news.”

  I feel the unmistakable prickle of hairs on my arms standing on end at the same time Raine tightens his grip on my hand so that I can barely feel my fingers. “What is it?” I ask and brace myself.

  He turns to Raine, and says gently, “I’m very sorry, Raine. Your father’s body was fished out of the Hudson River early this morning. Since my name was on his case file, they contacted me directly.”

  An involuntary gasp escapes through my lips, and Raine’s body sways beside me.

  John motions to the bench with his hand. “Let’s sit. There’s more,” he says solemnly.

  I glance at Raine, and his face is ghost white. “Will you be okay to hear this?” I whisper. He nods, but doesn’t utter a sound.

  John sighs. “I did some digging. Raine, did you know your father was let go from his job three weeks ago?”

  He shakes his head. “No,” he says so softly it’s no more than a whisper.

  “I also found out that your father took out some big loans with the wrong people. His gambling debt was sky high. He owed some serious coin to the tune of two hundred grand. At this point, even though it looks like a suicide, I suspect it was a hit. Let’s just say, the person who posted his bail had connections. Either way, this just became a federal case, so I’ll be turning over my files.”

  My eyes go wide. “John, what about Raine? Is he in any danger? His father thought he had something of value.”

  John shakes his head. “I honestly don’t think so. But the Feds will probably want to talk to you both at some point.”

  “Do you need me to identify the body?” Raine asks quietly.

  “No. He’s been in the water for several days so you probably wouldn’t recognize him anyway. Since he was in the system, we made a positive ID based on his fingerprints and identifying marks.”

  When I look at Raine, his head is hanging, his arms resting on his thighs. I know him well enough now to realize his reaction means he’s deep in thought. With his father dead under these circumstances, there’s a lot to think about. Or maybe he’s shell-shocked. I’ll find out once we’re alone.

  Raine lifts his head and asks, “Will I get a chance to see him?”

  “Once they’re done with the body, the funeral home can make their arrangements. It’s probably best to speak with them,” John says kindly. “I’m really sorry for your loss, Raine, truly. You’ll have to forgive me for dumping this all on you here.”

  Raine nods. “I understand.”

  “When do you think they will release his father’s body?” I ask, wondering if I should intervene on his behalf.

  John shrugs. “Given the nature of his death? Two days, minimum.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. One thing at a time. We’ll deal with this on Monday. “Thanks, John.”

  “Like I said, sorry to bring this to your doorstep today, but I figured it was better coming from me than having the Feds show up at your house and surprise you.”

  “I appreciate that,” I say.

  Raine lets go of my hand and stands. He offers a handshake to John. “Thanks, John, I appreciate it, too.” He seems stronger than he did a minute ago. I take that as a good sign.

  “Any time, Raine. I’ll be in touch.”

  As John walks away, I pull Raine into a hug. He rests his cheek on my hair. “How’re you doing? Will you make it today?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I think I will.”

  And I believe him.

  Chapter 33

  Raine

  “DOES IT MAKE ME a bad person to feel relieved?” I ask, taking the steering wheel of my truck into a chokehold. My knuckles strain under the pressure, and my skin turns white. Rather than glance at Jillian, I keep my eyes glued to Bob’s car as he exits the Garden State Parkway to get to Jillian’s beach house. A negligible dose of sadness is laced with my relief. Once I became a teenager my father only elicited fear inside me, not love. I’m not sad for that man. I honestly don’t feel any grief at all, only an airy numbness.

  Jillian’s fingers caress my arm and then drop away. “I don’t think it makes you a bad person, Raine. Not in this case.”

  “I don’t think he ever loved me, you know,” I say. Instead of saddening me, my admission sets my teeth on edge. Anger wells up into my chest. I think back to what he said about wishing my mother had had an abortion. Without mincing his words, he told me he wished I never existed. What kind of depraved human being says that to his kid?

  “That can’t be true. I know it seems that way, but I think he was a sick, desperate man. Deep down in his heart, he loved you. It would’ve been impossible for him as a father not to,” she says. “Raine . . . There’s one thing I’ve been wondering . . .” She pauses and when I glance over, she’s looking at me.

  “What’s that?”

  “What ring was he talking about?”

  My shoulders tense. I don’t want to answer that question for more than one reason, so I lie. “I don’t know,” I say, and tell myself it’ll be better for Jillian if she doesn’t know.

  “Why did he think you had it?”

  I shrug, and feel like a shitheel for lying again. “I don’t know.”

  “Hmm. Should we contact your grandparents?” she asks softly.

  I breathe a silent sigh of relief that she’s moved on and let go of the ring. But her question confuses me for a second until I remember that I haven’t told her much about my family. Since I no longer have a reason to hold back, I blurt it all out, giving her the basics. “My dad’s parents died in a car crash when he was young. He was an only child, like me.”

  “What about your mom’s family?”

  “They live in Sweden. I’ll give them a call tomorrow to let them know.” I shake my head. “I never told them what happened after mom died. They only know we moved, and I didn’t go to Princeton, but not the reason why. They don’t know anything about the drinking or the gambling. My mom wouldn’t have wanted them to know, since they didn’t like my father much and weren’t happy she married him.”

  “When was the last time you saw them?” she asks.

  “At her funeral.”

  “You have no other family in the States?”

  “No. No one,” I say, but the truth doesn’t leave me as lonely as it did before I met Jillian. With her, I feel at home. Maybe I’ll even be considered a part of her family someday.

  “What brought your mom over from Sweden?”

  Thinking of my mom brings a smile to my face. “Before she was an artist, she was an international fashion model. She met my dad at a party in New York City. The rest, you could say, is history.”

  “Really?” Jillian says with heightened interest. “What was her name? I started my career in fashion photography. I worked for one of the top photographers and did a lot of shoots for the big designers and retailers.”

  “Selka Nilsson,” I say, and glance at Jillian for her reaction. “Her maiden name is my middle name.”

  Her mouth drops open and her eyes light up. “Oh, my God. I remember shooting Selka a couple of times. She retired in the late-nineties, didn’t she?”


  I smile, happy to make the connection between her and my mom. Knowing that they met, even in a professional setting, makes me happy. “Yeah. She decided she didn’t want to leave me with the nanny when she traveled, so she quit and took up painting full-time. Some of her work was sold in local galleries and even in New York City where she had connections.”

  Jillian reaches for my leg and squeezes. “No wonder I thought she looked familiar, but now I see it. I see the resemblance,” she says softly.

  For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m someone. I’ve always been Selka Nilsson’s son, but the fact that it means something to Jillian gives me a new feeling of legitimacy.

  I pull into Jillian’s driveway next to Bob, and glance at the silver urn at Jillian’s feet. “Ready?”

  She nods and gives me a soft smile. When I reach for the door handle, she clasps my arm. “I won’t say anything about your father, and don’t feel that you have to, either. It’s entirely up to you what you decide to share this weekend . . . But Kitty may ask us what John wanted.”

  I blow out a breath and frown. “Yeah. I know. This whole situation sucks. Can we just focus on you today?”

  She leans over and kisses my cheek. “Just let me know what you need. Promise?”

  “Yeah, I promise,” I say, recognizing that we’ve spent the day emotionally propping each other up. It doesn’t escape me that together we make each other stronger.

  She squeezes my arm and then rubs the urn. “Come on, Aunt Vera. I’ll give you the place of honor on the mantel until later when we can give you a proper send-off.”

  Across the street, the beach is dotted with sunbathers, even though the sun isn’t nearly as warm as last week when we were here. Jillian and Kitty need to wait until after dark to release Aunt Vera’s ashes, when they’re less likely to get arrested for violating the ordinance against disposing human remains into the ocean.

  My stomach rumbles loudly, and I pray the caterer arrives on time. While Jillian worked this week, furiously attempting to rewrite Becca and Drew’s story, I volunteered to line up the food for the weekend. Lunch should arrive any minute.

  Jillian lets us all in and settles her Aunt Sue in one of the guest rooms. Kitty and Bob take another, and Jenny gets the third while I put my bag in Jillian’s room. I can’t get out of my suit and into jeans and a T-shirt fast enough. A headache forms behind my eyes and throbs as the pressure of the day and lack of food catches up with me. I drop onto the bed and open my wallet.

  With a deep sigh, I squeeze my fingers into the tight compartment behind my driver’s license and pull out the business card my mom gave me the day she died.

  I flip it over and read the inscription in Swedish on the back. It tells me to call this number when my father dies. Fuck. Only half of me believes that the bastard is dead, while the other half wants to see him with my own eyes. As much as I hated him, it bothers me that I couldn’t muster much of a reaction to his loss beyond relief. I never stopped mourning my mother, yet I can’t squeeze out a tear for my father even when I think back to happier times. For some reason that leaves me feeling guilty and dysfunctional.

  I slip the card back into my wallet where I found it and place my wallet back inside my duffel.

  Monday. I’ll call on Monday.

  The doorbell rings on my way downstairs. Everyone is gathered in the open area that’s a combination of living room, dining room, and kitchen. I meet Jillian at the door.

  “Let me get that.” I take the larger box from the delivery guy while Jillian follows, carrying the smaller one.

  “I’ll get the dishes,” Kitty says. “Jenny, can you help me set the table, please?”

  At Jillian’s insistence, we brought an apple cake in remembrance of Vera. I gaze over at her urn in the center of the mantel among the large seashells and wish I’d met her before she died. She sounded like a great lady.

  I stand at the counter unpacking when Jenny sidles up next to me. I give her a wary look. I still haven’t forgiven her for being such a bitch to me in Jillian’s driveway. If I wasn’t mentally drowning under a mound of shit right now, I’d be inclined to try to make amends.

  “’S up?” I ask.

  “Can we talk later?” she asks in a low voice.

  I arch my brow at her, and reply in an equally low tone. “As long as it doesn’t involve any swearing.”

  She jerks her head back. “I didn’t swear at you.”

  “I didn’t say you did. I was talking about me,” I say, realizing I might not have the energy to solve this today.

  “I think I can manage that,” she says and walks away.

  Jillian comes over to grab a salad. “So, what were you two whispering about?”

  “She wants to talk to me later,” I say. “I’ll let you know what she says.” She smiles, and gives me a peck on the cheek. I follow her to the table with my food and sit down next to her. Then I brace myself. This is the first meal I’ve shared with her family, and I anticipate an experience somewhere between bearable and a root canal.

  Aunt Sue is the first to dive in. “So, Raine, Jenny tells me you’re in college. What are you studying?” Her eyes shift to Jillian and her eyebrows rise before she looks back at me with a polite smile.

  And so it begins.

  “Computer Graphics and Design,” I say politely back, deciding to give her the short answer, and stab a forkful of salad. If I fill my mouth, maybe I won’t have to speak.

  Jillian jumps to my aid. “Raine designed an amazing cover for my next book, Aunt Sue. He’s incredibly talented.” She punctuates her sentence by squeezing my leg under the table.

  I can’t help but feel like I’m on display, but I remind myself that I’m here for Jillian. If this is the torture I need to endure to do that, then I’ll endure it. But laying the burden back on Jillian isn’t cool, so I put down my fork and volunteer “family-approved” information.

  “I have a couple of years to go. I’ve been going part-time, so it’s taking me a while. I was just accepted into an internship program at a design firm in New York City. They originally wanted me to start during the Christmas break, but they had a big project come in and asked me to start in mid-November.”

  I hear Jillian intake a breath next to me and glance over. I can’t miss the surprise in her eyes. “You didn’t tell me,” she says, and tries to hide her hurt.

  “It hasn’t come up. Don’t worry, I planned on telling you,” I say, taking her hand under the table and hoping I didn’t make too big of a relationship screw-up.

  A throat clears, drawing my attention away from her.

  “Jillian, you were gone a while with John. What did he want?” Kitty asks before she takes another bite of her sandwich. Bob’s mouth drops into a frown next to her at the mention of John’s name.

  I’m poised to speak even though I haven’t chosen any words.

  “He’s doing some research for me on my new book,” Jillian answers, and I release a breath. Then her fingers clutch my shoulder. “And I’ve just drafted Raine as part of my research team.”

  I do everything in my power not to spit out my water. There’s only one kind of “research” I’ve been helping with, and it’s not for polite dining conversation.

  “ . . . Not to mention, he’s turning out to be a solid critique partner on the new manuscript.”

  I make it through the rest of the meal relatively unscathed. When I try to help clear the dishes, Jillian, Kitty, and Aunt Sue kick me out of the kitchen. No use arguing with that group of women. I throw up my hands and head for the door. “Jillian, I’m going for a walk.” I’m dying for fresh air and some time alone.

  Jenny pops up from the sofa. “I’ll come with you.”

  I think better of glaring at her and resign myself to her company. “Okay, come on.”

  “Don’t look so unhappy about it,” she snipes under her breath as we walk outside.

  We step out into the sunshine and the sea air greets us. I fill my lungs and let the
salty ocean air do its work.

  Tipping my head at the boardwalk across the street, I ask, “North or south?”

  “South,” she replies, and follows me to the other side.

  We walk in silence for a few minutes as the sea breeze whips at us. I’m glad I had the foresight to pull my hair back earlier. Not so much for Jenny, whose long hair is swirling around her in a silky cloud. I dig an extra elastic out of my pocket.

  “Here. For your hair,” I say.

  “Thanks.” She quickly braids the length, and uses the elastic to tie off the end.

  “So what did you want to talk to me about?”

  Her hand reaches out, and she pulls me out of the flow of foot traffic to the boardwalk railing. Her big blue eyes reach up to find mine. “Raine, I want to apologize. I was out of line for what I said to you when we first met.” She pauses, and looks down at her hands. “The way you and my Aunt Jillian look at each other, I can see how much you both love each other. I saw it even then . . . before you both even knew. It’s special . . . I think I was jealous, and I’m sorry.”

  My lips soften from a hard line into a half smile. “Apology accepted. Friends?” I say, and hold out my hand. My pent up anger toward her disappears, and my emotional baggage lightens by one suitcase. As a bonus, I feel like I’m one step closer to acceptance into Jillian’s family.

  She grasps it and smiles. “Friends.”

  I give her a full smile this time.

  We walk another mile south, and she tells me about her troubles with her boyfriend, Russ, and her most recent job prospects. I know we’re close in age, yet I feel so much older. Jillian fits me so much better than a girl like Jenny. And in hindsight, I see that although most of my girlfriends were older than me, they didn’t have the maturity I crave. Most of them were just plain selfish. None of them were as loving and nurturing as Jillian, or made me feel as complete.

  None of them before Jillian ever made me feel like I couldn’t breathe without them. For the first time since I turned eighteen, I have hope that I can regain my future. Only it’s better than the one my father stole from me . . . it includes Jillian.