Jericho Point

by Meg Gardiner

  ‘‘I don’t know.’’ But I did. ‘‘Trouble.’’

  He gave me the full-blown Look, dry as bone. ‘‘Supergirl to the rescue. Sling off, fists up, ready to rock.’’ He pushed toward the patio doors. ‘‘Welcome back.’’

  Flushing with embarrassment, I followed him inside. On the kitchen table lay something new: his Glock.

  ‘‘You got it,’’ I said.

  ‘‘Yup.’’

  I knew Jesse could defend himself. He was fine. I swallowed my discomfiture.

  ‘‘You know about P.J.?’’ I said.

  ‘‘I wish I didn’t.’’ He found his keys. ‘‘I don’t trust Sinsa. We don’t know what she might do. You should get to the sheriff’s asap.’’

  ‘‘Sure.’’ I watched him. ‘‘You’re coming, right?’’

  ‘‘Gotta wait for the cops. I’ll catch up.’’

  My hand was on the front doorknob when he called to me. ‘‘I didn’t mean it. The Supergirl crack.’’

  He was near the table, with the sun shining off his hair, his face tired.

  ‘‘I know,’’ I said.

  ‘‘It’s great to see the fight in you again.’’

  I walked back across the house and kissed him. ‘‘Call me.’’

  Outside, I turned the Explorer around on the driveway. The Monterey pines waltzed in the breeze. Backing up, I checked over my shoulder that I was clear of Jesse’s car, and stopped. The Mustang had a For Sale sign in the back window.

  I’ll be damned. He was getting rid of it. I’d gotten through to him.

  Feeling relieved, I pulled out. This time I slowed and looked both ways before crossing the railroad tracks. The mountains pushed toward an azure sky. I worked my injured shoulder back and forth. Even without the sling, the pain had receded to a background ache. I was mending.

  Accelerating onto the freeway, I turned on the radio. Heard Mary Chapin Carpenter singing ‘‘Jubilee.’’ She sounded tender and sad, wishing for her lover to find release, to leave pain behind like wreckage in the dust. The piano was spare, the guitar an embrace. A Gaelic flute wound through the song like heartache itself.

  Letting go of the wrongs that have been inflicted on us—how do we do that?

  High overhead, cirrus clouds streaked the sky. A flock of sparrows flew in front of me, swooping up to meet the blue.

  The black wing sheared across my thoughts. The sky seemed to splinter.

  The Explorer veered right, across the lane onto the shoulder. The tires shuddered onto the dirt. I yanked it back onto the asphalt. My throat was dry, my head pounding.

  Jesse wasn’t letting go of the wrong. He was just letting go.

  Preparing to leave the pain behind. Giving Luke his audio player, with the music he’d taken months to program. Giving Ricky his surfboard. Selling his car.

  Talking about death.

  Saying he was glad that I felt stronger and could take care of myself. I jammed the pedal down, looking for an exit off the freeway. He thought I didn’t need his help anymore. He could let go. The void. All around, calling you into it.

  Tears stung my eyes. God. I swung into the fast lane. The car in front of me was dawdling. I flashed my lights. He pulled over and I barreled past. The exit, I needed the exit. I could no longer hear the music, only the blood rushing in my ears. I could see the black specter fracturing the world. I could see Jesse’s calm face. I could see the sun glinting off the ocean behind him. Glinting off the windows. Off his infinitely distant blue eyes.

  Off the gun.

  31

  Sinsa stood by the window overlooking the driveway. Thinking, Please. She was brushing her hair slowly, pulling the bristles through the thick rain of black. She was watching for Ricky’s car to come back.

  Please. It had been over an hour. Daddy, please come back.

  Was he just going to leave her here? He couldn’t. She worried her hair with the brush.

  If he didn’t come back soon, it would mean something had happened to him. Out on the road, like a car crash. If his vision got blurred, or he fainted. That couldn’t happen. She had to see him. They weren’t done.

  He was upset, but how upset? Enough to drive off and leave her here alone. But upset enough to mess up his afternoon schedule? It was after four. Four p.m. meant a hot fudge sundae while he watched Magnum, P.I. He never missed Magnum. Then he hit the sauna.

  Where the fuck was he?

  She set down the brush. If he didn’t come back soon, it meant she had miscalculated. The timing, and maybe the dosage.

  She glanced at the table. Next to the brush, the Baggie still had a good supply of seeds. She could give him another cup of tea. The first cup hadn’t been scientific. Just her best guess about what would unbalance him. Shaun always used a few seeds at a time, to dry up the sweats. She’d given Ricky ten times that. But if she overdosed him with the first brew, he might not make it back.

  She picked up the Baggie. Devil’s Trumpet, they called it. Mad Apple. Inferno, Locoweed, Zombie. Nightshade, Green Dragon. Datura stramonium. Jimsonweed.

  Ask your doctor before ingesting. All parts are toxic.

  Come back, Daddy. We’re not finished.

  Racing along the road toward Jesse’s house, slamming over potholes, I steered with one hand and thumbed the phone with the other. Grabbing a look at the display, and back at the road.

  ‘‘Oh, Christ.’’

  At the railroad crossing bells were clanging, lights flashing, and the gate was swinging down. A hundred yards up the track, a freight train steamed toward me.

  I had to get across. Shit, had to. I could.

  No.

  I hit the brake with everything I had. The tires shrieked. The antilock brakes kicked on and the steering wheel chattered in my hands. A horn blared from the train. They had to see me laying rubber. I jammed the brake to the firewall and the Explorer stopped, snapping my head forward. The gate came down. On the hood. Loud as hell, the train thundered past.

  And past, and past. A dozen cars. Two dozen. Come on, come on. I dialed Jesse’s number. Got the machine. Tried his cell. Off.

  The train clattered by, thirty cars, thirty-five, and I still couldn’t see the end of it. I phoned information and asked for Sam Rosenberg, Jesse’s neighbor. He was unlisted. I couldn’t do anything. But maybe— maybe—the sheriff’s deputies had already arrived at Jesse’s house to check out the alarm call.

  Boxcars rattled past. I wrung my hands on the steering wheel.

  I’d been blind. I’d told Jesse he was rash, tried to slap him with the fact of his own recklessness, but I hadn’t seen the depth of his despair. Instead, I’d misbehaved. I’d aligned myself with another man, right in his face. And when we needed to talk, I hid from it.

  I prayed. God, not this. Stop this from happening. I’ll do anything you want. You can have me. Just stop this.

  In the rearview mirror I saw a car pull up behind me. It was a sheriff’s cruiser.

  Standing in the garage, Sinsa heard Ricky’s car coming up the driveway. Finally. She put down the garage door, concealing the BMW four-by-four inside, and ran toward the house before Ricky drove around the corner. Sprinting toward the back door. Her silver bracelets rang on her wrists.

  Inside. The maid had gone for the day. The house was empty.

  Ricky would think.

  She ran to the living room, where the Georgia O’Keeffe painting of jimsonweed hung above the mantel.

  ‘‘He’s here,’’ she called.

  She peeked out the front window.

  Yeah. He was out of the car. He was rubbing his eyes. Was that a fucking surfboard in the backseat? Whatever. He didn’t look so hot.

  But he would, in just a few minutes. Real, real hot.

  Behind me at the railroad crossing, the sheriff’s deputy was talking into his radio, doubtless running my tags for wants and warrants before coming to question me about why I’d nearly crashed into a Southern Pacific locomotive. The train finally cleared the crossing. The lights an
d bells shut off. The gate lifted from the hood of the Explorer. I gunned it across the tracks.

  In the mirror, I caught the cruiser’s lights flashing on. Come on, then. Let’s go.

  I was there in under a minute. The front door cracked against the wall when I threw it open.

  ‘‘Jesse.’’

  All I heard in reply were my boots echoing on the hardwood floor. Outside the deputy pulled up, lights blazing. I called Jesse’s name again. I ran to the windows. There was no sign of him outside on the beach.

  A rap on the open door with a nightstick. ‘‘Ma’am? Step outside, please.’’

  Jesse was gone. I spun around, looking at the kitchen table. So was the gun.

  Sinsa charged toward the back of the house, tripping over her heavy boots, nearly falling. She caught herself and hurried to the kitchen. Was that an omen—a foreshadowing? Telling her she could trip up?

  No. No doubts. She couldn’t go back now. She had already thrown the dice. In the kitchen she double-checked. The note, everything.

  She heard the front door open. Out of time. She raced to the gym. She saw Shaun inside, facing the wall of mirrors, pointing a finger at his reflection.

  He cocked his head to one side. ‘‘What’s that I see under your armpits, Ricky . . . sweat?’’

  She rushed in. ‘‘He’s here.’’

  He stared at himself. ‘‘They say success is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration.’’

  ‘‘You hear? This is it.’’

  ‘‘So here’s to success, shithead.’’ He gave his reflection the finger.

  ‘‘Shaun, look at me.’’ She grabbed his arm. ‘‘Forget rehearsing the punch line. You have to do this cold.’’

  ‘‘Relax. I’m golden.’’ He dropped his hands, rolled his head, and shook his shoulders to loosen up. ‘‘I don’t need a run-through.’’

  ‘‘You sure? ’Cause if you have any doubt, if you think it might get fucked up, we call it off.’’

  ‘‘It’s improv. I rule at improv.’’ He took a cleansing breath. ‘‘P.J.’s the fuckup, not me.’’

  She looked around at the exercise bike, the treadmill, the weight bench. Props. The only thing Ricky ever touched in here was the sauna. She was counting on that.

  Shaun looked at himself dead-eyed in the mirror. ‘‘Now who’s sweating? Huh?’’

  She knew he wouldn’t get stage fright. The problem would be holding him back.

  He wiped his forehead. ‘‘No way I have time for a shower, is there?’’

  Maybe this wasn’t going to work.

  No. No. If she did this, Mom would never have to know about any of it. Things would be all right. Mom would protect her. Except for those other two—P.J. and Evan Delaney.

  ‘‘And no mess,’’ she said.

  ‘‘No guarantees.’’

  She pinched his chin between her fingers and turned his face to hers. ‘‘Brittany was all the mess you can afford. A second one, and they start looking at us. It has to be an accident.’’

  He nodded. His breath tingled on her fingers. Jesus, this was it, the real deal. She tried to identify what she felt. Yes. Excited.

  ‘‘We should film it,’’ Shaun said.

  ‘‘No. This is business, not theater.’’

  ‘‘But this is completion. He killed me on live television. Now the circle’s closing.’’

  What an unbelievable dumbshit. ‘‘Baby, we can’t. No time.’’

  ‘‘Fine.’’ He turned to the mirror. ‘‘Who’s sweaty now, fucker?’’

  Hearing a sound from the other side of the house, Sinsa pushed him toward the patio doors. They had to get out of sight in the bushes past the pool.

  Shaun cracked his knuckles. ‘‘Yeah. That’s the line.’’

  She tensed, eager. She recognized the sound she’d heard. It was the TV. Magnum. This was going to run like clockwork.

  32

  The deputy held his nightstick against the door. ‘‘Please, ma’am. Outside, now.’’

  ‘‘We have to find the man who lives here. The one who called you,’’ I said.

  Behind me, I heard, ‘‘Ev, what’s wrong?’’

  I turned and saw Jesse wheeling out of the bedroom. I crossed the room in four strides, fell to his side, and threw my arms around his chest.

  ‘‘Sir?’’ the deputy said.

  Jesse put his hands on my shoulders. ‘‘Evan.’’

  Their voices warped into a hiss. I couldn’t bring my arms to let go, but I was aware of Jesse untangling me from him, and him going outside with the deputy to explain about the break-in that wasn’t. I knelt on the floor staring out the plate-glass windows. The wind was raising chop on the ocean. I heard the deputy start his cruiser, and Jesse close the front door. I stood up.

  ‘‘Where’s the Glock?’’ I said.

  He came toward me, his face solemn. ‘‘I put it in the bedroom. Cops get twitchy if they see firearms lying around. What’s wrong?’’

  ‘‘Give it to me.’’

  I went to the bedroom. He followed.

  ‘‘Evan.’’ He caught me and locked a hand around my wrist. ‘‘What the hell—’’ He stared at my arm, snagged under his grip. ‘‘You’re shaking.’’

  He looked up, eyes questioning.

  ‘‘Don’t do it,’’ I said.

  And he understood what I was talking about. He didn’t try to hide it. His hand fell to his lap.

  ‘‘Please, God, Jesse. Don’t.’’ I couldn’t stand up anymore. I dropped onto the bed. ‘‘I can see how much pain you’re in. But suicide isn’t the answer.’’

  ‘‘Evan, stop.’’

  ‘‘No. Please, babe, we’ll find some way.’’

  He rubbed his fingers across his forehead.

  I clasped his arm. ‘‘Look at me.’’

  He did.

  ‘‘Your death would not even the books,’’ I said. ‘‘And the Sandovals are not beckoning for you to join them.’’

  He froze. I held on to him.

  ‘‘Isaac and Adam—do you know how angry they’d be if you cut your life short because they died? They’d be horrified.’’

  His gaze dropped to the floor. As if he’d been socked in the gut, he leaned forward, hands on his knees.

  I covered his hand with mine. ‘‘I love you. Let me help you get through this.’’

  ‘‘Ev, don’t do this.’’ He sat bone still, staring at nothing.

  ‘‘No. I won’t let you.’’

  He closed his eyes. ‘‘Stop.’’

  ‘‘I will not stop. If you die, I will hunt you down. From here to kingdom come, and I will whip your ragged ass until there’s nothing left. You will experience pain unlike anything you imagined possible. I will ride you until the goddamned universe burns out.’’

  He squeezed his eyes shut.

  ‘‘Do you understand? I know you’re fearless, but you should be afraid of me.’’ I shook him. ‘‘Do you get it?’’

  ‘‘I get it.’’ He held still for a long count. He opened his eyes and looked at me. ‘‘I told you, nobody’s going to get you while I’m alive. I meant that. I’m not going anywhere.’’

  ‘‘Truth, Blackburn.’’

  ‘‘Truth.’’

  I held his gaze until my vision swam and I had to wipe away the tears that were falling down my face. And then he was swinging over from the wheelchair to sit next to me on the bed, and his arm was around my shoulders.

  I tightened my grip on him. ‘‘I’m so sorry. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own stupid problems that I didn’t see what was happening to you. I know it’s the pain and the grief. If I’m not the one who can help you, let’s find somebody who can.’’

  ‘‘Evan, you can stop. You already got through to me.’’

  ‘‘I want to reinforce my point.’’

  ‘‘Days ago. When I spun the car.’’

  ‘‘Jesus. When I said you were going to kill yourself, I wanted to shock you. I was not giving y
ou permission to die.’’

  ‘‘You did shock me. You forced me to choose.’’

  I thought of the specter sweeping over me in the hospital, my sense that death was close. I tightened my arms around him.

  ‘‘And when Lily Rodriguez called and said you were missing, I went nuts. I had to find you. You mattered more than anything.’’ He held on to me. ‘‘I’m staying. I want it to be with you.’’

  ‘‘I want that too.’’

  He looked so far into me that I knew I couldn’t fake it. ‘‘Nothing happened with Marc Dupree. Nothing’s going to.’’ I held his eyes. ‘‘Forgive me.’’

  ‘‘There’s nothing to forgive. I’ve been a miserable son of a bitch. I’ll think I’m all right, and then it comes out of the dark and grabs me by the throat.’’

  ‘‘Tell me when it does. You don’t have to carry it alone.’’

  He crushed me to his chest and buried his head against my neck. We held each other.

  Without more words, I took him. I pulled him down on top of me. I needed his heat, was desperate for the taste of his mouth, the feel of his skin. It had been so long. Suspending thought, wanting only sensation, closeness, and the knowledge of carrying each other. I wanted to give myself to him completely, so that he could let go in me. His mouth was on mine. And on my throat, and pulling open my blouse, kissing my breast, and I made a low sound and arched my back. He pulled himself farther onto the bed, and I fought with his shirt and tore it off, kissed his chest, his shoulder, his hand, his palm, sucked his fingers, licked his wrists and the inside of his arms, and pulled down the zipper on his trousers, slid my hand down and found him, held him, stroked him, hard, because he could feel that. I climbed out from under him and pulled his shoes and socks off, pulled his pants and boxers off, while he was trying to get my jeans down, unzipping me, slipping his hand down the back and under my panties onto my ass. We were tangled, but I didn’t want to stop or think or let anything interrupt, not after so long, and break the moment. I pulled my jeans off and fell on top of him. He pushed my legs apart. Everything else was light and sensation.

  33

  Ricky turned up the volume with the remote. He hadn’t missed too much—Magnum was up in T.C.’s helicopter. He loved episodes with the helicopter. Magnum always ended up hanging from the skids. Maybe this episode would cheer him up.