To her credit Sheree’s not nearly as overt as Jade. She’s got a job and takes care of herself but if she’s on board with Jade’s plan to get me laid or married, I want no part of it. In fact, the farther away I can keep Jade from any part of my private life, the better. I love the girl, but she’s her own special brand of crazy and I can’t handle it right now.
“It’s going,” I tell her. “And so are you.” I try to usher them back outside, but Jade refuses to budge, digging in her three-inch heels when I nudge her shoulder.
“We’re here to help,” she says.
“You’re the opposite of helpful,” I point out. “And thank you, but I have plenty of help.”
“Then why’d I just see three cars leave? That was your crew, wasn’t it?”
“That was Marco’s crew. They’re on a break.”
“Then you’ll need a few extra hands. Hey, why don’t you take Sheree up to the roof and show her the view?” She practically shoves Sheree into my lap, the poor woman stumbling over a forgotten drill and tripping right into my arms.
I catch her and brush off the apologies, since none of this is her fault. She’s a victim of Jade’s machinations, as everyone in Camden has been at one point or another. Since ordering them out didn’t work, I try another approach, slipping an arm around each of their waists and guiding them toward the front door.
“I really appreciate you stopping by,” I say earnestly, “and I’m so glad you came. We’re going to need a few more people next week; I’ll let you know when.”
Jade glares up at me, not at all fooled, but Sheree’s smiling as we walk, all linked together like a chipper threesome. A threesome whose happiness comes to a very abrupt end when I see the woman watching from the doorway, arms folded across her chest, expression obscured by the muted sunlight over her shoulder.
“Who—” Jade begins at the same moment I say, “Susan.”
Susan, dressed in faded jeans with a hole in one knee, sneakers and a white T-shirt, steps inside, the glass door swinging shut behind her with an ear-splitting screech. “Good morning,” she says, stopping a few feet away. I scour her face for any jealousy or rage, but she’s got the doctor mask in place, professionally neutral.
Jade’s quiet for a second, then offers a confused, “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” Sheree adds a second later.
I disentangle my arms from the two women and add my own lame greeting.
Susan ignores us and looks around, and I follow her gaze just in time to see the workers quickly turn back to their tasks.
I wince at the mess she’s seeing. With the walls knocked out, the first floor is the just a little smaller than a school gymnasium, a cavernous space where sound carries, dust filters down from the ceiling like a dirty summer snowstorm and the dominant color scheme is gray and depressing.
It looks like shit.
“They were just leaving,” I say hastily, giving Jade a look that quells any further arguments. “They dropped by to say hello.”
Susan looks between them. “Hello.”
Jade pauses in the doorway to scowl at me. “See you at work, Oz.”
“We’re going to have a conversation about this,” I say, the threat clear.
For once she heeds the warning and leaves, Sheree in tow.
I hesitate, then glance at Susan. I know I wasn’t doing anything wrong, but that couldn’t have looked good. And fuck, we’re not even exclusive, but I still feel guilty. “That wasn’t—”
“You’ve been busy,” she says, tucking her hands in her back pockets and moving past me to look around. “All this with just six guys?”
“Ah...” I run a hand over my short hair, trying to forget the events of the morning even as I try to come up with a better way to recount the sad story. “Not exactly.”
She turns to meet my stare. “Six guys and two girls?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Do you want me to leave?”
“What? No. I’m just...surprised. I wasn’t expecting you and it’s been a shitty morning.”
Something in her expression softens. “What happened?”
“What hasn’t?” I reply. I can feel every eye in the room watching us, and though Susan couldn’t care less, it bothers me. I take her hand and lead her over to the exposed staircase in the far corner. “Come up here.”
I go first, wincing as I emerge on the second level. It’s been tidied up as much as possible, but still reminds me how far there is to go. Several of the windows on the ground level were smashed, but just one is missing up here, and it’s the only source of fresh air this floor has had since the doors closed years earlier. It’s dank and smells like bleach and decay.
The large space is divided into a dozen separate offices, with a tiny kitchen at the halfway mark. I lead Susan down the hall, praying nothing jumps out of the supposedly empty rooms, and stop at a heavy metal door at the end marked Do Not Enter.
“Sounds ominous,” she deadpans when I wrap my fingers around the handle and glance at her over my shoulder.
I shove open the door to reveal the narrow set of stairs that lead to the roof, and I hear Susan’s sneakers shuffling as she climbs up behind me. One more door and we’re finally there, a flat gray expanse with only bird shit, a few smashed bottles and a lost baseball to keep us company.
“Wow,” Susan says, the word punctuated by the slamming of the door behind her. She turns slowly to stare at it. “Tell me that doesn’t lock.”
I pull out the key ring from the pocket of my shorts. “We’re covered.”
It’s a hazy day in Camden, the thin cloud cover muting the sun, the heat trapped and oppressive. Susan starts to walk past me to look around, but I catch her arm and bring her into my chest, wrapping my arms around her and holding on, the most unlikely anchor.
After a second I feel her arms slip around my waist, and a few seconds after that she relaxes a little bit, some of the tension seeping out of her spine. I still don’t know how she feels about what she saw downstairs, but she wouldn’t have come up here if she planned to push me off the roof. Not with five witnesses to put her at the scene of the crime.
“You all right?” I mumble into her hair. The ponytail is still there, a little bit longer, still adorable.
“Me?” she says. “You’re the one who said he had a shitty morning.”
“It’s getting better now.”
I swear I can feel her muscles unlocking under my fingers, the rise of her chest against mine, the heavy exhalation. I meant what I said, but if I’m not mistaken, it meant something to her, too. I lift my head to look down at her. “What are you doing here? I thought you had a meeting.”
“I did, but it finished early.”
“You didn’t have to come. This place is...I don’t know. It’s not good enough.”
“You’re just getting started. And I meant it when I said I wanted to help. Unless that’s too many cooks in the kitchen?”
I roll the spiky ends of her ponytail between my fingers and tell her about the morning’s drama, explaining why my crew is so small. I take a breath when she doesn’t respond. “Jade and Sheree,” I continue, feeling her grow still, listening. “They’re not...They weren’t supposed to...I mean...” I’m making things worse. “Jade’s my receptionist, and Sheree is a friend of hers. They just dropped by unexpectedly.”
“So did I.”
“Yes, but you I want to see. Jade...not so much.”
“And Sheree?”
“I hardly know her. Jade keeps trying to set us up.”
“Why?”
I squint over her head at the depressing view. “She thinks I need to get laid. She knows I haven’t been happy.”
There’s an awkward pause, then Susan disentangles her arms from mine and steps back. �
��Not at all?” she asks. There’s a tiny, wounded crack in her façade now, but when I reach for her hand she moves out of reach.
“Not until recently,” I clarify. “Before you. But Jade’s like a dog with a bone. Once she latches on, she doesn’t give up easily.”
“So you haven’t told her about me?”
I freeze, thinking about accidentally telling Jade there was a woman. “I told her there was someone,” I hedge, “but not you, specifically.”
“Hmm,” Susan says.
“Why? What have you told people about me?”
She shakes her head. “Nothing.” Something about the gesture feels forced, but then, so do a lot of Susan’s gestures.
“Then what’s the big deal?”
She lifts a shoulder. “I guess there isn’t a big deal, Oscar.”
Uh-oh. Oscar again.
She scans the bleak expanse of rooftop that’s now all mine. “Well, I guess I’ve seen everything. Let’s head back down.”
“Susan.”
“Yes?”
“Just tell me what you want me to say.”
She thinks for a second. “Don’t say anything. Just open the door.”
“Susan.”
“Oscar.”
I stare her down until she frowns at something over my shoulder.
“I’m too busy to follow you around, wondering if you’re with somebody else,” she says finally. “And I’m too old. If you would rather be with either of those girls, then do. Just tell me first so I know.”
I scowl at her. “That’s it? Just tell you? And then what?”
Her gaze narrows, as though I’m an idiot. “Then be with them.”
“But not you.”
“Of course not.”
“I’m not ‘with them,’ Susan.”
“I know that, Oscar.”
Fuck, she’s annoying. And hot while she’s at it. “How do you know?”
She shrugs. “You’re not twenty-one anymore. If you were fucking those girls, there’s no way you’d have the energy to drive to Chicago after to see me.”
My mouth falls open.
“But if you decide to fuck them, save yourself the trip and stay in Camden, because I’m not interested in being your second choice.”
I don’t even know what to say.
“Now open the door.”
I fish the keys from my pocket and walk stiffly, unlocking and pulling open the door a few inches, then stepping in front to stop Susan from leaving. “Have I ever made you feel like my second choice?” I ask, watching her face. I don’t know if I’m angry or insulted or turned on. Maybe all three.
“Yes,” she says, startling me.
“What? Yes?”
“Yes. When you said I was a booty call and wasn’t worth the drive to the city.”
“You’d just stood me up!”
“I’m answering your question.”
I take a second to compose myself. Maybe she doesn’t need to push me off the roof. Maybe I’ll just jump. “After that,” I press, exasperated.
She considers it. “No.”
“Well then, what the fuck?” I ask. “What am I supposed to do now?”
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to go home, lock the door, turn off all the lights and pretend I’m not there if anybody calls.”
“Then this whole project will fail.”
“Thank you, Susan.”
She shrugs. “Do you remember what you said that day on my balcony, when I asked you what you liked?”
My brow furrows as I try to recall. There are too many other parts of that experience for me to remember a few random words, but she’s not waiting for my reply. “You said you like to fight,” she continues. “You said you didn’t like it when things were easy. But from where I’m standing, the second things get hard, you run away.”
“I do not—”
From somewhere below we can hear tires crunching over gravel and I groan. Perfect time for Marco and his men to return, sufficiently fueled for round two. On my dime. “Are you going to referee, or are you going to be the boss?” Susan asks, one dark brow raised imperiously. I want to kiss her, fuck her and run away from her.
“I guess I’m going to be the boss,” I mutter, kicking at a shard of green glass. I shove open the door all the way and indicate that she should duck under my arm to head downstairs.
“Oh, now you want me to leave.”
“Shut up, Susan.”
* * *
Somehow, while acquiring a two-hundred-dollar breakfast tab, Marco managed to get his guys in line. They work on the east side of the building, the gym guys the west, and everything’s copacetic for the next thirty minutes. I’m sitting in the bed of a pickup truck, Susan next to me, legs dangling off the edge as she leans into my shoulder and studies the plans I’ve drawn up for the rooftop garden, with more than a little help from Rian.
“...pole beans require full sun, so I’m going to set up a trellis on this end, away from the utility shed...” I don’t think it’s farfetched to say that many people would find this story boring, but Susan looks intrigued. I think she finds new information in general interesting, and the challenge of trying to make this project a reality in Camden appeals to her. She’s completely open about the fact that she knows nothing about gardening, but that doesn’t stop her from making suggestions.
I open my mouth to explain the finer points of irrigation systems, but break off when a small blue car pulls into the lot, West Chicago News stamped on the door. Susan and I watch as the reporter climbs out and approaches, a slender, balding white guy with wire-rimmed glasses, dark trousers a size too big and a yellow T-shirt. He clutches a tablet in one hand and smiles as he nears.
We slide out of the truck and shake hands, and I see Susan check her watch while the reporter introduces himself as Larry Lurst, head writer of the local interest section. I’ve seen the paper available for sale, but can’t say I’ve ever actually read one, so I don’t know if Larry’s any good or not. What he is is persistent, hence today’s invitation, and I awkwardly explain the diagram I was showing Susan when he asks what we’re working on.
“You’re a gardener?” he asks Susan, punching notes into his tablet.
“No,” she says. “A friend.” There’s the slightest hesitation between “a” and “friend,” but Larry doesn’t seem to notice. I do. And given what we just discussed on the roof, it probably shouldn’t bother me as much as it does.
“I see. Do you live in Camden?”
I’d find the question out of sorts if it weren’t so obvious that Susan doesn’t belong here. Despite the casual dress, she’s too sharp, her words too precise, her mannerisms too planned. You can tell by looking at her that she’s never robbed a store or hot-wired a car, knocked someone over the head with a broken bottle. Or worse.
“I live in Chicago,” she replies.
“And you work there?”
“Yes. At Chicago-Davis.”
“Where you’re a...”
She clears her throat, like she’s embarrassed. “Doctor.”
“Oh.” Larry squints behind his glasses. “And what brings you to Camden?”
“Are you writing about the doctor or the Green Space?” I interrupt, wondering what the hell is going on here. Susan doesn’t go around introducing herself to non-patients as Dr. Jones, but she’s not at all shy or humble about what she does, either. So this whole exchange is feeling a little off, and I’m anxious to move it back to the awkward territory it’s supposed to be covering.
Larry’s smile irritates the hell out of me. “Just background information,” he says. “I’ll ask everyone the same questions.”
“Don’t talk to anybody else,” I tell him. “They’re working. You
said this wasn’t an article, just a concept.”
“So far.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And what about you, Oscar? How are you feeling about the project?” He’d already had the preliminary details when he called that day at the office, which is why I think Jade fed him the information. He knew who I was, what I do for a living, where I’d gone to college and what my hopes were for the Green Space. This, then, is him checking up, making sure there’s some slim shot of turning this dream into reality.
“I feel fine,” I tell him. “We’re working hard, but it’s only the first day. There’s still a lot to do.”
“Can we go inside? Is it safe?”
“Of course it is. I’ve got guys working in there now.” That has to be obvious, since the front door’s been propped open with a rock, half the windows are missing and we can hear the sound of power tools and raised voices filtering out.
“Great. Lead the way, if you don’t mind.”
I do mind. I mind Larry. I mind the pretentious way he types onto his tablet, the looks he keeps shooting Susan, the way I think he’s not hearing anything I say and is probably just doing an internet search for pictures of pretty doctors. Still, I head for the building, Susan and Larry right behind me, and though I try, I’m unable to overhear their quiet conversation thanks to the growing argument inside.
“You did too know! We were going to get engaged!”
“Going to get engaged? What the fuck does that even mean?”
“It means—”
“Nothing!”
“It means everything!”
“And if it meant something to her, she wouldn’t have gone home with me, would she? The way I look at it, I did you a favor, man!”
“A favor?” The word comes out so high-pitched and pained it makes me wince.The sickening smack of bone connecting with bone puts an end to the debate, and in the seconds it takes for my eyes to adjust to the dimness inside the tannery, fists and insults are flying from every guy in the room, even the ones who didn’t get cheated on.
“Hey!” I shout, looking around for Marco, who’s nowhere to be seen. “Hey!”
The Good Fight (Time Served Book 3) Page 12
