Breathe the Sky

by Michelle Hazen

  But then, that was his job. Jack would do more than haul the lead biologist over a counter if he thought Marcus was giving out Mari’s phone number to every yahoo who came asking. But Lisa was Mari’s friend, which meant her boyfriend, Marcus, probably knew about the whole ex issue. With any luck, that made him more cautious where Mari was concerned.

  So Jack had checked into the Best Western and spent two of the longest days of his life asking around town, trying to find any lead on where Mari had gone or what her new number was. He’d gotten nowhere, and now he was all the way back to Marcus, who he knew had the information he wanted, if he could just ask in the right way to get it.

  Unfortunately, Jack was not the best talker.

  He’d never put much effort into being persuasive, because if his childhood had taught him anything, it was that if he was talking? Nobody was listening.

  His crew listened, sure, but they were paid to. Convincing Marcus to give him Mari’s number would be better done man-to-man, he knew that much. But now that he was standing in front of the biologist’s door, he had no idea what more he could do in person than he could do over the phone.

  But the urgency of finding out if Mari was in trouble drove him past his own doubt, and he lifted his fist and knocked. At least his black eye had faded, because that probably wouldn’t have helped his case.

  Marcus opened the door and eyed him warily. “Uh, hi, Wyatt.”

  Apparently he wasn’t the only one worried about how he’d handle this situation. Fair enough, he hadn’t built the best reputation as calm and collected over these past few years. But this was important.

  What would Mari do in this situation?

  Make small talk, probably. Which was easier for her because everyone liked her. She knew little things about everybody’s lives and always asked about them.

  “Uh,” Jack said. “So how’s that belt working?”

  Marcus glanced down toward his fly.

  “On your truck!” Jack yelped. “Actually, never mind the belt.” He already knew it was working fine; he’d put it in himself, and there wasn’t too much that could go wrong with a brand-new belt. “How’s Lisa?”

  Marcus relaxed. “She’s fine. Off talking to one of our contacts in Vegas to see if we can’t pick up some more work, while I wrap up this job. I have to admit, I kind of thought you were going to yell at me for not giving you Mari’s number.”

  “Ain’t gonna yell at you,” Jack muttered. “I need to talk to you.”

  “Better get in off the porch, then.”

  Marcus led the way inside, and even in here Jack couldn’t get away from the smell of pizza ingredients lingering in his nose. Like hiding in that warehouse was going to follow him for the rest of his life, reminding him how low he’d gone for a brother who didn’t deserve it.

  “Sorry the place is a mess,” Marcus said. “I’m in charge of the packing, and Lisa’s not going to be so fine anymore when she sees what a crap job I did. This place came furnished and all our stuff got mixed in with the landlord’s stuff.” He led the way to the kitchen. “I mean, how the hell are you supposed to tell your spatula from a rental spatula?”

  “Don’t matter. Spatula’s a spatula. Landlord ain’t gonna care unless you put it through a window.”

  “No, but Lisa will. Want a beer?”

  “No, thanks, I’m fine.” Then something occurred to him. “Let me see the spatulas.”

  That brow went up again. “Mari said you were some kind of amazing at tracking, but I don’t think even you can spot the difference between our spatula and a rental.”

  “Bet you fifty I can. Actually, never mind the fifty. If I’m right, you’ve got to help me.”

  “I can’t break employee confidentiality,” Marcus said. “And even if I could, I wouldn’t when it comes to Mari.”

  Jack nodded. “Good. I didn’t want to hit you.”

  Marcus looked confused, but when he started to speak, Jack just gestured toward the kitchen drawers. The other man turned and dug out two spatulas, holding them up. Both were black rubber, about the same length, and both scratched from long use.

  “Yours is the one on the left, with the three slits in it.”

  “Okay, but you could say either one and I’d have to believe you. It isn’t like I know the difference.”

  “Night I came over for dinner, Lisa kept talking with her hands when she was cooking. Waving that thing all round in my face until I thought I was gonna lose an eye. It’s not a thing a man forgets.”

  Marcus chuckled. “Okay. Fair point. Now, how can I help you that doesn’t require giving you Mari’s new phone number?”

  “Do you know where she’s at, know if she’s okay?” Jack took a step forward. “You said on the phone that she worked to the end of the job, but the motel says she checked out weeks ago. With that and the number change, I’m thinking her ex is giving her trouble again. Plus, she was staying under a fake name. Think that guy might be more than annoying, if you catch my meaning.”

  “Damn, you are some kind of tracker, aren’t you?” Marcus dropped the three-slit spatula into an open cardboard box. “The ex-husband was giving her trouble. She moved in with Rajni, and he still found her there, but Mari dealt with him all on her own.”

  Jack’s blood slammed up into his ears and he went light-headed for a second, his fingers tingling into numbness. “Where is she?” he whispered, hospital beds and heart monitors threading through his head. He knew what it cost you to run away from a guy like that. His daddy had caught him trying to run away and live out in the woods, when he was nine. Ripped a pole out of the tent he’d been living in and beat him half to death with it.

  “Mari’s okay.” The other man’s hand landed on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “He didn’t hurt her, and we’ve all been watching out in case that was to change. But the guy seems to be finally taking no for an answer.”

  Jack was so dizzy he didn’t even knock away Marcus’s hand, because he was pretty sure it was the only thing holding him up.

  “Need to see Mari.” The words came out raw and unplanned, and Jack fought back a wave of nausea, a burn behind his eyes. She could have been in a hospital bed. She could have been dead. He was off rescuing his brother, who would never have returned the favor, when he should have been here.

  Marcus let go of his shoulder and winced. “What happened between you two? She wouldn’t talk about it, and I don’t really feel comfortable sticking my nose in without knowing.”

  Jack wasn’t in the habit of airing his dirty laundry to hippies he barely knew, but right this minute, he’d tell Marcus anything from his bank account number to the truth about how he lost his virginity if it’d help him find Mari.

  “We argued about Rod. I didn’t like her being on Junior’s crew, was afraid Rod was gonna pull something. She said she could handle it. I got mad, wouldn’t listen. Dumb.” He shook his head. “Thought she changed her number to shake me off, but now I’m maybe thinking that was about her ex.”

  Marcus was giving him a funny look. “You were right about Junior’s crew. It was a whole big thing. Rod killed a tortoise—dug its burrow up with a shovel, brought it to the construction site and ran it over, then tried to frame Mari for it.”

  “He killed a tortoise? That fucking—”

  Marcus held up a hand. “Easy. Mari wouldn’t take an ounce of his shit. She figured out it was him and managed to prove it, too.” He grinned. “Rod lost his job, and Junior didn’t last a week after the interim manager saw his crew’s performance.”

  Jack snorted, a little tickle of pride coming in to soothe his panic. “Well, fuck. She handled him, just like she said.” Got the jerk fired, which was more than Jack ever thought was possible. It made him sick to think of that dead tortoise, though, and how upset Mari must have been. “Turtle . . . wasn’t one of the little ones, was it?” She was even more prote
ctive of the juvies.

  “Yeah. Wish I could say it wasn’t.” Marcus sighed. “Anyway, the job ended and Mari got hired on as a—well, I can’t tell you that part, but she got a new job. Somewhere. She’s probably already headed out. Have you tried apologizing?”

  “Called to try but she’d already changed her number.” Before, he’d been so sure it was all him, that she changed her number not because her ex had found her but that she was avoiding him because he’d messed up. But then, that wasn’t like Mari, was it? She was so gentle where he was concerned, always kinder than he expected. “I can’t . . .” He paced away, paced back. “Can’t just let her go without trying. She’s . . . I just never figured . . .”

  He swallowed down all his stuttered words and looked the other man in the eye.

  “Ain’t nobody like her. Never will be again. Can’t fuck this up, man. Can you . . . help?”

  He damn near choked on the question, but he’d beg if he had to. Shit, he’d cry if he thought it’d do any good. Wouldn’t be all that hard, either, thinking of how Mari could have landed in the hospital without him here to give that douchebag ex the beatdown he had coming. Jack’s knuckles tingled just thinking of it.

  Marcus’s face had gone solemn. “She’s special, Mari is. You’re right. Look, what if I call her, tell her you’re here and worried about her, maybe put in a good word for you?”

  “Now? Could you—I mean, would you mind calling her now?”

  “Sure. Just maybe don’t . . . um, stare at me like that while I’m calling, okay?”

  Jack cleared his throat. “Uh, right. I’ll wait outside, then. Just get me. When you’re done. If she answers. Maybe leave a message, though. If she doesn’t.”

  Marcus’s lips twitched. “Yeah. Of course I will. No worries.”

  Jack hauled his ass outside, pacing all the way to the curb by the time the door swung shut behind him. Would she answer? The more he thought about it, the more he thought their fight hadn’t been all that terrible. He really didn’t think she’d be so mad at him that she wouldn’t want to talk. She’d always smiled so much, when they were together. He thought . . . hell, it felt like bad luck even to think it, but he was pretty damn sure she liked him, that she was maybe even a little bit serious about him.

  He’d been good to her, and if he got a second chance, he’d be even better. His whole life, his dad and brother had laughed at the idea that a woman would ever want him, but he never knocked women around like his dad had. Or manipulated them, stole their money, and cheated on them like Leroy had. He was kind to women, and if he didn’t always know how to make conversation with them, well, there were worse faults.

  He clenched his jaw. He and Mari were good together. No matter what Leroy said, he didn’t think she had changed her number to avoid him. If she hadn’t called to give him her new one, it seemed likely it was just because she was as uncertain as he was when it came to dating.

  Probably if he hadn’t freaked out and gone running off to Nebraska, he and Mari would have made up the afternoon after their fight. He would have found the right way to explain that he never wanted to order her around, that he just wanted her to be okay, was all. Even if he had to write the words down on paper and move them around until he got them right, he would have figured out how to explain it a better way than he had that night.

  If he’d just stayed and tried to work things out, Jack probably could have spent the last two weeks watching HGTV and laughing and kissing Mari and eating her delicious brownies with one hand happily bandaged from caving in her ex’s ugly face, and everything would have been hunky-fucking-dory.

  His phone rang. He whipped around to see if it might be Marcus calling, but the door to Marcus’s rental house was just coming open, like the guy was emerging to tell him what Mari had said. Which meant this could be her right now. Jack skinned a knuckle on his jeans as he ripped his phone out of his pocket. Unfamiliar number, California area code.

  “Is that you?” he rushed out. “Listen, I’m so fucking sorry . . .”

  “Good!” a male voice exclaimed. “You should be, considering what an asshole you were to me a few days ago, and twice as sorry considering I’m even calling you now, which I shouldn’t, because as I said, you were an asshole. Also, it’s against motel policy. I think. Actually, you were the one who said it was but I’m not even sure we have a privacy policy so you were really out of line yelling at me about it.”

  Jack frowned. “This the motel?”

  “What, you don’t remember assaulting me and cursing me out over a woman whose name you couldn’t even remember? You kept saying she was Mari but she was definitely booked as Denise—” The kid kept prattling on, but Marcus had come out of the house and was shaking his head.

  “Went straight to voicemail,” he whispered, like he didn’t want to interrupt Jack’s call. “Cell phone service is iffy where her new job is. I’ll try her again later, and yes, before you even ask, I left a message.”

  Jack nodded.

  “C’mon back in and have a beer when you finish your call,” Marcus said. “I’ll try her again in a while, okay?”

  Marcus went back inside, but suddenly Jack found it too exhausting to stay on his feet, and he sank down to sit on the stoop’s single step, the concrete oven-hot through his jeans. Mari told him she’d gone months without cell service. She didn’t have any family left, and usually the service was so bad that she said she’d just turn off her phone and be done with it until the end of the job. How was he going to find her if Marcus couldn’t get through? If it took months, what if she moved on, found somebody else during this job? Anybody with half a brain would kill to get with a woman like Mari.

  In his phone’s speaker, the motel kid was still talking.

  “Anyway, when she came in asking about you, I remembered her face. And really, I don’t get why you seem to care so much about whether she called herself Denise or Mari or whatever, or why anybody would care in the first place if a motel knew your name. It’s not like I’m going to google you and invade your privacy by reading your blogs ranting about why Twitter should be blocking Game of Thrones spoilers and—”

  “The fuck did you say? Denise?” Jack’s forehead crinkled, and he could hardly think through his headache.

  “Yes,” the kid said. “She said her real name is Mari and wanted to know if you’d left a forwarding address, and I said you hadn’t but you left your card, and she made me dig it out of the garbage heap of the owner’s desk, which took forever but I did it because she seemed really nice and I don’t know why she’d be looking for you, because you’re very much not nice, but she said—”

  “She was there?” Jack rocketed back to his feet. “When? How long ago’d she leave?”

  The kid sighed. “This is cute and all, or it would be if you weren’t kind of a dick, but I’m starting to get the feeling you’re not really listening to me. Do you want to just talk to her?”

  “Yes.” He remembered to add “thank you, uh . . .” He had no idea what the kid’s name was. It’d been on his name tag, idiot had said it out loud and it was . . . he had no idea. He really needed to start being a nicer person like Mari, who remembered people’s names, if he was going to—

  “Jack?” Her voice came across the line. “Is that really you?”

  His tongue stuck to the top of his mouth, and his vision blurred.

  She laughed softly. “Oh my gosh, you came back. And Wayne said you were looking for me here?”

  “Uh . . .” He could barely force his throat to make a single, scratchy sound. He scrubbed furiously at his eyes but even though his fingers came away wet, his vision didn’t clear.

  “Jack, is that you? Say something.”

  “You okay?” he forced out hoarsely. “You all right?”

  She laughed, tight and high pitched. Not her normal easy, soft laughter. “Well . . .”

  “I
s he there?” Jack shot toward his truck. “Your ex, did he come back?”

  “How did you know . . . He was here. But that was days ago. It’s over, I’m okay.”

  She exhaled shakily.

  “Listen, you were right about Rod. I was just touchy because of my history with Brad, and I cooled down pretty quick but I was so upset that you just left like that, and I was being stubborn, wanting you to call first. But then I tried to move on and got that job with the park service and the yellow cottage and I hated it and no matter what I tell myself to do, I just couldn’t stop thinking about you, wondering where you were. So I came back to see if the motel had a forwarding address or something, even though I wasn’t totally sure you wanted to see me. I couldn’t believe it when the guy said you’d been here earlier this week, and I meant to do this in person but I got so nervous I let him call you first, just to test the waters and—”

  “I’m sorry I love you,” he blurted out.

  There was a soft sound on the other end of the line. Like a broken breath, or a word that didn’t quite make it out.

  “I mean, I’m sorry about what I did. Never meant to piss you off, and I never want you to feel like I wanna control you or keep you down.” The feeling of being held down filled his memory. Claustrophobic and familiar, and he didn’t have all the words to tell her he knew what it was to be trapped. He would sooner peel his own skin off than make her feel that way. “And I love you. Wanted to tell you every day but figured it was always too soon. Feels too late now.”

  The phrase “I love you” sounded so unfamiliar that it was like he didn’t recognize his own voice. He tried to remember the last time he’d said that out loud. It must have been before his mother died. Which explained why it sounded so strange, since he’d never said it since his voice had dropped into a man’s lower register.

  Her breathing stuttered on the other end of the line, and he turned in a circle, looking up at the brutally clear blue of the desert sky, the phone pressed so hard to his head that it was creasing his ear.

  “It’s not too late,” she said, her voice breaking. “Can I see you?”