Cabin Fever

by Annabelle Costa

  Okay, here goes nothing. “Mrs. Decker?”

  “Yes…”

  It’s her. It’s really her. “I was wondering… I, um… I need to talk to you about Jake.”

  Locks turn on the other side of the door. When the door swings open, a pleasant-faced woman stands before me. Her hair is short, threaded with gray, and the ends graze her chin. She has Jake’s blue eyes—at least, the eyes he would have had if Mancini hadn’t taken one of them. Those eyes latch on me, making my knees wobble.

  “Are you a reporter?” she asks warily.

  “No.” I squeeze my fists together. “My name is Natalie Rochester. I… I was… am a friend of Jake’s. Could I… come in?”

  Mrs. Decker’s blue eyes are still filled with suspicion, but she steps back to allow me into her small apartment.

  The first thing I notice when I walk into the apartment is the aroma of chocolate. It hits me right in the face, deep and rich. It’s like walking into the best bakery in Boston. I’ve already had breakfast, but my stomach threatens to embarrass me by growling.

  “Have a seat,” Mrs. Decker tells me, gesturing at a simple flower-printed sofa. I pass by a wall that has several frames mounted, all containing photos of Jake at various ages. I see him as a little kid, his fingers wrapped around a bat. Trussed up in camping gear next to an older man who has his jaw and build, waving at the camera. Wearing his uniform at his police academy graduation. He looks so handsome in that photo—his face clean-shaven, his two blue eyes locked with the camera. But not as sexy as he is now.

  Mrs. Decker settles down beside me on the sofa. “You say you knew my son?”

  “Know him,” I correct her.

  Mrs. Decker’s cheeks redden. “Miss Rochester, I’m not sure if you are aware of this, but Jake—my son—he… he’s no longer with us.”

  I take a deep breath, wondering how she’ll take the next piece of information. Will she believe me? Or will she toss me out? Well, I have to try. “I saw Jake a week ago, Mrs. Decker.”

  The flush spreads into her ears. “No,” she says. “I’m afraid that’s impossible. He’s been gone for over three years.”

  “No,” I say. “He’s not.”

  She swallows and squeezes her fists together. “I don’t know what you think, young lady. But I can assure you that you are definitely mistaken.”

  She doesn’t believe me. Not that I’m surprised.

  “He was hiding out in a cabin in Vermont.” The words come out in a rush. “He told me you thought he was dead, and he couldn’t risk telling you because if the people looking for him find him, they’ll kill him…”

  Mrs. Decker’s mouth is hanging open. “I don’t… that can’t…”

  “It’s true.” I look her straight in her blue eyes. “I swear to you, it’s true. And… and the only reason I’m here to tell this to you is because Jake… he saved my life.”

  Mrs. Decker stares at me, her lips forming a straight line. She opens her mouth as if to say something, but instead, she bursts into tears.

  “You’re lying,” she hisses through her sobs. “Jake is dead. They found his blood in the snow.”

  “It was his blood,” I say, “but he’s still alive.”

  She buries her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. When she lifts her head, her eyes are bloodshot but her jaw is firm. “I don’t know why you’re doing this,” she says. “I don’t know if this is a trick or scam or what your game is. But I’ll tell you one thing.” Her eyes become steely. “My son would never have forgiven me if I let someone use his death to manipulate me...” She takes a shaky breath. “I think you should leave.”

  I flinch. I suppose I should have expected this, coming to her with no hard evidence of Jake’s existence. But I hoped she’d be able to look at my face and know I’m telling the truth. But much like her son, Mrs. Decker is not a trusting woman. She’s the mother of a cop all right. I don’t know what to say to convince her. Jake left me nothing of himself—no evidence he was ever in my life. Except…

  I inhale the rich scent of chocolate.

  “Jake told me about your baking,” I say in a hurried voice before she can shove me out the door. “He said he always encouraged you to start your own business, but you were too scared to do it.”

  She freezes, staring at me.

  “He said you always sold out first at all the bake sales,” I add. “He said you make the best chocolate cupcakes he’d ever tasted. Better than any bakery.”

  Her face crumples. “Jake…”

  She’s starting to believe me.

  I keep my mouth shut, not sure if I should say anything more. I sit with her while she sobs like a woman who’s just found out her dead son’s come back to life.

  “I can’t believe it,” she whispers. “Everyone told me…”

  “I know,” I say quietly. I reach out to touch her arm, but pull away at the last second. “He told me everything—how he was framed for those murders and that mobster tried to kill him. He said his parents were the only ones who believed he didn’t do it. Everyone else thought he was guilty. So he had to disappear. He had no choice.”

  “They never found a body,” she murmurs, “but there was all that blood in the snow. So much blood…” She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “The police told me Mancini killed him. That’s what everyone thought—even Jake’s father. I did too, but of course, there was always a part of me that hoped…”

  She wipes her eyes again, but it doesn’t help because the tears won’t stop coming. I feel like I should find a box of tissues, but this isn’t my home and I don’t want to go searching. And there’s a part of me that’s not sure if I should move.

  After a moment, she lifts her now bloodshot, watery eyes. “Tell me… Natalie, did you say your name was?”

  I nod.

  She leans forward. “How does Jake look? Is he okay?”

  I wonder if I should tell her how Mancini shot him and left him out for dead, and that it cost him an eye and several fingers. That he limps like he’s got a knife embedded in his right leg. It doesn’t seem like the sort of thing she needs to know. “He’s okay.” I offer a smile. “I was stranded in my car during a blizzard, and he came with his truck and rescued me. I’d have frozen to death if not for him.”

  She clutches her chest. “That’s my son. He always had to be the hero. I knew when he was five years old that he was going to be a police officer when he climbed up this huge tree to save the neighbor’s cat who got stuck up there. I got so angry at him for climbing so high, but all he said was, ‘I had to save the cat, Mom.’”

  I laugh because that doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. “He was a gentleman too. He gave up his own bed and slept on the floor.”

  “Oh, did he?” Mrs. Decker raises an eyebrow, and for the first time, there’s a knowing expression on her face. “He isn’t always a gentleman though, you know. Only for some women.”

  And now I’m the one whose face is scarlet.

  “So where is he?” she asks with shining eyes. “Do you think there’s any possible way I could… see him?”

  I lower my eyes. “I’m sorry. I have no idea where he is. There was a… a situation and he had to take off. I’ll probably never see him again.”

  I swallow a lump in my throat as I say those words. But that’s nothing compared to how crestfallen Mrs. Decker looks. I wonder if I was wrong to come here, knowing there was no way she could see her son. But she deserved to know he was alive, at least. If there’s one way I could thank him for saving my life (twice), it would be to give that gift to his parents.

  “As long as he’s okay,” she says resolutely. “That’s all that matters.” She plays with the hem of her skirt for a moment, then looks up at me. “Would you come for dinner tonight, Natalie? I know my husband would want to meet you and hear about how Jake’s doing. He’ll be so happy. This will mean the world to him—to both of us.”

  “Of course,” I say.

  A timer dings in the kitch
en, and Mrs. Decker startles slightly, as if she’d forgotten all about it. “Oh, excuse me! I’ll be right back! Please don’t move.”

  I hear the creaking sound of an oven door sliding open, and the aroma of chocolate intensifies tenfold. God, that smells good. How did Jake not weigh ten-thousand pounds?

  When Mrs. Decker returns to the living room, she’s wiping her hands on her apron. “Sorry about that, Natalie. As Jake told you, I love to bake, and… honestly, it’s the only thing that’s gotten me through the last few years he’s been gone.”

  “Have you ever really thought about it?” I ask her. “I mean, starting your own baking company.”

  She lets out a laugh, and it’s a nice sound to hear after all the sobbing. “God, no. I mean, not seriously.” She plays with the hem of her skirt again, then smooths out the fabric. “It’s just a hobby.”

  “But he told me how much you love it,” I say. “And how good you are at it. I mean, I love to cook too, and that’s why I started a catering business. It’s been incredible for me.”

  Her cheeks color. “It was sweet the way he believed in me, but… I don’t know. I just can’t imagine something like that ever happening for me.”

  Except the seedlings of an idea are forming in my head. Maybe there’s another way I can pay Jake back for what he did for me…

  Epilogue: Six months later

  I was always proud of how well my catering business did.

  We got a lot of repeat business, which I feel is the highest compliment. I spend a lot of time coming up with new recipes and delicious finger foods that my clients would enjoy. We’re not a booming success, but the business does very well. Let me put it this way: if my parents were to disinherit me, I’d be fine. Not that there’s much chance of that since my only sibling is currently in prison.

  But as it turns out, I should have been investing in Betty Decker all along.

  After I became the sole investor in Betty’s Baked Goods and set her up with a website so potential customers could browse her products, things didn’t take off right away. But after a few months, word of month spread and she even got a write-up in a popular online foodie magazine. Now she can’t keep up with her orders.

  The last time we talked on the phone, she was telling me about the new assistant she hired. After all those years of being a secretary, she was swelling with pride to have an assistant of her own. It was the happiest I’d ever heard her.

  But despite that, I know she’s lacking the one thing she really wants: to have her son back. But at least now she knows he’s still alive. That’s something.

  As I browse the orders for Betty’s products, I feel overwhelmed just looking at them all. I have a feeling Betty’s not going to be able to keep up. She’s going to have to hire another assistant. And we definitely need to rent a workspace that has more ovens and burners than Betty’s tiny kitchen. I’ll have to speak to her about it tomorrow. Betty’s a phenomenal cook, but she’s not much of a businesswoman. I’ve been happily handling that end for her. It turns out I’ve inherited my father’s talent for business.

  My phone rings, and I see my friend Sophie’s number on the screen. Sophie Pasternak was my roommate in college and used to be one of my closest friends, but we’ve grown apart lately. Her husband Colin got into politics, and they now travel a lot to DC for his work. But since the whole mess with Chase and my brother, she and I have started talking more again.

  “Hey, Soph,” I say when I pick up the phone. “What’s up?”

  “Just wanted to see if you were still going on that date tonight,” she says.

  I groan inwardly at the reminder. I’ve got to leave my apartment in about ten minutes for my first date since Chase. It’s with a lawyer named Ed, who I met on a dating website, which I signed up for after my mother reminded me that I am now thirty and apparently not aging in reverse.

  I am not excited about this date. Actually, that’s an understatement. Ed seemed nice enough when we chatted on the phone, but I know without even meeting him that he won’t do it for me. Sadly, Jake Decker has spoiled me for all other men.

  “Yes,” I sigh. “I’m still going.”

  Sophie is quiet on the other line. “You’re still hung up on Jake, aren’t you?”

  I told her all about my time in the cabin. I told her how I still think about Jake every night, and about his muscled arms and his rugged features and shorn hair and the callouses on his hands. After that, a guy like Ed just seems… unsubstantial.

  “I’ve got to get over it,” I say. “I can’t spend the rest of my life pining over a man I may never see again.”

  “Couldn’t you look for him?”

  “Sophie, if the mob couldn’t find him, how am I supposed to?”

  “What are you talking about?” she cries. “You’re Natalie fucking Rochester. You can do whatever the hell you want! And you usually do.”

  Well, that’s not entirely untrue. But look where it got me. Yes, my business is doing well. But my personal life is a disaster.

  Sophie’s voice softens. “I just want you to be as happy as I am, Nat.”

  Sophie sustained major burn injuries to her face as a child, and for a long time, I was scared she’d never find someone who loved her as much as she deserved. But now she’s got just about the best husband in the world. And I’m still searching.

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ll find someone. Maybe Ed will be the one.

  I doubt that very much. But Ed and I are meeting on the North End in twenty minutes, and I don’t want to be late.

  I halfheartedly refresh my lipstick, slip on my Manolo Blahnik pumps, and head down to meet my taxi. If nothing else, I’ll get a good meal out of it. Ed is taking me to this Italian restaurant several of my friends have raved over. Maybe I’ll get some ideas for dishes.

  “Natalie.”

  I whirl around at the sound of a male voice saying my name. There’s a big guy leaning against my building, wearing a black T-shirt and loose-fitting blue jeans. He’s clean-shaven, with dark hair that’s tousled by the mild September breeze. I stare at that vaguely familiar, ruggedly handsome face for a moment, trying to place him. Then I see the dark eyepatch on his right eye.

  “Jake!” I gasp.

  His face splits in a grin. “You look pretty tonight, Princess. Going somewhere?”

  “Yeah, I…” I gesture helplessly at the taxi waiting for me at the curb. “I have a… sort of a…”

  “A date?”

  I lower my eyes. “Sort of.”

  “Well, shit,” he says. “I thought we promised we were both going to be celibate forever after I left? Didn’t we say that? I could have sworn.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “So you’ve been celibate?”

  He smiles crookedly. “Ladies’ night isn’t the same now that I’ve met you.”

  I laugh and take a step toward him. My taxi is very possibly going to leave without me, but I don’t care. I’ll have to send Ed a text message, apologizing for tonight. I can’t leave now—not when the guy I’ve been thinking about nonstop for the last six months shows up at my doorstep.

  “By the way,” Jake says. “Thank you for what you did for my mother. That was… really great of you.”

  “You saw her?”

  He nods. “Just flew in from JFK this morning.”

  I imagine the look on Betty’s face when she set eyes on her only son after years of believing him to be dead. It makes me smile just to think about it.

  He touches the eyepatch gingerly. “This came as a surprise to her. You didn’t warn her.”

  “I thought it would upset her,” I admit. “And the truth is, I wasn’t sure she’d ever see you again.”

  “Yeah.” He heaves a sigh. “Me either. But…” A smile touches his lips. “Things finally started going my way. There were files at that cabin incriminating a lot of Mancini’s men. A bunch of the guys turned state’s evidence, and one of them confessed to the double murder they tried to nail me on.”

  I st
are at him. “That’s incredible. So… you’re cleared?”

  “I will be. And Freddy Mancini is in prison.”

  I can’t help myself—I throw my arms around Jake’s shoulders. He laughs and stumbles just a bit before relaxing. Then he pulls away from me to look into my eyes.

  “I have to tell you, Natalie,” he says. “It sucked being away from home all those years. But it sucked so much more after I met you. All those months after I took off, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. It kept me awake at night. It made me desperate to prove my innocence and get back to you.”

  I trace the line made by the faint scar on his right cheek with my fingers. “I’ve heard looking at the stars is good for insomnia.”

  He grins at me. “You’re thinking of Jack Daniels.”

  “Well,” I say, “it doesn’t look like you’ll need that anymore.”

  “Thank God for that.”

  And then he leans in to press his lips against mine. It’s the kiss I’ve been waiting for since that night he left me in the cabin, and I feel it from my head to my toes. He pulls me tight against him, what’s left of his fingers lacing through my hair. It’s a long, luxurious kiss that could last forever, as far as I’m concerned. I could stand here on the corner, kissing Jake Decker, for the rest of my life and that would be fine with me. I’d probably turn into stone or a pillar of salt or something like that, but it would be worth it.

  “Hey,” he breathes in my ear, “want to go upstairs?”

  I grin at him. “Would you like me to cook you dinner?”

  “No offense,” he says, “but no. I don’t want dinner. That’s not what I’ve been dreaming of all these months.” His breath is hot on my neck. “I want you.”

  He makes a good point.

  My pulse quickens as he takes my hand and pulls me back into my building. My elderly neighbor Mrs. Belding, who lives on the floor above me, is waiting for the elevator, and she seems taken aback by the sight of me holding hands with the large man with an eyepatch. It would be funny if I didn’t want so desperately to have the elevator to myself to keep making out with Jake.