by Zuri Day
“But.” Ariel visibly swallowed. “A heavy heart is a sign that something needs to be gotten off one’s chest.” Her voice was low, gentle. “I’m here, Eden.”
“Let me call Jansen,” Eden replied. “And then maybe I’ll talk about it.”
Eden bypassed her office and walked to the end of the hall.
“She lives!” Alex said once she’d tapped on his office door. “Did you make a dent in it?”
“In what?”
“The workload.”
“Oh, that. Actually, yes.”
“And you held out for a better invitation, I see.”
Eden smiled. “You spoke to Christina.”
“I called her just as she was leaving the restaurant. She said you’d met her.”
“Yes, decided I needed the break after all and some fresh air. Was there something you wanted to discuss?”
Alex peered at Eden, noted the slight puffiness around her eyes, the eyes that did not twinkle as they usually did when she smiled. He took in the slight redness around her nose and the tightness of her mouth that silently negated the asking of questions. “It can wait,” he finally said, turning to retrieve a file behind him and then facing her once again. “Maybe we can discuss it over lunch tomorrow. By then I’ll have better organized my thoughts.”
“Sounds good.”
Eden walked to her office and shut the door. Once again her stomach was in knots. She dreaded making this phone call but feared Jansen coming to visit even more. Eden had no doubt that Ariel was right. Jansen had meant what he’d said about coming down. There was one thing for sure about him—he didn’t make threats, but promises.
Please let me get voice mail. I’ll just leave a message and . . .
“Baby, finally! I was about to put out an APB on you, girl.” Jansen nodded at Alberto, signaling that he’d meet him by the patrol car. He had a couple minutes of break time left and walked to the side of the coffee shop. “That was a long meeting, lasted all morning. Is everything okay?”
Eden took a deep breath. “I wasn’t in a meeting, Jansen. I was busy trying to gather my thoughts and make sense of some things.”
Silence.
The brooder. Eden could imagine the slight furrowing of eyebrows, could see his eyes narrowing and the slight puckering of those talented lips. She closed her eyes against his image.
“What’s the matter, Eden?” Jansen said at last.
“Something I can’t get into over the phone. Would you like to meet, say, around six in Culver City? That’s halfway between you and me. There’s a restaurant on Sepulveda at—”
“Whoa, baby, what the hell is this meeting-halfway nonsense? We’ve never met halfway a day in our lives. It’s either your place or my place, and I don’t mind driving.”
“Jansen, please. I’ll explain everything when I see you and . . . you’ll understand.”
“Fine, Eden, but I’m telling you now. This doesn’t feel good.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Eden gave Jansen the name of the restaurant. “I’ll see you there.”
It was the only workday Eden could remember in which she wanted time to slow down. By the time she reached her car, her nerves were frayed and, once again, her stomach roiled. When she got to the restaurant, she pulled into the parking lot, walked in, and immediately saw Jansen at the bar nursing a beer. He looked as gorgeous as she’d ever seen him—his buffed chest filling out a stark white muscle shirt that was tucked into black jeans, emphasizing a narrow waist and thick thighs. Her step faltered, but with resignation she pressed on. His eyes bore into hers as she approached him. He did not smile.
“Hey,” she whispered, leaning forward to kiss him lightly on the mouth.
“Hey.”
“Let’s get a booth.”
“Do you want something to drink?”
“No, I’m good.” She walked to the last booth, the one farthest from either the door or other patrons, facing away from the room so she couldn’t be seen.
She’d hoped Jansen would sit down on the other side, but instead he slid in beside her, took her in his arms, and seared her with a mouthwatering kiss. “That’s better,” he said when he finally released her. “I don’t know what that little peck up front was about.”
You can do this, Eden. You’ve got to do this! She scooted away from him and leaned her back against the wall. “I talked to a friend of mine last night. Renee Newton?” She wondered if the name would ring a bell.
Jansen shrugged. “And?”
“She knows you.”
“Renee Newton?” Jansen scowled, took a swig of beer, and then shook his head. “The name is not familiar. Where does she know me from?”
“Chicago.”
“Chicago? Renee Newton . . .” Jansen’s voice trailed off as he pondered the name, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Baby, I’m drawing a blank. Where did she say we met in Chicago?”
“Actually, it’s more like she knows of you. It’s her brother with whom you . . . had the encounter.”
“Oh, okay. What’s his name?”
“Steven. Steven Newton.”
Jansen raised the bottle to his lips but just before it reached them, realization dawned. He slowly lowered the bottle to the table and turned his body toward Eden. His feelings were in his eyes: fear, judgment, regret. “What did she tell you?”
Eden looked at Jansen a long moment—willed away the tears that threatened to fall. “Is it true?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“What exactly are you asking me, Eden?”
Her lips began to tremble with the effort it took for her to remain calm. “Did you kill her brother?”
Jansen let out an audible sigh, rested his forearms on the table, and hung his head.
“Well . . . did you?”
“It’s not cut-and-dry, Eden—”
“Isn’t it?” Eden pushed the question through clenched teeth. “It’s either yes or no.”
“There’s more to it than that.”
“Jansen, I’ve got to know. Did you do it?” A single tear ran down her face, the only part of her body that moved.
“My gun was fired along with others, yes.”
Eden felt a gush of air leave her lungs. She became light-headed and for a moment couldn’t breathe.
“It was a no-win situation, Eden, and the only way out. Other lives were at stake and—”
“Whose lives? Yours? The other officers?” Anger slowly built at the core of Eden’s being and spread outward. “Was his life any less valuable because he wasn’t in uniform?”
“Eden, you don’t know all the facts.”
“And I don’t want to know them! Here’s what I do know. Steven was someone’s son, brother, two children’s father. I don’t care what he did, Jansen. He didn’t deserve to die.”
“So that’s your verdict, huh? I’m guilty without even a chance for rebuttal? You obviously listened to your friend’s side of the story. But you don’t want to listen to mine?”
“No, because nothing you say can justify taking a life or can bring his back. Now please move. I’ve got to get out of here.”
57
“Greetings from the Zen Den! This is Ariel. How may I help you?”
“Good morning, Ariel.”
“My word, Eden. What happened to your voice?”
Crying part of the night; screaming the other. “Rough night. I won’t be in to work today.”
“Is Jansen with you?”
Pause. One tear, two. “No.”
“Would you like me to come over?”
Eden’s voice quivered. “I can’t ask you to leave the center.”
“Melanie can cover for me. Her first class isn’t until ten-thirty.”
“Ariel, it’s okay.”
“It absolutely is. Everything is in divine order. Now what’s your address?”
Twenty minutes later, Eden sat with a steaming mug of lavender-infused tea sprinkled with what Ariel referred to as “peace powder.” White candles bu
rned, as did a fragrant oil from a brass statue Ariel claimed was the Hindu deity of love. Aside from a long, nurturing hug and whispers of “all is well” and “love is all there is,” there had barely been five words spoken between them. Ariel had waltzed into Eden’s home as if she lived there, went to the kitchen, fixed the tea, and now sat quietly at the edge of Eden’s bed. Eden rested against the headboard, her arms on her knees, amazed that against all odds she actually felt better. Not a lot—only a notch or so above horrific—but at this point she’d take any improvement she could get.
Another ten minutes went by without conversation. Ariel sat still, almost statuelike. Eden eyed her love-centered friend: legs crossed, eyes closed, hands resting comfortably in her lap, a slight impish smile on her face. Meditating, no doubt. Or talking to her fairies. Eden almost smiled. But not quite.
“Would you like more tea?” Ariel asked without otherwise moving or opening her eyes.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“When did you last eat?”
“Yesterday, but I’m not hungry.”
Ariel nodded. “Okay.”
Five more minutes went by. Eden repositioned the pillows and half sat, half lay against the headboard. Ariel uncrossed her legs and stretched.
Eden breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth, once, twice, and again. “I . . . I want to talk about it. But I can’t seem to push the words past my lips.”
Ariel waited, silent.
“It’s about Jansen.”
Now Ariel turned to face Eden directly. She placed her elbows on her knees and balanced her chin on steepled fingers. “I’m listening.”
“He killed someone.” There, the horrible truth had been spoken aloud, yet again. Eden almost expected the ground to begin shaking beneath them. Her world had surely wobbled off its axis when met with this news.
Ariel didn’t flinch or move. She slowly closed her eyes, inhaled, opened her eyes, exhaled.
“It was my friend’s brother, or, rather, a colleague I knew in DC.” Eden recounted the very brief account of the incident Renee had shared—namely that there had been a standoff, and after almost ten hours, her brother had been shot multiple times and died of his injuries.
“I’m so sorry,” Ariel said, her voice barely above a whisper. “For everyone involved: your friend, her brother, you, Jansen, the other police . . . everyone.”
A chirping bird, the one Eden thought lived near her windowsill, caught her eye. When she looked out the window, she noticed the gardener pruning the neighbor’s bushes, a cat stealthily crossing from one yard to the next, a bicyclist coming down the alley. Amazing how, mere feet away, life went on normally when she knew hers would never be the same again.
“What did Jansen say?”
Eden sighed. “What could he say, Ariel? He took someone’s life!”
Ariel remained calm, her voice even softer than before. “Yes, but why? What was the circumstance, the chain of events that caused this tragedy?”
Eden shrugged. If five men fired five guns, does it matter which bullet pierced Steven’s heart? Renee’s words caused her to shiver even as they reaffirmed her position that no excuse would ever change the facts of what happened. Jansen had shot his gun, and somebody had died. Eden looked at Ariel, and the tears she thought were finished began anew as she echoed Renee’s question. “Does it matter, Ariel? Does it matter what happened when the end resulted in a life being taken?”
Ariel quietly arose from the bed, retrieved Eden’s mug, and left the room. Eden could hear her humming in the kitchen, hear drawers being opened and closed, along with noisy paper bags. She returned less than ten minutes later bearing a tray with two steamy mugs, a plate of raw veggies, and a creamy faux-cheese sauce. She placed Eden’s mug on her nightstand, and the veggie tray in the middle of the bed. Then she returned to her spot in the center, facing Eden. She picked up a carrot stick and munched it thoughtfully.
“My grandpa served in the war, the Korean War,” she began, her voice as melodic as if she were discussing flowers in winter. “He was only seventeen when he signed up, said he’d been greener than a hornet at the time and that nobody that young should go to war.
“He was barely out of basic training when the army got called over. The training gave the men bravado and a steely resignation to do their job.”
“Is that what you’re going to tell me? That Jansen was just doing his job?”
“I can’t speak for Jansen, Eden. He should be the one to do that. I’m talking about Pa.” Ariel took several sips of tea, ran a stalk of celery through the sauce, and quietly munched it. “My grandpa’s unit was ordered to take over this territory that was strategic to their victory. The fighting was intense; he said that after a while one simply became numb to anything but the training needed to keep their comrades alive and stay alive themselves.
“One day Pa said he came face-to-face with the enemy, a young boy who looked about his same age or younger. He said they stood there, guns drawn, for what seemed an eternity. Pa had faced deer, rabbits, squirrels, coon, had even downed pigs and cows for curing. But never a human being, and never anything that could shoot back.”
Ariel became silent again, sipping tea, munching on veggie sticks. After another long moment, Eden reached for a snap pea and munched it mindlessly. “What happened?”
“Pa said it was the strangest thing, but . . . the boy smiled at him. Really smiled. Pa froze. He looked that boy in the eye, with his olive skin and black hair, and just couldn’t do it, couldn’t pull the trigger. He thought maybe they’d both just turn around and walk away, meet up with their units, and if they had too, shoot each other when, as my Pa said, ‘he couldn’t see the white of his eye.’ Just when Pa was about to lower his gun, two shots rang out. See, the boy had smiled because he’d seen one of his friends coming toward them, preparing to shoot my grandpa in the back. Fortunately, two American soldiers had also seen the Koreans. One trained his gun on the boy in front of Pa, and the other one took out the guy who would have been Pa’s assassin.”
Ariel had been looking out the window. Her eyes were glassy as she fixed them on Eden. “If it hadn’t been for those two soldiers, my grandpa would have died, and I wouldn’t be here.”
The two women sipped their tea in silence. Ariel drew figure eights on Eden’s silk, pale pink comforter. Eden stared out the window, looking for an answer to the dilemma she faced, other than the obvious one that would separate her from Jansen forever.
Ariel looked at her watch, stood, and reached for the tray. She took it to the kitchen, and Eden heard water running. After a couple minutes, Ariel returned. “I have to run, dear one,” she said, coming over to give Eden a hug. “There are three sides to every story, Eden. And even that which we view as truth is—”
“—only an illusion,” they whispered together.
Ariel reached for her purse and headed for the door.
“Ariel?”
She turned. “Yes, Eden?”
“Thanks.”
“Namaste.” Ariel clasped her hands, did a slight bow, and left.
58
Eden lay down after Ariel left, but sleep eluded her. What she did realize, however, in those moments of stillness, was that she did feel better. The pain, actual ache, that had seized her heart upon leaving Jansen at the restaurant was abating. And she realized something else. Jansen hadn’t called.
“Probably for the best,” she murmured as she climbed out of bed and pulled off her pajamas. She ran the water as hot as she could stand it, poured in a generous amount of a lavender-vanilla mix, and turned on the jets. When the tub was filled she climbed in and thankfully sank into the searing liquid. She allowed the powerful jets to sooth the knots that were in her neck and shoulders. When images of Jansen kneading those very same muscles assailed her, she shook them away. Other images arose and weren’t as easily dismissed. Her muscles involuntarily clinched. Even if she told her mind she didn’t miss him, her body knew otherwise.
After a long soak, Eden washed her hair, did forty-five minutes of yoga, and then decided to organize the three hundred or so books that constituted her library. Anything to keep herself busy and her thoughts diverted. After setting up her iPod and scrolling to the first track of Jennifer Lindsay’s debut CD, Songs in the Dark, she pulled all the books from their shelves and divided them by topic. Beginning with her politically oriented books, her largest collection, she began stacking the titles in alphabetical order. By the time the last track of the album began to play, she’d successfully organized the political section from A to Z, and instead of simply placing the books back on the shelf side by side, she became creative, laying some on their backs, other side by side, and, after scrounging her house, placing various items between the books for a more interesting visual. She was standing back, admiring her partially done handiwork, when the phone rang.
Immediately, she thought of Jansen but allowed a small smile when she looked at the caller ID. “Hey, Mom.”
“Are you busy, baby? I can call you later on, if that’s the case.”
Eden quickly pondered what to tell her mother, deciding that less was better. “I’ve got a couple minutes,” she said as cheerfully as possible. “What’s up?”
“Kathryn said Jansen showed up on her doorstep last night looking like somebody shot his dog and killed his cat. When she asked him what was wrong, he said y’all had broken up but wouldn’t elaborate. You two were like peas in a pod when I left just two days ago. What happened, Eden?”
So much for my plans to keep Mom out of this. “It’s a long story, Mom, but I really can’t get into it right now.”
“Well, before you tell me you’re getting ready to go into a meeting, you should know I called the job and talked to Ariel. She said you weren’t feeling well. When I asked her if it was your heart that was sick that child closed up tighter than an oil-slick bottle with a childproof cap. I was impressed, especially after how, when we met, she talked nonstop. That’s a friend right there.”
Eden genuinely smiled for the first time in two and half days. “That she is.”
