Body and Soul

by Susan Krinard

  Right. Little did she know how appropriate it was, or how ironic. He should have excused himself with a story of his weakness, that he couldn’t remain on the earthly plane, but he was weary of cowardice.

  And he wanted this. Against all sense and reason, he wanted to please Jesse, to make her look on him again with those warm and welcoming eyes. To spend a few hours with the daughter he’d barely known and would never know beyond those hours. There could be no harm in that.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have asked,” Jesse said, looking away. “You must need to go back. I can’t expect—”

  “You trust me so much, Jesse?” he said.

  Her voice dropped to a husky whisper. “Shouldn’t I? After what you’ve done?”

  He pushed away from the wall, crossed halfway to her, stopped. “Then I will watch her for as long as I can, and let you know if she needs you.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “If there’s any way—”

  “Jesse?” Megan murmured. She stirred in her bed and pushed up under the blankets. David faded himself to invisibility, and Jesse moved to Megan’s side.

  “It’s nearly dawn,” she told the child. “How do you feel?”

  “Tired. I thought I heard you talking.”

  “I’m sorry I disturbed you.” She ruffled Megan’s hair. “I have an early hike this morning, but you’ve got a lot more resting to do if we’re going to take that camping trip. I promise to come back to see you as soon as I can. In the meantime, I want you to imagine there’s a guardian angel here with you. You can’t see him, but I’ve asked him to watch over you while I’m gone.”

  Megan’s sleepy eyes surveyed the room. “I don’t think I believe in guardian angels,” she said.

  “You don’t have to believe. Just imagine. Imagine that he’s whoever you want him to be.”

  Megan yawned and closed her eyes again. “Then I imagine that he has a blue coat and black boots. And a sword …”

  Jesse paused as she tucked the blankets back around Megan’s chin. Megan was already asleep. David rematerialized beside Jesse and waited for the inevitable question.

  “Are you sure she didn’t see you?” she asked.

  “I’m sure of very little. But I will play guardian angel to the best of my ability.”

  “I know you will. I—” She gazed at him and seemed to lose her train of thought. “Can you come to the cabin this evening?”

  David remembered how, only yesterday, he’d vowed to regain some emotional detachment from Jesse Copeland and her problems. But he’d been pulled into her life more deeply than before, and her invitation sounded dangerously sweet to his ears.

  “I’ll be there,” he promised. He reached out to take her hand before he remembered his inability to do so. “When I see you again, I will not be so constrained by these limitations.”

  If she grasped his innuendo, she chose to ignore it. But her farewell was warmer than any he remembered.

  When he was alone again, he set himself to floating beside Megan’s bed and contemplated the snub-nosed, elfin face. She slept with a child’s total absorption, lost in a world of dreams.

  Pleasant dreams, he hoped. Dreams unburdened by the weight of past lives. There was little enough of her life with him that she could remember. One short year.

  He wasn’t tempted to call her by that other name. But his heart was in his throat, as if he were capable of the fatherly feelings a man ought to have for his only daughter.

  Tenderness. Pride. Love. Hadn’t he possessed such feelings, once upon a time? Or had they merely been illusion?

  He rested a weightless hand on her forehead. If it were within his power, he would have given her everything a child could wish for: a world secure from all harm, a happy home, parents who loved her. One of those she had in Jesse. But a child deserved a father. When he was gone, Jesse would be free to find someone to fill that role.

  The surge of hot denial David felt was unforeseen and indisputable. By God, the thought of Jesse with another man—in another man’s arms, possessed by him, bearing his children, sharing his life …

  Megan made a thin, fretful sound and moved her head on the pillow. David’s withdrawal was not quite swift enough. She opened her eyes and stared at him from under heavy lids.

  “You?” she whispered. “Are you … the angel?”

  Oh, the innocence of children. “You’re having a dream, Megan,” he said. “Only a dream, about a friend who wishes you well. Who wants you to be happy. Go back to sleep, and dream of happy things.”

  She obeyed him as she might a beloved father, and soon was at rest again. But he knew better than to take further chances. He retreated across the room to wait out the time he had promised.

  Let Megan dream. Let her dream of perfect fathers with tender hearts and angels who truly existed. He hoped she would never learn the truth.

  CHAPTER TEN

  For Jesse, the new day came with a strengthening of resolve that a little more obsolete emotional baggage was about to be discarded once and for all.

  She’d told David that she planned to make a visit she’d put off too long. Ever since Bobby Moran’s funeral, she’d struggled with her own sense of responsibility for the boy’s death, the harsh self-judgment that she hadn’t been good enough. She’d been half afraid to face Mrs. Moran after their brief meeting at the funeral, and she’d let her own discomfort keep her from reaching out.

  What had happened with Megan opened her eyes, and she recognized the futile self-indulgence of her guilt. She didn’t know Bobby’s mother well; like Joan Copeland, Mrs. Moran lived at the fringe of town life—husbandless, apparently unemployed, her son a minor lawbreaker and troublemaker. Perhaps she had friends enough to see her through her grief. But Jesse couldn’t be complacent any longer, not when she’d been granted the miracle of being able to save someone she loved.

  Now, with Megan safe at home and the afternoon’s work behind her, Jesse turned her truck toward the edge of town and the small trailer park where Mrs. Moran lived.

  The Moran trailer was set slightly apart from the others, flanked by a pair of well-rusted junker cars. The trailer itself was old and small but in relatively good condition. The tiny patch of lawn beside the trailer was surprisingly well cared for, graced with a scraggly row of sun-beaten flowers in a narrow bed.

  Jesse parked and walked up to the door, wiping her damp palms on her jeans. Her knock went unanswered for several moments, and when Mrs. Moran came to the door she opened it only a crack.

  She looked much as she had at the funeral: wan, face pinched, her petite figure bent with sorrow. When her son was buried, she’d worn dark glasses to cover her eyes; now Jesse could see the ravages of her grief, the swelling and redness of recent weeping, the blankness that came from the most terrible loss.

  Mrs. Moran’s eyes widened a little at the sight of her visitor, and Jesse almost expected the door to slam in her face. But it opened another few inches, enough for Jesse to see the little boy clutching his mother’s hand. His name was Kirk, Jesse remembered—Bobby’s younger brother. He was near Megan’s age. And, like Megan, he’d learned suffering early.

  “Mrs. Moran?” Jesse said. She’d rehearsed this visit any number of times in her mind, and she still didn’t know how to say it. “My name is Jesse Copeland. I’ve come by … to offer my sympathy on the loss of your son.”

  The woman stared at her, unmoving. “I remember you. You’re the woman who tried to save him.”

  “Yes. And I’m very sorry, Mrs. Moran. I wish I could have done more.”

  The words were so inadequate. Jesse wished for some great eloquence, the skill to comfort this woman and reach out in a meaningful way. Maybe she was only adding to Mrs. Moran’s pain.

  But the woman blinked and stepped away from the door. “Come in,” she said.

  The trailer was cramped but immaculate, giving the lie to the old clichés about “trailer trash.” Mrs. Moran sat down at a two-seat table in the kitchenette, Kirk at her side. Jesse
sat opposite.

  “I want to thank you for what you tried to do,” Mrs. Moran said, her voice low and rough. “I know you did the best you could.”

  It was more than Jesse hoped for, this absolution. She wouldn’t have blamed Mrs. Moran for raging at her, needing to hold someone accountable for her loss.

  “I came to … see if there was anything I could do,” Jesse said. “Any way that I could help.”

  “Thank you,” Mrs. Moran said. “But you don’t need to do anything. Bobby—” She closed her eyes. “He was already gone.”

  Already gone. Already lost to his mother, who couldn’t control him anymore. Couldn’t help him overcome his addiction. Could only stand by and watch him destroy himself.

  Jesse didn’t question her impulse. She reached across the table, covered Mrs. Moran’s slack hand with her own and tried with all her heart to convey what she felt.

  “Don’t blame yourself,” she said. “Please don’t. It wasn’t your fault.”

  Mrs. Moran let out a shuddering breath. Her hand trembled beneath Jesse’s. “You don’t know,” she said. “You can’t.”

  “You’re right,” Jesse said. “But I can listen. If you need someone to talk to. If you just … don’t want to be alone. I know about being alone when it hurts.”

  A tear escaped the corner of Mrs. Moran’s eye. She pulled her hand from under Jesse’s and stroked Kirk’s hair. “Did you come here because you blamed yourself?”

  The question was piercing and direct and cut right to the quick. Twenty-four hours ago it would have been a bitter blow. Jesse remembered finding Megan on the ledge, her joy when she’d known the girl was unharmed. Her sense that something had been released within her heart.

  “I did blame myself, for a while,” Jesse answered. “But that’s not why I’m here. I don’t have any … easy answers, Mrs. Moran.”

  “No. It wasn’t easy for you to come here, was it?” She looked out the small, curtained window. “I heard about your mother. How she drowned in the river.”

  Jesse swallowed. “It’s one reason why I joined search and rescue. Because I—” She broke off and shook her head, but Mrs. Moran didn’t seem to require an explanation. She looked at Jesse with tears in her eyes.

  “Maybe you do know what it’s like,” she whispered.

  They gazed at each other, more communication in their silence than words could convey. Mrs. Moran was the first to break away. She rose and went to the kitchen counter, hiding her face.

  “Thank you for coming,” she said.

  Jesse rose. “I meant what I said. If there’s any way I can help …”

  Mrs. Moran half turned, Kirk still her quiet shadow. “I’ll remember.”

  There was nothing else Jesse could do but hope the other woman believed in her sincerity. She knew how difficult it was to break down barriers between people who had to learn how to trust.

  But the barriers could be broken. It had happened with Megan.

  And David. Hadn’t he been the first to test her own defenses? Hadn’t he begun the crack in her heart that was widening a little more with every passing day, with every person whose life touched hers?

  She paused at the trailer door and pulled out the notepad she kept in her jeans pocket. “I’ve written down my number and address,” she said, setting the paper on the table. “Please, call anytime.”

  She was almost to her truck when Mrs. Moran’s voice stopped her.

  “Thank you, Jesse. I never told you my name. It’s Lisa.” She smiled and watched Jesse from the door when she could have gone inside. Even Kirk raised a small hand in a tentative wave.

  The fullness in Jesse’s chest expanded in a rush of warmth that made her eyes prickle. Maybe she hadn’t done much, but she felt good, damned good for having tried. Maybe Mrs. Moran—Lisa—would call. And maybe Megan would be willing to visit Kirk, who was probably just as isolated as his mother.

  At least there was hope.

  Megan was waiting for her at Al’s, and proved how well recovered she was by barreling into Jesse the instant she walked in the door.

  “I was waiting for you,” Megan said. “You did come back.”

  She spoke with the grudging wonder of a skeptic forced to admit that miracles were possible. Now that the initial euphoria over Megan’s rescue had passed, it was even more important that Jesse keep her promises to Megan and show the girl that she could rely on the care and consistency of another human being.

  “I’ve been to see Bobby’s mother,” Jesse said. “Our talk last night made me decide to go. She has a son named Kirk, about your age.”

  Megan’s expression grew grave. “They must be very sad.”

  “Yes.” She put her arm around Megan. “I’ve been thinking—if you’d like, and if Mrs. Moran agrees—we could invite him over sometime. He and his mother don’t have much. You could show him the computer. He probably really needs a friend right now.”

  Megan frowned, and Jesse wondered if she’d pushed things too fast. She’d barely begun to know Megan herself, though she felt as if their relationship were years rather than days old.

  “Just think about it,” Jesse said. “In the meantime, you and I have a camping trip to plan, don’t we? And we have to get you some new glasses.”

  “I’m only a little nearsighted,” Megan protested.

  “But you won’t want to miss the beautiful things we’ll see on our hike. I’ll set up the appointment.” She gave Megan another quick hug. “Have you been getting plenty of rest?”

  “All day.” Megan wrinkled her nose. “You know that angel you talked about last night? He was there this morning. But when I woke up later, he was gone.”

  Was it possible that Megan had seen David after all? If so, she didn’t seem troubled by the vision. And somehow Jesse was not surprised. She’d felt not the slightest qualm in asking David to keep watch after she left. There’d been a rightness to it that couldn’t be denied.

  David might be waiting for her now, at the cabin. Her heart picked up speed, and she remembered vividly their meeting in Megan’s room—her inability to touch him when she’d nearly flung herself into his arms, his promise that he wouldn’t be so insubstantial when next they met.

  She had wanted to touch him. She had felt such happiness at seeing him, as if his presence were the only thing lacking to make her world complete.

  Could so much have changed in a handful of days? How could she justify the irrational feeling that David, like Megan, was becoming an essential part of her life?

  “Are you going to have dinner with us, Jesse?” Megan said, tugging at her hand. “It’s tacos.”

  Jesse squeezed Megan’s fingers. “I’ll stay for dinner—but then it’s off to bed with you, young lady. Agreed?”

  Megan rolled her eyes. “Okay. Let’s go tell Mrs. Plummer we’re ready to eat.”

  Jesse made the most of her time with Megan, but her thoughts turned again and again to David—and the other matter that remained far from settled.

  Gary might be gone from Manzanita, but he was not forgotten. The events of the past twenty-four hours hadn’t erased the impact of the confrontation at the party and the break-in, or weakened Jesse’s resolution to track down the source of Gary’s guilt. But at last she had come to recognize what she must do if she were to go any further in her quest for justice—what she’d been avoiding just as she’d put off visiting Mrs. Moran. The one thing she feared most.

  She had to return to the old resort. She had to walk the grounds again and go into the cabin she and her mother had shared, relive it all once more. If answers existed, they had to be there.

  She was just beginning to understand how much more than herself she had to fight for.

  The sun was sliding behind the mountains when Jesse walked into the cabin. She hesitated only a moment when she saw David, and then she went to him—with outstretched hands and a smile, as she’d done before. But this time he took her hands in his, and they looked at each other as if they were old and d
ear friends who had shared some great trial and come through safely.

  David had thought their hours apart would give him all the distance he needed to master his inconvenient response to her newfound warmth and trust. But the feel of her slender fingers cradled in his own, the sincere gladness in her upturned face, had a devastating effect. He was already pulling her close before he realized the danger.

  He released her hands and stepped back. “And how is our Megan?”

  Jesse let her arms fall, suddenly self-conscious. “She’s fine. Resting.” She looked him up and down, a delicate flush to her cheeks. “You’re solid again.”

  “As promised.” He whisked an illusory bit of dust from his ragged jacket. “Though I seem to have a deucedly limited wardrobe.”

  She laughed, though the sound was tense with unspoken thoughts. By silent agreement they settled in the kitchen, where they’d held their first conversation—the table separating them as it had then, a quiet return to their original bargain. Whatever had happened between them since the party, Jesse remembered the risks of intimacy with her personal ghost.

  “You asked me,” Jesse said at last, “if I trusted you.”

  David clasped his hands on the table in a pose of mock relaxation. “And you,” he said, “asked me why you shouldn’t.”

  She looked at his hands. “Do you know … how difficult it is for me to trust? I’d lost the habit for a very long time, except with a handful of people. Like Al, and Kim.”

  “But now?”

  “Now—” She met his gaze with heartbreaking directness. “After the party, and what you did for Megan … I believe you are my friend.”

  Such a simple word, “friend.” So unsatisfying if one wanted more. But David heard in that word a wealth of meaning and significance that went far beyond its definition. Friendship was nothing simple or casual for Jesse. Nor was her trust.