Hawk

by Abigail Graham

“I believe you should,” he said, eyeing her. “You’re fast, aren’t you?”

  “Fast and thirsty.”

  He had a water bottle clipped to the frame of his bike. Jennifer forgot to take one of her own. He handed it to her and she squeezed some out into her mouth, held it there to feel the coolness, and swallowed. She passed the bottle back.

  “You can have all you want,” he said, absently.

  She smirked. “I’m sure.”

  She liked this. It felt natural.

  Her ring itched.

  He took a drink, and looked around. “Why’d you stop here?”

  The monument perched next to the remains of the old bridge abutment. Comprised of a ring of small obelisks in front of a semicircle of stone, it formed a viewing platform over the river.

  “I didn’t… I wasn’t thinking,” she said.

  Jacob wheeled his bike up the path. Jennifer swung off of her bike to follow him, and left it on the kickstand beside his as he walked to the monument.

  “I’ve never been here,” he said.

  She stepped beside him. “You haven’t?”

  He shook his head. “My uncle wouldn’t let me attend the ceremony.”

  He walked to the first pillars and scanned the names carved in the marble.

  “They’re in alphabetical order,” she said, absently.

  “You come here often?”

  “Not as much as I should. It’s always either too loud or too quiet.”

  She hated the design because it looked like teeth. Jacob examined each obelisk until he stopped and rested his hand on one. Jennifer trailed behind him with her arms folded over her chest. She didn’t know what to say, and suspected he didn’t either.

  “I… I looked them up,” Jennifer said. “I hope that doesn’t upset you. I was curious.”

  He nodded. “I knew your husband was on the list. We’re even.”

  Her ring itched. Both their losses were listed on the same bronze plaque.

  “I hate this place,” she said.

  His gaze fell to the river. “I feel like I should do something, or say something, but I don’t know what. Do I bring flowers?”

  “I don’t know. People do.”

  Some of them were even planted along the wall, or sat in pots beside the park benches that looked out over the river.

  “I don’t understand why they think people would want to sit here and look at the river,” said Jennifer. “For a long time I couldn’t stand to be near it at all.”

  “I know what you mean,” he said, softly. “I can still see it. It was right here. We’re standing in the middle of the old road.”

  “Have you ever talked to anyone about it?”

  “Of course. The chaplains always told me it was wrong to blame myself.”

  “It wasn’t. No one could have-”

  “It is my fault.”

  “Jacob-“

  “Do you know what chaos theory is?”

  “I’ve heard of it,” said Jennifer.

  The river foamed as it coursed over the smoothed stones. It wasn’t a raging torrent, but it carved a deep channel in the earth. Once the water had been deep enough for a ferry and above the falls there were mills that ran on the current.

  “A tiny change to a complex system has huge consequences,” said Jacob. “The night of the collapse, my parents took my sister shopping in Philadelphia, for Christmas,” he said.

  He spoke so softly she almost had to strain to hear him.

  “It was our family tradition. Every year we went to Philly for a day, but not really Philly. Mostly the mall at King of Prussia. Mom and Dad would argue about going to Delaware. Dad always said we weren’t saving any money on the sales tax, because of the gas.”

  “You didn’t go?”

  “Not that time. I was seventeen. I got it in my head that going with them would be stupid. I don’t know if I even had a reason. We argued.” His voice grew tight. “My sister begged me to come. I stayed home and played video games instead.”

  “I’m so sorry,” said Jennifer.

  “She tried to call me, as the bridge was collapsing. I had my headphones on.”

  He leaned on the wall.

  “I’m so sorry,” Jennifer said, and rested her hand on his shoulder. “I shouldn’t have stopped here. I wasn’t paying attention-“

  “It’s my fault. If I went with them… fifteen minutes, either way. If I’d slowed them down or sped them up, kept us at dinner longer, chosen a different place to eat, they’d be here now. They were almost home.”

  “I used to think it would be better,” she said, surprised at the hollowness of her own voice. “If I’d been with him. I used to lie awake at night, wondering why God was punishing me.”

  Used to.

  “She’d be going on seventeen, now,” Jacob said. “My sister. She’d be practicing for the SATs, deciding where to go to school. She wanted to be a dentist.” He wasn’t looking at her. “It twists me up inside, when I’m at work. I didn’t think it would bother me, but I look out at that classroom and I see an empty chair and wonder if it would have been hers.”

  “I ran down the street barefoot when I heard Mrs. Carmody, my neighbor, screaming,” Jennifer said. “It was freezing cold and my feet were bleeding. I ran the whole way. You know Brock Edwards? The school resource officer?”

  Jacob nodded. “We’ve met.”

  “He stopped me from throwing myself into the ravine. Caught me in his arms and carried me away. I ended up in one of the ambulances, shivering and screaming and wrapped up in a blanket while some EMT from county patched up my feet. I don’t even remember how I got home.”

  “I was there,” he said. “I wanted to climb down, but they wouldn’t let me. It wouldn’t have mattered. My sister didn’t suffer.”

  The way he said it implied his mother and father weren’t so lucky.

  “The car landed upside down,” he continued. “Candy was killed instantly. My mother probably didn’t last more than a minute. My father, though…” He trailed off, and looked back out over the river. “I did some research. I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t stop myself. He was probably awake and aware for at least ten minutes.”

  She grabbed his arm. “They would all be glad you lived.”

  “Would they?” he said, sharply. “She was my little sister. I was supposed to protect her.”

  “Jacob--“

  He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. He turned from the wall, slipping his arm out of her grasp.

  Great job, Jennifer. Ask your date about his dead relatives.

  “I’m sorry.” He looked away. “I’ll understand if you want to go home.”

  Her ring itched.

  “Actually, I don’t,” she said. “I don’t want to go back there right now.”

  “Then let’s ride. The hill is a tough grade. Think you’re up to it?”

  “Yes,” she said, lifting her chin defiantly. She tightened the straps on her helmet, turned the bike around, and took off, leaving him to catch up.

  Jacob immediately pulled ahead, and she clenched her teeth and pedaled hard until she was directly behind him. His broad muscular back and tense shoulders made her feel a strange quiver., Winded from the hard sprinting chase she gave him earlier, the uphill ride was difficult, but she ignored her sore muscles and kept up.

  He turned onto newly paved long driveway towards the Dean House and eased the pace. Though two generations of ancestors were born there, Jennifer never set foot inside the house. Not a huge mansion out of a Shirley Walker novel, but definitely bigger than any of the houses in town with its own carriage house, a switchback stair that led down to the river, and a private boat dock.

  Jacob pushed something in his pocket, and the rolling door on the carriage house came up with a steady rumble. He wheeled his bike inside, and Jennifer stopped to marvel at the three cars tucked in there, plus a fourth under a drop cloth.

  T A long, screened-in porch lined the front of the main house facing the river.
Jacob opened the door and gestured to enter.

  Bookcases filled the living room. A closer examination of their contents revealed they weren’t decorator grade books sold by the foot. This was a carefully curated and organized collection built by an enthusiast. Glass doors covered a single climate controlled bookcase containing very old volumes.

  “This is amazing,” she said. “You’d think you were the English teacher.”

  He shrugged beside her. “I took more of an interest after I got out of high school. Drink?”

  “Water,” she said. “Please.”

  He strode through a sliding door at the end of the living room into the kitchen. Granite counters surrounded the professional grade stainless steel appliances. Everything appeared showroom new.

  He rummaged in the refrigerator and handed her a bottle of water, cracking open one of his own. Jennifer sat down and took three big gulps before she heard her mother’s voice in the back of her head, admonishing her not to get a cramp.

  “What do you think?”

  “Lovely, so far,” she said. “You live here all by yourself?”

  He shook his head. “I have staff. I dismissed them for the day.”

  “Staff? Like a butler?”

  “Sort of,” he said then took a long pull on his water bottle. He breathed hard after he took it from his lips, the movement of his chest pulling the sweat-soaked fabric tight over his body. Embarrassed, Jennifer looked away.

  Jacob went on as if he hadn’t noticed. “I have an assistant. He takes care of most things for me. A few others. Take care of the cars, things like that. Between lesson planning and my business interests, I don’t have much free time.”

  “You had time for me,” Jennifer said.

  “For you, I’ll make time.”

  Jennifer stood next to the kitchen table. He moved closer and she tensed, drawing in a sharp breath. His bright green eyes fixed on her and she stared back into them before darting to his sharp chin and smooth lips.

  She wanted him so badly it hurt. She just wanted to stop being Miss K for a few minutes.

  Touch me.

  Her ring itched.

  Jennifer swallowed. Her stomach fluttered and she tried to stop it by pressing her hand against her middle. She took a step closer to him like he was a source of gravity pulling her in. There was a cloud of power around him similar to a static electric charge just before the shock.

  He moved closer. She stood her ground, but that didn’t prevent him from moving closer. Her hand was heavy and her ring finger itched. He rested one hand on her shoulder, his knees sagged, and she rose up to kiss him.

  She turned up her chin and her lips met his, molding her body to his. Heat flooded through her body and her hands skimmed over his sides then his chest. Her eyes flicked open as she traced a network of ridged, tightened tissue all over his chest, up to his shoulders. Scars. There was a star-shaped mound of coarse flesh on his shoulder.

  His hands rested awkwardly on her sides. She almost laughed. He was like the boys at school dances, who wanted to hold their partners but were nervous their hands would go too high or two low. Jennifer broke from his kiss just long enough to draw in a sharp breath and kissed him again.

  Heat spread through her chest, tingled under her skin.

  A lance of white cold pain shot up her left arm, and she pulled back. Her ring felt like it would burn through her finger. She jumped back, clutching her trembling hand. The ring burned. The drum pounded in her head. Franklin, Franklin, Franklin.

  “I didn’t mean…” he said.

  She bolted through the house. Ignoring the flaring pain in her ankle, she took the front steps two at a time, and sprinted to the carriage house to retrieve her bicycle. She pedaled furiously until she was home, and let the bicycle crash to the porch. Once inside, she fell to her knees, panting and sobbing.

  8.

  The steaming water turned Jennifer’s skin red. Teeth clenched, she shoved her head under the spray. Scalding water poured over her face, and soaked into her hair to weigh it down her back in a thick hot cord.

  She grabbed the ring and pulled. It refused to budge past the first knuckle. She seized the bar of soap and ground it between her hands, using the ring’s edge to scrape off small thin slivers. The furious pumping worked up a thick lather between her hands. She yanked harder on the ring, whimpering at its grip on her finger. Braced against the tiled shower wall, she screamed in frustration as she pulled, feeling like she would rip her finger out by the joint.

  Sobbing at her failure to get the ring off her throbbing finger, Jennifer plunged her face in her hands. The look on Jacob’s face when she ran out of the house etched itself in her mind, and no matter how hard she tried, the image wouldn’t leave her alone.

  Jennifer slid down the shower wall and curled into a ball in the tub. The water went cold, and she reached out her foot to turn the water off, kicking the handle a little too hard in the process.

  The sun faded behind a rising thunderhead, flaring here and there with lightning. The first roll of thunder came deep, rattling through the house’s old bones. After pulling herself out of the tub, she found her phone and dialed Katie’s number.

  Her sister’s drowsy voice answered after three rings. “Jennifer?”

  “Katie.” Jennifer couldn’t hide her turmoil.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Katie’s loud and ragged sigh signaled a mix of annoyance and concern. “Take your time, Jen. Tell me what happened.”

  “It started on the first day of school. I was going to work and Elliot stopped me in the street.”

  “Oh my God,” Katie said. “What did he do?”

  “He wouldn’t let me by. He g-g-grabbed my hair.” Her voice grew small.

  “I’m coming up,” Katie said.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Jennifer said.

  “I’ll be there by one thirty. We can get something to eat. Get some sleep.”

  “I’m not tired.”

  “Take a nap, Jennifer.”

  Katie hung up.

  Rain drove against the windows in a steady drum punctuated by the occasional distant beat of thunder.

  Should I call him?

  He probably thought she was out of her mind, if he wasn’t insulted.

  Stupid, just running out like that. Stupid of me even to try.

  Sleep came swiftly and blessedly unbroken until a knock on the front door jolted her awake.

  “I”ll be down in a minute!” she called.

  Jennifer tied her hair and threw on some baggy sweats. Ready to greet Katie, she went to the front door and pulled it open.

  Elliot stood there scowling with his hands in his khaki pockets. Rain spotted his white polo shirt. He reached for the handle on the storm door. Jennifer twisted the lock just in time. Elliot yanked, and the metal pulled away from the frame enough to form a small gap. Jennifer swung the big door closed and bolted it.

  “Open the goddamn door, Jenny.”

  Jennifer bumped against the wall opposite the door, gasping for breath. He was here. At her house. She dropped the piece of wood Franklin used to bar the door back in place and willed him to leave.

  Her throat went dry. “Go away,” she said from behind the closed door.

  The storm door rattled. “No, Jenny. We need to talk.”

  Liquid panic spread through her, turning her legs to stone. She touched the closet door before she realized she couldn’t just crawl in and hide from him.

  Jennifer backed away from the door.

  Elliot appeared at the front window, and rapped on the glass. He wasn’t going away. He was grinning, and the way he leaned over to peer through the window gave a predatory cast to his face. She could hear the mockery in his voice.

  “I just want to have a civil conversation,” he said. “There’s no reason to make this difficult.”

  She was cornered, nowhere to run. Her heart was pounding and her temples throbbed. It was like a si
nus headache, but worse, the rhythmic beats of pain sharper and deeper. Any more and her teeth would stat chattering. Go away, go away.

  “You’re trespassing!”

  “Open up the door, Jenny. I’m not going to leave until you talk to me.”

  Sweat tingled on her palms as she opened the window over her crafting bench. “What do you want?”

  “I want to come in and talk.”

  “I’m not letting you in my house. Get off my porch.”

  Elliot sneered at her. “I don’t take no for an answer, Jenny.”

  She shoved the window closed, or tried to. Elliot clawed through the screen. Jennifer stared at his wriggling fingers. In a moment of sheer panic, she shoved the window down with all her might. It moved down in fits and starts, catching on the old rails until it shrieked and slammed down on Elliot’s hand. Elliot howled as he pulled his hand free.

  “You fucking bitch!” Elliot pounded on the storm door with his uninjured hand. “Get the fuck out here!”

  Heart pounding, Jennifer ran up and into the bedroom, and yanked open the top drawer of her nightstand. Her father’s .38 special rested in an old cigar box. She tipped the cylinder out, fumbled with the tarnished bullets, and pushed them into the chambers one at a time. When it was loaded, she locked the bedroom door and went to the window, gingerly holding the weapon as though it would leap out of her hands and bite her.

  Katie’s Volkswagen came trundling around the corner and pulled to a stop a few feet behind Elliot’s hulking muscle car. Jennifer’s stomach dropped through her knees and she ran for the bedroom door, yanked it open, and took the stairs two at a time, gritting her teeth through the ache in her ankle.

  She couldn’t let him hurt Katie.

  The door came open. Elliot turned as Katie stepped out of the Beetle and drifted to the sidewalk, her face an open mask of shock and fear.

  Holding the revolver in front of her chest, Jennifer stepped out on the porch and aimed it square at Elliot’s face. The color drained from his face, but he didn’t move.

  “Get off my porch,” she said in a voice steadier than she expected.

  Elliot put his hands up, and his grin faded. His eyes locked on the muzzle of the gun, bobbing with it as it trembled in her hands. He licked his lips and his adam’s apple slid up and down.