by Elsa Kurt
“Is it—” began a staticky female voice.
“Uh-huh,” he threw a side glance in Mitch’s direction, “with an—additional situation.”
A pause.
“Roger that, Jerry. Chief is en route.”
At that point, Mitch hung his head in defeat.
“Run, Mitch. I was driving, I’ll take the blame. He won’t do anything to me,” Rebecca hissed in his ear.
Despite being smack in the middle of doing something wrong—criminal, even—Mitch was a good kid, raised by great parents. His true nature showed him to be responsible, earnest, and kind. Therefore, he would not let Rebecca take the fall. A voice in his head—one that sounded suspiciously like his father’s—said running away wasn’t the way a man would handle it. A real man would own up, no matter what the consequence.
When the chief arrived—driving an unmarked, thunder cloud-grey car with his blue and red lights flashing but silent—he rolled down his window to speak to Jerry. He didn’t look at Rebecca or Mitch until the cruiser had pulled out of the lot and onto Route 9. He turned off the ignition and climbed slowly out of the car. The chief came around the back of the cruiser, hiking up the pants of his dark blue uniform and his duty belt. His cuffs, two shiny rings of cold steel, clanked together when he did that. Mitch gulped, his eyes golf ball wide as they took in the handcuffs, baton, and most of all, the gun holster.
The chief wasn’t imposing in size—Mitch already had several inches on the man—he was probably no more than 5’9” or 5’10”, but he had a presence. His skin was ruddy, there were creases at the corners of his blue eyes, and he was mostly bald but for a closely shaved ring around his head. Ned Hollister had the beginnings of a belly paunch, but his back was board straight and his shoulders broad. In that moment—even though everything about his attire screamed Chief of Police—he just looked like a dad as he stared down at his daughter. Chief Hollister didn’t seem angry. He looked tired. Defeated. Rebecca stared past him, over his right shoulder, and crossed her arms over her chest. She flipped her long golden ponytail off her shoulder, and it swung back, hitting Mitch in the arm. Her pointy jaw was thrust out defiantly as if he were yelling at her, or about to. But Mitch could see he wasn’t going to do that—yell.
“Bec, sweetheart, get in the car. I’d like to talk to your friend a moment.”
Mitch half expected Rebecca was going to defy her father, but she surprised them all. Her only act of defiance was when she turned on her heel, grabbed Mitch’s arm, and pulled him down sideways so she could kiss his cheek. She’d done it so fast Mitch hadn’t time to react or stop her. Surely, that was the chief’s boiling point? But no, he merely looked down at the ground by Mitch’s feet, his hands on his hips. He stayed like that as Rebecca brushed past him, climbed into the passenger seat of the cruiser, and slammed the door behind her. Then Chief Hollister ambled to where young Mitch stood nervously.
“Relax, son. I ain’t gonna bite.”
“It’s not a bite I’m afraid of, sir.” Mitch glanced down at the gun holster as he spoke.
The chief gave a short laugh. “You’ve been watching too much television, kid. Settle down. How about you tell me what you kids were doing out here, hmm?”
“It was my idea, sir. Rebecca had no idea what I was going to do. She’s innocent.”
At this, the chief laughed longer and harder, even slapping his knee, as if Mitch had told him a funny joke. Mitch did not laugh with him.
“Son, you think this is my first rodeo? You think it’s her first rodeo?” He jerked his thumb in Rebecca’s direction, who was staring straight ahead and not looking at either of them.
“Sir, I take full responsibility for—”
“I know you do, son. You’re a good kid. Listen to me, now. Rebecca—she’s a handful. Has been since her mother left us. She’s rebelling, I know. They say it’ll get easier, but—anyhow.” The chief cleared his throat, then his eyes locked on Mitch. “I’ve already checked you out—did it the first week you two started spending time together—you come from good stock. Your dad was a builder before his accident, right? Hear you’re a natural talent, too. Is that right?” The chief looked around the site and nodded his head, answering his own questions. “You’ve got a chance at decent future. If you stay out of trouble.”
“Sir, I—”
“No. I talk, you listen. Here’s what you’re going to do. Tomorrow morning, before school, you’re gonna come back here and ask for Bobby Andover. You’re gonna say to him that Ned Hollister sent you over. Then, you’re gonna work off your part of the damages to the skid-steer.”
Mitch looked around him, over at Rebecca’s stoic figure, and opened his mouth again.
“Don’t worry about her. She’s gonna take responsibility, too. Kid, I’m gonna give you some advice. Stay in school, keep your grades up, and you stick with Bobby. He’ll teach you everything you need to know, get you on the right track, set you up for an honest living doing man’s work.”
Chief Hollister scratched the back of his neck, looked back at his defiant daughter, and then back at Mitch. He waited for him to say, ‘And stay away from my daughter,’ but the chief surprised him once again that night.
“If I tell you to stay away from my daughter, it’s only gonna make her chase you around more. So, I’m gonna tell you this, son. She’s vulnerable. That tough act she’s got going? That’s all it is, an act. Now, I’m gonna ask you to be a man of integrity. Of honor. You hear me, son?”
Mitch understood him loud and clear. “Yes, sir. I promise you, I will.”
He did as the chief told him to do. The next morning, before school, he went back to the construction site and found Bobby Andover. It wasn’t hard. He was the short, stocky man in a faded denim work shirt, standing over a skid-steer that was half in a ditch and swearing. Mitch approached, his stomach in knots, his palms sweating. He wiped one of them off on his jeans and extended it to Bobby.
“Mr. Andover? Chief Hollister said you’re the man I need to speak to, sir? My name’s Mitch Ford, and I’m responsible for this. If you let me, I’d like to work off all of the damages.”
Bobby Andover grunted and looked Mitch up and down. Mitch could almost hear what he was thinking by the way he appraised him. Tall kid. A little lanky. Big, sturdy looking hands. He grunted again. Mitch figured Ned Hollister had already told him about his and his daughter’s antics and that Mitch was only responsible for half the damages. Despite what the chief had said, he still chose to own it all. Years later, Bobby would tell Mitch that he’d liked Mitch on sight, but he wasn’t about to let him know that. The kid needed to squirm a bit.
“That so? How you propose to do that?”
“Well, sir, I’ll do whatever work you need to be done. Errands. Clean-up. You name it.”
Bobby grunted again and briskly rubbed his black beard-stubbled cheeks with both hands.
“Alright,” he huffed, “get back here after school. I got plenty you can do. Don’t be late.”
Mitch did as he was told, and came back after school that day, and every day after that. Once Mitch had proven himself to be reliable and responsible, Bobby took him on as an apprentice and did exactly what the chief had said he’d do—he taught Mitch everything about building and construction there was to know. Bobby was a Master craftsman, and by the time Mitch was twenty-four, so was he.
As for Rebecca, she grew frustrated with Mitch and his newly found drive and dedication. She needed a playmate and a partner in mischief. Still, they stayed together for the whole school year and well into the summer. Mitch loved her in the way young men fall in love—hard and fast, and full of machismo. Rebecca loved him in the way girls fall in love—madly and deeply, and with a hurricane of emotions. They fought and made up, then repeated the cycle many times over. It was inevitable it would end, but when it did, it took him by surprise. It was early senior year.
“Mitch, we need to talk,” Rebecca said one day.
They’d had a pretty nice afternoon. No
fighting, but not much talking either. A surprisingly warm October day everyone was taking advantage of, including them. They’d gone to the park for a picnic. Rebecca began telling Mitch about her college applications. All along, Mitch had assumed she would stay close by to be near both him and her father. He was wrong.
“I’ve decided to go to Washington State. If they accept me, of course.” she said.
“Washington? But that’s practically on the other side of the country. What happened to staying local?”
Rebecca shrugged, then began twisting her class ring. She wouldn’t look at him. In that moment, Mitch knew. She was breaking up with him. He didn’t feel anything at first, nothing other than a numb sort of detachment. Like he was watching the scene from above, this young couple sitting on a blanket in the park. Instead of a cliched romantic picnic, they were breaking up. The rest was a blur. He recalled standing abruptly, shooing her off the blanket, swooping everything up into the checkered flannel sheet and stomping to his rusty old truck with her in tow.
Her calls of, ‘just listen to me, Mitch,’ and ‘can’t we at least talk,’ were ignored. He drove her home in silence, turning up the radio every time she opened her mouth to speak. It wasn’t until the day before she left for her tour of Washington State that he came around. Mitch stood at her front door, hands thrust deep in his pockets. Chief Hollister answered the door and grinned out at him.
“Atta boy. She’ll be right out, son.”
A few minutes later, Rebecca came out onto the porch. They were both hesitant and awkward, standing on opposite sides of the long front porch. Neither quite knowing what to say. Then Rebecca did something that was so Rebecca of her—a silly thing, really. There was a row of tiny potted cacti on the wide railing, and she carefully picked one up, studied it, then threw it at him. Mitch dodged it easily, and it sailed out into the yard, smashing on the neighbor’s driveway. He pulled his hands from his pockets and put his arms wide. Rebecca ran to him then and buried her face in his shirt. She cried quietly. Mitch did, too.
They reacquainted once, several years ago at a build. Time had been kind to Rebecca. Sure, there were faint lines at the corners of her eyes, her figure was softer, fuller—but she had a calm confidence about her now. The hard edge was gone, and in its place, a woman content with herself and her life. She’d stayed in Washington, married a guy she met in college. Rebecca had discovered the show was taping there, so she took the ride over to see him. On a whim, she said. She had two kids, a boy, and a girl. The girl, she told him with a smile, was as wild as the day was long. Mitch smiled too when she’d said that. Serves you right, he told her with a chuckle. They talked about her dad, long since retired and moved nearby. He was a doting grandfather. They talked about old times, how crazy she’d been.
At the end, Rebecca said, “You know, Mitch. You were my first love. Thanks for setting the bar so high.”
“Aww, stop. I’m happy for you, Bec. I mean it. It’s been good seeing you.”
He kissed her forehead, she squeezed him tightly around his waist, and they said goodbye. Mitch smiled softly at the memory. His eyes refocused on the woman outside the coffee shop window. It was easy to see why he was reminded of Rebecca. Sure, the hair flip triggered the memory, but it was more than that. Katharine had that same willfulness and fire, that air of intrigue and imminent excitement that called out to him. He was an adventurer, after all.
Mitch felt like a voyeur, watching Katharine in an unguarded state. Her mannerisms and demeanor were so different from the watchful, suspicious Katharine he’d seen so much of. The person she’d been speaking with came into view. Mitch recognized her to be Katharine’s neighbor, Janie. Mitch could tell by their gesturing they were discussing their route. Katharine was shorter than her friend and looked up at her as Janie spoke, nodding and smiling, though still breathing heavy.
She was mid-nod when she froze. Mitch didn’t know if she had a feeling or if it was her peripheral vision, but Katharine seemed to sense Mitch’s stare, and she slowly turned her head to look inside the shop. Mitch, for lack of a better idea, quickly set down his mug and grabbed the newspaper. He held it up in front of his face, hiding from her and not caring how childish he was behaving. He realized too late that the paper was upside down.
***
Katharine watched in amusement as the work boot and faded denim-clad man inside ECO slowly righted the newspaper in front of his face. She could see the well-worn baseball cap over the top. There was no mistaking who it was.
“Do you see what I’m seeing?”
Janie turned her gaze to where Katharine’s was and burst out laughing. “Does he think you don’t see him? Is he—does he think he’s hiding from you?”
Katharine shook her head and laughed, too. Fine, you big baby, be that way. To Janie, she said, “Come on, I’ll deal with him later. Right now, I want to run!”
The duo ran off, shaking their heads and laughing as they did. Mitch Ford was not going to ruin her good mood. Like Katharine, Janie was a jogger, so when they learned this about each other, they decided to run together. Actually, Janie came up with the idea, and Katharine—after a brief hesitation—agreed. After doing practically everything solo for so long, it was strange to have a companion, but not at all unpleasant.
After a long talk with Tori the night before, and then another with Janie that morning, Katharine decided to renew her oft-broken resolve to change her self-destructive habits. She went down her short list of new skills—she’d made friends, thrown a party, and survived not one but two television shows. Now all that was left was telling the man of her dreams she loved him. Or maybe she should start with likes him. Love was such an intense word. What if he didn’t feel as strongly? Then she’d be making a fool of herself.
“Janie,” huffed Katharine, “I can’t do it.”
“Oh, c’mon. We only have one more mile to go. You can do it!”
“No, not the run. I mean I can’t tell Mitch how I feel about him.”
“Oh, my God. Stop it! I thought this was settled,” Janie said in between strides. “New day, new Katharine, remember? Quit talking yourself out of it, silly. No more overthinking, okay?”
“Okay, fine. You’re right. Today. I’ll do it today.”
“Good. Now let’s sprint the last stretch.”
Two hours later, a freshly showered and changed Katharine paced her living room. She’d rehearsed what she would say to Mitch at least a dozen times. There was to be no turning back, no chickening out. Whatever happened, happened. And no matter what happened, at least she’d be able to say she told him. These were Janie’s parting mantras to Katharine after their run, and Katharine kept them on repeat in her head. You can do this
.
SEVENTEEN
BLAST FROM THE PAST
Mitch arrived at the Genoma build site promptly at eight o’clock. Sam was waiting for him, without his camera on his shoulder. Mitch stopped in his tracks, pulled his cap down low, and put his hands on his hips. He braced himself. If Sam didn’t have that thing sitting on his shoulder like a parrot, it meant one thing. Something was up.
“Hey, boss. We’ve got a situation.”
“What’d she do now?” Mitch asked.
“Huh? Oh, not her. Remember the Atlanta build from last month?”
“Yes, Samuel. I’m not senile yet. I can remember events from a month ago. What’s the problem?”
“Well,” Sam squeezed one eye closed and held his breath a moment before letting the words rush out, “they need you—us, actually— to go back. They want more filler for the segment and the big boss wants it asap.”
Mitch pulled his cap off and scratched his head. He glanced over at the bushes separating the Genoma property from Katharine’s. Forget her, old man. She made it clear at the Up All-Night appearance. She doesn’t want to see you. “When do we leave?” Mitch asked.
“Now, buddy. We have barely enough time to pack a bag and get to the airport.”
“How long will it
take? And what are we doing with the Genoma build in the meantime?”
“Not sure, Mitch. A week? Two weeks? They, uh, tied in some interviews and appearances, too. Genoma’s is getting pushed back until we return. Sorry, man.”
Mitch nodded and pat Sam on the shoulder. He gave one last glance in the direction of Katharine’s house, then followed Sam to the SUV. Perhaps the unexpected trip was for the best. The past few weeks had been a whirlwind of bizarre events, and at the center of it all, a woman who somehow managed to turn him inside out. Him, a guy who prided himself on being level-headed, and a realist. He wasn’t the kind of guy who spouted phrases like ‘it was love at first sight.’ He didn’t swoon or get mushy. Mitch Ford was a man’s man. Plenty of women loved that about him. He didn’t want for lack of female attention. So why was he so twisted up over this woman?
Enough already. Why are you doing this to yourself? The answer was simple. Deep down, he knew Katharine felt something for him. Mitch had also gleaned enough from Nate, her book, and her bio to have his suspicions as to why her walls were built up so high. It kind of made him feel a bit protective of her. Not that she needed protecting. She’d certainly proven that time and again. Mitch could hear the echo of his kid sister, Lizbeth, in his ear.
“Mitch,” she’d said, “you’re a fixer. Just like Dad, you fix things. But you can’t fix people, Mitchie. They have to fix themselves, you know.”
“How’d you get to be so smart, Lizzie?” He’d chuckled at her.
“I learned from the best, brother dear.”
Lizbeth was two years younger than Mitch, but always behaved lightyears older. She became a psychologist, which was no surprise to anyone. After their parents passed away, Lizbeth and Mitch decided to keep the old farmhouse in Virginia that they’d been raised in. Lizzy lived and had her practice from there, and Mitch always had a place to call home. They spoke nearly every day, and she was well aware of the goings on with Katharine Evans. In fact, she was the only one who knew how affected Mitch was by that woman.
