The Ones We Trust

by Kimberly Belle

  “It’s okay, Rose.” I squat down and wrap a throbbing arm around her waist. “Everything’s okay. We’re fine.”

  “You’re safe here,” the pirate adds, and her tears dry up a little.

  I, however, am still freaked way the hell out. Who was that guy, and even more important: Where is he now? Lurking in the shadows, watching, waiting? I cock my head and listen, but I can’t hear anything above the roar of my heartbeat, thudding thunder in my chest.

  The man distracts Rose with a giant bowl of candy, and she digs through the selection, finally settling on a bag of sour Skittles. But when it comes time for us to walk the few yards up an abandoned street to her house, a panicked look pinches her face, and her tears return.

  “Would you like me to walk you home?” he offers, as much to me as to Rose, and our nods are immediate. He closes the door behind him and extends a hand in my direction. “Jacques Martin. I’m Mike and Betsy’s neighbor.”

  “Abigail Wolff. Mike’s sister.”

  We head for home, flanking an exhausted and sniffling Tinker Bell, and it takes every bit of effort to not constantly peer over my shoulder for the man in the Members Only jacket. I only pray that the glow of the streetlights and a neighbor in a pirate costume have scared him off.

  So why do I still feel so exposed?

  Jacques rests a giant palm on Rose’s head. “If it makes you feel any better, chérie, I don’t like that part of the block, either.” He looks over to me, explaining. “The neighborhood association has tried to get another streetlight installed there for years now. I can’t tell you how many letters we’ve written, but the bureaucracy.” He says it the French way, bureaucratie, and waves a hand dramatically through the air. He sighs. “Maybe by the next Halloween.”

  My father pulls into the driveway as we’re walking up, prompting a miraculous recovery from Rose. She wrenches herself loose and runs to him. “Grandpa!”

  My recovery is instant, as well. My heart slows at the sight of his ramrod figure unfolding from his car, and I feel as if I can breathe again. I know how ridiculous that seems, thirty-two and still counting on my father to save me, but he’s a career soldier and a three-star general, for Christ’s sake. If anyone knows how to protect us from harm, it’s him.

  Even if he is still so clearly furious at me.

  By now, Ginger has alerted all of Bethesda to our return. Mike opens the door and takes in the scene on his front lawn, eyes darting between me and Dad and Jacques, while I glue my gaze to Ginger tearing across the yard. Where’s she going? What does she smell? She stops at a row of bushes, and even though it appears to be nothing other than a good place to do her business, watching Ginger pee seems easier than facing Mike’s blame and my father’s barely contained fury.

  “What happened?” Mike asks. “What’s wrong?”

  “They just got a little spooked,” Jacques says, “so I walked them home.”

  Mike seems to accept the answer, but his scowl doesn’t relent, especially once he focuses it back on me.

  Rose provides a welcome distraction from his dark looks, tearing up the driveway with her pumpkin bucket. “I got lots and lotsa candy. I’m gonna go show Mommy.” And then she disappears inside.

  Jacques waves his goodbyes, and then it’s just the three of us.

  I wait. Mike waits.

  The general isn’t as patient. “Mike, you go on inside. I’m gonna need a minute or two alone with your sister.”

  Mike whistles for Ginger, and then, after one more meaningful look in my direction, he closes the door.

  My father turns back to me, his expression on lockdown. “Description.”

  The lack of venom in his tone startles me, as does his question. I’d expected blame and accusation for the memo, fury for putting his granddaughter in danger. Anger rides the top of his voice, sure, but I don’t think it’s directed at me. I search my father’s expression, his sharp eyes and white-line mouth, but I don’t find anything there but concern.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I need a description, darlin’. Tell me what he looked like.”

  I am soothed by the calm reassurance in his voice, even though I suspect it’s for my benefit. I pull my cape tight around myself. Now that the adrenaline has stopped flowing, the shakes are about to set in. I can feel them rumbling like a train in the distance, barreling straight at me, growing in speed and strength.

  “Heavyset. Mousy-brown comb-over. Probably in his mid to late forties. Just under six feet. I’ve seen him before, about a week ago. He seems to think beige Members Only jackets are still in style.”

  Dad shakes his head so hard his cheeks wobble. “Goddammit.”

  I take all this to mean my father knows him. “Do you know who sent him?”

  He clamps down on his lips and stalks to his car, which means he knows, but he’s not telling.

  I scurry after him, my teeth now starting to chatter. “Am I in danger?”

  “Go home.” I’m not exactly comforted by his nonanswer, and Dad notices. “I’ll call you when I know more,” he says, right before slamming his door.

  And then with a screech of rubber on asphalt, he drives off before I can tell him that’s impossible, that my phone is lying in the trampled grass a mile up the road or, worse, clutched in Members Only’s sweaty palms.

  * * *

  I take the long way home, winding first to the north and then to the east, looping through busy streets and empty parking lots, shooting through stop signs and lingering at green lights until I’m certain no one’s following me. Fairly certain. Nearly one hundred percent certain. Even so, every bouncing pair of headlights in my rearview mirror sends a fresh wave of panic surging through me, and I can’t help but give my pursuer a tiny bit of credit. If his goal was to scare the shit out of me, he certainly succeeded.

  I tell myself my father would have never sent me home alone if he thought I was in any sort of danger. I tell myself he’s taking care of it. But the events of the night keep coming at me in waves—the heavyset man, the terror when I thought I’d lost Rose, our frantic run through the darkness—and I’m not sure I believe myself.

  By the time I roll up my block, it’s after ten and the street is quiet. Keys clutched in a fist, I bolt to the front door, intent on getting inside as quickly as possible. My sleeves and cape have other plans, and they tangle themselves around my hand, making the task so difficult that I’m not aware of the footsteps approaching behind me until it’s too late.

  “Abigail.”

  I let out an ear-piercing scream. Poor Gabe looks stunned to be at the receiving end of it, even more so when I start beating my fists on his chest.

  “What are you doing here? You scared the shit out of me!”

  “No kidding.” He snatches my wrists out of the air and holds on tight. “I was out for a walk and wanted to see—” Concern climbs up Gabe’s face, pushing up from under what’s now almost a full-grown beard. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

  Somewhere nearby, a door slams, a dog barks. The sounds accelerate my pulse and prickle my skin and hurtle me back to the ledge of full-blown panic.

  And then there are footsteps. My heart thunders and my head whips around, my eyes scanning up and down the street. The dog starts up again, and a fresh wave of panic tugs at me.

  “Let go, Gabe! I mean it.” When he doesn’t, I fill the air with a hysterical, “Let go!” shrill enough to burn the back of my throat.

  He releases me, and with shaking hands, I twist the key in the lock and shoot inside. I run from room to room, closing blinds and double-checking locks.

  Gabe follows closely behind. “Abigail, talk to me. What the hell happened to you tonight?”

  “Do you see anyone out there?” I stand on my toes to try to see out the window, but I’m not tall enough to have a clear view o
f the street.

  Gabe looks at me as if I just asked him if he’s seen a dancing circus bear on my front lawn. “Lots of people. It’s Halloween.”

  “Look again!” I point to the window at the top of the door. “Is there anyone out there?”

  He humors me for a second or two, peering out into my empty yard and the street beyond, and then shakes his head. “Calm down. There’s nothing out there.” Turning back, he pushes off the door and reaches for my hand, his eyes wide with worry. “Jesus, your fingers are like ice.”

  “Okay. Okay,” I say, more to myself than to Gabe. I draw a shaking breath. “He didn’t follow. He doesn’t know where I live.”

  “What are you talking about? Who doesn’t know?”

  “The guy from the market,” I tell him, as if that would clear things up. “The one with the Members Only jacket.”

  “What?” Gabe’s face scrunches up, and he runs a hand across the back of his neck. “Wait. Back up. What guy?”

  “I noticed him first at the market, when I came to tell you about Ricky. And then I saw him again tonight, when I was trick-or-treating with my niece. He chased us.”

  “He chased you.” I nod, and Gabe’s eyes harden. He leads me to the couch, parking me and sinking down next to me. “Start at the beginning.”

  I take a deep breath and will the knots in my shoulders to loosen. “There’s not much more to tell. I was with Rose at this house with a million of those ridiculous inflatables when I spotted him for the second time. I recognized him by his jacket. It has a stain on one of the cuffs.” I point to my right bat sleeve, but it’s all tangled around my wrist. “Anyway, as soon as he saw me watching him, he ducked behind a giant skeleton. I called Dad, but the tail wasn’t his. I tried to shake him off without Rose noticing—she’s only four, and I didn’t want to freak her out—but he caught up to us, so I ran.”

  Gabe is rubbing both my hands in his, warming them with the friction. “And he chased you.”

  I nod. “Through the scary dark part. That’s what Rose called it, and I gotta say, she has a point.”

  Gabe lifts a hip, reaches into his pocket for his cell phone. “I’m calling the police.”

  “No!” I pull him, scowling in protest, back onto the couch. “My brother is already furious at me for the memo, and if he knows I put Rose in danger, it will tip him into nuclear territory. He’ll never let me anywhere near her again. Besides, my father would have told me if I was in danger. When he left, he said he’d take care of it.”

  Not exactly the truth, but close enough. And talking through the experience, I’ve discovered, has helped. Helped calm my heart, wash the fear from my bones, put tonight’s events in unruffled perspective. Now that I’ve said the words out loud, I’m convinced Dad will take care of things. He is the general, after all.

  And then I think of something else, something that chases the warmth from my body all over again. “Oh, my God. The Members Only man was standing right there when I told you I found Ricky. He was down by the pumpkins. He had to have heard me.”

  Gabe looks away, and his jaw flexes. “I don’t think we said anything else after that, did we?”

  “Not there, but what if he followed us to Starbucks?” I squeeze my eyes shut, try to recall the scene in the coffee shop, but I can’t. I was so intent on telling Gabe my story in between bites of blueberry muffin, I have no recollection of anyone but a couple of people behind laptops and women on their way to the gym. “He could have been sitting next to us, and I wouldn’t have noticed.”

  “We need to get to Graciela first.”

  Tell me about it. As confident as I was in the beginning, assuring Gabe she’d return my calls with a certainty that bordered on cockiness, I’m starting to get more than a little worried. It’s been a whole week now, and Graciela still hasn’t responded to any of my increasingly desperate messages.

  “Let’s give her the weekend, and if I haven’t heard back by Monday, I’ll take a little road trip to Portsmouth.”

  “We’ll take a road trip.” He grins and gestures to the thick stubble hugging his jaw, decorating his chin, his cheeks, his upper lip. “By then my disguise will be complete. What do you think?”

  I reach over, running my finger over where his dimple used to be in his cheek, feeling his almost-beard against my palm, the prickle of his hair on my fingertips.

  The look that rolls up his face is heated and tender all at once. It’s like watching desire come to life, and it makes me forget every awful thing that happened earlier tonight.

  I miss the dimple is what I was going to say.

  What comes out is, “I think it’s time for that rain check.”

  20

  Gabe and I end up in bed. Of course we do. After the last aborted attempt, after circling each other for the better part of a good month now, all that pent-up desire had to come out at some point.

  It came out in kissing and grinding on my couch, in hands sliding under fabric and over skin baking underneath, in soft gasps and louder moans, and finally, in Gabe throwing my legs around his hips, pinning me to his chest and carrying me upstairs, shedding clothes along the way.

  Which brings us to now. Gabe and me, panting and sweaty and tangled on my wrecked sheets.

  “Wow,” I whisper into the quiet dark. The word seems pitifully inadequate for what I just experienced. Sex with Gabe was like none I’ve ever had—and at thirty-two, and at the risk of sounding like an oversexed trollop, I’ve had plenty of sex. But this was different. Wild. Spectacular. Unprecedented. “Remind me to send a thank-you card to the mustard heiress.”

  He shoots me a wry grin. “Send it to whoever made that dress of yours. I’ve always had a thing for corsets.” I shove him playfully, and he captures my wrist in his hand, kissing the inside of my palm. “And you,” he says, all teasing from his tone gone now. “It seems I also have a thing for you.”

  Warmth spreads across my chest, and I close my eyes and breathe him in. “I have a thing for you, too.”

  He slides me up his torso and gathers me into him, wedging my head in the crook of his neck, curling me into his big body. My gaze lands on the tattoo I discovered earlier, swirling black letters that trail up the inside of his left bicep that spell out Zachary. I trace them with a light fingertip.

  “Not many heterosexual men are confident enough to have another man’s name permanently inked onto their skin, you know.”

  Gabe gives an amused puff of breath, warm and ticklish on my scalp. “It does get me a few interesting looks at the gym.”

  “From the lamenting women or the rejoicing men?”

  “Both.”

  I laugh, and so does Gabe. Outside my window, a murky mist has floated up from the Potomac, blurring the outlines of my neighbors’ houses and bathing my bedroom in an eerie, purple glow. He buries his face in the crown of my head, kissing my scalp, and we lie there for a bit in comfortable silence.

  “Mom says she knew the second Zach was killed,” Gabe says out of nowhere. “Before Nick called, before the army chaplain showed up at her front door, she says she knew. She felt part of herself dying and just knew.”

  Tears come to my eyes so suddenly, there’s just no blinking them away. I think about how that moment must have been for Jean, how in the middle of going about her day, while drying her hair or eating an apple or driving to work or the market, she was sucker punched with knowledge she didn’t want to have. It’s impossible if you think about it, really. She couldn’t have known, and yet she did. I imagine how she spent the rest of the day trying to talk herself out of it—not possible, Zach’s fine, everything’s fine—and then later when the chaplain came, the sick dread that must have sucker punched her all over again at the sound of the doorbell.

  “Your poor mom.” I splay my fingers through the light hair bisecting his stomach and press m
y lips to his chest. “That must have been awful for her. For all of you.”

  “I know the risks of war, knew when my brothers got on that plane there was a very real chance one of them would not be coming back, but I never thought it would be Zach. Zach was Superman. He was supposed to live forever.”

  “Is that why you put his name on your arm? To keep that connection with him, to keep him close?”

  He lifts his head, gives me a look that makes me think I maybe hit a nerve.

  “It was part of it, yeah. But the other part is to remember. Not that I would ever forget him, but I don’t know...memories fade with time. His name on my arm won’t.”

  My heart squeezes for him, for his pain at losing a brother he so clearly worshipped, but also with something bigger, something completely separate from his brother. What I feel is one hundred percent Gabe. Inking his dead brother’s name on his skin, abandoning his fast-track career to care for his family. Gabe here is the real deal. I know I used those words on his brother, but that’s because I hadn’t met Gabe yet. Gabe Armstrong is the real real deal. I scoot closer still, wrapping myself around him until there is not a sliver of space between us.

  “It’s not that I want revenge,” he whispers into the darkness. “For the army to go to all this trouble to bury what happened out there, for your father to...” He gives his head a little shake, as if that’s a sentiment he doesn’t want to finish. “By now I’m pretty certain that whoever shot Zach did so by mistake, and I know it won’t change anything, but I still have to know. I can’t move forward until I know what happened to my brother.”

  “I get that.” I push up on an elbow, rest my chin on his chest. “And if I can help give you closure, Gabe, I will.”

  He watches me for a long moment, his eyes crinkling as he studies me. “I wasn’t expecting you. This. It’s a nice surprise, feeling like this again.”

  “Like how?” I know I’m breaking every rule in the book by prodding, but I also don’t care. Gabe left that door wide-open, and now I want to know. I have to know. “How do you feel?”