“Your full name, please,” Mark said.
“Emmajohn Peel.”
“John Peel?” Marianne said.
“Yeah. Got a problem with that?” EmJ stared at Marianne as if she were part of the zombie apocalypse.
“Emmajohn, please,” Mark said.
“John Peel of the Peel Sessions on the BBC?” Marianne said. “I grew up with my radio tuned to that guy. He inspired me to want to record and produce. He was my hero.”
“My dad’s, too.” EmJ shrugged. “He was some wanker musician who blew his face off with a shotgun. Mum liked that stupid TV show The Avengers with Emma Peel, so I guess they thought my name was pretty funny. Too bad they didn’t spend more time thinking about parenting.”
John Peel, the voice on the radio. Thanks to him, music had always been her first drug of choice. Was that a sign? Who knew, but fate had spoken and she was listening. Emmajohn Peel needed a friend, and Marianne Stokes was it.
TWENTY-ONE
JADE
Jade sneezed and raindrops sprayed off the end of her nose. If she had to fly home with the English crud, she was going to torture Darius for all eternity. Although he was doing a good job of torturing himself right now, keeping up the pace of their death march through the soggy English countryside. Halfway across the field called Dead Something, a light drizzle had started and then turned into steady rain. Neither of them had thought to pack a waterproof jacket, which was a whole new level of epic fail. Worse, Gabriel had tried to give them an umbrella. Darius had refused to accept it.
Gabriel had told her about this walk, said it was where he came to clear his head and be alone. That made sense. One of the things she liked about the rectory was the constant hum of traffic. Grow up in New York and you never get used to silence. For the first time since they’d arrived, she wasn’t aware of the road. All you could hear out here was nature.
She snuck a sideways glance at Darius. His hair, limp and wet, could have been spray-painted onto his head; his expression was as unreadable as that of a squished possum. She didn’t want Marianne in residential care any more than he did, but why couldn’t he focus on the fact that Marianne was getting the help she needed? Yeah right, like that was going to make a lick of difference to either of them. It wasn’t as if they could unsee what they’d seen in Gabriel’s garden. She’d lived alongside untreated insanity on the streets—ex–mental patients with no health insurance kicked to the curb—but she didn’t have a connection to those people; she didn’t love them.
A huge brown bird shot from the hedge, making some weird coughing noise. Darius didn’t react. Rain dribbled down her bare legs and into her waterlogged canvas boots. Her feet squelched with each step, and still they stomped onward. If Darius knew their destination, he wasn’t sharing.
They’d made it through the weekend, although they slept most of Saturday, and Gabriel worked most of Sunday. On Saturday night they ordered in—Indian, food of the gods—and Hugh joined them to talk Darius through daily life at the Beeches. Last night Mrs. Tandy brought over dinner—steak and kidney pie, not half bad. Gabriel ate alone in his study, and Darius ate in silence, doing a stellar impersonation of a death row inmate hoping for a last-minute reprieve. This morning they’d gotten the word that Marianne would see Gabriel, but no one else.
Darius had not taken the news well.
They walked past something that could have been an old quarry, and still they kept going. The land was flat, the fields planted with something yellowy gold that looked ready to harvest. Wheat? She’d skipped Farming 101. Tough life, being a farmer; tough life being a manic-depressive. Being someone who loved a manic-depressive wasn’t a walk in the park, either.
Not once had anyone asked how she was feeling. She’d had high hopes for Gabriel, but it was as if they’d all been beaten up in the boxing ring only to retreat to separate corners. The spouse came first, she got that, and Darius’s feelings should eclipse hers. But Marianne was all the family she had, even if, in the eyes of the law, their only connection was Jade’s paycheck. Yes, she had health care power of attorney, could sign off on a DNR and pull Marianne’s plug any old time, but she didn’t have what mattered: family visitation rights in a medical emergency.
What now? She and Darius couldn’t stay indefinitely. Sasha had said Media Rage was pretty happy when she dumped them back at the airport, that the drummer had worked with Zeke before, so the transition was smooth. Still. Bailing on the next big stadium band a day early hardly reinforced a reputation of “We put the clients’ needs first.”
They reached a chained metal gate with a pint-sized wooden climbing structure at the side that probably had some fancy English name. Darius stopped and looked around as if he had no idea where he was or how he’d arrived there.
“Do you think she still loves him?” He leaned back against the gate, resting his elbows on the top bar. “The guy who named her studio?”
“Hell no. And he doesn’t love her. I flat-out asked when we arrived.”
“And you trust him?” Darius sneered.
“Oh, come on, we’ve talked this one up the wazoo. And every time you ask it’s like you want me to change my answer and declare them to be the Bachelorette couple of the century. But let’s get real. Yesterday he was wearing a black maxi dress and doing God’s work. I’d bet my car on the fact that Gabriel’s not wired for lying.”
“So why him and not me? What am I missing?”
“You’re asking me to attach logic to a mind that saw Lucifer growing in an English garden?”
He sighed; she sighed; the rain kept coming. In the distance, a dog howled. She had half a mind to join in.
“Marianne has unfinished business related to Simon’s death,” Jade said, “and Gabriel’s part of it. Repressed memories, teen secrets, two brothers in love with the same girl, I don’t know. But something else went down in that first crash—other than a young guy dying, which is bad enough. And I’m assuming we’re having this conversation because you want my opinion, so here it is: we should go home.”
“We’re having this conversation because I’ve made a decision, and no.” He shook his hair. “I’m not leaving.”
“Darius, we’ve got to get back to the studio. While this is, without doubt, a family crisis that makes real life seem impossible, we have a business to run. Your reputation might survive, but I doubt Marianne’s will.” Nor mine, she added silently. Although that fact should bother her way more than it did. “I need to sort out the Girls In Motion budget crisis, too. Give me another week and I’ll have those accounting errors dealt with and our 501(c)(3) status back.” Never again would she let volunteers run the books. “Marianne will be ecstatic. It’ll be her get-well gift. And you should take a break from crazy for a while. Work might be a good distraction.”
“Not this time. I screwed up last week by putting work first, and look how that turned out. I’m seeing this through—to the end, if I have to.” He raised his face to the rain. “She’s everything to me.”
“Honey, your wife rocks my world when she’s in a good place, and when she’s not, I do what I have to do to survive. Right now she needs serious medical maintenance that’s way above my pay grade, or yours. We came here to make sure she was safe. She is and we need to retreat, leave her to the experts. It’s what she wants. And this place she’s staying at has a fucking awesome reputation. If there were a Yelp for mental hospitals, it would light up with five-star reviews.”
“And when she’s released, what then? She goes back to him?” Darius stood up straight. “I’ve been in touch with an old friend from LA days. He lives in London and has a guest suite no one’s using. I have no choice, Jade. Not if I want to keep my marriage. Not while the ex-boyfriend is hovering on the sidelines, willing to minister to her every need.”
“He’s hardly an ex. They were kids, which means the statute of relationships has long expired.”
“Now who’s being dense? Did you ever stop to consider why he never married or why she r
an back to him? Something still exists between them, I can feel it. And no, this isn’t jealousy speaking. This is me facing up to the truth. I’m pitching my tent here. I bailed on one marriage without trying to fix it. I’m not going to be that guy again.”
“You hated your first wife.”
“Yeah, but I aggravated the whole situation by taking her to the cleaners in the divorce. Last I heard, she was broke and detoxing in jail.”
“Damn. You’ve got a few secrets after all.”
“Not as many as you.” He tried to smile. “But the point is, I won’t run away from the person I love.”
His words stung worse than those nettles that grew in every neglected corner of Newton Rushford. Color it any way you liked—saving the business, balancing the Girls In Motion books—but her impulse had been to leave. Pull out the rug, and she was still a sixteen-year-old searching for the fastest escape route. See Jade run.
“And I’m putting Zeke on salary as chief engineer,” Darius said.
“Hey, that’s my job.”
“Not anymore. Nightjar is yours until Marianne and I get back.” He closed his eyes. “The clients love you and Sasha, and Zeke has great connections. The three of you just have to keep the regulars happy until I bring her home. I’ll check in with you every day about studio stuff; Skype in with client meetings if you want. And you can call my cell day or night. I can’t be an ocean away while she’s in crisis, Jade.”
“I know.” Jade leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Marianne’s lucky to have you. But if you get arrested for stalker behavior outside England’s premier asylum, I’m not posting bail.”
Finally he grinned. “You look half frozen. I’d offer you my jacket if I’d been smart enough to bring one. Let’s head back so you can take a hot shower under that puny showerhead. Can’t believe he calls that water pressure.”
“Next up on the agenda—what do we tell Gabriel?”
“That we’re both leaving. I don’t like him, I don’t trust him, and I sure as hell don’t want him to know where I am. And if Marianne wants me gone, let her believe, for now, that I’m doing exactly what she asks. But I swear, if he gets in my way, I’m taking that guy down. Even if he is Mother Teresa with a dick.”
TWENTY-TWO
JADE
Jade popped open her bag of Walkers salt and vinegar crisps—crisps, how quaint—and munched as Gabriel said something she couldn’t understand. He’d insisted the only way to get privacy for dinner was to drive deep into rural Buckinghamshire, far, far away from his three parishes. His restaurant pick, Ye Olde Fighting Cocks, was heaving with pubgoers. The sound of multiple voices, muddy like a bad recording, surrounded them. And the music made Jade want to stick her fingers down someone else’s throat.
Using her menu as a privacy screen, she leaned across the small round table. “Who do I have to murder to get the Spice Girls’ ‘Wannabe’ off the jukebox?”
Gabriel laughed.
“This is one sketchy-ass bar,” she said. “You sure it’s okay?”
He scooted himself and his chair round so they were sitting next to each other. Jade shifted in her seat; her thighs had begun to sweat.
“Best pub grub in the area.” He grinned.
Then he reached over for his pint of some local brew on tap. He’d let her taste it and—ick, ick, ick—it had been room temperature. The only warm liquor to pass her lips was tequila. Bad enough to have only two ice cubes happily melting in her Jim Beam.
Gabriel took a slug of beer that left beads of froth clinging to his upper lip. “I was wrong, then,” he said. “Hard to admit, but that does occasionally happen.”
“About?”
“I’d assumed you’d feel right at home in a dark, seedy pub.”
“Yeah? Want your bed back tonight?” she said loudly.
Gabriel spluttered through a series of coughs and then slapped his chest.
“You’re not going to croak on me, are you?”
“Very funny.” Gabriel gave another cough.
“It’s almost too easy to wind you up.”
“Touché,” he said.
“Oh, I see what you did. Nicely done.” She gave him a knuckle touch. “What I meant, in all innocence, is that I can take Marianne’s bed since Darius has gone. And Hugh’s air mattress got that puncture.”
“And what I meant”—mischief lurked in that smile—“is that your work must take you to lots of dubious venues. But thank you. I will take you up on your kind offer and move back upstairs. The lumps in the sofa are beginning to play havoc with my back.”
“You poor ancient thing. Middle age getting to you, is it?”
“Do you always say what’s on your mind?”
“Pretty much.” Except no way was she telling him what was really on her mind. Good thing she didn’t believe in God, because if she did, she’d be due for a lightning bolt right around now.
“I find your directness refreshing,” Gabriel said, which for some reason killed the vibe. “Most people work hard to not say what they mean.”
The music shifted to Elton John. A minor upgrade.
The waitress appeared and smiled at Gabriel. “Ready to order, handsome?”
In a T-shirt and jeans he was another good-looking forty-something guy, not a card-carrying member of God’s chosen ones. Gabriel’s lack of reaction to the not-unattractive waitress suggested either he knew her, he was oblivious, or he was used to women ogling him. Jade’s money was on option three. Gabriel moved through the world with a confidence that came from knowing his looks held power. At sixteen she’d known the same thing, which was why she’d worked so hard to disguise her face, her hair, and her boobs. Hadn’t been enough, though. Her stepdad had noticed anyway.
“Ready to order?” Gabriel asked Jade.
“Sure, fish and chips. To celebrate my last night in England.” That was so not what she meant to say. Now he’d think she was happy to be running out of Dodge. And sitting here with Gabriel, she kind of didn’t want to go. And that kind of had nothing to do with Marianne.
“I’ll have what the lady’s having,” Gabriel said with a smile, and handed back both menus.
“I hope you don’t think we’re abandoning you.” Jade tugged up her V-neck, which seemed inappropriately low when they were sitting so close.
Gabriel gave an ahem and leaned away from her. “Not at all. You can do very little at this point. Leaving makes perfect sense.”
“Yeah, but if it makes perfect sense, why does it feel shitty?”
“Because you’re a good person, because you care.”
A fat guffaw came from the bar, wiping out all the other vocal sounds.
“I’m a good person who’s running away? Not buying it, Father.”
Gabriel ran a finger up and down his glass; she hugged herself tight.
“I have limited experience with mental illness, but I spend a great deal of time counseling the bereaved,” Gabriel said. Jade huddled further into her own embrace. “Most people cling to the negative, to the mistakes and the doubt. But from my perspective, for what it’s worth, Marianne would prefer you and Darius not be here. She came back to the village for a reason, and I think she feels her journey is a solitary one.”
“Then why pick you up, Mr. Hitchhiker?”
He gave her the same cold stare she’d seen on the day they’d arrived.
Jade relaxed her arms. Darius had been right; she was being dense. “Oh. My. God. How could I be so stupid? You know why she came back, and you’re not sharing.” They had come full circle, trying to figure out whether they could trust each other. Apparently he’d decided the answer was no.
“I have an assumption, nothing more. And it’s Marianne’s story to tell if she chooses, not mine. I can’t betray secrets, but I will tell you this: your relationship with Marianne is probably the reason she’s working so hard to make sense of everything right now. I doubt anything could ever be more important than you.” He folded his arms on the table. “She loves you wi
th a mother’s love,” he said, as if that solved all the problems of mankind.
Jade stared at an ugly-as-shit painting of a shotgun with a pair of dead birds. “You’re never going to tell me what really happened thirty years ago. Are you?”
He shook his head. “But I hope you’ll answer a question for me. I’m curious. Why did Darius fly home a day ahead of you?”
“Different flight.” The lie fell into place easily. Yup, they were back to the beginning.
Gabriel nodded slowly. No way he believed her, not Gabriel. He was far too perceptive.
“By the way, dinner’s on me,” she said. “As a thank-you.”
“What have I done to merit such generosity?”
“Come on, you.” She elbowed him. “You’ve watered and fed us, put your life on hold for a woman who was, until a few weeks ago, a stranger. And you’ve been the butt of some serious village gossip all because my family decided to take its dysfunction global. Besides, Marianne’s getting the help she needs because of you, and that’s huge. This train wreck was coming long before she arrived in the village.”
They fell into a bubble of silence surrounded by laughter.
“Thank you,” Gabriel said. “For supper. It’s much appreciated.”
“No protesting, no fluffing up of male feathers?”
“Hardly my style, but this does mean that next time we eat out, it’s my treat. I like to keep things even.” He sipped his beer.
“You think there’ll be a next time?”
He picked up his napkin and spread it over his thighs. “I hope that after Marianne’s recovered from this episode, she’ll return to the village regularly and bring you with her.”
“And Darius.”
“Let’s not get carried away, since he appears to dislike me intensely.” Gabriel grinned. He had the cutest grin. “But yes, Darius would be most welcome. Will you manage alone on the plane? You’re not going to down another ten vodkas, are you?”
Echoes of Family Page 15
