Learning to Love Again 2

by A. K. Rose

“Honey, is that what you’re so worried about? Dating a woman?”

  “Yes . . . it’s not exactly something you’d expect.”

  “Jessica Lynn,” Ellen started with a firm voice, “I don’t care if you’re dating a woman. I don’t care if you’re dating a man. Who you’re with doesn’t change who you are, and if you’re happy, I’m happy. Your father will be, too. We love you, no matter what. Are you happy with Lana?”

  “I am, very much so.”

  “That’s good! I thought you were going to tell me you broke a law or something!”

  “No, no law-breaking . . . yet. But I do have to figure out how to handle my little situation. He asked me to meet him tonight at six at a coffee shop. Lana doesn’t think I should go; she thinks I need to call the police.” Jess could feel her shoulders relaxing as she spoke with her mother, relief escaping out of every pore as she talked about her current challenge. She’d always been able to tell her mother everything; it shouldn’t have been a surprise she’d taken the news so well.

  “I think Lana’s right. You need to call the police. Do not meet this person. Don’t make me worry about you. Do you hear me? Don’t go, honey. Hang up with me and call the police. Tell your boss. Don’t worry about anything aside from staying safe. And then call me tonight so I know you’re okay.”

  “Okay . . . Mom?”

  “Yes, honey?”

  “Thank you.”

  “Thank you for what?”

  “For not making a big deal about Lana. I didn’t hide her from you on purpose, I just wasn’t ready yet. This is all so new to me—being in love—I guess I was just keeping it to myself for a while.”

  “Of course it’s not a big deal, Jess. You are who you are, I love you no matter what. But you’re in love with her? That is a big deal! You didn’t tell me you were in love!”

  “Yeah, I am. She’s amazing. It’s like all my life I’ve been missing part of me that comes alive when we’re together. Like things that didn’t make sense before all of a sudden make perfect sense, you know?”

  “Of course I know, that’s what your father does to me, still, after all these years. That’s what everyone deserves, but not everyone gets that lucky. Not everyone finds it, so you need to hold on tight and let her know how you feel. And you need to listen to her. Call the police. Don’t go to the coffee shop. Don’t make me come to your house tonight to check on you.” Ellen said, trying to balance the joy of finding out about her daughter’s happiness with the worry of a mother who just found out horrible news about her child. It was taking every ounce of her strength not to hang up and call the Austin Police Department herself. But she knew Jessica had a good head on her shoulders, that she wouldn’t do anything risky.

  “Okay, Mom, thanks. I love you. I’ll be safe, I promise. Will you talk to Daddy for me?”

  “I will, honey. Don’t worry about him. Just worry about you, and remember to call me tonight. I love you too . . . Jess, sweetheart?”

  “Yeah?”

  “When am I going to meet this woman?”

  “You want to meet her?”

  “Of course I do! She must be pretty special if she’s stolen your heart.”

  “She is . . . she really is. Let me get through this crazy work drama and we’ll figure something out soon, I promise.”

  “Okay, that sounds good. Call me tonight.”

  “I will—bye, Mom.”

  That went well, Jess thought as she pressed the red icon on her phone to end the call. That would be check in our little game of chess, Mr. Brightside. You just lost your Queen.

  NINETEEN

  “Rick,” Jess whispered, clearing her throat to find the voice that was presently escaping her. “Could I speak to you for a moment, outside?”

  It was already five o’clock, the day’s proceedings officially done. Rick Anderson was piling manila file folders into his rigid leather briefcase, his black suit still completely intact, red tie tied just as tightly as it had been at nine a.m., dark hair parted to the right as it always was.

  “Sure . . . Jessica, right?”

  “Yes,” she nodded.

  As they stepped outside the courtroom, Rick held the door open for his employee and led her to a small metal bench. “Have a seat. What’s on your mind?”

  “Well . . . this.” Jessica handed over the note—still in its envelope—and tried to calm her increasingly frayed nerves. Deep breaths, she said to herself, over and over.

  “When did you get this?” Rick questioned, his brown eyes burning a hole in the notecard he was holding, the gravity of the situation apparent immediately.

  “Last night. I don’t know what to do.”

  “You did the right thing, Jessica. Have you told anyone else about this note?”

  “Yes. I told my girlfriend and my mother, but no one else. I haven’t called the police, though they both told me to.”

  As he leaned back against the off-white wall, Rick let out a sigh. This was a new one. In thirty years of practicing law, he’d encountered a lot. He’d seen his fair share of irrational, crazy, even mentally ill. He’d yet to encounter blackmail. Until now. The last day of the case he’d been preparing for years—the last day of the biggest case he’d argued in over a decade—and he was faced with an employee being blackmailed. She wasn’t even a critical member of the litigation team. She was a researcher, of all things. He didn’t see it coming.

  “Okay, first of all, you know we have a strong stance on diversity and inclusion at the firm. We don’t care who you see in your personal life—that’s your decision and it’s none of our business. So don’t worry about your job, alright? Secondly, has he given you more instructions?”

  “Thank you . . . I got this text yesterday,” Jessica said, handing her phone over, the text from Brightside already pulled up.

  “So . . . he wants to meet you, and soon. You’re not going to this meeting tonight. We have no idea what we’re dealing with here. Meeting a stranger who has the nerve to blackmail you isn’t smart.” Rick found himself staring straight ahead as he thought. He generally thought very fast on his feet, but couldn’t quite determine the best next steps. He knew they needed to call the police, but he didn’t want to spin a news cycle so close to the jury determining a verdict in the case. He didn’t want to take the attention off the results of all his team’s hard work with a diversion, which was likely all this was. “Jessica, you’re coming home with me today. We have a nice guest room, and you can stay there a few days until the verdict is out. I want you to go into hiding—just briefly—and then once we have the verdict, I’m going to call the police. But not yet. Let’s see what else you get from this Brightside character while we wait for the trial to end.”

  “Are you sure? What if he follows me?”

  “You won’t be driving home. You’ll follow me for the office. And, while this Brightside is waiting for you at the coffee shop, we’ll leave through the service entrance and I’ll drive you to my house. If he’s around here somewhere watching you, it won’t seem unusual for you to go back to the office, so I think that’s the best thing to do.”

  “Okay, but I need some things from my house, and I need to tell Lana where I am. I need to call my mom.” Jess was crossing and uncrossing her legs, unable to get comfortable on the cold metal bench. How had this happened to her? One day she was so happy, the next, she was in the middle of a scandal. She was going into hiding. Never in her wildest dreams did she think she’d be in a position where the word “hiding” was part of her status. She could see the Facebook post now: Jessica is . . . in hiding.

  “You can do all of that. But we need to think smartly about this. We don’t know if he’s bugged your phone or your house, we don’t know how he’s getting his info about you. When we get home, I’ll send my housekeeper for a pre-paid phone, and you can make your calls from it. I’ll go to your house and get what you need. You’re going dark for a few days—Mr. Brightside be damned . . . Jessica?”

  “Yes, sir?”

>   “Do you know something that can help the plaintiffs?” Rick asked, holding up a finger over his lips as he scanned the area for any faces he didn’t know. When he was satisfied with his appraisal, he nodded for her to proceed.

  “I might,” she squeaked, eyes cast steadily downward.

  “Why do you know something that can help the plaintiffs?”

  “On accident, I swear. The truth is, I have struggled with this case, but I know as an attorney I don’t get to have an opinion on what I think is right or wrong when defending a client. So, I’ve just done my job as I would with any other case.”

  “And?”

  “And, one day, I was thinking about precedents—I do that a lot; I can’t really help it—and I realized there’s a case that could potentially set this up as a child neglect situation, since O’Ryan made it prohibitively expensive for families that needed their medication to actually get it.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?” Rick asked patiently, even though he knew the case Jessica must be thinking of. It was a long shot—a significant stretch of the intent of that ruling, and he didn’t see it working, even if the other side had already thought of it. “You’re referencing Landeros v. Flood, right?”

  “How did you . . .?”

  “I’ve been doing this a long time. You thought of a landmark child neglect case—it’s not exactly a deep track, so to speak.”

  Jessica laughed softly, her muscles relaxing as she realized Rick was on her side. “You like music?”

  “Of course I do. We live in the live music capital of the world—it’s a requirement to like music!” the partner offered with a smile, lightening the mood.

  “So you’re not concerned about that case? If the other side has it?”

  “Not at all. We can defend against that one any day of the week. It almost makes me think you should give it to him . . . but not without the help of the police.”

  “The thing is, he—or she—could have easily seen it when they put the note in my bag. I wrote the case on the cover of my steno pad when I thought of it. I was just doodling and wrote it out. So I don’t really know what giving it to him does.”

  “I don’t either, but we’ll find out in time, I’m sure. Alright, Jessica, I’m glad you told me this—you did the right thing, just remember that. The next few days are probably going to be really hard, but you didn’t do anything wrong and I’m going to make sure you stay safe.” Rick’s fatherly instincts took over and he placed a hand on her shoulder in an effort to comfort her. Jessica could easily be his daughter, and he meant it when he said he’d keep her safe.

  As they stood to leave the courthouse, Jessica only hoped Rick Anderson could live up to his promise.

  # # #

  He sat in a leather chair in the back corner of Black Dog Coffee and waited. Glancing at his wrist too frequently, he watched the time slip by little by little—six-thirty, six-forty-five, seven—all the way until eight p.m., when he finished his third cup of coffee and decided she wasn’t coming.

  He didn’t expect this.

  Jackson Healy was certain she’d show up. He was confident that his note was enough to scare her into meeting him.

  Now what? He wondered, eyes scanning the coffeehouse one last time, just in case she appeared. She didn’t. He was angry, but he was also out of his element. Blackmailing young lawyers wasn’t exactly his specialty. He had been a landscape architect before his life crumbled around him, but hadn’t worked steadily in years. His world had become very small, the memory of his baby boy on his mind around the clock.

  Jackson told himself he wasn’t a bad person; he was simply doing what he needed to do to get justice for Sammy. He didn’t intend to hurt her, and he didn’t really intend to “out” her. He just wanted her help and thought the only way to get it was to threaten to air her dirty laundry. Sitting in that leather chair, he had no idea she’d already put the laundry on the line for everyone to see. He’d already lost the game, but it had only just begun in his mind. He’d try one last ditch attempt at a text message from his pre-paid phone, and then he would have to re-assess the situation. Jackson wasn’t the type to give up. He wasn’t going to back down now, but he might need a new strategy. The outgoing text message was simple:

  Where are you? –Brightside

  The incoming reply arrived almost instantly and was even simpler.

  I’m not coming. –Jessica

  He had her back on the hook, just barely. What he didn’t realize was that it wasn’t Jessica who replied, but Rick Anderson.

  I suggest you reconsider. –B

  Again, the reply came almost instantly.

  You can take your suggestion and go jump off the South Congress Bridge. –J

  This was not at all what Jackson had planned, and he was getting angrier. She was communicating, but she was awfully cocky. Why wasn’t she scared? Why wasn’t she acquiescing to what he wanted? It made no sense.

  Okay, if that’s how you feel. Just remember I know your secret and I’m really not good at keeping secrets. –B

  He waited, but this time, received no reply. Tapping his foot quickly on the coffee shop’s hardwood floor, Jackson realized his strategy wasn’t working. Clearly this woman couldn’t be threatened into helping him. She either didn’t care if the world knew about her personal life, or was playing games with him.

  Black Dog was about ready to close, its employees making the rounds with mops and wiping down tables with bleached white rags. He would have to leave. He’d have to go home—a place he dreaded to face, with its cold, almost empty rooms, and basically no personal belongings. He’d have to reconsider his plan and try again. He’d invested a lot of effort into Jessica Taylor. Should he stay on this path with the redhead, or try something else entirely? They were now playing a game of chicken—who was going to stop first? Jackson had more questions than answers and didn’t like it one bit.

  As he put his laptop in his bag—his attempt to blend in to the coffee crowd had been shrouded in pretend internet surfing for hours—he felt the uncertainty in his stomach, the bile brewing and causing an unsettled feeling in his very being. How did it come to this? he wondered to himself. Three years ago, he’d been a successful professional, a new father, and in a happy relationship with the love of his life. Now, he was alone—he hadn’t had contact with any of his family or friends in ages—and was trying to convince a woman he didn’t know to help him in a long shot against a huge pharmaceutical company by threatening to out her. He probably should’ve considered that times were changing and she hadn’t done anything wrong by dating a woman. She hadn’t broken a law, hadn’t embezzled money, hadn’t even run a stop sign. He’d been so consumed with his own grief he failed to see that being a bully might not work. He failed to think about an option where she wouldn’t give in and help him.

  TWENTY

  It was official. They were moving to Dripping Springs in less than two weeks and had yet to pack a box. Cassie and Rachel had been so busy with paperwork and jumping through mortgage broker hoops that they hadn’t even started planning for the actual move.

  “Should we have a moving party?” Cassie asked, her eyes focused straight ahead on her computer screen, the last of the day’s blog comments finally answered. Keeping up with the growing traffic to her site was becoming quite a struggle, but she knew she’d soon have her full day to focus on maintaining the site in earnest and starting her non-profit. They needed her income until the loan on the ranch closed, and then she’d put in her notice to the state. She was completely invested in starting her non-profit, which she decided to call “Voice of the Victims.” She needed a tagline. She needed a mission statement. She needed to get some funding. Hell, she needed everything one needs to start a business. Now wasn’t the time to worry about that. There would be plenty of time for those worries in a few weeks.

  “I think that’s a great idea,” Rachel offered from the kitchen as she stirred a pot of homemade soup. “We could have everyone over to say goo
dbye and then once we’re settled, have them out to the ranch too. It’ll be sad to leave this place, but when one door closes, another opens . . .”

  “You sound like my mother!”

  “Huh? Why?”

  “She used to tell us that as kids—‘when one door closes, another opens.’ I never knew exactly what she meant when I was little, but I get it now.”

  “You do?” Rachel asked.

  “Yep. It’s how we met. It’s how I had the idea for the blog. It’s even how we decided to move before we really planned to.”

  Wanting to know more about this line of conversation, Rach left her soup on simmer and was now standing behind Cassie, arms gently resting on her shoulders, “Tell me more.”

  “It’s so clear, don’t you see it? When I finally gave up on Jessica, I wandered into a bar and met Holly, who introduced us in less than 10 minutes. The wrong door closed, the right one opened. You know, we should really invite Holly to the wedding . . .”

  “Okay, sure, yes.” Rach agreed, still curious where this was going.

  “Then, when I had my accident, I was bored out of my brain couch surfing for a month and I realized I have something more to offer the world than what I have been doing for a career. I had been so busy for so long, I just didn’t see it—but the accident closed the door on the state and opened the door on something with the potential to be even bigger and better.” Cassie had shut the lid on her laptop by now, the day’s comments officially answered, silent permission to begin her evening now granted by the internet gods.

  “I definitely think it did.”

  “And then, the house. This house is perfectly fine. It’s convenient and it’s yours and we could be very happy here, but the accident sparked this whole ‘life is short’ mentality in both of us, I think, and all of a sudden we were shopping for what we’d planned to do years in the future. The door on this house closed, but look at the amazing property we wouldn’t have found otherwise. So . . . I get it now. Everything happens for a reason.”