Then He Showed Up

by Chris Campillo

  Shutting down the memory, he forwarded to the next track, ignoring Kate’s protest. Black Sabbath’s “Iron Man” roared through the speakers.

  “Okay. What’s the deal on this one?” He needed a distraction.

  Kate sat up, looking thrilled to share her story. “Soddy-Daisy, Tennessee. My cousin Cheryl’s room. She lived in my aunt’s basement. Maggie and I were in grade school and thought she knew everything. She had an actual record player. She put this album on and taught us the robot.” Kate danced, moving her arms into stiff angles. “We were so cool.”

  Jack smiled and nodded his head. “I bet you were. I see you’ve still got it.”

  “That’s right. It’s like Pavarotti. True talent never goes away.”

  And so music appreciation according to Kate continued during their drive home. When Jack pulled into her neighborhood, she directed him to her house—a modest, but well-maintained two-story. Before she could unfasten her seat belt, Jack rounded the car to her side. He helped her out and walked her to the front door. When she struggled with the keys, he unlocked the door. He was glad to see there were lights on downstairs. No doubt, her night vision was impaired.

  “Thank you for the ride and the water. Oh, and the rescue.” She had a huge smile on her face, and he wondered if she’d continue her party once he left.

  “Be sure and lock the door . . . and drink lots of water.” Her smile hadn’t budged an inch. “Trust me, lots of water.”

  “Lots of water. Got it.” She saluted him.

  “All right, then. Good night. It was nice meeting you, Kate.”

  Her smile grew even wider, as if she’d received the highest compliment ever given. “Well, thank you. It was nice meeting you, too, Jack. Have fun while you’re in Austin. And keep the CD. Maggie never liked it, but I can tell you appreciate it.”

  “Thanks.”

  Right before she shut the door, she stuck her head out. “Oh, and track eighteen is a just-for-fun song. I never dated anyone tied to the clergy.” With that, she went inside and locked the door.

  He sat in the car until he saw an upstairs light turn on, then he called Peter.

  “How’s Maggie?”

  “She’s fine. The swelling’s already going down. How’s Kate feeling?”

  “She’s feeling fine right now.” Jack looked up to the lit room. “Tomorrow might be a different story.”

  “Hopefully it won’t be too bad. She needed to let loose. It’s been way too long.”

  Peter proceeded to give him directions to their home. When Jack backed out of Kate’s driveway, he turned the stereo back on and skipped to track eighteen. He couldn’t help but smile when Dusty Springfield sang “Son of a Preacher Man.”

  Chapter 4

  Kate woke in a room filled with light. Way too much light. She jerked upright and checked the alarm—seven thirty. Damn! She jumped out of bed before she remembered it was Sunday. A wave of relief was quickly replaced with a wave of dizziness, sending her flat again.

  Taking in shallow breaths, she assessed her situation. Evidently, she’d been injected with a chemical that was slowly killing her or, at least, destroying her liver.

  Rum. The many, many rum drinks.

  Oh Lord, she needed to stop that line of thought immediately. More shallow breaths. Better. With the appropriate doses of Tylenol and sweet tea, she would eventually return to the living. Not productive, but living.

  Memories of the previous day poured over her. The fall. A careful sweep of her hand confirmed there was a freakishly large lump on her thigh. Oh yeah. It still hurt.

  The rescue. That hurt more. Blows to the ego were always the worst. What else? Had there been dancing?

  Her mind jumped to the drive home. Jack was nice. They’d listened to music.

  I’d do him.

  The replay of her words sent chills down her spine. A tormented groan passed her lips as Kate pulled the sheets over her head, hoping to hide from the fool she’d made of herself. It didn’t work. Jeez, she had a headache. Was it the hangover or the manifestation of humiliation? Probably both.

  She reached for the phone and called Maggie.

  “Morning, sunshine!”

  “You owe me a liver.” Kate pulled the phone away to reduce the irritation of Maggie’s laughter.

  “Not feeling well?” Her sister’s jovial tone didn’t help Kate’s mood.

  “I feel like I’ve ingested nuclear waste. How’s your ankle?”

  “It’s fine, a little tender, but all the swelling’s gone.”

  “Good. That’s good.” Another wave of dizziness hit her. “Why did you let me drink so much? You’re the oldest. You’re supposed to look out for me.”

  “Sweetheart, I did. You had more fun last night than you’ve had in over a year. I’d say I did you a favor.”

  “Are you kidding?” Kate flipped her pillow to the cold side. “I think I have alcohol poisoning. Does Rent-A-Center have dialysis machines?”

  “Oh, just get up and get some tea. You’ll be fine.”

  Kate twisted her finger in her sheet. “How big a fool did I make of myself last night?”

  “You didn’t.” Maggie’s voice actually sounded convincing.

  “Did Jack mention anything about driving me home?” Kate’s finger started to lose circulation as she waited on Maggie’s reply.

  “I was in bed before he got home. I haven’t seen him since we parted at the marina. Why do you ask?”

  Kate released the tourniquet from her finger. “On the ride home, I got into my music . . . a little too much.”

  “Good for you.” Kate could hear the delight in Maggie’s voice.

  “No, it was anything but good. Between the man overboard stunt and my cabaret show, just forget my request for a meeting with the man. It would only hurt my career at this point.” Thank God the man lived in California, and she’d never run into him again. That fact didn’t erase the memories of her foolishness, but it would help in the repression process.

  Now there was a tried and true friend. Repression. She’d survived many unbearable situations thanks to the Big R.

  Kate propped up on her pillows. She needed to work her way to the upright position if she was ever going to get out of bed. “So you’re up and feeling fine, huh?”

  Maggie chuckled. “I’ve felt better, but I don’t have time to lie around. I’ve got a million things to do before we take off tomorrow.”

  “That reminds me. I looked over your itinerary. When the ship stops in Australia, you’ve got to promise me you won’t get in the ocean.”

  “Oh, hell, Kate. What have you been watching now?”

  “Don’t mock me. I’m serious. TLC had a show about deadly sea creatures, and there’s some kind of jellyfish off the coast of Australia that can kill you with just one sting. Oh, and don’t do anything illegal in Singapore. I think they may still cane people, but I’m not sure. Did you—”

  “Stop it.” Maggie’s tone was harsh. “You’ve got to quit thinking this way. You’re going to make yourself sick. We’ll be okay. Your kids are okay. Stop worrying and trying to control everything.”

  There was a long silence. How many times had her sister preached this sermon? Maggie would never get it.

  “I know you’re scared, Kate. I wish I could take away all the pain you’ve suffered. But you can’t live the rest of your life trying to prevent something bad from happening.” Another silence followed. “I love you, and I want you to be happy.”

  “I know. I love you, too. But still . . . don’t litter in Singapore.”

  Maggie sighed. “I’ll remember that. Now, you have all the contact info if you need to reach us. I’ve got the mail and everything taken care of, so all I need to do is pack.”

  Kate rolled her eyes. Maggie would probably have two steamer trunks before she was done. “Have fun.”

  “We will. See you in two weeks.”

  “I’ll be here. Bye.”

  Kate finally got up, took a hot shower, and then
dressed in a pair of old boxers and a ratty T-shirt, sans the bra. The look definitely matched her condition, yet it provided a small amount of pleasure. When was the last time she’d lain around in pj’s all day? Her stomach wasn’t feeling too bad. Nothing a bagel and cream cheese couldn’t fix, but the headache was a different story. She needed to start treatment before the hangover advanced to stage four.

  Jack hadn’t slept well since arriving in Austin, and he didn’t want to wake Maggie and Peter rambling through their house. He took Maggie’s car and headed out on Highway 360. He pulled over to watch the sunrise from a spot that offered a clear view of the downtown skyline. It had changed dramatically since his last visit. Austin was off the charts with growth and development. One more reason he had no qualm selecting one of the other two cities. Austin had the lowest unemployment rate of the three.

  He ended up at Rudy’s BBQ for breakfast tacos and sweet tea. There was nothing better. Northern California may have the wine country, but they didn’t know squat about sweet tea. They expected you to add sugar to the cold mix. Like that would work. Might as well take a hit of sugar and then drink the plain tea, like salt and tequila.

  You have to add the sugar while the tea is still hot, so it dissolves. That’s the secret. His mother’s voice called out of the silence. Jack remembered her stirring the tea. She used a wooden spoon with slots in it. The pitcher was white with peppers and celery and some other vegetables painted on it. And even though there were cracks in the glaze, and the family was probably exposed to lead every time they drank from it, she always used it when she made tea.

  Jack took a long drink, trying to force down the lump in his throat. He never dwelled on the past, especially on memories of his mother, but in the last twenty-four hours, thoughts were creeping out from files he thought long destroyed. What would happen if he drove by the old house? He had to get out of Austin soon, but first things first.

  He made the call, hoping it would go to voicemail.

  “Hello.” His father’s voice sounded rougher than he remembered.

  “Hey, Dad, it’s Jack.”

  There was a long pause before John Graham responded. “Son. It’s good to hear you. I never seem to reach you when I call.”

  “Work keeps me busy.” And the fact that he screened his father’s calls. He reached out for birthdays or holidays, but they were long past chats to catch up. Peter’s guilt trip was the only reason he was calling now. “I’m in Austin for a few days. I thought we could meet for lunch or—”

  “Do you need a place to stay?”

  Jack cringed. That was unexpected and sure as hell not wanted. “Thanks, but I’m staying with Peter and his wife.”

  “Oh, okay. But I have the room if you want.”

  Disappointment tinged his words, and Jack felt the pulse of shame. But then he remembered the years he’d lived with his dad, and no matter how long it’d been, he wasn’t going to repeat that. “Thanks, Dad. But let’s definitely meet up for lunch.”

  “Jack, I’d like you to come by my place. I want us to talk. There’s something I need to say to you.”

  His father’s sincerity rubbed at his memories of the man he’d once been. He didn’t need to open that box. It’d taken years to finally seal it. “I’m not sure of my schedule, but I’ll call you when I do. We’ll plan then.”

  “Yes. That would be great, Son. Please call. I’ll work around your hours. I really want us to talk.”

  The strain was back in Jack’s lungs. What was going on with his father? All this shit about talking? “I’ve got to run, but I’ll call later.”

  “Good-bye, Jack. Thanks for calling.”

  Jack ended the call and fell back in his seat, drained. The phone fell from his hand onto the passenger’s floorboard. When he leaned down to grab it, he noticed a bright green purse wedged under the passenger’s seat. Green like that ridiculous flamingo dress that had crossed his mind more than once this morning.

  It was Kate’s. She’d reached under the seat last night and pulled out keys; her eyes had lit up as if she’d discovered gold.

  He pulled the purse up into the passenger seat, but it was open, and a lipstick, cough drop, and plain, brown wallet fell to the floor. He put everything back except for the wallet, then stopped.

  He’d learned early on that a woman’s purse and its contents were her inner sanctum, never to be invaded, but despite this knowledge, he didn’t fight his urge to look inside.

  Betty Boop greeted him. The flashy checks were in stark contrast to the sedate, brown leather of the checkbook cover. Jack smiled. Just like Kate. Reserved one minute, beaming with life the next. Above the checks, a plastic sleeve held Kate’s license. Jack stared at the name.

  Kate Livingston.

  “Son of a bitch.” Jack dragged his hand over his face. So she was the competent Kate of the state. He gazed out the window, running through all the implications. Despite the fact that the project wasn’t public knowledge, he knew Kate would tell Peter. He’d give Jack grief for the next ten years for not bringing the project “home,” but he could live with that.

  No, what gnawed at Jack’s conscience was Kate’s involvement. He’d been through the process enough to know how hard people worked for projects like Gridion’s. Careers were made if you had a hand in locating a big company. The idea that she would be one of the parties plugging away for naught didn’t sit right. He would make sure to praise Kate’s competency to her superiors, despite his rejection of Austin. It was the least he could do.

  He checked out her license again. Her eyes caught his attention. They sparkled. He remembered that same look after he’d rescued her from the supposed lake beast and she was laughing. For a brief moment, he’d considered tasting her joy. As big of an ass as it made him, he was glad he’d be working with Kate Livingston this week. He wanted to witness more of that fun spirit she tried so hard to bury.

  Jack put the wallet back. He needed to return her purse, right away. After all, she’d be lost without it.

  Jack rang Kate’s doorbell. He felt foolish holding her purse, but he knew he was doing the right thing. After waiting, he rang it again, peeking through the window by the door. There was a car in the drive so he assumed she was home, but after no response the second time, he started to leave. That’s when he noticed something moving in a back room. He headed around the house. Not his usual way of greeting an almost stranger, but he felt justified. She would want her purse.

  The large windows in the back made it easy to locate her. She was leaning into the fridge, the door blocking her upper body, but her stance provided a nice view of fine legs. So fine that he forgot about knocking. When she closed the door, Jack saw she carried a blender pitcher, a can of whipped cream, and a jar of maraschino cherries. A second later, she must have noticed him. With a scream, she jumped and dropped everything. Shards of glass and red cherries scattered across the tile floor.

  Well, fuck. He should’ve mailed the damn purse.

  The shock of finding a man staring into her house temporarily distracted Kate from the cold of the milkshake running down her legs. Recognizing Jack, she relaxed just a little and took a moment to evaluate the situation. When she saw red on her shins, she winced, waiting for the pain to hit. When it didn’t, Kate realized it was only cherry syrup.

  “Are you okay?” Jack yelled through the window.

  “I think so.”

  “I’m sorry I scared you. I wanted to return your purse,” he said, lifting it up for her to see.

  “Oh. Thanks.” It was odd to have a polite conversation through a window when she was only wearing her pj’s. Make that embarrassing.

  “Let me help you clean up.”

  “That’s okay. It’s no big deal.” Kate looked at the remains of the explosion. Right. This is going to take the whole afternoon, and I’m going to miss the “Fixer-Upper” marathon. Even worse, she’d used the last of the ice cream for her milkshake.

  Jack didn’t look convinced. “Come on,” he sa
id, pointing to the back door. “It’s the least I can do.”

  The help would’ve been nice, but she would much rather him leave. She felt vulnerable having him here, witnessing another accident. The man she’d supposedly never see again.

  Never say never.

  “Don’t worry about it. Thanks again for bringing my purse.” Kate headed to the door, trying to avoid the shards of glass. “Ouch!” She grabbed onto the counter, stopping herself from falling. She looked down and saw the fresh flow of red. Definitely not cherry syrup.

  “Don’t move!” Jack tried to open the door, but it was locked. He tried the windows next.

  “There’s a key under the grill.” She’d sworn the kids to secrecy about the hiding place, but looking at the glass in her foot, she didn’t care if he came back and robbed them blind. Jack was in the kitchen in no time. “Watch the glass.”

  He moved to her, avoiding the larger pieces, then lifted her in his arms.

  What the hell? “Stop! I’m a mess,” Kate said, pushing away from him.

  Ignoring her warning, Jack carried her into the family room, and then laid her on the couch. He grabbed an afghan off the back and placed it under her foot.

  “Wait.” Kate lifted her foot. “That’ll be ruined.”

  Jack pushed her foot back down. “Better that than the couch. I’ll get you a new one.” He checked out her injury. “There’s a piece of glass sticking out.” He grabbed her foot, sending a jolt through her body. Kate wasn’t sure if she was ticklish or turned on. She jerked it free. He tried again, same result. Each time, her breath caught.

  “Kate. It won’t hurt that bad.”

  “Do it without holding my foot. I promise not to move.” She squeezed her eyes shut and grimaced, hoping to numb all sensations—pain and pleasure.

  When she opened her eyes, he pressed the blanket against the cut to stop the bleeding. “All done.”