by Kim Karr
“Hey!” she yells.
I toss her a rueful grin but refrain from saying, “Eat my dust.”
Like I said, I’m competitive.
As soon as we turn to head north, I shout over my shoulder, “This way,” and veer to the right. The trail takes us off the main bike route and onto a forest-like area with slightly rougher terrain. Dirt. Rocks. Grass. Nothing terribly difficult to navigate, but there is a steep incline making it not an easy ride.
The marble lighthouse at the top has a newly erected gate surrounding it, preventing anyone from getting too close. Not necessarily a bad thing. It keeps people from bothering to come all the way to this part of the isle. Personally, I love it up here on the bluff. It’s quiet, but the flowing waters from Lake St. Clair into the Detroit River keep it from turning into deafening silence. And the view isn’t that bad either.
The trail starts to become thicker and harder to ride the closer we get to the top. Bushes are overgrown and the brush hasn’t been cleared. Tree branches snag my shirt and acorns snap under my tires. Worried about Charlotte, I look back. She’s following me without concern.
Following me just like that eight-year-old girl did twenty years ago.
Trusting.
Adventurous.
And without question.
Following anywhere I would lead her.
DIRTY LAUNDRY
Charlotte
THE LANDSCAPE CLEARS and the ground levels. Soon everything falls away and there’s nothing left but the earth and the sky.
No hands on the handlebars, arms out to my sides, and the wind guiding my way, I feel exhilarated as we round the lighthouse. Free and easy. Too bad this is about to change.
Very soon.
A flutter of nerves wakes in my belly when Jasper comes to a stop near the river.
The time has come for me to talk.
I’m not that far behind him, but far enough that he’s already climbed off his bike and is standing beside it watching me with his arms crossed, with a wide grin on his face and a slight shake of his head.
“Bet you can’t do this?” I quip.
He raises a brow. “Watch what you bet—the stakes are a lot higher now. Eating worms is no longer the consequence of losing.”
Brakes screeching, I come to a stop and put both feet on the ground. “I can’t believe you ever made me do that.”
He shrugs. “That’s what happens when girls play with boys.”
Memories flicker through my mind, fond and dear, worms and all, but I push them aside and look over toward the cliff. “Wow, this is really beautiful. Just being away from it for two months, I almost forgot how much I love the smell of the air so close to the water.”
The few feet separating us rapidly disappear when he starts to move toward me. With each step he takes, my heart starts beating faster and faster. Then his hands are on my bike and his face is so close. “It’s one of my favorite places in Detroit.”
Quickly letting go of the handlebars, I step off of the bike and remove my bag from my back. “I can see why. The view is amazing, so much like the bluffs on Mackinac Island.”
Taking control of my bike, he rolls it next to his and puts my kickstand down. “I’ve never been there, but I’ve heard the sand dunes are something to see.”
Rifling through my bag, I remove two water bottles. “They are. A few years ago I climbed the Sleeping Bear Dunes and it’s something I’ll never forget.”
“You’re shitting me! You climbed the dunes?” he asks with surprise.
With a nod, I slide my gaze his way to tell him all about it, but I’m slapped into silence by what I see.
Jasper has lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe his face, revealing a part of him I couldn’t have ever imagined with an ounce of accuracy. His stomach is taut; his hip bones jut out in the sexiest way, with only the faintest glimpse of a fine line of hair that trails from his navel into the waistband of his low-slung shorts. And his belly button is perfection. I can’t stop staring.
How can a dip and hollow of flesh be so perfect?
I want to reach in my bag and remove my camera. Take his picture. But I don’t. I want to touch him. But I don’t. And then the moment is gone, his shirt is back in its right place, and he’s striding toward me.
Caught.
I’m so caught.
I was gawking.
And he caught me.
I just know it.
I can tell.
His grin is wide.
My cheeks start flaming.
“One of those for me?” he asks.
Stupidly, I nod, unable to speak.
Standing right in front of me now, he takes the water from my hand and our fingers touch. “Thank you,” he says, then adds, “Are you a little hot? Your face is red.”
I look at him with my mouth open.
He stares back, brows raised, but says nothing more.
Thank God.
A moment passes and all we do is stare at each other.
I break the moment by sipping my water.
He does the same and tips his bottle in my direction. “So you climbed the dunes? That’s incredible. I know some guys who did the route a few years back. They said they hiked the entire trail along Dune Highway and it was one of the hardest things they’d ever done.”
Feeling more like myself, I get my head back in the conversation. “I have to agree. And to be honest, by the end I was rolling down most of the dunes. I not only got sunburned, but windburned and sand burned, too. Still, it was so worth it. The entire area is unlike anything you’ve ever seen. Dunes so high you can’t look over them to see how many there are. Wildflowers grow everywhere along the trail. The air is so clean. And the sand is the purest you’ve ever walked on.”
Jasper points off in the distance to a group of trees. “Come on, let’s go sit down. I think you’ve gotten enough sun today.”
My heart swells.
Does he remember how sensitive my skin is? Suddenly, I’m paralyzed. My steps falter. I don’t want whatever this is between us to end, and it takes every ounce of courage I have not to run back to my bike and ask to talk another day.
But then his gaze swings to mine. “You okay?”
I nod. “Yes, I’m fine. Just tripped over my own feet.”
He doesn’t laugh and his gaze doesn’t shift. I can tell he’s searching for something. I want to think it’s hope, but I think more than likely it’s the truth.
And I know the time has come for me to tell him about my life. About what I know. And about why I’m here.
Birds chatter in the distance and just like that, he smiles. With that one smile I know we’re not that different than we were when we were eight. A time when being outdoors was what made us both happy. When the first sound of birds chirping in the early spring meant summer wasn’t that far away. When running around in the grass was all we dreamed about.
Under the sun we walk, side by side. Just as we reach the cover of the trees, I grab his arm.
That energy surges and draws me closer to him.
Eyes the color of warm chocolate with glimmering gold in them stare back at me.
“Promise me that no matter what we talk about today you won’t hate me when we’re done.”
There are a thousand possible responses to my request, but only one slips from his tongue, and it’s the only one that matters. “Once, I thought I hated you, but had I really thought about it I’d have known—I could never hate you.”
Relief washes through me and then just like that, I let go of his arm and keep walking, resigned to my fate.
When I look over, he’s not by my side. I don’t think he’s moved. I keep going. I hear him now, and I look back again. A quick jog and he’s caught up to me. “Let’s sit here.”
We’re under the last of the full-leaved trees just before the bluff surges down. And together we sit under the tree on the soft grass. Close, but not too close. I bring my legs up to my body and wrap my arms around them. A quick glance
his way already has my pulse racing. I look up and then down. The branches of the tree overhead chop the sky into blue diamonds and shadows dance across his skin, etching different patterns onto it as the wind blows to and fro. For just a moment, I allow myself to breathe in lungfuls of his clean scent as the summer breeze passes. And then finally, I turn to face him.
His fingers are gliding through the blades of grass and then he picks one, sticking it in his mouth like he used to do when we were kids. Around it, he asks, “What happened, Charlotte? Where did you go?”
I shiver at the question and close my eyes, the memories rushing back, but then I quickly reopen them and look right at him. “Before I get into the past, there’s something I want you to know about the grown-up me. Something I need to tell you.”
Looking uncertain, he keeps it simple. “Okay.”
I smirk unhappily. “This sounds much worse than it really is. I should have explained it better last night, but I promise you I’m not crazy, or insane, or some psychopath.”
Both his brows rise with concern.
I hold my hand out. “Let me finish.”
He nods in agreement and says nothing.
“Right after I graduated college I started working at the small newspaper on Mackinac Island. The Town Crier was big on gathering news from all social media outlets and my job was to comb Facebook and Twitter for anything significant. One day I came across a tweet that you were mentioned in and I thought about reaching out to you, but I didn’t know how you’d respond.”
He frowns.
A gentle breeze causes loose strands of my hair to dance around my face. I try to grab them and re-tuck them into my messy ponytail. During my ill attempt, he reaches over and captures the flyaway pieces and then successfully tucks them behind my ear. The sparks between us are scorching and he quickly pulls his hand away.
With the job of my bothersome hair finished, I carry on, making certain that my voice remains strong. “Anyway, obviously I never contacted you, but I did start to follow you and your rise through the auto industry.”
He leans back and places his palms on the grass, stretching his legs at the same time. “Follow . . . ?”
I laugh nervously. “I didn’t stalk you or anything like that, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
The smirk he throws me is breathtaking. “Phew, I was beginning to wonder if there weren’t two of you working at The Detroit Scene looking to uncover my deepest, darkest secrets.”
An overwhelming amount of emotion surges within me over Eve’s death. Someone killed her and buried her body knowing she’d be found. Why? Was it because of something she was investigating? But I knew most of her stories, and there wasn’t anything big. Was it an act committed to harm Jasper? Then again, she did take risks in her personal life sexually, so maybe it had something to do with that. Something she did after she left the party might have gotten her into trouble. Something to do with Cole, maybe? He said he saw her. My mind is full of possibilities.
Sitting up straighter, he turns my chin his way. “I shouldn’t have said that about Eve. I’m sorry.”
I shake it off. “No, don’t be. From what you know, it’s the truth.”
His hand stays on my skin, and I have this urge for him to take my face in both of his hands and just look into my eyes and know what I’m struggling with telling him.
If only it could work that way.
Without falter I pull out of his hold. “So what I’m trying to say is that even though you know nothing about me, I feel like I know you.”
There is no positive response to that declaration that any sane person could make, but his attempt is admirable. “Charlotte, I’m not sure what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know. That’s all.”
Truth is often hard to tell and harder for someone else to accept. This I know.
Then he surprises me when he nudges my shoulder. “Thank you for telling me. And at the risk of sounding like an arrogant bastard, I’m flattered you found me interesting enough to follow.”
Laughter escapes my mouth and a slow heat creeps up my neck that lands right on my cheeks. Averting my gaze, I reach for my bag and take a bowl from it. Removing the lid, I ask, “Orange?”
Taking one, he laughs and points at my bag. “Do you have an entire picnic in there?”
I shake my head but then take out another small bowl. “No, this is all.” I point to the carrot sticks. “Want some?”
Finishing the orange wedge, he sets the peel next to him on the grass and then takes a carrot stick.
Finished stalling, I set the bowls between both of our now outstretched legs and start to tell him about me. “Life changed forever that day for me too, Jasper. My parents might not have died in the explosion, but I still lost them both after it.”
He sucks in a breath and holds it, waiting for me to tell him what happened.
“Do you remember that day at school?” I start.
Tentatively, he nods. “Yeah, your father picked you up early.”
Placing my hands behind me, I look up toward the sky and begin to relive my own nightmare of that day. “Yes, that’s right. He picked me up because my mother couldn’t. Because she and his best friend had taken what little money there was and run off together, with his daughter, Tory, and they left me behind.”
“Charlotte—” There’s compassion in his tone that I don’t deserve.
My head snaps toward him and I cut him off. “Please, let me finish.”
He nods.
“I didn’t know that at the time, of course. In fact, I didn’t know it for a very long time. After my father picked me up that day he had a bunch of stops to make. I stayed in the car while he went into the bank, the post office, and the phone company. I had no idea what he was doing. The last stop he made was at the playground at the end of the street. Remember it?” I ask him.
His fond smile lights up my sad heart. “I do. It was one of my favorite places to go even after you disappeared.”
I blink my tears back. “My father sat on the swing next to me and I could tell he was sad. He told me that my mother needed some time away and that I had to go and stay with my aunt for a while until he could figure things out. I begged him to let me stay with him, but he said it wasn’t possible because he had no one to take care of me. I wanted to tell him you had already been taking care of me, but somehow I knew finding out my mother hadn’t been home at night would only make him sadder. Anyway, we were supposed to leave the next morning and he promised me I could say goodbye to you before school.” I stop and dare to look over at him.
The pain I see in his eyes almost kills me. “I saw your lights on in the middle of the night when my mother got the call,” he tells me.
I nod my head. “At the time all I knew was my father was waking me up in the middle of the night, telling me we had to leave. I wanted to say goodbye to you but he wouldn’t let me. When I tried to run, he scooped me up and carried me to the car, which was already packed with my things. That night he drove us to Mackinac Island, where his sister and her husband owned a bed-and-breakfast. He left me there like he said he was going to.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“We were eight, Jasper. I didn’t even know your phone number. And besides, every day I thought would be the day I’d be going home.”
He nods.
“About a month later my father returned. He was even sadder. I remember thinking even then that he seemed broken. I overheard things he told my aunt, but I had no idea what he meant when he told her he had become the black sheep of Detroit. After his initial return he went back to Detroit more than a few times, but only for a day or two at a time. Each time he came back even sadder than when he had left. Again I overheard him tell my aunt things like everyone hated him and blamed him, but I had no idea what he was talking about. One day I asked him about it and he started to cry. I never asked him again. After about the fourth trip he’d taken back to Detroit, I a
sked him why he didn’t have to work that much anymore. He didn’t tell me about the explosion, just told me there was no work left to go back to. Still, I didn’t give up hope. I thought every day would be the day he would have to go to work, or the day my mother would be done with her break, and then we would go home. Sadly, years passed, and then one day I just lost hope of ever returning.”
Jasper stands and starts to pace. I can tell he’s restless, maybe even agitated.
Feeling restless too, I stand. “Let’s walk,” I offer.
We walk along the bluff’s edge in silence for a few minutes, and then the heat of Jasper’s skin meets the warmth of mine when he reaches for my hand and holds onto it. “Finish telling me your story, Charlotte.”
Without a word about the kind gesture, I go on. “Although my father lived with us, he was never really present. My uncle was much older than my aunt and chartering the boats at the bed-and-breakfast was hard on him, so my father eagerly took that chore on. My uncle died when I was ten, and that was when the bed-and-breakfast really started failing. I was eleven when I came home from school one day and heard my aunt and my father arguing. I assumed it was about the bed-and-breakfast. They argued about it all the time. My father thought she should sell it before the bank repossessed it, but she refused. It was all she had left of my uncle and it meant everything to her. But that wasn’t what they were arguing about.” I pause, letting the memory of that horrible day eat away at me.
His hold on my hand tightens. “What were they arguing about?”
“My mother,” I blurt out. “I hadn’t thought of her in so long and they were arguing about some letter she’d sent. I burst into the room demanding to see the letter. I just knew it had to be for me. That’s when I found out where she’d gone and who she’d run off with. The letter was a single line, a request for my father to sign divorce papers that were included. No mention of me at all. No mention of where she was. Or any request to see me. Just a return address to some attorney in Canada.”
“You never saw her again?” Jasper asks.
Pain slices through me. “No. Never. Not to this day.”
“And your father?” he asks hesitantly.
