by K. Bromberg
“Yeah, yeah.” I nod to Nate but hold up a finger before turning back to Desi. “Tell me something? Has she had a good life?” The question is out before I can stop it and is so very different from the one I had intended. I feel like a douchebag for asking, but I need to know. “Sorry. Never mind. Nice to meet you, Desi.” I smile and walk away.
I take about five steps before she speaks. “From what I know, she has.” I stop and look back to her. “The girl is a bundle of perpetual motion and laughter. Maybe it’s a cover. Maybe it isn’t. But it’s how she’s been since I met her ten years ago.”
“That’s good to hear. Thank you.”
“Why would you ask that?” She angles her head and takes a step closer.
“When we were little, she was that friend. You know, the one who—”
“She’s that to me, too. I get it. No need to explain.” Her face softens, and her posture relaxes. “I can give you my phone number if you want.”
My smile shifts to a grin. “Uh, well—”
“I’m not hitting on you, Officer Sexy. Although, while I’m sure you’ve charmed more than your fair share of women out of their clothes with your smile and uniform alone, you’re not my type.”
I choke on a laugh, loving this woman I’ve just met and her brazen personality. “My ego isn’t liking you right now.”
“Ego, shmeego.” She waves a hand at me in indifference before digging in her purse and pulling out a business card. “Go on. Take it.” She holds it out to me. “You know, just in case you change your mind . . . or if you want to check on her again.”
I take the card she offers, and with one last look that tells me somehow she understands, she turns to her friends and they walk away.
“You ready?”
Nate looks irritated that I’m not reacting. “Sure. Yes. Sorry.”
“Who was the woman?”
“Someone I haven’t seen in a while.”
“An old girlfriend?”
“Nah. We’re talking third grade here.”
“It’s you, Malone. You probably had the girls lined up to play four square with you back then.” He chuckles, and I roll my eyes. “Why’d she bail?”
“I’m not quite sure.” I look down to where I’m turning the card over in my hand and stare at Desi’s name but think of Emmy instead.
One thing is certain, Desi isn’t here on vacation. The address on the card and area code are both local, which means she lives here. Does that mean Emerson lives here, too?
Forget about it. If Em lives here and hasn’t sought me out, she doesn’t want to see me.
But I know I can’t forget.
I’ve never been able to.
She obviously doesn’t want this ghost from her past around.
That’s the funny thing about ghosts, though.
You can’t control when they appear or how they might affect you, but they always haunt you.
The engine’s roar fills my ears.
I run through my mental checklist. Finish. Then begin it again as the rush of cold air dances around me and whips against my cheeks. My earplugs shift as I slide my jaw out of habit to equalize the pressure in my ears.
I glance over to where Leo is double-checking his own gear. “Head up. Wings out!” I shout over the roar. He gives me a thumbs-up, and with that, I loosen my grip on the door and dive headfirst.
My breath catches. My blood is flooded with adrenaline. My body spirals and hurtles and tumbles in a seemingly endless free fall.
But there is silence in my head. Peace. A bliss I can’t find anywhere else as I gain control of my dive, stabilize, and master the arch of my body. The ocean in the distance and the rolling green hills of northern California laid out like a topography map beneath me are as stunning as the first time I saw them like this.
There are no demands from Chris and his bank.
There are no duties left to fulfill for Travis before I can call it a night.
There are no thoughts of Grant Malone and those brown eyes of his that met mine yesterday and surprised the hell out of me.
There are no demons from my past—the ones seeing him again brought out of hiding—trying to weasel their way in.
It’s freedom.
It’s just me hurtling toward the earth at what feels like a million miles an hour in what could be certain death.
It’s my hand deploying the ripcord and my body jolting against the force before rebounding up as the parachute opens and saves me from that death.
Yanking me back to reality.
My parachute.
Saving me.
Grant Malone.
Saved me.
Stop it, Em. Don’t think about him.
Look at the fields sprawled out.
I knew it was bound to happen when I moved back here.
At the waves crashing against the cliffs beyond.
He is from before. I’m only about the now.
At the cars on the highway in the distance that look like ants crawling home in the early evening light.
I close my eyes, hating that I’m missing a single moment of my descent, but I use the moment to refocus my thoughts and shift gears.
With another slide of my jaw to re-equalize the pressure in my ears, I open my eyes and force myself to admire the beauty of it all.
After a bit, sometime between the lull of the gliding and the serenity of the silence, I’m able to shut the world out and do just that. Enjoy the moment that will surely dissipate the minute my feet hit the ground.
I think about what I’ll do with this place once Blue Skies becomes mine. Fresh paint on the sign. New marketing to tourists and locals. Convert the empty hangar into a clubhouse of sorts to entice the adrenaline junkies to stay longer and spend more money.
I have to get the loan first. Then I can dream.
My mental checklist begins again. The one I use to make sure I don’t neglect a single thing. It’s too easy to become comfortable when jumping out of an airplane day after day, so I use the repetition as my safety net.
My lone leash to sanity.
Plus it helps me to forget about Grant.
Well, in theory anyway.
“Desi’s thinking of having another one of her barbecues again.”
My jump coordinator’s eyes light up and his lips spread into a huge grin. “Tell her thinking is not an option,” Leo says. “She needs to pick a date and commit so my stomach knows when it’s going to get treated to the good stuff again.”
“No shit.” I laugh and shake my head. Friends, food, and relaxation are just what the doctor ordered. Especially when it’s her food.
“Just promise I won’t be forgotten when the invites go out.” He holds his hands together as if he’s praying.
“I promise.”
The phone rings on the desk before me, and Leo goes back to finalizing his schedules.
“Blue Skies, this is Emerson, how may I help you?”
“Emerson! Just the person I wanted to talk to.”
“Great. Who’s this?” I glance over to Leo, who’s sitting at his desk laughing at something.
“It’s Chris Severson with Sunnyville Trust and Loan.”
“Hi, Chris,” I say as I sink down into my chair and glance at the list of reports and paperwork he still needs for the loan. Of the ten items on it, I’ve only been able to cross two off as completed, and I don’t understand what three of the remaining eight even mean or how to go about figuring them out. “What can I do for you?”
“I was just calling to see where you are with getting the information I’d requested.”
“It’s coming. Slowly.” I chuckle because I already feel like I’m drowning.
“I know the list of requirements can be overwhelming, so know that you aren’t the only one who feels that way.” Sympathy resonates in his voice.
“That’s good to know. Since I’ve never applied for a loan before, I thought I was the only one.”
“No. Not at all. Is there anything I
can help you with?”
My laugh is part mortification, part reprieve. “Really?”
“Of course. Since you decided to forego having a broker represent you—”
“Only because I know the owners of Blue Skies and they preferred not to use one,” I feel the need to explain for what seems like the tenth time. What he doesn’t need to know is the lack of a broker was my idea. I simply won’t have the extra funds to pay them their fees once the deal is done. I’m stretched thin as it is.
“No need to explain, Emerson. It isn’t always necessary to have a broker. Besides, I told you I’d walk you through everything step by step, and I will.”
My shoulders sag in relief. “Thank you. I really do appreciate it. You don’t know how much this means to me to have found—”
“No need to thank me.”
“I still feel I should.”
“How about this? How about we meet for a working dinner? It will give me a chance to review everything with you and answer the questions you have.”
“I couldn’t impose on you like that.”
“Nonsense. It’s just one of the many services I provide my clients.”
I chew my bottom lip, torn between pride and necessity. The silence stretches. “That would be great. I’d appreciate it.”
“Good. Then it’s settled.” He laughs, and I can hear a horn honk in the background. “I’m driving so I can’t access my schedule. Let me check it and I’ll email you some dates and times that will work.”
“That sounds great. Again, Chris . . . thank you.”
“You smell like smoke.” I glance over to my little brother Grady and make a show of sniffing the air before bringing the beer to my lips.
“Occupational hazard,” he says before lifting his chin to where our dad is attempting not to burn steaks on the grill while he shoots the shit with Grayson, our middle brother. “We were doing drills today over at the old gravel yard. I guess I didn’t wash all the smoke off.”
“Hmm,” I murmur, part listening, part lost in thought.
“So, you gonna tell me why you bailed on coming over on the Fourth? I hope like hell she was worth missing out on Mom’s apple pie.” He chuckles. “I guess you enjoyed a different kind of pie, huh?”
“You’re the firefighter, why don’t you go help Dad put those flames out.” Diversion intended to get conversation away from my sex life, but I’m not sure he’s going to buy it. My brothers are nosey fuckers.
He sits there silent for a moment, and I can feel the weight of his stare as I look at the flames flare up on the old Weber again.
“So, you didn’t get laid?” he questions.
“Nah.” Another sip of beer. Another push with my foot to rock the porch swing I’m sitting on.
“What’s the deal, then?”
“Nothing really. It was a long day, and then I ended up chasing ghosts for a bit and lost track of time is all.” I shrug. It’s close enough to the truth.
“You should have just told us you got lost in a call. Is it one I know about?”
“Nah.”
He chuckles. “Are you being a dick, or are you trying to be vague on purpose?”
I’m not trying to be a dick, but I know that once I say something to him, it will become a Malone family free-for-all topic of discussion.
He doesn’t push, which I’m grateful for, but my mind veers back to the ghosts. To the wondering and questioning and wanting to know more.
There’s the creak of my swing. The laughter of my dad and brother. The sound effects Luke, Grayson’s son, is making as he plays with Matchbox cars on the grass. The squeal of kids a few houses down as they chase each other. The hum of a lawn mower somewhere down the street.
“You remember Emmy Reeves?”
Grady’s bottle of beer pauses momentarily on the way to his lips. “Vaguely,” he murmurs. “You two were like Mutt and Jeff. She was at the house all the time or you were at hers . . . and then something happened with her family and she moved, right?”
“Something like that,” I respond, realizing he was only in preschool when it happened and probably doesn’t remember the details. Having a father who was chief of police probably helped keep the facts quiet.
“Why are you bringing her up now?”
“I saw her the other day.”
“No shit. How is she? Did she move back? Is she—”
“I couldn’t tell you.”
“No?” He reaches down and scratches Moose between the ears. The mammoth dog rolls onto his back without a care in the world other than wanting more affection.
“That’s the thing, she wouldn’t talk to me.” I glance up as the screen door opens, and my mom comes out with a basket of buns for the burgers.
“How’s studying going?” she asks, saving me from saying any more.
“It’s going,” I shrug, thinking of the stack of index cards with questions for my detective’s exam on them. They are sitting on my nightstand collecting dust.
“Well, let me know if you need any help studying,” she says, making me laugh. Once our mother always our mother, even when we’re studying as an adult.
“I will.”
“Time to eat, boys.”
And eat we do. The mountain of food all but gone by the time we finish and sit back in our chairs with overstuffed stomachs.
“How was your night out?” Mom asks Grayson, leaning forward on her elbows, eager to hear that after one date he’s ready to marry the girl and give her more grandchildren.
“It was fine.” Grayson shrugs. “Nothing spectacular.”
“He wore cologne,” Luke says and then lifts his eyebrows. “You only wear cologne when you like a girl.”
The whole table laughs. “Is that so?” Grayson says as he tugs down on Luke’s baseball hat and then gives him a noogie.
“That’s what they do on television.”
“Are you going to see her again?” Mom fishes, relentlessly, but Grayson turns to me.
“So who do you have on the line now, Grant?”
I don’t even have to look to know Mom’s rolling her shoulders and getting that sour look on her face. It has become the norm when discussing my lack of settling down and giving her babies to spoil and dote over.
“I don’t have anyone on the line.” I glare at him.
“You always have at least one, if not four, falling hook, line, and sinker,” he continues.
“That’s such bullshit. I do not. I—”
“He has Emmy Reeves on the line,” pipes in Grady, who then grunts as my foot connects with his shin beneath the table.
“Emmy Reeves?” Grayson says at the same time as my mom’s head snaps up to look at my dad.
“Emmy, Emmy?” she asks.
“Fuck off, Grady,” I mutter, knowing he threw me to the wolves to save Grayson’s ass.
But when I meet the expectant eyes of my parents, there is a gravity to Dad’s expression that I haven’t seen since his days on the force. It makes me realize things were probably ten times worse for Emmy than I ever imagined way back when.
As an adult, I can decipher those expressions and understand the things I couldn’t comprehend as a kid.
“Yes. Emmy, Emmy.”
Mom’s face brightens. “Did she contact you on that FaceWorld or InstaGreet everyone is using these days?”
“FaceWorld?” Grady says before letting out an exasperated sigh. “Mom, when are you ever going to catch up with the times? It’s Facebook and Instagram. I told you I’d be more than willing to teach you how to use them if you’d like.”
“And I told you that I’d rather remain happy and oblivious to all the ways people can stalk me online. I’m a cop’s wife, Grady. You keep your personal information off the internet so you can keep your family safe.”
“Yes, Betsy.” Dad nods, trying to stop this bickering before it starts. “So, Grant,” he asks and gives me his investigator’s stare, “how did you connect with her?”
“I saw her in to
wn the other day.” This has my parents sharing another glance. “What’s that look mean?”
“Nothing,” Dad responds.
“Nothing?” I repeat.
“Just surprised to hear she was in Sunnyville. Her mom liked to move around a lot.” Mom’s smile softens. “I used to love that little girl as if she were my own. The daughter I never had. I used to joke with your father that you were going to grow up to marry her someday.”
“Of course you would think that.” I roll my eyes.
“How is she? Was she well?”
I take a long sip of beer and wipe my hands on my napkin before leaning back in my chair and shrugging. “No idea. I was working the crowd at the pub crawl when I saw her.”
“And?” she prompts.
“She saw me, and then she had to leave, so we didn’t really get a chance to talk.” Emmy’s shocked eyes flash through my mind. I’m not sure why I lie to them about it.
“Are you going to see her again?” Dad asks.
“It was so quick, I didn’t get her phone number. Besides, if I wanted to, I wouldn’t know the first place to look for her. She was probably here for the holiday or something and is gone now.”
“You are a cop, dipshit. In case you didn’t know.” The kick to the shin I gave Grady moments ago is returned to me under the table.
“And your point is?” I grunt, glaring at my brother.
“You have all the stalking capabilities you need at the station.”
“Nah, I couldn’t do that,” I reply, but that doesn’t mean the thought hasn’t crossed my mind a time or a hundred.
“Stick with that thought, Grant,” Dad warns. “The last thing you need is to misuse city resources while being considered for the promotion.”
“And the chief speaks,” Grayson adds to lighten the mood with a laugh.
“Do you have more of that cobbler?” Grady asks, effectively shifting the subject, but not before I see one last glance between Mom and Dad that leaves me lost in thought while the conversation moves on.
I was a kid when everything happened with Em, so it was hard for me to reconcile how nice her dad was with what she said happened to her. Now, I’m an adult and have seen things on the job that have taught me that even the nicest of people could do the cruelest of things.
