maybe
just college kids stealing stuff.”
I nodded
slowly. Time dragged. “Gas done yet?”
He walked back
over, looked at his screen. “Yeah. Total’s forty-three fifty.”
I handed him
three twenties and waited for my change.
I stepped out
into the cool night air, put the coffee and water in the car and scanned the
parking lot. There was a payphone butted up to the corner of the store.
“I’ll be right
back, Bear.”
Two directories
dangled from the base of the phone. I grabbed the white pages and thumbed
through it, tearing out a page when I found what looked to be the correct
listing. I needed a map, so I went back into the store and asked the kid if
they had any regional map books. He pointed to an aisle full of books,
magazines and car accessories. A large regional map book of Charlottesville and
its surrounding areas sat next to a rack where the top of every magazine in the
row was covered except for its title. I searched the directory in the back of
the book, found my street and ripped out the corresponding page.
“Hey,” the kid
said. “You can’t do that.”
I walked to the
door. “I’m sure the cameras caught it, kid. You can report it.”
He yelled again
as I pushed through the door. I paid no attention to him. Got in the car and
started the engine. Backtracked half a mile and took the bypass around the
city. Hopped onto I-64 for a couple miles then exited into a residential area.
I turned on the dome light and compared the street names with the map in my hand.
“Where’re we
going?” Bear asked. He held his right arm tight to his chest. It had been
partially numb for the last hour. I began to worry he suffered nerve damage.
Not a good thing for his career.
I said nothing
and kept my speed steady at forty miles per hour while checking the names on
the street signs of every neighborhood we passed. Finally, I found the street I
had been looking for and made a right turn into the cookie cutter neighborhood
full of two story colonial style houses. It looked like the builder made three
models available and decided to follow a model a, then b, then c pattern during
construction. I pulled over to the side and stopped next to the curb. The page
torn from the white pages sat on my lap. I found the address and compared the
house numbers, then turned off the dome light and pulled away from the curb.
“Jack,” Bear
said, half question, half demand.
“Jessie,” I
said.
Bear laughed
for the first time since being shot. “Kline?” He shifted in his seat to look at
me directly. “Jessica Kline?”
I hiked my
shoulders a few inches and looked away.
“After what
happened to you two?”
I said nothing.
After another thirty seconds, I found the house number I’d been looking for,
drove half a block past and parked the car next to the curb.
*
* *
We stood on the
front porch for five minutes staring at the red door. Bear leaned back against
a post running floor to ceiling, clutching his shoulder, a look of pain spread
across his face.
“Knock on the
damn door, Jack.” His breath formed mist in the air, rising up, enveloping his
head before disappearing. “C’mon.”
I leaned
forward and rapped on the door with my knuckles. A moment later a light flicked
on inside. I heard hands tap against the door, the way they would if someone
leaned up against it perhaps to listen for a moment. The porch light turned on
and the door cracked open as far as the security chain lock would allow it.
“Who’s there?”
Jessie asked.
I took a step
back and moved over so she could see me through the crack in the door. Our eyes
met and locked in a stare that only two former lovers could share.
“Jack?”
“Hey, Jess.”
“What’re you
doing…? Is everything OK?”
“Yeah. No. Can
we come in?” I turned sideways and nodded toward Bear. “He’s hurt.”
“Riley?”
“Heya, Jessie,”
Bear said.
Jessie closed the
door. I heard the sound of the security chain sliding in its lock, and then
just college kids stealing stuff.”
I nodded
slowly. Time dragged. “Gas done yet?”
He walked back
over, looked at his screen. “Yeah. Total’s forty-three fifty.”
I handed him
three twenties and waited for my change.
I stepped out
into the cool night air, put the coffee and water in the car and scanned the
parking lot. There was a payphone butted up to the corner of the store.
“I’ll be right
back, Bear.”
Two directories
dangled from the base of the phone. I grabbed the white pages and thumbed
through it, tearing out a page when I found what looked to be the correct
listing. I needed a map, so I went back into the store and asked the kid if
they had any regional map books. He pointed to an aisle full of books,
magazines and car accessories. A large regional map book of Charlottesville and
its surrounding areas sat next to a rack where the top of every magazine in the
row was covered except for its title. I searched the directory in the back of
the book, found my street and ripped out the corresponding page.
“Hey,” the kid
said. “You can’t do that.”
I walked to the
door. “I’m sure the cameras caught it, kid. You can report it.”
He yelled again
as I pushed through the door. I paid no attention to him. Got in the car and
started the engine. Backtracked half a mile and took the bypass around the
city. Hopped onto I-64 for a couple miles then exited into a residential area.
I turned on the dome light and compared the street names with the map in my hand.
“Where’re we
going?” Bear asked. He held his right arm tight to his chest. It had been
partially numb for the last hour. I began to worry he suffered nerve damage.
Not a good thing for his career.
I said nothing
and kept my speed steady at forty miles per hour while checking the names on
the street signs of every neighborhood we passed. Finally, I found the street I
had been looking for and made a right turn into the cookie cutter neighborhood
full of two story colonial style houses. It looked like the builder made three
models available and decided to follow a model a, then b, then c pattern during
construction. I pulled over to the side and stopped next to the curb. The page
torn from the white pages sat on my lap. I found the address and compared the
house numbers, then turned off the dome light and pulled away from the curb.
“Jack,” Bear
said, half question, half demand.
“Jessie,” I
said.
Bear laughed
for the first time since being shot. “Kline?” He shifted in his seat to look at
me directly. “Jessica Kline?”
I hiked my
shoulders a few inches and looked away.
“After what
happened to you two?”
I said nothing.
After another thirty seconds, I found the house number I’d been looking for,
drove half a block past and parked the car next to the curb.
*
* *
We stood on the
front porch for five minutes staring at the red door. Bear leaned back against
a post running floor to ceiling, clutching his shoulder, a look of pain spread
across his face.
“Knock on the
damn door, Jack.” His breath formed mist in the air, rising up, enveloping his
head before disappearing. “C’mon.”
I leaned
forward and rapped on the door with my knuckles. A moment later a light flicked
on inside. I heard hands tap against the door, the way they would if someone
leaned up against it perhaps to listen for a moment. The porch light turned on
and the door cracked open as far as the security chain lock would allow it.
“Who’s there?”
Jessie asked.
I took a step
back and moved over so she could see me through the crack in the door. Our eyes
met and locked in a stare that only two former lovers could share.
“Jack?”
“Hey, Jess.”
“What’re you
doing…? Is everything OK?”
“Yeah. No. Can
we come in?” I turned sideways and nodded toward Bear. “He’s hurt.”
“Riley?”
“Heya, Jessie,”
Bear said.
Jessie closed the
door. I heard the sound of the security chain sliding in its lock, and then
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