Admission (26 page)

TREES AND HOUSES
and cars and people and life passed by outside his window as Jake watched and wondered when he’d be able to join them. It wasn’t supposed to work out like this. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. There had to be more to the story, had to be something else. Somebody had to rescue him. Somebody had to come and take this gnawing pain away.

But the only one left was Bruce, who had stopped by Dunkin’ Donuts to get them some coffee and breakfast and was now driving him back home from the police station, where Jake had spent the night.

“How’re you feeling?” Bruce asked.

“I’ve felt worse.”

“You look bad.”

“Not as bad as my car,” Jake said. “The cops said it was totaled. They said I’m lucky to be alive. That I had some guardian angels watching over me.”

“Yeah, maybe you do.”

Jake shook his head. “Where were they when Carnie decided to swallow a bottle of pills? That’s my question.”

He still felt woozy and weak from the night before. He thought of the approaching call to his parents. It didn’t matter.
They would be upset, but there was nothing they could do to make things worse.

I’m already grounded
, Jake thought.
And I will be the rest of my life
.

“Wait till my parents hear about this,” he said.

“You gotta tell them?”

Jake laughed. “Sorta hard not to. Unless you want to drive me around all summer.”

“No, thanks.” Bruce finished his coffee and tossed the cup onto the floorboard. “Actually, I’m going back home myself. I’m all packed up. Ready to bolt.”

In the parking lot, Bruce’s car parked but still running, they said their good-byes. Simple, male good-byes. Jake opened his car door, but before getting out, Bruce stopped him.

“Jake?”

He looked over at his friend. “Yeah?”

“Think we’ll be able to move on? That all this will just be—just be like some distant memory we will all slowly forget?”

Jake forced a smile. “I hope.”

He walked into the empty apartment and felt the chill of the cool summer morning. The bedroom window was opened slightly, letting some air creep in. A fan someone had left on blew the breeze steadily, stirring the only bit of life left in the rooms. The blank walls stared at him in silence.

It was over. The people, the parties, the privileges youth allowed … all of it was over. May soon would be turning into June. He had graduated, and the first thing he had done was go out and get a DUI. Some people got jobs, but not Jake. He had lost two best friends in a matter of weeks. One disappeared and the other killed himself. Both left with answers Jake wanted and needed.

The apartment echoed the last four years of his reckless life. Nothing but a few bags of trash and a few lifeless posters remained. The framed picture of James Dean still hung over his bed.

He walked to the kitchen and surveyed the scene. It was
the cleanest it had been since the guys moved in. He didn’t see the blinking light of the answering machine at first, and when he did, he figured it was one of the guys saying good-bye or asking for something.

Instead, it was Alyssa. The soft, sweet voice that he had longed to hear. It felt like aloe on sunburned skin.

“Hi, Jake. It’s Thursday, and I just wanted to tell you—I’m so sorry to hear about Carnie. I can’t say how awful I feel. I’m so sorry. And I wish I could have told you this in person, but I just didn’t have the strength. So I’m doing it now. Like this. I apologize for not being stronger. But I hope you get this message.

“Everything happens for a reason, Jake. I know how clichéd and empty that might sound. Even saying it—I know how it comes across. But things do happen for a reason. Carnie’s death—I don’t know why it happened. But I’m sorry for it. I’m sorry for you losing your friend.

“I believe God put you in my life for a reason and a purpose. Maybe not for the one you hoped. But for other reasons, perhaps. I don’t know. All I can do is pray for you, Jake. And I promise that I will keep praying for you, even after you’re long gone. You know what I believe. So all I can tell you is to remember this. God loves you as much as He loves me. And wherever you go in this world, He’ll still continue loving you.

“I hope you find yourself, Jake. And that you find your way. I’ll never forget you or our friendship.

“I’ll be praying for you. And praying our paths cross again one day.”

“HOW YOU FEELING?”

Bruce looked at me and grinned. “It’s time to finally start smoking for medicinal purposes.”

I laughed and shook my head. We had upgraded to a Holiday Inn, and sat in chairs in the lobby. Bruce’s bag sat by his feet.

“So what’s next?” I asked.

“I was going to ask you that same question.”

“I’m meeting Alyssa for breakfast in a few minutes. After that, I’m not exactly sure.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

Bruce looked healthier since he’d managed to get outside and get some sun. I’d been trying to get him to eat as much as possible. Aside from his walking slowly and not being able to bend over, he didn’t look like someone who had been shot in the gut less than a month ago.

“This is sorta weird,” Bruce said.

“What?”

“In the end, it’s just you and me again. Must be fate.”

“Or the sign of a true friend.”

“A true friend probably would’ve told you the whole truth,” Bruce said.

“Yeah. But you kept me out of trouble.”

“I took a bullet for you, man,” he joked, sounding like a beer commercial.

A cab pulled up in front of the hotel.

“I’m not big into good-byes.”

I nodded. “Me neither.”

“Wherever I end up—I’ll let you know.”

“Sure. You’ve got my cell number. Among others.”

“Think things will work out?”

I wasn’t sure what Bruce referred to. Everything related to Brian Erwin and Alec and Carnie and Franklin? Maybe. But he might be talking about my job. Or my life.

Or Alyssa.

“Things happen for a reason,” I said.

“Think so? Really?”

“I do.”

“Maybe I’ll see you before another ten years go by.”

“Somebody’s got to keep you out of trouble. And alive.”

I shook Bruce’s hand, and he grabbed his bag and ambled out of the hotel. I knew I would see him before too long. It wasn’t a promise I was going to make to him. It was a promise I had made to myself.

Alyssa was waiting for me at the Starbucks minutes away from college. I drove down the street, the windows open and the temperature a couple hours from being stuffy. On the seat beside me was my itinerary. The one-way e-ticket was for an afternoon flight.

I wasn’t sure what I was going to say to her, although I’d rehearsed the conversation in my mind a hundred times. Over the last four weeks, we had spent a lot of time together. And during that time I had contemplated moving back to Illinois and making a transition in my life. My failing business could be left behind. So could the few ties I had in Colorado.

I didn’t want to leave Alyssa behind. Not again.

Sometimes I wondered why God put certain people in my
life. Alec. Bruce. Carnie. Alyssa. Back when I thought life was completely random and that I held my fate and destination in my hands, I never thought about such things. But ever since God tracked me down in a shabby hotel in Kathmandu, things had never been the same. After that fateful climb in the Himalayas, I knew that something had to give.

I never thought it would be my heart.

Alec’s words resonated in my head.
Sounds like a fairy tale
. And it did. Some people might hear my story and roll their eyes, thinking I’d come up with a way to appease my guilt and placate my soul. But I had nothing to do with it.

I pulled the car into the parking lot and got out. I felt anxious about the conversation I was about to have. After everything that had happened, how could I just move on and live happily ever after? That was the piece of my faith that people had a problem with. This whole business of living happily ever after in heaven with God for eternity—it sounded made up and truly unbelievable, especially in light of everything down here on earth.

Sounds like a fairy tale
.

I used to think that too. All I could tell them was my story, and how I was a different person now.

I opened the door and saw Alyssa sitting in an armchair that faced another empty one. She saw me instantly and smiled, that smile reminding me of the first time I saw her a month ago in this same place.

Then I thought of the first time I ever saw her, in the dean’s office at Providence. Alyssa was a different person back then, and so was I. God knew we needed to have that first fateful meeting, and that our paths would cross again somewhere down the road.

God knew we would need each other later in life. And I believed with every ounce of my being that he had allowed us to come back together. Seeing Alyssa’s gaze, her sweet smile—I realized my decision had already been made.

The world loves sad endings—dark, tragic endings—but this wasn’t going to be one of them.

WITH SPECIAL THANKS
to the following people:

Andy McGuire, for letting me tell this story and helping me grow as a writer.

LB Norton, for guiding me along and helping the editing process go as smoothly as it ever has.

Mom and Dad, for your never-ending encouragement and belief in me.

Cecil E. White, for your incredible gift I’ll never be able to repay.

Claudia Cross, for taking a chance to work together.

Barry Smith, for your partnership, your passion, and most of all, your friendship.

Keri Tryba, for being a vital part of the AR team and so much fun to work with.

Everybody at Moody Publishers, for your continued confidence in my writing.

To all the people who put up with my antics at Trinity.

To my friends and co-workers, who should know this is a work of fiction.

And, of course, to Sharon, who knows that some of it isn’t. But who stayed with me anyway.

Michael Grey is about to experience his very own dark night of the soul.

Michael has it all worked out: 37 years old, married, two kids, beautiful home, churchgoer, marketing director on the rise. How much of it will he risk for a seductive smile from a stranger? Alone in New York on a business trip, Michael finds out.

A simple conversation and a short phone call plunge Michael into a night out of his control. He starts by flirting with temptation and ends up fighting for his life. Michael finds himself on the run with nowhere to go, and as the night grows longer, he wonders if he will live to see the rising sun.

What could make a happily married man abandon all reason for a night with a beautiful woman? And what if the beautiful woman is not what she seems? Michael’s decision might not just destroy his family. It might wreck his life. And his soul.

Blinded
, the gripping new novel from Travis Thrasher, will be available in fall, 2006.

“MIND IF I JOIN YOU?”

These are not the words you expect to hear. Not now, on a Friday midafternoon in Manhattan. Not after the two days you’ve had. Not after the cancelled dinner and the cancelled account. And positively, definitely, not coming from the beautiful woman in heels standing before you.

For a moment you’re lost for words. You’re never lost for words. But for half a second, you can’t say anything.

Only half an hour ago you saw the same figure settle into her seat and order a glass of wine and cross her legs and watch the sidewalk close to Rockefeller Center. Sipping a red and people watching, just like you were doing. You looked away, first at the table in front of you, then at the half glass of Pinot Grigio, then the empty chair facing you, then the glisten of your wedding ring in the sun. But your eyes found their way back to the blonde again, sitting in front of you, her profile in full view, her eyes glancing over and easily spotting your gaze.

You were the first to look away.

And this sort of fun, harmless glancing went on for half an hour as the motion of the city blurred behind. People getting off work, tourists roaming, couples strolling. You are here because you’ve ordered wines from this place before. Wine is a
hobby you’ve only picked up the last couple of years; it’s harmless, but you still keep it from some of the couples you know. Drinking has a certain stigma to some of your church friends. But in a city far away from the suburbs of Chicago, nobody is going to find you. Nobody is going to care if you’re on your second glass. And if you’re staring at one of the hottest women you’ve ever seen.

It doesn’t hurt to look.

But for some reason she’s now standing in front of you, looking down at you, grinning, waiting for an answer.

“Sure.”

That’s all you say.

So this woman, perhaps in her late twenties, sits down across from you, a glass half full in her hand. For a moment she continues watching the sidewalk without feeling the need to say anything.

You have no idea how your life is about to change.

“Where are you from?” she asks after you share small talk over wine.

“I look like a tourist?”

“You don’t look like a New Yorker.”

“Chicago,” you say, easier than saying Deerfield, Illinois.

“You don’t have an accent.”

“Neither do you.”

“I haven’t stuck around anywhere long enough to pick up an accent.”

The first thing you notice are greenish-blue eyes, model eyes that would seem manufactured if they were in a magazine. Blonde hair that might be real or colored falls several inches below bare shoulders. The look she gives is confident, curious, and relaxed.

You may decide it’s a dangerous look. Women might be the ones who claim to have intuitions, but you have some yourself.

“Where are you from?”

“Florida. And California.”

“Which one first?” you ask.

She shines another grin. “Does it matter?”

“No.”

“Florida,” she answers.

A waiter comes up and before even attempting to ask the woman, she orders another glass of something called “The Thief.”

“That’s the name of a wine?” you ask.

She nods. You tell the waiter you’ll try it.

It’s the end of a long week and you didn’t ask for her to be sitting there and there’s nothing wrong with sharing a glass of wine with a stranger in the middle of hundreds of other strangers. A single snapshot might be strange but you have an explanation and you don’t need an explanation anyway.

You’re too fried to even think about anything except wondering who this woman is.

“Heading back soon?” she asks.

She has a strong voice. Nothing about this woman is weak. Her gaze doesn’t waver and you keep your eyes on her and avoid looking at anything else. Or any other part of her.

“Tomorrow.”

“So with all the sights to see in New York, and all the things to do, what brings you here?”

“I order wines from this place … Thought I’d check it out.”

“First time to New York?”

“First time sitting here,” you tell her.

You came here with Lisa.

Lisa is your wife just in case you need someone to remind you.

She takes a sip from her wine and you look at her lips for a second longer than you probably should.

I’m tired
, you think.

Perhaps this is reasoning.

“And you’re all alone?”

Now you’re the one to smile.

“Am I missing something here?” you ask.

“Uncomfortable with a lot of questions?”

“I’ve seen stuff like this on television shows. People getting pranked.”

“I just figured you might like some company. And I thought you probably wouldn’t take the initiative to join me.”

“And you’re all alone?” you repeat her question.

“At the moment, no. Just making light conversation to pass the time.”

You wonder if this is a New York thing.

“I’m Michael,” you tell her, finally being friendly.

“And what does Michael do for a living?”

You smile. “Michael sells for a living.”

“Sells what?”

“Does it matter?” you ask, teasing her.

“Come on. You already told me your name.”

“I could’ve made up it up. There are thousands of Michaels.”

“There are thousands of salesmen.”

“So what are
you
selling?” you ask.

Her gaze doesn’t waver and the grin doesn’t go away. “Please.”

“What?”

“A lot of women might take that as an insult.”

“A lot of guys might be too stupid to ask that.”

She sips her drink again and for the moment continues to watch the crowd. As if she’s done, at least for the moment, with the conversation. You don’t know if she’s a businesswoman but she might be. Wearing a skirt and a button down shirt. Black pointy heels that look expensive. A little purse that can only carry sunglasses and a couple of credit cards.

This is the way your luck goes. A beautiful outgoing woman with that look in her eye comes and sits down at a table with you to share a glass of wine and some light banter. There is nothing more that can happen because you are a married man with two children. And Lisa might wonder what in the world you’re doing in the first place with this woman talking and smiling and sharing a glass of wine.

It’s harmless and you didn’t do anything to prompt it and nothing else will come from it because nothing
can
come from it. And that’s your luck. Because as beautiful as this woman is, she is not yours and can never be yours and all she will be is a sweet smile to look at.

And eventually the risk factor fades when the unnamed woman says she must go.

“Thanks for the chat.”

“You’re—welcome.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve already paid for my wine.”

“It’s fine,” you say.

She looks at you as if she’s contemplating something, sizing you up for something.

That is not a safe look. Nothing about that look is safe. It’s dangerous.

“You have a pen and a business card, don’t you?” she asks.

You find them and give them to her, still surprised, still stunned and wanting to know where this will lead.

She quickly writes down something and gives you back the card and the pen.

“Perhaps we can share another glass of wine later. If you’re not too busy.”

And she stands, and of course, you can’t help but look at her. She doesn’t even say goodbye and maybe that’s the whole point. She’s left you with a name and a phone number and now she’s turned and walking away and she’s leaving you with a great view you briefly lose yourself in watching.

What just happened and how did it happen to me?
You’re not the sort of guy who gets a Jasmine to write out her number for you.

And you’re not the guy who calls that number, for whatever reason. To sample a serious vintage or to get yourself in serious trouble.

You’re not that sort of man despite the fact that your plane leaves in sixteen hours and you have nothing else to do.

Because if you
were
that sort of man, there would have to be some serious reasons to do so, right? And you’re a good guy. With a good family. And a good life.

You’re not going to do anything with that number.

But you slide it into your shirt pocket and keep it anyway.

6:15 p.m
.

There’s anonymity in New York City.

It almost feels like God can’t even keep track of someone in the city, like there’s too much compressed into such a small space.

You are used to Chicago, living in the suburbs and working in the city. Chicago has character; New York has crowds. Something about the faces passing you by makes you feel small and insignificant. One of the millions. Still wearing a suit you were going to wear to dinner tonight. Still wearing that new tie Lisa bought you.

The smell of the hot dog vendor makes you almost stop to buy one but you see a disaster waiting to happen smeared all over your coat. You think back to the blonde, the long legs, the phone number you still have.

There’s no way
.

Of course you think this. Of course you won’t call it. There’s some sort of catch and you’re not taking it.

Maybe she’s just like you. Alone in a city looking for company
.

And she wants you to think this. Just like the guys you pass whowant you to spend $25 on a wallet that cost them 50¢ to make. It’s part of the scenery, part of the street, part of New York.

If you’re not too busy
.

And you wonder how you’re going to kill the night. There’s nothing to do, nowhere to go, no one to see.

A man could get lost in a city like this and nobody would know. Nobody would pay him any attention. Nobody would care.

God himself might not even care.

7:34 p.m
.

You’re waiting for someone to pick up on the other line as you sit on the edge of the made bed, the room service tray right in front of you. A wet stain from the ketchup you spilled looks like it’s never going to dry. ESPN is talking about baseball, which doesn’t really interest you. Baseball seasons take so long. Football seasons feel too short.

You hear your voice on the other end and decide to leave a message.

“Hey—just wanted to call. Sorry I missed you earlier. I was
out. You’re probably at your parents—I’ll try back in a little while. Love you.”

There is a tinge of guilt you feel.

I didn’t go up to that woman. I was sitting there minding my business when she came up to me
.

But you didn’t answer your cell phone.

I didn’t feel it vibrating
.

You look at the change and pen and key card on the desk next to you. Next to them sits the name and the number that seem to glow in the dark.

The room feels silent and lonely.

Jasmine.

Is that even a real name?

Your cell phone sits on the bed. Ready. Waiting.

For a minute you just stare at the name, the handwriting.

And a minute turns to ten, maybe twenty. You’re not sure. You don’t really know what you’re thinking. You can blink and see the woman’s face, her eyes on yours, her smile.

A beautiful woman is God’s gift to man. She knows it and he knows it and there is nothing a man can do but admit it. He’s weak and under her control.

You memorize the numbers. They’re just numbers. It’s just a name. A stranger passing you by, never to see you again, never to cross your path.

It’s ten numbers. It could be an apartment or a condo or a hotel or a cell phone.

A ring jerks you from your trance. You pick up the hotel phone.

“Mike?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you doing in your hotel room?”

“Finishing off a really bad burger.”

“Sad.”

“Where are you?”

“Just got back to O’hare.”

“Why didn’t you take me with you?”

“Just got your message. That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

“What are you going to tell Connelly?”

“The truth. What else can I say?”

“It’s officially off?”

“I tried everything. They’re done.”