Sighing, I turned but refused to meet JT"s eyes. “Look, I"m a big guy. I"ve been in the military. I thought I could handle… It turned out, when the chips were down, I couldn"t protect myself, and it started me thinking.” I was prepared to think, at least.
JT waited, and when I didn"t say anything further, he spoke. “About what?” St. Nacho’s 3: Jacob’s Ladder
23
“About why I made it okay for the possibility of violence to exist in the first place.”
“
Yasha
.” JT"s infinitely gentle touch found my cheek where it was split and bruised. It was tender, but because I couldn"t meet his eyes, I had no idea if it was romantic or merely the professional examination of a wound by an EMT.
“Yasha.” I turned when I heard my name a second time. Carl stepped out the door of his office and waved hello. JT and I watched him walk over.
Carl shook my hand. “It"s good to see you back.”
“Hi, Carl. It"s good to be out of the hospital.” Carl shaded his eyes against the setting sun. “Have you given any thought to how long you"ll be staying?”
“I"ll have to make some calls.” I clutched my bag tighter. “I"m not real anxious to do that either.”
“Well. Take your time, son. Better to move slowly if you"re not sure.” From the way he gazed at his son, Carl seemed to be including JT in that.
JT frowned at his father. “Yasha, I"ll pick you up at six forty-five.”
“
Jason
.” Carl"s voice held a warning.
I didn"t understand the subtext, but I wasn"t planning on going anywhere. “I don"t want to—”
“Trust me, Yasha, please.” Those jade eyes never wavered. “It"s not what you think.”
* * *
My hand was sore from gripping my cell phone tightly, but Phil didn"t cut to the chase. While it was a simple question, whether I still had a job waiting for me, Phil didn"t seem to want to give me a brief answer. Maurizio, had apparently panicked at the thought that his pastry chef was, in his words, “circling the drain,” and he couldn"t be appeased. He"d begun looking for another to hire from the moment I got sick.
“Fucking swine flu,” I practically shouted into the phone. “I don"t
have
the fucking swine flu. I was in the hospital, and they let me go. Did you tell him that?”
“You know Maurizio. If you"re asking if he"s started to listen to me at this late stage in the game, the answer is no.” Phil paused. “It seems Giorgio is available.”
“Oh shit. Well, that"s that, then.” Giorgio was Maurizio"s on-and-off sexual and professional obsession, and if he needed a job, no pastry chef"s job was safe at Il Ghiotto.
“Maybe we"ll get lucky and he"ll hold out for an outlandish salary. Maybe
he’ll
get the swine flu.”
“Or I"ll get it for real.”
“Jacob, don"t even talk like that.”
24
Z. A. Maxfield
“Nah. No can do. Swine"s against my religion.” I pinched the skin on the bridge of my nose, but even that hurt. “Look, remember when I gave you a key in case I lost it?”
“Yeah.”
“Can you call Sander"s cell and tell him to pick up his crap?”
“You sure you want me to do that?”
“Yes and no, I mean, it"s over. I"m not… That was it. I wish I could do it myself, I just can"t go into that apartment with him again.”
“Glad to hear it. I"ll go by your place and talk to your landladies—the freak sisters. See if they"ll let me change the locks. I want to make sure Sander leaves your shit alone.
I closed my eyes, remembering. “It"s pretty shocking. There"s still a mess in the kitchen where I—”
“You want me to have a service in?”
“No. I"ll clean it when I get back. I probably need the lesson in humility.” Humble, humility,
humiliation.
Phil murmured his good-bye, even as I reminded him to give Hannah a kiss for the baby.
That just left Dan.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Dan, it"s Jacob.”
“Jakey! What happened to you? I was expecting you to call days ago. I tried your cell—”
“I had a cold, and it wasn"t possible for me to travel.”
“You could at least have given me a call.”
“I"m sorry. I was really under the weather and had to stop in a town called Santo Ignacio. I"ve been pretty out of it.”
“You never answered. Eventually it just went straight to voice mail.”
“My phone ran out of charge. I"m better now. I"m still here.”
“Where"s here?”
“St. Nacho"s, Santo Ignacio. Have you heard of it?”
“No, let me ask BreeAnna.” Muffled words floated over me as I waited for Dan to come back on the line.
“BreeAnna says she knows where it is. They have a good brunch there on Sundays.”
“St. Nacho"s does?”
“A restaurant there. It"s famous for the all-you-can-eat Mexican brunch. They have champagne and a guy who plays mariachi music on the violin. That"s what BreeAnna says.”
St. Nacho’s 3: Jacob’s Ladder
25
“Is it any good?”
Dan paused. “Are you kidding me? How would I know?”
“Yeah.” All-you-can-eat wasn"t exactly the kind of restaurant that drew the brittle, anorexic BreeAnna, and Dan didn"t dare make a move without her. “Dan, can you come and get me?”
Dan said nothing for a long while, and I worried that he"d finally had it with my dropping in for visits whenever things got tough. “Something completely unexpected came up this week, and I can"t get away right this minute. It will have to wait for the weekend.”
Jeez. The weekend. It was only Monday. I tried to look on the bright side. Dan wasn"t cutting me off, even though it was no secret that BreeAnna would have liked him to do just that. She was an ultraconservative born-again fundie Christian who had married Dan in spite of his Jewish heritage when he"d made it big in real estate before the bubble burst. From what Dan hinted at privately—just lately—I thought it was possible she regretted it.
I felt bad for my brother, even if I was exasperated with him. He was a good man, and he deserved a wife who loved him. But while BreeAnna didn"t approve of Jews, she at least allowed that we had a place in the natural order of things—if only so she and her church cronies could look down on someone. She had no use for gays that didn"t involve pitchforks and tar and feathers.
“This weekend, then?” I asked. “I could always rent a car.”
“No, Jacob.” My brother sighed. “It"s not a good time to be here, but you shouldn"t have to do that. If you need me to come and get you, I"ll—” There was some sort of disturbance on the phone, and I knew Dan was arguing with BreeAnna. Maybe he had his hand over the phone, or maybe he held it to his chest. I was fairly certain of the outcome. We weren"t the closest of brothers anymore. I didn"t understand how that had happened. At one time we"d only had each other. Dan and Zeyde had been my entire world.
Now, half the time we couldn"t understand each another, and half the time we were spoiling for a fight. But we both understood that blood was important, and the pain of our shared past made us cling to what was left of our family regardless of our differences. I felt bad for how tough that made things with BreeAnna.
“I have a bit of time off right now from the restaurant, and this St. Nacho"s seems like a good place to hang out for a while. I"ve made a couple of friends here; the motel owner is a nice guy. Why don"t you call me back later on in the week, all right?”
“Sure.” Dan"s voice held a false and fragile brightness. “A little vacation. That"s probably a good idea.”
“I"ll wait until I hear from you, then.” I let him off the hook like a tired fish and threw him back. “Say hi to BreeAnna for me.”
“I will. Have a restful time. You work awfully hard. Take advantage.”
“You bet.” I hung up.
26
Z. A. Maxfield
“Enjoy your stay in lovely St. Nacho"s,” I said to no one in particular.
* * *
A knock on the door roused me from sleep. I couldn"t remember falling asleep, actually, so I wasn"t at all ready to be wakened.
I opened the door to find JT on the other side, dressed in his blue work uniform.
“Somebody call 911?”
I looked around him stupidly, still shrugging off the effects of my nap. “I didn"t.”
JT grinned. “I"m kidding. Are you ready to go?” I backed up so JT could enter the small motel room. Once he was inside, it felt even smaller. I was still marginally disoriented. “I fell asleep. Where are we going again?”
JT looked down at me. “I asked you to trust me. Do you?” I was silent for so long that JT raked a hand through his hair and let out what sounded like an exasperated sigh. He stood there in his uniform, looking like an overgrown Boy Scout. He"d saved my life. Of course I trusted him. Was that what he was asking? Or did he mean something different? Did he mean for me to notice the way his eyes met mine boldly, or the fact that up close I could see those coppery spots scattered throughout his five-o"clock shadow? Did he mean would I trust him if he made a move on me? Did he mean did I trust him not to? Did I want him?
The way his scent teased me, always noticeable, like a gust of wind off the ocean on a late-fall day, made it hard for me to think. If he made a move,
if he
wanted me
, I certainly wouldn"t have minded. My heart stuttered, lodging nearer to my throat than usual. “What do you mean do I trust you?”
“Look. In my line of work I see a lot of things. I"ve done some research on how to help victims of domestic violence. There"s a support group here in St. Nacho"s and—”
“Oh
hell no
.” I took a step back toward the bed. No fucking way. This was far worse than any of the scenarios I"d imagined.
“Hear me out. You could just—”
I was so stunned I practically screeched, “How
lame
!”
“You could just go and see what they have to say.”
“Are you kidding? I know what they have to say.” JT"s green gaze passed over me sadly. “I know you do.”
“So is this part of the rescue? Standard follow-up care?” JT shook his head. “No. I just figured anyone who lives in a relationship where he gets the shit beaten out of him—”
“I"m not like that. I don"t want to go.”
St. Nacho’s 3: Jacob’s Ladder
27
“I understand that. That doesn"t mean you shouldn"t. On the contrary, you have nothing to lose and everything to gain by going, if only to find out that you were right and you don"t belong there.”
“Let me guess. You majored in psych in college.”
“Minored. I can"t stay, Yasha.” JT"s eyes were warm and sincere. “I"m on a break. I have to get back to the station. I only came to take you—” I went toward the door and opened it. “I can"t go. I"ll be a joke. I"ll be the only guy there, and I"ll…”
JT"s eyes were beautiful and sad. “And I"m asking you to
trust me
.” Heaven help me. I did trust him. But more than that, at that moment, I was charmed by him, and I thought
maybe…
We left the motel room without speaking. After I opened the passenger door to his truck, he put his hand on the small of my back and took my elbow to brace me, ready to help me up if I needed a boost. I thought, yeah. I can trust him. I just can"t trust myself.
28
Z. A. Maxfield
Chapter Five
I held my coffee and gazed around at the women, all silent, all clenched within the small circle of chairs. I didn"t even know how I"d gotten here, really. One minute I was with JT, and the next I was walking into a high school classroom being used as a meeting place for a battered-women"s support group called “Stop Partnership in Violence”—SPiV. I swallowed hard and made myself amend my thinking right then and there. They were
victims of domestic violence
.
I
was here.
I
had a dick. Domestic violence wasn"t just for women. I knew enough to know it never had been.
They were staring at me, and I shot a tight smile at the group"s leader, who happened to be the nurse, Alice, from the hospital.
“First off I want to welcome Yasha.” All eyes turned toward me. It was far worse than I"d imagined. Those women gazed at me with varying levels of pity and mistrust and outright hostility. Only one had unreadable eyes. She watched me shyly, with a hint of curiosity, and then glanced away. She must have been in her midfifties, and she was pretty and fragile looking. She wore a lightweight cotton skirt and a T-shirt that read
Miss Independence Pies
under a soft pink cardigan.
She had pearls around her neck. Her hair was trimmed in a pretty bob and held back with some sort of sparkly headband. When her eyes returned to mine, I smiled at her, and she smiled back timidly.
“Yasha?” Alice asked, and I realized I had been watching the pie lady and not listening. “You want to tell us a little about why you"re here?” Technically that question was my number one reason for not wanting to be there in the first place. That Alice asked it right out of the gate was almost perfectly ironic. The only thing worse would have been if they"d given me a button that read,
Beat me now, ask me how.
“I—” My mouth went dry.
“It"s all right if you don"t feel like sharing today.” I rose to my feet so fast that my chair tipped over. It clattered noisily to the floor, going off like a bomb in the quiet room, and I had to dive to pick it up. “I don"t belong here.”
Alice rose, probably to forestall me. “At first it may seem like that, Yasha, but—”
I took a deep breath. “The thing is, I"m not a victim, see? I knew what was going to happen. I picked the worst possible time to argue. I had the flu, and I couldn"t…” I decided it would have been a good thing if I"d stopped babbling a few St. Nacho’s 3: Jacob’s Ladder
29
minutes earlier. “I don"t belong here.” I took off out the door and headed toward the parking lot. I was making my way past the metal gates, when I heard the feminine sound of
clackety
heels tapping after me.
“Hey, stop!”
I turned, fully expecting to see Alice following me. Instead I was surprised to find my pie lady there, her sandals scrabbling along the pebbly blacktop as she chased after me. I slowed, afraid she"d hurt herself.