Ghost writer, p.8
Ghost Writer, page 8
“I gotta picture I drew for you, Daddy!” Leesol said as she headed back upstairs.
“You have a picture,” Jonathan corrected and smiled as he watched her nod and keep going.
He looked down at Sophie, who simply peered up at him with her big brown eyes. “Hi, kiddo.”
“Hi, Daddy.”
He ruffled her curly hair and moved to the kitchen, Meg right behind him. He found Kathy washing dishes and he approached her from behind. But before he could touch her, she turned around and stiffened her shoulders.
“Hi,” he said and gave her a light kiss on the cheek, one she didn’t make an effort to receive. He glanced at Meg, who took her cue to exit. “I wanted to make sure to be home in time for dinner.”
Kathy’s eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms after tucking a stray gray hair behind her ear. “Is that so?” She made a deliberate scope of the room. “Do you see dinner here?”
Jonathan backed away a bit, and she continued. “No, Jonathan, I don’t have dinner ready because I never know if you’re going to be home and I’m tired of guessing. So I was going to fix sandwiches or something like that. I know that’s nothing compared to the fancy meals you’re used to having with your writer friends, but that’s all that’s around.”
Jonathan probably should’ve expected the hostility, and his immediate response was defensive. However, he calmed himself and figured he deserved that for sleeping on the couch and leaving early in the morning.
“Honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply you had to have dinner waiting for me.” He tucked his hands in his pockets and tried to soften his mannerisms in an effort to get her to relax. “I just know it’s important to you for me to be here, so I wanted to make sure to be home early.”
She didn’t budge. “It should be important to you, Jonathan. This is your family. Those are your girls.” Her whole expression turned drastically sharp. “I’m your wife.”
“I know that,” Jonathan snapped, trying his best to hide the edge in his voice. He turned and walked to a counter, so as to have something to brace himself against. “I’m sorry about last night.”
Kathy didn’t seem to have any insult or remark waiting for that one, so she busied herself by pulling out meat, lettuce, tomato, and other sandwich items from the fridge. Jonathan stopped her, stepping into her path from the fridge to the counter. “Honey, I’m sorry.”
Kathy looked up at him and at that moment they were very close, closer than they had been in a long time. He could feel her breath on his face, and it was familiar and good. He’d forgotten how petite she was, but standing over her he realized she was a small woman. She certainly did not carry herself that way.
It would’ve been the perfect moment to kiss her, and he couldn’t remember when he had kissed her as a husband kisses a wife. There was the occasional peck on the cheek and the brush of the lips when the kids were around, but nothing more than that. Nothing with passion.
And Kathy seemed to be expecting it. It was, of course, the next natural move. Her small eyes were wide with anticipation, and every vulnerability she ever had waved a white flag of surrender to him. Even her lips were turned up in a small, expectant smile. It was all set up so perfectly, and even the cold air from the open refrigerator added a nice exotic touch.
In one swift moment, though, he stepped around her and simply shut the door to the refrigerator. Kathy covered well, moving forward with deliberate motion, unscrewing the jar to the mayo as she ran water over the lettuce.
“Ham okay?”
Jonathan, already kicking himself, wanted to make up for his error—and figured he knew exactly how.
“Hey!” he said, moving next to her by the counter. “Let’s order a pizza. The girls would love it. We could watch old movies and—”
She opened the bread as if he had never suggested pizza. “Look, if sandwiches aren’t good enough for you—”
“I didn’t say that!” Jonathan said, throwing up his arms. “You’re putting words in my mouth!”
“Am I? Well, that’s because we never talk, so I’ve got to make up some sort of conversation between us, just to have an adult to converse with.”
Jonathan’s head was spinning. This was not how he had imagined the evening would go. “Keep your voice down,” he said harshly. “The kids are in the other room.”
Her stare could have cut steel in two. “Keep my voice down for the kids. Is that it? How do you know what the kids want or need? Maybe they’d like to see their parents interact, even if it is a fight.”
“You have to be so melodramatic all the time, don’t you?” Jonathan yelled. “I was just trying to do the right thing tonight! I was trying to apologize, to make things right. But you’re going to make me earn my right back into the house, aren’t you? Punish me until you feel like I’ve learned my lesson.”
Kathy slammed the knife down on the counter. “No, Jonathan. That’s what you do to children. You punish them so they know they’ve done wrong. You’re an adult. I shouldn’t have to punish you. You should just know.”
“Just know what?!” he said, his voice a pitch higher than he was comfortable with. “It’s like walking on eggshells with you. Everything I say, every move I make, is the wrong one.”
“That’s right,” she said, peeling cheese from cellophane and avoiding his eyes. “That’s exactly right. And you know why?” She glanced up at him to make sure he was listening. “Because you’ve left this family. We’re not important to you anymore.”
“Don’t you dare imply that my children aren’t important to me, Katherine. Ever.” Jonathan’s voice was as smooth as black ice, and he felt his entire face turn red with controlled anger.
“Fine,” she said as she spread mustard furiously across a piece of white bread. “Maybe I should restate. I’m not important to you. And, unfortunately, I come with this family. Too bad for you.”
“How can you say such things?” Jonathan said, beginning to pace the kitchen. “How can you say that?”
“Because it’s true.” Kathy was eerily calm.
“We’re going through some tough times,” Jonathan said angrily. “And from that you conclude that you’re not important to me? That I don’t care? Well, I hate to tell you this, but maybe I’m not the only one with the problem here.”
Jonathan waited for Kathy to reply with something, but for a long time she only folded ham and laid lettuce neatly across it, placing a piece of white bread on top of her masterpiece. Finally she turned to him and looked him directly in the eye. “Why didn’t you kiss me?”
Jonathan felt as if someone had unexpectedly punched him in the stomach. “What?”
“At the refrigerator. Why didn’t you kiss me?”
Jonathan had no answers, and his loss for words was the only answer she needed. She walked to the doorway of the kitchen. “Meg, honey? Can you come here?”
Meg appeared instantly. “What, Mom?”
“Can you finish fixing the sandwiches? I’m not feeling too well. I think I’ll go upstairs and run a bath. Yours is done. Fix Leesol’s with extra ham and no cheese, and be sure to cut Sophie’s up into small pieces. And no pepper on Sophie’s.”
“Sure, Mom,” Meg said, eyeing both Kathy and Jonathan. “What about Dad?”
Kathy glanced at Jonathan and shrugged. “What about him?” She disappeared quickly.
Meg walked over to the counter and picked up where her mom had left off. Jonathan thought it odd that Kathy was now making it blatantly obvious to Meg, at least, that there were problems. Before, they’d always tried to hide any conflict between them.
“What do you want on your sandwich, Dad?”
Jonathan had lost his appetite, but he said, “Everything.”
“Okay.”
He could see the depression on Meg’s face, so he tried to lighten things up a little. “Hey, what do you say you and I eat sandwiches, pop popcorn, and watch old movies all night?”
Meg smiled a little. “It’s a school night, Dad.”
“Oh.” Jonathan watched as her little girl seemed to grow up before his eyes, doing tasks her mother did. She carefully sliced Sophie’s into small squares. “Well, then Saturday. Is it a date?”
Meg finished the sandwich and turned to him. “Sure. If you’ll go to church with me on Sunday.”
Jonathan melted at her pleading eyes, and he could tell at this moment that was the most important thing in the world to her.
“Of course I will, Meg,” he said softly.
“Good!” she said excitedly. “Be sure and get popcorn and Milk Duds, okay? It’s gotta be Milk Duds. And maybe some chocolate milk.”
“Got it,” Jonathan said and watched as she left the room to deliver the sandwiches to her siblings. “Has to be Milk Duds,” he said to no one but himself. He turned and looked at the empty kitchen, with its cold tile floor and stark clean cabinets. He was alone, and Kathy, though upstairs in the bath, was nowhere to be found.
------
Jonathan had made himself sleep in the bed that night, though he waited till nearly three A.M. to come up. He was tired when the alarm went off in the morning, and Kathy had already gotten up.
After brushing his teeth and dressing for work, he wandered downstairs, pleased to see the girls hadn’t left for school yet. He sat at the breakfast table with them, and Leesol showed him the picture she’d drawn. Kathy quietly fixed oatmeal in the kitchen, and Jonathan was surprised when she set a bowl in front of him, too. The aroma of apples and cinnamon flooded his senses.
“Thanks,” he said softly. She responded with a small, delicate smile. He wondered if just the fact that he’d come to bed had somehow lessened the intensity of the night before. It was a mystery to him, but he was glad that he wasn’t being scraped over the coals at the moment.
The bus honked and the girls hopped up, grabbed their sack lunches off the counter, and kissed both their parents before running out the front door. The house grew silent suddenly, except for the sound of Sophie sucking her thumb. Kathy grabbed a brush off the counter and began to pull Sophie’s hair back into a ponytail.
“Well, I’d better get to work,” Jonathan said as he took his last bite of oatmeal. He picked his bowl up and obediently took it to the sink, running water in it and throwing his paper napkin away. If he couldn’t do the big things, he at least had to keep up with the little things.
He slid his briefcase off the counter and then kissed both Kathy and Sophie lightly on their cheeks. “Thanks for breakfast.”
Kathy pulled a band around Sophie’s fine black hair. “Thanks for staying.”
He nodded and headed out the front door for work.
On the way in he thought about the night before and how it had been such a disaster. He didn’t know if there would ever be a good, comfortable time to tell Kathy about the manuscript. He supposed he would know when the time was right.
When he arrived at the office, things were already moving, and he reminded himself that for him, he was running late. Edie’s questioning look reemphasized that. He walked into his office, set his briefcase down, took off his coat, and decided to go find Sydney and tell her about the lunch he’d set up with Naomi Yates. But before he could do that, he noticed it was nine o’clock. He had to go make his tea.
In the executive break room, he waited for the water to heat up in the electric teapot. Behind him, he suddenly heard the break room door shut quietly. He turned around, and there stood Sydney.
At first he thought a few small shadows were hitting her face, but the more he studied it, he realized she was black-and-blue, especially her left cheekbone, and her right eye was partly swollen shut. She even had a small cut across her lower lip.
“Hi,” she said and walked closer to him. “Anna said you were looking for me yesterday.”
“What happened to your face?”
She smiled, shaking her head and said, “May I?” She pointed to the teapot, which was now whistling. Jonathan never even heard it. She poured some water into his mug, then took one from the cabinet above them and poured hot water into hers. She shook a package of hot chocolate, tore it open, poured it in, and stirred it slowly. Jonathan eagerly waited for a reply.
“Car wreck, if you can believe that,” she said, gently touching her right eye and wincing a little in pain.
Jonathan stepped forward to get a closer look. “Yeah. I can believe that, the way your . . . fiancé drives.”
She shrugged, and he noticed she was steeping his tea for him. “Seriously,” he said. “Are you all right?”
“Oh, I’m fine.” She laughed, and her bright smile gleamed through all the bruises and cuts. “Makes me look tough.”
“You should see a doctor. Did you hit the windshield or something?”
“Yeah. Cracked it, actually.”
Jonathan then did something that he couldn’t have stopped if he had wanted to. He reached out and touched her bruised cheek. She shyly looked down but didn’t pull away. It was only for a couple of seconds, but he could feel her soft skin underneath his fingers, and he so badly wanted to move his hand down to her full lips. But he didn’t.
“You should definitely see a doctor. Those are some bad bruises.”
“I’ll think about it,” she said with a wink. “Your tea is ready.”
“Thanks,” he said. He took one more long look at her, then found the cream and busied himself by pouring it in.
“So what did you want to see me about?”
He’d almost forgotten! He stirred his tea for a moment and then looked up at her with an excited grin. “I called Naomi Yates yesterday. I have lunch set up with her next Monday. She’s anticipating meeting you.”
Sydney just about dropped her own mug. “What? Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.” He realized he’d just dated himself with that silly cliché.
“That is so wonderful!”
“So you’re free?”
“If not, I’ll cancel anything!” She stopped. “Oh . . . I’m supposed to go look at wedding invitations with Jeremy.”
Jonathan cringed at the name. Jeremy. He even sounded young and attractive. Probably former captain of the football team or something. “Oh.”
“I’ll cancel, I’ll cancel,” she said with a wave of her left hand, and the harsh fluorescent lighting caught her engagement ring. “Really. This is so important. I can’t miss it.”
“It’s about a forty-five-minute trip out to her house, so we’ll leave around eleven-fifteen.”
“Wonderful,” she said, then moved toward the door. “Thank you, Mr. Harper.”
“Will you stop calling me that?” he said with a short laugh. “It makes me sound so old!”
She nodded and said, “Thank you, Jonathan.”
He loved how she said his name, as if it meant something important. “My pleasure.”
She opened the door and disappeared, and for a moment, Jonathan could do nothing but stand there and sip his tea.
chapter 8
Jonathan felt distracted by about a hundred things, the least of which being the changing fall leaves that were framed perfectly by his large office window. For what seemed like an hour, he sat with his feet propped up on the window, gazing at the leaves as they helplessly floated one by one to the ground. With each falling leaf came a different thought about his life. He wondered what his future held with Kathy, and if there was any hope of ever feeling anything substantial for her again. He entertained thoughts about Sydney, then battled the guilt that soon followed. He thought about his girls, how much they’d grown, and how much he loved them. But perhaps overshadowing all of that was the manuscript he’d deliberately turned his back to.
He hated the power it had over him, the fact that he could not stop himself from reading it, the fact that it literally seemed to call his name. But he was determined to not let it control his life. If he was going to read it, it would be on his own time, his own terms.
The next few hours he spent reviewing manuscripts and writing rejection letters. And toward the end of the day, he took Clyde’s manuscript out and continued reading it. Although the premise looked promising so far, he was sure at some point it would fall to pieces. Clyde couldn’t write westerns all his life and then suddenly change to an entirely different genre without a hitch. Could he?
He settled into his chair, turned off his phone, and buried himself in this most unusual story. He tried to remember where he’d left off . . . oh yes. Donomar had just told Keaton Spade an innocent man was about to die for a crime he’d committed.
Pierce Jenkins pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lit it with a match that sat on the table between us. I was one of the few agents who worked for the FBI who didn’t smoke. Pierce’s hands were shaking, and I attributed that to the fact that he had probably been trying to lay off the bottle . . . again.
“Talk to me, Pierce,” I said anxiously. “I mean, this is bizarre, right?”
Pierce took a long drag on his cigarette, his eyes following the smoke as it rose toward the ceiling. Janine had gotten ahold of Pierce immediately after I’d called, and now we sat in an empty interrogation room, alone, the only place we could have some privacy.
He seemed highly disturbed by something, and after fiddling with his cigarette another long moment, he finally looked at me. “My job is over with Donomar, you know.”
I sighed and tapped my fingers against the cold metal table. “Pierce, come on. I wouldn’t come to you if I didn’t think I had to. I can tell by the look on your face this is disturbing you, too.”
Jenkins carelessly flicked an ash onto the floor. “You mean, besides the fact that I spent ten years trying to find some sort of stinkin’ conscience in that monster, and now, suddenly, it blooms? Out of nowhere?” Pierce rubbed his rough beard with his left hand, and I noticed how gray it had turned over the years. He’d always been scruffy looking, wearing his hair long, below his ears, and his beard unruly and unkempt. Sometimes Pierce Jenkins looked more like a criminal than the ones he studied, especially someone like Donomar.
