Us fools, p.15
Scratch The Surface, page 15
“Merrell’s.”
“I––”
“It’s weird not getting ready to go to work, but I guess I’ll have to get used to it until I find another job. I have to move too.”
I needed a second to process. “Why do you need to find another job?”
“Because the restaurant was sold. Didn’t I say it was? I thought I did.”
“You did.” So Merrell bought Kingman’s. The guy who Jeremiah had given blowjobs to when he was a minor had bought the restaurant and the five miles of road it sat on, which was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a small purchase. “And Merrell doesn’t want to employ you?” Merrell was a hypocrite. Jeremiah was good enough to have sex with but not good enough to work for him. My entire body bristled with a slow-boiling anger.
“No, he does. He wants me, but it’s not right.”
“Why isn’t it right?” I was missing something.
“Because it’s Merrell.”
“I don’t understand.” He was making no sense.
“Merrell Barrett, as in Barrett Crossing, the new mayor, his family owns everything, and now they own Kingman’s too, and I guess they’re gonna build up downtown, which is great for the community, but I refuse to work for him.”
“Are you telling me this Merrell who bought the restaurant and is the mayor-elect, the town is named after his family?”
He made a sound, a murmur of agreement.
“And he used to pay you to have sex with him when the two of you were in high school, and he’s coming back after he showers.”
“Uh-huh.”
I needed to be there now. “Why don’t you want to work for him at the restaurant?”
“They don’t have a spot for me. Except they kinda do, ’cause Mer said I could be general manager, but that’s not fair. My heart wouldn’t be in it, and they need someone who’s gonna do it all the way and not half-ass it, don’t you think?”
It was a rambling explanation, but I followed the bigger picture. I knew where Jeremiah’s heart lay, and it was not at the restaurant, it was at the counseling center. He wanted to help kids for the rest of his life, not be a manager. “I do, yes,” I assured him, glad it was true because I tried to never lie, but the idea of him working for a rich man he had history with, who was obviously very interested in him, was going to give me hives or a nervous breakdown or both. Probably both.
“Yeah, see, that’s what I thought. At first, he wanted me to run the new counseling center and halfway house he’s gonna build. I mean, that’s my dream job, yanno?”
I did know. “Let me understand. Merrell first offered you a job running something he’s going to build?”
“Mmmm, but I can’t yet ’cause I don’t have a master’s degree, and I asked him why me after the first job offer, and then again last night. I don’t get why he’s trying to save me or whatever. I mean, it feels like he’s trying to fix something or atone, but I don’t know for what.”
“I’m certain I have no idea. You can’t think of anything?” I asked, putting him on speaker as I first put on a pair of underwear, and then went to get my suitcase I’d just put away the night before. “Did he hurt you in some way?”
“No, and he paid me. Lots of guys didn’t.”
“Yeah, he’s a real prince,” I retorted, hoping the venom or my simmering anger wasn’t coming through over the line.
“We slept together before he left for college, and then we never talked again, not until he came back. But even when he came back, the extent of us talking was hello or goodbye, or me asking him questions about what he wanted to eat.”
“But that suddenly changed?”
“Yeah. The other night when you had to leave, I saw him on the way home. That’s when he offered me the job at the halfway house I couldn’t take.”
“I see.”
“And then last night after we all got fired, he wanted to talk, and we were gonna, but then I got hurt.”
“So you said.”
He was quiet as I threw my suitcase on the bed, unzipped it, and returned to my armoire.
“I was trying to tell you something.”
“Yes, you were. You said that a lot of bad things have happened to you.”
“That’s right. A lot of bad things have happened to me,” he repeated, picking the conversation back up, “and I’ve handled it myself, and I got used to doing it and not being close to people, but when I got hurt last night, I wanted to call you.”
I would need to place several people on a hit list. It wouldn’t have been hard for anyone to get in touch with me; my number was in his phone. Even if he’d passed out, they could have used facial recognition or his thumbprint to unlock it.
“And I wanted you to know that just ’cause I’m used to bein’ alone and taking care of myself and stuff, it doesn’t mean I wanna keep doin’ it.”
I went out on a hopeful, wishful ledge. “Being alone, you mean?”
“Yeah,” he whispered.
“I made a lot of plans very quickly, and you agreed,” I confirmed.
“I know you did, and I went along,” he confessed, his voice cracking. “And I’m sorry if I didn’t say how happy I was, or if I made you feel like I didn’t care, or I wasn’t––what’s the word?”
“Invested?” I hazarded a guess.
“Yeah. See, I knew you’d know ’cause you’re an accountant.”
I cleared my throat. “Finish what you were going to say.”
“What was it?”
“About being invested,” I reminded him.
“Oh yeah, well, I want you to know I am, okay?”
“Yes” was all I could manage around the lump in my throat.
“In school we get observed, and people always say the same thing about me. They say I’m nice, sometimes they say I’m charming and they think I’ll make a good social worker, but they worry about my ability to network and make connections with my peers.”
“I think if they saw you at the restaurant, they wouldn’t worry.”
“That’s what Betty said, and she wrote them a recommendation letter about all that.”
I suspected it was because they didn’t see him with friends or making overtures toward being social at school. The balance of coursework and working two jobs and a personal life was sometimes hard for those in academia to parse. I had heard similar concerns when I first joined my firm. I was drowning in work, wanting to show my boss my commitment to growing with the company while making sure I made no mistakes, and I was still expected to be a team player and spend time socially with my peers. For me, as an introvert, there were land mines that came with mandatory social interactions, but for Jeremiah, who was barely keeping his head above water, the expectation was ludicrous.
“I think them insisting on you having a balanced academic, social, and work life is a bit ridiculous, not to mention an overreach on their part.”
“I get why they push it, the balance part. Lots of social workers burn out superfast ’cause they have no balance. They do the job but have no personal life and end up having nervous breakdowns, or get jaded, or whatever. But it’s hard for me, and for the people already working who need a master’s degree to move up or get the job they want.”
“Of course.”
“Sorry, I know you probably don’t care about all this stuff, but––”
“You’re wrong. I care about all the things you think about.”
He was quiet for a moment. “That’s a nice thing to say. I don’t talk to many people like I’ve talked to you, so yeah, it’s really nice.”
“I don’t talk to many people either. I have no interest in doing so. But you…you I want to know everything about.”
He made a noise.
“No?”
“I worry.”
“About?”
“I’ve done some bad stuff.”
I suspected what he considered “bad” had been done purely for survival. How a fourteen-year-old boy was abandoned, and no one cared, was beyond me. I knew things happened, especially in small towns with even smaller social services and child welfare budgets, but there was no excuse for turning a blind eye. He had teachers and counselors and principals and the Bowens, and yet no one had stepped in to offer him true shelter from the storm.
Everything about him made sense. Of course he wanted to be a social worker. That way he could become the safety net he’d always wanted for himself. Of course he didn’t trust easily or share parts of himself. It was madness not to protect himself at all costs.
“Cam?” He sounded unsure.
“Listen to me”—I needed to soothe him—“I don’t want you to worry that some confession is going to make me run. I already like you, and I’m not going to change my mind.”
“You can’t say that for sure, and it’s weird anyway.”
“What is?”
“Sometimes it’s not holding stuff back that makes people mad. When I don’t let them do things for me or help, they get mad too.”
“Is that right?”
He made a sound of agreement, his voice getting a bit more slurred.
“I suspect lots of people try to get close to you,” I assured him. Having seen the looks he got when he was moving between tables at the restaurant, I was betting Jeremiah had no end of interested parties.
“It’s hard for me to get close to people. I have some trust issues,” he muttered, and then laughed softly.
That might have been the understatement of the century.
“But I—not with you. I don’t know why, but I—Cam?”
“I’m here.” I was fairly certain he was about ready to pass out. “I’m going to come see you, all right? I’ll be there in a little while, and we’ll figure out your job situation and your living situation as well.”
“That’d be so good, ’cause I think I should move to Sacramento.”
“Oh, I agree. And we’re going to make that happen.”
“Mmm’kay.”
“Tell Merrell to go home when he gets there, because Cam is on his way.”
He whimpered like he was already sleeping, so I hung up. No sooner than I’d disconnected, another call came through with a Sacramento area code.
“Hello?”
“May I speak to Cameron Gallagher, please?”
“This is he.”
“Good morning, sir. My name is Officer Gerald Kramer, and I was asked to get in contact with you by Jeremiah Wolfe. Do you know Jeremiah?”
“I do. I know him well.”
“Which explains why he wanted me to call you. Do you have time right now for me to explain what occurred outside his residence last evening?”
“I do.”
It was helpful to hear the events of the night in chronological and lucid order, and I was not at all surprised to learn the man I was falling for had prevented a rape. He’d saved a young woman, been beaten in the process, and was then rescued by the girl’s father, who had put all four attackers in the hospital.
“Mr. Hornsberry is a big man, and he came downstairs with his son’s baseball bat in one hand and a cast-iron frying pan in the other.”
A father with righteous anger roaring through his veins, I could only imagine.
“He called the ambulance for Jeremiah right away, and then Merrell Barrett showed up, so things sped up from there.”
Of course they did. The man was the mayor-elect after all.
“I don’t mean to pry, Mr. Gallagher, but will you be around to take Jeremiah home from the hospital tomorrow? I’d hate for him to have to get a cab, and then be all alone in that rat trap of an apartment.”
“You know him beyond being the police officer on-site last night, then.”
“Yes. We went to school together,” he clarified for me.
“I see.”
“So he only has a motorcycle, and it was old when he got it in high school. I can’t believe he’s still driving the thing. I don’t care how gifted Zack is, that bike is going to blow up one of these days, and I hope Jeremiah’s not on it when it goes.”
New motorcycle or, better yet, a car. It was going on my list.
“Do you live in Sac?”
“I don’t, no, but I do a lot of traveling back and forth to see him.” It wasn’t true. Yet. But it would be soon, because frequent commuting to see Jeremiah was, without question, in my immediate future.
“That’s great. I was worried he still didn’t have anybody, so I’m thrilled to hear he’s got himself a boyfriend.”
“Yes, he does,” I assured him. “Please feel free to share that information with anyone who inquires.”
“Oh. Okay, I certainly will.”
Small towns were a wonder, no worry over privacy in the least.
“I’ll be there later today, Officer Kramer. I appreciate you contacting me. Jeremiah mentioned he’d asked any- and everyone to call me last night, so I’m glad someone finally got around to it.”
“He was in and out of consciousness last night, and not making much sense when he was awake, but I always try to do what a victim asks of me, no matter what anyone else says.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Like I said, Merrell Barrett was at the scene, though I’m still unclear as to what he was doing there, but since he’s gonna be the new mayor, everyone is sort of getting a head start on doing what he wants.”
“And he preferred you didn’t call me.”
“That’s right. He told the officers on the scene there was no one to call, but I followed the ambulance to the hospital, and as soon as they lifted Jeremiah out of the back and he saw me, he asked me again to call you. The fact he was that hurt and out of it, and yet coherent enough to make the request not once but twice, told me I needed to follow up as soon as I was off duty this morning.”
I changed my mind. There was only one person to kill, and that was Merrell Barrett. “Thank you again, Officer Kramer. I appreciate you going out of your way to reach me. You have a great day.”
My father was a bit too excited that I was driving back to Sacramento.
“I wouldn’t go, but you seem to be okay.”
“I’m great,” he assured me. “I have a clean bill of health, just need to take it easy for a week. And there’s the no-sex thing––”
I groaned painfully.
“––but other than that, yeah, kid, I’m good. You go and take care of the hero with the concussion and the bruises.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Kiss him and make him better!” my sister, Courtney, called out since he had me on speaker. “And you better bring him for Thanksgiving.”
“That’s a given,” my mother announced coolly. She wasn’t happy I was leaving, but she was pragmatic. My father was well, and he’d have everyone else there. But to jump in my car for someone I wasn’t serious about, leaving my father when, in theory, he needed me, that would be unforgiveable. Jeremiah had to show up for Thanksgiving at this point. It was no longer an option for him to turn me down.
So I packed for a week, because I figured I would stay in Sacramento, do my work with the Rauch Group, and if Jeremiah allowed me to, I’d help him get resettled. I really wanted him to let me figure out his life, but it was also pushy as hell, and putting my compulsive need to fix all things front and center in a brand-new relationship was possibly not the step I wanted to take. He would figure out soon enough that finding solutions for everybody to live their best life was one of my most annoying habits.
11
Jeremiah
“What are you doing?”
Lifting the pillow off my face, I looked at Chyna Evans, the nurse who had started her shift around noon and was now taking care of me. I had been brought to UC Davis Medical Center in Sacramento, because even though there were several urgent care centers in Barrett Crossing, there was nothing on the scale of an actual hospital.
“I did something stupid,” I explained, stopping there. I didn’t need to give her the whole story of how I’d checked my phone and been surprised at the length of my call with Cameron. Fragments of the long, rambling, unfiltered conversation had come back to me, and I had to wonder how stoned I’d been. I was always so careful of what I said, but the fact I’d unburdened my heart to a man I was hoping to impress, not scare off, coupled with the fact that I couldn’t recall precisely what we’d talked about, made everything that much more horrifying. Half of me was dying to call and see if he’d pick up, and the other half didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to lose what little I had of him before I’d even had lunch.
“What’d you do?” Chyna asked, rescuing me from my whirling, panicked thoughts, which was damn nice of her.
I whimpered a bit.
“Come on, it can’t be that bad.”
Grimacing, I met her gaze. “I think I talked too much while I was doped up.”
Her smile was sympathetic. “Yeah, that happens a lot. Demerol, man,” she conceded, shaking her head. “It makes ya kinda chatty before it knocks you out.”
I tried to cover my face with the pillow again, but she took it away, made me lean forward, and then put it behind my back.
“Just lie there like you’re hurt, all right?” she teased me.
“I––”
“Oh no,” she groaned under her breath, and pretended to check my IV as ADA Evan McCauley walked into the room.
He was wearing a polo and cargo pants, looking far more relaxed than he had the last time I’d seen him.
“How is he doing?” He put the question to Chyna.
“I don’t—what? Sorry, sir, I don’t think I’m qualified to answer questions. I mean, I’m just a candy striper.” The death glare, like she’d be glad to see him peeing through a catheter, before she walked out of the room doing a good impression of Frankenstein’s monster, complete with the lurching walk and extended arms, was a nice touch.
McCauley followed her to the door. “I said sorry a million times!” He turned back to me and threw his hands up in defeat.
I was waiting for an explanation.
“See,” he began, “when I came here a couple weeks ago visiting a witness, I thought she was too young to be a nurse, which is kind of a compliment if you think about it that way, but––it was an honest mistake.”
