Chapter 27
November 14–17, 2014
The hospital kept both Jocelyn and Trent well into the next morning. Inez kept Olivia for the night, assuring Jocelyn that if she needed more time to recover, Inez could take the girls to the Poconos for the weekend. Inez was literally the only person Jocelyn would trust to take Olivia on a trip without her. Jocelyn went home with Caleb. She talked to Olivia by phone to reassure her that everything was just fine. She had to use Caleb’s phone. Hers was only working intermittently since she dropped it onto the bathroom floor at Dirk’s Gameplex. She suspected some vomit had gotten into its inner parts. She’d have to get a new one soon.
Caleb drew her a bath and gave her one of his shirts to sleep in. He threw her vomit-soaked clothes in the wash. Jocelyn felt a thousand times better once she cleaned the vomit smell from her body and hair. Still, she felt weak and bone-tired. Caleb perched on the edge of his bed and tucked her in. The bed smelled like him—like some kind of mountain-fresh scented soap and his own musk. She breathed it in as her head sank into his pillow.
“Hey,” he said, smiling and stroking her hair away from her face. “We’ll actually get to sleep together tonight. First time ever.”
Jocelyn smiled back. “No—there was the Night of the Grand Slam.”
Caleb laughed. “That doesn’t count. We didn’t actually sleep that night.”
Jocelyn felt a flush darken her cheeks, amazed that he still had that effect on her after a year. “Well,” she said. “This isn’t how I imagined our first night.”
Caleb stood and stripped to his boxers. He moved around to the other side of the bed and slid under the covers with her. He pulled her to him, spooning her, so she could feel the warmth of his skin and the beat of his heart against her back.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” he murmured, his breath in her ear. “I know you’re angry.”
“I’m not angry,” she said. “I’m homicidal.”
He chuckled and squeezed her tighter. “You need to rest.”
But she was already drifting off, lulled by his warmth and his breath on her skin. “Caleb,” she said, just before sleep claimed her, “I love you too.”
She slept. Caleb went to work in her vehicle the next day, and Jocelyn slept through his entire shift. When he came home, they ate soup and crackers. Caleb loaded her up with water and ginger ale. Then Jocelyn slept some more. They stayed in bed Sunday, making love and eating the blandest food Caleb could find in his cupboards. Jocelyn spoke with Olivia on the phone as often as she could. Olivia regaled her with tales of her and Raquel’s mountain adventures. Jocelyn was glad her daughter, at least, was having a great weekend.
Early Monday morning, Jocelyn felt well enough to get out of bed, although she was still weak and not ready for a real meal. She picked Olivia up from Inez and dropped her off at school. Afterward, she took Caleb back to the mall to get his vehicle. Then she spent nearly two hours getting a replacement phone before driving home, intent on spending the rest of the day cleaning her bathroom. The thought of driving to the Rigos’ instead, to drag Cash out of the house by his balls so she could beat the piss out of him, did cross her mind.
But she restrained herself.
She was seriously considering spending the day on her couch watching daytime television as she let herself into the house. It only took a second for her to realize that something was off. She closed the door quietly and stood perfectly still, listening. Definite noises in her kitchen. Cabinets opening and closing, and the water running.
Son of a bitch.
She didn’t have her gun. She hadn’t taken it with her to Dirk’s Gameplex on Friday night. It was upstairs in the lock box in her underwear drawer. Her heart pounded. Sweat popped out along her brow. She looked around the living room for something to use as a weapon. Then she remembered the aluminum baseball bat she’d hidden under the love seat just for such an occasion. Squatting down, she slid a hand under the love seat and swept it back and forth until she found the handle.
She had it up and ready, both palms choked around its handle, her legs planted apart in a batter’s stance when her sister, Camille, walked out of the kitchen, a bowl of salad in her hand. They shrieked at the same time. Camille’s salad flew everywhere. One of her hands went to her chest. Jocelyn dropped the bat. Like a mirror image, she too stood with her hand on her chest. Their mother would have found this hilarious. The two of them scaring the shit out of each other.
“What are you doing here?” Jocelyn said, catching her breath.
Chest heaving, Camille bent to pick up the remnants of her salad. “Didn’t you get my messages?”
Jocelyn closed the distance between them and knelt beside her sister. They threw the chopped vegetables into the bowl, and Camille took it into the kitchen and dumped it in the trash.
“My phone broke,” Jocelyn explained. “I had to get a new one. I’ve been using Caleb’s phone. I really haven’t looked at mine all weekend.”
Camille returned with handfuls of paper towels and blotted the globs of dressing that remained on the carpet.
“Don’t worry about it,” Jocelyn said, climbing to her feet. Her legs felt wobbly. She sat on the couch.
Camille stood before her, crumpled paper towels clutched in her hands, her frown matching Jocelyn’s own. They weren’t twins—Camille was two years younger than Jocelyn—but their resemblance was remarkable, especially now that Camille was clean. She had gained weight and with it, curves. Her brown hair was cut sharply in a chic, sophisticated bob, the front longer than the back. Even in jeans and a cream-colored peasant blouse she managed to look elegant. Only the scars on her hands marred her stylish look. But Jocelyn knew that the scars Camille bore on her soul were far worse than those on her hands.
“You know,” Camille said. “The last time I was here, you gave me a key and told me to stop in whenever I wanted to.”
Jocelyn stood and waved Camille over. She folded her little sister into a hug. “You scared me,” she said into Camille’s hair. It smelled like coconut. “I wasn’t expecting you. Of course you’re welcome here any time. Olivia will be thrilled to see you.”
As Jocelyn released her, Camille wadded the paper towels into a tight ball and looked around the living room. “Where is Olivia?”
Jocelyn plopped back onto the couch. “At school.”
She patted the couch cushion beside her, and Camille sat. “You don’t look so good,” Camille noted.
Jocelyn smiled wanly. She gave Camille a brief recap of the Adams case and how she and Trent had been poisoned.
“Holy shit,” Camille said. “You must want to kill this guy.”
Jocelyn laughed. She opened and closed her fists, imagining using them on Cash, even though at the moment, she felt weak and ineffectual. “Oh, I do.”
“How’d it go with Olivia and Caleb?”
Jocelyn relaxed her hands. “Great. Hey, you didn’t tell me what you’re doing in Philadelphia.”
Camille had gone to an inpatient rehab in California the year before. She’d stayed out there and started talking about going to college. She wanted to become a psychologist. Jocelyn missed her like crazy, but California had done Camille well. She’d been drug-free and sober for a year—the longest she’d been clean since she was sixteen years old.