I kiss her lips. She lifts her chin, so I move to her neck, changing my position so I can get closer to her. The steering wheel and gearshift keep getting in my way. I wish the seat were longer. “Not a lot of room in here. Have you ever made out in a Mustang before?” I kiss her again and breathe into her neck. “Never mind, I don’t want to know the answer to that question.”
“And I know I don’t want to know what you’ve done in a Mustang." She slides her hand across my chest. I couldn’t hear the engine now even if I wanted to. My heart is pounding too hard.
Her phone buzzes. She moves to check it. Fear flashes in her eyes, and she pulls away abruptly.
"What is it?"
"Nothing." She shoves the phone in her pocket.
But I saw the message.
Thinking of you.
"We should probably get back. I don't want Tyler to come looking for us." Jess avoids my eyes.
I want to ask her who the text is from, but I can guess. Stephens gets back in a few months. She told me she broke things off with him, and I trust her, but I get the idea he's the kind of guy who doesn't take no for an answer.
sixty-seven
Jess: Paper Trail
Idon't look at the text again until I'm back at my apartment, far away from Jacob and the questions he might ask if he saw it. I close my door. Angelica is in the living room with a guy we work with at the hospital, one she won't shut up about. I doubt she'll come into our room for hours.
I stare at my phone. It's late Sunday night, but he said to call anytime.
I hesitate. It feels safer to ignore the text. Acknowledging who sent it makes the whole situation too real, but the messages have been coming more and more frequently, and I only have a couple of months left. Jacob would be furious if he knew what I'm keeping from him, but we just got back together. Things are good between us, and I don't want to mess that up.
It takes four rings before he picks up.
"Jess." It sounds like he was asleep. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I just." I reach up and pull the curtains shut. How many times have I told Angelica to keep them closed? "I got another one. A text this time." I hold my breath, bracing for the doubt I know will be in his voice when he answers.
"You're sure it's from him? He shouldn't have access to a phone."
"I'm not sure about any of it. I just know it's the same message I've been getting for the last two years."
He breathes into the phone. "Right. Forward it to me. I'll add it to the paper trail."
"I will." I lean against the window and close my eyes, frustrated and tired. According to Mr. Harris, the lawyer my parents hired after I shot Brad, apaper trailis the best (only) course of action I can take right now. There's no proof any of the messages are from Brad, but they might be enough for a restraining order when he gets out. Or not. I started saving the messages a month ago. I called Mr. Harris for the first time three weeks ago after the police said there wasn't anything they could do about it. The messages have been coming more frequently and in different ways—letters, emails, and now a text—always the same four words:
I'm thinking of you.
I don't know what Brad has planned after he gets out of jail, but I know he hasn't forgotten that I'm the one who put him there.
sixty-eight
Jacob: Don't Wait
Iwalk around the mall three times before I can make myself go into the jewelry store. I try to be casual, but I’m sweating. I know nothing about rings or any other jewelry. Yeah, I may have hit it out of the park with a cheap silver locket ten years ago, but I've had no experience since then. Mom bought Jess' earrings. This is a special kind of torture. Bring on the water-boarding. I think I’d prefer that to looking for an engagement ring.
Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. It’s only been a couple of months since we’ve been together. Well, a couple of months, the year in Iraq, the three years I’ve been at Fort Lewis and all the time we spent together when we were kids. Is that long enough?
The lady standing behind the glass case is blonde and pretty. She has a huge smile, a row of sparkling white teeth. Nothing threatening about her, but I shy away from her friendly “May I help you?” and shake my head.
I keep my head down, looking, but not really looking. What am I doing here? Do I really want this? The whole thing: a lifelong commitment, a wife, a family. Am I ready for this?
I need another lap around the mall to sort things out. I’m about to walk out of the store when a ring in the corner of one of the display cases stops me. I step forward to look. It’s a simple ring, a twist of silver and a single diamond, but something about it says Jess. Something about the curves on the side reminds me of the little locket I gave her a long time ago.
