Salem certainly heard.
This time, I noticed that one of the flowers had a lovingly curved petal falling, right along her tricep.
Jess said, “I’m fine” again, and opened her door, too.
By now, there’s no ignoring the way I want to spare her. I don’t want to see her hands shake, or to have her feeling carsick, or to have her ambushed by Salem or her sister or a career criminal who will recognize her face.
I don’twantto get her to talk.
At least, not for this.
Not for anyone else but me, if I’m honest with myself.
I need to tell Salem about how I feel; I know I do. But this morning, with this particular interview on the schedule, seemed like the wrong time. MacSherry is my get, after all, and I figured that doing an impressive job with him might help grease the wheels with Salem. I do a good enough job, follow all the plans Salem and I set at breakfast, and it’s another point in my favor for getting my future story off the ground.
No getting Jess Greene to talk necessary.
But as soon as Curtis MacSherry steps out onto the wraparound porch of a run-down ranch deep in the woods of what must be one of the few remaining undeveloped tracts of land in Signal Mountain, pretty much all those plans go out the window.
Because he does recognize her.
I can see it right away: His lean, tall form—aided in its uprightness by a slim, polished cane—stills, and he stares long at where Jess stands on the dirt path leading up to the house.
She looks back, chin up, mulish again. A dare.
He smiles, and from beside me—frankly, I forgot she was there—Salem says quietly, “I see how he got the nickname.”
The Cat, he’s sometimes called. Because of that bright-white, easy smile. A Cheshire grin, knowing and mischievous.
He takes a step down off the porch, and I step forward.
“Mr. MacSherry,” I say, because I don’t want him approaching her. Not with that smile on his face. Probably not at all.
He looks over at me, keeping the smile. He’s dressed as though he’s going for dinner at some warm-weather, by-the-sea resort: loose but unwrinkled linen pants, a short-sleeve patterned shirt that’s open at the collar. His salt-and-pepper hair is neatly trimmed, his skin strikingly unwrinkled for a man his age. He wears three gold rings on the hand that holds his cane.
“The Hawk,” he says as he extends his hand to me. I’ve always referred to myself as Adam when I’ve communicated with him, but I’m pretty sure this is a tactic, a reminder. Both of us with our silly nicknames, given to us by other people. Something we have in common.
“Adam,” I correct, shaking his hand firmly. Probably more firmly than is necessary.
He’s still smiling, but when I release his hand, he looks over at Jess briefly before turning his gaze back to me.
“You seemed too earnest for an ambush, Adam.” He’s said it casually, almost like a joke, but still—I detect a note of censure there.
“In fairness,” Salem cuts in, “she was a surprise to us, too.”
She holds out her hand and introduces herself, and I take the opportunity to look over at where Jess and Tegan stand, several feet away. For the first time since I met them together, Tegan seems to stay deliberately close to her older sister. On the ride here, she made the remark about Charlotte and Jess looking alike casually, almost a little cruelly. But now, she seems reluctant to leave Jess’s side.
They’re complicated, the two of them. The love between them as obvious as the tension. I wonder if they know how clearly they show it.
“—and so we had actually been speaking to Tegan, when we thought we were speaking to Jess,” Salem is explaining, when I finally refocus, and I don’t see why we have to give him that information. I don’t see why we can’t at least try to stick to the plan.
“Is there a place you want us to set up?” I interrupt.
I think of that curved petal along Jess’s tricep. I think about wanting to catch it in my cupped hand.
MacSherry looks at me calmly. Even when he’s not smiling, he somehow is. He turns and walks toward Jess and Tegan, as though I didn’t speak. I get an old urge to do some flattening, which is definitely not part of the plan.
“I’m Curtis,” he says to them smoothly, but he doesn’t extend his hand this time. I get the sense he knows he’d be rejected. Jess doesn’t even blink. She may be trying to flatten him in her own way.
