Public Displays of Affection

  “I’m serious!” Jimmy struggled to his feet, nearly losing his balance as the air mattress gave under his weight. He righted himself, then cupped a hand over his crotch. “I think we can work this out!”

  LoriSue laughed again. “Whatever you did, undo it, Jimmy. I want my bid accepted by nine a.m. Monday or your naughty bits are going on the Minton Little League Web site and I’m going to e-mail everyone I know and tell them to have a look—with a magnifying glass, of course.”

  “Bitch.”

  “Good-bye, Jimmy.” She turned to leave, clutching his balled-up clothing to her front.

  “This is all because of Joe Mills, isn’t it?” Jimmy’s voice was a high-pitched shriek. “He’s doing you, too, isn’t he? Did he do you and Charlotte together?”

  She whirled around, suddenly seeing her husband for what he was—pathetic, and crazier than a hoot owl. “Joe Mills is in love with Charlotte, you idiot. And as amazing as this now sounds to me, I’ve never been unfaithful to you once in our entire marriage. Well, gotta run—gotta get these snapshots to my attorney.”

  LoriSue left, ignoring Jimmy’s ranting. On her way out, she noticed that the little Nissan was gone from the drive, which meant her husband would have to drive home naked. That made her laugh.

  LoriSue continued to chuckle as she drove along River Rock, seeing a shiny black Lincoln pass the opposite way. Her mind struggled to recall where she’d seen the driver, because he looked vaguely familiar; then she stopped worrying about it because her cell phone rang. Her lawyer was calling back!

  Joe flipped through photo after photo of car license plates, garbage cans, mailboxes, front doors, people kissing, people parked in cars and simply walking down the street—each with a bright yellow streak through the center. Fine. He’d inspected them. Joe took the clipboard from the kid and scrawled his name, catching himself when, in his haste, he nearly wrote “Bellacera.” Then he headed for the exit.

  Charlotte was going to kill him for being so late.

  When his hand hit the door, Joe froze. Then, in one long, seamless movement, he raced back to the counter and ripped open all three envelopes, throwing prints into the air until he could find it again.

  “Hey, man—what’s the issue here?”

  Joe sped through the images as fast as humanly possible, only half-noting that a group of people were now circled around him.

  There it was—in his hand was a picture of two men he’d known in another life. “Two spies…” Joe’s brain seized. “… two creepy-looking guys…” He stared at the date at the corner of the photo—two days ago! They’d been in Minton at least two days!

  Joe fought the sensory overload, the black, naked fear and rage that were trying to shut him down, trying to keep him from functioning. And that’s when he heard a moan of anguish roar inside his soul, growing louder and louder in his head until he knew he couldn’t contain it.

  “No.” The single word escaped in a whisper that no one else could hear.

  “Oh for God’s sake! What now?”

  Charlotte had really, really hoped to have thirty seconds to use an actual mirror to apply her mascara and lipstick, but it looked like her beauty routine was going to take place in the car at a stoplight, as usual.

  She raced into the kitchen, where Justin and Matt were flinging ice cream all over the floor in their effort to assemble a cone for Hoover.

  “Guys! Look at the mess! I just mopped the floor and we’re supposed to have people over after the recital!”

  That’s when a shrill, high-pitched scream pierced everyone’s eardrums. “Mama! I have a big rip in my tights!” Hank came running into the kitchen, her face a mask of despair.

  Charlotte looked up from her bent position near the floor, where she was wiping up blobs of French vanilla with a damp paper towel. “We don’t have another pair, Hank, and besides, you can’t really see it.”

  “But all the other girls will make fun of me!” Hank began to cry. And as the boys raced out the back door with their cones, Charlotte pulled her daughter close. “It’s going to be okay, sweetie, really. You can hardly tell. Now get your dance bag and make sure your ballet slippers are in there and let’s get in the car.”

  “I don’t want to dance in ruined tights!”

  “Then we’ll stop at the drugstore on the way, but we can only get regular tights, because there’s no time to go to the ballet store. Please just get in the car.”

  Where the hell was Joe?

  “We got him!”

  Charlotte turned to see Matt dragging Hoover through the back door by his collar. Justin’s dress shirt was now smeared with ice cream. She sighed. They were hopelessly late, and Hank was going to have to endure a lecture from her old crone of a ballet teacher.

  “Matt, put Hoover in the mudroom. Justin, run home and get a clean shirt. Be as quick as you can—we’ll wait for you.”

  Hank’s sobs had subsided into occasional hiccups as Charlotte used the van’s visor mirror to apply a quick layer of Desert Rose to her lips and a coat of Brown-Black to her eyelashes, noting that she didn’t feel pretty at all—she felt panicked.

  Didn’t Joe say he loved her?

  Matt jumped in the van and slammed the door so hard that it startled Charlotte and she poked herself in the eye with the mascara wand.

  “Shit!”

  “Mama, my ballet slippers aren’t in here.”

  Charlotte whipped her head around and through smarting eyes saw Hank fling everything out of her dance bag. That’s when she knew it with certainty—she was going to lose it. Now.

  “Then where the hell—?”

  “Here they are!” Hank held up a pair of worn pink slippers and smiled. “Don’t worry, Mama. Found ‘em!” Just then, Justin piled in the backseat, sporting a T-shirt advertising a Florida seafood shack that screamed: “We’re proud to have crabs!” but at least it was clean.

  “Let’s roll, Mom,” Matt said. After a moment he added, “Earth to Mother?”

  Charlotte turned toward her son. He wasn’t telling her something—she knew it! “Where did he go, Matt? What did Joe say when he left?”

  Justin and Matt rolled their eyeballs toward each other while keeping their heads stationary, a very bad sign, Charlotte knew from experience.

  “Tell me.”

  Matt shrugged. “He just said he’d be back in ten minutes. Maybe we should go without him.”

  “I’m late, Mama.” Hank’s voice sounded small and pitiful.

  “Hold on a second, kids. Just stay in the car—I’ll be right back.”

  Jimmy hoped to hell that the sound he heard was Brenda—or Belinda, he couldn’t remember her name—coming back in the house. Maybe she’d agree to go get him a change of clothes.

  Since he hadn’t thought to bring sheets, there was absolutely nothing in the house he could use to drape over himself, so Jimmy sat down on the air mattress and bent his leg nonchalantly in a pose that he hoped looked sexy to Belinda—or Brenda.

  His blood turned to ice the instant he saw them. Two men in black suits blocked the doorway. They stared at him with dark, cold eyes that did not reflect the stiff smiles on their faces. Jimmy felt his mouth open.

  “Excuse me,” one of them said, his voice thick with a foreign accent. “We saw the sign outside and hope this house is still for sale.”

  “A friend of ours lives nearby,” the other man said.

  Jimmy had never shown a house naked before. He was so stunned he didn’t know what to say.

  “We hope you can help us find a house close to our friend.”

  Jimmy laughed, suddenly getting the joke. He started to look around for the hidden cameras. He should have guessed LoriSue would do something like this, the evil harpy. She’d pay for her little fun.

  “Do you know our friend? He moved to Minton recently.”

  Jimmy recoiled as the first guy walked toward him, holding out a sheet of paper. This was weird shit. He was naked, for God’s sake! He didn’t want some pretty boy inv
ading his personal space!

  Then he caught a glimpse of the paper—a computer printout of the Little League’s Web site. He accepted the single page and stared at it long and hard—right there were Joe Mills and Charlotte, staring at each other like a middle-aged Romeo and Juliet on concession stand duty. It was vomit inducing. But he had to admit that the Sell-More banner ad at the top looked great. LoriSue had done a bang-up job!

  Then it dawned on him.

  He raised his gaze slowly and smiled. Jimmy Bettmyer was a man of the world. He couldn’t be fooled. He knew the game these guys were playing, and he’d help them out. Why not? They were the answer to his prayers!

  “So ole Joe owes you some cash, does he, and you tracked him down?” Jimmy handed back the sheet of paper and checked to be sure his privates were still obscured.

  The man glanced at his associate, then grinned down at Jimmy. “Yes. Joe owes us big.”

  Jimmy nodded knowingly. “I’ll make a deal with you—you two run along and get me something to wear, and I’ll give you his address.”

  The man’s smile got wider, but it wasn’t friendly in the least. Jimmy never saw the man move until his arm was painfully wrenched behind his back. Then he was dragged, naked, down the steps and out the front door.

  “No deal,” the man said to him, shoving him in the backseat of a sedan and nearly sitting on top of him in the process. He got real close to Jimmy’s face as the car sped away toward town. “Give us the address. Now.”

  Jimmy pressed the back of his head against the seat, now very afraid. Who were these guys?

  Then he saw the gun.

  He was going to die.

  “Oh, shit.”

  “Sí, sheeit,” the man said, smiling for real this time. “Address, please?”

  Jimmy took a breath so he could speak, finding his mouth painfully dry. “Hayden Heights subdivision. Twelve thirty-two Hayden Circle. Two-story contemporary stone and siding. Hey! What the fuck?”

  Jimmy didn’t know which hurt more—the way his skin shredded when his body slid along River Rock Road or the pain shooting through his left shoulder. Either way, he was now naked, hurt, and bleeding and at least five miles from home. Plus, his fucking car keys had been in the front left pocket of his pants.

  He hoped those bean-eating bastards ripped Joe Mills a new asshole.

  The first thing Joe did was grab all the photos—who knew what might be important in a few hours? The next thing he did was lean real close to the kid behind the counter.

  “The store office. Where is it?”

  The kid pointed to the far right corner, his mouth ajar.

  Joe had Roger on the line in seconds.

  “Guzman found me.”

  “Fuck!”

  “Get Rich Baum’s guys here—now. Get Charlotte and the kids out. Now. Find out how my cover was blown. I’m ditching my car and moving on foot. I’ll call in fifteen minutes to give you my pickup location.”

  “Got it. Fifteen minutes—no more. Stay alive.”

  Now that she was inside the house, staring at the kitchen phone, Charlotte didn’t have a plan. The truth was, she didn’t even know if Joe had an answering machine. Come to think of it, she didn’t know which of the four pancake syrups he would pick at IHOP, or his parents’ first names, or if he voted in every presidential election.

  She didn’t know his blood type.

  She didn’t know what kind of bed he slept in: Queen? King? Water?

  She was losing it. Correction: she’d already lost it. Her hands shook and her face was wet from crying and the only reason she was in here was to hide her breakdown from the kids, who at this very moment might be fed up with waiting for her and already walking in the garage door.

  She needed to pull it together. Fast.

  But she was so confused! Why would Joe reject her? He said he loved everything about her. He said she’d never have to hold back again.

  Then he read her poems and left!

  Hoover would not stop barking. He hadn’t stopped barking for the last several minutes, and it felt like her head was going to implode. She had no patience to deal with him at the moment.

  Charlotte used a square of paper towel to wipe her face and blow her nose.

  Then a horrible thought occurred to her. What if Joe really did just run an errand, but something happened to him? What if he was lying in the street? Decapitated? Charlotte froze.

  Good God! Now it sounded like Hoover was going berserk in there, letting go with a combination howl and bark she’d never heard before. Next, she swore the dog was throwing his body against the mudroom door.

  This morning had been one for the record books.

  She picked up the phone. No answer. No machine. No Joe.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Everything her lawyer said made perfect sense—she needed to stay civil for Justin’s sake. She needed to keep a level head and think before she spoke. Yes, those photos of Jimmy would come in handy, but Justin’s welfare had to be more important to her than revenge.

  LoriSue finished stuffing Jimmy’s clothing into the plastic grocery sack and paused a moment before she tossed the bag down the basement steps.

  Jimmy hadn’t been the only screwup in this family and she knew it. She’d messed up with Justin, and now it was time to make amends. She would spend more time with him and less time at work. She would apologize for losing sight of what was really important. She’d ask him for another chance. Then she’d do whatever it took to see that her little boy made it through the divorce with his laid-back happiness intact

  The grocery sack hit the basement floor with a loud thud, and LoriSue groaned at what she saw—Jimmy’s keys, phone, and wallet had just spilled onto the floor. That meant that Jimmy was at that house with no clothes, no money, no transportation, and no way to call for help.

  As she went down the stairs to retrieve the bag, LoriSue told herself that she was going to be decent for Justin’s sake.

  So she got back in her car and drove east of town toward River Rock. About two minutes from the listing, she passed a homeless man shuffling down the side of the road in the dappled shade of the trees. She hit the brakes, checked her rearview mirror, and slammed the car into reverse.

  “Jimmy? Oh, my God!”

  He peered at her with hollowed eyes as she lowered the passenger side window. Inexplicably, he wore a pair of baggy work coveralls smeared with grease, and his hands and face were cut and bleeding. He stood lopsided, cradling an elbow.

  “What the hell happened to you? Damn, Jimmy—get in the car and I’ll take you to the hospital.” She unlocked the door.

  “Just take me home,” he mumbled, gingerly lowering his body into the seat. “Are you hurt?”

  He blew out air. “What the fuck does it look like?”

  “I’m taking you to the hospital. Tell me what happened.”

  LoriSue saw that his feet were cut and bloody, too—the man looked like he’d been thrown from a moving train. “Nothing.”

  “Jimmy—you could be seriously injured. You need to—”

  “You need to shut up and drive me home!” He glared at her.

  “Fine.” She’d drive him home all right—then call his doctor. The doctor could call an ambulance and have him forcibly taken to the hospital if need be.

  Jimmy slouched in silence as she drove.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “I’ve just had a real shitty day.”

  “You and me both.”

  They drove on in silence for a while. Then, out of nowhere, Jimmy said, “I’m sorry for everything, LoriSue.”

  She scrunched up her mouth and took a deep, slow breath through her nose. That statement was a little too little and a little too late, but it was the first time she’d ever heard Jimmy apologize for anything in his life, so she figured she’d better honor the occasion with a response.

  “Thank you for apologizing,” she said.

  “I know I’ve been a failure as a husband and a p
retty crappy dad, too.”

  She didn’t expect him to keep going like that and figured he must be in severe pain. LoriSue glanced across the seat and saw his profile. He looked very old and tired.

  “Thank you for saying that.”

  “You deserve better than me. You always have.”

  Oh, my. Which of the hundred possible smart-ass responses would she choose? She counted to ten instead, then said, “I wish you happiness, too, Jimmy.”

  “I’m going to try my best with Justin.”

  “So am I.”

  “I’ve pissed away so much precious time.” He looked at her with clear eyes. “Things are going to be different, starting right now, LoriSue.”

  She nodded. Things felt different already.

  Joe left through the drugstore’s service entrance, made his way along the back of the strip mall, and boarded a County Commuter bus just pulling up to a stop across the street. He got off at city hall in downtown Minton and used the pay phone in the lobby of the Minton Police Department to call Roger.

  “Rich Baum and four agents are on their way to Charlotte’s.”

  “Thank God.”

  “It’s not good, Joe. It took me exactly three minutes to figure out how they found you.”

  Joe let his forehead fall against the cool metal of the pay phone. “Tell me.”

  “I did an Internet search on Minton, Ohio, and there you were—on the Little League home page, flipping burgers.”

  Joe straightened. “Say again?”

  “The Minton Little League Web site has a big picture of you and your soccer mom, describing you as dedicated volunteers. I don’t know how they were tipped off, but that’s how they found you.”

  Joe’s head buzzed. His heart was now in his throat. “Charlotte? She’s with me in the photo?”

  “And the way you’re looking at each other says it all. Any fool could tell you love her.”

  Oh God—no. “Was her name on the site?”

  “No.”

  Maybe that would buy a little time.

  “Look, Joe. I just tried her number. No answer.”

  Please, God, let them be all right.

  Joe checked his watch. “They’ve probably already left for Hank’s ballet recital. It’s at the high school auditorium. Reroute the agents there.”