Reverb

  James smiles and nods slowly, then extends his hand to John. John hesitates, then grasps James’ hand, shakes it once and releases him. James looks at Martin. “Catch ya on the flip side, Martin,” and he flashes a wide smile, a single, adorable dimple in one cheek only.

  “Right back at ya, James.” Martin smiles and they have a visceral exchange to which Kate is not privy, but wishes she was. She’s so tired of being on the outside looking in. They seem to share a palpable affection as Martin takes James’ extended hand in both of his, and they shake hands heartily.

  “Take good care of each other.” James stays on Martin another moment, then glances at John, then Kate. “Let’s go,” and he grips her arm lightly and leads her to the doorway. He stops before leaving, turns and looks at John. “If you’re looking for a test of my sanity, well, I can see what’s going on between you and Martin. And I’m lucid enough to know if you let what you two have established slip away it would be madness.” He gives John a quasi-grin, smiles at Martin, then turns away, takes Kate’s hand and leads her out of the music room.

  “If you need me, I’m at Paradise Pediatrics in Placer County. My service can reach me twenty-four seven.” John calls after them.

  Martin follows them down the hallway. “Any chance you’ll fill me in on where you’re off to, so I can track you down if need be.”

  “Nope. You suck at lying, Martin. I don’t want to put you in a position of having to.”

  “Then what am I supposed to tell anyone who comes looking?”

  “The truth. I showed up injured from a car accident. John patched me up and I left. Keep Kate out of it. You can do that, Martin. Omission isn’t a flat out lie.”

  “Well, now, that depends on the circumstances, doesn’t it. But your anonymity is safe with me and John, dear Kate. Not to worry,” Martin says as they make their way past the full-wall fish tank separating the modern dining room from the sunken living room. “Keep in touch, James. If we don’t hear from you in six months should I come looking?”

  They cross into the foyer and James lets go of her hand and turns back to face Martin in what looks like awe. “If you don’t hear from me in six months there’ll be no reason to come looking.” He stares, fixed on Martin. “I appreciate the offer though. You are forever humbling, Martin.” And he bows slightly, in the Asian fashion, his hand to his ribs.

  “About time you noticed, James.” Martin flashes a whimsical grin but it fades quickly. “Just wish John did.”

  “He does,” James assures him.

  Kate sees John standing by the fish tank wall in the living room. James sees him, too, but Martin doesn’t.

  “Pay attention, Martin. He’s right behind you, where he’s always been.” James looks at John.

  Martin swings around and looks at John. Kate feels them connect, just a hint of a smile from both men simultaneously, and she’s suddenly consumed with envy of their obvious bond.

  “Take it easy, James,” John says cautiously.

  James nods, then laces his fingers in Kate’s again, clasping her hand. He leads her out the front door, leaving Martin standing in the threshold.

  Cold strikes her in the face and chills her nose and ears. Air is dense, thick with wet pine and moist soil. James pulls her gently by the hand and starts down the steps. Kate sees her car parked beyond the fountain, in one of the five parking spaces meant for the clinic across from the house. They crunch across the glittering, rain glazed gravel and stop next to her car. James lets go of her hand to examine the damage. The left fender is crumpled from the accident, but doesn’t touch the wheel. Left headlight is fractured too, but that’s about all the damage from the collision that destroyed his Porsche.

  “Well, it looks drivable.” James straightens, winces, looks at her. “I’d like to drive. I feel safer driving.” He gives her a teasing grin.

  She blushes. She can’t exactly fault him for not trusting her driving. “Sure, I guess.” Gust of wind whips her hair in her eyes and her mouth, as Kate pulls her keys from her jeans pocket.

  James takes the keys, then grasps her hand again and leads her around the car to the passenger side. He opens the door and ushers her in, like they were on a date or something, then shuts her door and goes around the back of the Blazer to the driver’s side and gets behind the wheel.

  His body seems to melt into the seat. He rests his head back and closes his eyes, while he struggles to catch his breath.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You sure you can drive?”

  “Yeah.” He opens his eyes, and as he reaches out to shut the car door, sucks in a muffled gasp. He glances at her for just a second before he turns his attention to driving, sticks the key in the ignition, starts the engine, and then pulls the SUV around the fountain. He waves at Martin and John in the doorway, and drives down the sloping gravel road. His long lashes mingling with locks of his hair. He blinks several times in a row as if to clear his vision, or keep his eyes open.

  “Maybe it’s not the best idea to leave your friends right now.”

  Road crunches under the tires as they move down the hill. The valley shimmers in pinpoints of silver—rain droplets clinging to endless rows of grapevines reflect the moon. James turns left off the gravel drive to Paradise and on to Gold Hill Road.

  “I’m trying to keep everyone safe, and free, including me.” James combs his hair back with his elegant fingers. “Regardless of the accident, Martin is a known colleague of mine. If anyone’s looking for me, they’ll look here eventually. If the CHP connect the dots, and place me at the scene with the Porsche, they won’t do it in a day, if at all. As far as we know, no one knows you were involved in the accident. And you’re nobody to me.”

  Boy, he's right about that. She’s nobody to James. Worse, she’s nobody to anybody. He stops at the crossroad of Hwy 49. She feels him look at her. Can’t look at him.

  “I’ll take off as soon as we get to Sacramento. Old Town is only about forty minutes from here. I'll find my way from there.”

  “I told you I’d take you to Tiburon. I want to.” Her voice sounds childlike.

  He shakes his head. “It’ll be safer if we separate.”

  “Why? I’m no one to you, right? And no one is looking for me.” Kate wonders if she sounds as small as she feels, throwing his words back at him.

  “I didn’t mean safer for you.” James glances at her again, then turns right onto the slick blacktop heading west. “I’m obliged to take care of you when you’re with me. You’re a liability, which is why we need to separate.”

  Feels like he’s slapped her. She stares ahead to hide her shame. She cannot speak. Kate pushes the CD into the player. Fast picking of steel strings opens the disk of acoustic rock, and becomes the sound track for the scene. They move through the blackness on the practically empty, narrow highway, every few minutes momentarily blinded by blazing bright headlights on the other side of the road.

  She looks at James. His cheeks are flushed, his skin tone ashen in the dim light; his full lips deep red. Trace stubble hardens his baby face. He looks unscathed, normal—drop dead gorgeous kind of normal. His left palm is on the top of the wheel, his long fingers extending past it, and they're moving with the music. Kate is certain he not consciously aware he’s subtly, but clearly, picking air guitar in perfect time to the complex Vertical Horizon piece, Washed Away. Of course, it’s obvious he’s a player, but she’d only made the connection when she saw him at the piano at Paradise. She lets the piece end before speaking.

  “That was a beautiful piece you played on the piano earlier.”

  “Ravel’s, Gaspard de la Nuit. But I massacred it.”

  “I wouldn't know. So, you play piano, and the guitar, too.” It’s more statement than question since she knows the answer. His fingers are still contorted in the closing pick.

  James glances at her, his eyes narrow, like he’s suspicious of her question. “I used to.” He drops his hand from the top of the wheel and
grips the bottom. “Don’t know that I can anymore.” A quick, angry laugh with a shake of his head. “You’ve seen my wrists. The restraints they had on me cut the circulation to my hands. I may have lost the dexterity. I don’t know.” He shrugs. His expression is somber. His eyes are glassy as he squints at oncoming headlights, and only then does Kate notice his long lashes sticking together from tears. He blinks and they stream down his face. James flashes her a quick glance, half-laughs, but not like it’s funny, and wipes his eyes on his shirtsleeve. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. Even if I could get back to where I was, I’m not so sure I ever want to go back there.”

  “Why? Music is very powerful. It touches a lot of people.”

  “Maybe my music did, but I’m finally getting that I probably didn’t.” His jaw hardens. He stares straight ahead.

  “Are you famous? I mean, should I know you, know your music?”

  “Probably not. You may have heard things I've written but I’m in the background, in the studio mostly.”

  “What other instruments do you play?”

  He flashes a smile. “Most all of them.”

  “That’s impressive.” Kate is awed by people with passion, as she’s yet to find her own.

  “Not really. Get good at anything with practice. I’ve been playing all my life. My stepfather taught me to play the guitar when I was five.” He speaks as if telling a tale. “He was a violinist with the Boston Pops. My mom was a piano teacher at Berklee School of Music. She could pick the harmony out of a vacuum.” He seems to drift, like he’s hearing her sing. “She had the most amazing ear, and perfect pitch. I mean perfect.”

  “Are your parents still in Boston?”

  “They’re dead.” And he’s back in the car with Kate.

  She’s astounded by his admission, and for the first time feels a real connection to James. “Mine, too.” She practically whispers. “My dad died of a heart attack about a year ago. My mom, of cancer in late November, almost three months now.” She shuts her mouth, holds her breath and swallows back the lump in her throat.

  “I lost my parents when I was thirteen in a plane crash on their way home from a benefit concert in Haiti. So much for Karma.” He stares out the windshield. “Everyone said it would hurt less with time. But the longing is often still intolerable.”

  Kate crumbles. He’s right, of course. She still thinks of calling her mom almost every day, the impulse always followed by that horribly empty realization no one’s there to answer the phone. Tears spill down her face, and she can’t stop them. She stares out the windshield.

  James stops at the crossroad of Hwy 50 and looks at her. “No shame in grief, Kate.” He reaches out to her and wipes her tears away with his huge thumb, strokes her cheeks gently, first one, then the other, his glassy eyes filled with compassion focused on her. “Cost of love is often illusive. Until we lose it.”

  She wants him to pull her face to his and kiss her. Tenderly. Passionately.

  Truck whizzes by, startling him. Mist and droplets sparkle in the headlights as he brings his hand back to the wheel, focuses forward, guns the engine and enters the crowded, fast-moving highway.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” he says gently, his accent momentarily refined.

  “I’m sorry for yours, too, James.”

  He slowly nods. “Fucking sucks, being orphaned.”

  Kate manages a smile through her tears. Again, she’s surprised by his acute perception, and willingness to express it.

  They listen to several tunes of smooth acoustic rhythms. James keeps his fingers still. The disk changes and begins with wailing electric of Incubus. Fast, pounding beat adds to her angst that grows with each passing mile. Kate feels herself falling into the rabbit hole, blackness looming. Beyond Sacramento is San Francisco—home—alone. Again. Still. Back to the seemingly endless search for her prince.

  “We should be in the city in fifteen minutes. It’s where I take off, and you get back to your life.” He doesn’t look at her.

  She imagines asking him to stay with her until he’s well. She’d care for him. They’d bond, and like in the movies, he’d leave to reconcile his past then come back to her. She considers offering to take him to Tiburon again, give her the opportunity to network with more of his friends, keep track of him, but doesn’t. “Okay,” comes out of her mouth. “So, you’re off to Tiburon, then?”

  He nods.

  Kate looks outside. Housing developments line the highway on both sides now. The tall glass buildings of Sacramento sparkle with moonlight against the black backdrop of night. Brandon Boyd sings Drive against the wet road din. “What’s in Tiburon?”

  James stays focused on driving, as if she’s not spoken. Kate thinks he won’t answer her but then he says, “Money. Enough to get me set up some place safe. If I’ve got any left."

  “And if you don’t have any left?” I can save you...

  “Then I’ll be living a whole other kind of lifestyle than I hoped. Probably be a lot colder, at least in the beginning.” He flashes a quick grin. “Don’t worry about me, Kate. I’ll be fine. Money or not, I can be very resourceful.”

  “I don’t doubt that. For the asking, you could probably get most anything you want.”

  “Clearly not. Or I’d have my life back.”

  She stares at him. “You mean the one you tried to throw away?”

  James glances at her with a furrowed brow.

  Kate’s broken the glass wall and steps through. “Why did you try to kill yourself?” She has to know. She just can’t leave it.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Did you really want to die?”

  “Yes.” He stares at the road.

  “Do you still?”

  “I don’t know. Sometimes.” He glances at her again then looks forward. “It doesn’t matter. I told you, I don’t want to discuss it.”

  “Why? I’ve thought about it in dark moments. I’m sure lots of people have. Suicide isn’t exclusive to artists and intellects, you know.”

  “My decision to slit my wrists wasn’t motivated from melancholy. I was trapped in hell and it was the only way I could think of to get out.”

  “Pretty radical solution.”

  “A permanent one, to be sure, but at the time it seemed warranted.”

  “Don’t you care that it’s a mortal sin to take your own life?”

  He smiles. “No.”

  “Well, then don’t you care that you’d be hurting people that love you?”

  James stares out at the highway. His jaw tightens, his expression darkens, then veils, but Kate feels the weight of his sadness. She watches him for a second then has to look away. She’s all too familiar with that level of alone. Just hard to believe someone like James knows it, too.

  Tall glass buildings of downtown twinkle and loom in the distance. James stays in the left lane and keeps pace with traffic. They pass a blue Acura on the right, and Kate looks at the white, middle-aged male driver on his cell phone. He never glances her way. The world is so encapsulated now. How was she to find a partner with all of us so immersed in our tight little universes.

  She looks at James. His long lashes look even longer with wetness. He’ll be gone in five minutes—the Prince Charming that never was. His beauty belies his manic behavior earlier, his battered body under his dark fleece shirt. “Promise me you’re not still suicidal.” She stares at him, searching, wonders if her voice is as small as she feels. “If you kill yourself, I could burn in hell for handing you the opportunity.”

  He laughs, but grimaces, like it hurt. “You’re concern is touching, really.” His smile fades quickly. He does not address her request. He looks straight ahead and Kate is sure James is consciously avoiding looking at her.

  “God, you're friend John was right.” Anger, disgust, guilt jockey for lead emotion. Suddenly the car feels stifling. She can’t catch her breath. “I'm such a sucker, letting you talk me into taking you away from friends who could have helped you.”


  “You're not.” He glances at her quickly then back at the highway. “You can’t save me, Kate. And I can't save you. We’re going to have to do that for ourselves.” He glances at her again, sighs, like he gets his words cut. “Look, don’t get caught up in my façade, Kate. There’s nothing behind it. Not anymore. There probably never was, I just didn’t notice.”

  “I don’t think achieving excellence is nothing. And I’m pretty sure tuning out is a typical guy thing.”

  James laughs. “It may be. But I’ve been told that’s a lousy excuse.”

  “What was her name?” Kate asks, even though most of her doesn’t want to know.

  “Julia. But it never really was, and now it never will be. And I don’t want to talk about this.”

  “Well, what about Julia?”

  James shoots her a piercing glare. “What about her?”

  “Don’t you care you’d be hurting her if you killed yourself?”

  “Either way, I'm hurting her. So I’m alive. We can’t be together. I’m wanted for drug trafficking, escaping lawful custody…murder.” He does not look at her. “To her, I’m dead either way.”

  Kate watches at him. He said ‘murder,’ that he's wanted for murder. And for the first time she feels afraid of him. James could be crazy—one of those guys who’s calm most of the time, then goes psychopath every now and again. “You said you left a mental institution in Scotland ‘without permission.’ Were you there for killing someone?”

  He jaw tightens again. “I won’t discuss this. I’m sorry I mentioned it.” Quick, nervous laugh. “I wasn’t putting you off when I told you I wasn’t the best person to be around right now.” He glances at her again and sort of shrugs, wipes his nose with his shirtsleeve and runs his fingers through his hair again, but it falls back in his eyes.

  All fear of him dissolves. Kate can not fathom him as evil, or even crazy. He’d just admitted to ‘trafficking.’ A drug dealer seems plausible, though not probable as a career musician. She imagined drug dealers to be hardened people. Underneath his manic behavior, James seems fundamentally a gentle man. Kate feels it to her core. “I’m not scared of you.” She blushes. Aloud it sounds taunting, defensive.