Whatever Remains (37 page)

             
He kissed Jade on the forehead, told her to call if she needed anything, reminded her where the guns were – enough firepower for the collapse of society – and went in search of her pissy best friend.

People – even the happiest, most connected of people – had places of retreat where they slunk away to lick their wounds. Ben didn’t know Jeremy well enough to have a clue where he could have gone, but he was a detective, after all.

              There was no boyfriend, that much he knew. Back during his first go round with Jade, there’d been a chic yuppie guy with feathered blonde hair enjoying chic yuppie things with Jeremy on an almost nightly basis. Jeremy was too tense, too regimented, and too lifeless for someone in a relationship these days – he was definitely single. He could have had a call-for-a-good-time guy, though. He could have needed physical comfort at a time like this. But as Ben watched the road through the steady beat of his windshield wipers, water shifting in tides in their wake, he felt a sharp pull of instinct. He dialed Jess and she answered on the first ring with, “Yes, he’s here,” and then hung up.

             
Rosewood was lovely even in the rain, its roses heavy with raindrops, its wraparound porch a cool tunnel of shelter, black shutters on white clapboard glowing dimly. There were guests in attendance, foreign cars parked around the tumbling three-tiered fountain in the center of the circular drive. He parked on the grass and jogged up to the front steps, head ducked against the rain.

             
His sister-in-law was on the porch, one arm wrapped around one of the white support columns, a mug of something steaming in her free hand. Jess was knock-you-on-your-ass beautiful, even in white leggings and thick gray sweater, hair in a ponytail, but her contours held no warmth for his eyes the way Jade’s did. She was icy. She showed something different to Chris – or Chris saw something different on his own – but Ben had never seen the below-surface appeal. She wasn’t magnetic, like his Jade.

             
The rain drummed hard on the porch roof, a thick sheet of it falling off the eaves and sealing them in together. The porch was all black lacquer rocking chairs, white wicker benches, potted ferns and hanging flower baskets.
Haley
was stenciled in black letters beneath the house number by the double cut-glass front doors.

             
“Does he come here a lot?” Ben asked by way of greeting.

             
She blew the steam off her mug. “Only when he’s on the outs with Jade. Don’t tell me
you
came to rectify that situation.” Her green eyes were doubtful and superior.

             
He shrugged. “What if I did?”

             
“I’d say Tyler’s right and body snatchers do exist.”

             
“Where is he?”

             
“Game room.”

             
Going through the front doors launched him back in time, to an Old South dripping with Victorian frills and echoing with history: the heavy moldings, the gleaming floors, the dollhouse furniture and thick bunches of flowers in painted vases. The colors – beiges and butter yellows, grays – were modern, as was the electricity that hummed through the lamps. The stair was a grand thing with a carpet runner, the step faces painted black. Ben walked past it and down the gallery, beyond the great room and its yawning marble fireplace to the game room. It was masculine – heavy drapes, tufted leather, dark wood, flat screen TV, pool and gaming tables. Jeremy was over by the wet bar, reclined in a leather armchair, feet up on the matching ottoman, watching TV and drinking something honey-colored from a glass tumbler.

             
Ben felt his eyes as he crossed the empty room to the wet bar, but Jeremy said nothing. Ben poured himself a Jack over three ice cubes from the bucket on the bar, and took the matching armchair. “I guess if I was gonna run away, this is as good a spot as any.”

             
There was a note of frigid silence, then Jeremy said, “I didn’t
run away
. I’m not an insolent child, fuckface.”

             
“Clearly.”

             
The TV was on some sort of home restoration show. “Communing with your people?” Ben asked.

             
Jeremy’s gaze landed on him, hot with hatred. “I’d throw my drink on you, but that would only further the stereotype.”

             
“Don’t wanna do that.”

             
This was good: supreme irritation was only a step or two away from gut-spilling. “Shannon came by the house,” Ben said, sipping his drink. “The snippy bitch. Why can’t she ever leave anyone the hell alone?”

             
Jeremy stepped neatly into his trap. “I don’t know what sort of pack of raptors raised you, but decent parents check up on their kids; they don’t leave them injured and in the hands of incompetents.”

             
“My parents are awesome, actually,” Ben said, tone light. “You’d get along well with my mother – the two of you are just alike. But,” he said when Jeremy started to protest, “if you think that, why
did
you leave Jade to an ‘incompetent?’”

             
No comment.

             
“Is it a ‘him or me’ situation? She can’t have both of us?”

             
Jeremy sighed. “I’m so sick of your lame attempts at psychoanalysis. You suck at it.”

             
“Yeah, maybe so. But I’m not the one having a meltdown.”

             
“I’m not having a – ” His face tightened and he stared down into his drink. It probably wasn’t his first. “Look, you don’t like me; I don’t like you. Let’s cut to the chase here.”

             
“Alright.” Ben tossed down the rest of his whiskey. “Both my girls are upset and that’s a problem for me.”

             
“Oh, it’s a problem for you now. Not all the other times, just now, when you can blame it on me.”

             
Ben clamped the lid down on his temper. This conversation wasn’t about him. “It
is
your fault this time.”

             
Jeremy sniffed. “While I appreciate the thought – it only took you five years, my God – you know jack shit about Jade and me, so keep out of it.”

             
In no other circumstance would he have offered it, but now, Ben said, “So explain it to me.”

             
“Yeah,” he said with a hollow chuckle. “Right.”

             
“I’m serious. I don’t know what it’s like with you two. So help me understand.”

             
Jeremy’s sideways glance was narrow and hostile. “Are you trying to use your cop shit on me?”

             
“I’m a cop, so…”

             
Jeremy’s eyes went back to his drink.

             
“How ‘bout I top you off,” Ben said, standing, “and you can tell me all about it.”

25

J
ade stepped out of her green Wellies in a kitchen swirling with steam that smelled like her mother’s chicken. Shannon glanced up from the stove.

             
“You get it done, sweetie?”

             
“Yeah.” The simple act of scooping feed had sent pain arcing through her insides, but she’d managed. And it felt good to work. “It smells good in here.” Shannon smiled as she turned the carrots over in her iron skillet of melted butter. “But you didn’t need to cook for me.”

             
That earned a frown. “Of course I did! You’re hungry, aren’t you? And you’re injured, aren’t you?”

             
Jade sighed as she hung her dripping rain slicker on its peg by the door, water splattering down onto the tile. “It’s just that I’m starting to feel a lot like some kind of hamster who needs taking care of.”

             
Her mom made a face like she didn’t find that analogy cute. “You have people who love you; be glad for that.” Jade rolled her eyes because she knew what was coming. “Some people don’t have
anyone
to love them. Be happy you’re a hamster.”

             
“Yes, you’re right,” she said in defeat and sank down into a chair. Her muscles sighed with relief.

             
“So,” Shannon said, stirring carrots, “what did you say to Jeremy?”

             
“You automatically assume it was something I said?”

             
“Wasn’t it?”

             
“Well…yes.” She sighed again, weary to the bone all of a sudden. It had been one hell of a week, with more emotional hills crested than she’d thought possible in that time frame. Because her mom was persistent, and would pry the story out of her eventually, she went ahead and told it. “It started down at the barn,” she said, resting her forehead in her palm on top of the table. “I was giving him a taste of his own medicine about which one of us was wasting our talent here in Kennesaw. And then…shit…I accused him of being too scared to strike out on his own; that he used Clara and me as a crutch. I should have left it there…but then he came back up to the house…”

             
His face, before he’d shut her out and started packing, had been so wounded, so rejected. It brought tears to her eyes to remember. “He started busting out ultimatums, said if I had to choose between him and Ben, who would it be? He made me choose, Mom,” she said in a horrible parody of her real voice. “I always knew this would happen, at some point – Remy just can’t handle Ben being around – but I wasn’t ready for it to happen
now
.”

             
Shannon murmured something to herself and said, “Nothing’s ‘happening.’ Don’t get over excited. He’ll be back and things will work out. Where’d you move the big serving spoons to?”

             
Jade wasn’t sure what horrified her more: her mother’s refusal to acknowledge the issue, or the truth that in just a matter of days, Ben had coming crashing back into her life, and she was making room for him.

Jeremy took a deep breath and Ben swore he could see him tunneling back through the layers, reaching through time to lay his hands a portrait of Jade that he’d never been privy to. He didn’t expect a story at this point, not considering his history with the guy, but the poison was too thick in Jeremy’s veins at this point. He had to spread it out in the open air, even if Ben was the one listening.

              “We had a plan,” Jeremy said. “The two of us. Since we were kids.” He swirled his drink, ice cubes clacking. “We were getting our degrees in three years – summer school all the way through, double class loads – and then we were loading up and hitting Florida. We were going to be working students on the first farm that would have us, and then we’d move on, find a better place, with a better trainer. We – and this sounds shitty, I know – we were good. Some people spend all their time forcing their muscles into the correct movements, fighting the horses’ strides, sweating and cussing. Not Jade and me. We were naturals, both of us.” He smiled faintly. “Sitting a horse was like breathing for us. We knew we could do it – Florida. We knew we could go Grand Prix. We didn’t have horses of our own; we both lived at home; we had no bills. We were saving like mad and studying even madder so we could keep our scholarships. That was a crazy, busy, killer three years. I think we both weighed about ninety pounds when we graduated, hooked on caffeine and sleep-deprived.” His smile flashed again, but receded quickly.

             
“Our last semester,” he went on, “we were riding at a farm in Alpharetta. The trainer we’d been riding under got the boot from the farm owners and when she left, she took the horses we’d been riding. It was a hard hit; even harder for Jade. We got stupid drunk that night and she was Tony-worthy with the drama: ‘Why do we even bother? Nothing we ever achieve will be ours. It’ll always be someone else’s.’ She was exhausted.
We
were exhausted. And our trainer had left one horse behind that no one wanted. No one would even touch him.”

             
“Atlas,” Ben said, and something electric streaked through him at the thought. Jade, twenty-one and devastated, scowling through her tears as she wrapped her arms around a challenge no one else would dare to tackle.

             
“Atlas,” Jeremy said with a nod. “Imported from Holland, beautifully trained, beautifully traumatized by idiots in the States with heavy hands and quick tempers. He threw a man, one day while we were there. I’ve never seen a horse buck like that. The guy started to get an attitude, hauling on the reins, and Atlas chucked him. He went all the way across the arena, rolled, and went out under the rail. He was spitting sand and crying like a bitch.” He smiled at the memory. “Eighteen hands of widow-making beast: that was Atlas. And Jade wanted him. She was so furious – you should have seen her eyes the day she threw her life savings on the desk and demanded to have that horse.”

             
Ben could imagine the blue flash, the tight slashes of dark brows, the quiver of her pulse. It was a beautiful, terrifying thing when she was that enraged. Her daughter had learned from the best, in that department.

             
“Then she had a horse,” Jeremy said, “and not a cent to keep him fed. But Atlas adored her – he was like a kitten with her – and she wasn’t going to give him up. We were going to have to make some money and put Florida on hold for a bit.”

             
“And you bought the farm.”

             
“My dad helped us. He saw it as an investment opportunity: we would fix the place up, add value, get a real business working out of it, and he could flip it when we headed south.” He said, “We were getting there. The trailer-in lesson business was good and we were both taking on training prospects. I bought Rosie. Things were moving in the right direction. We were making money. Another few months, and we could have put the house on the market and packed our bags.” He glanced over at Ben, and the accusation was fresh and sharp as ever.

             
Ben twitched a non-smile. “Then she met me.”

             
Jeremy glanced away, mindlessly, toward the TV. “If it wasn’t you, it would have been somebody else. It was just a matter of time.”

             
Ben waited, listening to the ice settle in his glass, and eventually, Jeremy took another big breath and kept going.

             
“The problem, all along – and I knew it, but I refused to see it – was that we wanted different things out of life. I love that girl – and her girl – you have no idea. They’re my family…but only in my head. Not in real life. In real life” – his eyes cut over, brimming with hurt – “they’re yours. Even when you just throw them away, they still belong to you. They’re yours and you don’t even
care
. Where’s the justice in that?”

             
“I’m gonna let the not caring comment slide,” Ben said. “On account of you being drunk.”

             
“I’m not drunk.” His tone was bitter. “If I was, it wouldn’t be so goddamn obnoxious telling you all this. You want me to keep going, or not? I swear – ”

             
“Calm down, princess, and finish your little story.”

             
He sulked a moment, but finally said, “Jade wants a man. So do I – a different kind, mind you – and even though we want the same thing, that thing isn’t each other. We still live together like we’re kids, and we’re not,” he lamented. “Clara isn’t my daughter. Jeez…I wanted to be so mad, when she told me. I wanted to hate her for ruining our chance for what we’d always dreamed. I wanted it to be Jade’s fault I didn’t go to Florida.”

             
His smile was sad. “But she begged me to go without her. ‘Don’t stay just for me. I’ll be fine.’ And I was too much of a chickenshit to go it alone. I needed her. And then when Clara was born…I wasn’t going anywhere. And it was so much easier to pretend I
had
to stay.” He shook his head and stared into his glass. “I love them so much; and I am so miserable.”

             
“So leave.”

             
Jeremy snorted. “It sounds so easy to you, sitting there on the other side. Alright, so I’ll leave.” His glance was mocking. “So stay.”

             
He wasn’t telling Jeremy about the box in the bottom of his duffle bag. He just wasn’t. “I dunno. Me being around has messed up all your plans and dreams. Shouldn’t I just fuck off already?”

             
“You don’t even get it, do you?” Jeremy sneered. He threw back what was left of his drink and got even sloppier. “Jade wasn’t ever dead set on Florida. She was going because it sounded good. ‘I won’t ever flake out on you for some guy,’ she told me, but that wasn’t true. She wants a guy. She wants what I can’t give her.”

             
And it hurt, Ben realized; it hurt like a bitch that Jeremy knew he couldn’t be there for the person he loved most in the world in all the ways that counted.

**

Rain lashed the house, whipping at the windows and thundering on the roof. In the warm kitchen light, all was cozy, but night had fallen early and all around them, the farm was a study in the sinister. Jade glanced up from her submerged hands in the sink and out through the window, working soap against chicken grease while she watched the dim silhouettes of leaves dance out in the blackness.

              When her mother spoke behind her, she jumped. “Clara’s in Jeremy’s room,” Shannon said with a
tsk
against the inside of her cheek. “Poor thing. Just lying in the middle of his bed.”

             
“Hmm,” Jade murmured in agreement. The wind buffeted at the window panes and they crackled against their glazing. “I hate to say it, but she’s young and she bounces back. She’ll feel better tomorrow.”

             
“She
is
used to men leaving, after all,” Shannon said. “Where’s your Prince Not-so-charming, by the way?”

             
“He texted me about an hour ago. He found Remy at Rosewood. They’re having drinks,” Jade said and managed not to laugh about it. Something about the way the fading flowers around the patio were bent double was making the back of her neck prickle. A stray piece of paper – a napkin, it looked like, from God knew where – tumbled across the concrete and got stuck around the leg of a chair. One of the rosebushes rustled, hard, swaying like a drunk in the security light. “I don’t know whether to be pissed that he’s interfering, or think the whole thing’s cute – ”

             
The rest of her sentence died in a harsh breath. From the thorny stalks of a rose, a figure emerged, pale as death. At the back door, Keely growled low in her throat, and Jade watched as the specter on the patio took shape, light and wind and rain falling over it. For a handful of horrified seconds, all logic abandoned her, and she thought she was witnessing an actual ghost. Then recognition slammed into her as Alicia fell against the back door and pounded on it wildly with her fists.

             
“Jade!” Her voice was muffled by the door. “Jade, oh, God! I need some help! It’s – it’s Grace!”

             
She took a breath, remembered all that Ben had told her about Alicia Latham, and shoved it aside as her maternal instincts won out. She nudged a snarling Keely out of the way and threw the locks. Alicia was in her scrubs from work and a dark sweater fast taking on water. She was soaked to the bone, hair plastered to her face, eyes feral.

             
“Jade!” she gasped, and water ran down her face and into her open mouth. “Grace – Grace – oh,
God
! You have to come! You have to come help me!
My baby
!”

             
Jade flicked a glance over her shoulder at her mother, who stood wide-eyed and frozen beside the stovetop. “Jade, you can’t,” she whispered.