Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Jason
My head is spinning, my thoughts a fucked-up mass of confusion and despair. The feel of Angie, the taste of her, does nothing to subdue my unease. Instead, it only amplifies it—makes everything more real, more desperate.
Which only fuels my need for her.
I deepen the kiss, tangling my tongue with hers.
She tastes like sunshine and something that’s uniquely hers. I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her closer, desperately needing to feel the warmth of her body against mine.
We kiss and we kiss and we kiss…until she breaks away to inhale a sharp breath.
“Jason,” she whispers.
The sound of my name on her lips sends me reeling, and my need grows, blooms.
I press my lips to hers again, losing myself in her. She clutches at my shirt, first pushing but then pulling, bringing us even closer.
God, I could so easily lose myself completely in her body, in her soul.
But reality is a harsh anchor.
HR.
Lindsay.
The note.
I break away. I can’t let those thoughts intervene when I’m kissing Angie.
“Jason.” Her forehead is wrinkled, her eyes concerned. “What’s wrong?”
I stare at her for a moment, grappling with the words I need to say. Lindsay. Julia. The note.
My wife.
Perhaps she didn’t kill herself?
Or at least… She didn’t write that suicide note.
But then my phone buzzes.
The reminder I set.
I have to go.
Dinner with Barry and Lisa Davis, my former in-laws. Tonight I’ll face the two people who produced my wife, muddle through their mementos to find samples of their daughter’s handwriting. All while trying to keep them from bursting into tears.
“I’m sorry, Angie.” I pull away and reach for my phone. “I need to go.”
Disappointment clouds her beautiful face. “What? Now?”
“Yes,” I reply. “I have dinner plans with some…old friends.”
She frowns. “I didn’t know you had plans.”
“I forgot until just now,” I admit.
Barry and Lisa, of course, aren’t old friends. They’re the last connection I have to Lindsay.
“Oh, okay.” Angie’s voice is small. She swallows hard, and questions burn in her eyes.
But I can’t answer her questions right now.
Not while my world is spinning out of control.
What if Lindsay didn’t take her own life?
And if she didn’t?
No way will I find her killer.
It’s been three years.
Three years.
All because I couldn’t bear to read her suicide note.
If I’d read it, I’d have seen then that the writing wasn’t hers.
I reach out a hand to cup Angie’s face. She leans into my touch, her gaze searching mine.
“I promise it’s not about us, Angie,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper. “I’ll explain tomorrow, okay?”
She nods, disappointment still etched on her face. I hate to leave her like this, with unanswered questions and a cloud of mystery. But right now I don’t have the strength to explain everything.
“Okay,” she finally says. “I trust you, Jason.”
The words hit me like a steam engine, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. She trusts me. That’s something I can’t take lightly.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” I kiss her lips.
She nods and says nothing more. Just closes the door behind me when I leave.
As I drive to Barry and Lisa’s, I can’t help but think of Lindsay. Of the life we built together and how it all crumbled in the blink of an eye. The what-ifs and could-haves play in my head like a broken record.
The note.
The handwriting.
Anxiety knots in my stomach.
Pulling up to their house is like stepping into another life. The house is large and welcoming—the house where our wedding reception took place, Lindsay’s baby shower, the party after Julia’s christening.
So many family dinners.
Julia took her first steps to her grandma here.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself before exiting the car.
Lisa opens the door and greets me with a warm smile. “Jason.” She wraps me in a tight hug. “It’s so good to see you.”
Her words are genuine, but they hit me like a gut punch. It isn’t good to see them. It never is, because all it does is remind me of Lindsay.
Barry and Lisa have found their peace. They had no choice. They have two other children who need them. Grandchildren who need them. They’ll always mourn the loss of Lindsay and Julia, but they’ve moved on.
They had to.
But me? I was stuck. Stuck in a whirlpool of grief and regret that kept sucking me back in, no matter how hard I tried to swim away. And then, when I found Angie, learned about the surgery…
Things cleared up, if only a little bit.
And now I’m back in the fucking whirlpool.
“I brought down some of Lindsay’s old things,” Lisa says as she invites me to take a seat in the living room. “You said you wanted to see her handwriting?”
“Yes.” God, my mouth is dry. “Could I bother you for some water?”
Barry rises. “Where are my manners? I haven’t offered you a drink.” He gestures toward the wet bar in the kitchen. “You still like bourbon? I got this great one from one of my associates. I think he was trying to impress me.”
“It’s tempting, but I’m driving and all.” Plus, bourbon won’t do much for my parched mouth. “Just water would be great.”
“Good man. I can’t tell you how many of my partners I’ve had to get out of DUI charges.” He heads to the wet bar and returns with a highball glass full of ice water.
“Thank you.” I take a sip.
Doesn’t help.
Lisa hands me a box that’s worn at the edges. It’s filled with letters, postcards, and a few diaries. Some of her old high school yearbooks as well. As I rummage through them, memories of Lindsay come flooding back. Her laugh. Her smile. The way her eyes lit up when she was excited.
I open one of the diaries. It feels like an invasion of her privacy, but the need for answers outweighs my guilt.
This one was written during college. She writes of classes, of friends, and…of meeting me.
I’m writing this down because if I don’t, I might explode. Like, actually combust into a pile of ashes.
His name is Jason.
He sat next to me in Psych today. He’s tall, and his dark hair is messy in that effortlessly hot way. But his eyes—oh my God…
They’re so brilliantly green, like the velvet lining of a jewelry box. He wore Levi’s and a faded Springsteen T-shirt. I don’t even like the Boss, but I may give him another try…
He asked to borrow a pen. I gave him my favorite one. The blue gel pen with the perfect glide. Then he smiled. Not just a “thanks for the pen” smile. A real one. The kind that tugs at the corners of your stomach and makes you forget what your own name is.
He didn’t ask for my number. I didn’t offer it. But he said, “See you Wednesday,” and he said it like he meant it.
I don’t know what this is. I don’t know who he is.
I miss Jersey. I do. But for the first time since I got here, I feel a little less lost.
I can’t help a sad smile. I loved that T-shirt. I got it at a concert my senior year of high school, and damn, Lindsay did hate Springsteen. We almost broke up over it. At least, that was the line I gave her. I was kidding, of course.
Her handwriting fills the page…but I have nothing to compare it to.
I deliberately left the suicide note back at my townhome.
No way could I take it out in front of Barry and Lisa. It would bring back too many painful memories—memories they’ve learned to cope with.
“May I take some of this with me?” I ask.
“Of course.” Lisa tilts her head. “But you’re the one who gave us most of this after Lindsay passed, Jason. You said it was too painful for you to have such reminders.”
I clear my throat. “A lot of time has passed. I’d like to have more mementos now.”
Lisa nods. “Take whatever you need,” she says.
I gather a few letters and the diary while Lisa excuses herself. “I need to get dinner on the table. I made baked ziti, Jason. I remember how much you used to love it.”
I give her a weak smile. Lisa is a wonderful cook.
I used to joke about how Lindsay hadn’t inherited that quality.
Lindsay wasn’t a bad cook by any means, but she hated doing it.
We shared kitchen duty, and on weekends we went out.
After Julia was born, we didn’t go out as much. Thank God for food delivery apps.
It sounds like Lisa changed the menu when she learned I was coming. The stone of guilt in my stomach doubles in size.
Barry talks about his current caseload, and I give the impression of listening. At least I try to. I give another weak smile and then silently thank the universe when Lisa calls us in to dinner. Now I’ll have something to do with my mouth other than talk.
Don’t get me wrong. I like Barry and Lisa. I always have.
They’re good people, and they raised three awesome children.
But looking at Lisa is like looking at future Lindsay. Lindsay’s brother and sister both favor Barry, but Lindsay was always a dead ringer for Lisa.
Sitting there, at their dining table, partaking in their familial comfort, I feel like I’m drowning. I see Lindsay in every corner of the house, hear her laugh in the soft hum of conversation, feel her presence like a ghost that refuses to be banished.
“It really is wonderful to see you, Jason,” Lisa says between bites. “I was just saying to Barry the other day how much we’ve missed getting to see you.”
I give my bit of food a few extra chews to put off responding to her. Finally, I swallow. “Yeah, well, I guess life has been pretty busy with my new position at the medical school.”
“How is that going?” Barry asks. “Lisa and I always thought you’d be a great teacher. You have a great temperament. You were so great with little Julia—”
I drop my fork.
Lisa widens her eyes, glares at her husband for a second, and then returns to me, her gaze softened. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’m sure you don’t like talking about her. Or about Lindsay.”
I shake my head. “No. I loved them. I’d be a sorry excuse for a father and husband if I simply pretended they didn’t exist.”
“Right on that one.” Barry takes a drink of his bourbon. “And you were a great husband, Jason. Have no doubt about that. Lindsay worshiped the ground you walked on. Especially after that creep she dated in high school.” He strokes his chin. “What was his name again? Rolland? Roderick?”
“Ronny,” I answer dryly. “Ronny Burgundy.”
Lindsay rarely mentioned him, but the name was easy to remember.
So similar to the character Will Ferrell played in Anchorman.
I didn’t know much about the guy, but he apparently flew off the handle when Lindsay ended things between them.
He stalked her and her family to the point where they all left New Jersey and came to Colorado.
“I haven’t thought about that awful boy in years,” Lisa says. “Though I suppose we all owe him for getting Lindsay and us out here to Colorado. She would never have met you otherwise.”
Fuck.
I nod slowly to mask the thoughts raging inside me.
Yeah, Lindsay fled New Jersey and came to Colorado, where she met me. And then she married me, had a kid with me. A kid who died in the car I was driving.
And then Lindsay was dead a year later.
Maybe they should have taken their chances in fucking Jersey. She’d still be alive.
“I know what you’re thinking, Jason.” Barry looks at me, his eyes crinkled with empathy. “But you have to know that neither Lisa nor I blame you for… For what happened. It was a terrible thing. Lisa actually dragged me to a shrink for a couple of sessions.”
My ears perk up at that. After Lindsay was failed by our psychiatrist, her own parents tried therapy?
I try to keep my face nonchalant as I ask, “You did?”
Barry nods. “I was in terrible denial. I kept thinking there was no way that Lindsay—our little spot of sunshine—would ever do something like what she ended up doing. I even took a second mortgage on the house to hire a private investigator to look into it.” He smiles toward his wife.
“Luckily Lisa made me come to my senses before I threw all our retirement funds into an investigation. We paid the PI for his time—it had only been a few days at that point—and sent him on his way. Lisa had done a couple of therapy sessions and invited me to come along. I thought she was going to be a quack, but she actually did help us process the loss and move forward.”
Lisa’s lip trembles, but she maintains her composure. “We’ll always miss Lindsay and Julia, but at least we’ve learned to live with the grief.” She reaches across the table and places her hand on mine. “I hope you’ve been able to do the same, Jason.”
I take a deep breath in. “Good days and bad days. As I’m sure is the case for you two.”
We finish dinner in silence. Dessert comes and goes, a decadent tiramisu that would’ve had Lindsay asking for seconds. It is delicious, but I’m so ready to get out of here. I got what I came for.
And a lot that I didn’t.
Lindsay’s ghost lives here.
That’s a big part of the reason I sold our house after she died. I couldn’t bear to see her in every corner.
I rise abruptly after refusing Lisa’s offer of coffee. “I should go.” I gesture to the letters and journal. “Thank you for these.”
“Can’t you stay a bit longer?” Lisa asks. “You’re our only link…” Her voice fades off.
“Easy, Lis,” Barry says.
“I’m sorry.” I sigh. “It’s just difficult to be here. I’m sure you understand.”
“Of course.” Barry pats me on the back. “Take care, Jason. We’re here if you need us.”
Then everything blurs as I leave the house and get into my car.