Chapter 10 #2
I’m careful about what I say next—more careful than usual. “But you … the people here … You spend a lot of time alone. And …” Ugh. I’m trying to find a way to ask him without insulting him further. The last thing I ever want to do is add to Jesse’s pain or discomfort.
“Because I’m not at the top of all the guest lists?” he says easily. “Young adults my age have lifelong groups of friends and I’m overlooked? Because my own colleagues sometimes make me the brunt of their jokes?”
“All of that. I’d think you would want to go somewhere else. Find a new place to establish yourself—a clean slate—somewhere that isn’t riddled with old and misguided opinions about who you are.”
“They’re not completely misguided,” he says, humbly.
His smile when he looks over at me is soft and warm. The look he gives me sends zips of awareness skittering over my skin.
“Thanks for saying all that, though,” he says. “You seem to see the best in me.”
“I just see you,” I say.
A silence stretches between us. We’re both fixing our attention on the neighborhood around us, but our conversation lingers in the air, a living presence, begging for more attention.
“I stay here because it’s home,” Jesse says, thoughtfully. “My mom’s here. My dad passed years ago. And these people, say what you will, love me in their own way. They’d miss me if I left. And I’d miss them.”
He goes quiet as if he’s considering the option of living somewhere else for the first time in his entire life—as if I just ripped a hole in the bubble he’s been living in and he’s peering out through it with real consideration.
“I may not have a group of friends knocking on my door at all hours, pulling me out of my shell, dragging me to barbecues and holiday parties,” he says, matter-of-factly.
“But I do belong here. There’s something to be said about growing up in one place—the same place your parents and grandparents grew up—and committing yourself to that town and those people, for better or worse.
Every place we live will have strengths and weaknesses. I’m known here. I’m comfortable.”
He looks over at me and unapologetically says, “Bordeaux is my home.”
I smile back at him. “I wasn’t trying to get you to leave.”
“I should hope not,” he says with an amused smile.
I try to imagine Bordeaux without Jesse, and I just can’t. It would be a lot less warm and welcoming—for me, anyway. Maybe what I’ve come to like so much about this place has a lot more to do with him than I realized.
“What’s that?” Jesse asks, interrupting our conversation and drawing us back to the job at hand.
I peer in the direction he’s pointing.
Jaxon is walking across the street, heading down the walkway between the Dippity Do and the hardware store. He has a large bag slung over his back as if he’s Santa, only it’s a trash bag and it appears to be stuffed full.
“I don’t want to assume the worst,” Jesse says.
“We should check it out.”
“How about I pull around to the town square and roll the window down? That way it looks like we’re just passing by—not stalking him.”
“Perfect,” I agree.
We drive around the block, faster than our usual crawl, and end up across from the town square just as Jaxon appears on the sidewalk.
Jesse rolls down the patrol car window. My heartbeat kicks up, an unexpected reaction to staring down a teen with a trash bag, but I’m on alert in case things escalate.
“Hey, Jaxon,” Jesse says, his tone congenial.
Jaxon looks at us, his expression drawn tight. He glances to his left and then back at us. I follow his line of sight, not seeing anything in particular worth noting.
“Uh, hey, Jesse.”
“Whatcha got in the bag?” Jesse asks. “Looks heavy. Do you need a lift?”
Smooth.
“Nah. I’ve got it. Thanks.”
I lean over thinking, good cop, bad cop. “Do you mind showing us what’s in the bag, Jaxon?”
His face scrunches up, but then he sets it down. He opens the drawstring enough so that we can see in.
“Decorations,” he says, sheepishly.
Jesse and I exchange a look. This is not good.
“Do you mind me asking where you got those?” Jesse asks. “I’m not accusing you of anything, Jaxon. Just with all the Christmas décor disappearing, I’m sure you’ll understand our need to check into this.”
“I understand,” Jaxon says, ducking his head and avoiding eye contact. He reaches into his back pocket and I unbuckle my seatbelt, ready to chase him if it comes to that.
It is Bordeaux. Where would he run to? The town is about four or five square miles and then it’s corn fields in all directions until you get to the next small town. But still, I’m prepared for a chase if it comes to that.
Jaxon pulls out a receipt and steps away from the open bag to hand it to Jesse through the window. “I got these at the thrift store. I want to decorate my room.”
Jesse looks the receipt over, hands it to me, and turns his attention back to Jaxon. “Why didn’t you say so at first?”
“I dunno? I guess I didn’t want anyone to think anything about a guy decorating his room with holiday stuff.”
“I won’t tell a soul,” Jesse promises Jaxon.
I peer around Jesse, handing Jaxon the receipt. “I won’t either. And just so you know, if I were a teen girl, I’d totally go for the guy who decorated his bedroom over the one who didn’t—if you wanted a woman’s perspective.”
“Yeah?” Jaxon gives me a shy smile.
“Totally.”
Jaxon nods, turns and picks up the bag and slings it over his shoulder. Then he asks, “Am I free to go?”
“Of course,” Jesse says. “Stay safe.”
Jesse rolls the window up and looks over at me. “We make a good pair.”
Not a team—a pair.
“Agreed,” I say, feeling the heat crawl up my neck.
“And I don’t think the boys stole the baby Jesus,” he says. “I haven’t suspected them for a while, but this confirms my hunch. I’ll be shocked if it turns out to be them.”
“Do you think it’s Kate?” I ask.
“Not really. But you can’t be sure. She’s got motive, and so far she’s the only one who seems to.”
Jesse pulls away from the curb. We’re driving down State Street when he turns to me and asks, “What about you? Why Bordeaux? Out of all the towns you could have chosen, why here?”
The streets roll past in a quiet rhythm; it feels safe enough to let him in a little more.
“Well, I knew about Bordeaux because of Lexi and Memaw. But I never in a million years imagined living here—or anywhere in Ohio or the midwest for that matter. Where I’m from, we call these the fly-over states.”
“Wow.”
“I know,” I admit. “Nice.” I shake my head. “I wanted to join the NYPD. When I thought of policework it was chasing criminals down alleys, investigating murders, breaking up trafficking rings.”
“Heavy duty.” He pauses, turns to look at me and then fixes his attention back on the road. “But you could do all that. I have no doubt.”
I scoff, not at him, but at the contrast between his reaction and Marco’s. I’m not still hung up on my ex, but the damage he did to my self-confidence is still under repair.
“Well, I had a boyfriend at the time I was considering entering the academy.”
“Okay.”
“We broke up.” I don’t know why I feel the need to make that so abundantly clear. I just want Jesse to know for certain there’s no other man in the picture.
“What happened?—If you don’t mind my asking.”
“I don’t mind. He had a certain life plan in mind—one he failed to share with me until I announced that I wanted to go into the police force. That was when he basically told me where I fit into his picture. In the house, cleaning, cooking, serving him.”
“Wow.”
“I have nothing against those traditional roles. I’d love to cook for a man, care for our home. Hopefully as a team, not an unpaid laborer, but still. I don’t have anything against a life where I’m all domestic.”
He chuckles at my phrasing.
“I just want to matter as a whole individual—one with goals and input. And I had this dream of pursuing policework. If he had been concerned for my safety, or even wanted to talk about how all the pieces would fit together, I would have been open to a conversation. But he dismissed my dream in a few sentences. It wasn’t up for discussion. ”
“I’m sorry,” Jesse says.
“Yeah. I am too. But not that my relationship with Marco ended. I’m just sorry that anyone would feel that way about another person’s dreams.”
Jesse nods. We drive past Bud’s Liquors. Cooter stumbles out, waving at us. Jesse waves back. Then we pull around past the Community Center and park near the high school.
“He got under my skin,” I tell Jesse.
“Your ex?”
“Yeah. I knew it would be hard—entering any force as a female officer. As much as I tried to compartmentalize Marco’s reaction, he planted seeds that made me self-conscious about how I’d fit in. I came into the job assuming everyone was waiting for me to mess up.”
Jesse smiles softly at me across the cab. “I’ve always felt that way, and I’m not even a female officer.”
“You’re a great cop,” I tell him. I want to say, and a great man, but I hold my tongue.
“So are you,” he says. “I’m glad you joined the force here.”
Outside, the streetlights glow yellow on snowbanks. Inside the cruiser, the tension between us crackles, or at least that’s what it feels like from my side of the patrol car. Jesse’s eyes are on the road, his quiet presence a temptation and a comfort.
I remind myself of Memaw’s advice.
Breadcrumbs.
I’m going to leave a trail of them.
Because a man like Jesse doesn’t come along every day, and I want him to know I’m definitely interested in pursuing more with him.