Chapter 33
“Emmie, it’s Jakob.”
I rouse from a fitful nap at the firm knock on my hotel room door.
It’s been a little over five hours since my panicked phone call to him, which means he basically jumped in the car and drove straight to Vancouver as soon as we hung up.
The sight of him through the peephole makes me go limp with relief.
When I open the door, he holds up two grease-stained brown paper bags with Fatburger logos on them.
“Cool place,” he deadpans, and sets the bags on the brown fake wood laminated table.
“Thank you for coming to help me.” I fidget with a strand of my still-damp hair.
I’m hesitant about how to approach him after our explosive late-night scene in the kitchen.
I kissed him senseless, then begged him to leave me alone, and then called him asking him to drop everything and come all the way to Canada to help me.
And he came. That’s what amazes me. He came.
He eyes the brown flowered comforter on the king bed, then opts to lean against the wall, leaving the chair for me.
“Sit, sit,” I urge him, perching on the foot of the bed.
It’s been such a disaster of a day that a dubiously clean comforter is the least of my problems. I dive into the greasy paper bag, finding a cheeseburger, fries, and a strawberry milkshake.
“Oh, this is amazing.” I groan in appreciation, mouth already full of a big bite of burger.
He takes the chair and fishes a fry out of his bag.
“I stopped by the hotel and took a look at your car. I think it probably needs a new starter. I called a tow truck, and they’re towing it right now to the shop of a buddy of mine from the Marines.
He married a Canadian girl, and now he owns a mechanic shop in south Vancouver, pretty close to here.
As a favor he’s going to take a look at the car tonight even though his shop is closed.
He’ll let me know what’s wrong with it. He’s a good guy. I trust him.”
“Thank you,” I say fervently. I dip a fry in my milkshake, overwhelmed with a feeling of relief at having someone take care of this, take care of me.
It feels like such a luxury. Dealing with cars has never been my strong suit.
My dad always handled car-related things before he died.
Since his decline, Mom and I have muddled through on our own.
“Thank you for coming even after…what happened the other night,” I say quietly.
He chews a fry and looks at me, assessing. “Why?” he asks.
“Why what?” I’m not sure what he’s asking.
“Why are you fighting whatever is between us? Are you really so against the idea of being with me that you won’t even give it a chance?” He takes a bite of burger without taking his eyes off me. I see a flicker of hurt in his stare.
I stall for time, dipping fries in the milkshake, trying to formulate a kind but evasive answer. I find it hard to think under his penetrating icy-blue gaze.
“I’m just not sure it’s the right thing for us to be together,” I finally reply.
“Liar,” Jakob says calmly.
I stare at him in surprise. I forgot who I was dealing with. This is Jakob, high school debate champion. He’s got a razor-sharp mind, keen instincts, and a habit of tenaciously digging to get to the root of a matter, no matter what.
“What are you not telling me, Emmie?” he asks pointedly.
I hesitate, feeling caught.
He arches a brow. “I’ve got all night and nowhere to be,” he says, leaning back and crossing his legs at the ankle, a mild threat to wait me out.
For a moment I waver. Should I tell him?
Try to deflect? Claim confusing feelings for Henry, which is not a lie?
But Jakob knows me well. He can read me, and I have a feeling there’s no way he’s going to settle for less than the truth.
He sits there patiently, eating fries like he’s got all the time in the world. Eating fries he brought to me in CANADA when he drove three and a half hours to bail me out, even after I’d rejected him for the second time in our lives. If anyone deserves the truth, it’s him.
“Okay, you want to know what’s really going on?”
“Are you finally going to tell me the truth?” he asks calmly.
So while I eat my burger and finish my fries, I tell him everything, about the gift given to the women in our family, about my great-grandmother Signe’s candle. And then I tell him about what I saw in my vision.
When I’m done, he takes a long drink of his soda until the straw makes the loud sputtering sound signaling more air than liquid going through it. Then he puts down the cup and fixes me with a disbelieving stare.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he says flatly.
I’m taken aback by his response. “I’m serious.”
Jakob frowns at me. “Are you in love with Henry Summers?” His question is blunt and to the point. I hesitate. Is that what he got from my explanation? I thought there was a lot more nuance to it.
“Well…not exactly. Not yet.”
He raises a skeptical brow. “But you think he’s the best choice for you, the man you could see a future with?”
Again, I hesitate. I think of Henry jetting off around the world as Gus and I stay behind, I think of his sweet but awkward way with my son, and those goodnight kisses that always feel…nice, but not knees-to-jelly fantastic.
And then I let my gaze drift to Jakob. I picture all the times he’s patiently guided Gus to use a tool correctly, his big roughened hand covering my son’s small one as he shows him the correct way to measure, cut, or hammer a nail.
I see him kneading dough, forearms straining.
Those same hands pinning me firmly to the marble table as he kissed me like he was dying of thirst and I was cool, clear water.
“Um…”
“Thought so,” Jakob says, sounding smug.
He picks up his soda and takes another noisy sip that’s mostly air, then rattles his ice in the cup.
“So let me get this straight. You blew out a candle and saw a vision of what you think your destiny is, and because Henry walked into the shop and you found a floaty yellow dress, you’re going to base all your decisions on that five-second vision, regardless of what you really want? ”
It sounds idiotic when he states it like that.
“You don’t understand. It’s my purpose in life…” I start to protest. “It’s the best thing for me. It’s what I want…” It sounds lame even to my ears when I say it.
“Is it though?” Jakob cuts me off. He leans forward, elbows on his knees.
He’s got his argument face on. I recognize it from our debate tournaments all those years ago.
“I mean, if you really want Henry, by all means, go ahead. But can you honestly say you haven’t thought about what it would be like between us?
You haven’t wondered or wanted more when I’ve kissed you?
Because frankly, Emmie, you don’t seem like a woman who’s in love with someone else. You certainly don’t kiss like one.”
He sits back and folds his arms across his chest, eyeing me coolly.
My cheeks flame hot with embarrassment under his gaze.
I feel so agitated I could pop. Not because he’s wrong, but because he’s so right.
He’s right, but I’m afraid. If I follow my heart, what will happen?
How could the vision possibly come true?
What if I mess everything up? It seems too risky, no matter what I feel for Jakob Kristensen.
I’m stuck between my fear and my desire.
“I’m not sure what I want,” I mutter, a little petulant.
Jakob shakes his head and swears, low and exasperated. “I can’t believe this,” he says. “At least the last time you broke my heart it was because you were going after something you really wanted. But this?”
He’s out of the chair and to the bed in a split second, looming over me.
I shrink backward on the scratchy polyester comforter as he leans over me, bracing his arms on either side of my body.
I feel a thrill, not of fear but of anticipation.
But he doesn’t kiss me. His gaze bores into mine.
He’s so close I see the silver shot through the ice blue of his irises, the pale blond of his thick lashes.
He pins me to the bed with that gaze. He smells like Sprite and french fries and rising bread dough and sawdust. I want to bite into him, into the softness of his lower lip, but the steel of his gaze stops me cold.
“You know we’re good together, Emmie,” he murmurs.
“And I think that scares you. You let everything else be in control of your life but you. Your martyr complex lets you focus on and fix everyone’s problems but your own.
If you’re too scared to admit what you really want, by all means enjoy weak tea and dry kisses with Henry.
But just remember what you’re throwing away when you do.
Because I think we could have been great, if you’d just had the courage to give this a chance. ”
Then he straightens abruptly, leaving me half prone on the ugly comforter, heart pounding, breathing in shallow bursts. He checks his phone and frowns.
“My buddy found the problem. Looks like it was a bad starter. He’s replacing the part and your car will be ready in fifteen minutes.” He glances at me, his gaze angry and dismissive. “Come on, I’ll drive you to the mechanic shop.”
He doesn’t look at me as he stalks out the door, nor does he glance my way on the seemingly interminable drive to get my car. At the mechanic shop, he introduces me to his buddy Dave, and they exchange a few words.
“Good to see you, man. Give me a call when you come south of the border again,” Jakob says, shaking Dave’s hand. “I’ll buy you a beer. I owe you one for helping us out.”
Then he gives me a curt nod. “Drive safe, Emmie,” he says, and then he gets into the cab of his truck and pulls away, disappearing fast around a corner. Miserably, I go inside to pay the repair bill and retrieve my car.
On the long drive home, Jakob’s words ricochet in my mind like a pinball in a machine. Against the angsty wails of Bonnie Raitt and Emmylou Harris, I hear his challenge to me. Over and over I picture his face hovering so close above mine, the frustration and the longing in his eyes.
He loves you, a voice in my head whispers, and I know it’s true.
Jakob has loved me since we were teenagers.
He loves faithfully and sacrificially. I hurt him, and rejected him, and still he came for me.
I’m afraid of how I feel about him, afraid that I love him too, against my better judgment.
What do I do? Go with my heart or trust the process that has guided my family for generations?
I think of Mom’s admonition to follow my heart and trust that everything will work out, but I don’t see how it could.
I’m afraid if I take control of my life and follow my heart, I’ll mess it all up.
I feel trapped and panicky. What if I make the wrong decision?
Windows down and the hot night breeze blowing through the car, I head south toward home. I’m exhausted and disappointed and heartsick. With every mile I can’t shake the feeling that I’m letting something amazing slip through my fingers once more.