11. Jake #3
“Then we’re all good. You can continue to despise your dead father and his second family from a safe distance, and I can plant grapes for ice wine on the land you sold back to us. Life will go on for both of us, as if these two nights never even happened.”
I really hate that.
I despise that it’s irrational for me to hate that. I don’t want a relationship. I don’t want to come back to Empire ever, and I certainly don’t want a relationship with anybody from Empire. My future is crystal clear and my solitude is a given.
But as a result of the above, there is no Mackenzie in my future, and that bites the wall.
She takes the turn toward Candace’s house. “Have you considered that your father may have made them the way they are, just the way he influenced you into becoming the way you are?”
“What do you mean?” I’m prickly about this idea but don’t say more.
“I mean you’re self-sufficient and expect nothing from anyone.
That has to be at least partly because your father didn’t give you much.
But they’ve been given everything, from the day they were born until this week.
It only makes sense that they feel entitled.
They’ve always gotten everything they wanted, without working for it or even asking for it.
How could you expect them to be otherwise? ”
I have no answer for that.
“They’re not my favourite people in the world,” Mackenzie continues, easing to a halt outside the gates. “But I think they’ve had a tougher week than you have. Everything has changed for them. Essentially nothing has changed for you.” She gives me a look. “You might try being kind.”
People do not chastise me, not anymore.
Except maybe Mackenzie.
I study her, expecting her to be annoyed or stern, but she looks disappointed. That makes me feel like the biggest loser on the planet, and that, my friends, is not how I wanted this night to end.
“You’re right,” I say, because she is. “I’ll try.”
She almost smiles, a light dawning in her eyes that is an enormous relief. “Good.”
I study her but she keeps her gaze lowered. “You could call me when you’re in Toronto, you know.” She looks up, surprised. “Anytime. Devil you know and all that.”
Mackenzie smiles. “You know I won’t.”
Yes. I know she won’t. I am uncharacteristically conflicted about this.
I don’t want to have no prospect of seeing Mackenzie again, but then, I never want to disappoint her, which would be inevitable.
I don’t regret our time together and I hate that it’s over, even though I know this is how it has to be.
I guess this moment is what they call bittersweet.
On impulse, I lean across the console and kiss her cheek. Even I’m surprised by my move. “Take care of yourself, Mackenzie.” My voice is husky. I can’t help it. She got to me, in all the right ways.
“Don’t be too much of an asshole, Jake,” she replies, her voice light, and I smile.
“Don’t go asking for the impossible. I am what I am and all that.”
“Maybe you’re some other things, too,” she says, but I know she isn’t going to explain.
If she sees anything good in me, that’s a win.
I get out of the car and close the door, turn away and start walking.
I hear her put the SUV in gear. I hear the car tires in the gravel at the end of the drive, but I don’t look back.
There’s no point. I just trudge up the laneway to my car, parked in the shadows outside the house.
All the lights are out, a clear message that no one expects me back tonight – or would let me in if I did come back.
Try being kind.
Is Mackenzie right? I suspect this lot would run right over me if I was kind, interpreting any slack as weakness on my part.
It’s a nice thought, though, or maybe a thought from a nicer person than me.
Mackenzie is probably right about their week being more traumatic than mine, and I play with the idea of being less draconian in the morning than I’ve already planned.
Is there a kinder gentler way to achieve the same end?
That I’m even wondering is a hint at Mackenzie’s influence over me, and that’s worth a think, too. It’s probably good that I’m leaving and not coming back. She’s just a little too interesting for me to avoid, if there was the temptation of proximity.
Mackenzie is long gone when I see it. There’s a mark on my car, one that glimmers in an evil way. I bend down to look in disbelief, running my finger over the gash to verify that it’s real.
It’s real.
Someone has keyed my car, leaving a jagged line in the paint that runs the full length of the driver’s side. It goes from the headlight to the taillight, straight across my door where I can’t miss it.
Not just that, but they’ve dug their weapon of choice in deep. I swear the side panel is dented, like someone ran a router down the side of the car. It’s more than the paint that’s damaged.
And that wasn’t an accident.
It’ll cost a fortune to repair.
I look up at the house and a curtain moves on the second floor, evidence that someone was watching.
This was done deliberately, a little present for Jake the executor.
The possibility of being kind is out the window. This was an act of war.
No more Mr. Nice Guy, no matter how tough their week has been.