48. Jessica
September, Present Day
Maple Ridge
Kellan pullshis SUV to the curb. Troy’s waiting for me at the library’s front entrance, a new weariness lining his handsome features. The latest death threat and everything he’s got going on are clearly weighing heavily on him.
It’s my fault. It’s my fault. It’s my fault.
I’m the one who’s damaging Troy’s mental health. I’m the one who dumped more weight on the teeter-totter than he can balance.
“It’s better he knows about the note,” Kellan says from the driver’s seat, his gaze on his brother. “He’s a Marine. Our father and grandfather were Marines. Protecting people, especially those he loves, is in his blood.”
“I know, but I still wish he hadn’t heard about the newest threat.” I open the door and slide out of the passenger seat. “Thanks for the ride, Kellan…and for everything.” I shut the door.
Troy walks to the driver’s side of the SUV. Kellan puts the vehicle in park and gets out. The brothers exchange words. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I can guess what it’s about. Death threat number two.
I scan the area surrounding the library entrance and the nearby parking lot, my hypervigilance on high alert. I can’t shake the feeling I’m under surveillance, but there’s no sign of anyone paying attention to me. No protesters. No reporters. Nobody. Only a family is on the sidewalk, and neither of the kids nor the mother is looking my way.
Sunlight peeks through the breaks in the clouds that promise an early evening storm. The wind has picked up since Kellan and I dropped Bailey off at home. My hair blows into my face. I smooth it behind my ear.
Kellan gets back into his SUV, and Troy comes over to where I’m standing on the sidewalk. He hugs me, and I sink into his arms, enjoying his warmth and strength. I hadn’t realized how much I needed his hug, his touch, until now.
“Are you okay?” His breath brushes the side of my head.
“I’m fine.” Just don’t stop hugging me.
“New plan. You’re taking a sabbatical.”
I pull away. “Sabbatical?” I stare at him, trying to process what he’s getting at.
“Yes.” Troy smiles as if inordinately pleased with the idea. “You’re gonna take a sabbatical, during which time you’ll work on your novel. By the time you’ve finished it, people will have gotten over this ridiculous crap about you being a dangerous offender, and life can return to normal.”
“I can’t take a sabbatical.”
“Why not?”
“I haven’t been working for you all that long.” I bet a moment ago taking a sabbatical wasn’t even an option available to his employees.
“Well, given that I’m the employer, I decide the rules. For the sake of your mental well-being and your safety, you’re on paid sabbatical. As of now.”
Paid sabbatical? Is that even a thing?
“I’ll think about it,” I say, not really meaning it. I don’t want Troy put in the position of not having an assistant. He can’t do that role on top of everything else.
“There’s nothing to think about, Jess.”
The reason he’s so insistent hits me like a truck not stopping at a red light. It’s not only my mental health and safety at stake. His company will eventually be in trouble if his clients keep canceling because I’m his employee.
I’m a bigger burden than I’m worth.
“Maybe it would be better if I quit.” The words are softly spoken, each one slashing me from the inside.
“You’re not quitting, Jess. If you’re on sabbatical, my insurance will still cover your therapy. It’s the only solution.”
“How is you not having an assistant a solution?” My voice isn’t soft this time. It’s hard with determination. Determination to get him to see how he’s burying himself under too much weight of responsibility.
“I’ll figure something out, but your safety comes first.” He’s using that tone I recognize with him. He’s already made up his mind, no matter my opinion on the subject. “So, it’s agreed. You’re on sabbatical.”
“Fine.” The word sticks to the roof of my mouth, reluctant to be released despite the fact that he’s probably right—me being there isn’t good for anyone’s career. Not his, and not mine. “I’m on sabbatical. But it’s not paid. I have money I can live on in the meantime.” As long as the sabbatical is short term. I try to enthuse my response with the appropriate amount of excitement, but it’s hard to do that when the life I’ve been rebuilding is being yanked from under me.
And I’m worried. Worried Troy will do the job himself, along with everything else. Worried it will be the thing that finally breaks him.
* * *
“PushingLimits had to pull out of the festival lineup,” George Cromwell tells the twelve festival committee members who are at the emergency meeting.
A few muttered curses fly around the library conference room.
“Their drummer was in a car accident and is out of commission for the next month. They made a donation to the festival to make up for the inconvenience.”
“But we still stand to lose a lot of money if some or all of the ticket holders demand a refund,” Troy adds, appearing stoic to everyone but me. The strain is there in his features, recognizable if the others know what they’re looking for. It’s murky beneath the surface, but it’s still there.
“Shit!” The word shoots from Jason Barnes’s terse lips, his volume low but the intensity no less powerful. His cold gray eyes dart to me, and my stomach twists at the distrust in them. I shift in my seat and fiddle with my pen.
“You’ve got to admit that having Savannah Townsend participating in the festival planning isn’t ideal.” Stephanie Ross’s tone holds a lot less venom than Jason served up, but it still has a biting edge to it. Both are looking pointedly at me, leaving me itchy, raw, defeated, like I’m waiting for my turn in a witch trial, my death sentence already decided, the noose knotted around my neck.
“Savannah Townsend isn’t participating in the festival planning.” Troy levels his turbulent gaze at Stephanie and then Jason. His voice is stiff like the wind swaying the trees outside the window. The trees they want to hang me from. “Savannah Townsend doesn’t live in Maple Ridge.”
Stephanie’s brow wrinkles into a confused frown. “Sure she does. She’s right there.” She nods at me.
“That is Jessica Smithson.” Troy’s tone is firm, a silent warning for them not to venture into the territory they’re headed for.
“That’s the name I go by now,” I tell them, shame turning my body hot and cold.
“And Jessica didn’t cause the drummer to have the car accident,” he reminds them.
“The good news,” George says a little too brightly, his voice loud in an attempt to gain control of the meeting. “The good news is, all the costs are covered by the sponsorships. We won’t fall into the red. But we also won’t make as much money as we might have otherwise made when Pushing Limits was part of the lineup.”
All eyes turn back to me.
“Why didn’t you leave your husband if he was abusing you?” Stephanie asks, the bite of accusation in her tone masking any sympathy she might have otherwise felt for me.
The shame deepens, its icy fingers clawing inside me.
I touch the tattoo on my arm, the reminder of the most beautiful thing that came from my marriage. My beautiful little girl wouldn’t exist if not for it.
“We’re not here so you can judge Jessica.” Troy’s voice is calm, but the twitch in his jaw muscle betrays his anger at how the situation is spinning out of control, how I am now the target for their frustration.
The original reason for this meeting seems to have been quickly forgotten.
“We’re not judgin’ her,” Jason Barnes grumbles, his voice prickly, ignoring how he showed up at the marketing-committee meeting two weeks ago and blamed me for the reporters that were outside the library. “But you have to realize the risk she poses to the festival. The media will be coming to it. And we all remember how it was two weeks ago with the reporters in town ’cause of Savannah. Havin’ her involved in and at the festival will take away from what we’ve been workin’ hard to achieve.”
“And who’s to say Pushing Limits canceled because their drummer is injured?” Stephanie adds. “Maybe it was a convenient excuse after they heard Savannah Townsend is involved with the festival. They don’t want the bad press associated with that.”
Jason nods, his expression darkening. “Stephanie’s right. Savannah will steal the media’s attention away from the purpose of the event.” His gaze shifts to each person here, except for Troy and me. “It will end up being all about her”—he points at me—“and how she was wrongfully convicted of killin’ her husband.”
I look at Troy. Really look at him. He once pointed out the dark circles under my eyes due to my lack of sleep and the nightmares. Those same dark circles now plague Troy’s face.
He’s been working so hard on this festival—all the people here have been working hard on it—so no one else loses a friend the way he lost Colton, the way Olivia lost her husband, the way Nova lost her father.
My presence in Troy’s life is hurting his business and the festival. It’s even causing a rift in his family because his mother doesn’t trust me.
There’s nothing left for me to say, pain and frustration spreading through me like a deadly mold, other than…
“I respectfully resign from my volunteer position.” Emptiness leaks in with each word, but it must be done. I turn to Troy. “They’re right. If I’m involved in any way with the festival, my past might overshadow what you’re trying to achieve.”
Troy opens his mouth as if to argue my decision but then closes it and nods, his expression more worn than before. He knows Stephanie and Jason are right.
“With that decided”—Jason sits straighter, a smug smile on his tanned face—“Savannah, you should leave now since you are no longer part of the festival.”
The emptiness leaking in doesn’t waste time. It consumes me, takes away another piece of control I was fighting hard to reclaim. Takes away the feeling of making a difference I so desperately wanted. To feel needed. Worthy. Whole.
And I’m left with a lonely stretch of nothingness inside me.
* * *
An hour later,Troy finds me typing away in the corner of the library, my back to everyone.
“You ready to go home?”
“Yes.” I close my laptop and gather up my things. “How was the meeting?”
“The committee has a list of what we need to do to keep the damage from Pushing Limits pulling out to a minimum.”
He might not say it, but I can tell what he’s thinking. He’s not sure the suggestions will be enough.
He pulls me to my feet. “Your home or mine?” He kisses me, a barely-there pressure on my lips.
“Mine. All my research and craft books are there and there’s a plot point I need to sort out. Assuming you’re still serious about the sabbatical.” Which hopefully won’t last long—for both our sakes.
“Very serious. Until the cops figure out who’s been threatening you, I don’t want you alone at the office. We don’t know what kind of person we’re dealing with. They’re leaving notes now, but what’s next? Phone calls? Hiding in the parking lot, waiting for you to leave?”
Oh, God. The phone call. From a few weeks ago. I gasp, recalling it.
“What?” he ask quietly, so as not to draw any unwanted attention our way.
“It might be nothing, but a few weeks ago I answered the office phone. No one replied but there was a breathing noise on the other end, so I know someone was there.”
“There was?” Troy frowns. “Why am I only hearing about it now?”
“It didn’t seem like a big deal at the time. I thought maybe it was a prank call. Bored teens.”
“Did you mention it to Noah or Officer Hunt?”
“No. I’d forgotten it until you mentioned phone calls.” I grab my purse from the chair next to where I was sitting.
“Okay, I’ll let Noah know about it. Do you remember when it was?”
I think back to that day. “Two days before the protesters showed up and someone defaced my front door.”
So, almost three weeks ago.
Troy picks up my laptop. “Let’s get out of here and swing by my place so I can get Butterscotch and my stuff. And anything else you might need while you’re working from home.”
He doesn’t say it, but the implied, while you’re practically locked away so no one can hurt you settles in the air between us.