Chapter 10 Jake #3
His legs shook and he collapsed down on a plastic chair beside a water cooler.
Liv’s family entered the room, as if in slow motion, barely walking.
Tilly’s skin was a strange color, tan foundation mixed with a sickly pale-yellow base.
Charlotte and Burt’s faces were grim, stony.
All three stared across the room at Jake, as if seeing him for the first time. As if looking at him in a new light.
Charlotte broke the spell, rushing over to sit beside Jake.
“Jake. We know you didn’t do anything, okay? We know it wasn’t you. Don’t listen to those reporters.”
He nodded, putting his head in his hands. His whole body was shuddering now.
“Hey, hey. Don’t. You did great, and it’ll work. They’ll find her.” Charlotte’s voice was lower than usual, soothing. Like Liv’s.
He swiped at his damp face. He hadn’t realized he was crying.
The PR officer, Sandra, made her way over and crouched in front of him. “That went well — you did a good job with the statement. Now, is somebody driving you home?”
“I’m taking him,” Charlotte replied, not waiting for Jake to respond.
Jake wiped his face again, and met Sandra’s gaze. “I didn’t cry,” he sniffed. “I was too emotionless. They think it’s me.”
Sandra patted his knee. “No. No. They had to ask that: it’s an obvious question.
And don’t worry, you looked plenty distressed, believe me.
It went as well as it could have. You go home.
Get a good night’s rest, okay?” She patted him again, then rose, turning to Liv’s parents, who were standing motionless, just watching.
“I’m taking you home.” Charlotte pulled Jake to his feet. “Dad’s got Mom. Hang on, I’ll just say goodbye.” Jake watched as Charlotte hugged her parents, unable to cross the room to do the same. Despite Charlotte’s reassuring words, he didn’t know how he’d be received.
Charlotte guided Jake out of the room, along the corridor to a back exit. Outside was the rear parking lot where they were parked, away from the cameras. She drove efficiently to the exit where the car was buzzed out of the side gate.
Jake had half-expected a crowd of reporters to swarm the car, but there was nobody there, just a few TV crews on the sidewalk, packing up into vans.
“See?” Charlotte shrugged. “Nobody cares about us. They just had to ask those questions.”
Jake nodded, although he remained silent.
They drove wordlessly until Charlotte drew up outside Jake and Liv’s little yellow house. She looked at it for a moment, then said, “Have a good rest, Jake. I’ll call you later.”
“Thanks.”
Jake let himself inside, collapsing on the soft couch. But he was dirty — he was sullying the white linen covers. Dirty with sweat from the TV lights, from tears, from the grime of suspicion. Dirty from the dark look that the last reporter had given him. That Burt Grainger had thrown him.
It was you.
You did it.
It’s always the husband or boyfriend.
Jake’s skin crawled. He surged up off the couch, slipping out of the sports jacket, blue shirt, and dark jeans Sandra had carefully curated for the press conference.
Stepping into the gleaming white bathroom, he turned on the rainhead in the walk-in shower and, out of habit, threw his underwear in the wooden laundry box.
He caught himself in the oversized, wood-framed mirror, illuminated by the industrial-style light above it.
He barely recognized himself. He looked like a man possessed, haunted, his face drawn, too thin.
Jake stepped under the shower, standing for an age beneath the steaming hot water, letting it drip down his face, into every crevice, his nose and eyes. Washing him clean. He wanted to drown in it.
There was so much space in this glass-encased shower.
Liv had insisted on it. They’d often showered together.
She’d distract him from washing, pushing her wet body up behind his, rubbing against him, her skin slippery, warm, erotic.
He’d step too far under the rainhead’s wide torrent, making him splutter.
He’d kiss her, laughing, streams of water and the tendrils of Liv’s long, wet hair getting in their mouths.
He’d guide her back against the herringbone marble tile, lifting her leg onto the little bench, holding her arms above her head, pushing himself into her, making her cry out. She was loud when they were at home.
Jake closed his eyes, allowing a tiny half-smile at the memory.
The first smile in more than a week — since Liv had last touched him, at the lake.
She could almost be here with him now. These rivulets of water could be the gentle touch of her fingertips down his body, caressing his back, his butt, his chest, his rapidly thickening penis.
He held himself in his right hand, not too hard, as if it was her gentle grip.
He leaned with his left hand high above his head against the tile, feeling Liv beneath him, imagining her long legs wrapped around him.
He pumped rapidly until he came with a soft yell, collapsing against the hard, tiled wall.
Empty. Alone.