Chapter 28 Jake
Jake carried his surfboard across the sand, weaving his way between groups of early evening beachgoers.
He was definitely feeling better than he had earlier that day.
His surf had been a good one, and nobody he’d chatted with out on the water had said anything about Liv.
Things were getting quieter on that front, which seemed like both a good and a bad thing.
There hadn’t been any mention of Liv in the news for more than a week now.
And that most recent story was the Atlantic article, which seemed to have served as a kind of punctuation mark on the whole debacle.
The public frenzy and social media commentary had died down, for which Jake was thankful.
Onto the next big story — another scandal about a TV mogul exposed for coercing an intern into oral sex in exchange for a staff job.
And the only thing Jake had seen on social media about Liv in the past few days was the Facebook page Annabelle had set up.
‘Find Olivia Grainger’, it was titled, as if demanding a proactive approach from the public. There was also a Twitter feed, and an Instagram page on which to post reels made up of photos and video clips of Liv. His sister-in-law knew what she was doing.
Annabelle’s plan for the Facebook page was to write occasional blog posts about the investigation, share the friendlier news pieces like the Atlantic story, keep the page’s followers up to date on the search for Liv — what search there still was — and give them a platform to share any pertinent information.
Not that there was much more news to share, or even any more police work going on, as far as Jake could tell.
Jake shook the salt water from his hair and strolled into Randy’s surf shop.
He’d barely slept last night, and had loafed around in his briefs all day, failing to focus on the book Ed had lent him.
He’d given up around five, throwing on his board shorts and T-shirt, and stacking his board on the roof of the Audi for the first time in weeks.
It had felt good to be out on the water again, the salt water cleansing the negativity and darkness from his mind — at least for a little while.
As he propped his board against a wall of wetsuits, he could just make out his cell ringing from within his locker. But he was too slow to pull the key off his wrist and open the door, and the melody stopped. A missed call from David, his boss. What did he want at seven in the evening?
Jake grabbed his stuff and headed back out onto the beach after giving Randy a departing salute. He sat on a bench among the grasses near the pier steps, momentarily watching the distant surfers who’d joined him a little later and were still out. Then he hit ‘call back’ on his cell.
“Jake, hey, thanks for returning my call.”
“Hi, David. Sorry I missed it. I was coming in from a surf. What’s up?”
His boss chuckled. “Yeah, I figured you’d be out on the water a lot these days. Not your usual time of day, though. You’re a dawn patroller, right?”
“Yeah, but I have a lot of insomnia right now. My sleep patterns are shot to hell.”
“Understandable. So . . . we haven’t spoken for a while.
I guess it looks like things have changed a bit since then.
I figured maybe you’d want to start rethinking about coming back.
I know I said we’d need you on leave for a while, but it could be time, now that the media attention has moved on.
Have you thought about it? Working again? ”
Jake pulled a lungful of seagrass air through his nose.
“I haven’t, David, to tell you the truth.
I guess when I asked you last time, I was desperate for distraction, but you were 100% right to bench me.
Even aside from the optics, I’d have been useless to you, a total mess.
Which we can’t afford with our clients. And I dunno, I might still be.
It’s so hard, I tell you.” His voice thickened, but he pushed through it.
“We’d’ve been getting married this month, in just over a couple weeks’ time.
I’ve got all these people on me about the wedding arrangements, and I don’t know what to tell anybody. I’m not sleeping.” He shook his head.
A distant surfer caught a racy barrel, and Jake itched to go back out. Nobody out there had questions for him about Liv, the wedding, or his responsibilities. “I don’t know if this is a good month for me, man.”
David paused for a moment. “I get it, Jake. I do. You gotta remember, though, we’re running a non-profit here.
And right now you’re on leave at full pay.
The college interns picking up the slack will be gone by the end of September, and we’ll need to hire new counsel if you’re not gonna be coming back. ”
Jake nodded, pushing his lips out. The wedding was one thing, the non-refundable honeymoon to Southeast Asia he’d booked from late August to late September was another.
Could he go alone? Would it be good for him, a month-long soul-searching journey — maybe give him some closure?
Or would he simply be miserable the entire trip?
“I need more time, David. Can you give me another six weeks, while the interns are still around? You don’t need to pay me, if you can’t keep doing that. Call it a sabbatical.”
David took an audible breath. “Sure, Jake. But keep me updated. And I’m gonna put you on half-pay for the next six weeks, okay? I know it’s tough without Liv’s income, and that reno cost you guys a fortune,” David added.
Jake laughed darkly. “Yeah, it was supposed to be an investment in Liv’s business, as well as creating a nice home for us.”
“I guess it raised the house value a lot, right? If you end up selling, you’ll get all the money back.”
Jake kicked some sand through his flip-flops.
He really didn’t want to do that. “Probably. It feels too soon to think about that. But the truth is, I can’t afford the mortgage long-term on my income alone.
That’s another part of the equation in coming back to work.
Long-term, it’s either work for you and sell the house, or get a higher-paid job. ”
Silence for a few seconds. “Yeah. That sucks,” David said finally. “Not great choices either way, and we’d hate to lose you. I’m sorry, man.”
Jake rose from the bench. “You’ve been so cool about this, David. I appreciate it. I’ll speak with you soon, okay?”
“Take care, Jake. Send my best wishes to the Graingers.”
The Graingers who were barely able to look him in the eye right now, given the awkwardness over the wedding plans, let alone exchange pleasantries. Yeah, maybe not.
Jake picked up his board and strode back to the car, strapping the board to the roof.
He was ravenously hungry, and there was nothing but dried-up parmesan and moldy olives in the fridge at home.
But the last thing he wanted to do right now was go to a fluorescent-lit grocery store in his damp board shorts.
Jake had been living on takeout for weeks and there was no reason to change that tonight. He could use a beer, though.
He drove off the barrier islands onto the mainland and over the little creek bridge toward his house.
The parking lot at the marina was busy and, through his open window, ubiquitous country rock from the bar drifted in, along with the buzz of voices.
Maybe it was time he showed his face in there.
He hadn’t been inside in months. Not since a beer-fueled date night with Liv in early May.
Griff the bartender would probably ask after her, but apart from that, Jake should be okay.
He parked at home, ducking inside to change into dry jeans and a fresh T-shirt, and walked the five minutes back to the bar.
It was busy and loud inside, but there was a single stool at the end of the counter in the corner where he should be able to sit in peace.
He slipped into the spot before anybody else could get it, and caught Griff’s attention.
The bearded, forty-something hipster sauntered over, a tea towel on his shoulder. “Jake! Good to see you, man. Wasn’t sure we’d be seeing you again, with everything that’s happened. How are you holding up?”
How are you holding up? Every time, that question.
“Hanging in there, man.” Every time, the same reply. “It’s been rough. Thanks for asking.”
“Of course, buddy.” He’d be calling Jake ‘sport’ next. “We’ve been following the whole story. It’s a nightmare.” As if Jake didn’t know. “We’re all really sorry about Liv. What can I get you? The usual IPA?”
“Yeah, and a bacon burger with fries. No onion. Thanks.”
“You got it, champ.”
Champ. Christ.
Jake had sat on this stool before, many times.
This corner was a favorite spot of his and Liv’s.
It was the only area of the bar where they could squeeze really close together, side by side, sharing fries and a pitcher of IPA, and be mostly hidden from other customers.
The further down the pitcher they got, the more their hands would roam each other’s thighs, and the less appropriate their neck nuzzles would get.
By the time they were at the bottom of the jug, Liv’s hand would be pressed against the growing bulge in Jake’s jeans, his hand slipping inside her shirt.
Many times, he’d had to hurriedly pay up and hobble outside, holding his baseball cap awkwardly in front of his fly, much to Liv’s giggling amusement.
Sometimes they could hardly make it home — once they hadn’t. She’d gone down on him behind the marina shed containing the rental paddleboards, Liv on her knees in the grass, Jake lolling his head back against the rough wooden siding, in heaven.
God, she was the greatest woman who ever lived.