Chapter 28 Jake #2
Shaking the memory away, Jake sipped the beer Griff placed before him, and took out his phone.
It was only to help him avoid eye contact with the jostling patrons around him, he didn’t actually need to check anything.
Sure, he had a few new emails about the wedding, including one from his cousin in Connecticut, but he had no desire to read them.
Still, it was either that or scroll through his Facebook feed, which mostly nauseated him these days, with all the faux joy of families posting vacation photos.
Elsa’s first time kayaking! So sweet :)
He knew Elsa was a tiny monster — her long-suffering father, a buddy of Jake’s from college, had told him many times.
Or he could browse the news, which he hated for not being about Liv, even though he always hated any stories that were about Liv, and the comments that accompanied them.
Not appealing.
His final option was to stare into the middle distance, maybe watch Griff going about his business behind the bar.
And that wouldn’t be weird.
Emails, then.
The message from his cousin, probably the third show of support Pete had sent since Liv disappeared, was characteristically kind.
Jen and I are thinking of you, man. We canceled our flights and Wilmington hotel yesterday, which made us both feel terrible. Jen was in pieces. If there’s anything at all we can do, I figure this month is probably the hardest one yet—
Jake screwed up his mouth. As he’d suspected, Tilly had evidently told the guests they should cancel their travel plans for the wedding, without asking him first.
Maybe she was right. It wasn’t their relatives’ fault Liv had disappeared. They shouldn’t be expected to pay out to attend a wedding that probably would never happen.
A group of three frat-looking dudes and a couple of girls behind Jake laughed a unison roar about something hilarious. One guy stumbled backward into Jake’s stool, just as Jake was taking a swig out of his glass, making him slosh beer onto his clean jeans. Jake turned to him with a scowl.
“Sorry, man,” the guy turned to Jake, hands raised. “Did I make you spill?” He was young, bald, with huge shoulders. Not someone to mess with.
“Don’t worry about it.” Jake turned back to the counter, where Griff was setting a large plate of burger and fries in front of him.
The bald guy put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, I know you! Okay, I don’t know you, I’ve seen you. You’re the dude with the missing girlfriend, right? You’ve been all over the news. Hey, guys, it’s the dude from the news, you know, that story with the hot chick who disappeared.”
“Oh, right, yeah,” another guy said.
“Charlotte Grainger’s sister,” added another, turning to someone else. “You know her, don’t you?”
Now they were all facing him. Jake could feel their inquisitive stares boring into the side of his head. He took a fry and munched on it, raising his eyebrow.
“Hey, man, they found her yet?” the bald guy asked Jake, removing his meaty hand.
Jake rolled his eyes but turned his head toward the guy, just a little. “Nope, not yet.”
Two of the other guys, dark-haired jock types, were chuckling about something. “Probably did it himself,” one of them muttered in the other’s ear.
Jake screwed up his face. Maybe he needed to take this food to go.
“Gary, don’t be an asshole, leave Jake alone,” one of the girls in the group was saying, the tall blonde. She pushed the bald guy aside. “I know him. He’s going through a hard enough time without being harassed by you guys, okay?”
Wow, she even knew Jake’s name. He must be famous now. Famous for being a suspect in a high-profile missing person’s case.
He slid her a quizzical glance. Oh, it was Charlotte’s friend. Savannah.
She smiled, revealing the cute gap in her front teeth. “Sorry, Jake. My friends are douchebags.” She scowled at the guys. “In my defense, they’re really Kirsty’s friends, not mine.” She gestured to the girl with the streak of pink hair, and squeezed into the space beside him. “How’ve you been?”
At least she didn’t say, “How are you holding up?”
Jake forced a half-smile. “Taking things day by day. You know. Seen much of Charlotte recently?” He purposefully changed the subject.
Savannah nodded. “Yeah, a lot. She’s joining us tonight — just texted she’s on her way. Oh, she showed me the ‘Find Olivia Grainger’ Facebook page you and Ed’s wife set up — it’s really good. I’ve shared it on my social, all our friends have. Seems to be getting some good attention.”
Jake nodded. “Yeah, Annabelle’s been great. She’s kind of in charge of it, even though it’s supposed to be from me and the Graingers. I’m no good at that stuff. She’s been ghostwriting blog posts free of charge, making little reels, and she set up all the social feeds. Every little helps, I guess.”
“Absolutely. And it’s not little. I saw you guys have over a thousand followers on the Facebook page already.
That’s amazing.” She seemed to expect some kind of reply to this, which Jake didn’t supply.
She pressed on. “Charlie also said you met with Burt and Tilly a couple weeks ago, to discuss the wedding.” She shook her pretty head. “That must’ve been so hard.”
Huh. Another person who probably thought he was nuts for not canceling the arrangements. It was none of her business.
“Yeah.” Jake turned away, waving Griff down. He wasn’t about to discuss his wedding, or lack thereof, with Savannah. And he couldn’t face seeing Charlotte tonight. “I’m gonna pack this up to go, thanks, Griff.” He picked up his glass and drained the last of his beer.
Savannah’s face fell. “I hope you’re not leaving on our account.”
Jake pulled a twenty from his wallet. “Nah, just too crazy in here for me tonight.” He lifted his uneaten burger and tepid fries into the takeout box Griff placed on the counter. “Tell Charlotte I said hi, when you see her. I’m sure I’ll talk to her soon.”
Savannah put a gentle hand on his arm, giving it an overfamiliar pat. “I will. You take care of yourself, Jake.”
He squeezed his lips together at her in an approximation of a farewell smile, and pushed past her douchey friends.
“Take it easy, man!” one of them called after him.
“Try not to murder anyone on your way home,” another guy called with a stifled laugh, just as Jake made it to the exit.
Jake stopped, his hand on the door’s push bar.
It might feel really good to punch that guy right about now.
He rotated, slowly. The guys were glancing over at him, chuckling like kids, turning into each other, evidently a little nervous about his reaction.
Beside them, a group of thirty-somethings at a table were watching the exchange, their conversation halted. One of them lifted a phone, aiming the camera toward Jake. He was being recorded.
Fuck that.
Jake wheeled back to the door and shoved it open, to relieved chuckles from the jocks. He stepped out into the balmy night, gasping lungfuls of sweet-scented air. He hadn’t realized how fast his pulse had been racing until he got out of there.
Dicks.
He’d thought — hoped — all that was over, now that the media attention had fallen away. That there would be no more baseless accusations directed toward him. But maybe he was wrong. Maybe he’d be under a cloud of suspicion for the rest of his life.
Would he ever be able to move on? Make new friends?
Or even — Christ — get a new job, if that’s what he needed to do to keep the house?
Would a private law firm even hire him, after Googling his name?
Thank God he hadn’t just punched some asshole on a video that would end up going viral on social media.
He strode through the warm night. He could feel his heart rate slowing with each step. And he could smell Liv again. She was in the sweetness of the moist air, the green scent of the foliage mingling with the pale blue aroma of saltwater.
She loved this walk home. Loved the Spanish moss that hung heavily from the oaks that lined their street. “Quintessential Carolinas,” she’d said once, dreamily, as they walked home from the bar.
That had been soon after they moved in, before they’d started tearing the house apart.
She’d turned to him, excitedly. “Ooh, that’s good.
I mean, as a name for our home design.” She always gave her interior design projects names such as ‘Southern Comfort’ and ‘Beachfront on a Budget’, and their own home was evidently no exception.
Her ensuing blog posts about their renovation had been given titles like ‘Quintessential Carolinas: Layering prints and textures’ and ‘Quintessential Carolinas: Mixing it up in the kitchen’ — all accompanied by her own beautifully shot, light-filled photos.
Jake didn’t know how she did it. She was a rare talent. She made everything perfect. Utterly whole.
And her absence rendered it all empty. Hollowed out. Rotten.
Including Jake’s life.
His heart.