Chapter 3

© Copyright 2005 by Elizabeth Delayne



Jason was restless. He went back home, made a few calls, handled his business. It was what he did now, wasn’t it? It was what kept him off the streets.

But he couldn’t focus. He stood at the window and stared down the long drive that led to the road and the woods beyond. The shrubs were immaculate, the trees bright green, the sky, a bright blue. It breathed with life and with calm.

So many times he’d looked out and longed for his mother to see this, the beauty, to feel the effect that nature had on him. To know that he’d made it, that he owned it.

She’d always said she was happy in the city, but she’d seemed so peaceful in the park. She’d loved to walk, surrounded by trees. She’d loved to breath in the cool morning air of winter and feel the warmth of summer on her bare skin.

His mama was gone; taken far too soon. He couldn’t give this to her, couldn’t share this with her.

It made it so much worse to know he hadn’t been able to give it to Nicole.

Not soon enough.

As the house grew quiet he grabbed his jacket and headed back to town. He walked this time, on the path through the woods. It wasn’t far, a mile or so, between his home and main street.

The woods were soothing for him. He could walk it and let his mind drift. Most of the time, he could set his work aside, pray, think of pleasant things.

Or try to.

Instead, he thought of Trisha.

She had this look about her ... just a single look. It was something of a challenge, something of a whim, and something that dared him to trust her.

When she shouldn’t have trusted him.

But it was there, from the beginning ... a cross between a flirt and a dare, a barrier and an embrace.

Jason could still remember that first moment, standing in the diner, vaguely thinking about ordering some of the hometown food. He’d already decided to make this place home. She’d walked in laughing, wearing a heavy coat dusted with snow. He hair had been pulled back, her eyes tired from a long day at her accounting job.

He called her Trisha, though most in town called her Trish. He’d known a Trish in the old neighborhood, and he didn’t like the connection. She was beautiful to him, though not traditionally beautiful. Her face was a little narrow, her nose a little sharp, but he was fascinated with her. He had been since their first introduction.

They argued often—sniped at each other like, in her father’s words, old women. She wanted more of him then he could give. And he had given her more than he had ever given anyone. Emotionally. He’d told her about Nicole, told her about the lonesome nights worrying over her. He’d told her parts about his father, bits about the old neighborhood, and only pieces of his life since.

But he’d told her all that he could muster.

And it wasn’t enough. Not for her.

So they argued. Open up, she would plead.

How could he explain that he couldn’t?

So she’d ended it, tired of the roller coaster. He couldn’t blame her.

She wasn’t happy with him now, he thought, but then, he tended to make her unhappy more often then not. He couldn’t gage his life based on her happiness.

It was quiet in the woods. He was unused to the unease. He stopped, looked around, half expecting to see Nicole coming down the path, breaking into his solace, into his peace.

He frowned and started walking again. He grew up used to noise. They could hear the footsteps of people from above, the sounds of the street outside, the people’s voices from below. There had been music, of course, block parties on the weekends.

There had been an edge. A fast paced edge.

Move or die.

Then he’d lost his mother, and he’d felt trapped, locked into a life that headed into darkness. His father had been forceful, crooked. Under it all, Jason nearly imploded.

He’d had to escape—not just leave. He’d had to let go of the past, the anger, the aching hurt. It had taken years.

Couldn’t Trisha... couldn’t they understand that? It wasn’t just Nicole’s appearance in his life. His new friends, his new family ... they’d always worried him over it. He had no more connection to his old neighborhood. He’d had to give it up.

Jason let out a breath, and looked back. He’d been walking almost at a jog. He’d covered the ground behind him quickly, caught up in the high strung emotion.

He’d left that behind. He was a new man. He took a shaky step, took a breath, and forced the thoughts of the past from his mind.

He was Jason Rossi, entrepreneur—with a legal business and a home in the country. He had no hurry.



It was after the lunch shift. Trish had just finished clearing the last of he tables. Old Bob Lee still sat in the back, on pretense of sipping his coffee, but his head was leaning back against the wall. As usual, he was fast asleep.

The bell above the door clattered. Trisha looked up, watched Jason as he walked in. His hand were bunched into the pockets of his jacket. He was scowling, he was desperate.

Didn’t he know how desperate he was?

Her heart turned over, but it wasn’t time to sooth, she thought. She lifted a prayer, wiped her hands off on a towel.

“Looking for another confrontation?”

He looked over, scowled, but said nothing, just stood where he’d stopped, feet from the door.

“Nicole’s not here.”

“I wasn’t looking for her.”

“You should be,” Trisha picked up the rag she’d been using, swirled it over the counter all the way to the end. Now she was standing closer. She could see the strain. She thought of all Nicole told her, remembered her own words of promise not to tell. “She’s leaving in the morning.”

He nodded, his face set.

“Good.”

“Don’t you want to know why she came here?”

“No.”

“You need to see her Jason. Talk to her. You need to ask her.”

“She must have pulled you in, too,” Jason turned away from her. “You’re not from that kind of neighborhood. You don’t know what kind of faces the people I grew up with can put on.”

“The same ones you give me when you’re lying to me?” He looked back at her, surprised. She tossed the towel down and let her own temper roll. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’ve dated you. I know what kind of games you play. I know you.”

“I’ve never played you.”

His voice was hard, unrelenting, and mirrored her bitterness.

Had it all been hiding between them?

“You want to bet? You like things your way, Jason. You’ve built your life the way you want it, without getting close to anything or anyone since you walked away from Nicole. You don’t want that to change. You’re afraid of that changing.”

“You’re mixing things together that don’t belong together. You and I broke up—things weren’t going anywhere. That has nothing to do with my sister.”

“You didn’t allow things to go anywhere. I think it has everything to do with your sister and I have since you accidently slipped and told me.” She wrapped the rag around her hand and stared at him. “You’re a master at shutting people out, Jason, but you don’t have the time ... not this time. She has to head back in the morning. She’s not you. Coming down here would have cost her. Don’t let her go back empty handed.”

“That’s exactly how I intend to let her go. She’s not touching what’s mine.”

“Jason—”

“I know why she showed up.”

“Do you?”

“Stay away from her, Trisha. She’s bad news.”

Trisha lifted her chin and stared into his cold brown eyes. She felt herself withdraw from him. “She’s made mistakes. At least she admits to them.”

His chin shifted. “You seem to know a lot about her for knowing her less than a day.”

“You seem to know a lot about her, for not knowing her at all. I pointed her in the direction of the library,” She checked up the rag, held it with both hands. “If you came in for lunch, you’ll have to find somewhere else to go.”

And turning, walked back into the kitchen. The door swung shut behind her.

There was a rustle as Bob Lee stood from his table, took a moment to gain his balance. He shuffled toward Jason, his old eyes sharp.

“Do good to listen to her,” the old man muttered, then shuffled past.

* * *

He’d gone home, Nicole thought, as she sat alone and silent in the small library. It was a single room, not much larger then her small studio apartment, with bookshelves on every wall and a few more making five straight rows across one side. Nothing like the smaller branch close to her apartment above Tony’s restaurant.

Still, the feel of being surrounded by books was a comfort—if not the feeling of freedom she got when she stepped between Patience and Fortitude, the stone lions on the front steps of the Library of Social Sciences on Fifth Street in Manhattan.

He’d just left—not unlike how he’d left ten years ago.

Defiant, angry, and still trying to escape the past.

She’d thought of following him. If he didn’t want to see her in the middle of town, why would he want her in his home?

She thought of the framed photos on the mantle—not a single memory of the family he’d left behind. He hadn’t wanted her there.

The book shelves held a scattering of aged books, three dated computers, two love seats and two tables, each surrounded with mismatched chairs. The magazine rack held the popular magazines, lacked the specialty journals that could be found at the library around the corner from her home. She was restless for her books, for the familiar noise that could be heard coming from outside—even into the quiet hall of the block’s library.

Her backpack leaned against the metal leg of the desk. She reached down, slid her textbook back inside.

She watched the email webpage gradually pop up in sections and clicked on the link to check her three new messages. It took time, she thought, too much.

And she was running out of it.

She’s checked in by email with her probation officer, not because she had to, but because she needed to. She relayed the events as they had happened so far, and had asked for both prayer and advice. She had no idea what to do next.

Nicole had done the same with Tony, though her boss would likely not be checking his email until later tonight. It would be too late then. She would be catching a ride on the bus home before she could check her email again.

Then she looked up, watched as Jason walked through the front doors. He lifted a hand to the lady at the desk, then turned, his eyes on hers. He didn’t look friendly. It broke her heart.

She watched as he came over, her wrists resting on the edge of the desk, poised over the keyboard.

“If you’re here to tell me to go, I can’t leave until the bus comes through in the morning.”

He nodded. “You doin’ okay?”

She lifted a shoulder, kept her eyes on his. If her breath trembled a bit, she swore he wouldn’t notice. “Fine.”



He nodded, jerked his head in move so much a part of their neighborhood, she blinked.

“Walk with me?”

She nodded, and leaned down to zip up her book bag. When she lifted it, he took it from her, blinked at it’s weight.

“Heavy.”

“I had some studying to do,” she reached for it, took it back. Her books were her own.

“You and your books.” He let her have them, walked to the door, watched as she signed out from the computer.

They walked down the street at an easy pace. She said nothing, and it worried him.

“You have a job?”

“I’m working for Tony Vergotti.”

“He still has his restaurant?”

“He has three ... I work for his son, Tony ... Mr. Vergotti’s still in the old neighborhood.”

“So you don’t live there anymore.”

“A lot’s changed. Tony gave me a job. Mr. Vergotti and his family, they’ve all be good to me.”

“They’re good people.” He though of his dream, of the old neighborhood, of all the people he missed. “You seen Mrs. Cambise?”

“She died a few years back. Pneumonia. No one was there to take care of her ... to know. They found her ... a week after.”

Her voice trembled. She pushed it back. She’d been in prison. So much had happened those three horrible months. So much.

She hadn’t been able to help Mrs. Cambise, she hadn’t been able to help Dusty.

There were others, of course ... friends he’d known, a few that had come and gone in a flash. She filled him in on what she knew, what he asked.

They walked down Main Street at a draggingly slow place. From beginning to end, she answered his questions, watched his eyes go dark as he thought back over the people he knew ... that they’d known together, that he hadn’t thought of in over a decade.

They reached the end at a cute little shop for antiques. Jason turned to her. “It’s a little early—but you want to grab something to eat?”

She thought about the cash she had tucked away. Chances were that Jason would notice her modest fare. He would pay for her meal.

And continue to think that all she’d come for was a handout. If only he knew ... if only he’d asked.

She swallowed against the grief. “No ... I guess not.”

This had been such a horrible idea. If she had stayed in New York, she could have kept her fantasies. Now she knew, and knowing hurt.

“You, ah ... need some money to get yourself home?”

“I didn’t come here for your money.

“Still ...”

She shook her head. “I have what I need.”

“Nicole?” His voice was just a whisper, a scratch against the air; his eyes dark and unreadable. “Why did you come?”

“To see—“ she stopped herself. The man before her wasn’t the brother she’d known. “Just to see.”

Of all the people he’d asked about, he’d never asked about Dusty. He didn’t want to know. She’d failed ... or he had failed her. Again. He didn’t want his family. He didn’t want her.

But she had one last thing to prove. One last thing she needed to show him before she left.

For good.


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