Scratch the Surface

“Sure,” I conceded. Once we got as comfortable as one could possibly get while perched on cement, he took a deep breath and then turned to face me.

“He probably told you I’ve been acting like a crazy person.”

I nodded. “He’s confused about what’s going on in your head, and I have to say, from everything he’s told me, I don’t understand it myself.”

He raked his fingers through his thick, glossy hair. Going on looks alone, I had no idea what Jeremiah was doing with me. Merrell Barrett was seriously movie-star gorgeous, and I imagined he had people waiting in the wings for him to notice them.

Standing unexpectedly, he turned to walk away, only to pivot back to face me. He looked like he was in pain.

I took a breath. “You believe you did something wrong.”

As though in a daze, he retook his seat, head turned toward me, eyes wide like I was speaking in tongues.

“I know what happened between you two in high school.” I hoped my voice wasn’t as shaky as I felt inside. I’d never been this ballsy in my life, and for the billionth time since I’d met Jeremiah, I realized how completely and utterly he’d changed me, almost from the moment I laid eyes on him. I wasn’t a brave person, yet here I was, flying without a net. “He told me everything. My question to you is, do you know what went on?”

“What do you mean?”

I cleared my throat and took a deep breath. “I think you believe that between paying him for sex and then leaving for college without a word, you did him some kind of irreparable harm. Is that what you believe?”

He stood up again. “Can we walk? I’m better when I move.”

“Yes, definitely.” I stood quickly and fell into step beside him. “Let’s go.”

We made it to the bottom of the stairs and started down the red brick path that ran under an arbor of enormous, ancient shade trees. It was a gorgeous mini-park where people were sitting on benches and blankets.

“I treated him like a whore,” he confessed, turning to me, “and it took me more than a year after I got back to get up the nerve to speak to him outside of Kingman’s.”

It was just as Jeremiah had told me in his rambling drugged narrative.

“I never apologized to him, and now I’m going overboard trying to fix it.”

I nodded. “You found out he wants to be a social worker.”

“Yes!” he nearly yelled. “I had no idea, because I don’t…know him. I want to build a shelter because I’d seen how things were for him, and for others, like his friend Zack, and for kids now, and the community really needs this. I thought, ‘I’ll fix my guilt and do some good at the same time,’ but it didn’t work.”

“Because he’s not there yet.”

“No.”

I grimaced. “And then you jumped the gun with Kingman’s.”

“Oh God.” He stopped walking, shaking his head and looking dejected. “You have no idea. I thought it would be so simple, that he’d step in and everything would stay the same, and now my board is up in arms, thinking I’ve lost my mind.”

“Axton Enterprises will take it off your hands,” I assured him, “but you won’t get what you paid for it, even as part of the larger piece of property.”

He nodded. “But for the restaurant, it’s an empty lot that’s costing us money. I just need to unloaded it.”

“Understood.”

He shook his head and dropped down onto a nearby bench. After a moment, I took a seat too, and turned to face him.

“I asked him if he was still hustling the night I told him about the shelter and offered him the job running it.”

“When was this?”

“I want to say last Thursday, so not that long ago.”

It wasn’t. It was the night I’d driven home to be with my father. Jeremiah had brought me pie. We hadn’t even known each other a week yet, but somehow my whole life had changed. “And what did he say?”

“He told me he didn’t do that anymore, but then I find out from McCauley that Sacramento PD has a friend of his in protective custody, and that Jeremiah had agreed to take the guy’s place as an escort for an evening.”

I shook my head. “Mr. Pelham wasn’t a friend, they were classmates, and Jeremiah was doing him a favor because—you know what, never mind. It’s not important.” I didn’t need to explain that his motorcycle needed repairs, or the events that had led to him talking to me with my drunk colleague passed out and draped over his shoulders. None of it would help Merrell Barrett stop thinking of Jeremiah as someone he needed to save. Jeremiah had already saved himself, years ago, and the cost of doing things the way he had done them was steep. He’d barricaded his heart and soul so no one would ever get a glimpse of vulnerability.