Jeff Abbott - Only Good Yankee

She shook her head. “You don’t have to do love, Jordy. It’s not like lunch or scoring well on a test. You just have to love. Don’t you see the difference?” I didn’t answer and she reached over, touching my chin gently and turning my face back to hers. “You’re scared to death of me, aren’t you? Is that why Lorna still beckons-because you don’t have to love her the way you love me? She makes life easier.” An odd tightness collected in my chest. The mysteries of women and love demanded bravery. “I never thought of it that way.” Candace studied me. “Then you go and think about it some.” She stood up, collecting her pitcher of wine and her glasses. I watched her go inside, then come back to the door. “Good night, Jordy.” I stood. “Wait a minute! I told you that I loved you and you don’t have anything to say to me?”

“You didn’t tell me you loved me, Jordy. You told me you’d told your ex-girlfriend you loved me. Come back and sit a spell with me when you’ve learned the difference.” And the door shut in my face, firmly, with a click that kicked at my heart. It couldn’t be true. I was not that messed up. I wasn’t cutting myself off from folks; look how many of them I still had in my life. Candace was nuts or drunk. Then why did I feel like I’d been pierced with a cold steel sword and laid open like a surgeon’s practice cadaver? I leaned against my car, still parked out in Candace’s driveway. The night air growled like a restless giant, and high above, heavy clouds dangled, ready to answer a prayer for rain. I wished the goddamned downpour would just come, come and drench me in the street, wash me clean of all my sins and failings. The clouded sky mocked me, rumbling flirtatiously, not offering even a meager drop. Miss Twyla’s house across the street was dark, except for one kitchen light. Poor Miss Twyla, I thought. Alone in this world. And I realized with a start that if I didn’t have Candace, I’d feel a loneliness that Sister or Mark or Bob Don would not be able to fill. I’d never had a successful relationship before and now the one I considered good was crumbling like stale tobacco between my fingers. Because I was scared, and I was letting Lorna call the shots. I glanced back at Candace’s house. Was she watching me from a window? All the curtains were drawn. I hoped she was. I hoped she still had enough patience in her heart to want to watch me leave. The light over at Miss Twyla’s went out. She and Nina must be retiring to bed, exhausted from planning their battles against Lorna and adding coins to their war chest. I had my own battle to fight and those two would just have to stand in line. I got in my car and drove back to my house, letting my anger and resolve boil.*** She was still up, watching the news when I got home. A bowl of popcorn sat in her lap and she was slowly nibbling. She was in a T-shirt and shorts and looked far, far too much at home in my house. “Well, hello,” she said as I walked in. “We gave up on dinner for you. Mark and I scarfed a frozen pizza and your mother had some tomato soup. Arlene called, she’s not going to be back until around two in the morning. Do you want anything?” I walked past her, snapping off the giddily grinning meteorologist describing the storm alert we were under until three A.M. “Yes, I do. I want some answers.” “Uh, okay,” she said, setting the bowl of popcorn aside. “What’s wrong?” “What’s wrong, Lorna? Oh, that’s rich. That’s really rich. You waltz back into my life, try to get me back into your bed, your boss gets murdered, another guy gets blown up, a girl’s tried to kill herself, the woman I love is ready to drop me, and you want to know what’s wrong.” The words stung her. She stared up in defiance. “What is your problem? Are you laying all the blame for this on me?” “Why not?” I shot back. “Because Greg’s the one that stirred up everything!” she retorted. “I wasn’t the one who got someone pissed enough to kill me!” “I’m pissed enough right now, Lorna.” I took a deep breath. “You destroyed some of the files you accessed using Candace’s computer. I know you did. You lied to me and you could have destroyed evidence in a murder case. Why those files, Lorna?” Her dark eyes bored into mine. “I didn’t destroy anything, Jordan.” “Quit your lying.” “What, did Candace manufacture this little story? Obviously she wants to turn you against me. She’s pretended to be my friend, but she really loathes me. I can tell. She thinks she’s better than me.” Her tone turned ugly. “If you’re the liar I think you are, she is better.” Lorna looked away from me, her eyes traveling across the wall of photos of Sister and me in our youth. “You’re so goddamned smug. So superior in your small-town lightness. You do belong here, Jordan, not in the real world. You live in some Ozzie and Harriet fantasy of what life should be like-” “No, I don’t. I live in the real world. I live in the world of busting my ass and taking care of my family and having my friends and just trying to get by. And I don’t lie to people.” “I told you, I didn’t destroy any files.” “You know, there should be backup tapes of any of Intraglobal’s files, Lorna. Most companies do that.” I laughed hollowly. “But then, Intraglobal isn’t most companies, is it? Most companies aren’t committing fraud. Most companies don’t have folks who do work for them getting blown up like poor Freddy. Most companies don’t have silent partners who conveniently disappear.” Her eyes widened. I leaned down into her face. “Like this Doreen Miller that they can’t seem to find.

Where is she, Lorna? How can you work with Greg and not know her?” I leaned back on my heels. “Unless you’re Doreen Miller.” “You’re nuts!”

Her tone was outraged. “Even if I was in on Greg’s fraud-which I wasn’t-it wouldn’t be much of an out for me, would it? Since the cops are looking for her.” “They’re looking for her in Boston. Not here.

And you never did answer my question about the backup computer tapes.

Or did you destroy the evidence on those backups before you came down here?” “I’m not Doreen Miller. I’ve never even met her, never talked to her.” “Candace and I are going to go to the cops. Here and in Boston. Candace will tell them that she saw you destroy those files.”

I took a step toward her. “Look, Lorna, whatever mess you’ve gotten yourself into, I’ll try to help you. I’ll help you as much as I can, but I’ve got to know the truth. Otherwise, what can I think?” I lowered my voice. “I don’t want what I’m saying to you to be true, but it could be. You could’ve killed Greg. Did you know what he was up to?

Did he threaten you if you told on him? Lorna, for God’s sake-” She was shaking her head at me, her lovely gray eyes wide in the dim light from the lamp Mama used to read her books by. “My God. You do think I killed him.” “As long as you don’t tell me the truth, I have to assume the worst.” “No matter what I once meant to you?” I could barely hear her question. “No matter.” She held her breath for a moment, then let it out in a long hiss. “I am many things, Jordan, but I am not a killer. I didn’t kill Greg, and I sure didn’t kill Freddy.” Indecision framed her face, and she pressed the back of her hand against her mouth. The last time I’d seen her do that was when she’d gotten the phone call that her father had died. “I’m afraid you won’t believe me.

I don’t want you to hate me, Jordan.” I sank to the couch. “Lorna, for God’s sake. I don’t hate you. I don’t understand you anymore, but I don’t hate you.” She leaned against the back of Mama’s chair. Her fingers left long red lines across her cheek as she dragged her hand down her face. “I found files in the computer back in Boston. Copies of letters. Letters from me to Gary Zadich, the guy that owns the chemical company in Houston, the one you said Greg was going to sell the land to.” “So you had known! You had been in touch with him!” “No!