Mary McDonald - No good deed

Shock registered on her face. “I saw those pictures, Mark. Even Jim Sheridan didn’t deny it when he saw the photos.”

“Jim Sheridan? How the hell do you know him?” This second shock threatened to send him rushing to the bathroom again.

“He came to Chicago last summer and questioned me. I…I showed him the camera.” She bit her lip.

“Shit.” So, for months, Jim had known and hadn’t revealed that information. No, instead he’d led at least a dozen more interrogations. The bastard.

“I’m sorry. I was trying to help. I figured if I showed him, proved to him that you had been telling the truth all along, that they’d set you free.”

Sincerity was written all over her face and he couldn’t be angry for her attempts on his behalf. “It’s okay.”

“But I still think you should get a lawyer.” Her mouth set in a stubborn line.

“No! I can’t talk about it. Don’t ya understand?” His breathing quickened and he fought the urge to flee the bar. “I don’t want to go back there.”

Jessie cocked her head and reached across the table, taking one of his hands in hers. “Did they threaten you with that?”

Mark kept his mouth closed, feeling muscles in his jaw jump. He didn’t answer but instead looked at their intertwined hands. Hers felt soft and warm and she rubbed one up his forearm. Clear nail polish coated the short neat nails. The contact felt wonderful, but, when he looked up, the pity in her eyes doused the feelings of warmth that had begun to stir.

“Listen, Mark. They won’t lock you up again.”

He pulled his hand free and crossed his arms. “You don’t know that. They did it once, they can do it again.”

She shook her head. “They made a mistake.”

“Maybe, but it was a helluva mistake and took them over a year to fix it.” Leaning forward, both hands braced on the table edge, he went on, in a low, harsh voice, “For all I know, this might all be some kind of trick. One of their sick twisted methods of control. I don’t even know who I can trust anymore.”

Jessie sat forward, mirroring his posture, her tone low but firm, “Now you’re sounding paranoid, Mark.”

He gave a short sarcastic chuckle and looked towards the door of the pub. Shaking his head, he tried to form a reply. In her mind, his fears probably seemed overblown. “Yeah, guess I do sound paranoid. But, I think I have a damn good reason to worry.”

“I guess you do have good reason, but I don’t see the government letting you go just to play a cruel trick.”

Mark shrugged, still unable to look at her, and they fell into an uneasy silence.

“You trust me, don’t you?”

He turned to her ready to say yes, but hesitated. Mohommad had been a friend. Someone he’d trusted. He’d trusted his country too. But this was Jessie.

Before he could answer, she said, “Is that why you didn’t call me when you got out?” She sounded hurt.

This time he took her hand in his. “No…no. I do trust you, Jessie. And I did call you once, but I got your voice mail. I couldn’t see leaving a message. For all I knew, you could have been married by now.”

A soft smile dawned on her face. “Nope. Not married.”

Even though he’d guessed she wasn’t, a feeling of lightness fill him at her confirmation.

She looked at her watch. “I’m sorry. I have to get going. I have an early meeting scheduled in the morning.”

Mark nodded and pulled out his wallet.

She waved him off when he attempted to look at the check. “No, my treat. I invited you.”

“I’ve got money.”

“Yes, but I know times are tough for you now.”

“Listen, I don’t need your damn charity or your pity.” He pulled some bills out of his wallet and threw them on the table. “That should cover the tab.” He rose, backing away from the booth, but stopped, unable to leave like this. Stepping up to the table, he leaned over and brushed his lips over hers in the briefest of kisses. “Sorry. I just had to do that. It’s been good seeing you again, Jessie.”

Mark stirred the scrambled eggs, scraping the cooked portions from the bottom of the pan. The toaster popped, and he snatched the slices and buttered them before they could cool.

The pan and the toaster had both been recent purchases at the thrift store. His kitchen was now stocked with a hodge-podge of plates, cups and silverware. Tilting the pan, he scooped the eggs onto a plate. In the brig, he had vowed to never eat scrambled eggs again, but eggs were cheap. Finances won out over aversions, and after the second or third time, they started tasting good again. As he added the toast to the plate, there was a knock on the door.

He glanced at the clock, figuring it must be Bud. He was the only person who ever stopped by, but he wondering what had made the landlord get out of bed before ten o’clock on a Saturday morning. Maybe Bud had another apartment that needed painting. Mark hoped so. His wallet could sure use some extra padding. He sucked a buttery crumb off his finger as he opened the door. “Hey Bu-”

“Hello, Mark.”

“Jessie?” He wiped his fingers on his pants and stepped forward, pulling the door partially closed so that his body filled the threshold. “How’d you find me?”

She smiled. “I’m a detective, remember?” She held a box, and shifted her weight, hiking the box up to get a better grip.

“Yeah, but, I mean, why are you here?” Stunned, he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. The hurt in her eyes made him cringe. “Sorry. I’m just surprised.”

Jessie ducked her head and nodded. When she lifted it, her face had a pleasant, overly bright smile. “That’s okay. I had a couple of reasons for stopping by. May I come in?”

The paint job and rug had helped make the room livable, but they couldn’t work miracles and he felt heat creeping into his face. “Uh, sure.” He moved back, allowing her to get past him. “Come on in.”

Her smile warmed. “Thanks.” She crossed to the sofa and set the box on it. Flexing her fingers as she glanced around, she nodded at the wall. “Nice shade of blue. And something smells wonderful.”

“I just made some eggs…want some? There’s plenty.” He hated the note of eagerness that had crept into his voice. It made him sound needy, but he did have plenty of eggs.

“Oh no, I’m not hungry, but you go ahead and eat.” A suspicious gurgle sounded loud in the room, and her hand flew to her stomach as her eyes went wide.

He grinned. “You sure you’re not hungry?”

Her face turned crimson, but she laughed. “Guilty. I lied. I’m starving and it smells great in here.”

“Have a seat.” He gestured to the table just outside the kitchen. “I’ll just stick some more bread in the toaster.” He went to the kitchen before she changed her mind. After putting the toast down, he opened the fridge, and ducked his head in to see how much juice he had left. Satisfied there was enough to offer, he turned to ask if she wanted that or milk, but found her right behind him, her mouth level with his. All it would take was for him to lean forward just a fraction, and he could kiss her. He fought the impulse. She didn’t need someone like him in her life.

Her face flushed, but she held ground for a second. Eyes wide, they flashed to his before she averted hers and stepped towards the sink. “I…I just wanted to wash my hands first.” She spread her fingers and held them up.

He cleared his throat. “Right. Go ahead. I was just wondering what you wanted to drink. I have O.J. or milk.”

“Orange juice sounds good.” She dried her hands on a dishtowel, folded it, and set it neatly on the counter.

The toast popped while he was pouring two glasses. Before he could react, she reached over and began buttering the slices. The simple domestic act made him catch his breath. He shook it off. Long suppressed emotions bubbled inside, seeking exit, but he held on tight.