Page 7 of Somewhere Without You

Six

The next morning, I found Jackson sitting at the kitchen table, absorbed in the newspaper, a cup of black coffee beside him.

“Goodmorning,”I said, taking a seat across from him.

Jackson didn’t bother looking up.

I rubbed my eyes, still fighting sleep, as memories of the previous night drifted through my mind. A plate offreshlybaked banana muffins sat in the center of the table.

“Quite the party last night,”I remarked, reaching for a muffin.

“How would youknow? You left early,”he said, shifting the newspaper. I braced for the usual tension butwastakenaback when he added,“How are youfeeling?”

“Great,”I lied, stealing a bite.“Never better.”

“Hmm,”he hummed over a sip of coffee. The steam curled upward, lingering between us like an unspoken question.Washe waiting for something? A confession,maybe?

“Natashaseems. . . lovely,”I ventured, knowing Iwaswalking a fine line.

Jackson lowered the paper, his gaze locking onto mine. His eyeswerelike stained glass, catching the first light of morning filtering through the dining room window.

“I give it six months,”he said, picking up his paper again.“Stanley’s already bored of her. Poor girl—dragged away from everything sheknew, only to end up with someone like him.”

I bit back a retort,feelingthe sting of his jealousy.

“About New York. . .whenare you leaving?”I asked, pulling my robe tighter around me.

“Two weeks. Maybesooner, if necessary,” he replied flatly.

Relief flooded through me. At least a month,maybemore, of freedom.

“Do you think you’ll visit often?”I asked, watching himcarefully.

He exhaled through his nose. “I don’tknow. Depends on work, I guess.”

I nodded. Itwasn’tthe answer Iwashoping for, butthenagain, Iwasn’tsure what Iwasexpecting. I helped myself to another muffin.

Jackson set the newspaper down, his eyes lingering on the muffin in my hand.“Don’t you think you’vehadenough?”

My stomach growled.“Yes, of course.”I put the muffin back down and forced a smile.

Two more weeks. Icouldalreadyseemyself, carefree, at a seaside cabana with a margarita in hand, the salt from the ocean clinging to the rim of the glass.MaybeI’devenwander into SeaPort Village, drifting in and out of shops like a tourist.

WhenI first arrived in California, Kat and I ventured out a few times.Butbetween her and Grant’s busy schedule, Iquicklyfound myself spending more time with Jackson than with my sister.

I couldn’tgetenough of him. Hewashandsome, charming, and he wanted me.

What started as easy beach days with Katherinequicklymorphed into quiet afternoons with Jackson, our time together becoming more and more precious.

Iwascraving something new, something more, somethingthatonly Jacksoncouldpromise me.

Andin my desperation for belonging, I ignored all the subtle signs, the warning bellsthatslowlyturned into glaring red flags.

“Your sister stopped by earlier,”Jackson saidcasually.

“Katwashere?”I asked, struggling to keep my composure.

“Said she needed to speak to you. . . in person,”he added, arching an eyebrow.“Any idea why?”

I shook my head, though the knot in my chestwasgrowing. Wehadn’tspokenin over a month. Itwasn’tthe longest stretch, but with our history, I expected more distance.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,”I shrugged, attempting to ease his suspicion.“Youknowhow she is about little things.”

Buttheyweren’t little things.

Katherineknewwhat Jacksonwascapable of. She tried to warn me, butevenshe didn’tfullygrasp the depth of his cruelty. Hehadn’tstruckmethen, only scarred me with his words when his anger got the best of him.Orwhen hehadtoo much to drink.

“Hewasjustdrunk,”I’dargue, defending him as if calling me a whorecouldever be justified. I’dsay things like,“He didn’t mean it,”or,“It won’t happen again,”eventhough deep down, Iknewit would.

In the morning, those words would blister, scabbing over into lavish gifts and passionate sex aboard a yacht anchored somewhere off the coast.Andlike a fool, I believed him.

Asour relationship progressed, so did the abuse. Bruises became more difficult to explain.Anddespite my best efforts to conceal them, Katherineknew. She alwaysknew.

“Please don’t do this,”she begged the night before our wedding.“He’s only going togetworse.”ButI ignored her.

Katherinehadalways been protective, stepping in to shield me from the world when Mom died. Sheknewa monster when shesawone.Andto her, Jacksonwasthe boogeyman.

“You’rejustjealous!”I snapped,eventhough Iknewhow absurd it sounded.Therewasnothing to be jealous of. Jackson might’ve been rich and attractive, but she and Granthadsomething real.

Jackson and I didn’t sharethatkind of love. Wehadpassion, lust—a dangerous firethatburned between us.Buteventually, fires die out.Andsooner or later, you’re left with nothing but ashes and dust.

Katherinewasn’tjealous of me. Iknewthatbecause I wasjealous of her.

Afterthat, our relationship began to fade. We talked until we didn’t, andeventually, she and Grant moved up to the Bay Area.Andthatwasthat.

“Did she say how longshe’dbe in town?”I asked Jackson.

“No, she didn’t,” he replied.

I didn’t believe him. Kat wouldn’t have come all this way without wanting toseeme.

Jackson never outright stopped me from seeing my sister, but the unspoken rulewasclear, and itwaseasier to avoid the tension.

Still, curiosity gnawed at me. Whatcouldhave brought Kat all the way from San Francisco? Ithadto be something important enough for her toknowinglycause unrest in my household. She wouldn’t risk angering Jackson over something insignificant.

She wouldn’t risk me.

“Eitherway, she’sprobablylong gone by now,”I said, my eyes fixed on the plate of muffins. Anotherlowgrowl rumbled through my stomach.

Jackson checked hiswatch.“I’ve got a meeting downtown in half an hour,”he said as he stood.“There’s some green Bali Juice in the fridge.Maybeyou should drinkthat.”His lips brushed the top of my head.“I love you. I’llseeyou later.”

I waited, listening for the faint groan of the garage door as it closed behind him.Oncethe sound of his car faded, I took out my phone. Jackson kept track of my calls, but with him gone for the next month,I’ddeal with the fallout later.

“Emily?”My sister’s voice cracked through the phone—soft, wet, and broken.She’dbeen crying. Icouldtell.

“What’s wrong?”I asked, my heart tightening.

Images of my niece and nephew flashed through my mind.

“Is everything okay?”A quiet sob slipped through the phone.

“Kat, you’re scaring me.” Anxietywasrising in my throat.

Icouldhearthe distant call of seagulls, the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore. “Where are you? What’s going on?”

Kat cleared her throat, drawing in a shaky breath.“It’s Gran. . .”My chest clenched. Iknewwhatwascoming.“She’s gone.”