When the Heart Lies - By Christina North Page 0,55
private. And a person should be able to cry knowing they can’t be heard. Unable to look at the equipment any longer, he bent over and clasped his hands together. Shaking his head toward the ceiling, he got up to get a beer and then returned to the backbreaking motel chair and sat, kicking one foot up onto the other. Before long, Scar showed up.
She raised her fist to knock, it hovered midair between them as he opened the door abruptly.
“Hey, C’mon in.” He returned to his seat, leaving her in the opened doorway. “There’s stuff in the fridge if you want something. They’re having dinner now. Not much is being said. From what I’ve seen of her, it’s hard to imagine she’d take all of his shit. I’m sure she only does for Max’s sake.” The whole situation left his body as hyperaware as his mind, an uneasy sensation he’d never had to endure. The case drained him and his ability to maintain balance. He wasn’t sleeping well, and every waking moment was filled with thoughts of Kinsley.
“I know. Odd. What else is going on today? What’d ya need me for?” She threw her purse down and hopped onto the bed. She appeared to be in a good mood.
“I wanted to ask if you would accidentally run into Kinsley at the café for me. Talk to her, and get an idea how she is. Try to get her to talk about what’s going on. Get any information you can. If she starts opening up, I’d specifically like to find out why she doesn’t call home if she’s unhappy. Shit, I know she’s unhappy. Anyone would be. Tell her she can call me if she needs anything.”
“She’s gonna ask me why I’m at the café. What should I say? I mean, I can’t think of any reason to be over near Orangevale.” It certainly was a good thing Scar wasn’t the detective in the family.
“Seriously? You can’t think of anything? You’re a photographer, for Christ’s sake. Tell her you’re shooting a bar mitzvah or something.” He flung his empty bottle into the trash harder than he should have and turned from her to the window.
A wounded expression blanketed her face. “Jeez, Jackson, what the hell is wrong with you? Lighten up.”
She leaned back onto the bed, propping herself up with her elbows. He’d blown her good mood and furthered his bad one. They sat for a few minutes.
“I’m sorry. I’m tired. I shouldn’t have taken things out on you.” He never did things like that unless something important bothered him, and this case bothered him. The vague answers from Xavier and Olivia bothered him most of all. “I think Olivia’s right. I need a break. What brought you here in such a good mood?”
She made some of those squeaky sounds, the ones you make when you’re trying to hold in the excitement. He was glad to see her good mood return so quickly. With her being bipolar, he was use to sudden changes. “Well—get ready for this. A gallery in New York wants to show some of my photos! Won’t be for a while though. They said they book artists in advance.” She bounced up and down on the bed. “Can you believe it? They called me an artist!” It’d been a dream of hers since she started taking pictures ten years ago.
He smiled deeply, the kind of smile that comes from being truly happy for someone. “That’s incredible Scar, and why wouldn’t they call you an artist? I can’t wait to go to New York and see your work hanging in a gallery.”
“They said they wanted to view my whole portfolio.”
“I like to see you happy.” He stood and stretched with a grunt. “C’mon, let’s go. Kinsley will be getting to the café soon.”
Jackson and Scar pulled up to the café. No sign of Kinsley, but this was around her usual time to arrive. It was seldom she didn’t show. There were more customers in and out than usual, considering it was a late Friday afternoon. Over two months had passed since she had been at Lakeside. She’d only been out of the house a few times. Once, when she’d just gotten back from Lakeside, she went to her friend’s house with Max. Other than that one visit, she only went to the café. Wayde dropped her off and picked her up. The decrease in activity was a change in her routine before Lakeside, and not a normal routine