Thanks again for reading and sticking with me on this, everybody! The simple little story I originally envisioned being maybe six or seven chapters long has taken on a life of its own and continues to surprise me. I hope you're still enjoying it.
Chapter 12
Jane was the first to awaken the following morning as the predawn light was just beginning to creep over the mountains and in through the thin curtains of the Airstream window. He looked over at the sleeping woman beside him, her tiny body curled next to his, her back facing him, as the tangled mess of her dark wavy hair grazed and tickled his face. He closed his eyes and leaned forward, breathing in the scent of cinnamon and gently tightened his hold around her waist. He was determined to commit every detail of this moment to memory and tuck it away for safekeeping, just as he had with everything that had happened the night before.
By the time he and Teresa had made it back to the Airstream, the feverish, almost wild desire that had been coursing through him on the bluff had only subsided somewhat; it took every ounce of control he had to slow down and rein in his body's screaming responses to her. He hadn't wanted their first time making love to be some hurried, frantic tryst that would be over far too soon for both of them. He wanted to be fully present and give himself over to her completely; savoring each moment, responding to every movement and sound she made. He could tell it was the same for her; as they slowly divested themselves of clothing and inched their way towards his bed in the corner, her blazing soft eyes rarely left his. And as the pace of their kisses and ministrations increased, punctuated by their increasingly ragged breathing and gasps of pleasure, the heady sensation of their touching skin gradually overwhelmed them both. They had fallen onto the bed with a soft thud (which elicited a chuckle from them both) and when their bodies finally joined, they melded together naturally and passionately without any trace of awkwardness or hesitation.
As they lay together afterwards, her body tucked into his chest as she dozed off, he was overcome by a sense of belonging and peace unlike anything he had ever experienced before- an odd mixture of exhilaration and utter contentment, like being lost and found at the same time. It was the feeling of knowing he was exactly where he belonged at this moment in time and that the woman sleeping next to him was the one he wanted by his side for as long as possible, even though he had absolutely no clue as to what the future would hold for them, or what a future together could even possible be.
He was falling in love with her. He had suspected as much for a while, but now he was certain. What it meant or how it could possibly work, he had earthly no idea. But when she had shared her news at dinner that she would soon be leaving Cannon River and that their time together was rapidly ticking away, it was as if the shiny little bubble they had been living in the past few weeks had suddenly burst. No longer did he want to pretend that what was going on between them was just some idle flirtation to be enjoyed for a short time, then left behind like some forgotten childhood toy. This mattered to him- she mattered to him- and as terrifying as it was, a burgeoning sense of hope and the infinite possibilities it brought with it was stirring inside of him.
He was an inherently selfish person- had been his whole adult life. So the prospect of turning his entire existence on its end and attempting an actual grown-up relationship with a woman- with her- was completely foreign to him. He had never even remotely considered it before, and now the wheels in his head were spinning madly. Could they find a way to weave their disparate lives together? Was he even capable of such a thing? Just as important, would she even consider it? The questions raced through his mind, but no answers immerged.
Of course he knew it was too early to voice any of these realizations or questions to her. He needed to keep this to himself for a while, let the ideas percolate and see what plans might take seed. Plus, based on what she had told him of her own spotty relationship history, he got the distinct impression that she was a runner; that whenever things got too serious or complicated, she'd head for the hills and never look back. He certainly didn't want to risk that happening now.
So for moment he simply gazed over at her sleeping form and continued his mental inventory of the little things he was now noticing and wanted to remember- the funny soft snores that escaped from her throat; the smattering of freckles spread across her shoulders which were left exposed by the blanket that had fallen as she slept; the warmth of her body as it nestled next to his like they were two spoons in a drawer.
The harsh ringing of an alarm on her cell phone interrupted his silent musings. Teresa let out an irritated groan as she reached over and retrieved the phone from the pocket of her jacket, which was strewn on the floor nearby, and turned it off. She laid flat on her back for a second and let out a long sigh as she stretched her arms above herself, then rolled over to face him, suddenly aware that he was already awake and watching her intently.
"How long have you been up?" she asked with grin as she slung the blanket over her bare shoulders, the cool damp air from the open window having chilled the room overnight.
"Meh, not long," he replied, deftly slipping his arm underneath the covers and laying the palm of his hand on her hip. "But why on earth do you have your alarm set for such an obscene hour? It must be barely past six."
"Six fifteen," she confirmed, "and today's actually my day to sleep in. Grace is doing the prep and opening up the shop this morning, so I don't have to go in until seven."
"What time do you normally have to be there?"
"Oh, I usually leave the house around five."
"In the morning?"
Lisbon laughed lightly at his appalled reaction.
"It's not so bad. Besides not all of us can set our own hours like you do," she answered with raised eyebrows. "I have to say, though, I sure won't miss these early morning wake up calls when I go back home. I mean, as a cop I've got long hours and have to work my share of late shifts, but rarely do I have to be up before the sun like I do here."
"So the murderers and thieves have the decency to wait until you've had your morning coffee before committing their crimes, is that it?" he asked teasingly.
"I wish," she replied with the small chuckle.
He reached his hand down along the side of her leg and grazed it lightly with the tips of his fingers until he could feel the crosshatching of scars on the smooth surface of her skin. For the first time, he allowed himself to imagine her on the day she received these wounds. A picture of her being attacked and lying bleeding in an alley flashed in front of his eyes. It was an image so gruesome, so vividly conjured in his mind, that he pushed it away immediately. Of course he knew she was a total badass and tough as hell, but in her real life away from this sleepy little town, she worked a job where she put herself in harm's way and risked her life every day. The potential consequences of this were right here underneath his fingertips. It was another prospective issue he'd have to contend with at some point, he realized soberly.
"So, are you excited to go back? To your job in the city?" he asked after a moment as he continued to tenderly brush his hand over the tiny indentations scattered on her thigh.
"Yeah," she nodded, a pensive expression settling over her face. "The pace of life here... well it's been a nice change, but I know I couldn't do it forever."
"I figured as much. And you must miss making a difference," he said plainly.
"Well, everyone makes a difference, no matter what they do."
He considered this for a moment.
"Even me?" he countered sheepishly. His "profession" had remained something of a forbidden topic over the last few weeks. But he now felt emboldened by the newfound intimacy between them, and he wanted to know what she truly thought about what he did for a living.
She looked down for a second, a thoughtful furrow forming in her brow then brought her eyes back to his.
"Well, maybe not so much in your current line of work," she began with smirk, "but I think you make a difference in other ways. I've seen you, you know- sitting in front of your store, performing your little coin and card tricks for the neighborhood kids walking by every day. You're making a difference for them, brightening their day a bit. It might not feel like much, but I think it's something."
"I suppose so," he replied softly. He got the feeling she was just trying to be kind, but he decided not to call her on it.
Teresa shifted her body down and curled back into his chest, tracing lazy circles on his stomach as they lay in contented silence for another minute or two. But when he felt her body tense almost imperceptibly, he glanced down to see her biting her lip, a nervous smile starting to form across her face. He could tell by the uncertain look in her eyes there was something she was dieing to say but couldn't quite speak it out loud.
"Go ahead and ask me, Teresa."
"What?" she asked obtusely.
He raised his eyebrows at her and gave her an "I know what you're thinking so you might as well tell me" look.
She shook her head begrudgingly and exhaled a soft chuckle, looking slightly annoyed that he was able to read her so well. "I was just wondering… if you really like what you do, this whole 'psychic medium' thing."
Jane smiled to himself, immediately reading between the lines of what she was asking.
"You mean do I ever feel bad about it?"
"Yeah," she glanced back up, looking him squarely in the eye. The tone of her voice wasn't challenging or judgmental; he could see by the expression on her face she was just genuinely curious to know.
He looked over and traced the edges of the blanket idly. "Sometimes, I suppose, but most of the time, no. Most people who come to see me… they aren't really relying on me or my 'vision' for any guidance. They just want some validation, someone to talk to who will give them the confidence they need to make decisions for themselves- decisions they'd probably make on their own anyway, with or without my input. Deep down, whether they realize it or not, most of them don't think any of it is real. They just want to believe that it's possible, like those kids with my magic tricks."
He turned his eyes back towards hers. Lisbon's expression was contemplative and soft, and he could tell that while she may be totally convinced by what he was saying, she was making an effort to at least understand it.
"Well, I suppose that might be the case for some people," she began with a small shrug, "and at least you're not like one of those guys you see on TV and hear about on the news; the ones in their shiny Armani suits, preying on little old ladies and bilking them out of their life savings…"
She leaned into him more and reached her hand around his chest, tucking it underneath him and relaxing her body into his once again. He smiled down and planted a kiss on the top her head as she let out a relaxed sigh and closed her eyes.
But his smile quickly faded as her words lingered and echoed in his brain. Suddenly the happiness of the morning was tainted; the hope and exhilaration he had felt just minutes earlier was replaced by feelings of dread and unease.
She had no idea what he was capable of doing- or of what he was about to do.
xxxxx
Just a few hours later, Jane was knocking on May Nelson's door.
He had made the appointment with her over a week ago, but of course the inauspicious timing of it, coming just after the night he had spent with Teresa, made his ambivalent feelings about the whole situation even more pronounced. His right hand twitched anxiously as he waited for May to answer but he breathed in deeply and put on his game face as he always did.
When she answered the door she greeted him warmly and ushered him inside. They walked into the modern but cozy interior of the great room that lay just beyond the foyer, and his eyes swept the impressive room. A pair of large picture windows overlooking the bay took up most of the wall in front of him. At one end of the room was a giant fieldstone fireplace, the mantle of which was covered with framed photographs of May and her son; on the other end of the room was a dining area with a swinging door he assumed led into the kitchen.
"So, Patrick," May began tentatively, "I don't really know how you go about doing this, but do you… need anything before you start? You're a tea drinker, right? Would you like me to brew a pot?"
"That would be lovely, May, thank you," he replied, knowing that playing the part of hostess might help put the anxious woman at ease. She smiled and excused herself to the kitchen then returned a minute later.
"It'll just be a few minutes to get the water boiling," she told him.
"Thank you, May, and please…" his voice was kind and reassuring, "I know this must be strange for you, having me here, but try to relax as much as you can. Remember what we're doing today is just a preliminary session, a chance for me to see the home where Matthew grew up and begin to get a sense of who he was. I don't expect I'll be able to contact him today; in fact I don't even intend to try."
She nodded in understanding. "So, where would you like to start?"
"Why don't you show me his bedroom?" he answered quietly.
"Of course," she answered and led him down the hallway off the foyer.
When they reached the door at the end, she opened it and motioned for him to step inside. As Jane expected, the room had an eerie, almost reverent feel, as if it were suspended in time. Everything that had belonged to the young man who had lived here remained in its place, probably just as he left it on the day he had died; a small pile of books and college brochures stacked on the dresser; a plaid flannel shirt hanging off the back of the desk chair; a backpack on the floor in the corner. Jane leaned in and peered at the various mementos and snapshots that covered the bulletin board above the desk and immediately picked out Matthew's face that was featured in most of them. In every picture- whether it was a candid shot of him and his friends with their surfboards at the beach or the group photo of his high school track team- he wore a wide, confident smile and sunny expression. He looked happy and self-assured, a kid with his entire life and a bright future ahead of him. The tragedy of his life having been cut so short hit Jane unexpectedly; he couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness as he surveyed the rest of the room somberly.
The faint, faraway whistling of the teakettle brought him out of his thoughts, and he smiled weakly at May as the two of them silently left Matthew's bedroom and returned to the dining room table. As May disappeared into the kitchen to prepare the tea, Jane sat down and steadied himself for what he knew he was going to do and say next.
"Matthew had a happy childhood, May," he began softly when she joined him a few minutes later and placed the steaming cup in front of him. "It's obvious how devoted you were to him and what a hardworking, disciplined young man he grew into."
"That's true," she nodded and smiled proudly, "although I really don't know where he got that from."
"He got it from you," he replied immediately. "He saw all the sacrifices you made for him growing up, to give him the life and security you wanted him to have. And during the last few years of his life I believe he came to appreciate that more and more; he wanted to make you proud of him."
"I was proud."
"And he knew that," Jane replied with kindness and certainty in his voice. He jerked his head to the side and closed his eyes dramatically for a moment.
"Patrick… where is all this coming from? Is Matthew… here now? Can you see him?"
"No." He shook his head and furrowed his brow as if he were stunned or disturbed by something. "No, but I…I just got a flash- a image of him in my mind, almost like an echo of his presence here. But it's not of him as a teenager; he's maybe eight or nine years old. He's sitting in a chair but he's so small his feet can't quite touch the floor yet." Jane noticed May's eyes dart to the empty seat across from her and he nodded towards it. "He used to sit right there."
May stifled a nervous laugh and nodded through unshed tears.
"The picture I'm seeing of him…" he looked over at May quizzically. "He's eating a... a grilled cheese sandwich. It's cut into little triangles and the crusts have been taken off. Does that mean anything to you?"
May was almost too astonished to speak.
"Yes! I…I used to do that for him. His teacher at school had read a book out loud to his class…"
"The Trumpet of the Swan," he completed her sentence.
"That's right!" Her eyes lit up in amazement. "The character in the story stayed at a fancy hotel and ordered room service- tiny little sandwiches with the crusts cut off. Matthew- he thought that sounded fun, so one day he asked me to do that with his lunch. Eventually, it just became this thing of his…how he always ate them."
By now her tears were flowing freely, and yet at the same time she seemed almost overjoyed by what Jane was telling her.
"Patrick, how… why would you be able to see this?" she asked in astonishment as she wiped her cheeks with the edge of her sleeve.
He tilted his head downwards and shrugged a bit, trying to appear modest. "I can't say for certain what it means, May. Perhaps it's just a happy memory of his that's lingering here. Or maybe this is his way of thanking you, for all the little things you did throughout his life that made him feel special and loved."
May's eyes brimmed with tears once more, and Patrick took a handkerchief from his pocket and placed it in her hand. She nodded gratefully.
"Do you see anything else?" she asked hopefully once she had composed herself.
"No," he answered with a small shake of his head. "Nothing right now, but maybe there'll be more when we attempt an actual communication with him later on at some point."
"I want to try that," she replied firmly then exhaled soundly. "I'm going out of town for work tomorrow. I'll be gone for about a week, but as soon as I get back… I need to try."
Jane tamped down on the guilt and self-loathing that were brewing inside of him, hoping like hell it wasn't showing on his face. He nodded simply and placed his hand on hers.
"Give me a call when you get back."
xxxxxx
It wasn't until after the morning rush had died down that Grace finally cornered her. The café was nearly empty. Wylie had run across the street to the market to grab a soda, and aside from Cho, who was sitting at a table nearby eating his breakfast and reading a book, there was no one else within earshot. Of course Teresa knew it was coming- the barrage of questions about the evening before- but she was grateful to have had at least a few hours of peace before the inevitable onslaught began. She was still trying to figure out for herself how she felt about everything that had happened in the last twelve hours. She was happy, of course, and had already replayed several of amazing moments from her and Jane's night together in her mind (several times in fact). But what it all meant moving forward? That was a different issue altogether.
God, how had she let things get this far? Why had she allowed herself to get emotionally invested in this man and set herself up for heartache like this? She was falling for the guy, no question about it, but also just as obvious to her was the fact that the two of them had an expiration date and it was fast approaching. Whatever this relationship was, as incredible as it felt at the moment, it would soon reach its inevitable conclusion. This was exactly what she had been trying to avoid.
"So…tell me about last night!" Grace appeared at her side and leaned her hip up against the counter. "What were his friends like?"
"They were great," Teresa couldn't help but smile widely. "They made me feel at home right away and we had such a fun time at dinner. They told me all kinds of embarrassing stories about Jane when he was a kid."
"Oh yeah?" Grace grinned back at her.
"Yeah." Teresa paused. "But I think what I loved most was just… being with them all together like that, you know? Watching him joke around with them and seeing this bond the three of them have… I guess I've always thought of Jane as this rootless person, with no real ties to anyone or anything. But… this was a different side of him, one I hadn't really seen before."
"It sounds nice," Grace said.
Teresa nodded and smirked to herself- of course the evening had been more than just nice, not that she was about to go into the lurid details about that. To her horror she felt her face immediately tinge pink, which of course did not go unnoticed by her eagle-eyed friend.
"Oh my god, did you…" Grace's face broke out into a huge grin as she covered her mouth with her hand. "You spent the night with him!"
By now Teresa's face was a deep crimson; all she could do was nod sheepishly while her friend practically squealed with delight.
"Oh my god, tell me how it happened," she exclaimed excitedly before whispering mischievously, "Did he have to sneak you in through his bedroom window after Sam and Pete had fallen asleep?"
"Stop it!" Lisbon was just about to smack her friend on the arm when the bell on the front door rang cheerfully. The two women looked over to see Rigsby entering the shop, his travel mug in hand and a curious look on his face.
"What's going on?" he inquired as he approached the two women behind the counter.
Cho stood up from the table where he had been sitting and brushed past his friend.
"Lisbon's sleeping with the psychic across the street," he deadpanned as he set his empty cup and plate on the counter and glanced over at his friend, "and I'm leaving."
Seconds later he was out the door. Grace and Rigsby stifled their amused giggles, seeing as Teresa looked as though she were ready to crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment. Much to her relief, by the time Wylie returned from the market a few minutes later, her sex life was (thankfully) no longer the topic of conversation, and after Wayne left, the three coworkers resumed preparations for the lunch rush ahead.
It was a little while later that Teresa heard the ringing of the doorbell once again and came out of the kitchen to greet the customer standing by the register; a beautiful statuesque woman with short, carefully styled dark hair and a cool expression on her face. It took her a second or two to place her; then Teresa recognized her as the bartender from the pub down the street.
"Hi, what can I get for you?"
"I'd like an macchiato, please," she answered stiffly as she took a shiny leather wallet out of her purse. She looked over at Grace who had just emerged from the kitchen to begin preparing the drink and smiled warmly at her. "Oh, good morning, Grace. It's nice to see you."
"Hi, Erica," the redhead replied in her usual friendly manner.
Erica turned back to Teresa and handed her the cash, and as she made change, Teresa noticed the woman eyeing her coolly.
"Teresa, isn't it?"
"Yes, that's right."
Erica smiled icily. "I don't know if we've ever really introduced ourselves. My name's Erica. I own the pub just around the corner."
"Yes, of course. Nice to meet you," Teresa replied, trying her best to act normally, even though just seconds earlier the woman in front of her had been shooting daggers at her with her eyes.
"Well, I've been meaning to come by and say hello," Erica began, a curiously sweet tone in her voice. "You and I have a friend in common."
"Really, who's that?" By this point Teresa was beyond confused and curious as to what this woman's deal was.
"Patrick Jane," she replied simply with the arch of her brow, her eyes trained on Lisbon's. Teresa could tell Erica was trying to gauge her reaction to what she had just said- and perhaps trying to provoke one as well.
Lisbon kept a straight face; this woman was clearly trying to get a rise out of her, for whatever reason, and she wasn't about to give her the satisfaction. Instead she just chuckled lightly.
"Well, that isn't surprising. Jane's the kind of guy who makes friends wherever he goes."
Erica nodded curtly. "Yes, he's a very charming man. I… haven't seen around in a little while. You'll tell him hello for me?"
"Sure," Lisbon replied dryly, trying not to roll her eyes at this woman's continued attempts to goad her.
Erica grabbed her to-go cup off of the counter and turned to Grace. "Thanks, sweety. You're the best," she said condescendingly before casting one last withering glance at Teresa, turning on her heel and exiting the cafe.
The two women watched her stroll down the sidewalk for a few moments before Grace broke the silence.
"Well. That was weird."
Yes, Lisbon agreed silently. Very weird indeed.
