The Favor Page 3

  Clark had relived the night a million times. Would undoubtedly relive it a million more.

  It was supposed to be a special occasion.

  Clark had been the architect for a large manufacturing plant in nearby Asheville. Jake had been the general building contractor. The project had cost well over twenty million, and they’d both worked their asses off to make it a success. They’d cleared some serious cash and wanted to celebrate the completion of the project.

  Jake had reserved the back room at Jack of Hearts, the local pub. A couple of kegs, platters of hot wings and celery, and a hundred of his closest friends. He’d even hired a cover band. In Jake’s words, it was going to be epic. Usually, Clark would’ve begged off, but he’d been excited about the finished product and thrilled about his inflated bank balance.

  But the weather hadn’t cooperated. While there was mostly cold rain in Franklyn, the higher elevations were getting a dose of serious winter weather, making the roads slick and icy. When the band didn’t show up, citing the nasty road conditions, Jake had been beyond pissed. He’d given them a hefty deposit and wanted live music. If the band wasn’t coming, Jake, who’d already had a few, wanted his guitar.

  Clark had seen how hot Jake’s temper was running, and he should’ve talked him down, shown him the Weather Channel app on his phone, and convinced him the country roads were dangerous.

  But he hadn’t. The party had been so important to Jake. Clark couldn’t deny his friend. Instead of being the responsible man he usually was, he’d gotten behind the wheel with Jake riding shotgun, and nothing had ever been the same again. Even though Clark had been stone sober, he’d been no match for the roads.

  Jake had clicked on the interior light, screwing with Clark’s night vision. Jake had been yelling into his cell phone, blasting the band for not showing up. Clark, trying to concentrate on the road, had gotten frustrated and tried to wrestle the phone away from Jake. Just east of Hot Springs, he’d lost control of the car and they’d tumbled down an embankment, leaving Clark with a headache and a few scratches and Jake in ICU.

  The couple in the car behind them, the people who’d stopped and called for help, had seen them arguing and told police the accident must have been a result of the dispute over the phone. Clark had been charged with reckless endangerment, while Jake had gotten a life sentence.

  Clark stepped out of the truck and leaned against the side. Seeing what the accident had done to Jake never got any easier. A sharp pang of guilt stabbed him in the gut, and he wondered for the millionth time why, when he’d been the one who’d been driving, he’d escaped with no serious injuries.

  After a deep breath, he walked to the front door and pressed the bell.

  Jake yelled, “Hang on. It will take me a minute.”

  The deadbolt clicked, and the door slowly opened, the sunlight glinting off the metal of Jake’s wheelchair. He’d been waiting on a prosthesis for months, but the swelling wasn’t going down as quickly as expected, and he was stuck waiting.

  “Hey, man. How’s it going?” Clark briefly met Jake’s eyes and then quickly looked up. He would never be able to face what he’d done to his best friend.

  “Pretty good. Come on in.” Jake rolled the chair backward and into the living room. The apartment, on the ground floor of a new complex just outside Franklyn, was perfect for Jake. Clark had been the architect for the project and had made sure Jake got dibs on the place.

  The floor plan was open, giving plenty of room for a person in a wheelchair to maneuver in and out of every room with ease. Clark had had no idea when he’d designed the place that Jake would be living in the handicapped unit.

  “What’s going on today?” Clark closed the door and walked farther into the apartment.

  Jake rolled to a stop in the corner of the room. “Just watching a little baseball. The Braves look terrible.” He shook his head. “It’s almost painful to watch.”

  “It’s always painful to watch.” He was surprised to see the place was messier than usual. Jake was a neat freak, and there were several wrappers and empty cans on the coffee table. Maybe he’d been too busy watching baseball to clean up.

  “Shit. You know the Braves are the best baseball team in history. You just don’t want to admit it.”

  “Braves, my ass. You only like them because they’re the closest team. The Cubs are the only team worth watching.” It was an old argument, as familiar and comfortable as Clark’s favorite pair of work boots. He’d never told Jake the whole story of why he hated the team so much and probably never would. It was ancient history.

  “Call me crazy, but I like a team that wins the World Series more than once a century. You want a beer?” Jake was already rolling toward the fridge.

  “I’ll get it,” Clark said, dashing to cut between Jake and the kitchen.

  “Relax, dude. I may be in a wheelchair, but I’m not helpless.” He eased past Clark and pulled up to the door. “I can operate my own fridge, jackass.”

  “I know. I was just trying to—”

  Jake handed a Coors Light to Clark. “I know what you were trying to do. We’ve had this conversation a few times already.” He shook his head and looked up at Clark. “It’s not your fault. I’m alive. I’m learning how to live this way. Can we just drop it?”

  If Clark hadn’t known Jake for two decades, he’d have believed his sunny outlook was real. But Jake couldn’t hide the dark circles under his eyes, the tension in his forced smile.

  “It is my fault, Goose.”

  “It isn’t your fault,” Jake repeated. “And don’t call me Goose.” He punched Clark in the arm. “Duck.”

  Clark smiled. Duck and Goose. Nicknames from elementary school.

  “Now, do you want to watch some baseball, or would you rather just wallow in your misplaced guilt?”

  “It isn’t misplaced—”

  “Gotcha,” Jake said, a devilish grin on his face. “Beat you to the living room.” He leaned the chair back and shot across the tiled floor.

  Jake grabbed the remote from the side table and cranked the volume up three or four ticks past loud.

  After four innings of a lackluster game, Jake switched off the television. “What’s the matter?”

  Clark placed the beer he’d been nursing since he arrived on the table beside his chair. “Nothing. Why?”

  “Bullshit. What’s the deal?”

  It was impossible to fool Jake. Always had been. “Something happened this morning.”

  Jake tilted his head to one side and cracked open another beer. “Is this like a guessing game?”

  “I punched George Bishop and broke his nose.” Clark absently rubbed his knuckles.

  Jake’s eyes went wide. “What the hell? That’s not like you. I’m usually the one with a hot temper who loves to talk trash. You’re the calm one, the voice of reason.”

  “He was getting physical with Anna, and I wasn’t going to let that happen.” He clenched his fist and lobbed it into his palm, remembering the surge of anger he’d felt when George had grabbed Anna’s wrists.

  “How do you know her?”

  “I don’t. Not really. It’s all Taylor’s fault.”

  “Isn’t it always?” Jake asked, grinning from ear to ear. “Start at the beginning.” He took a deep sip of his beer.

  Clark told him everything. The costume, the satisfying crunch when he’d hit George, and Anna’s fear that her ex was going to get custody of Louie.

  “You did the right thing. George is a sorry bastard.” Jake paused and looked out the window into the parking lot. “Anna deserves so much more than that son of a bitch.”

  “You know her?”

  Jake nodded. “She was in my American History class. She didn’t run with our crowd, but she was always smart, sweet. Not the kind of girl I ever expected to get tied up with George.”

  “What was he like?”

  “All brawn, no brains. A stereotypical jock who loved to talk trash.”

  “Sounds like he ha
sn’t changed much.” Clark finished his beer and crushed the can.

  Jake shook his head. “Too bad Anna has.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’s whip-smart. She could’ve done anything she wanted, but she got pregnant right after graduation. She put everything on hold for her marriage and her son. Now she’s stuck cleaning houses to make ends meet.”

  “I told her I’d take care of things. I’ll take responsibility regardless of what that means.”

  “I’m shocked he didn’t call the cops,” Jake said. “He loves to use his clout.”

  “The cops buy it?”

  “How can they not? His family is the closest thing to royalty we have in Franklyn. They grease the wheels.”

  “If they have so much money, why didn’t they send George to Lennox?”

  “Legacy and all that. He wore the same football number as his dad.”

  “Sheesh.”

  “I hope he doesn’t sue you. That would be just like him.” Jake tapped his fist on the armrest of his wheelchair.

  Dread settled in the pit of his stomach. Louie’s party seemed days away instead of hours. “Shit.” Clark balanced his elbows on his knees and placed his head in his hands. He’d worked hard for every penny he had in the bank, and he didn’t want to pay a cent of it out to that bully, but he would. He wouldn’t put Anna on the hook for his mistake.

  “He probably won’t though,” Jake said.

  “Why?”

  “You kicked his ass in front of Anna. He’s probably too embarrassed.”

  “I sure as hell hope so,” Clark said.

  Chapter Five

  On Wednesday evening, Anna was hauling groceries into the kitchen when her cell phone rang. Willa Laurens, the attorney who’d handled her divorce, popped up on her caller ID.

  Shit.

  Her heart sank like a lead weight.

  She contemplated letting it go to voicemail, but she caved on the third ring. The more she knew, the better she could prepare.

  “He’s filed a motion for custody modification,” Willa said. “He wants primary custody that gives you visitation every other weekend.”

  The threat hit her with the force of a semi. Anna’s head began to throb. Her heart pounded. She blinked, trying to keep the edges from closing in on her. Fear roiled her stomach, and her knees felt like they were going to buckle. She leaned against the counter, feeling like the breath had been knocked out of her.

  There’s no way I can live with only seeing Louie every other week. No way.

  From the moment she’d decided to leave George years ago, she’d feared this phone call.

  “What are his chances?” She hated the shaky way her voice sounded, hated herself for living in constant fear of her ex.

  Willa exhaled loudly into the phone. “Pretty good. Violence in the household is a big deal. His argument will be that an environment where there’s violence isn’t safe for a child.”

  “But it wasn’t my fault. It’s not like the man is my boyfriend or even a close friend.”

  “He’ll claim you should’ve vetted Redhawk, done a better job of screening who comes into your home.”

  “But George was threatening to be violent himself.”

  The sound of another deep exhale came through the speaker. “It’s not the same, Anna. He didn’t hurt you, and there’s no history of physical abuse. If we had police reports or a restraining order, we could use it, but as it stands, we need to find another way to fight this motion.”

  Anna didn’t want to ask, but she had to know. “Can we win? Can I keep my son?”

  “Come by the office in the morning. We’ll try to get a game plan.”

  Anna hung up the phone and sank into a chair. Her legs ached from cleaning four houses. Wednesdays were always long. Beginning at just after seven o’clock in the morning, it was usually well after six in the evening before she picked up Louie from Mrs. Rosemiller’s, the next-door neighbor who watched him for a few hours after school if Anna was still working.

  She’d planned to use the money she saved at the grocery store to splurge for dinner at IHOP. But now, after Willa’s call, she pulled the cash from her pocket and tucked it into the small tea tin she kept in the freezer.

  I’ll need every extra penny to pay the legal fees. Back to money. It always comes back to money. The lack of it.

  Everything was spinning out of control. She’d been hanging on by the skin of her teeth for so long. She couldn’t do it anymore. There were just too many variables she couldn’t control. Maybe Louie would be better off with George.

  Maybe I shouldn’t fight the motion.

  Maybe Louie would be better off in a huge house with a swimming pool, every game system on the market, flat-screen televisions in nearly every room. He’d never have to sit on a Goodwill sofa or wear jeans tattered at the knee.

  George can give him a lifestyle that I can’t.

  When she’d left George, she’d only asked for minimum child support. She’d never pursued alimony because she’d thought it might anger him, might make him fight for primary custody. Even though he hadn’t been a peach of a husband—their marriage had been punctuated by episodes of binge drinking, emotional abuse, and even threats of physical violence—she’d kept it to herself.

  The last thing she wanted was to be a victim. Especially George’s victim.

  I’m not letting that bastard get into my head. There’s no doubt Louie needs to be with me.

  Anna had never told a soul, not even Taylor, what living with George had been like.

  In trying to keep her son with her, she’d made George look like a much better father than he really was.

  What in the hell am I going to do?

  …

  Clark settled down to draw the plans for a new movie theater in Asheville. It was nearly eight o’clock in the evening, and the office building was finally quiet. He did some of his best work in the evenings when he was alone and could listen to baseball games on the radio. He opened the window and let the fresh scent of rain rush into his office.

  There was nothing like the feel of a graphite pencil in his hand. He often did a series of conceptual drawings before he entered anything into AutoCAD, the program architects used to draft projects. But as soon as he picked up his pencil, all the ideas for the theater that had been bouncing around in his head for weeks vaporized. He doodled on the upper corner of the page, drawing baseball diamonds and tiny concept cars, hoping the creative ideas would begin flowing again. An hour later, he rose from his chair with nothing remotely architectural on the page.

  He’d never had this problem before the accident. He’d always been able to pull ideas from the air and make it happen. Now, he had nothing.

  The guilt had poisoned him. It was a slow toxin, killing his hopes and dreams, one by one, until there was nothing but an empty shell. Before the wreck, he’d wanted a wife, a couple of kids, but now he knew that would never happen. It should never happen. The reckless behavior that had led to the car accident proved one thing. His father had been right all along.

  I don’t deserve happiness. I’d only find a way to fuck it up.

  He ran his hands through his hair. He had to get to work on this project. Maybe a shot of caffeine would do the trick. He walked to the break room, put a coffee pod in the Keurig, and waited for a cup to brew.

  Just as he grabbed the mug, the cell phone on his hip vibrated.

  Taylor.

  “You okay?” he asked when he answered.

  “I am, but Anna isn’t.” Her voice shook with worry.

  “What happened?”

  “George is suing her for primary custody.”

  He clenched his jaw. “That’s not going to happen.”

  “You need to do something major.”

  “Who’s her attorney?” The wheels in his mind were spinning.

  “Willa Laurens.”

  “Which judge will hear the motion?”

  “Rafferty. The old coot,” Taylor sai
d. “He treated her like gum on the bottom of his shoe in the divorce hearing.”

  That was probably because Anna wasn’t a member of the local country club. The center of good society in Franklyn, Judge Rafferty was on the board of governors. Even though Clark had done the most recent renovations on the club and carried a membership, he hated the place. He’d rather be in cutoffs and a tattered T-shirt mowing his grass than dressing in plaid pants to chase after a little white ball.

  “I’ll take care of everything.”

  “I’ll do what I can on this end,” Taylor said. “But we’re not going to let her lose Louie, no matter what it takes, right?” Even though Taylor was tough, direct, and full of sass, when she was scared or unsure, she always looked to her big brother for reassurance.

  “We’re going to make sure they stay together.”

  He disconnected the call, dumped the fresh coffee in the sink, and turned out the light over his desk. There was no way he could draw with all the thoughts running through his head.

  Money would help Anna. It was the least he could do for her.

  Without his intervention at the party, she wouldn’t be in this situation.

  Just something else I’ve made worse.

  He took several stacks of bills from the small safe in the corner of his office, counted them, and stuck them inside a large padded envelope. On it, he wrote Anna’s name, the word “retainer,” and the amount enclosed.

  The attorney’s office was just down the street, on the way to the garage where he parked his car, and he hoped that she had a mail slot. Clark tucked the envelope into his back pocket and hid the lump it created with a light jacket.

  The night was cool. Even though it was May, here in the higher elevations of the Appalachian Mountains, temperatures fell quickly when the sun went down, especially just after a rain. He passed several couples, most likely tourists walking to restaurants and eclectic shops. He wondered what it would feel like to be part of a couple.

  Deep inside, he grieved the loss of his potential wife, children, and the proverbial picket fence. But even if he hadn’t wrecked Jake’s life, and even if he had found the perfect woman, he had no idea how he’d handle a marriage. His parents didn’t exactly provide a good example. While they stayed together, their union was one of social convenience and copious amounts of alcohol.