Over the Borderline Read online

  Jacob stood on the balcony of his eighth-floor apartment vacantly watching indigo clouds gather in formation right above the setting sun. In the distance between a row of condos, hotels, and office buildings, he could see a sliver of silver-blue water and smell the briny scent of decay in the air. He reached for the glass on the plant stand beside him and sipped his bourbon.

  Honestly, Jacob knew it was a doomed relationship from the start. As Brooke had said, “You met her in a strip club, for heaven’s sake!” But Summer had been part of his life for over three years now. At first, she had seemed so into him, and they were really good together. She loved to party as much as he did, had friends from Tallahassee to Titusville, and scored the best blow and weed he’d ever had.

  Unlike some men, he’d loved having a stripper as his girlfriend; she was a badge of honor, proof of what an alpha stud he must be. Strange as it seemed—at least to some people, including Brooke—he loved the idea of other men lusting and drooling over his girl. And the more he got to know Summer, the more Jacob believed he could be her knight in shining armor, the hero who could rescue her from past pain and present addictions. He imagined them together forever, living it up for a year or two before settling down and having kids, getting real jobs and all that went with adulting.

  But one year turned into two, then three, on the roller coaster of their relationship. While he didn’t mind other guys watching her perform, he hated the idea of anyone else touching her. He knew she was a big flirt, that was part of her job, but he didn’t worry about her taking it any further until one day when he saw this old dude stuffing twenties and fifties into Summer’s thong. A middle-aged, divorce attorney who was now divorced himself, the old geezer thought he was Hugh Hefner, acting like royalty and clearly accustomed to being treated that way. Soon, the old sugar daddy became a regular, showing up two or three times a week.

  Jacob hated the man but didn’t say anything to Summer until one afternoon when he pulled into her apartment complex and saw her waiting for him next to a gleaming new red Mercedes-Benz CLS 400.

  “Hey, babe,” she’d said. “Look what I got!”

  “Where the hell did you get this?” Jacob said, jerking his hand free from hers. “You can’t afford a ride like this.”

  “Don’t you love it? The color’s called ‘Scarlet Letter’!”

  “Where’d you get this?” Jacob circled the car, angry at himself for admiring it, despite the situation.

  “It’s just a little gift,” she said. “You know how many…friends I have. I thought you would be happy,” Summer pouted and reached out to hug him. “It’s just a car, baby.”

  “Really? You thought I’d be happy?” His face flushed as red as the Mercedes. “Friends? Admit it—you’re just a whore. One of your sugar daddies bought you this in return for your services. It was that club-lizard Randy, wasn’t it?”

  “So, what if he did? Randy’s harmless. You know how my business works, baby—he’s just showing his appreciation,” she said. “You’re the only man I ever make love with.”

  “So, you screw the rest just for exercise?” he said. “We’re done. I mean it this time. Done.”

  Jacob had left and didn’t answer any of her calls for three days. Finally, she called him from someone else’s phone so he would answer, crying and begging him to give her another chance. But when he asked if she would quit stripping and dealing drugs in order to be with him, she went silent. He hung up, and the next day changed his number and blocked her on all his social media accounts.

  After several months of no contact, however, she somehow got his new number and called one night, obviously stoned and threatening suicide. She had already told him about the way she used to cut herself when she was a young teen. “Unless you take me back,” she’d said, “I’m going to keep slicing until I don’t feel a thing.”

  Jacob had hung up on her, sick of her warped games. Then, two days later, Summer’s mom, Cheryl, called to say Summer had been hospitalized—not for her cuts but because of her mental instability. After a total meltdown at the club during her act, Summer had been involuntarily admitted—something Brooke called being ‘Baker Acted’—and held in the psych ward for a mandatory 72 hours.

  Cheryl had begged Jacob to visit Summer in the hospital then and at least be friends with her. But that incident was the last straw. He was done—done with drugs and partying and strippers. After that, he had gotten clean and started becoming a new man, one who didn’t need that way of life. Brooke had supported his decision whole-heartedly and praised him for his courage in taking a hard stand. Now, almost a year later, he had moved on—or at least he thought he had. Sipping his bourbon, he replayed Cheryl’s first message:

  “Jacob, it’s Cheryl Phillips. I knew you’d want to know… She’s in a coma—Summer’s been in a bad accident. She took some pills and flipped her car. She has swelling on her brain, and she’s going into surgery. They say she will probably have…permanent brain damage…please, I beg you, call me back. She’s my baby and she needs you.” The older woman’s voice then crumbled into a sea of tears.

  He could not bear to listen to her second message, which was even more rambling and raw, and instead deleted them both. There was no way he was calling Cheryl back or going to visit Summer. Not because he didn’t still care, but because he had once cared too much. He had locked away too many of his feelings for Summer to have them spilling out now. It was a matter of survival—his own.

  He hated himself for breaking down and trying to pray for Summer earlier that day. Pathetic. He had given up on God over ten years ago, not long after turning sixteen and getting his license. Driving home from a friend’s house, he’d turned a corner in his neighborhood and immediately noticed a car angled into a cypress tree at the end of the block. Smoke seeped from beneath the dark sedan’s crumpled hood, and as he pulled up behind it, he saw a woman slumped over the steering wheel.

  “Ma’am, can you hear me? Are you okay?” he yelled after opening her door. She didn’t respond, and then he saw the two children, also apparently unconscious, in carrier seats behind her. He felt around for the woman’s seat belt fastener. He was scared, but with adrenaline pumping through his veins, he pulled the woman from the driver’s seat and gently dragged her onto the front lawn of the nearest home.

  He ran back to the car, which had even more smoke pouring out of the front end. The smell of burning oil filled the air, and even as he knew what was about to happen, he acted without thinking about it. Jacob grabbed the older child, a big, blond-haired toddler, from his car seat just as the boy opened his eyes and cried out for his mother.

  “It’s okay, buddy,” Jacob whispered and held the boy to his chest while running as fast as he could to the spot where he’d placed the mom. Once there, he dragged her closer to the front door of the brick ranch, yelling for help at the same time. An older woman with short snow-white hair and a leathery face opened the door and gasped.

  “Call 911! Now!” Jacob called over his shoulder, after dumping the toddler in the old lady’s arms. Then he sprinted back across the street, praying the whole way. Red and orange flames erupted just before he reached the car. By now, two other drivers had stopped and were watching the tragedy unfold. He heard an older man yell out, “Stay back! It’s gonna blow!”

  Intense heat enveloped him, but Jacob ignored the pain searing his hand as he yanked open the other back door. Cocooned in her infant carrier, the baby girl had a ribbon of blood streaming down her cheek, and one eye swollen shut. Jacob tried to lift the entire car seat out only to discover it was anchored tight by the fastened seatbelt. He pulled frantically at its buckle, but it wouldn’t budge. He then tried ripping the fabric connected to the buckle with no success and wished he had his pocketknife. Thick black smoke enveloped them as the heat became unbearable.

  Blinking back sweat and tears, Jacob tugged on the baby, and she began to cry, but he couldn’t pry her from the snug-fitting car seat. Suddenly, he felt strong hands clamp ont
o his shoulders and pry him away. Fighting to regain his balance, his arms flailing, Jacob was dragged to the opposite curb just as the car burst into a fireball.

  Some nights in his dreams, he still heard her crying, heard the screams of her mother after regaining consciousness and seeing the smoldering shell of the vehicle. No one blamed him—just the opposite, they praised him for rescuing two of the three occupants. But he would always feel like he could’ve saved her if only that EMT had not pulled him away.

  Now, over a dozen years later, he still became enraged. How could a good God permit such a horrible thing to happen? How could He allow an innocent child—a baby, for Christ’s sake—to die like that? Why did He allow me to save the woman and her son but not the baby girl as well?

  Jacob downed the rest of his bourbon. A rosy glow lingered on the horizon and somewhere below he heard voices discussing tomorrow’s Jaguars’ game. Never again would he waste his breath praying to such a God, if one even existed. He was done hoping for more in this life than what he could do for himself.

  Done.

  Chapter 3

  “The body of Candace Anne Fletcher, age 27, was found in the dunes along a deserted stretch of beach south of Jacksonville this morning, and police investigators are calling it a homicide… here with more details is Channel Nine’s crime reporter, Chad Montgomery. Chad, what can you tell us?”

  Poor girl, so young, so much of life ahead of her and now her life was over. Brooke shivered at the thought and leafed through a stack of APA articles for the remote. Aiming at the flat screen above the faux fireplace in her apartment, she turned it off and headed to the bathroom where hot water was filling the tub. She shrugged off her sweats and tossed them through the doorway toward her bedroom. Stepping carefully into the tub, she let her body adjust to the warmth of the water before reclining into the soothing bliss of its embrace.

  Brooke closed her eyes and rested her head against the inflatable bath pillow. Her tiny bathroom smelled of lavender, and a pink pillar candle burned on the shelf beside her tub. The hot water felt heavenly, and she couldn’t remember the last time she had allowed herself such a relaxing indulgence. But she deserved it.

  After grading papers all Sunday afternoon and reading through several articles related to her dissertation emailed to her by Dr. Gregory, Brooke needed a break. Something more than just a nuked chicken-and-pasta dish and a glass of chardonnay. A bubble bath had seemed like just the thing. She found her thoughts turning to Jacob. She debated calling him just to make sure he was really okay but didn’t want to hover and encourage further emotional codependence.

  Ah, what the hell—ever since they were little, they had depended on each other. Brooke fumbled for the Bluetooth earpiece just within reach next to her phone lying on a towel near her sink. After two rings, it went straight to voicemail.

  “Hey, it’s me. Just soaking in the tub and thinking of you—no, not like that, you perv,” she laughed. “Been working all day and treating myself to a nice soak. Remember how I’d take a bubble bath and call you in high school? And we’d talk forever—or until there was no more hot water. Just checking on you, babe. Call me back if you want. Bye.”

  She smiled thinking about those bathtub conversations back in school. Brooke couldn’t remember a time when Jacob wasn’t in her life. Back in Sadersville Elementary, he seemed so vulnerable, so uncertain and tentative. From the moment Jacob walked into Mrs. Thomason’s first-grade classroom with his hair spiked up, Brooke had wanted to befriend him and put him at ease. As it turned out, her instincts were right. Jacob was funny and bright, unafraid of girls, unlike most of the boys in their class, and drawn to her precocious maturity. While their peers watched Drake & Josh and listened to Radio Disney, they had been glued to The X-Files and the Goo Goo Dolls.

  And over the years, they had endured so much together—bullies, crushes and breakups, each other’s parents’ divorces, the suicide of a friend their senior year—and through it all, they were always there to lean on each other. Without even trying, they had forged a bond years ago that couldn’t be broken. There was something special about Jacob that always melted Brooke’s defenses and rational boundaries. He could see a part of her that was invisible to others. A place that was so vulnerable and allowed her to feel deeply what everyone around her felt. Jacob appreciated the gift Brooke had for wanting to help people.

  As if on cue, she heard the familiar chords of I Melt with You by Modern English, Jacob’s unique ringtone.

  “Hey, I was just thinking about you!” she said.

  “You still in the tub? You can call me back if you need to.”

  She smiled. “No, the water’s still warm. It’s just like old times. How you doing?”

  “Better,” he swallowed, “I think.”

  “You don’t sound too sure. Any other messages from Cheryl?”

  Jacob paused. “No—not that I know of. I blocked her number. It’s time to move on.”

  “Good for you,” Brooke said and meant it. “You’ve been doing so well these past months. Don’t let this set you back. Did you… go out last night or stay in?”

  They both knew she was basically asking him if he went clubbing and got drunk or chose a quieter evening at home.

  “No, I could’ve gone out with a couple of guys from work, but I just hung out here. Watched a baseball game, did laundry.”

  “Good for you. Very responsible.”

  “No, actually quite boring,” he said and Brooke imagined him smiling. “I’m becoming an old homebody just like you.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” she said. “It’s called becoming an adult.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not claiming to be a grown-up just yet.”

  There was a moment of silence, but neither of them found it awkward. It was one of the things she loved about their friendship. Finally, Jacob said, “Well, I’ll let you go and enjoy your bubbles. Thanks for checking on me.”

  “Of course. You know I’m here if you want to talk—any time.”

  “I know. Love you, Brooke. Talk soon.”

  “Back at you.”

  She put the phone and earpiece back on the towel and turned on the hot water.

  Maybe Jacob really was maturing after these past few years of sowing wild oats. Despite how much she hated watching his ups and downs with Summer—and picking up the pieces of their breakup, Brooke knew she would always care about Jacob and want him to be happy. It was just who she was.

  As a girl, she was always reaching out and mothering everything and everyone around her—stuffed animals, American Girl dolls, shy kids sitting alone in the lunch room, her stepbrothers after an argument with their father, and stray pets from the neighborhood. By the time she was thirteen, Brooke seemed mature for her age, studious and reserved, more interested in discussing Dexter than Sex and the City. Jacob always accepted that she was different, special. Her mother had divorced for the second time and her father had died of a heart attack on a golf course in Hilton Head. Brooke already understood the huge impact her father’s abandonment had on her.

  Shortly after her dad’s death, Brooke discovered a self-help book, Black Swan: The Twelve Lessons of Abandonment Recovery, and recognized the link between her father’s absence and the ache inside her. From what she’d experienced, most men caused pain, loss, and feelings of unworthiness. They came around just long enough to plant dreams before exiting to make sure those dreams remained unfulfilled.

  Despite such a painful awareness while so young, Brooke liked growing up in Sadersville. It was small-town, sunny with blue skies, large old oak trees draped with curtains of Spanish moss and palmettos swaying in the breeze. Even though it was sticky and humid, she enjoyed sitting on the front porch swing and watching the world go by.

  Orange groves were prominent in that part of Florida, and they bordered the town on every side. Their sweet citrus smell always seemed to fill the air. Life seemed simpler and somehow seemed untouched by the constant encroaching development.

>   Even though she still thought of herself as a small-town girl, Brooke knew her big dreams required a larger launching pad. This desire to pursue dreams for a bigger life was something she and Jacob shared. As they had grown older and reached high school, they hung out more, still listening to the same music—Green Day, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Pearl Jam…and of course her guilty pleasure, Britney, every now and then. They had this incredible connection, and they could say one word and know exactly what the other person was thinking. Brooke would call him and say, “I am so pissed!” but he would interrupt her and nail the exact thing about which she was pissed.

  Jacob was awesome at figuring people out, and he especially had Brooke figured out. Jacob knew all her secrets, and she knew his. They had flirted with the idea of being boyfriend and girlfriend, but neither wanted to risk losing the special friendship of the other. They had a connection that felt stronger than any of the one-month crushes they saw, and occasionally indulged in, with their peers.

  Despite his indifference about grades, Jacob was smart, intellectually and emotionally. His street smarts seemed far superior to her academic scores, and she envied how comfortable he seemed in his own skin. He had jet black hair, sea-blue eyes, and pale skin that he tried to keep tanned. He dressed like most of his peers in jeans and polo shirts, but Jacob always managed to find some quirky, retro way to express himself. He’d wear old Ray-Ban aviator sunglasses and Chuck Taylor high-tops, slick his hair back like Elvis or John Travolta in Grease, and pull it off with his devilish smile.

  In high school, some people misperceived him as gay until they realized his impeccable taste and sense of style were more metrosexual, a way to express himself and, in his thinking, to attract girls at the same time. His bad boy attitude was, for the most part, a mask of bravado used to attract girls and intimidate other guys. When she had moved away to go to school, Jacob had stayed behind and worked at his grandfather’s car dealership. They had managed to stay in touch and, in some ways, grow stronger.