Jersey Six(83)

Jersey turned her head, focusing on a dark stain on the shiny floor, maybe spilled coffee.

Max pushed her chair back and stood. “Take the kidney, Jersey.”



Isabel stood next to Jersey as she gave her account—Ian’s account—of the events. They released her a short while later.

As soon as she exited the jail, Shane took one arm and Max took her other arm, helping her to the SUV as Jersey hobbled on her bad ankle.

“Where are we going?” Jersey asked.

“Well, I can’t take you to the hospital. There’s a big gathering of cameras and reporters around it. But you need to have that ankle checked out. Then Ian wants me to take you to the Blevins’s house until he gets out of the hospital. But I’m willing to make sure you get anywhere you want to go. A hotel. Another city or state. Another country …”

Jersey shifted her focus out the window. “You want me gone.”

“No. I want you well. If you need help, someone to talk to, I want to get that for you. I don’t know what it must feel like to be in your shoes. Do you move on like nothing happened? I honestly don’t know.”

When Jersey didn’t respond, they took her to the doctor. An x-ray revealed a small fracture, so they sent her home in a boot. Home at the moment was the Blevins’s house.

Marley’s was gone.

Her friend was gone.

She had no sense of belonging. Guilt filled her from top to bottom, overflowing with nowhere to go.

Jersey expected Lola and Foxy to greet her, but the house remained still and silent when she opened the door. Max probably had Bria, the dog sitter, come get them after Jersey tried to kill Ian.

Jesus … she was seconds away from killing him.

Jersey slowly climbed the stairs and pushed open the partially closed door to the room where Chris had slept. Blood stained the carpet, but it wasn’t beige like Dena’s carpet, it was white. And the blood wasn’t from an inexperienced social worker; it was Chris’s blood from Ian’s fists repeatedly hitting his face.

Why? Why didn’t Ian say something before yesterday? He knew it was Kessler. He knew Chris was his name. He let Jersey talk about her past and the Russells, but he never said a word.

Why? It made no sense.

She eased onto the bed, thinking of Chris, thinking of Ian … thinking of G. That was it. All the looks, the despair in Ian’s eyes, the admission that he had something to tell her—it wasn’t that he killed the Russells. He was G.

And looking back, the familiarity, the sense that they had an invisible connection that felt bigger than a meet cute at a hot dog stand … it all made sense. Ian had always been her guardian, and on a subconscious level, Jersey knew it.



Hours later, a gentle hand rested on the side of Jersey’s head. She blinked open her eyes.

Max sat on the edge of the bed and smiled. “Hungry?”

“No,” she whispered. Jersey turning down food was a first.

“My husband is a sales rep for a software company. He travels a lot. So do I. It’s what makes our marriage work. Or probably more accurately … not work. I took the job for Ames, watching his kids, during a rough time in my life. You see, we had a five-year-old son. His name was Ian.” She smiled. “Such a great name. He liked to ride his bike up and down our street. It was his first summer riding it without training wheels. I was inside making dinner while my husband pulled some weeds out front and Ian rode his bike.”

She curled her hair behind her ear, looking beyond the bed out the window. “I’ll never forget the moment I heard sirens approaching our street. I dropped the potato peeler and casually dried my hands, making my way to the bay window in our living room. And that’s when I saw it … my husband knelt beside Ian, cradling his limp body. He didn’t come tell me; he didn’t have anyone come tell me. Because he knew Ian was dead. He knew it because his skull was cracked open and he wasn’t breathing. He just knew …”

Max ignored the stream of tears racing down her cheeks as she inhaled a shaky breath. “We don’t even know what happened. Why he rode into the street. The driver of the car said he just veered off the sidewalk so quickly, there was no time to react. Was something on the sidewalk? A worm? Was he chasing a butterfly? Did he just totally lose his balance? We’ll never know.”

“I’m sorry,” Jersey whispered.

Max nodded. “Me too. I … I don’t know a lot. I haven’t since that day. All I know for sure is that bad things happen to good people. That’s it. Nothing profound. Nothing hopeful or inspiring. All these years later, the first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning is Ian. And my heart still breaks. And I still ask why to a god I no longer believe in. I have a husband who I never see. A grave I rarely visit.

“When my life hit rock bottom, I ran away. And sometimes I wonder why my husband doesn’t come for me. Does he think I blame him? Does he think I’m broken beyond repair? Is he? I don’t know the answers to any of these questions. But I know that Ian Cooper would come for you.” She grabbed Jersey’s hand. “He’d give you the kidney.”

Max laughed on a tiny sob and wiped her eyes. “That’s not really my point. My point is … bad things happen to good people. You and Ian … you’re good people.”

A hint of a smile moved Jersey’s mouth as she thought about Ian’s words. We’re terrible people …