Free Gone by Karen Fenech Page A

tears, repeating the numbers after Jake.
When she reached the street Jake had directed her to, he pointed to a house that was painted two different colors. Parts of the wooden trim and porch were brown, while other parts were yellow.
Clare pulled into the driveway. Jake got out without a word and ran toward the house. Before he reached it, the front door was flung open and a young girl with copper-colored hair spilling out of a loose pony tail and pajamas depicted with pink teddy bears appeared. Clare had no experience with children, but thought it was a good guess that the child was five or six years old.
The girl met Jake on the porch and flung herself into his arms. She had obviously been watching for Jake’s arrival. He scooped her up, holding her close.
Jake had a child?
Was there also a wife?
Clare felt a jab to her stomach at the thought and she yanked her gaze from him and backed the car down the drive. Someone started a lawnmower and the roar drowned out the laughter of a group of children gathered on the sidewalk.
Whatever we once were, it was never friends.
Jake’s words in the diner returned to her. He was right about that. They’d never gotten around to being friends. One moment they’d been colleagues on the job, then lovers, then in over their heads.
That Sunday morning three years earlier came back to her. She’d left her bedroom after she and Jake had made love and when she’d returned there’d been a rose and a ring on her pillow. She’d stared at the ring on the dark blue cotton and joked that the Bureau was paying Jake a lot more than it was paying her.
Jake rose from his reclined position on the mattress and leaned on one elbow, looking up at her. His gaze unswerving, his voice rock-steady, he’d said, Marry me, Clare.
She saw that he was serious and her throat constricted. She gave a little nervous laugh. “Things are wonderful as they are. Why spoil what we have by getting married?”
He left the bed and went to stand in front of her. He cupped one shoulder gently. He raised his other hand and brushed his thumb tenderly over her cheek, tilting her head back so their eyes met. “I want it all,” he said softly. “I want you for the rest of my life.”
Jake was a man who believed in “happily ever after” but she knew better.
Her breathing quickened and she broke out in a cold sweat. “A marriage license won’t make me love you any more.”
“Or any less,” he said.
“Then we don’t need that piece of paper.”
She ran her palms up his bare chest. She followed the path of her hands with her lips . . .
She’d thought the matter settled, but six months later he raised the subject of marriage again. That time she reacted with anger.
No, she didn’t want to get married. Not then. Not ever. She wanted to go on as they were for as long as they wanted to. Until they didn’t want to . . .
She knew a time would come when they wouldn’t want to go on. The end would come. It was inevitable.
Heart pounding, she wrapped her arms around herself in a tight hug and waited for his response.
They’d been arguing, shouting, almost in each other’s faces. Jake’s hands, at his sides, had clamped into fists with impotent anger. But at her words, a look of resignation filled his eyes. His rigid shoulders slumped. The anger appeared to drain out of him.
He watched her without blinking, then slowly turned away from her, went to her apartment door and opened it. Head bowed, he stopped on the threshold and stood gripping the frame. Then he walked out.
The memory left Clare feeling raw and hollow now. Her throat clogged with tears. She wiped a tear from her cheek. That she could still feel pain over him humbled her.
She’d given him all she could, and it hadn’t been enough. He’d wanted it all, he’d said. All or nothing and he’d chosen nothing.
She’d been devastated when he’d left her, but she’d gotten over the worst of it and moved on. As apparently had he. Her reaction to him now was