“Enough!” She didn’t know how to make sure Sara was safe without hearing the gory details. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”
Sara’s voice was wistful, far away as she looked out the window. “It’s like…it’s like being a little girl again.”
Jane cringed, then looked away, at a total loss for words.
“Don’t be disgusting, Jane. I don’t mean anything perverted by that. I didn’t know what I needed. But he’s so strong and he’s so in control, it’s like being taken care of by someone who knows exactly what’s best for me, and when I please him…” She sighed, her glance flitting longingly to the bathroom door. “…he pleases me.”
Jane’s nose wrinkled like she’d smelled something sour, leaning back from Sara, still trying to get her head around this change. She thought she had seen everything, but she had never seen this side of Sara, and honestly, Jane wasn’t sure if she was ready for it.
“Your body can’t be marked up,” Jane blurted out.
In an instant the old Sara returned. “Oh, Jane! You’re such a goddamn goody-two-shoes peasant. You think I’d let him do that? We have a safe word, for chrissakes. I’m not a moron. And I see your simple-minded face, but it’s not…dirty. If it’s, you know, what I want, and what he wants, there’s nothing wrong with it. So, to answer your stupid, fucking question, yes, I’m okay with it.” She took a deep breath and touched her neck, slowly, languorously, in thought. “He makes me feel free. I know it sounds weird, but he makes me feel safe, Jane. I haven’t felt safe in a long, long time.”
Since you were nine years old.
“S!” They heard Franco call from the shower.
Sara looked at Jane, her face flushing with anticipation. “Gotta go. Don’t worry about me, little Janie.”
She watched Sara close the bathroom door behind her, then practically fell to the couch, pulling her sweatshirt over her hand to push the “toys” away with a disgusted grimace. As loud moaning noises emanated from the shower, Jane took out her phone and glanced at it. She had an hour until Mr. Lindstrom arrived to pick them up and Sara certainly didn’t need Jane.
Jane had just enough time to get to the Prairie and back. She could return the borrowed dress and say a quick goodbye to Maggie.
***
Lars was anxious to get to the park and get the hell away from any reminders that Jane was leaving. He swiped at his burning eyes again, refusing to cry like a little kid or a woman. But he ached from the pain of it. To be so close to having someone you wanted in your life only to lose her…only to watch her make the decision to walk away.
He pulled into an available parking space and slammed his truck door shut. He threw open the glass door of the small office and stood in front of his father’s desk without offering a greeting or pleasantries. Mr. Lindstrom looked up and smiled then returned his attention to his computer, putting up his index finger.
Lars didn’t feel like waiting. He put his hands on his hips. “Pop, just stopped by to tell you I’m quitting. I can’t do that drop-off today and I—”
His father took off his reading glasses, turning in his chair to give Lars his full attention. “Whooooa, Midten. Slow down. Come in and talk to me.”
“You or Nils have to do the drop-off.”
“That’s fine.”
“And I’m not doing it anymore.” He plopped down in the loveseat across from his father’s desk, fingering the brim of his cowboy hat. “These city folks. These talent jobs. No more.”
“No one said you had to. Thought you liked working with talent.” Mr. Lindstrom furrowed his brows at Lars, tapping his lip with the stem of his glasses.
“I don’t. I don’t like it. I won’t do it anymore.”
“Am I wrong to ask if there’s more to this than—”
“Jane’s not staying.” He tossed the hat on the glass table in front of him and ran his hands through his hair.
“Ah.” His father folded the glasses gently, placing them carefully beside his keyboard.
“She said she was, but now she’s not. She’s going home. Some obligation to her uncle, staying with a job she hates working for that bitch instead of—”
“Language, Lars.”
“Sorry, Pop. She’s says it’s temporary, but I know it’s not. She said she’ll come back, but come on…” He tightened his jaw, hating the way his heart twisted as he boiled down everything to a few final sentences. He picked up his hat, studying the brim again. “Doesn’t matter. I only came by to say I’m quitting. I can’t do Lindstrom Elite. I know that’s what you want, and I can’t do it. So…”
“It was a suggestion, Lars. An idea. Not in stone. You don’t have to quit.”
“I think I do, Pop. I’m not an equal part of this business.”
“How do you mean?”
“I own ten percent.”
“What would make you happy?”
“Thirty would be fair.”
“You don’t handle management, son.”
“I could, Pop. I haven’t been given a chance.”
“Maybe you haven’t at that.”
“I have ideas too. Wildlife tours. Adventure tours. Camping, hiking. More of that. I could come up with some new ideas.”
“I’d like to see ‘em. And we can make some changes. You’re integral to our success, Lars. Part of the reason I started my own business was so that I could be my own boss. I don’t answer to anyone but you boys, and you don’t answer to anyone but me and Nils. You’re a few years younger, always seemed happy just being a guide. I didn’t want to push you to take on more.”
“Well, I’m ready.”
“Then we’ll figure it out. No need to quit. You don’t want talent jobs? Nils can take ’em for a while. Heck, we can turn ’em down if we want.”
A huge lump had formed in his throat as his father acquiesced to his requests. It didn’t help. It didn’t help the ache inside to know that Lindstrom & Sons would be reorganized. The pain was still there, twisting, throbbing.
He fingered the brim of his hat with his eyes down. If he looked into his father’s ice-blue eyes and saw love there, he might start to cry, and he couldn’t bear the humiliation of bawling in front of his father.
“I liked her an awful lot, Pop,” he whispered. “I might’ve fallen in love with her.”
“Might’ve?”
Lars shrugged, blinking his eyes rapidly and swallowing again.
“Jag älskar henne.” I love her.
“Thought as much when you walked up with her for Saturday lunch. Looking like the proudest man in the land because of the hand you were holding.”
“Yeah,” he murmured, remembering her small, white hand against his massive, tan one as they danced to “Woman.”
“She know that?”
“I didn’t actually say the words…”
“Probably should’ve, son.”
Lars nodded. He probably should’ve, but what good would it have done? She had already made up her mind to go.