NUMB - Judy Colella (good beach reads txt) 📗

were equally intimidating at any distance.

Now, filled with disgust that the media was still camping out in front of his parents’ house, he waited until the reporter was a few feet away before pushing himself straight, glaring down at the man with the full force of hard-earned self-confidence. “What could you possibly want to talk to me about?”

A flash of fear flared in the man’s eyes, and then he swallowed hard, clearing his throat. “It seems no one has seen your brother for a few weeks. Is – is he still…I mean, why hasn’t he come out of the house? I know he’s in mourning, but – ”

Satisfied that these plague-rats still had no idea that Jett had gone away, he said, “I think I should tell you that I’m nowhere near as nice as my brother. In fact, I’d have no qualms about throwing you into the street.”

“Heh. Right. You can’t do that – it’s assault.”

“Nope. See, you’re trespassing, my friend. That means I am legally within my rights to kick your stupid, intrusive, smug, insensitive ass. In fact, I’m sure I’d enjoy it, too.” He uncrossed his arms and took a step closer.

The reporter took off.

“Jerk.” Swinging his key ring around one finger, he went to the front porch. His parents were expecting him, so he unlocked the door and went in.

“Ajax! Good to see you!” His father, who looked a lot less okay than he sounded, had entered the foyer at the same time.

“Hi, Dad.” They hugged. “Anything?”

The older Kinsley sighed. “Not a word. I suppose that’s good. If something bad had happened, I’m sure we would have been notified, yes?”

“As long as we rule out the Ditch Theory.” Ajax offered a smirk, referring to Jett’s label for their mother’s often-expressed concern that one or both of her sons could end up lying in a ditch somewhere if they did something stupid. He almost laughed now, remembering his brother’s comeback the first time she’d used that old saw on them.

Apparently Bryson remembered it, too, because he uttered a snorting laugh and nodded. “Come on – your mother is in the yard catching some sun.”

Ajax Kinsley was almost exactly a year older than his famous sibling, their birthdays less than a month apart. Because of the twin-like closeness they shared, Jax had spent the entire trip to is parents’ house in reflection about the similarities – and differences – between them.

There has to be some clue in the past that will show me where he chose to go now to deal with this, he told himself as he stared out the window of the 727. Like Jett, he was a natural athlete and had an innate love of mathematics. Using that similarity might, he concluded, provide at least a clue to the method Jett had used to decide where to go.

Unlike Jett, however, Jax saw sports as a hobby only, and had used his number skills to establish himself in a successful, lucrative career as a structural engineer. I doubt sports had anything to do with his decision, though…what else? Another difference in life paths was that Jax – his preferred and professional name – had put his work ahead of his social life. He was still single as a result, and happily so. Jett, however, had always been a true romantic, and it occurred to Jax that in light of this tragedy, it could lead to his little brother’s destruction.

“You okay?” asked Bryson.

“What?” His father’s soft question had pulled Jax out of his current introspection which involved an unexpected recollection of the stewardess’ blatant flirting throughout the non-stop flight.

“Nothing, son. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Thanks, dad.” Jax offered a smile, glad that his view of relationships was more down-to-earth than his brother’s.

As he followed his father through the house to the back door, Jax thought about his brother’s ability to focus with unusual intensity on whatever he was doing, and had to admit that if Jett were as incapable of tearing his thoughts away from the horror of what had happened to Atarah as he was of changing his concentration when training for an event, there was the manifest possibility that he would never recover from her loss.

Celia was standing in the middle of the yard, staring up at the sky, hugging herself in the chill air.

“Ajax is home, love!”

Celia turned and gave her son a smile seemed to him to have little life in it. He went to her, circling her with a warm hug – how frail she was! – and kissed the top of her head. “How are you, Mom?”

“Sad, darling. Otherwise all right. I – as much as I wish ‘Tarah would suddenly show up and tell us it was all a mistake, I know that isn’t going to happen. But your brother…I want him home. In fact, I think I’d like you both here for a while, but I’m not being realistic.”

“It’s okay. I’ve taken a couple of weeks off, so if you haven’t rented out my old room, I can stay.” He raised questioning brows, smiling, working hard not to let his own sorrow show in his expression as he looked down at her still-pretty face.

“Oh, Ajax, that would be wonderful! It’s so hard having you four states away – we simply don’t see enough of you.” She stopped hugging herself and hugged him instead. “And no, I haven’t rented your room, silly boy.”

This is awful. I’ve never seen her look so miserable, not even when Dad got sick. “I’m sorry. Maybe when I get set up in my own business, I can move back here.”

“Now that would be nice,” said Bryson. “In the meanwhile, I think we should go inside. You won’t be making any career changes in the next five minutes, son, and I swear the temperature has dropped another five degrees since you got here!”

Jax laughed. “Wow, I hope it wasn’t something I said.”

“Very funny.” Celia slapped him on the arm. “Your father is right, though. I could use a steaming cup of coffee. You?”

Ten minutes later, as they sat the table enjoying the warmth of the house and the coffee, Jax decided something had to be done. He was worried about both parents, but mostly his about his mother, who looked like she might fall into a pile of shards if her unhappiness got any deeper. That meant he had only one job now.

Find Jett.

 

*******

 

His fee – his price – had been reasonable. No money needed to be paid, and for an operation of that type, this was more than generous on his part. All the years spent honing his skill as a neurosurgeon, not to mention the breakthrough techniques he’d devised, the cost of an operation like the one he’d performed on Mr. Johanan would have been appropriate had it been in the millions. But no. He had charged nothing.

Not money, in any event. No, all he wanted was the one thing his heart had desired since the day he’d casually perused an art magazine while waiting to see his banker. He had carefully cut the photo of the young sculptress from the publication, using his pocket knife, and then placed it, unfolded, in his attaché case. Later, he had put it into a silver frame and placed it on the nightstand so he could see her, think about her, dream about her, when he went to bed at night. It had looked as if he would finally have her, too, but fate could be so cruel.

Her mother had, as a result, paid him an astronomical fee for the operation, but it provided little comfort. If he didn’t have to go to Paros to do follow-up examinations, he would never allow himself to go anywhere near Greece again. The news that the girl’s plane had crashed had been the worst moment of his life. Why be reminded that he could never have her? The photo had become a shrine, and now he only looked at it when he needed –

“Dr. Kobienko? Your taxi to the airport is here.”

He glared at his secretary and stood. The clinic had remained open, income still a necessity, but he was feeling less and less like dealing with people these days. As he passed her at the door, he failed to catch her look of outrage. Not that he would have comprehended its cause, having no concerns about being polite.

The next follow-up visit was scheduled for three days later, but he didn’t care. The Johanans would have to accept him being there a few days early, and that was that. The sooner he got this final examination over and done, the sooner he could make good on his promise never to go back. It was torture, knowing he was walking through rooms his goddess had lived in, slept in, bathed in…

He got into the back of the cab quickly and covered his lap with his case. “You’ve got to stop that kind of thinking in public, Yvgenyi,” he whispered.

“Sir?” The cabbie glanced into the rear-view mirror.

“Nothing. Airport.” He took out his cell and called Chara Johanan.

 

*******

 

“Athens! But Kyria, I can find most of these things right here.” Issa frowned at the list, certain that at least seven of the ten items on it were available in the small but thriving tourist town.

“Most, yes, but I’d like the other things at the same time, so it only makes sense that you get everything from Athens.”

Issa nodded, not wanting to argue with her employer. Besides, if memory served, shopping in the beautiful, ancient city had always been fun. What memory didn’t explain, however, is how it was possible that she had, in fact, ever done any extensive shopping there. She recalled buying dresses, jewelry, gifts…yet there was no way she could have afforded any of that, unless what she was remembering was a buying trip for someone else.

“Are you all right, dear?”

I must have been staring off into space. Silly me. “Yes, Kyria. I’m sorry. I was thinking about the shopping.”

“And you’d better be going, too – it’s a bit of a trip. Now, if it gets late, please feel free to spend the night. I gave you my friend’s address, and she’s expecting you to stop there either before you begin or afterward. She made it clear that you must stay the night should you not finish until the shops close. It wouldn’t be safe to travel back so late, all right?”

“All right. Thank you, Kyria. May I call my mother first? She’ll be worried.”

The older woman waved a hand. “I’ll take care of that. You just get moving. I won’t have you missing your flight.”

Issa started to leave, but stopped. “Wait. Why not take a ferry?”

“It takes about two hours each way, is why.”

“True, but…sorry. I’m leaving.” The Kyria had given her a purse-lipped, eyebrow-arched stare, and Issa realized she was pushing things too far. For whatever reason, her employer needed her to make her purchases right away. Then again, if that were the case, why encourage her to spend the night?

As she went out to the front of the house where her taxi waited, she glanced at the list again. One can of Venizelos coffee, a pound of Kefalotiri cheese, ten kitchen towels, some new pot scrubbers, three pair of therapeutic socks, some flower baskets…once more, the girl had to wonder why she was being sent all the way to the mainland for these things.

Several weeks had passed since she’d last experienced one of her headaches. Issa reminded herself of this happy fact, and told herself to enjoy the trip. Why spoil it by wondering about the Kyria’s behavior? Maybe she could pick up a gift for her mother, too, while she was there. The woman always looked so frazzled – an unexpected present from the capitol might be exactly what she needed. Helena Xenakis was a hard worker; while Issa’s memories of her mother were incomplete, she was well aware of her calloused hands, weathered face and the