“Jasper’s trouble is of his own making. Unfortunately, a person’s actions have repercussions on those around them.” I touched his arm. “I’m proud of you for making the decision to take this to the police. It might mean the closing of the co-op, and if that happens, your life will change, too.”
As he nodded his agreement, I was struck by how much he’d matured during his months at Red Fox. It was gratifying to know that my son had such a strong moral code. Trey was so unlike Justyn, whose upbringing had been devoid of stability and good values. I couldn’t help but wonder what that young man’s life would have been like had his childhood been different. His circumstances didn’t give him the right to commit heinous acts of violence, but I pitied him for the hollowness that existed within his twisted soul.
“I think I’ll go to the police right now, Mom,” Trey announced, calling me from my morose thoughts. “There’s a meditation session scheduled for eight tonight, and if the cops know, they could raid it or something. And since I walked down to Nana’s and borrowed her truck, they’ll expect to see me coming back on foot. Alone. But that’s not gonna happen.” He shook his head in disgust. “The sooner Jasper gets thrown in jail, the better. He’s a liar and a hypocrite and yet, I looked up to him. Well, that’s all over now. I’m not under his spell anymore.”
I reached out and touched his shoulder.
Trey looked at me, his mouth curving into a grin. “And I’ve got to admit, I really miss hot showers.”
Chapter 15
AFTER TREY LEFT, I WALKED INTO THE KITCHEN AND opened the refrigerator, searching for inspiration. It had been a long day, and with no one to cook for, I decided to fix myself a quick and comforting meal. I dumped a can of tomato soup in a saucepan, put it on the stove, and laid out bread, sliced cheese, and butter on the counter.
Ten minutes later, I was dining on a perfectly grilled cheddar and provolone sandwich along with a steaming bowl of tomato soup. Not one to eat anything out of a can without doctoring it first, I’d added fresh basil, garlic, and a generous sprinkle of black pepper to the soup.
I tried to focus on the pleasant aromas in my kitchen and the taste of my delicious supper, but it was difficult, so I reached for an advanced reader’s copy of a young adult fantasy Flora had given me. The author was one of Flora’s clients, and she’d loaned me the ARC because I’d read the first four books in the series and was dying to know if the shape-shifting hero would end up falling for the mermaid or the forest nymph.
However, I just couldn’t seem to concentrate on the novel. In between reading the same sentence over and over, I wondered if Trey had already spoken to the police. And had he asked for Sean or decided not to get his mother’s love interest involved? It was incredibly difficult to let Trey bear this burden on his own, but I knew he needed to do this without me.
Only an hour remained before Jasper would begin his next meditation session, and it was quickly becoming an unpleasant night for a crowd of college students to be traipsing up the mountain. The cold, starless sky was striped with dark clouds, and the moon was a pale sliver above the treetops. A nasty wind had sprung up, whipping the last of the leaves off the branches outside my kitchen window and pulling the petals from the chrysanthemums on my front porch.
I gazed outside for several minutes, trying to imagine how a drug raid went down. I’d seen them on television shows, those crime dramas featuring teams of heavily armed men and women kicking in doors and storming into squalid tenements or warehouses, but this was not TV. And how would my son fit into the scenario? Would he wait at the station or lead the police to the meditation center in my mother’s turquoise pickup truck? Would he accuse Jasper of being a criminal to his face or would the cops insist Trey stay in the background while they confronted the co-op’s leader?
My conjectures only served to increase my anxiety, so I got a fire going in the living room and poured myself some wine. After taking a single sip, I set it down again. It was doing nothing to relax me and I doubted anything could until Sean or Trey called with news. But my phone remained stubbornly silent.
Looking for a way to pass the time, I switched on the television, turned to a mindless reality dancing show, and flipped through a small press publisher’s winter catalogue. I loved reading about the upcoming releases. The tantalizing blurbs, alluring cover art, and promises of hours spent absorbed in a captivating story helped distract me from the day’s events.
Shortly before nine o’clock, the ringing of my phone startled me into dropping the catalogue and nearly knocking over my wine in my eagerness to talk to my son. However, it wasn’t Trey on the other end of the line. It was my mother.
“I know you’ve been pacin’ the floorboards all evenin’. Probably nursin’ a glass of wine instead of tossin’ back a shot of whiskey. When are you gonna learn how to cure a bad case of the nerves?”