The Winners Circle Read online

  “Let me explain the history of this structure.” He unveiled a scale model of the new carriage house. He planned to build it with salvaged beams, clapboards, and ornamental details from the original structure. “If we can settle down, please. We have a lot to discuss.”

  He assumed the center of the room. His voice shook, as he shuffled through his index cards, but he tucked them into his blazer. He knew them by heart, and his nerves began to quiet. He started speaking, his confidence expanding with each passing point.

  When his presentation ended, local residents and officials fired questions for more than an hour. Jerry kept his ground, promising to hold an open house with tours on two weekends per year. He eyed the attorney stalking one side of the room. Jerry’d managed to stifle his arguments before they arose. In fact, he’d satisfied every complaint in the court summons. He’d walked into the meeting amid grumbles and jeers, and when he left, they applauded him.

  He reached his car in the lot, with the leaders of the preservation society and reporters from both of the local newspapers on his heels. The same people who filed suit against him began suggesting that he take on another restoration project in town.

  The Porsche awaited. He stopped beside the open car door, peering down on his former detractors. He’d stood up for himself and won. He felt like the wind that blew through the hills and valleys of Hopewell. He’d always been a part of the community but passed among them unnoticed. On this day, he had to be acknowledged.

  CHAPTER 20

  The End of Therapy

  On his last day of physical therapy, Jerry worked the weight machines and repeated the prescribed stretches faster than ever. He was bored with the routine and had almost canceled the appointment.

  The nurse shook his hand at the finish. “You’ll probably always experience some pain.”

  “I’m anticipating it.”

  “Your doctor can write you a prescription.”

  “I don’t mind the pain. I like the reminder.” He offered no further elaboration, harboring the meaning of his words deep inside. When you let other people make your decisions, you can wind up shot, broke, alone, or all three.

  He stopped at the vending machine for a bottle of water. His cell phone rang, and he flipped it open and stared into the room where the seniors exercised. Debussy played on the stereo, and grey heads of hair gently rolled back and forth to the melody.

  Jerry heard a familiar voice on the phone line. “Gina?”

  “It’s me, baby. You want to talk?”

  “I’ve told you a million times to stop calling me that.”

  “A million?”

  “You like that number, don’t you?”

  “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

  “You’ve been a great help. I want to employ you fulltime.”

  “Employ?”

  “Run some errands. Cook dinner. Like you’ve been doing.”

  “But you have Tom for that.”

  “He does the heavy work, or at least, he arranges for it to be done.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’d never thought I’d say this, but you’re handy to have around. I’d like to hire you.”

  “Hire me?!”

  “You can’t go on working for free.”

  “Work for free?”

  “Gina, it’s a good offer.”

  “What kind of girl do you think I am?!”

  The affordable kind, he thought. He stifled a laugh. “You don’t actually think we have a future together?”

  “Of all the outrageous things to say.”

  “Gina?”

  “Jerry Nearing, you’re awful.”

  He heard the line disconnect, surprised that his offer had insulted her. He believed Gina was unflappable, and he chuckled. Good deal, I should have done that a month ago. He flicked closed the cell phone and jammed it back in his pants pocket, like a gun in a holster.

  The music stopped across the hall, and the seniors gathered to chat at the head of the class. Jerry was just pulling away from the vending machines, when he saw her standing among them. He’d notice that blonde head of hair anywhere, not to mention those gorgeous legs. Chelsea still owned a direct line to his heart.

  An elderly woman with powder white hair wandered from the room. She noticed Jerry staring. “That’s nurse Adams.”

  “You mean nurse Cogdon,” Jerry said.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s Adams.”

  Jerry glanced back into the room. It was Chelsea, using her maiden name once again.

  “She’s a real looker isn’t she.”

  “That she is,” he said instinctively.

  Chelsea caught sight of him in the hall. “Jerry?”

  He walked swiftly away on his rehabilitated legs, hardly limping, pretending he hadn’t heard, but he forgot Chelsea was a jogger. She’d outrun him.

  “Jerry?” She intercepted him by the exit.

  He took a breath and faced her. He could do this. He could be cool. He manufactured every bit of charm that he’d acquired in her absence. “Yes, nurse Adams.”

  “I guess you heard about that.”

  He nodded toward the elderly lady who was still standing beside the machines. “One of your friends informed me.”

  “I volunteer here on Wednesdays.” She wore a tight-fitting tracksuit. She was still put together as well as ever.

  “This is where I get physical therapy.”

  “I heard about your accident.” She appeared to want to touch his leg, but he imagined a lot of things whenever he saw her.

  “We can’t seem to keep out of the newspapers.”

  “No, we can’t.”

  He kicked his leg once in the air. He didn’t want her sympathy. “Today’s my last day. I’m good as new.”

  “I’m surprised I hadn’t run into you sooner.”

  “So what’s with your maiden name?”

  “Then you don’t know.”

  “Not entirely.”

  She glanced at the floor. “Haskell and I split up two months ago.”

  He wondered how he’d missed that, although he’d stopped reading the papers so closely and no longer glanced at the Winners Alliance files like Dick asked. He did the math. The last time they spoke, she was already alone. That explained her defensive attitude. Chelsea hated failure.

  “It was a big mistake,” she said.

  Jerry let this information sink in, promising himself not to be bitter. It wasn’t his style. “Chelsea Cogdon didn’t have much of a ring to it anyway.”

  “No.”

  “You could’ve had dinner with me that night and saved yourself a trip to Mexico.”

  “I should have. It was stupid rushing off like that and … rushing out on you.” She caught his eyes. She echoed an old expression, one he’d savored many times before but still couldn’t find words to explain, only that it was coupled to his heart.

  “Well, that was a couple of dinners ago. I’m fine with it now.” Jerry wasn’t so sure that he’d convinced even himself.

  “I’m fine too. I saved the last million, almost a million.”

  “Good for you.”

  “I figured you’d want to know that I was okay.”

  He did, but he didn’t want to admit it, not to her, not to the love of his life who’d torn out his heart and left him for dead. “I’m sure you need to tell this to someone, but not me. I’m the last person in the world.”

  “Are you still angry with me?”

  “That’s a really stupid question.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s the dumbest one I’ve ever heard.” Jerry pushed through the door, awash in the heat and light of the midday sun. He needed to breathe again, but that damned humidity was there, suffocating him.

  Chelsea latched onto his arm, stepping with him into the parking lot. Her expression changed. She looked nervous, a bit of the old quivering in her lip. Her perfected face was unmasked, exposing a glimmer of the girl from Chesterfield. “You were rig
ht.”

  This admission rocked him. He felt every one of her fingers gripping his arm, every print upon his bicep. He’d never seen her this vulnerable. Why was she doing this? Why? “I was right about what?”

  “The dreams,” she said.

  “What dreams?”

  “Our dreams. It was better before when we dreamed.”

  He yanked his arm free and stared at her. They were both naked beneath the sun. The sensory points on his body burned at the surface. He’d wanted the truth from her for so long, and now he didn’t want it. He wanted to give it back, let her bury the useless facts forever. “I would’ve spent my last million to convince you sooner.”

  “I know,” he thought he heard her say, as he turned and left her.

  Jerry Nearing hardly drove the Porsche. He worked the clutch and turned the wheel, but it seemed to propel forward under its own command. He kept replaying the conversation with Chelsea. Why apologize now? He swallowed every bit of it down deep, and only by luck, he didn’t plow into a tree along the roadside.

  Before he realized, he was cruising past Taddler’s Horse Center. A heap of manure rose behind the main barn. It was the largest pile he’d seen there. It made him realize how his life’s aspirations had transformed into crap. He saw the simplicity in that and accepted it as a sign. He directed his Porsche onto the property.

  He parked beside the pile and rose out of his car. A familiar ferment—sweet, earthy, repugnant—tickled his nose. There were times on his farm when he believed he smelled it from miles in the distance. He’d always be one step away from this line of work, no matter how full his pockets were. It was okay. He understood his anointed place in the universe.

  “It’s a mess.” Sam Taddler approached Jerry in jeans and a dirty denim shirt with a designer logo. He wore riding boots, but Jerry didn’t remember ever seeing him on horseback.

  “Morning, Sam.”

  “What brings you here?”

  “I saw the pile.”

  Sam shook his head. “It’s not like when you used to manage it. This guy shows up whenever he feels like.”

  “Why don’t you let him go?”

  “I fired two in the last year. What’s so hard about this job? A monkey could do it.” Sam gave Jerry a double take. “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that.”

  “No offense.”

  “It’s just hard to find men of your reliability.”

  Big Jerry Nearing folded his hands behind his belt. He felt the sun on his neck and shoulders. He saw horses galloping in the paddock. The land spread away from the tall black and white barn where men lowered hay from the loft and splashed hoses into the troughs. Taddler’s impressed him. The entire operation was real and honest work, something he looked forward to seeing, even just passing it on the road. “You want me to take care of this pile?”

  “You?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you want with it?”

  “Same as before. I can sell it around the county.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “I’ve never felt better.”

  Sam laughed out loud. “You’re pulling my leg.”

  “No, sir.”

  “What’s up?”

  “You’re going to teach me how to ride a horse.”

  Sam scratched his head. “You want lessons? I can sell you those.”

  “I want to learn how to teach others. That’s what I really need to know.”

  “You’re going to buy horses, aren’t you.”

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  Sam laughed again. “You’re not crazy.”

  “No, I’m past that.”

  “Alright then. Come sit with me in the office. I’ll show you a little of this business and see if I can’t change your mind.”

  “I don’t see that happening.”

  “Maybe we can work something out.”

  “I’d like that.”

  Sam took a few steps with Jerry, before turning toward him. “I still need for you to get this horseshit out of here.”

  “No problem. I’m your man.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Saving Mercer Oak

  A week passed, and no one showed at the farm. Every time the phone rang or someone arrived at the door, Jerry expected to hear Gina Spagnoli or find Dick Leigh’s stare hovering above the stoop, but it didn’t happen.

  When word finally came, Jerry received a simple unmarked telegram. He squinted at the brief message.

  Meet me at Mercer Oak – 3:00PM

  Of all the places to choose. Gina was the only woman he’d told about his special place with Chelsea. That woman had nerve.

  But he recalled Chelsea at the therapy center and her fragile confession. It’d been working the back of his mind for days, and the telegram stirred it up again. Could it be her? She’d never actually finished speaking, told her whole story. As a couple, they’d thrived by silent contracts and unspoken dialogues. Her apologies arose as earnest gestures and shrouded phrases, but at the therapy center, under the blinding sun, she was trying to explain herself for the first time, and he couldn’t wait to get away from her. He had cut her short.

  He gripped the telegram in his hand and shook off the possibility of something more. No, he was going to let Chelsea apologize, and that was it. He was strong enough to stand for it, although he realized that he’d been avoiding this day too. It was easier to be angry, to stay ever-longing, than to kiss the dream good-bye for good.

  The Porsche raced toward Battlefield Park. Jerry’s fists clenched the steering wheel. The closer he drove to Princeton, the more he was certain it was Chelsea’s telegram—so like her not to sign her name, so like her to hide in matters of the heart. She was scared—an emotion that reached all the way to the beginning, as if she was asking for shelter once again.

  Red lights flashed in Jerry’s rearview mirror. He glanced at the speedometer. Too fast for this town.

  Jerry pulled into the road shoulder along Mercer Street and stopped near the edge of the park.

  The officer rose out of his squad car and ambled toward Jerry’s window. It took a moment for Jerry to recognize him. It was the senior officer who’d arrested him on the afternoon that Mercer Oak split and tumbled.

  Jerry sank in the seat. He caught a glimpse of the cop’s handcuffs reflecting in the sun.

  “Good day, Mr. Nearing.” A distinct sound of resignation echoed in the officer’s voice—part apathy, part surrender, as if every word offered a sigh.

  “Hello.” Jerry had his driver’s license and registration in his hand. He poked them out the window.

  “I know who you are,” the officer said but accepted the paperwork anyway.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s a little fast, don’t you think?”

  “I wasn’t paying attention.” He squinted into the park from far away. Kids played baseball. Someone flew a kite. The amputated hulk of Mercer Oak was surrounded by yellow police tape. He strained for a glimpse of Chelsea, to no avail.

  “In a hurry?”

  “Not particularly.”

  The officer seemed to sense Jerry’s anxiety. He glanced down the road. “What is it with you and that tree?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You seem like a decent man. I saw in the paper how you’re restoring that historic house, but I don’t get this.”

  “What don’t you get?”

  “You and that tree. What’s the attraction? It’s a stump.”

  “It’s not the tree exactly.”

  “Oh it’s the tree.”

  “Well …”

  “I’ve seen protests around it. Famous tree surgeons have tried to save it. They’ve even shot movies there.”

  “I know about all that.”

  “Then there’s you. I can’t figure you out.”

  “It’s a long story.” Jerry stared down the road.

  “I’m not sure I want to hear it.”

  “Then you better write me a ticket if you want to get home in t
ime for dinner.”

  The men didn’t speak. Jerry heard a small plane pass overhead.

  The officer handed back Jerry’s license and registration. “Here’s what I’m going to do. I’ll give you a warning this time.”

  “Thank you.” Jerry hardly believed he was getting off.

  “You have to make me a promise.”

  “Anything you say?”

  “First, you’ll have to slow down.”

  “I can do that.” No doubt, relief washed across his face. One more violation, and he’d lose his driver’s license.

  “Second, something tells me that you’re headed toward that tree.”

  “You’re right.”

  “Promise me when you get there that I won’t have to arrest you again.”

  “You won’t.”

  “I hope not.”

  Jerry grabbed the stick shift. “Thanks.”

  The officer tilted his chin, leery of making a grave error. “Don’t make a fool out of me.”

  “Never.” Jerry dropped the car in gear and eased away like a ninety-year-old grandmother out for a drive.

  He cruised another quarter mile and parked beside the Mercer Oak. It looked hideous up close, split, truncated, but somehow right for the occasion. An expert was supposedly replanting a section of the original tree, but there was nothing there that Jerry believed salvageable, only hopes gone awry.

  The air was splendid, eighty degrees and unusually low humidity, a rare New Jersey summer afternoon without threatening rain. Jerry walked onto the grass, searching for a woman he’d recognize any place on Earth. He slid on a pair of sunglasses.

  He rounded the tree, seeing the edge of a silver ice bucket and a pair of sandals cast shy of bare feet. He was lifted by his luck with the police officer and decided to sit with Chelsea and make peace with her again, at least try.

  He saw her long legs and picked up the pace. A familiar body assembled from the legs to the thighs, and then hips. Chelsea Adams wore a short black dress and the string of pearls left behind by his mother. He stopped walking. This wasn’t a mistake. She’d done this on purpose. A woman presented herself like this before a man to either love him or kill him, perhaps a little of both.