Hush Hush Erik Carter (read any book txt) 📖

Amber. Sitting on the folding chair. Green T-shirt with white lettering that read, Big Brothers Big Sisters of Central Florida. Smiling. A fake houseplant and a wrinkly, black cloth backdrop behind her—Dr. Nogulich’s permanent setup for her video do-over vows, set up in the back corner of a tiny room in her office-house.

Jonah was a coward.

That’s how he’d screwed things up so much with Amber; that’s how he’d been able to do the awful thing he’d done.

And now he couldn’t even watch her tape.

He couldn’t even look at the frozen image of her on the screen.

No…

No, he could do that much. He could at least look at her.

He took a breath, lowered his chin, and looked at the screen.

There she was. That smile, pure and beaming, a face that was virtuous, kind, had a tendency to giggle, which usually brought a hand to her mouth, some form of unneeded bashfulness, a playful face, a sexy face.

He picked up the remote.

And before he could stop himself, he pressed PLAY.

“Hey, Jonah,” Amber said.

Jonah shuddered. He breathed out, twice, hard and rapidly.

Amber brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I feel a little silly talking to a camera.” She stopped, looked to her right where one of the fake leaves was brushing her arm, giggled, hand to her mouth, scooted the chair away. “Everything I said in our first vows, I still mean it. So let’s cut to brass tacks. You messed up, babe. And … and I don’t know if I can ever truly forgive it. People say they forgive all the time, and it’s wonderful, but how often do they really, one hundred percent mean it? I don’t know if it’s possible with something like this.

“But I tell you this: maybe it’s not one hundred percent, but I do forgive you.” She paused. “Ninety-five percent, let’s say.” A smile. “And for something like this, I don’t even think forgiveness is the most important thing. Trust is. And that I give to you, one hundred percent. I trust you, Jonah. I trust that you’ll never do anything like that again, and I trust that you completely regret it. You’ve shown what you’re made of this weekend with Dr. Nogulich. You’re a good man. And I love you so, so much. Now and always.”

Another smile. And she stood. Her green shirt enveloped the screen again, going blurry. Shuffling noises. A flash of static. And the screen went blue.

Jonah leaned back in the sofa, resting his head on the top of the pillow, facing the ceiling, eyes closed, and a noise came out of him. Something like joyous laughter, something like the confusing rush of overwhelming relief.

Tears dripped off the edge of his jaw.

Chapter Fifty-One

The Accord rolled to a stop. Silence unbuckled his seatbelt, ready to hop out and switch places, but after Kim put the gear selector in park, she placed both hands on top of the steering wheel and exhaled, looking out at the apartment complex.

It was quite the contrast to the one Silence had visited earlier in the day, Jonah’s illustrious—if not corporately bland—setup. This one was a trio of brick buildings—two stories with additional windows along the ground revealing a third layer of semi-basement units—that were arranged in an L-shape around a grassy courtyard area with pine trees in the corners

A slight rain flecked the windshield. Kim had set the wiper speed too high, and they gave a slight screech with each pass. She didn’t seem to notice, just stared out at the closed-down pool area in the center of the courtyard, encircled with yellow caution tape and a procession of sagos in sparse marble chips, a trio of sad-looking fan palms at the far corner.

Silence sensed that she was going to say something. Something deep and profound to close out their brief association. He braced himself.

But all she said was, “Damn rain.”

Silence nodded.

“It’ll pass in a couple minutes. Florida weather, man!” A small, almost forced laugh. She turned her attention away from the windshield and faced him. “You really don’t say much, do you?”

He shook his head.

“Your voice—may I ask? Is it, like, laryngitis or something?”

Silence looked at her. Then he exited the Accord.

He walked around the hood to the driver side where Kim stepped out, shut her door, closed the distance between them.

They stood for a moment in the pestering but unsubstantial rain, looking at the apartment complex—Kim with her arms wrapped around her chest, Silence with his hands in his pockets, the sides of his jacket tucked behind his forearms.

“What should I do?” Kim said finally.

A simple question, but her tone had been severe, heavy. It was the profundity Silence had been expecting.

He raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, you said that your organization will tie up all the loose ends, clear things up in the computers. And I’m appreciative, don’t get me wrong. But … what do I do with myself now? I didn’t know they were gonna kill Amber. You have to believe me about that. But I knew they were gonna rough her up bad. I knew. Shit! And with her palsy. Oh god. I keep thinking about how scared she must have been. She was so sweet. She—”

Kim stopped suddenly, wiped the accruing rain from her forehead, traced the hand along her temple to her cheeks, where the rain was mixed with tears.

“You know, the highway where it happened, US 50, there’s a place called Christmas. Not too far outside Orlando. Kitschy little highway town. It’s got a two-hundred-foot-long building shaped like a gator. ‘The World’s Largest Alligator.’” She chuckled. “Amber and I went there every December, a ritual of ours. We had to go to Christmas every Christmas. She loved little pieces of Americana like that. She loved sangria too.” A smile. “She wasn’t much of a drinker, but she could put the sangria away. She liked it sweet. The sweeter the better.”

Another abrupt stop.

“I’m rambling. I guess what I’m trying to ask you is how do I proceed? How do I