Somewhere With You Read online

  Somewhere

  With You

  BRITNEY KING

  For my children

  and for everyone

  who has loved the right person

  at the wrong time.

  Table of Contents

  PART ONE - Jack

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  PART TWO - Amelie

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Britney King

  About the Author

  PART ONE

  Jack

  PROLOGUE

  Most people would probably agree that ten year olds are impervious to falling in love. What does a kid know of love, they’d say. Most folks would say it’s entirely impossible to meet your soul mate (and know it) at the tender age of ten, to fall head over heels, madly in love. But most ten year olds haven’t been through what Jack Harrison has. If you were to ask Jack today, he would say that he knew more about love and loss and everything in between, even then, than the majority of adults roaming the planet.

  It would be nice to tell you that Jack Harrison wasn’t always the competitive, hard-nosed businessman most people know him as today. But to tell you any different would be a lie. Sure, maybe he was once a carefree, kind-spirited little boy, but Jack couldn’t recall that version of himself—and anyone who might have, was dead. In theory, the shift had likely already begun the year ten year old Jack met what would become the love of his life.

  It was the summer of 1990, a summer of record-breaking heat, the summer that he learned a lesson or two about what it takes to rise to the top, and exactly one summer after his mother had finally lost her five-year battle with cancer.

  ONE

  June 1990

  Jack clearly remembers the first time he saw her face. He could easily recall that he was lying face down on the ground as a mixture of blood and dirt coated the inside of his mouth, one eye swollen shut, the other carefully fluttering, and then opening ever so slightly until he found himself peering into the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, eyes so pure and so blue that it was hard to tell where they ended, and the bright blue morning sky began.

  They say if you are hit in the head hard enough, you’ll see a beautiful burst of colors, and that is exactly what Jack thought he saw as he struggled to force open the one eyelid he still somewhat had control over. Later, he would remember that it was her voice he had heard first, the voice of an angel calling out urgently as he forced himself into a ball and lay there thinking of his mother. Surely, he told himself, that if she could survive all those years of suffering, then he could endure the next few minutes—it shouldn’t be too long now until his bullies were satisfied with their work. He at least owed his mother that much, he thought.

  Raymond Netzer and Joseph Coulter were well known among the campers for getting their way. You were either with them or against them, a sentiment they enjoyed reminding Jack of with each blow. They were a good four years older than he was, among the oldest kids at Camp Hope. That’s the thing about death and the people it leaves behind. It changes them. You either come out better or worse afterward, one or the other, but never the same. Truth be told, there would always be kids like Raymond and Joseph. The world is full of them, bullies, up to no good. Death only added fuel to their fire. Jack and the others were merely an outlet for their anger, something to try to control where death had left them nothing.

  For this reason, Jack practically begged his father not to send him away again this summer, because he was unfortunate enough to know what was awaiting him. But his father was unrelenting, insistent that Camp Hope, a bereavement camp for children who’d lost a parent, was where he needed to be. His father needed to work, he reminded him often, and not only would Jack enjoy all of the activities they offered, but he’d be out of the way, and best yet, it wouldn’t cost his father anything. Maybe you should go to camp then, Jack had said.

  “Can you walk?” the little voice asked.

  Jack nodded his head.

  “Here let me help…”

  The girl pulled on his arm to no avail. “Come on. Get up before they come back.”

  Jack pushed himself up to a seated position and studied the girls face. She was younger than he was by at least a few years. He glanced behind her at the audience that had gathered. She seemed to have read his mind because she turned around then and thrust her hands palms up toward the sky as though she were demanding to know what it was they were looking at. She waved something he couldn’t make out above her head. “You see this here?” she shouted. “It’s evidence. Proof that you all just stood here and did nothing while those jerks beat him to a pulp! Now get to gettin’. Or else I’m turning these over. And you’re all in for it!”

  Jack watched the crowd scatter as he brushed the dirt off his pants, staggering a bit, as he made his way up to a standing position. He eyed the girl suspiciously.

  She thrust her hand toward him so suddenly it startled him. “I’m Amelie. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. If only it were under better circumstances.”

  Jack furrowed his brow and shoved his hands in his pockets. He may not be as tough as the boys who’d just kicked the shit out of him, but he was no dummy. Jack knew exactly what he needed to do at this moment, for he’d learned very early in life the necessity of saving face. “No, trust me, kid, the pleasure’s all mine. Now those assholes are really going to have it out for me.” He looked her up and down. “Now, that a girl came to my rescue. I really didn’t need your help. I would’ve been just fine on my own”

  The girl seemed unfazed. “Well, I guess that’s one way to thank the person who just saved your life. Oh, by the way, you’re welcome.”

  Jack shook his head and turned back toward the hill. She followed. “Hey! You never told me your name.”

  Determined not to be seen with the girl as they made their way back to the center of camp, he picked up his pace as best he could given his injuries. “My name? It’s ‘as good as dead’ now.”

  “Oh, come on, lighten up. Look on the bright side, will ya. You have at least one friend here now. That has to count for somethin’, doesn’t it?”

  He turned on his heel and pointed his finger down at her face, vaguely aware of the onlookers. “Let’s get something straight here, all right?” He motioned at her and then back at himself. “You and I… we are not friends.”

  Her face fell, but even Jack was impressed by how quickly she recovered. “Well… I just thought… I don’t know anyone here… and… well by the looks of things, it doesn’t seem like you have many friends… at least not anyone willing to stick their neck out for you, anyway. So, it appears to me that you could certainly use a friend or two.”

  Jack allowed the corners of his mouth to turn upward ever so slightly, which he was pretty sure didn’t go unnoticed by the girl. She was young but smarter than she looked, he thought. And this would be just the first time of many that she would surprise Jack Harrison with her wit.

  The following morning Jack received a pink slip requesting that he report to the camp counselors office. He entered the rickety shack and frowned when he saw the culprits who’d caused his black eye sitting beside one another looking none too pleased. Wonderful. This is exactly what he needed.

  Mr. Thomas stood from behind h
is desk and motioned Jack in closing the door behind him. He motioned to the empty chair. Jack stood ignoring his wordless request. He knew what was coming, and he wasn’t going to make it any easier than it needed to be. The best thing to do in this situation is to remain quiet and composed, saying nothing at all.

  Jack stared at the floor. Mr. Thomas peered over the rim of his thick-rimmed glasses. “So… Jack… do you want to tell me what happened to your eye?”

  Jack shrugged. “I tripped.”

  Mr. Thomas glanced at something on his desk. Jack’s eyes instinctively followed.

  “Uh huh. I see.”

  Jack squinted a little in an attempt to get a better look at the colorful object the counselor was eying. “Look, I’m on A.M. dish duty today… so if it’s all the same to you, I’d better get to it.”

  The older man cocked his head to the side. “Jack, tell me… do you have any idea how poison oak could’ve made its way underneath the sheets of three of our campers beds. I mean… that’s a pretty atypical place for poison oak to grow, wouldn’t you say?

  Jack considered the question for a quick second. “Well, we are in the woods here… so I guess you never know…” Jack was guilty. He knew it, and the counselor knew it. How he knew, Jack didn’t know. But that wasn’t the point. The point was to be as vague as possible, to give as little information as he could get by with—without either admitting or denying his guilt.

  The counselor let out a quick, tired sigh. “Here’s the thing, Mr. Harrison… I had to send one of our campers to the emergency room this morning due to a severe allergic reaction. The other two are sitting out there waiting for their parents to pick them up until... until they have recovered. Now, usually, I wouldn’t have thought too much of this other than that it was an unfortunate incident. After all, as you’ve mentioned, we are in a heavily wooded area. But then this morning these showed up, coupled with a note.” He scooted the items across his desk toward Jack. “Do you want explain these?”

  Jack stared at the Polaroid’s but didn’t dare touch them. Damn. He met the old man's gaze head on. “What’s there to explain? What’s that saying? A picture is worth a thousand words? Yeah, that’s it… a picture is worth a thousand words.”

  The counselor leaned back in his chair and folded arms. “Jack, I can’t help you if you’re not willing to let me. But you can’t go around putting people in the hospital. Do you hear me? This is very serious. Bullying will not be tolerated here at Camp Hope. If these boys are bothering you, then I expect you to come to me. But you cannot continue taking matters into your own hands. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Completely.”

  “Mr. Harrison, one further question… do you have any idea how these pictures might’ve gotten into my office? They came with a note… a very demanding note. But with no indication of who the sender might be. You see, it’s my job to know exactly what goes on here within my camp, and if something is going on that I need to know about, I do not intend to be informed via a Polaroid photograph. Surely, you can understand my position, can’t you? The trouble is that I just want to ensure that our little photographer understands it, too.”

  Jack smiled though it didn’t touch his eyes. He shrugged his shoulders. “I have no idea.”

  The old man deadpanned. “Yes, that’s just what I expected you’d say. Well, I guess now that we’re clear here… you’d better get on to dish duty. Oh, and Jack?”

  Jack raised his brow.

  “It’s dish duty for you for the rest of the week. Both A.M. and P.M. With one as creative as you seem to be, it’s important that we keep all of that… talent contained. Now, one last time, are you sure you have no idea who sent these?”

  Jack glared. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “Ok. Well, then… just to be safe, I’m thinking we’d better make that two weeks.”

  “Yes, sir.” He nodded. “Am I free to go now?” The endless days of lying with his mother watching Perry Mason as she withered away counted for something, he thought.

  The man motioned toward the door. “I suppose so. But do let me know if you can think of anything that we’re missing here. About these photos, I mean.”

  Jack nodded.

  That day, Jack scrubbed the dishes cleaner than perhaps anyone had ever cleaned them—thanks to that goddamned girl. He knew exactly who’d sent those pictures. And now, not only had she invaded his life, but his thoughts, too. He was going to kill her.

  The next time that Jack saw the girl was in what they called ‘group session’ at Camp Hope. Jack hated ‘group’ where they were supposed to sit in a circle and ‘talk about their feelings.’ What the hell was there to discuss anyway, he wondered. Their parents were dead. They were in the middle of nowhere, misfits, cast off to some camp to ‘talk’ about feelings with strangers. Just so that the people who were supposed to really matter in their lives could avoid talking about them. It was what it was, so he never quite understood how talking about it was going to make any of it any different, which is usually why he sat outside the circle in the far corner of the room gazing out at the lake. Sure, they tried to make him inclusive within the group, the first few times of which he politely declined. The third time he walked out on them all together and let the door slam behind him. After that, they’d mostly left him alone. This summer marked Jack’s second year here at Camp Hope (which, by the way, he thought was a bullshit name), and it hadn’t gotten any easier and certainly was not any more fun, the way they’d all promised it would be. He hated this place, though, truth be told—ever since his mother had died he hated it everywhere. Sure, Jack still loved his mother more than he loved anyone, but he was coming to find that even she was a liar. It wasn’t getting better, and it certainly wasn’t OK. She once told him that he could still talk to her, that she would be there for him. But it was all a goddamned lie. He knew by now that she wasn’t really there. As hard as he might’ve tried, he couldn’t see her, he couldn’t feel her, and he couldn’t touch her. She wasn’t at a camp. She wasn’t at a lake in the middle nowhere. And she sure as hell wasn’t in any “group” circle time. She wasn’t anywhere except in the ground where they’d put her.

  Jack had been thinking of the letters when the girl’s voice caught his attention. Although he was pretty sure she wasn’t here last summer, he’d never paid much attention to whatever it was they discussed in their little powwow they held over there—but this time he found himself anxious to hear what she had to say. Whatever it was he was going to use it to destroy her. To crush her once and for all. Keep her out of his business, out of his life, out of his thoughts. Once is all it’d take, he knew this all too well. He watched as she stood and addressed the group. She was peppy, confident even—although not overly so. The good news was this was her weakness. It left room for people like him to create cracks, to manipulate the situation. But at the same time, she was the optimistic type. Nothing seemed to keep her kind down for long, and he hated her for that. These types of people were the worst.

  Jack leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and observed as she casually flicked her blonde ponytail over her shoulder. She paused, looked up, and smiled directly at him. It was an evil smile with a lie behind it. That much Jack knew for sure. Whatever she was about to say, it was going to be stupid. He was going to hit the jackpot later when he rubbed it all in her face. As she spoke up, her voice cracked a bit but she recovered quickly. “I’m Amelie and I’m eight. This is a poem I wrote in honor of my dad. He was a famous poet. But now he’s just dead.”

  The counselors smiled at one another, clearly a little uneasy and then nodded at the girl to go on. She was proud, her smile unwavering. It didn’t even falter on the word dead. This was going to be so good.

  “Roses are red.

  Violets are blue.

  My dad is dead.

  If you’re here... yours probably is, too.”

  The room was silent. The counselors looked nervous, wary. But the girl, she just smiled, a
nd then glanced at Jack—or was it a wink? For a moment, he couldn’t believe it. But then, as she sat back down, she curtsied in his direction, and that one movement solidified it all. The more he thought about it, the more he was sure that she had, in fact, winked at him. Clearly, this Amelie girl was messing with him.

  TWO

  Spring 2012

  Jack Harrison stood in front of his office window overlooking the lake as he let his thoughts drift back to her. They somehow always did, whether he was here or not. Even still, this had always been the place Jack could feel her most.

  No matter how many years passed, he could still picture her there underneath the tree that first summer, and though he could barely remember the boy he was then, in his mind he could still see her there under that tree, pointing her camera toward some unknown object near the lake. Whatever it was, she was forever looking through that lens. He never could quite see what the big deal was. He could remember how alone she looked sitting there that afternoon and also how like him being alone didn’t appear to bother her all that much. He recalled how, finally, when he could not contain his anger any longer he strode over and stood over her, his hands on his hips, his expression fierce. Even years later, and though he would never have admitted it then, he could remember how sweet, how innocent, how beautiful she looked as she lowered her camera, looked up at him and smiled. No one had ever smiled at him the way she did—not before or after that day. It was a smile that implied: “I know more about you than you think I do.” It was a smile that meant it, too. It was a smile that immediately saw right through him—that day and every day since.

  “Why’d you do it?” he demanded.

  She pursed her lips, brought her camera back to her eye, and resumed looking at whatever it was she had been looking at off in the distance. She didn’t answer him for a long time, and the silence made him uncomfortable. Such a long time had passed between his question and her answer that Jack had given up hope that she was going to respond at all.