Jonas and I sat in a nook at The Coffee Shoppe, waiting for the other book clubbers of Larches Corner to arrive. He’d asked me to meet him early, so we could catch up.
“A detective?” he repeated, taking a sip of his house brew. “Is that something you really want to do?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it. I mean, why do I keep stumbling into these murderers? I think it’s because I can’t stop until I figure out what’s going on. It seems like it would be a good fit for me—a real career, you know? But at the same time, I’m looking at four or five years of training and on-the-job experience. Katrina thinks I wouldn’t want to stick it out, and she does know me well. I don’t like feeling trapped in a job.”
“I wonder why that is.” He shot me an amused look.
“What’re you saying, Jonas Hawthorne?” My tone was sharp.
He dropped his eyes, poking at the petals of a hot pink gerbera daisy that sat in a squatty vase on our table. “Just that, well, you know. I mean, your mom—”
I bristled. “You’re saying I’m like my mom?”
He looked bewildered. “Why, is that a bad thing? Your mom’s fantastic. She knows how to do just about anything.”
I took a liberal drink of my strawberry frappe, mulling over his observation.
And I realized he was dead right. How had I not seen it all these years?
Although I’d always related most to my even-keeled dad, I couldn’t escape the fact that I tended to hurtle from one idea to the next, trying first one thing, then another. And why? Because I was hoping to settle on something? No. It was because I got bored. I needed to have projects and live fully in the moment, just like my mom did.
Almost in slow motion, Jonas reached across the table and wrapped my hand in his own. It was the first time he’d made that kind of very intentional physical contact, and my hand warmed so quickly, it could’ve peeled the varnish off the table. He gave me an intense look. “Belinda, you never cease to surprise me. You’re so different from—well, from anyone else I know. You’re a delight.”
It sounded like something my grandma would say, but when Jonas said it, a tingle ran through me. Especially when he was holding on to my hand like he didn’t want to let go of it.
His voice deepened, and he leaned closer, his knee resting against mine under the table. “As a matter of fact, I’ve been wanting to talk with you—”
The bell jingled on the door, and Delia Jensen walked in. She was the only Female of Marriageable Age in the book club, and she looked like she could have been the muse for any number of beautiful Renaissance paintings. Her dark eyes flicked our way, and she lit up with a smile.
“Jonas.” She turned from him to me. “And Belinda, lovely to see you’re in town! I’ll grab my coffee and come right over. I’m so looking forward to discussing Gatsby.”
I tried to control the irrational jealousy that always flared when I saw Delia. I didn’t think Jonas was enamored with her—in fact, he seemed rather taken with me at the moment—but I couldn’t be sure.
To my dismay, he let go of my hand. “We’ll talk soon,” he promised.
As the rest of the book club trickled in, I tried to get my head back in the game. We discussed the role of truth and lies in The Great Gatsby, Nick’s frequent inebriation throughout the book, and whether Daisy and Gatsby would have had as much appeal without their fortunes.
I glanced at Jonas. His face was twisted in distaste as he responded to the group leader’s commendation of Tom Buchanan. Of course Jonas would have no time for Tom. Tom Buchanan was the type of louse I was pretty sure Jonas would beat up in real life.
Jonas was such a multidimensional man. A farmer who was always open to trying new methods of doing things. A caretaker who sacrificed his time and looked out for others without question. A student whose mind could never be satiated.
I wanted to hold his hand again.
* * * *
When we got to the truck, Jonas’s mom called and asked if he could pick up some Sprite on the way home.
“She must be feeling sick again. It’s the only thing she’ll drink when she’s sick,” he said, his grip tight on the wheel.
We ran into the tiny convenience store in town for the Sprite. Usually when we wound up at this particular store together, we’d start reminiscing over how the old Coke machine would give free drinks if you pounded on it just right, or how the owner used to stock the favorite candy bars of each kid in the neighborhood. But today we shopped in silence. On the way home, Jonas could barely string three words together. This was no time to question him about the conversation he’d promised me.
When we reached my parents’ white house, Mom came out to the truck and gave Jonas a warm greeting. Jonas didn’t talk long, and as soon as I stepped out of the truck, he took off.
I tried to explain his abrupt behavior. “His mom’s sick.”
Mom grimaced. “I feel so bad for her. She’s so young for all this.” She dusted her dirty work gloves together. “Say, would you have a minute to come out back and help me set something up?”
“You mean your windmill? You’re already working on that? But Tyler and Katrina just got in this morning.”
“Wind turbine,” Mom corrected me. “And Katrina’s been snappish today, so Tyler’s anxious to get outside.”
Snappish was probably an understatement. Katrina was not a good patient, and being placed on bed rest had probably been demoralizing for her.
“Sure. I’ll just run in to change and check in with Kat, and then I’ll come out.”
Mom’s long blonde curls were twisted into a bun, and her face was sprinkled with quite a few more freckles than my own. My eyes traveled from her gloved hands to her flare-leg jeans, then finally to her scuffed boots that had weathered a lot of snow and rain. I felt a wave of gratefulness. I used to think Mom was fickle and unappeasable. Now I saw that she was determined, hopeful, and brave. She pushed to do hard things, and she never ran into a situation she didn’t try to tackle head-on.
In fact, if I turned out exactly like her, I would stand proud. I pulled Mom into a tight hug.
She laughed. “What brought this on? Are you trying to get out of helping me?”
“Nope—I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m just happy you’re my mom.”
She beamed. “And I’m thankful you’re my daughter, Belinda Jade.” She yanked a hat onto her head. “Now, let’s get cracking.”
* * * *
I grabbed a couple of Katrina’s homemade cinnamon rolls before heading up to meet her. I found her curled up on the guest bed, her oversized stomach resting on a body pillow. She was watching a rerun of Dr. Phil, which by extension meant that she was shouting at the poor people who were unburdening their hearts on-screen.
“I can’t believe you would say that to your wife,” she said, gesturing wildly at the TV. “Your wife!”
I had no idea what the man had just said, but I knew it wasn’t important. The real issue at hand was that Katrina was attempting to cope with her powerless state by bossing around people on TV.
I’d picked up a few psychological skills myself.
“Sis,” I started, handing her a cinnamon roll, “I need to talk.”
This was always a surefire way to calm Katrina down. There was nothing she liked better than to have a deep, soul-sharing discussion with someone.
“What’s up?” she asked, taking a huge bite of the roll. She was definitely eating for two.
“Jonas wanted to talk with me about something, and it seemed important, but he wasn’t able to work his way back around to it. He had to get home to his mom because she was sick.”
She struggled to sit up. “You think he was going to ask you something more personal? I mean, he did bring you that refurbished bike, and he went to visit you in Greenwich…you never know. Are you hopeful he’s going to get serious?”
“I don’t know. He’s…different…from the other guys I’ve dated.”
She snorted. “You mean he’s not a jerk.”
“Yeah, I guess so. But then there’s Stone—”
“You’ve described him so vividly.” Katrina’s voice was a bit swoony. “It’s like he’s a modern-day Gatsby, throwing those billiards parties and hobnobbing with all his rich, disaffected friends.”
I hadn’t even made the connection with Gatsby before, but Katrina had a point. And I wondered—would Stone Carrington the fifth hold the same appeal if he didn’t have his fortune? If he wasn’t such a little boy lost, the only child of wealthy parents who didn’t have time for him?
Although he never flaunted his money, I had to admit that part of Stone’s appeal was that he fit so perfectly into the shiny, opulent life that Greenwich represented. The bottom line was that I simply couldn’t picture the man anywhere else.
And yet at this very moment, he was probably wearing burlap clothing and chanting mantras in Bhutan.
However, to be fair, normal people couldn’t afford to jet off to Bhutan for an extended yoga retreat any old time they wanted. Even dressed in burlap, Stone couldn’t escape his wealth.
Katrina’s eyes fixed on me. Dietrich had once artistically described Katrina’s eyes as “foggy green,” which was quite accurate. He’d also said my eyes were a “bronze-dusted deep green.” I had since conjectured that if he were painting them, they’d probably turn out some awful shade of bile.
“What’s going on in that chaotic head of yours?” she asked.
I fell back into the bed. “Besides thinking about eye color, I don’t know. I suppose I was comparing Stone and Jonas. Is that bad?”
“Perfectly normal,” she said.
I waited for her to elaborate and tell me what to look for in a good man, but she didn’t. I hoped things were going okay between her and Tyler—we all loved Tyler—but I decided not to pry. Most likely, her hormones were a little out of control at this stage of pregnancy.
“Could you scratch my back there?” she asked abruptly, pointing to an area near her spine.
“Sure.”
As I started scratching, she seemed to relax. “So, do you want to talk about that freak who tried to kill you?”
The repetitive scratching movement was somehow therapeutic for me, too. “Carson. His name is Carson White.”
My voice cracked as I said his last name. Apparently, I wasn’t ready to unpack his thwarted murder attempt just yet.
Katrina twisted around and took my hand, her eyes fierce. “I wish I could’ve been there for you.”
I knew that if my sister had been there, she would have figured out a way to kill Carson with her own two hands before the cops ever had a chance to reach us. Katrina was not the kind of woman to be trifled with, and she was like a roaring mother lion with those she loved.
“Thanks, sis. I do, too. Come and visit me in Greenwich sometime, okay?”
“I plan to, as soon as things settle down after Jasper’s birth. Do you think you’ll keep up your pet-sitting?”
I knew I’d have to get back into pet-sitting, but I’d decided to take a little break first. “I will, but I’m going to work on getting a Twitch stream going for my gaming—it’s like a video channel.”
She stretched and yawned. “Sounds like just the kind of thing you can throw yourself into—safely. Go for it.”
Tyler came in, bearing another cinnamon roll for Katrina. “Great minds think alike,” I said, standing. “Is Mom still working on the windmill? She’s probably wondering what happened to me.”
“It came together faster than we thought it would,” Tyler said. He brushed his strawberry-blond bangs out of his eyes, and I thought again what a lovely contrast he made with Katrina, who was pale and dark-haired, like Vivien Leigh. “She might need a little help with the cleanup,” he added, allowing his gaze to fall on Katrina’s face. His look went from casual to PG-13 plus in a split second.
“I’ll head out there now,” I said, rushing out the door. As I pulled my boots on, I wondered, just for a moment, how nice it would be to have someone around who worshiped me the way Tyler seemed to worship Katrina. But then again, was that even the kind of guy I needed?
* * * *
Church on Easter Sunday was relaxing, even though quite a few of Mom’s friends asked me pointedly if I was dating yet. Most of the aforementioned friends had bachelor sons, so I was cagey in my answers, insinuating there was someone I was interested in.
After a ham dinner, Tyler and Katrina bid us farewell and headed back to Albany. Dad had an emergency house call and Mom was tired, so I headed out on the four-wheeler for some fresh air. Without thinking, I drove straight through the fields toward Jonas’s house.
I could see that he’d added to his beehives that ran along the woods. He was the kind of farmer who was always trying out unique new sources of revenue, selling everything from pumpkins to Christmas trees in season. I whisked along the outskirts of his yard, assuming he was either in the house or out milking cows at this time of day. I was wheeling around to return to my parents’ when I saw him jogging toward me.
I geared down and stopped. “Hey there—happy Easter! Would it be okay if I came over tomorrow to see your mom?”
He shook his head, and my stomach dropped. “I only wish you could. She was admitted to the hospital today. I just ran home to grab some of her things. Her white cell count has dropped.”
“Do you want me to go back with you?” I asked.
“No need. As it turns out, my brother is on his way home from Alaska—he’d planned to surprise us for Easter.”
So the wandering Levi had made his way home. I hoped he would be a moral support to Jonas and his mom.
Jonas dropped his hand on my shoulder and his fingers inched toward my collarbone, jolting me out of my musings. “Belinda, I really do want to talk with you. I know you’re heading back tomorrow, but promise you’ll call me when you get to Greenwich.”
“Okay.” I hated being so helpless to ease his pain. “Anything you need, just call my parents’ house, okay? Also, do you still leave your back door unlocked? I’ll drop some ham off tonight for you and Levi—we have tons of leftovers.”
“Yes, I’ll leave it unlocked. Thanks, Belinda.”
I gave him a brief, awkward hug, then climbed back on my four-wheeler and headed for the field. I flew through the tall grass, tears nearly blinding me. What I wouldn’t give to be able to catch the most resistant and deadly killer of all—cancer.