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Bailey shifted in the passenger seat for the millionth time, trying to find a comfortable position for her broken arm. It didn’t hurt, but with the silence in the car, the itch under the cast became a focal point for her.
She wanted to reach out to Jonathan and comfort him, but couldn’t think of anything new to say. The further they drove into the city, the more he seemed to close off. The wrinkle of a frown was gone from his brow, and his mouth was flat. No smile, no scowl, no anything.
“I didn’t get to spend a lot of time exploring when I got in.” Even his voice was devoid of emotion. “Where’s a good place to eat?”
The break in the silence jarred and relieved her at the same time. “Depends on what you’re in the mood for. Greasy? Fine dining?”
“Turkey avocado.”
“You’re such a California boy,” she said teasingly.
His lips twitched, but no smile materialized. “They grow avocados here, too.”
“But they also have fresh seafood and okra—”
“And sweet tea and grits and chicken fried steak. I’m familiar with regional cuisine, thanks. I’m homesick.”
She’d call bullcrap, but she wasn’t in the mood to argue. The implication he didn’t consider this home—at all, apparently—dug deep. The reminder he wouldn’t be here much longer hurt more. “There’s a sandwich place downtown. Cali Kitchen. Ought to be perfect.”
That was the end of the conversation. They reached his hotel, and rode the elevator up to his room, neither of them saying more than a few words at a time. She hovered near the door, wishing she could cross her arms.
He slid his laptop into a bag, gathered up the rest of his luggage, and shouldered the bags. A shudder ran through him, strong enough she saw his frame shake, and his things fell to the floor.
When he sank to the edge of the bed and dropped his face into his hands, her heart broke. His sob, though quiet, echoed in her eardrums like an air horn.
She crossed the room in a few strides, and knelt on the mattress next to him. It was awkward, draping her arm around his shoulders, and pulling him into a hug, but it was her only choice. “I’m so sorry this hurts.”
“She fucking lied to me. For thirty years. Fed me lines about the beauty of life. How every person should be allowed to enjoy what they had. Told me I’d be happier if I stopped every once in a while, to smell the roses. And she hated it here so much, she ran away.” His interpretation of events hurt as much as the reality.
Bailey struggled with the internal war between sympathy and resentment that he didn’t get this. “That’s not why she did it.”
“No?” He met her gaze with red-rimmed eyes, tears fresh on his face. “Then explain it again, because I don’t fucking understand. The world is full of people who don’t practice what they preach, but I thought she was a believer. She taught me our time here is sacred, and she never meant a word.”
She wanted to offer sympathy, but didn’t think it was the way to get through this. “You don’t actually think that’s true. You might hate the choice, you might loathe that she left you alone when she moved on, but you’re not stupid. Part of you gets this.”
“But I don’t want to. I don’t know how to cope with knowledge like this. The world is supposed to make sense at its core. Be ordered and logical and not driven by things like not wanting to lose one’s self.” Anguish filled his voice.
“No one left us an instruction manual. We’ll figure it out together. You have to stop trying to block up how you feel, though.” Putting the thought into words hit her hard. She hadn’t been able to vocalize it before now, but this was why he’d set her on edge since he arrived. No, longer—since she got engaged to Danny. It wasn’t that he didn’t care; it was that he refused to admit it.
“I can’t. That would shred me from the inside.”
She nudged him upright, and shifted them both until she could wrap his arms around her. She leaned against his chest. “So what? I disassembled me when I left Danny. I came out the other side okay.”
“You had Nana’s help.”
“I did. And you and I have each other. Even when you go back home, we don’t have to lose that.” Saying the words made his leaving a more painful reality.
“Don’t we?”
She pulled his arms more tightly around her. “Of course not. I’m always and forever here for you.”
“I can’t forgive her for leaving this way.”
“I hated you for more than a decade, for letting me marry Danny, and that wasn’t your fault.” Bailey tried to keep her tone light, but her voice cracked. “You’re entitled to this, as long as you deal with it instead of ignoring it.”
He squeezed her, and rested his chin on her head. “Thank you.”
*
IN THE FOUR DAYS SINCE the storm moved north, the people in town finished cleaning up debris and were well on their way to fixing up broken buildings. Bailey and Jonathan had made solid headway on going through Nana’s stuff in the same amount of time. He still felt a stabbing sadness when he looked at so many of her belongings, but he accepted the grief for what it was.
Bailey was going stir-crazy, not being able to do more. She’d stayed in the living room the first couple of days, making her lists. That shifted to the occasional shout upstairs, asking what else she could do to help. Today she was wandering into Nana’s bedroom every half hour or so, trying to move lighter things around. By the time lunch rolled around, he gave up trying to shoo her out.
Now they sat on Bailey’s couch, her feet in his lap, Spice Girls playing on the TV. She told him it was his movie, so he needed to give it some love. The excuse that he was a misguided youth when he bought it didn’t earn him a reprieve.
She stretched, and then settled in again. This was his favorite position. Intimate, but without expectation. Friendly with none of that with benefits stuff. The way things should be.
“I’m going to miss having you as my personal slave,” she said.
“I’m pretty sure that’s not my title.” It took him a few days to get back to being comfortable with the teasing. On some levels, it still felt wrong to enjoy life with Nana gone.
Bailey laughed. “We both know you’re my bitch, as long as this”—she held up her broken arm—“has you believing I’m some sort of china doll.”
“Okay, so that’s true.” Diving into concern for her was easier than letting the raw grief consume him. Not that he could stop the mourning all the time. When it hit, it was unrelenting. He saw it in Bailey, too. The way she paused in the middle of something, and took a few minutes to steady herself, before dragging the back of her hand across her cheeks and carrying on.
Lucifer seemed to be the only one of them dealing well with things. Once they moved her to Bailey’s house, she slept at the foot of Jonathan’s bed, woke up with him, and never failed to remind them if they let her food- or water- bowl drop below half full.
Speaking of food... “What do you want for dinner?” he asked.
“Whatever you’re cooking. The only thing I won’t miss about you leaving is you feed me too well.”
“Hang on. Processing what the hell that means.” His laugh died in his throat, as her words sank in. His time here was running out, but they hadn’t talked much about it. They’d exchanged contact information and then moved on to happier things.
Her smile turned sad. “I’m going to miss you, but not the fact you always make too much delicious food.”
“I’ll miss you too.” He squeezed her foot. He wanted to say more, but couldn’t make sense of the words spinning in his head, begging for release. “Spicy peanut chicken, then.”
* * * *
TWO DAYS LATER, JONATHAN loaded up his rental car. Most of the items he decided to keep were shipped home.
“Do you have everything?” Bailey asked.
He spun to face her. She leaned against the hood of the car, holding herself steady with her good arm.
“I think so.” He gave his luggage one last glance, despite knowing it was all there. “I hate leaving you disabled.”
“It’s an arm. I’m not an invalid. I can ask anyone in town if I need something, and they’ll deliver. Besides, what are you going to do? Stay for the next six weeks? You hate it here.”
“I don’t hate it.”
“You’re dying to get back to work.” She winced. “Poor choice of words.”
He wasn’t trying to block the pain anymore. “You can’t filter what you say. And I’d feel better if you went with me.” That came out wrong. “So you’re not alone while you heal.” He handed her a business card with his personal information on the back.
She laughed and pocketed it. “Now that I have three, I’ll probably be able to find at least one when I need it. I’m glad you came back.”
“Me too.” He wrapped her in a hug, careful not to jar her cast. “I’m going to miss you. Promise me you’ll be safe.”
She buried her face in his chest. “I promise I won’t do anything stupid with my arm and that I won’t get engaged to an abusive asshole and that I won’t intentionally put myself in harm’s way.”
“I’ll take it.” He squeezed her tight, then let go and stepped back.
“Text me when you land.”
If he said anything else, they’d be here all day and into tomorrow. He gave her a final smile and dropped into the car.
The house, and then the trees, and eventually the island grew smaller in the mirror, as he drove toward the mainland. For the first time he could remember, he didn’t regret leaving it all behind. That was always his least favorite part of summer—going home at the end. There were too many memories, and surrounding himself with them would mar them, not make them better. But his other regret lingered. He’d never liked leaving alone, and the feeling was now stronger than ever.