SHE COULD DO IT.
Lyddie sat at the kitchen table the next night looking over the list of supplies Ben needed for camp but her mind wasn’t on shorts, windbreakers and binoculars. Even as she made check marks next to the items he already had and highlighted those she would need to buy, all she could think of was the same subject that had occupied her mind for the past twenty-four hours: that moment in the kitchen right before Ben opened his mouth. The moment when she knew J.T. was going to kiss her.
The moment when she knew she wanted more.
She told herself, as she had a hundred times since, that it was good they’d been interrupted. She could still tell Ben that J.T. had merely been cleaning her face. Okay, so neither of them believed it. Ben spent the day avoiding her. Ruth stayed silent, pressing her lips together and appearing on the edge of tears whenever Lyddie came near.
But worse than putting up with their reactions had been the knowledge that if J.T.’s lips had actually brushed hers the way she ached for them to, she would have been all over him like chocolate ice cream on a toddler. They would have needed a chain saw to get her off him.
And all night and all day, a little voice kept whispering in the back of her head that soon, she would be alone. For two glorious weeks. Fourteen days and fourteen long, hot summer nights.
She could do things. Things with J.T., things that would definitely make her feel like anything but the Young Widow Brewster. And nobody would be around to stop them.
The possibilities made her shiver.
Tish glanced up from her puzzle on the other side of the table. “Mommy, are you cold?”
“No, sweetie.”
“Why did you do that quiver thing?”
Because I’m imagining how it would feel to have J. T. Delaney underneath me. “Oh, you know. Just a chill.”
Tish considered that. At least she was still speaking to Lyddie. It was nice to know she wasn’t a total outcast.
“Mommy?”
“Yes, sweetie?”
“When will the teacher letters come?”
“You mean the one that tells who your teacher will be next year? Just before school starts.”
“Oh.” Tish frowned at her puzzle piece, turning it aimlessly in her hand without trying to fit it into the opening in front of her. “I hope I don’t get Miss Lockhart.”
“Why not? She’s supposed to be good.”
“I don’t like her. She makes me feel funny.”
“Funny ha-ha or funny strange?”
But Tish must have decided she’d said too much, because she merely rolled her eyes and shrugged. “I don’t know. Can I call Millie?”
“Who?”
“Millie. From camp.”
“Sure, I guess. Why?”
Tish gave one of her best drama-queen sighs. “So I can talk to her.”
Lyddie laughed and held out her arms. “That makes sense. But it’ll cost you a hug and a kiss.”
Tish consented to a hug and offered her cheek for a kiss. She even allowed a quick tickle before squirming out of Lyddie’s embrace and skipping to the phone. Lyddie coached her through dialing and the welcome, then slipped out of the room when it became obvious that Tish no longer needed her.
She ran upstairs, passing the closed door to Ruth’s room. She considered knocking, then shook her head and moved on. Glenn was dead. She wasn’t. She had done nothing she needed to explain or apologize for.
At least not yet.
On impulse, she ran to her room, dropped the list on the quilt-covered bed and grabbed her wallet off the dresser before rapping sharply on Ruth’s door.
“Ruth, I’m running out for milk. I’ll be back soon.”
There was a moment’s silence, followed by a reproachful admonition to do as she wished. Lyddie shook her head but refused to stop now. She told Tish to head upstairs with her grandmother and flew to the car before anyone could stop her. Her daughter wasn’t the only one who needed to talk to someone.
Five minutes later, she pulled into the parking lot of the library, knowing full well that it was closed at this time of night. She locked the doors, waited for the radio to finish playing “Call Me Maybe”—grinning at the irony even as she sang along—then punched numbers into her phone with a prayer that this was a good time.
“Hello?”
Lyddie breathed a sigh of relief. Prayer number one had been answered.
“Zoë, it’s me. I know things are crazy, but have you got a few minutes?”
“If you don’t mind slurping noises and the occasional burp.”
“Oh, do I remember those days. Not a problem. How’s she doing?”
“She’s perfect, and I slept six hours straight last night, and Sara is a godsend and the boys are actually cooperating. But that’s not why you called. What’s up?”
Lyddie glanced around the deserted parking lot and slumped lower in the seat. “Um, see, there’s this guy....”
“No!” But unlike Ruth, there was nothing but delight in Zoë’s denial. “Really? That’s wonderful! Tell me.”
“Well, he used to live here. He’s home for the summer. And he seems kind of, um, interesting.”
“What’s his name? No, wait, I don’t want to know. I might have met him.”
“You haven’t. But Sara has.”
“Well, then, if you want to talk freely, he should stay anonymous. Mr. X.”
“God, Zo, are you stuck in high school?”
“High school is better than what I’m doing now. This kid has suction that could put vacuum cleaners out of business. So what does he look like?”
“Dark hair. Black with a little gray you only see in sunlight.”
“Forget sunlight. You want moonlight.”
She thought back to the night on the porch and grinned. “Actually, in moonlight it looks raven.”
“Holy crap, you’ve done moonlight already?”
“Is that any way to speak in front of an innocent child?”
“She likes it. Her little eyes are telling me she wants more excitement from Aunt Lyddie. Tell me more.”
“Well, let me think. His eyes crinkle when he smiles. He smiles a lot, at least around me. He has this mouth that makes me remember things I thought I’d forgotten, and wonder about things I thought I’d never wonder again.”
For a moment the only sound was muffled breathing and gulping. Lyddie assumed Zoë was tending to the baby until she heard a sniff.
“Zoë? Are you okay?”
“Yes. I can’t help it, I’m still hormonal.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m just so damned glad to hear you happy again, you know?”
Lyddie closed her eyes and smiled over the lump forming in her own throat. “Yeah. I know.”
Zoë sniffed again, then blew out a long breath. “Okay. I have to stop bawling, I’m dripping on the baby. So, has he asked you out? What are you going to do?”
“That’s the problem. See, like I said, he’s only here for the summer. Which is good, because it’s not like I need anything permanent. But it turns out I’m going to be alone for a couple of weeks, everyone will be gone and he seems interested, so I keep thinking maybe—”
“Oh, my God. Are you thinking of doing him?”
Lyddie winced as she stared into the darkening lot once again. “Don’t say that. It sounds so trampish.”
Zoë hooted with laughter, then immediately shushed the baby, who had started to wail at the sound. “Shh, Emily, sh. Mommy didn’t mean to scare you. But Aunt Lyddie said something too funny!”
“I’m glad you think it’s cute. I’m dying of mortification.”
“Come on, Lyd. You’ve been alone for four years. You were faithful to Glenn forever. Unless you were the campus slut back in college, I don’t think you have to worry about being a tramp.”
Lyddie ran one finger around the rim of the steering wheel, staring out at the river. It was dark tonight, heavy with the anticipation of approaching rain.
Anticipation. That, she could empathize with.
“So, you gonna jump him?”
She snorted into the phone. “Please. I wouldn’t even know how to start. What do I do, hand him a cup of morning roast and say, ‘Coffee, tea or me?’”
“If you want to do it, you should. It’s not like you’re a high school kid who has to worry about her reputation.”
If only Zoë knew just how much reputation was factoring in to this decision.
“You have to, Lyd. It’s perfect. You’ll be alone. You know how to be subtle. The kids will never know their mother is a slut.”
“Geez, Zoë. Like that’s the kind of thing I need to hear right now?”
“I’m in public relations. I know how to use words. And we’re talking the height of tourist season, right? Isn’t that when the gossip network dies way down?”
“Not really, but...” Lyddie spoke slowly, unsure whether to go along with Zoë’s reasoning or not. But she had a point. In tourist season Lyddie could probably have sex in a convertible on Main Street and the main concern would be whether or not it drew a paying crowd.
“So do it.”
“Yeah. Right. I’ll add it to my to-do list. Buy Tish new shorts, get Ben’s health forms for camp and proposition J. T. Delaney.”
Zoë groaned. “So much for keeping it anonymous.”
“Whatever. Look, we both know I’m not that kind of woman. I can’t sleep with a man I barely know. That kind of thing can get a gal killed these days.”
“So here’s what you do. You have about two weeks before everyone leaves, right?”
“Ten days.”
“Not like you’re counting or anything. Anyway, you screw up your courage, you ask him if he’s involved or busy, you ask him to do a test right away. You can buy them over the counter.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Not about that. Go across the bridge into New York. You can get mouth swab tests and blood ones there, though I think you have to mail in the blood ones. You’re a worrywart, so get both. You’ll trust the results more if you do. Do the tests, get the answer and if he’s good to go, heck, you go, girl.”
Phrased like that, it sounded almost possible. Except—
“And then, after sleeping with this man for two weeks, I’m supposed to drop him, just like that?”
“After two weeks, they’re all boring, anyway.”
“Does Kevin know that?”
“Kevin is the exception. So was Glenn. But that’s not the important part.”
“I can’t wait to hear what you think is the important part.”
“It’s this, kiddo. You have the time, you have the opportunity and you have the potential partner. You’re an adult woman with adult needs. What would you regret more? Taking the chance on doing something wild and crazy just for you? Or passing up this chance and saying ‘shoulda, woulda, coulda’ for the rest of your life?”
* * *
THE GHOST OF almost-kisses haunted J.T. from the moment he walked out of Lyddie’s house, followed him as he walked the streets of town and dogged him now as he slapped a final coat of paint on the last cottage.
He should have kissed her while he had the chance. Shouldn’t have dallied. Should have stayed far away. Should never have asked Ben about her in the first place.
Would regret both missing out and putting her in an awkward position for the rest of his days.
Ben poked his head around the corner from the bedroom where he’d been assigned to work. “I’m done in there.”
It was the first comment other than a grunt that J.T. had heard from the kid since getting caught pre-kiss. He’d let it slide, figuring that some solitary painting would do them both good.
But now, with the bulk of the work behind them, it was time to talk this over, man to kid-trying-desperately-to-be-a-man. He hoped he hadn’t blown things with Ben. The kid was basically all right. A little messed-up in his choice of friends, but it wasn’t like he had much of a selection in the Cove.
“Okay. This wall is almost done. You finish it, and I’ll start cleaning.”
Ben lingered a moment, then slowly peeled himself away from the door and joined J.T. and grabbed the roller and tray.
“Nice to see these places looking decent again.” J.T. eased into conversation over the rhythmic squeak of the roller. “My dad always kept them in good shape when I was a kid. I can’t believe he let them slide like this.”
“Huh.” Ben frowned at the paint.
Okay, that didn’t go so well. At least they were in the same room.
“Of course,” he continued as though this were a normal conversation, “you never can tell if you’re remembering things the way they happened or not. When you’re the kid, you don’t always see things the way adults do.”
Ben’s snort told J.T. his subtle approach had been less than successful. Time for Plan B.
Unfortunately, Plan B was an outright, “So you walked in on something you didn’t like last night.” And while he would use that tactic if he had to, he had the feeling it wasn’t the best way to handle Ben. This was a kid who still bristled at being told what to do. If he could find a way to give Ben the opening, he suspected the going would be a lot smoother.
“Yeah, my dad was a stickler about doing things the right way. Probably just trying to drum something through my thick head, but I remember him telling me how to do things over and over, the same directions until I could practically puke. ’Course, I never forgot them, so maybe he knew what he was doing.”
Shrug. Then, very casually Ben asked, “What happened to him?”
“My dad? I guess he didn’t have as much energy once he got older. It takes a lot to keep all these places up.”
“No. I mean, what happened to him.”
Ah, damn. This was gonna be a hell of a way to get the kid to open up.
“He went out on the river in a storm.”
“Did he go overboard?”
“No. He made it to an island, but then he had a heart attack.” The thought of his father dying alone, slowly, half-drowning in the driving rain, was still enough to make J.T.’s voice falter.
Ben nodded. “Thought that’s what it was. I heard stuff back when it happened, but no one would talk about it in front of me.” He switched to a sarcastic falsetto. “Shhh. The children might hear you.”
A-ha. A chink in the armor. Ben resented being kept out of the loop, treated like a little kid. Maybe this conversation could be worth the cost.
J.T. tossed rolls of masking tape in a paper bag in the middle of the floor and asked, as casually as he could muster, “Did you know my dad?”
“A bit. From church and stuff. He was nice to us.” He shrugged. “Everyone is nice to us.”
From the way he said it, it was clear that Ben shared his mother’s feelings about excessive niceness from the town.
“I’m sorry if you thought he was too nice, but I’m glad you had the chance to know him. He was a good guy.” He waited a beat, then added, “Just like your dad.”
“My dad got shot.” It was flat, almost accusatory, as if J.T. had done something wrong by bringing Glenn into the conversation. Tough. Glenn was part of what lay between the two of them, and now that they’d started, J.T. wasn’t about to back off.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Ben made a sound that sounded like a cross between a cough and a snort. “Oh, yeah. If he was still alive, you wouldn’t be kissing my mom.”
Finally, an opening.
He pulled a strip of masking tape away from a dry wall and spoke as if they hadn’t just made a giant leap forward.
“I’m not gonna play games with you, bud. You want answers, speak up.”
Silence. No surprise there. J.T. didn’t know how he would feel if he caught someone doing a lip-lock with Iris, and he was supposed to be an adult.
“You ever realize how complicated life is, Ben?”
“Nope.” And the way he was driving the roller into the wall made it clear that Ben didn’t particularly care if he ever did.
“Well, it is. And one of the most complicated parts is when you feel two apparently opposite emotions at the same time.” Go for it, J.T. “Like the way I can feel bad about your dad and still want to kiss your mother.”
Ben scowled at the paint. “You said you weren’t going to hit on her.”
Gone was the bravado of the earlier night. All that remained was a confused boy who’d already dealt with too much in his life.
“You want me to stay away from her?”
A too-casual shrug lifted the skinny shoulder.
“Or are you pissed because you think I lied to you?”
A smack of the roller against the wall seemed to confirm that theory.
“You have a drip on your right. See it? Good.” J.T. stared at the runaway paint. “Look, I wasn’t really lying. When we talked before, I wasn’t planning to do anything. But things change. I know this will make you want to hurl, but your mom is a very special woman. I like spending time with her. You gonna give me a hard time about that?”
“What about when you have to go?”
Newspaper crunched in J.T.’s tightening fists.
“Your mom and I are adults. We both know I have to leave at the end of summer. If we decide to spend some time together before I go, have a few laughs, that’s our choice.”
Listen to him. Going on about choices and fun when he hadn’t had so much as an hour alone with the woman. Damn it, once again he was taking the heat for something he hadn’t done. Not that he hadn’t wanted to, of course....
“She likes you.” Ben’s white-knuckle grip on the paint roller made it clear that this was an accusation, not a compliment. Good thing he didn’t know that J.T.’s gut did a little flip thing at this bit of information.
“I’m not trying to make her like me. But—” He stopped, unsure how much to say, then decided he could take the chance. “Listen. You ever have a time when everyone treated you like dirt?”
“Sort of.” The words came slowly, then in a great gush, as if a dam had been breached. “Not dirt. But after my dad—it was like the guys didn’t know what to do with me. You know?”
“Exactly.” His heart ached for the kid. “So when that was going on, was there maybe one person who made you forget it all, who made you laugh and feel normal again?”
The roller slowed. “Yeah.”
It was the most cautious agreement J.T. had ever heard. He wasn’t sure what to make of it until he saw the faint color in Ben’s cheeks.
If he were a betting man, he’d lay money that the person who had helped Ben was a girl. If he wanted to make any progress whatsoever with the kid, he had better stay far, far away from that topic.
“Okay. So, I know your mom probably doesn’t talk about me in front of you, but you have to know I’m not this town’s favorite son.”
“I heard things.”
I just bet you have, bucko. “First, most of what you’ve heard is bull. Second, you have any questions about me, you ask me. Not your mom, not your grandma, nobody else. Got that?”
A slight nod.
“Good. Now this is the big one. Your mom hasn’t treated me like the others have. She gave me a chance. I can relax with her.” Except when he was trying to hold back from kissing her. “I hang out with her because she’s one of the only people here who lets me be me. Believe it or not, even us bad guys want to be liked once in a while.”
Ben frowned and concentrated on the paint. There seemed to be some sort of mental tug-of-war going on, and J.T. held his breath, waiting to see how it would come down. Finally Ben turned to face him.
“But what about when you leave?”
This time the question wasn’t delivered with anger or blame. It was filled with need and a hint of loneliness, overlaid with a plea, and J.T. cursed himself for not realizing that, in helping Ben, he may have set the kid up for yet another loss.
Ben wasn’t worried about his mom. Well, some, yeah, but that wasn’t all of it. Ben was the one who liked J.T., the one who liked hanging with someone who understood. He wasn’t worried about what would happen to Lyddie when summer ended: he was worried about himself.
Another autumn. Another loss.
No wonder the kid had been so concerned about J.T. kissing or not kissing Lyddie. If there was no kissing, Glenn’s position in the family would remain unchanged. But if there was kissing going on, maybe J.T. would stay.
This was almost worse than making Iris face the truth.
“When I leave...” He took a moment to yank up a strip of tape, trying to figure out how to ease the truth.
“Is it for sure that you’re going?”
“I’m not gonna lie. I have to go back to Tucson. Staying here isn’t an option for me.”
“Because they all hate you.”
“That’s part of it. But there’s other people involved. It’s not all about me.”
Ben shrugged as if to show how much he didn’t care about those other people. “You could try to make people like you.”
“Too much water under the bridge, buddy. It’s not gonna happen. And like I said, there’s those other people.”
“Yeah. Right.”
“Look, when you go to camp, do you make new friends, and maybe wish you could have more time with them?”
“I guess. Sometimes.”
“When you’re with them, do you spend all your time worrying about how hard it will be to say goodbye, or do you have as much fun as you can while you have the chance?”
A slight understanding dawned on the boy’s face.
“This isn’t exactly camp for me, Ben, but it’s kind of like that. I know I have to leave. So does your mom, and...and anyone else who might wish I could stick around a bit longer.” God help him, he would never have believed that someday, someone other than his mother would want him to stay. “As long as we all know the score going in, we can all make the most of the time we have together, and nobody gets hurt.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Saying goodbye will be hard. But it’s always better to have fun with people you like while you have the chance, instead of shutting them out so it won’t hurt when it’s over. Does that make any sense?”
“Some. Maybe.”
“Good.” He waited a beat. “By the way, I’ll have some time left in town when you get back from camp. These cottages are almost ready and I know I’ll need an excuse to get away from my mother once in a while. I don’t suppose you’d take pity on an old man and go fishing with me once or twice before I leave, would you?”
Ben turned back to the wall, but not before J.T. spotted the pleasure shining in his eyes. “Yeah, I could probably manage that.”
“Good. I haven’t been fishing all summer. If I try to go back without getting out on the water at least once, I’ll probably get arrested.”
Ben snorted. J.T. took advantage of the good mood to add, quietly, “And by the way—you might want to know that I didn’t kiss your mom the other night.”
“Were you gonna?”
“Maybe. Hard to tell about these things sometimes.”
Okay, that was a lie, but it was the first out-and-out falsehood he’d uttered all day, so it was allowed. He’d had every intention of kissing Lyddie. Every intention and every desire. It was just his own worries about letting loose with her—well, that and Ben’s intrusion—that had stopped him.
But he hadn’t been blowing smoke when he said it was better to have fun while the chance was there. It was good advice. Good for adults, too.
He had a little over a month left in town. Maybe he could let Lyddie come a little closer. Maybe a lot closer.
The hell with it. Next chance he got, he was asking her to dinner. If he were going to be blamed for something, then damn it, he should at least have the fun of doing it.