That night I texted Jamie and told her that I would take care of dinner and she should come to my house. I stopped on the way home and bought several frozen pizzas and one of those salads in a bag. Hopefully, she would forgive my philistine ways in the kitchen. I couldn’t have her cooking for me every night after working a full day. Over the last few days, I’d gotten the feeling that Jamie didn’t take good care of herself, pushing so hard at work and sacrificing everything for the inn.
She agreed to come by around eight after she returned from work. I’d left the building site when the sun had set, leaving a narrow window to shop and shower.
I was in the frozen food aisle when I saw Huck and Stormi picking out ice cream. Calling out to them, I pushed my small cart toward their large one, filled with copious domestic, nest-building items. Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone to share the ordinary events of the day? Grocery shopping, cooking dinner together, watching TV, or reading.
“Hey, guys,” I said, suddenly conscious of my dirty clothes and the fact that I probably didn’t smell too good. “Sorry. I just came from the job site.”
“You look fine,” Huck said. Ever since he fell in love, Huck was downright charming and positive. Two qualities that had previously eluded him.
“Frozen pizza?” Stormi asked, sounding mournful. “You need to come out to the house for dinner soon.”
“Our house,” Huck corrected her.
She laughed. “Right. Our house.”
It was obvious they were thriving together, which delighted me. Stormi had never looked more beautiful, with a glow that could only come from being in love. I might not have recognized her without my contacts in. Her usual ripped jeans and combat boots had been replaced with a conservative black skirt and silk blouse and black pumps. She must have just come from the art gallery.
Huck, however, looked the same as always except that his permanent scowl had been replaced by a lightness of expression. A man recently freed from jail, I thought. Whatever it had been that tortured him had been pushed aside by Stormi’s love.
Yes, from my vantage point, it looked as if they were giving each other a new lease on life, a lightness that comes from knowing someone always has your back.
I asked about the gallery. Going well, according to Stormi, who then asked if I was coming to their party next weekend. I assured her I would be there.
“You can bring a date,” Stormi said, looking at me from just under her fringe of dark bangs. “Or a pretend date, as the case may be.”
“You know about that?” I asked, sheepish.
“She told me the whole plan. Jamie’s such a ballbuster, right?” Stormi asked. “Like in the best way.”
“I agree,” I said. “We’re going out to dinner tomorrow with my ex and my ex-friend.”
Stormi’s eyes widened, and she laughed. “Jamie told me about that too. I hope the ex suffers a little when she sees you with Jamie.”
I smiled, pleased. “Jamie is so pretty, isn’t she?” She was the prettiest girl I’d ever been around. A beauty fueled by inner strength and intelligence and a sense of humor and passion. She would age well, I thought, because there was more to her attractiveness than her outer appearance. “I just hope I can keep up the charade. I’m not that great an actor.”
Stormi’s green eyes watched me, carefully. “Maybe you won’t need to act that hard?”
I flushed and looked down at my nearly empty cart. These women told one another everything. I needed to remember that. “We’ve been spending time together.”
“And?” Stormi continued to watch me. Would she report back my answer? I should be careful. But I didn’t feel careful the last few days. I felt brave and a little reckless. A loosening of my tightly held heartstrings had begun and seemed to be continuing with every interaction I had with Jamie.
“I’m enjoying my time with her,” I said. “She’s special.”
“What’s changed?” Huck asked. “You were always adamant that you had no interest in getting involved with her.”
“Or anyone,” I said. “But it seems things change.”
Stormi punched me lightly on the shoulder. “Good on you. Be careful with her heart, though. It’s as big as the Colorado sky.”
“I know,” I said. “It’s probably my heart we have to worry about. After my last relationship, I’ve been cautious for a reason. Arianna broke me.”
“Well, now’s the chance to show her how well you’re doing,” Stormi said. “New girlfriend, great job, and awesome friends.”
“I do have awesome friends,” I said, grinning.
“Excuse me. That’s my phone.” Huck lifted his cell phone from his pants pocket. His thick eyebrows shot up. “Sorry, something just came in from the Associated Press.” Huck owned the local newspaper. He didn’t often include stories outside of Emerson Pass, but it seemed that he was still connected to breaking news.
“What’s it say?” Stormi placed a hand on Huck’s arm.
“The judge sentenced Benji Hanes,” Huck said.
It was as if a fist knocked into my middle. I stumbled backward, letting go of my cart. “Tell me.” I wiped my sweaty palms on the back of my jeans.
“Twenty-five years to life,” Huck said, shaking his head. “What a waste of two lives.”
“It’s sad,” Stormi said. “But justice has to come at some point.”
“I hope the victim’s family feels some relief,” I said. But what about Hanes’s family? I was the only one left, the only one who would care at all. Nothing came, though. Not relief or sadness, just a hollow numbness.
“We should pray there won’t be any further violence after the sentencing,” Huck said. “This has been such a tumultuous time for the country. We don’t need more.”
I nodded. Utterly drained, I made an excuse to leave. “I have to go, guys. Good to see you. I don’t want to be late.”
“Have fun,” Stormi said.
“Thanks,” I mumbled before wandering down the aisle, heart pounding between my ears. Twenty-five years to life.
* * *
I went home, showered, and changed into clean clothes. All the while deliberately pushing aside what I’d learned about my father’s fate. This was nothing to me, I kept saying over and over in my head. Nothing to do with me. Ten years had passed since I’d even seen him. He was out of my life. I would not be sucked in. After the oven was preheated, I washed the dishes that I had left in the sink that morning and put them away. From what I’d observed, Jamie was a very good housekeeper. She liked everything beautiful and just so. I liked that about her. I liked a lot of things about her, for that matter. All day I had warned myself not to look too far ahead. This was a friendship that could develop into more, but there were no guarantees. But deep down, I am a romantic. It was impossible to be in her presence and not fall in love a little bit more each day.
At precisely eight, a light tapping on the door told me that Jamie had arrived. My stomach fluttered, as if I were a teenager about to pick up my prom date. If my students felt half the way that I did about their crushes, it was no wonder they were such a disaster. They were a mass of hormones and uncertainty. I would remember that the next time one of them did or said something ridiculous or obnoxious.
I yanked open the door. She stood there, holding a box from Brandi’s bakery. “I had a few pastries left from this morning. They might be stale.”
She took my breath away. A rush of adrenaline coursed through my body. “Pastries? Great.” My voice was a little loud. Too much enthusiasm for possibly stale pastries. They weren’t what really excited me. It was the woman in front of me.
A pink blouse paired with denim cutoff shorts showed off tanned, muscular legs. Her long hair fell in soft waves down her back. Sparkly earrings dangled against her long neck. My gaze wandered to the curve of her collarbone, so delicate under her tawny skin. “You’re beautiful,” I blurted out, then flushed, embarrassed to have uttered out loud what I couldn’t stop thinking. “You want to come in?”
“Sure, and thanks. It took me a long time to decide what to wear tonight. Stupid, right? It’s just dinner at home.”
“I appreciate the effort. It’s nice to be a man. I just threw on whatever was hanging on the back of my chair.”
She laughed and stepped inside the apartment, closing the door behind her. “You should make a habit of hanging up your clothes at the end of the day.”
“Don’t be a show-off,” I teased.
The timer chimed from the kitchen. “That’s our pizza.”
“You made pizza?”
“Don’t sound so excited. It’s a frozen one from the store.” Why had I gotten a frozen pizza? I should have made something special. The kind of dinner that would impress a woman like Jamie. But what? I didn’t know the first thing about cooking something elegant or elevated, as they said in foodie land. A man has to work with what he has. Which, in this case, was a last-minute purchase at the grocery store.
She gazed around my apartment, as if seeing it for the first time. When in fact she’d been there for many parties. Somehow, though, my place looked different to me tonight, and not in a good way. Jamie’s presence made everything look shabby and drab. When one shines as brightly as Jamie Wattson, even the sun wouldn’t stand a chance.
The alarm rang again, this time with what seemed like more urgency.
I rushed to the kitchen. Had I burned the pizza? I opened the oven and let out a sigh of relief. The pizza had not burned and actually had crisped up nicely and browned on the top. Cheese bubbled, and the aroma of tomato and garlic wafted through the apartment.
Jamie had followed me into the kitchen and now closed her eyes and sniffed dramatically. “That smells really good. My stomach’s been growling for the better part of an hour. I got really busy at work and didn’t have time for my afternoon snack.” She waved her hands, laughing. “Yes, I usually have a snack, courtesy of Maisy. She brings them from home for both of us. ‘Once a mom always a mom,’ she told me the first time she broke out the granola bars and juice boxes.”
“Smart woman,” I said, pulling out the pizza and setting it on a heating pad I’d left on the counter. “I’m not much of a cook, as you probably figured out. Frozen pizza is about the extent of my repertoire.” Where had I put the round pizza cutter? I knew I had one in here somewhere, I thought, as I rummaged through the drawer where I kept spatulas and serving spoons and a mess of other items I rarely used.
Just then, I had an awful thought. I was letting her see into my life. My real life, all the messiness of my apartment. The identity of my father. I pushed aside the thought of him going to prison. He would not ruin this night for me.
The worried thoughts continued. Was it too much? Would she think my drawers were disorganized enough that she would rule us finished before we even started? Would she think we were incompatible? Judge me for being unorganized and a little on the sloppy side?
No, no, I told myself. Don’t let the voices in your head destroy the little bit of self-confidence you’ve managed to build over the years. The old Saboteur Darby wanted to get out and wreak havoc on the evening so that I would be safe but ultimately alone and miserable. I wouldn’t let him. Not tonight. I found the pizza cutter at last and held it up in triumph. “Haven’t used this guy in a while. I’m more of a frozen burrito kind of guy.”
“A pizza cutter?” Jamie asked. “How sophisticated of you.”
“I got it at a yard sale.”
“I love yard sales.” She’d wandered over to the refrigerator and peered at a photograph of me with Breck and Huck last summer hiking along the river. “But no to the frozen burritos.”
“Are you serious about yard sales?” I asked. We had so much in common. Regardless of my cooking skills or organizational rituals.
“Dead serious. You can get a lot of good things, but you have to get up early. Yard sale types are enthusiastic.”
“Yeah, and they’re early risers.” I grabbed two wine glasses, one wide and short and the other tall with tapered glass, also mismatched and attained from a yard sale.
“Frozen burritos, though? Absolutely a hard no,” she said.
“But why?” I asked, pretending to be crushed. “That was going to be dessert.”
She laughed. I loved it when I made her laugh. I was a king then, not a yard sale collector. Not an insecure son of a criminal.
A murderer.
Turning away from her, I shut my eyes for a moment and took in a deep breath. I was fine. I was safe. He could not hurt me.
“The biggest offense of the aforementioned frozen burrito,” she said in a solemn voice, “is the way they’re scalding hot from the microwave yet soggy at the same time.”
“You have to put them in the oven.” I lifted my chin and spoke in a high voice, doing my best imitation of a fussy, snobby chef. “For exactly six minutes at four hundred degrees Fahrenheit.”
Smiling, she leaned against the counter and folded her arms. “Do you know what I think?”
“What’s that?” I poured, or rather, opened the spout on the box of wine and filled one glass and then the other. I gave her the good one with the tapered sides.
“Eating a frozen burrito with you is preferable to eating a steak with just about anyone else in the world.”
That stunned me. I was actually speechless for a moment. I swallowed, flustered and shy and completely unable to take a compliment of that magnitude with any kind of grace. “That’s sweet. Really sweet.”
Her face fell. “Sometimes I’m a little extra,” she said apologetically. “I embarrassed you. I’m too bold. I push men away because of it.”
“No, it was not too bold. It was nice and it made me feel good. And if pressed, I would admit to feeling the same way about you. That said, I hope this pizza isn’t terrible. It’s all I could think of to make on short notice.” It was hard to court a beautiful young woman on a budget. “I could have ordered one, but they’re so much more expensive than this.”
“It looks just fine to me. You shouldn’t feel like you have to be a gourmet cook around me. I like hot dogs as much as the next girl.”
“Hot dogs good. Burritos bad. Got it.” I pretended to write that information onto a list. “I’m a philistine, if you haven’t noticed.”
“A philistine who likes to dance? If anything, you’re an enigma.” Jamie settled at my rickety kitchen table in one of the mismatched chairs. They, too, were bought at various yard sales. I’d gotten the one with the red velvet cushion first. The second was Amish style and sat slightly lower than the other. At the time, I hadn’t thought I’d need more than two. Really, more than one was one too many. Tonight, though, I had the prettiest girl in town sitting there smiling at me.
“People are complicated. I’m frugal and love to dance and painfully aware of how my apartment must look to you.” I gestured toward the living room.
“I like that you’re frugal,” Jamie said. “You reuse things, which is a great quality, especially in these times of ‘newer is always better.’ Most people have too much stuff they don’t use. As far as your apartment goes, you’re a single man with a busy job and a tight budget. How else is it supposed to look?”
“That makes me feel a lot better. I’ve been looking around and seeing only flaws.”
“Ah yes, the old ‘what do they see’ and ‘why didn’t I see it and fix it before people came over’ thing.”
“Exactly.” We grinned at each other before I broke away to cut our pizza.
“Although next time, I’ll make you some of my homemade pizza. I can guarantee you’ll like it.”
I like you, I thought. So much.
* * *
We’d finished our pizza and were sitting on the couch going over some of our backgrounds and pasts in preparation for our double date the next evening. So far, Jamie had told me about her one brother, Trey. He lived in Cliffside Bay with his wife, Autumn, and their growing family. They now had two little girls, only a few years apart, and living the good life. I’d already told her my story about my father and that I had no siblings. We covered college—she went to San Diego State. I went to Santa Cruz for my undergraduate and UCLA for my graduate studies. She’d grown up in the same house all her life until her mother had to sell it after the divorce. “Traumatic but necessary,” Jamie said. “Now my mom’s in Cliffside Bay. We were renting an apartment but after I left, she found a house to buy. I think she has a boyfriend even though she won’t say the word—calls him her friend Ray. They’re in Europe right now.”
“Suspicious,” I said.
She placed her hand against one cheek and cocked her head to the side. “Hey, I saw the sentencing.”
“Oh, yeah. I saw that too.”
“Are you okay?” Jamie asked. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I glanced out the window. The daylight had completely faded by then. Lights along Barnes Avenue sparkled from the trees. They kept them up all year. In snow or rain or warm summer nights, they cheered me. “I don’t know what I am. Numb, mostly.”
“I can imagine.”
She sat on one end of the couch and I on the other. I crossed my legs and tapped my bare ankle. I hadn’t worn socks and now wished I had. Why hadn’t I? Shoes were what grown-ups wear. Jamie needed someone sophisticated. My bare feet with faded jeans and a T-shirt with last year’s Emerson Pass Summer Festival logo displayed on the back wouldn’t be considered such.
“Did I lose you?” Jamie asked.
“No, my mind was wandering.”
“Avoiding thinking about him?” Jamie asked.
“Yeah. It might all hit me later. In the middle of the night, probably. It’ll wake me from a dream, this black hole type of feeling, and I won’t be able to think of anything else but him going to prison and what might happen to him there.” My voice cracked.
“I’m sorry.” She swung her legs to the floor and scooted nearer to me. “What can I do?”
“You being here is a great distraction. I keep reminding myself that I’m not even in contact with him. He’s not part of my life. Or even my last name.”
“But it’s hard to separate. He’s your father.”
I nodded but didn’t say anything else.
“As much as I hate my dad, if he were going to prison, I wouldn’t be able to think of anything else. I think, anyway. Or maybe I’d think—he finally got what he deserves. He’s a lawyer, you know. God only knows what kinds of unethical things he’s done.”
“Not murdered someone.” My voice broke all the way this time. Tears pricked my eyelids. I pressed my fingernails into the palm of my other hand until it hurt.
“As far as I know,” Jamie said lightly. “Who knows what kinds of bodies are buried in the backyard.” She moved to sit right beside me, putting her hand on my knee. “It’s okay to feel bad, even for him. Or the situation or whatever it is that you feel.”
“The victim, you know. And his family.” Tears flooded my eyes, making Jamie blurry. “I can’t forget that when I’m imagining him going to prison.”
She moved even closer and before I knew what was happening, she’d crawled onto my lap. Smelling better than a woman should. She melted into me, soft and warm. I draped my arm over her thighs and let my head drop to her shoulder and closed my eyes.
“It feels better when you’re here like this,” I said, thick and hoarse.
“Good. Because being here I can do. Whenever you want. Whenever you need me. I’m only right down the hall or across town. In a moment’s notice, I could come to you.”
We kissed, ever so gently, without the urgency spurred by lust. This was affection and support and friendship.
Jamie’s phone beeped with a text, causing us both to jump. She picked it up from the coffee table. “It’s Mr. Barnes. He’s here in the building and wants to tell me what he found out about Annabelle.”
I laughed at the delight on her face. “You’re enjoying this a little too much.”
“I know. Aren’t I awful? This was an actual person. A real-life woman who had troubles and heartache, and all I can focus on is the mystery of it all.”
“I don’t think you need to feel guilty about that,” I said. “Tell him to come on up to my apartment. I want to hear this too.”
She did so and a few seconds later, Mr. Barnes was at my door.