She's Up to No Good(87)

I knew the answer better than anyone else did. I was terrified. If I didn’t let Joe in, he couldn’t hurt me. If I never got comfortable, no one could pull the rug out from under me again.

But had it really been Brad who set me adrift? Or had I done that to myself?

I put my head on my knees and sat like that for a long time, trying to pinpoint the exact moment when everything had gone wrong. Was it when Brad ended things? Was it when I let my friendships with people who weren’t “our” friends deteriorate? Was it even before that?

How did I go from that picture of me that Joe liked, happy and carefree, to this girl who was too scared to take a chance on someone incredible?

It was stupid. I was stupid. Sofia even told me he liked me. But what chance was there? I lived 475 miles away from him. I was still married. And there was the ghost, real or imagined, of his dead wife to contend with, even if we worked our way through unpacking my baggage. How could we possibly overcome all of that?

I didn’t come up with any answers.

But when I eventually rose, my legs stiff, and pulled my phone from my pocket, more than two hours had passed. Just like the previous six months. And the six years before that. My shoulders drooped as I picked up my shoes and the barely touched coffee, the ice melted and sand stuck to the condensation on the cup, to walk back toward the cottage.

I had just turned onto the cottage’s street when my phone vibrated. For a split second I let myself hope. Then I saw my grandmother’s picture on the screen.

“Hey. I’m almost back.”

“Jenna,” she panted. My eyes widened. “I—” She was breathing heavily, and I started to run up the hill.

“I’ll be there in a second. What happened? Are you okay?”

“Not—at the cottage—took the car.”

I stopped short as I reached the cottage. The car was nowhere to be seen. Oh no.

“Where are you?”

“Salem.”

“Salem! Okay. I—I’ll get there somehow.” I took a deep breath. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” she said finally. “I just had a little spell and don’t think I should drive back.”

You shouldn’t have driven at all, I thought. And a little spell could mean anything from dizziness to a stroke or a heart attack with her. And admitting she couldn’t drive back—she had to be in rough shape. I asked for exactly where she was, and she named the shops she could see around her.

Then I took another deep breath and called Joe.

He didn’t answer.

I tried again. Still no answer.

Then I texted him. My grandma drove to Salem, and something happened. She took the car. Need your help. Please.

The phone rang a moment later.

“Where are you?”

“At the cottage.”

“I’ll be right there.”

I ran inside to grab my purse, stopping to take her bottle of heart medication just in case, then jogged down the hill to meet him.

He stopped the car when he saw me, and I climbed into the passenger seat. He made a three-point turn and peeled out to get us to the main road. “Where in Salem?” I told him, and he nodded, knowing where he was going. “Is she okay?”

“She said yes. But she said she couldn’t drive back, so probably not. I don’t know.”

He drove a little faster.

“Joe, I—”

His head shook. “Please don’t.”

I stopped talking, and we rode in silence the rest of the way, me chewing on my cuticles out of fear of what condition we’d find her in.





When we arrived, she was sitting on a bench under a store awning, clutching her handbag and looking pale. I jumped out of the car practically before it had stopped, and Joe parked illegally at the curb, then came around as well.

“What happened?” She shook her head. “Grandma, please.”

“I’d like to go home now.”

“Were you in an accident? Are you okay?”

“An accident? No. I’m a wonderful driver. I just—” She stopped talking, shaking her head again, then she reached into her bag and handed me the car keys. “It’s down there.” She pointed down the hill.

“Can you stay with her a minute?” I asked Joe. He said he would, and I went to get the car, pulling up at the curb behind Joe’s. He helped her up, escorted her to the passenger side, and handed her gently inside, where I hooked her seatbelt for her.

“Can you find your way back? Or do you want to follow me?” he asked through her open door.

“I can do it.”

“Okay.” He patted my grandmother’s shoulder. “Take care of yourself, Evelyn. Rest and fluids.”

She didn’t argue or make a flippant comment, which scared me further. I plugged our destination into Google Maps and pulled away, not speaking until we were on our way out of town.

“What happened?” I finally asked once we were on the road back to Hereford.

Another shake of the head. “I’m tired.” She closed her eyes. I didn’t think she was sleeping, but she didn’t talk again until we reached the cottage. Her eyes opened when the car came to a stop, and I went to her side to help her out. She let me lead her up the stairs, where I settled her in her bedroom, then got her a glass of water.