She's Up to No Good(95)

She shook her head. “That bastard says, ‘I wanted her to meet my Phyllis. They would have been such friends.’”

“Phyllis is his wife?”

My grandmother nodded and took another long drink.

“He was never going to propose.”

“No.”

“And if she had gone . . .”

She shrugged. “Maybe it wouldn’t have changed anything. But she believed if she’d gone . . .” She sighed heavily. “She said in the note that she hoped our mother would be happy now. If she’d known going to New York wouldn’t have made a difference, I think she would have spent the summer miserable and then been okay. But he never cared about anyone but himself. And he never realized her death had anything to do with him.”

“Did you tell him?”

“Haven’t you been listening? No one knows but you and Tony.”

I was silent again, marveling at her—what was the word she would use? Chutzpah.

“What did you say when he said that?”

“I didn’t say anything. I got up and I walked out.” She held up her glass at me, the liquid level already low again. “I should have thrown my drink in his face. Let that be a lesson to you. You get so few opportunities in life to throw a drink. Take them.”

Neither of us said anything for several minutes as we processed what we had learned. Then her hand shot out and encircled my wrist, gripping it tightly.

“You can’t let it break you. Things don’t work out the way you want sometimes, but you have to keep going.”

I couldn’t breathe. She wasn’t talking about Vivie anymore.

When she released my wrist, I rubbed it, still feeling the fire of her grasp. She stood with great effort and put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m going to bed. It’s been a long day.” Putting her hand under my chin, she turned my head, so I was forced to look at her. “I’m okay. I promise.” She tilted her head toward the door, winked at me, then shuffled slowly to her bedroom.

The door shut behind her, and I jumped at the sound, my mind reeling with this new information.

You can’t let it break you.

No. I was never going to be the girl who threw herself into the sea, though I shuddered at the thought of how close those bluffs were to where I sat right now. But the last six months and then Joe— I jumped up, my chair almost tipping from the force, grabbed my purse and keys from the table by the front door, pausing only long enough to slide on the flip-flops on the porch, and ran down the steps to the car.

In the six minutes it took to reach Joe’s house, I came no closer to figuring out what I was going to say. All I could hear was my heartbeat thudding in my ears, my breath shallow and rapid. I climbed his front steps and pounded on the door, Jax barking at the sudden noise.

He opened the door and crossed his tanned arms, leaning against the frame. “What do you want, Jenna?”

I brushed a piece of hair behind my ear and tugged on the sleeve of my sweatshirt, realizing what a mess I was in yoga shorts and an old University of Maryland hoodie that had seen better days.

But—

“You,” I blurted out.

He shook his head. “What was it you said? You weren’t looking for a one-night stand? Well, I’m not either.”

“No, that’s not—” I took a deep breath and looked at him, his eyes narrow and guarded, and I almost gave up. But then what? Go home and keep hiding so I wouldn’t have to face the possibility of failure again?

No.

“I got scared.”

He hesitated before responding. “And you’re not scared anymore?”

“I’m terrified! I’m scared you’re going to say that no, I missed my chance. I’m scared you’re going to realize you don’t actually like me. I’m scared I’m going to leave in a few days, and that this is going to be too hard.” I blinked, then brought my eyes to his. “But I’m more scared of knowing I didn’t try.”

We looked at each other for a long minute, neither of us moving. Then his posture relaxed, and he took my arm, pulled me inside, and shut the door, then pressed me up against it, his mouth on mine, one hand in my hair, the other on my waist, traveling upward. I shifted my weight, allowing him to move closer, wanting to touch every inch of him, when I felt— “Jax!” We both looked down. She had pushed her way between his legs, her nose nuzzling into my crotch.

I started to laugh as Joe tried to step over her without falling, and I took her face in my hands. “Sorry, girl. I think I’m stealing your bed tonight.”

Joe laughed and shook his head. “Do you want a drink?”

I said I would love one and followed him into the kitchen, where he poured two glasses of wine from the same bottle as the night before. I was leaning against the kitchen island, musing how it felt like so much longer than just a day ago. Joe was leaning against the opposite counter, watching me.

“Where are you right now?” he asked.

I set my glass down and held out a hand to him. “Right here.”

He didn’t need another invitation. He picked me up and sat me on the island, our faces level as he kissed me hungrily. I wrapped my legs around his waist, and he groaned softly. I felt one of his hands under my sweatshirt at my back, and it was too much material between us, so I reached down to remove it, only breaking the kiss long enough to get my head out of the hoodie, then tugged at his shirt as well until he pulled it off and reached around to unhook my bra.