Sweet Water(58)

“How long have you been back?” I ask.

He takes a deep breath, then exhales, blowing the hair off his cheek. “Almost two years.”

Two years?

Disappointment settles onto my chest like a jagged rock. It was just teenage love, but he never apologized for how he’d left things. We knew it was over once I started school. He had plans to venture overseas as a missionary through his church and work on his music in between.

His parents hadn’t agreed with his plans.

I know this only because when I showed up at his house after work one day in my red polo shirt, weeks before he was supposed to leave, his parents were actually home for once. When they answered the door, they looked at me and said, “We didn’t order takeout.”

I explained I was Josh’s friend. The few times his parents had been home when I was there, he hadn’t introduced me. The house was so large, he’d always usher me to a part where they weren’t, saying things like, “You’re better off—trust me.”

I thought it was because Josh was afraid they might catch on to what we were doing, but a bigger part of me thought it was because he was embarrassed of me, where I came from. His father just shrugged and told me in a matter of a few sentences that Josh had sold his Jeep for cash and taken off for Europe early because they’d frozen his bank account in an attempt to stop him.

“Let me know if you see the spoiled brat,” he said before slamming the door in my face.

I don’t like to think about the second time he came back, my senior year at CMU when we’d reconnected and I couldn’t believe he left home before Christmas. A different era of bad decisions.

“I never left,” I tell Josh. I sound pathetic, but I can’t believe he’s been back that long and hasn’t contacted me.

“I know,” he says gently, and he’s only making me more aware of the fact that he knew exactly where I was and chose not to get in touch. “Is one of your children taking up violin?” he asks, and I’m confused by the question.

He points to the instrument in my hand.

“Oh, no.” I hand it back to him, embarrassed. “I was actually looking for the music teacher who taught guitar here . . . to Yazmin Veltri.”

Josh breaks eye contact and takes the violin from me.

“I never expected it to be you,” I lie. I’m not sure he deserves my honesty yet.

“I already talked to the cops, and I’m not at liberty to say much to anyone else. She was a nice girl. Why’re you interested?” He turns his back on me and puts the violin in its place. The muscles of his shoulders pull at his snug T-shirt. It wasn’t just a childhood infatuation; he’s still beautiful. I fight the blush threatening to take over my face. When I jumped from Joshua to Martin, it was a monumental leap away from heartbreak and into something steady.

It might’ve been because Joshua was more of a phantom than a real person. I don’t even think Martin owns a concert T-shirt. In fact, we don’t go to concerts, and I love music.

I made the leap because I needed the stability.

I made the leap because Joshua took off, and I was looking for a steady arrow to guide me.

“She was my son’s girlfriend,” I say.

He stiffens and cocks his neck to the side. “That seems about right.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.

Josh turns to me, and his pretty green eyes glint in the sunlight. “You know I went to school with your husband at the Academy, right? He was a grade above me, and we didn’t exactly run in the same circles.”

“What?” This fact, which should’ve been as blatantly obvious to me as a splatter of mud on a white horse, never occurred to me before. I always placed the two men in such separate buckets, compartmentalized them in a way that made sense, that I hadn’t realized their connection. The Academy is small, though, so of course they knew each other. My mouth is still hanging open.

“You didn’t.” He frowns.

I’m wondering if he’s displeased because I didn’t make the connection or if he’s disappointed that I haven’t mentioned him to Martin. He has to understand I had my reasons. Especially after the last time he came home. I wonder if he ever thought about the consequences of his actions.

“I just never put two and two together.”

“Just like his fraternity scandal. You ever put those two halves together, or did you know about the whole of it and marry him anyway?” Joshua sounds offended, and I’m not sure why.

What did Tush’s death have to do with anything?

“Josh, Martin wasn’t found accountable for what happened at his fraternity. Neither was the fraternity, for that matter.”

“Exactly.” Josh crosses his arms.

My head is spinning. “You’re out of line. You didn’t even live here then. You were gone for years.”

And then I think about the sum of all the parts. The ones Josh is mentioning and the strange happenings in my own home.

The way Martin’s been acting since Yazmin’s death, like a subhuman who will stop at nothing to cover up Finn’s tracks when we don’t even know what it is we’re covering. Suddenly it all feels tainted with a strange familiarity to what we went through in college. Martin turned overnight from a carefree kid to an adult who would convince anyone who was standing right next to him how unfortunate the accident was, as if it were a presidential address—how he had nothing to do with it. William had trained him early. I’m realizing that now.