The Birthday List(39)

“I’m sorry.” She wiped at the wet spots on my shirt.

“Don’t be sorry.” I trapped her hand under mine until she looked me in the eyes. “No apologies for tears, okay?”

She nodded and I let her hand go so she could dry her face. Then she took another step back, standing tall. Damn. Even blotchy faced, she was beautiful. She let her grace—her incredible strength—shine through her sad smile.

My arms already felt empty with her standing three feet away. When her shoulders dropped, I had a brief flash of hope that she’d need me again, but she sat back into her desk chair instead.

“I’m okay.” She nodded. “I’m okay.”

She was. She would be okay. Somehow, I’d find a way to make it okay. I couldn’t bring her husband back, but I could track down his killer. I could be the shoulder she cried on. And, maybe, I could be the man at her side as she started a new life.

“You know the worst part about lunch was Jimmy.” She hung her head. “I should have told him sooner. I see him once a week and I never have told him I was doing Jamie’s list. He looked so hurt at lunch. I should have told him.”

“Give him some time and I’m sure he’ll come around. They all will.” I was talking out of my ass here—I’d never met these people—but I was grasping for anything to make her feel better.

“I’m going to pretend you know what you’re talking about and just believe you.”

I chuckled. “Good plan.”

“Speaking of plans. We’d better get to the fair if we’re going to get through all the rides today.”

“We don’t have to go. If you’d rather do it later, then we can wait.”

She shook her head. “No, I want to go. It will be a fun distraction.”

“All right.” I held a hand out to help her stand. “Let’s ride.”




Four hours later, I was buckling my seat belt as a carnival worker locked us in a cage. A cage that had once been a clean white but was now spotted with rust.

“I fucking hate The Zipper,” I muttered. “Are you sure about this?”

Poppy looked green. “I’m sure.”

Liar. There wasn’t an ounce of confidence in her voice. “Maybe we should take a break. Come back and do this in an hour or so.” We’d saved The Zipper for last because it was the ride that had scared her the most.

“No.” She clicked her own seat belt with shaking hands. “This is the last ride and then we’re done. We just have to get through this, and we’re done.”

“Okay.” I reached up and gripped the handle on the side of the car. My hand felt slimy because I was sweating my balls off. It was blistering outside, probably over ninety, and not a breeze to be found. Being trapped in this hot metal car wasn’t helping.

I needed water. Better yet, a fucking beer. I hadn’t gone on this many rides since I was a kid, and even then, Mom and Dad had limited my tickets. But there was no limit today. I’d spent almost two hundred dollars on tickets because I’d refused to let Poppy pay.

These fucking traveling carnivals were raking it in. Bastards. Even the kiddie rides had cost five bucks. You’d think they could afford some spray paint to spruce up these cages.

“Enjoy the ride.” With our car locked, the worker smacked the side, then moved back to the control panel.

“Oh my god,” Poppy groaned as the car rocked back, her face going from green to white, matching her knuckles on the bar across our knees.

“Tell me again why we’re doing this?” I hoped a distraction would get her through the loading process. And then we’d just have to stick it out through the two-minute ride.

“Jamie never had a chance to do many fair rides. He was always showing livestock with 4-H, but he loved stuff like this. He even begged me to go to Disneyland for our honeymoon.”

I swallowed hard, not wanting to picture Poppy on a honeymoon. A niggling prickle crept up my neck. I’d been pushing images of Poppy and her husband aside, compartmentalizing them in a box I had no plans to ever open, but the damn lid kept flopping open.

It didn’t help when there were reminders everywhere, like her wedding rings always shining on her finger.

The worst part was, I’d asked her to tell me about him. And it wasn’t that I didn’t want to know. I did. I wanted to know everything about Poppy. I just didn’t realize how hearing her talk about Jamie, seeing her face soften, would make me feel.

Jealous. Like an asshole, I was jealous.

The car rocked again and Poppy gasped, pulling my thoughts back into the cage. My free hand reached out and took one of hers off the bar.

She laced her fingers with mine and squeezed. “Keep distracting me.”

I grinned, amazed again at how well this woman had me figured out. “Did you go on rides as a kid?”

“No. This was always more of Finn’s thing.”

I didn’t remember much of Finn Alcott other than his hair, which was the same color as Poppy’s, and how he’d stepped up for his sister five years ago. After she’d texted him, he’d come to her house and taken over, making the difficult phone calls so she wouldn’t have to deliver the news of Jamie’s murder.

“How’s he doing?” I asked.