The Wife Who Knew Too Much(6)

“They’re not your friends, are they?” Grandma Jean said.

It was easier to be mad at her than at Connor. I got to my feet, full of righteous indignation.

“I’m almost eighteen, and this is my life.”

“Honey, I know it’s hard, living here with the old folks. It’s hard for me, too. I’m sure we both wish your mom was around to deal with this situation, but she’s not.”

“Grandma, I don’t know how else to put this. My love life is none of your business.”

“I’ve raised you since you were a girl. I’ve earned the right to speak my mind. As for my business, the club is literally my business. It’s my livelihood. Don’t you think it affects me—Gil catching my granddaughter, who I asked him to hire, half-naked in the boathouse?”

“He never saw me half-naked. That’s a lie.”

“Maybe he didn’t see, but he sure as heck knew. I’m not a prude, Tabitha, and I’m not trying to control you. But that’s not nice. It’s disrespectful to the job, to your boss, to me. To yourself.”

As she spoke, and her words sank in, I began to feel smaller, until I wished I could sink into the sofa and disappear. She was right. I’d been selfish. I hadn’t stopped to think how my behavior would affect her. This was my grandma, who’d taken me in, who’d raised me. She deserved better than how I’d behaved.

“You’re right,” I said. “That was wrong of me, Grandma. I see that now. I apologize. I won’t do it again, promise. Forgive me?”

The relief on her face broke my heart.

“I forgive you.”

“I love you, Grandma Jean.”

“I love you, too.”

We hugged, tears in our eyes.

“Now, that was exhausting. Time for bed.”

I pecked her soft cheek and watched her walk heavily down the hall, my heart full of love for her. That was at eight o’clock.

By ten, I was jonesing for Connor so bad that I couldn’t see straight. The need to touch him, kiss him, feel his skin against mine, overwhelmed my guilt and my better judgment. I’d promised Grandma not to mess around at the club. And I would keep that promise. But I never said I’d stop seeing him. As long as we didn’t go to the boathouse—or the golf course, which was club property—then I wouldn’t be breaking my word.

I put on a cute sundress, lip gloss, and mascara. I fluffed my hair and spritzed on perfume. I tiptoed out the door.

Outside, the night air was velvety and redolent of summer. I hurried down the block to where Connor was waiting for me in Robbie’s old Jeep, top down, open to the indigo sky. A yellow moon sat low on the horizon, surrounded by a haze of humidity. I climbed up into the passenger seat. Connor grabbed me and kissed me breathless.

“Something bad happened,” I said, pulling away. “Gil told my grandmother about finding us in the boathouse. I almost didn’t come out tonight.”

“Shit. Are you okay?”

“Yes, but she’s upset. I promised her we wouldn’t hook up at the club anymore.”

“Don’t say that. I can’t go all day without a fix of you, you know that.”

He slipped the strap of my dress from my shoulder, nuzzling my neck, his hand sliding up my thigh. My breath got faster. But I twisted away, worried the neighbors might see.

“Not here. I want to keep my promise to her.”

“Okay.”

He turned the car on.

“We can’t go to the golf course, either.”

“Why not? It’s totally deserted at night. Nobody will ever know.”

“I can’t take the risk. I’d be breaking my word.”

“So where we gonna go? I need to be alone with you, like now.”

We kissed some more. His hand slipped inside my panties. It took willpower, but I moved it away.

“I need you, too. Just not here, and not at the club. Think.”

“Okay. We could park in the woods near the Bear Creek trailhead,” he said.

“That’s so creepy at night. Anywhere outdoors—I don’t know. What about your grandmother’s house? Can we go there?”

“It’s risky. I’d have to sneak you up the back stairs, so my grandmother doesn’t find out. You don’t want her recognizing you from the club.”

That rankled. It reminded me of what Grandma had said earlier—about Connor not wanting to introduce me to his family.

“I don’t? Or you don’t?”

He gave me a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Are you ashamed of me?”

“I’m ashamed of her. She’s a massive snob. If she recognized you, she’d throw a fit, just because you work at the club.”

“So what if she does throw a fit? Are you afraid she’d cut you off?”

He got defensive. “I mean, sure, but that’s not the reason. I don’t want to subject you to her temper tantrums, that’s all.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

We raced across town, music blasting, the wind in our hair. He didn’t speak. His expression said he was worried, maybe even angry with me. So far gone was I with crazy love that I spent the drive admiring how his eyebrows drew together, the way his jaw clenched, his perfect bone structure.