Anything for You (Blue Heron #5)(45)

“I thought that was a given,” Faith said.

“You guys enjoy your dinner,” Colleen said. “Nice to meet you, Marcy. I’m taking this baby with me. Come on, Noah, let’s schmooze, honey.” The baby burped.

Jess watched her go off to show Noah off to Gerard and Lorelei, who were dating, asking them if the baby wasn’t the cutest thing in the wide world.

“Wow, she’s stunning!” Marcy announced. “I always feel like a total hag around a beautiful woman, don’t you?” she asked Jessica. “Faith, you’re gorgeous, you can totally hold your own, but Jessie and I, we’re like trolls where she’s concerned, aren’t we?”

Okay.

First of all, no one called her Jessie. It was Jessica or Jess.

And secondly, what did you say to that? You’re right, Marcy, I’m a troll! or Are you kidding? You? You’re so cute! She was fairly sure Marcy was waiting for the latter.

She said nothing.

“I don’t think anyone would call either of you a troll,” Faith said, saving the moment. “I always thought you could be a model, Jess.”

Jessica could feel Marcy practically quivering as she waited for Faith to compliment her.

Faith took a bite of her nachos. Levi, always a man of few words, cocked an eyebrow at Jess, then gave his wife a sleepy smile and stroked the back of her neck.

“Where’s my sword?” Davey asked. “Jess! I don’t have a sword.” His face was getting that pre-cry look.

“I’ll get it, sweetie,” she said.

Davey’s drink—a Shirley Temple—had been served without the little plastic skewer. He collected them, and...well. Jess stood up, went to the bar and snagged one, went back to the table and popped the sword into her brother’s drink. “There you go, hon.”

“Thanks, Jess!” he said, grabbing her hand and giving it a loud kiss. Crisis averted. She ruffled his chick-down hair and went back to her seat.

Glanced at her watch surreptitiously.

She wished she liked these events more. It was just that she always felt a little...on guard. As if at any moment, one of the Holland clan was going to reminisce about the time when Keith Dunn ran into their mailbox, or when Jess’s mother puked at the eighth-grade chorus concert.

The Hollands love you, she reminded herself. She took a sip of wine and forced a smile at Jack Holland, who gave her a wink and turned his attention back to Emmaline.

Couples, couples everywhere.

“What’s wrong with your brother?” Marcy asked, and Jess’s head whipped around.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, is that politically incorrect? I’m sorry, I just wondered. Was I not supposed to notice?”

Jess felt her heart turn to a fist of ice. Marcy smiled brightly and raised her eyebrows, waiting for an answer. The smile was as fake as they came.

“He’s intellectually disabled.” That was the newest—and kindest—label the medical community had given it. Sure beat a lot of ugly words kids had used growing up.

“What happened to him?”

Silence settled on their end of the table. Pru gave Jess a look and rolled her eyes. Levi and Faith were both listening, and both knew exactly what happened to Davey...everyone in Manningsport knew. But who the hell would ask so baldly? And why did Marcy think it was any of her business?

Jessica could feel her heartbeat in her stomach, a sure sign of rage. She raised an eyebrow, keeping her expression cool, and stared Marcy down.

A beat passed. Two. Three.

Marcy’s smile slipped, and she gave a bark of laughter. “Oh, okay, I guess that subject’s off-limits. So sorry. I just have one of those personalities. I’m naturally curious, that’s all. People interest me. They fascinate me.” She broke eye contact with Jess and beamed across at Levi and Faith. Neither smiled back, God bless them.

“Tell me about your promotion, Jess,” Faith said. “Honor said you’d be doing more marketing.”

Grateful for the change of subject, she turned to Faith and answered. The Barn was Faith’s creation; Jess wondered how she liked Marcy, or if she’d had any say in hiring her. But those things weren’t her business, and unlike Marcy, Jess was good at knowing when to keep her mouth shut.

After dinner had been served—and devoured—Ned and Davey went to the back to play pinball. The Hollands had rearranged themselves, changing seats so they could talk to everyone. Marcy had shaken off the gaffe from earlier (though Jess would bet she saw nothing wrong with what she said) and was talking—loudly, God, her voice was loud—about a celebrity wedding she’d handled. Unfortunately, Abby was fascinated, peppering her with questions.

Then Connor came over to the table.

Three days without seeing him, and she felt his presence like a rogue wave, unexpected and devastating.

Why was that? They’d broken up before. They’d fought before, sort of. He’d come around.

She missed him. Three days, and she missed him, and what was that all about?

“How’s everyone doing?” he asked.

A chorus of compliments and assurances rose from the group. “You sure can cook, Connor,” Pru said. “That rib eye was the best I ever had. I’m seriously thinking about gnawing on the bone.”

“Thank you,” he said, always a little uncomfortable when he had to field praise. She’d noticed it over the years, how he was always reluctant to come out of the kitchen and accept the coos and compliments from his patrons.