Anything for You (Blue Heron #5)(93)

He tilted his head. “What do you think you did, Jess?”

From the backyard came the yips from Lady Fluffy, the deeper barking of Chico, Davey’s voice egging them on to catch the squeaky toy.

Connor hadn’t looked away. She shrugged. “School slut, for one.”

“Jess, you’re too—”

“Well, I was. And that kind of reputation doesn’t die. And then there’s the white trash stuff. Trailer park, drunk parents, all that.”

“Everyone’s got something in their closets, honey.” The word made her heart hurt. “You know that.”

She looked at the table. Tell him. Yeah. It was time. She cleared her throat. “I was also my mom’s bartender.” She looked him in the eye and squeezed the ring on her thumb hard. “I used to make her drinks. I could make a vodka tonic before I could read.”

Connor took her hand. She took it back.

“Jess, you were a little kid.”

“Not that little. Not for long.” She paused. “I’d mix her a drink every day when I came home from school, and I’d keep them coming all afternoon and evening till she went to bed or passed out.”

“That’s not your fault.”

“I did it when she was pregnant, too.”

Connor closed his eyes for a second, then looked at her again.

So now he knew. She’d made Davey the way he was. Yeah, yeah, she’d been a kid. But she’d been an old soul even when she was seven. She knew it wasn’t good that Mom was drinking so much.

“My mother was a sad person,” she said briskly. “She was happier with a few drinks in her. I knew it wasn’t healthy, and I probably even knew that it wasn’t good for...” Her voice cracked a little, but she forced herself to keep going. “For the baby, but I did it. Until I was maybe thirteen, I made sure my mom had plenty of booze.”

“I repeat. You were a little kid.”

“I was little when I was four. I knew better by the time I was seven. So putting me in charge of kids... I don’t see that happening, Connor, and I know you want them, and I think you should really reconsider being with me. I don’t know what keeps bringing you back, but I honestly think you’d be better off with someone else.”

There. She said it. The words hung between them like a wall.

The front door opened, and Ned came in with Sarah Cooper. “Hi, Jess,” she said. “Hey, Connor! How are you? Heard you’re an uncle!”

“Hey,” Connor said.

“Is it okay if we hang out here?” Ned asked. “Watch a movie, make some popcorn? Levi keeps giving me these looks, and I’m scared, frankly. I mean, the guy married my aunt. You’d think he’d cut me some slack.”

“He keeps talking about guns whenever Ned’s around,” Sarah said. “Such a pain in the ass.”

“That’d be great,” Connor said. “Can you watch Davey?”

“Sure,” Ned said.

“Hang on a sec,” Jessica said. No one had asked her anything.

“I would really like to go somewhere and finish this conversation,” Connor said, rather forcefully.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Ned said. “You kids need to talk, you just run along. We got this.”

And so it was that five minutes later, Jess was sitting in the passenger seat of Connor’s truck, being driven across town like a kid being escorted to the principal’s office.

He was mad. So what? So was she, for no good reason. He didn’t say a word. Barely even looked at her. Also, she felt sick.

She’d never told anyone about giving her mom drinks. About how she’d been afraid that Jolene would go away forever, because she’d been so sad, how Jess had tried so hard to be good and fun and helpful...and how she knew that alcohol made her mother feel better. How sometimes, she’d make her mother a drink without even being asked.

They got to his house, his beautiful, perfect house with the backyard all landscaped with hydrangeas and roses and irises. A completely wasted porch without a single chair or plant. He unlocked the door, pulled her inside, through the living room, down the hall.

“Connor, I was just being honest,” she said, and horribly, it suddenly seemed as if she was about to cry.

He towed her straight into his bedroom. It was so obviously a man’s bedroom—big solid wooden bed frame, no decorative pillows. Dresser, night table, everything matching. No pictures on the wall except one of the gorge in Watkins Glen.

He looked at her for a long minute, eyes inscrutable.

“Are you mad at me?” she said in her best no-nonsense voice.

“No.”

Another long beat passed.

“You were seven years old when your mother had Davey,” he said. “You are in no way responsible for his condition. I’m going to tell you that until you believe me, Jessica Dunn. You’re the best sister in the world, you had shitty parents and it wasn’t your fault. It just wasn’t. The only reason Davey is so great today is because of you.”

It felt like a razor blade was stuck in her throat.

Then his hands went to her hair. Pulled out her ponytail and slid his fingers through her hair. Held her close for a long, long time, warm and solid, just holding her, and it felt as though her insides were shaking, and it was all she could do not to cry.