Burying Water (Burying Water #1)(54)

“I’ll pick up a new alternator and get the truck running again for you,” he offers, setting the bags down on the floor by the fridge.

“You know how to fix it?” I ask, grabbing a pot to fill with water for the pasta, hoping it’ll come to a boil by the time I’ve put the groceries away.

“Yeah, I think I can handle it.”

I glance over my shoulder to find him pulling out the blue-and-red plaid wool blanket. “I just got that today. It’s so nice and—”

“Warm,” he finishes for me. I can see his Adam’s apple bob from here. “I used to have one exactly like this.”

“Well, Dakota got a dozen in this week, so you can always pick up another one.” I pull out the small saucepan of pasta sauce and throw it onto the stove, fumbling with the dials. “Thank you for your help with the truck. I’m sure Ginny will appreciate it.” In her own unorthodox way. “Cars are complicated, aren’t they? All those parts to figure out. It’s like science.”

I hazard another glance over my shoulder and find Jesse staring at me, his head cocked to the side and a strange look on his face. What is it, exactly? Wonder? Curiosity? His attention shifts to my scar and I duck my head back toward the stove, letting my hair fall to veil it. “Any chance you’ll be able to fix it before ten tomorrow morning?” I ask, half-jokingly, as I stir.

“You’ve gotta be somewhere by then?”

“Yeah, at The Salvage Yard. I work there.”

“How do you like it?”

“It’s good. Dakota’s really nice.”

“She is. I remember her from high school. I don’t know if she actually ever went to class, though. She just sat up on the hill, smoking weed most of the time.”

“I think she still does that, just not on a hill,” I joke.

The floor creaks with his approaching footsteps until he’s standing directly behind me, setting my hair on end.

“How are you liking it here, Water?” he finally asks.

“It’s great. The mountains, the town, your family. Even Ginny. It’s all great.” What must he think of me? I keep my eyes on the stove as I ask, “How much do you know? About what happened to me?” I still get a lump in my throat when I talk about it. I don’t even have to get into specifics.

“I know enough.” Sizzles sound from the stove as water begins bubbling and spilling over. “It smells good.” Jesse takes a step closer and reaches around me to lift the lid. I glance up to catch a wistful smile touch his lips. “I should go. God knows Ginny will skin me alive if she knows I’m in here.”

“And me too, for letting you in,” I agree.

I watch his back as he strolls out, a pang of something curling around my heart.

Wondering why I reacted to his proximity like that.

Wondering if it should have bothered me.

Wondering why it doesn’t.

“Where have you been?” Ginny’s voice gets exceptionally screechy when she’s upset. It’s not pleasant.

I check my watch. “I’m only two minutes late, Ginny. Come on.”

She swats the air. “I don’t care about dinner. I’ve been sitting here, waiting for the truck to pull up for forty-five minutes. I thought something had happened to you!”

“Oh.” I sigh with relief. And then I smile. Ginny was worried about me.

Someone is worried about me.

“What the hell are you so happy about?”

“Nothing, it’s just . . .” I stifle my smile. “The truck broke down. It just died.”

“Oh.” She pauses, and then turns to the empty driveway, puzzled. “How’d you get home then? Did Gabe come get you?”

I open my mouth to answer, wondering if it’s better to lie. But lying to Ginny just doesn’t feel right, with all she has done for me. “Actually, Jesse was driving by so he gave me a ride.”

The way Ginny gasps, you’d think someone had just informed her that a loved one had died in a fiery plane crash.

And I start to think I should have lied.

“I knew I heard that car of his!”

“He’s going to fix your truck and bring it back for us, Ginny. He was really nice to me.”

I can hear her teeth grind against each other. “I told you to stay away from that damn boy. He’s trouble.”

“Would you rather I still be walking home alone right now, carrying all those bags?”

“You could have called Gabe and Amber.”

“My phone died.”

“Well, what’s the point of having a phone then, huh?” she barks.

“He was really nice, Ginny, and he’s going to fix the truck for us,” I repeat calmly, adding a smile. That’s how I’ve noticed Meredith deals with her. I think it’s the only way to deal with Ginny. “I’m guessing it wouldn’t be cheap to fix. And tow to a mechanic.” I know I can’t afford to fix the truck on my nine-dollars-an-hour cash wage. From what Meredith has said, Ginny lives on a modest monthly budget, thanks to an inheritance from her parents and her quilt sales.

“No . . . I suppose not,” she mutters, scooping up some of the pasta. The words carry their usual snip, but there’s no heat in them anymore. She allows me to ladle the sauce onto her plate, though her fingers twitch the entire time. “I don’t want to see him on my property.”