The Next Best Thing (Gideon's Cove #2)(100)

I SLEEP HORRIBLY, THE MEMORY OF ETHAN’S accident playing over and over in my brain, the sound of the car hitting him, of his vulnerable, helpless body thudding onto the hard pavement. I didn’t want to break up with him, not when he was hurt, but he knew. And I just can’t be with him. I tried, but I can’t.

I’m sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the cupboard door, when Mom comes home from the bakery that afternoon. “Look what came to the bakery today,” she says, dropping her keys on the table. She’s holding a bouquet of white roses in her arms. “They’re for you.”

Listlessly I open the card, feeling more tired than I have since those endless days just after Jimmy died. “‘Sorry such an awful thing happened,’” I read aloud. “‘If there’s anything I can do, say the word. Matt DeSalvo.’”

“How nice,” Mom says, bustling the flowers over to the sink, where she fills up a vase. “He called this morning to see how Ethan was. And how you were, of course. Very kind of him.”

“And how is Ethan?” I whisper, my eyes stinging.

“Well, actually, he called, too. Said he’s a little sore but otherwise fine.” Mom pauses. “I told him you might stay with me a couple of days.” She fusses with the flowers, filling a vase with water.

“Thanks,” I say. I grab a napkin and wipe my eyes. I’d called Ethan to see how he was—I needed to know he was okay, no matter what the status of our relationship—but he was sleeping, Marie said, and doing fine. After I hung up, I spent an hour and a half on the Internet, looking up “concussion” and “closed brain injury,” then called Anne in a panic with a dozen or so somewhat terrified questions about the possible complications. She put my mind to rest—sort of. You never knew what might happen.

Mom slaps the vase down on the table, making me jump. “Are you going to do that bread deal?” she asks. “Have you signed anything yet?”

“Nope,” I said. “I mean no, nothing’s signed, and yes, I think so.”

She sits down next to me. “Well. I think it’s a good idea. Now. Do you want me to cook something for dinner?”

“I should run home and check on Fat Mikey.” He’ll need food—plus, he misses me if left alone for too long, which I can tell by the way he ignores me when I return. “Can I bring him here for a day or two?”

“He’ll probably hate being moved, but sure,” she answers. “Okay, I’ll make dinner. We’ll eat around, say, six? You’d better get going, then. Jump in the shower, honey. You smell a little funky.”

AN HOUR LATER, I’M STANDING IN FRONT of the Boatworks, wondering if Ethan’s home. How he’s doing. If he’s mad/sad/completely disgusted with me. I don’t have to wonder for long. Parker comes bursting through the doors, Nicky in tow.

“You!” she says, and I resist the urge to dart behind the lamppost for protection.

“Hi.” I reach down and pick up Nicky, kiss him on the cheek. “How’s your daddy?” I ask.

“He’s good. I beat him at CandyLand. He was only in the Peppermint Forest when I won. And Nonny made me pancakes for lunch.”

“Good for you, Nicky,” I say.

“Lucy, walk with us,” Parker says in a terrifyingly cheerful tone. “Nicky and I are going to the playground, right, pal?”

“Yup! I’m gonna go on the slide,” Nick tells me. “You can come, too. I’ll teach you. It’s not scary.”

“Actually I have to—”

Parker grabs my arm and goose-steps me across the street. “Lucy and I will watch you, Nick. Have fun!” she orders merrily, shooing her son over to the jungle gym. “We’ll be right here!”

The second he’s out of earshot, she whirls on me, two pink splotches burning on her cheeks. “Are you out of your mind, Lucy?” she hisses.

“Look, I know—”

“You dump him in the hospital? When he’s bleeding from the head and has just been hit by a car?”

“It wasn’t like that,” I say, swallowing. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but—”

“But what?” she demands.

“But…but…” I stop, swallow again, hard. “But he knew.”

“Knew what?”

I close my eyes. “He knew, Parker.”

“Knew that you’re scared? That it was sickening, seeing him hit? That you love him? That you’re afraid he’ll die? Knew what, Lucy?”

Suddenly my temper flares. “Don’t judge me, Parker. Okay? I did my best, I really did, and I just can’t do it. You don’t know what it’s like.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Parker says sharply. “Did you want me to pity you? Because I thought you wanted to be a normal person.”

“Well, I’m not a normal person,” I blurt, my voice harsh and shrill. “There’s something wrong with me. There’s a hole in me and Ethan can’t fix it and neither can I, and you just don’t understand, so don’t lecture me about what I can and can’t do, okay?” The thud of Ethan’s body hitting the pavement echoes in my mind, and I clamp my hands over my mouth and bend over, the horror of the memory, the fear causing me to gag. Nicky pauses from the top of the slide, looking over at us.