The Next Best Thing (Gideon's Cove #2)(99)

I blink. “Yes,” I answer.

He looks at Ethan. “So you must be Jimmy’s little brother.”

“That’s right,” Ethan says smoothly.

“I’m Tony Aresco,” he says. “I went to high school with Jimmy.” He gives that sad smile I’ve seen so many times in the past five and a half years. “Great guy. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks,” I answer.

“Take care,” he says. He gives my shoulder a squeeze as he leaves.

I stand there for a second, then pick up Ethan’s shoes and hand them to him. He doesn’t put them on, just places them carefully on the bed, then looks up at me, his hair sticking up on the side where they put the stitches.

“Are you feeling okay?” I ask.

“I’m fine,” he says for probably the fiftieth time tonight. Those brown eyes are steady on me. Ethan knows me, after all, knows me better than anyone, really, and no one has ever accused him of being dumb. My eyes sting as they fill with tears.

Ethan sighs, the sigh of the defeated, and looks at the floor. He knows. “You may as well say it,” he says quietly.

I bite my lip hard enough to taste blood. “I’m so sorry, Ethan,” I whisper, because whispering is easier with the stone in my throat. “I can’t do this. I want to, but I can’t.”

He doesn’t answer for a second, still staring at the floor. Then he shakes his head slightly. “Okay, Lucy,” he says, weariness weighing down his voice. “If this is what you want, fine.”

And just like that, we’re done.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

FOR THE FIRST TIME IN SIX YEARS, I spend the night at my mother’s. The last time I did such a thing was right after Jimmy died.

The house where I grew up is not a place I spend a lot of time. Since Christopher and Corinne have been married, holidays have been spent at their place. Mom’s has changed a lot since I was a kid, as my mother exhibits the same delight in dressing the house as she does herself. I haven’t yet seen the new color palate for the living room—celery-green, white and red. It looks like the waiting room of an upscale salon, which is to say, vaguely superior and not very welcoming.

“Here,” Mom says, nudging my arm with a glass of something. “Looks like you need it.”

I take a sip. Whiskey. It burns down my throat, which surprises me a little, since I’m fairly numb.

“I take it you and Ethan broke up,” Mom says, sitting next to me and slipping off her red high heels. She takes a sip from her own glass.

“Yes,” I say.

She nods.

“I know why you never got married again, Mom,” I blurt. “I’m sorry I bugged you about it all those times.”

“Not that Joe Torre isn’t a nice man, mind you,” she says with a smile. Then she sighs and slides her arm around me, pulling my head down so it rests against her shoulder, and I inhale the comforting smell of her Chanel No. 5. “Ethan’s a good boy,” she murmurs. “And don’t worry…he’ll do fine. He’ll find someone else. You haven’t ruined his life, sweetie.”

I try to picture Ethan in the future, a wife, a couple more kids, but instead, I see Captain Bob, forever fixated on a hopeless cause, drowning his love in alcohol. It would be good to cry about now, but the pebble seems to be acting like a cork. “I called him over, Mom,” I whisper. “That’s why he got hit by a car.”

She snorts. “Well, I’d say he got hit because that idiot cop would rather run down a human than a papier-mâché clam. Honestly, I’m surprised those troopers don’t kill more people.” She takes a pull of her own drink. “And those uniforms are just ridiculous,” she adds, her mind ever on clothes.

“The night Jimmy died,” I say, my chest convulsing, “I told him I missed him. I wanted him to come home, and I should’ve told him to stop, take a nap, get a room, something—”

“Honey, stop,” she says firmly. “Stop. You’re being ridiculous. You didn’t cause Jimmy’s death. If you’d known how tired he was, you would’ve said just those things. You didn’t know because he didn’t tell you. And you didn’t cause Ethan to get hit tonight.”

I nod obediently.

“You’re not going to work tomorrow,” she says. “Jorge and I will take care of the bread. It won’t be as good as yours, but it won’t be horrible, either.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I say.

She stands up and hauls me off the couch. “Lucy,” she says, pushing a lock of hair behind my ear.

“Yes, Mom?”

She sighs. “Sweetie, I know you’re hurting over Ethan. But look at it this way. Life’s going to be a lot less complicated if you stay alone. It doesn’t sound very exciting, but there’s a lot to be said for playing it safe.”

I nod. She sure has a point. Ethan wasn’t safe. Not for me, not from me, and we’ll both be better off. I can’t live life fearing that every time my husband leaves the house, I’ll never see him again. Life will be clean and smooth—like this living room, maybe. Not really the place you’d choose to be, but not bad just the same.

“Finish that whiskey,” Mom commands. “It’s the good stuff. Then get into bed. You can wear some new pajamas I just bought from Nordstrom’s. They’re silk.”