All That Jazz (Butler Cove #1)(87)

Stay true to what you want, Jazzy Bear. Don’t change your plans for anyone. Including me.

But I will always love you.

Maybe, if you come back to me, I’ll let you know what I really said to Bethany Winters that day she tripped you outside school. It was the first day I saw you. You had hair of silk and sunlight and a laugh that moved my soul.

I’ll never forget it.

Jay Bird



I don’t even know what the present is, and I have tears sliding down my face. Luckily, I’m sandwiched between an older guy snoring and half a window. And thank the baby Jesus I waited to open this when I was in a tiny metal cylinder above the Atlantic and not still on American soil in a building with an exit and only one state away from him.

Shit.

Turns out I am “that girl.” You know? The one who’ll change her plans for a guy.

Except, I’m not.

Not really.

I want to run to the pilot and tell him to turn the plane around, but even if that was a viable option, I know I wouldn’t do it. I actually have a choice to do it or not. I feel a sense of peace knowing that.

I’m heading to the last place I ever heard from my father. I want to see it for myself. I want to experience something new, something so different than the world I grew up in. And I plan to document my entire experience in word and picture from beginning to end. And then? Then I’ll be done. I love photography. But it doesn’t consume me like it obviously consumed my father. There’s a relief in knowing that too.

I open my tiny bottle of wine, pour some in the plastic cup and take a sip.

Then I open the pouch and slide the contents into my palm.

A thin silver chain slithers out, with a charm attached.

It’s a boot. A pink, sparkly, enamel, cowgirl boot, set in silver.

I huff out a breath of surprise as I stare at it.

I can’t believe he remembered the pink sparkle cowgirl boots box I kept on the boat. The box that had held physical remnants of my relationship with my father. And of course, the memory of the little girl who’d worn pink sparkly cowgirl boots on her feet until they’d fallen apart.

Again, I congratulate myself on my decision to wait on opening the damn gift. With shaking hands, I fumble the clasp and get it around my neck. It takes about seventeen tries and an elbow into the chin of the snoring man next to me, who weirdly doesn’t even flinch. I finally get it on. The length of the chain puts the boot next to my heart. Okay fine, it’s nestled right in my cleavage. Same thing.

I fish out my phone and take a cleavage selfie, making sure to use my arms to pad my boobs a bit closer together and perkier looking. I also make sure to see a bit of my bra and of course to keep my blubbering tear-stained face out of it. It’ll be the one and only thing I send to Joseph for three months.

“You need me to take the boob shot?” the guy next to me offers.

“Jesus,” I squeak, nearly jumping out of my skin. “You were sleeping.”

“And now, I’m awake. It’s hard to sleep with all this crying and ‘angst-ing’ going on next to me. And also, the elbow. I didn’t appreciate the elbow.”

“You always ask girls half your age for boob shots?”

“No. I’m gay, sweetheart.”

“Oh. And I’m sorry about the elbowing. And the ‘angst-ing’ or whatever.”

“No sweat. These sleeping pills are for shit anyway. My boyfriend stole the good stuff out of my travel bag for his last trip.”

I raise my plastic cup. “We could just drink ourselves to sleep. I’m Jessica, by the way,” I add, reinventing myself on a whim.

“I’m Allen.” He points to my cup. “It’s a plan. So where are you headed?”

“Cape Town.”

“No shit. Me too. Moved there last year. I’m in advertising, I own my own business. We shoot a whole ton of commercials in Cape Town. Fell in love with the place. So instead of living in Charlotte and visiting down there nine months out of twelve, now I live there and go home three months out of twelve.”

“That’s awesome.” I’m super impressed by this. Someone just willing to move countries like that. “No offense, but there’s got to be a faster way than via Amsterdam, right?”

He proceeds to discuss the merits of various airlines and cities. He loves Amsterdam, so loves to stop there and leave the airport to have lunch in the city and visit the Van Gogh museum.

That sounds like a blast, so I totally wrangle an invitation to join him.

And about midway across the Atlantic, I have the next three months of my life in Cape Town planned out, not forgetting lunch the next day. And I’m so glad I didn’t let a boy change my mind, even if my heart is still aching in my chest.

Hopefully, Joseph will still be where I left him when I get back.

Besides, I really do want to know what he said to Bethany Winters that day.





THE SMALL PLANE jolts, and I bang my head on the window where I was watching the Lowcountry marshes come into view. Wincing, I pull away and rub my brow.

Returning to Butler Cove after a whole year feels nerve-wracking. I’m changed inside by my time away. And I know my deliberate and prolonged absence means other things may have changed too.

I’m nervous about that.

Joseph and I have only stayed in touch sporadically with a few random texts. I was glad he hadn’t sent a bunch of ‘I’m sorry’s. I knew he was. I was too. And the regret was somehow more powerful for its silence. He sent a birthday text right after I left, and then every major holiday since then. And the minor ones. President’s Day for example. I smile and roll my eyes at the memory.