Saugatuck Summer (Saugatuck, #1)(49)
In the face of Adele’s complete likability, though, the weight of my guilt sat even more heavily on me. She didn’t deserve anything Brendan and I had done, and if she ever found out, some part of her might always wonder if it had been something to do with her. Because of course, in our society, if a husband strays, it must be due to some shortcoming on the part of the wife, right?
Adele was sure of herself and straightforward, but also a little awkward at making casual conversation, as if she talked to kids so much that she didn’t quite know how to talk to adults. Which was, to be quite honest, probably the only thing that saved my ass.
That, and Mo. Mo was perfectly willing to carry on the majority of the conversation, regaling her mother with stories of things the two of us got up to at school. All I needed to do was throw in the occasional agreement or answer a few simple questions. Unlike Brendan, Adele didn’t start out asking the hard stuff and keep digging deeper. She limited it to small talk and nonintrusive inquiries, so I wasn’t obliged to either spill my life story with my customary candor, or evade the questions entirely. But she was nice, and since I didn’t have to try to ignore or act nonchalant around Brendan, it wasn’t that hard to behave as though everything was fine.
And why didn’t I have to worry about Brendan? Because he’d told Adele that he needed to work and would be hiding out upstairs with his computer until it was time to fire up the grill.
Maybe God didn’t hate me after all.
The afternoon wore on, and it got late enough that Mo decided to haul out the beer. As much as I wanted to get tipsy and relax, I didn’t dare. Not when a single careless word would f*ck up absolutely everything.
Brendan came out of his bedroom at last, murmuring a polite and perfectly proper greeting as he passed by me. Mo and Adele and I sat around under the patio table umbrella with our beers, while they playfully demanded that Brendan do all the work since he’d been absent all day. Under any other circumstances, I would have taken pity on my host and volunteered to help.
That was so not happening today.
Brendan was just about to lay the franks and burgers on the grill when we heard the sound of a car in the driveway. Mo jumped excitedly to her feet.
“Robin and Geoffrey must be here!” she chirped, rushing for the stairs.
Oh, thank you, Jesus.
I followed at a more sedate pace, both to greet them and to see if they’d brought any snacks or beverages that needed carrying. At the least, I could help Ling up the stairs onto the deck, if she’d come with them.
Robin was hidden behind the open trunk of the car. Geoff was standing next to it, asking Mo how her tattoo was doing. Ling was beside him, looking bigger than ever. The July heat and sun were obviously not doing her any favors, and by now I’d heard her complaining often enough about wanting the kid to be born already that I decided the first order of business was getting her seated in the shade with something cool to drink.
“Hey, Ling. Come on. I’ll help you up the stairs and introduce you to Mrs. Gardner.”
I got Ling up onto the deck, and Adele quickly stepped into action, all solicitous maternal warmth. She escorted Ling to the shadiest seat and offered her a glass of iced tea. Confident that no disaster would befall her, I jogged back down the stairs just as the trunk slammed shut.
Robin’s arms were full of a large cooler that looked almost too big and heavy for one man to handle, even a guy his size. And behind what appeared to be a veggie platter and several bags of potato chips was another guest. He glanced up as soon as I came around the back corner of the house, and his dark brown eyes danced with a devilment I knew way too well.
“Hey, Topher. Good to see you again.”
Oh, f*ck my life. Seriously. Just f*ck it.
Complacency has wrapped you inside a sheet
You wish for someone to come
And save you
But no one comes
You must take care of yourself
We all learn that
We all learn that
—Casey Stratton, “Harvest”
Take the pause
But don’t stop too long
There is so much here to mend
—Casey Stratton, “The Bitter Truth”
“Hi, Jace,” I managed to croak through a throat gone suddenly dry with absolute mortification.
Mo’s head snapped up like a predator scenting prey.
“Jace? Oh! You’re the painter!” Oh f*ck, oh f*ck, oh f*ck. She was just way too delighted by this development.
He chuckled and tipped his head. “Sometimes.”
Robin propped the cooler on the bumper to conduct the introductions. “Morgan, this is Joscelin Sieger. He’s a friend of Geoff’s from art school, and as you’ve seen, I often carry his work in the gallery. Jace, you already know Topher, and this is Topher’s friend, Morgan.”
Mo shook his hand enthusiastically, examining the inked length of arm exposed by his red tank top.
“Pleased to meet you. So, was Topher right? Did Geoff do your tats?”
Geoff chuckled. “I did, but Jace designed them. He did a number of the designs you see in my shop.”
“Oh, that is too cool.” Mo practically dragged Jace and his armful of snacks to the back of the house. “Come on, I want to know all about your art.”
As her voice faded away, I looked at Robin, trying to squash something very close to betrayal. I was breathing so fast I thought I might hyperventilate.