The Will(35)

I wish you were talking to Dad. Maybe you could talk him into not only letting me come to Lavender House this summer but also allowing me to go out on a date with Andy (if he asks and just in case you didn’t get it, I hope he asks!!!!!!!!!).

OK. Well, I should go. I have homework to do (Algebra. Blech. Mr. Powell is such a bore!). I just wanted you to know that. Now, I have to go steal a couple of stamps from Dad’s desk. One for this and one for the letter I hope to write you tomorrow that tells you Andy sat with me again.

I love you. I hope you’re doing good. I miss you.

Start to talk to Dad again. Please? I missed Lavender House last summer.

But mostly, I missed you.

All my love, forever and completely,

Josie



Jake set the letters aside and looked out the window at the sea knowing that Andy sat with her again the next day.

And he knew Andy did more.

He beat her, lamb.

He closed his eyes as Lydie’s words hit his brain but that didn’t stop them from coming.

She wanted to go out with that boy so badly, she snuck out. She did it for over a year. When she got home one night, he’d found out and he beat her, lamb. Her father beat her so badly, she was in the hospital for a week.

Jake opened his eyes and took another drag from the bottle.

He beat her, lamb.

He drew in breath.

Beat her so badly, she was in the hospital for a week.

He stared out the window, not seeing anything.

My man is going to be strong and tall and handsome and smart and protective and fierce, so very FIERCE, and wonderful and he’s going to adore me.

That he could do.

He would need to be very gentle and understanding, patient and kind, thoughtful, softhearted, and yes, maybe dashing and refined, definitely intelligent and successful.

That he couldn’t.

Jake took another pull from his beer.

He beat her, lamb.

He felt his jaw get tight even as his fingers gripped the beer hard to stop himself from throwing it. If he did, he’d have to clean that shit up and it might wake the kids.

Instead, he put the letters back in their envelopes, got up and took his beer with him as he moved back to the desk. He put Josie’s letters that Lydie had given him back together and tied them with the ribbon.

Then he opened the drawer and was about to toss the pile in when he saw it at the bottom.

He set the letters on top of the desk, reached into the drawer and pulled out the frame.

It was of Josie.

She was on a beach. Her skin was tan. The breeze blowing so much at her long blonde hair, she had her hand lifted in it, pulling it away and holding it at her crown, but tendrils were captured by the lens arrested in flying around her face. Her other hand was resting on her hip. She was standing, smiling into the distance, a scarf blowing back from her neck, sunglasses on her eyes, her sundress plastered against her tall, slim but curvy body.

That shit for brains photographer boss of hers took that picture, gave it to Lydie and Lydie had given it to Jake.

It looked like a shot from the ‘50’s of some Italian bombshell. Italian because Josie looked sophisticated. Exotic. Glamorous. Classy. So much of all those, she couldn’t be American but something foreign, unknown, unobtainable.

Impossible.

So I’m going to go sit with her while he spends a few hours in the office.

Jake didn’t take his eyes from the picture even as he belted back more beer.

And trust me, you have a fabulous figure. You’ve made two mentions of losing weight and you’ve barely been here an hour. Cease doing that. It’s ridiculous. And if someone tells you differently, simply inform them of that ridiculousness.

He smiled at the picture.

He beat her, lamb.

His smile died.

Fuck, that shit for brains photographer boss of hers had all that for f*cking years.

Years.

And she still sat beside her grandmother’s casket alone.

So yes, to answer your question, I’m keeping the house.

She was keeping the house.

That meant they might get to keep her.

Jake just needed to see to making that happen.

He put the picture back in the drawer and returned the letters there. He closed it. He locked it. He slugged back the last of his beer, turned out the lights, went to his bedroom, undressed and hit the sack.

It was late and he needed some sleep.

Because tomorrow morning, for breakfast, he was meeting Josie.





Chapter Seven


Winded



My high-heeled boots thudded on the boardwalk as the heavy breeze blew my Alexander McQueen scarf behind me.

I spied Jake at the window to The Shack through my sunglasses that I was wearing even though the day was cold, gray and threatening rain.

I was lamenting my choice of the McQueen scarf. It was cream with hot pink skulls on it (one that was of his signature design) but it wasn’t exactly warm.

Still, it was fabulous and fabulous required sacrifice. I knew that from years of practicing fabulous.

Or trying to.

As if he sensed my approach, Jake turned, his non-sunglassed eyes did an obvious head to toe and his unfortunately attractive lips spread into a wide smile that exposed equally unfortunately attractive teeth.

He moved my way as I got close and I heard him call to the window, “Just yell when they’re done, Tom.”