The Villa(43)

Mari thinks about that packet in Pierce’s hand again and wonders if that’s the reason for Johnnie’s errand. But she hasn’t been writing, and the tension in the house has started to give her a headache.

And it’s Billy’s birthday.

Or it would be his birthday, if he had lived.

He would be two, an idea that is almost impossible to contemplate. He was only nine months old when he died, a baby still, chubby and sweet in her arms. What would he be like at two? Would his blond hair have darkened to Pierce’s brown or reddened like her own? What words would he be saying?

All of it hurts to think about, hurts in a way she can hardly bear, and it hurts all the more to know that Pierce doesn’t remember the date.

She’d waited this morning for him to say something, even to simply catch her eye or pull her into his arms wordlessly.

But nothing.

So yes, the idea of zipping down the mountain in the ridiculous sports car Noel lets Johnnie drive, feeling the wind and summer sun on her skin, is appealing enough to make her put aside any misgivings about why Johnnie might need to go into town. What resources he might be bringing back to the villa for Noel to use.

“I would, actually,” she tells him, and he offers a hand, pulling her to her feet. His palm is warm against hers, bicep flexing beneath the tight sleeve of his Jefferson Airplane T-shirt, and when she’s upright, he doesn’t let go right away, pulling her just the littlest bit closer.

Testing the waters, maybe, seeing how she’ll respond, but Mari just pulls her hand back from his with a flustered sort of laugh, and he gives an easy shrug, hands shoved in his back pockets.

“You all right?” he asks as they make their way across the lawn, and Mari looks over at him sharply. He had noticed her red eyes. He had, and Pierce hadn’t.

For a moment, she thinks about lying. Saying she’s fine, or even making up some other less-tragic reason to have been crying by the lake.

She surprises herself by telling him the truth.

“I had a baby. Billy,” she tells him, wrapping her arms around her body. “Two years ago. He was born two years ago today.”

Johnnie stops, turning toward her, his brows drawn together, but he doesn’t say anything, and that makes it easier for Mari to go on. “He got sick,” she continues. “When Pierce was on tour with the Faire last year. We … we thought it was just a cold. All babies get them, you know?”

Billy’s body in her arms, hot against her chest, his breathing wet and ragged, and there was no money for a doctor’s visit, everything they had was keeping them on the road, and didn’t she see, didn’t she understand, they were so close, they couldn’t leave the tour now, and Billy was strong, Billy was always healthy, Billy was going to be fine, just like everything was always going to be fine …

Until it wasn’t.

“He died,” she says. She is struck, as she always is, by how small those words are, how simple. How they sum up what happened and don’t come anywhere close to capturing the horror, all at once.

She doesn’t tell Johnnie about the rest of it: the grief that ate her alive, the long days she can’t even remember now. How she’d wanted nothing more than to go home, but how even the death of her child hadn’t softened her father’s heart toward her.

How she’d learned then that her home was with Pierce—with Pierce and with Lara, both—for good.

“I’m sorry,” Johnnie says now, because what else can he say? But when Mari looks up at him, she sees his expression is serious, his eyes warm behind his sunglasses, and she’s thankful for that.

When he’s not high or trying too hard to impress her or Noel, he’s a good guy, Johnnie. Later, this is a memory that will break her heart a thousand times over.

In the moment, though, she just smiles and nods. “Anyways,” she says, heading toward Noel’s car, “I could use an outing today.”

There’s more Johnnie would like to say, she can tell, and she doesn’t miss the strange look he shoots at the house in the direction of the bedroom she shares with Pierce.

They reach the car, and Johnnie opens her door for her before sliding into the driver’s side, keys already in the ignition.

He’s just put the car in reverse when the front door suddenly flies open, and Noel is there, wearing a pair of jeans that Mari thinks might be Pierce’s and one of those flowy white shirts he seems to have an endless supply of. Before she even has time to make sense of what’s happening, he’s opening the car door behind Mari and flinging himself into the backseat with a dramatic sigh.

“Where are we going?” he asks, but before Johnnie can answer, he waves a hand. “Fuck it, I don’t care. Tell me you’re going to drive this car off a cliff and I’d still rather be here than in that house.”

Johnnie glances over at Mari, frowning slightly even as he continues to pull the car out of the driveway, and she looks back toward the villa

It’s stupid, that sudden surge of panic she feels, that silly, childish urge to ask Johnnie to stop the car, to let her go back inside. All so that Pierce and Lara won’t be alone in the house together.

She almost gives in to it. Her hand actually moves to the door handle, her lips part, and then she catches Noel’s gaze in the rearview mirror.

He’s watching her, waiting to see what she’ll do, the tiniest smile playing along his lips.