25. Elliott
TWENTY-FIVE
Elliott
When I walk into the kitchen, Jillian’s back is to me as she sets a kettle on the stove.
“Would you like some tea?” There’s a slight crack in her voice.
“That would be great, thanks.”
She turns but doesn’t meet my eyes. “I’ll be right back, just a quick check on Jamie.”
I go back to the sink and finish washing the two glasses I had left. Then dry my hands, looking around for something to do, but there’s nothing else to clean. Jillian must have cleaned as she prepared dinner.
She comes back as the kettle starts to whistle. “Thank you for cleaning up. You didn’t have to do it.”
I shrug. “You cooked, I cleaned. It’s fair. How’s Jamie?”
“He’s fast asleep now.”
I lean against the sink and cross my arms. “Is he a good sleeper?”
“For the most part, yes. Every so often, he wakes up in the middle of the night and comes to my bed.”
I don’t blame him. Who wouldn’t want to find comfort in the arms of someone they love?
She turns off the flames and grabs two mugs. “How do you like your tea?”
“As is. No sugar or milk, thanks.”
She fills two mugs and nods in the direction of the living room. I follow her and take a seat next to her on the sofa, keeping some space between us. The mug is hot in my hands, and I set it on the table. Jillian holds on to hers, her eyes fixed on it.
I give her a moment. She’s clearly going through some kind of internal debate. “Is everything okay?”
Her gaze lifts to meet my eyes. “Yes. Thank you. It’s that . . .” She heaves a breath. “You’re the first one to tuck him in besides me since CJ. He never allowed anyone else to do that. Not even my parents or my best friend, Sheila.”
Some unnamed emotion twists inside my chest. This child has been through so much, and for him to trust me enough to allow me into his world? That’s big. The sudden realization of what I’m doing and the responsibility that comes with it hits me like a runaway city bus. Jamie is counting on me, and the possibility of letting him down makes my stomach churn. And yet, there’s no fear. I’m not scared. I’m excited. “I don’t even know what to say. I’m honored that he trusted me enough to want me to.”
Her gaze goes back to her untouched tea. “That’s big. And I’m glad he asked, but it’s also . . . unsettling. More proof that I’ve been going about it all wrong.”
I shake my head, take the mug from her, and set it on the table. Then take her hands in mine. “No. Don’t say that. You’ve done everything you could to protect him, to comfort him, to make him happy. We don’t know if it had anything to do with me. Maybe it was the right time, and had it been his grandparents here today, he’d have done the same thing.”
“He’s been happier the last few weeks, more open, and I think it’s at least in part because of you. I guess he misses having a male role model in his life.”
“I’m sure he misses his father with all the might in his little heart, but have you ever stopped to think that maybe the reason he’s happier and more open is because of you? Because you are happier, and he can sense and see that?”
Jillian’s lips quiver, and she nods slowly. She takes a deep breath and looks up at me. “It’s hard to admit, but you’re right. He has seen me try to get back on my feet, and every day I’m becoming more and more myself. Even though I miss CJ, I’m getting better, and I can see the difference it’s making in Jamie’s life.” She gives me a small, sad smile. “Sometimes moving on feels like forgetting, like a betrayal to his memory. It almost feels wrong.”
I let go of her hands and brush a few strands of hair from her face, pushing aside my own inner turmoil. My attraction to Jillian comes with high stakes and consequences, and I’m not sure I’ll be enough. “No, stop that. Stop blaming yourself for grieving. And stop blaming yourself for moving on. Stop taking responsibility for things that are out of your control. You two have been through a terrible and traumatic experience. And you got him all the help you could. But what about you?”
No response.
That’s what I thought. She’s focusing all her energy on Jamie and the flower shop at the cost of her own healing. I squeeze her hands gently. “Jillian, it’s okay to grieve. It’s okay to feel sad. That doesn’t make you weak. It doesn’t mean you’re not strong enough.”
She sniffles. When she looks up at me, her blue eyes glisten with unshed tears. “I know. I don’t want Jamie to feel my burden. I don’t want to affect my son’s well-being. He’s so young, and he’s already lived through so much pain and loss.”
“But Jamie’s also seen happiness, and love, and strength. He’s seen you fight, and overcome, and do whatever it takes to make sure he has the best life possible. But somewhere in the middle of all that you forgot to take care of yourself, too. Where’s your help?”
She looks down.
I dip my head to catch her gaze. “Did you ever seek help or go to therapy for yourself?”
She nods, still looking down. “Yes, I went a couple of times. It didn’t help me.”
I watched my sister hurt for years before she finally decided to give therapy a chance. I can see the same resolute stubbornness in Jillian now. I make my voice as gentle as possible. “It takes more than a couple of tries. And it takes wanting to make it work too.”
She pulls her hands free and grabs her mug again. “You sound like Sheila. It was too expensive. Jamie needed help more than me.” Her tone is a little defensive and I back away from that subject, take a deep breath, the scent of freshly brewed tea still lingering in the air. I take a sip and look around the room, paying attention to the little details I missed the first time I was here and while playing with Jamie. Her books are lined by spine color like a rainbow and there are painted rocks on the shelves along with photo frames. A plant hangs from a hook in the ceiling by one of the windows.
“So I was thinking . . .” I pause to take a sip of tea before continuing. “My family has a horse ranch upstate. We’ve got horses, hiking trails, a lake with a rope swing, and of course, fireworks on the fourth. I want you two to come up with me. Jamie loves horses, and I’m sure he’d have a blast.”
Her eyes widen. “A horse ranch?”
“Yes. My grandma lives there. She would love to have company.”
She looks down into her mug. “I don’t know. After what you told me about your father? Not sure he’d want me and Jamie there. It would be an imposition on your family.”
“My parents won’t be there. They only go up for Thanksgiving and Christmas. My sisters, maybe. I don’t know, I haven’t talked to them yet.”
She meets my gaze. “You’re inviting me and Jamie to spend the Fourth of July with you and your grandma?”
I set the mug on the table again. “Not just the Fourth of July. The weekend leading up to it too. The fourth falls on a Tuesday this year. I thought we could go up Friday night and come back on the fifth. And you can bring Daisy too, of course. What do you think?”
She turns her body to fully face me. “That’s nearly a week. I have the store. I’m not sure?—”
I put a hand up. “Don’t say no. You have a few weeks to think about it. I didn’t mention anything in front of Jamie because I didn’t want to put you in a spot where you felt pressured because of him.”
She fidgets with the hem of her blouse. “Thank you. I appreciate that. I have to think about it. I know Jamie would love to get away and see the horses.”
“Oh, not just see them. He can ride the horses and swim in the lake. Go fishing. There’s so much to do up there.”
“You’re driving a hard bargain. But I can’t close the store for that many days.”
“You’d be closed on Sunday and the fourth anyway, right? If we leave on Friday after work, then you’d need someone to take care of Saturday and Monday. And on the way back, if we leave after breakfast, we’d be back here Wednesday lunchtime. It’s a three-and-a-half-hour drive from here to Stony Creek.” I wait, silently willing her to agree. I want to get her away from the city, from this place that holds too much meaning and sadness. I want to see what she’s like far away from here. I want to know the before Jillian, the real person who’s not weighted with grief and work obligations.
She holds the mug to her chest like a shield. “I don’t know, Elliott.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that kind of . . .” The word trails and the silence that follows is heavy.
I don’t want to pressure her, but if I don’t push a little, she’ll never let me in past this point. “Hey, I know we barely know each other, and you have a lot to think on, but I can promise you that there’re no strings attached. You’d get your own room to share with Jamie. You won’t regret it. And you know Jamie will love it. You can talk to my grandma if it would make you feel safer.”
Jillian’s gaze is intense as if she’s looking for the catch in my invitation. I grab my now lukewarm tea and take a sip.
“Okay, I promise to think about it. If I can get someone to take over the store for those days I need to be away, we’ll come.”
“Great! I hope you can work it out.” I keep my tone casual, though there’s a thrill rising in my chest. I lean back, watching her, that smile still lingering on her lips, softer than before.
Her gaze searches my face. “Me too.”
It’s getting late. Reluctantly, I set my mug down and stand up. “I should get going.” Leaving is the last thing I want to do.
Her expression flickers with something—disappointment maybe?—and I feel a tug in my chest, my own hesitance echoing back in the way she watches me as if she doesn’t want me to go either.
She walks me down the stairs, the sound of her steps and mine like a song of goodbye. The air between us shifts, charged with something we’ve both been skirting around for weeks now. I stand in the threshold and turn to face her, my hand resting on the open doorframe, lingering longer than necessary. She looks up, those blue eyes soft, expectant, and my pulse spikes, everything in me wanting to close the distance between us.
“Thank you for inviting me.” My voice is low. “If I don’t go now, I’m going to kiss you. And it won’t be a polite peck on the cheek.” I’m unable to hide the tension in my voice.
Her eyes widen, a slight hitch in her breath as her gaze dips to my mouth, then back up. She doesn’t say anything, but there’s a look in her eyes—a dazed, wanting look—that makes my resolve falter.
I shake my head, clenching my jaw as I take a step back. “Now I really have to go. ”
I step outside, but before I can let the door close, I pause, turning back. She’s still standing there, watching me, her fingers lightly touching the door as if she, too, can’t quite bring herself to let me leave. I feel a surge of something raw, something I can barely keep in check.
“Lock the door tight,” I say softly, holding her gaze. “I’ll wait on the other side to hear the click before I walk away.”
She nods, and I wait. “And, Jillian . . .” I lean in, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to just kiss you and have it not mean something. I don’t want to be the one to take that first kiss. I want you to give it to me. When you’re ready.” I pause, letting that sink in, watching the way her lips part, her cheeks turning that soft shade of pink that nearly undoes me. “Until then, I’m making us both wait.”
Her breath catches, her gaze holding mine, and it takes everything in me not to claw at her door when she closes it with the click of a lock.