Chapter 9
Another day, another text with nothing but small talk. Unlike the rest of the world, I’m not typically glued to my phone. I’ve never had social media, and there’s a very short list of people I talk to regularly. Mostly only those involved with managing Austin’s schedule, and my family.
Despite my loath for texting, each morning I pick up my phone to send Jo a good morning text.
I’ve clung to the hope she’d at least want to spend time together.
But no. All I get is short responses. She assured me that night meant something to her, so why is her behavior so off?
I know an entire lifetime has happened since then, which is why I’d love to spend time with her.
Still, that didn’t keep me from fixing the shutter. Truth be told, I was hoping for a chance to see her again. Even if for a second. When I pulled into her drive and her car was gone, a flicker of disappointment hit me square in the chest, but I quickly got the shutter hung and left her a note.
Penny mentioned Jo and her kids would be at Thanksgiving dinner this evening, and the anticipation at seeing her again now floods all thoughts.
Almost like there’s an internal countdown to the second I’ll be in her presence.
I don’t even recognize myself. The night I met her, I knew she had a hold on me like nothing I’d ever experienced, but time must have dulled the edges of my memories, because Jo here in the present feels like sunlight after years of gray. Familiar, but brighter than I remember.
I’m pacing the length of Penny and Austin’s front porch, rehearsing what the hell I’ll even say tonight, when I pause to look across at Singing River Sound, the recording studio across the street.
Thinking back to the past, Jo’s words sound in my mind when she told me about the studio.
Maybe one day your cousin will record there.
All the greats do. Of course I was thinking about her when I suggested Austin come to Singing River after his tour got rescheduled.
That’s why I put him off for so long each time he invited me to visit.
Assuming she no longer lived here, being in her hometown without her in it would have felt like too much.
The temptation to ask around for her would have been too great.
And if she was here but in a relationship or married?
No, the timing might have been all wrong.
Making a mental note to check out the studio later, I’m distracted as Jo’s car rolls up the gravel drive and parks beside my SUV.
I step off the porch to head her way but when she appears from her car, I forget how to breathe.
She’s a vision, wearing a deep purple top that plunges in the front.
Her dark wash jeans hug her hips like they were made for her and when she leans into the trunk, I catch sight of the top swell of her breasts.
Suddenly a mental image flashes through my mind: the weight of those breasts in my hands, kissing up the valley between them until my mouth is on them.
And now I’m twenty-two again, doing math formulas to rid myself of an inconvenient erection.
She straightens, holding two dishes, and I move in, taking them from her hands. Her eyes narrow, but I don’t miss the smile she’s attempting to bite back, but failing.
“Abby, Jay…this is Tyler.” She slams the trunk closed and turns toward her kids. “He’s Austin’s manager and cousin.”
Both kids give me an awkward wave and I wave back with my free hand, every bit as awkwardly. Great. This is going great.
“Um”—I stop and clear my throat—“nice to meet you two.”
Abby and Jay shuffle past me, and head inside, but Jo hangs back, a smile hovering on the edges of her mouth, looking up at me.
“So, the apartment above the bar, huh?”
I groan and roll my eyes. “It’s exactly as awful as it sounds. Yesterday I drove into town and bought some noise canceling ear plugs.”
Jo laughs quietly and we walk toward the house, but at the door she stops and turns back to me.
“Hey. Thanks for the shutter. I’ve been meaning to get around to that. If you’ll let me know how much you spent on supplies, I’ll pay you back.”
Blinking rapidly, my brows shoot up. “Absolutely not.”
“But you spent money.”
“It was nothing, Jo. A few screws and done.”
Jo shoots me a teasing grin. “You kept my poor little house from looking like someone shaved its eyebrow off. It’s not nothing. Now everything is back where it belongs.”
Our eyes meet and hold.
“I can’t help but agree.”
Jo chews her bottom lip and looks away at my statement.
“Like I said, I’m not ignoring your texts. I’m just…” She clears her throat and our eyes connect again. “I’m working through some things. But thank you for the shutter,” she repeats, her voice going soft.
All I can do is nod, throat tight.
“Josie! You’re here on time!” Penny steps into the kitchen, breaking the moment, and Jo shoots her a mock glare.
“I’m not always late.”
“Eh,” Penny hums, head tilting back and forth.
Jo crosses the kitchen, kneeling to love on Penny’s cat, Honey.
“You are the prettiest kitty ever, even if you do look like a fat loaf of bread,” Jo baby-talks to the cat while Penny gasps at her side.
Snatching the cat into her arms, Penny covers both its ears.
“Honey has feelings, Josie!” Then she whispers, “And she’s on a diet.”
Jo laughs and follows Penny out of the kitchen, while I take the dishes to the counter.
Once I’ve put them with the other food, I head to the living room where everyone has gathered.
Cassie has already pulled Jo into animated conversation with my mom.
My dad talks to Jay, and Abby is full-on batting her long eyelashes at Austin while Penny and Austin’s mom watch with amused smirks.
My dad spots me and waves me over. “Jay here plays basketball.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask, dropping into the chair beside him. “I used to play. What position?”
“Point guard. Wanna see something cool?” He walks over to Jo and taps her on the shoulder.
She hands him her phone without even looking up.
He scrolls for a second and then plops down next to my dad, handing it over to me.
On the screen is a video of him dribbling the ball up the court and damn, if he’s not quick on his feet.
He’s a small kid, but he definitely has speed on his side.
My eyebrows rise as I watch, and when it’s over he’s looking at me expectantly.
“You’re good, kid. When’s your season start?”
“Mom, when’s my first game?” he calls over his shoulder.
“January,” Jo answers.
“I’ll have to catch one of your games,” I say, handing the phone back. From across the room, I catch Jo’s gaze and she offers me a small smile. Returning the smile, our eyes lock for a heartbeat before she turns back to her conversation.
Dinner is delicious, as I knew it would be.
My mom helped Penny cook, and nobody’s chicken and dressing compares to hers.
Penny’s intentionally seated me beside Jo, and I don’t miss how her breath hitches each time my arm brushes hers.
When I stand to refill my tea, I ask if she’d like more, and her eyes soften like I’ve done something more than offer a simple refill. Does nobody do things for this woman?
“So, Josie,” my mom says, bringing her attention to Jo. “Penny tells me you’re a teacher. What do you teach?”
Jo swallows her bite before answering. “I teach art at the high school.”
“She doesn’t only teach art,” Penny cuts in. “She runs a whole after-school program. Plus, she’s got an Etsy shop where she sells her own paintings.”
Penny glances over at Jo and gives her a wink.
“Oh yeah? Tell me about the after-school program.” For years, my mom was the secretary at the middle school back home. Anything school related always interests her.
“It’s basically art therapy. I collaborate with the school counselor to support the kids who might be struggling.
Mentally, emotionally, academically, anything they need.
Mental health in teens is…” She pauses and cocks her head, humming.
“Not great these days. I’m not saying art can solve it, but studies show it helps. ”
Mom raises her brows, clearly impressed, and hell, so am I. She may not have left this town, but she created something meaningful here and still found a way to do art therapy. I don’t know how she doesn’t walk around bragging about herself every damn day.
“What type of projects do you do with them?” Mom asks.
Jo straightens at this question, her face lighting up.
“All kinds. Mostly stuff to help them process their emotions. There’s something lovely about a blank canvas sitting in front of those kids.
It’s almost poetic, like a blank slate where each student can start from scratch.
Right now, I’m working on getting approval from the board and the town for a mural project.
It’s something I helped with in college.
Then it’d be out there for the whole town to find inspiration from. ”
“You’re amazing,” I say, before I even realize the words are out of my mouth.
The entire table goes still, and every head turns my way. Jo blinks, eyes wide, and I clear my throat, heat crawling up my neck.
“I mean—that’s amazing. The project. Amazing.” I stumble over my words in a paltry attempt to tamp down my earnestness. Suddenly unsure what to do with my hands, I remove my glasses and clean them with the hem of my shirt.
My dad chuckles low under his breath and Penny smirks. Jo rolls her lips together, trying and failing to hide her smile.
Mercifully, Mom speaks up again, determined to get to know Jo and her family. “I’ve heard all about Jay’s basketball skills, but Abby, tell me about you.”
Abby shrugs, eyes on her plate.
“Tell them about concert band, sweetie,” Jo encourages.
“I play flute,” Abby says, still not looking up.
“She’s first chair.” Jo beams at her daughter across the table. “As a thirteen year old.”
“I’m basically fourteen—in two months,” Abby corrects.
My mom gives Abby a big smile. “Wow! First chair at your age! Color me impressed.” That earns a flicker of pride from Abby and finally she lifts her head.
“I am. I have a solo in our Christmas concert. It’s in two weeks.”
“Well then,” Mom says, her voice full of warmth. “I love a good band concert. Maybe Brad and I should extend our stay and get to know Singing River a while longer. We’ve got a concert to attend.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Jo blinking rapidly, nose scrunched. I’ll have to remember to thank my mom for being who she is. I’ve always admired her kindness, her thoughtfulness, but tonight I admire her even more.
We finish dinner and move to dessert while everyone chats around the table. When Jo stands to clear her dishes, I rise with her and take the dishes from her hands.
“I’ve got this, Jo. You stay seated.” She watches me, something unreadable in her expression, but doesn’t stop me.
Austin heads to the kitchen to clean up, and my dad and I follow, leaving the ladies and Jay at the table. He’s got Jo’s phone in front of him, fingers tapping away at some game, while Abby sits quietly, folding her napkin into a perfect little square. Over and over again.
Something Jo said earlier about Abby is stuck on repeat in my mind. She’s first chair…as a thirteen-year-old. Then Abby’s correction. Basically fourteen in two months.
I go still as a statue, laser focused on my mom and Cassie on either side of Abby.
Cassie says something that makes everyone laugh and my eyes zero in on each of their faces.
First I look at my mom’s, then Cassie’s, and finally Abby’s.
Those eyes are the very ones that stare back at me from the mirror every morning.
Same shape. Same color. Same ones my mom and Cassie have.
Her hair is dark like mine, but her face?
Well, that’s all Jo. What a beautiful girl she is.
Though the truth is suddenly crystal clear before my eyes, my mind still counts in reverse, my heart rate picking up speed along the way.
Abby will be fourteen in two months. Fully aware of how much time has passed since I last held Jo in my arms, it doesn’t take a mathematician to work this one out.
This would explain Jo’s behavior. If she’s keeping a secret of this magnitude from me, no wonder she’s been cagey.
Austin is speaking, but it’s like I’m under water, aware of sounds but unable to make out words. Does he know? Am I the fool who couldn’t see what was glaringly obvious to everyone else? Now that my mind has latched onto this idea, I can’t unsee it.
The resemblance is so strong—I can’t believe I didn’t realize it immediately.
Abby even has mannerisms like me. The other day, the photo I saw with Abby wearing a look of intense concentration.
I’ve caught myself hundreds of times, face screwed up in an identical expression.
Yes, all signs point to Abby being my child, and if that’s the case, why is Jo keeping it from me?
Overcome by a maelstrom of emotions, the room goes silent as I stride into the dining room and lean down to Jo’s ear.
“We need to talk.”
Through the rush of blood in my ears, I hear Penny tell the kids to follow her to the living room for the newest episode of some show. It’s all just sounds and syllables right now as I work to gain control of myself.