Chapter 27 #2
“Well, that’s how it works, doesn’t it?” I insisted. “Friends don’t make friends sit through family dinners or cousins’ weddings. Friends don’t make friends throw out perfectly functional bookshelves.”
“For fuck’s sake! That bookshelf needs to go. I can’t believe she put it all back. Nobody should be enabling you like that.”
“That’s the thing! We’re friends, so she respects my wishes. She’s not trying to change me.”
The more I thought about it, the better it sounded. Maybe I could be this guy. Perhaps I could, for once, not be the commitment junkie or whatever Jackson was talking about. What good had that ever brought to my life? For the past two years, I’d battled with my commitment to a dead woman.
“She’s not trying to change you because she can see it’s futile. You’re not making room in your life. You’re not really open to a relationship.”
“What? I told her I wanted her to stay. She’s scared of her ex. That’s why she wants to get back on the ship. She won’t confront the guy.”
“Why do you think she’s scared of him?”
I shrugged. “He’s rich and famous or something. I don’t know.”
He gave me a long, unnerving look. “I read the article. I saw your sister reading it on her phone the other day. She looked so… rapt, so I took a peek. She tried to stop me but…” He lifted a shoulder, looking a little ashamed but mostly pleased with himself.
“It was an enlightening piece of journalism. That guy is unhinged. Jealous with delusions of grandeur. And he’s looking for her.
If he finds her with another guy, she better hope that guy’s a fighter.
If I were her, I’d go for a protective bodyguard type.
Not an antisocial bookstore owner who freaks out over a bit of tinsel. ”
I cringed. “I didn’t freak out. I’m just not the biggest fan—”
“She messaged me about the doorbell, and I’m not fucking changing it back.”
I held up a hand. “You don’t have to. I overreacted. But that’s what’s so great about this friends-with-benefits thing. She’s not trying to change me or upend my life.”
Jackson sighed. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this, but you get what you put in. If you don’t make room in your life, she’s not going to stay.”
“I’ve made room! She’s living in my store. She’s staying in my house. She can have as many rooms as she wants!”
“But she can’t touch or change anything?”
“She made pancakes! She opened every cupboard. When my mom came for a visit, she squeezed herself into one of them.” I clamped my mouth, realizing what I’d admitted to.
“You’re hiding her from your mother?” Jackson rubbed his forehead, groaning with frustration. “I can’t even… I thought I was the one with commitment issues, but I guess we’ve gone through some kind of role reversal.”
“I don’t have commitment issues,” I insisted. I was starting to hate the sound of my own voice.
Jackson was right. I’d happily shoved Noelle into a cupboard and told my mom nothing was going on between us. She wanted to feel part of something, and I’d excluded her from the first family member who walked in. She’d gone along with it, but I shouldn’t have.
“Either way,” I continued, unable to stop. “Friends don’t need to worry about commitment.”
Jackson gave me a sad smile. “No, they don’t.
Say they get a job in another town or on a cruise ship?
They can just take off. Adios. And the way you’re falling for this girl…
the way she’s weaving herself into your life.
She lives in your store. She’s friends with your sister.
She’s real tight with your niece. Apparently, Eileen has a photo of her in her dream journal, next to yours.
She’s not some casual hookup you can just forget.
And if you do, someone else in this town will kindly remind you. ”
My gut pulled itself into a knot as I considered his words.
He was right. I’d be torn to pieces. But did I have a choice?
I couldn’t force her to stay with me, and I was too weak to turn her down.
Whatever she was willing to give me, I’d lap it up for as long as it was there.
If that made me pathetic, so be it. I’d been pathetic long before.
“I can’t stop her from making friends. That’s what she’s like.
She connects with everyone, and she has this dreamy idea of what it’s like to live here.
You and I both know it won’t last. Even if she decided to stay, she’s not a small-town girl.
She’ll get bored and leave. Maybe this friends-with-benefits thing is the best we can do. ”
“You’re basing this on Elle. She didn’t want to stay.
She ran off with…” He looked away, clearing his throat.
“Noelle is not the same person. She’s not Elle!
” Jackson looked up in shock. “Holy shit! She’s No-elle!
Even her name is making a point.” He stuck out his arm.
“I know you can’t tell with all these layers, but I swear I have goose bumps. ”
I scoffed a laugh, shaking my head at the weird coincidence. But something about his words gave me pause. “Wait. You said Elora ran off with… with whom?”
Jackson looked mortified. “I didn’t mean to… It was just a rumor. I don’t know if it’s true.”
My skin was hot and cold. “Who?”
“Someone said she was seeing the editor in chief of the local paper in Bangor, but I don’t know if that’s true.”
My chest felt so tight I could barely breathe. “Mr. Tillard? Her fifty-year-old boss?”
Jackson softened his tone, sounding more like he’d done for the past couple of years, walking on eggshells like everyone else. “I didn’t want to tell you since it might not be true, and well… does it matter anymore? I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I was saying it to myself. “Honestly.”
I gave him a reassuring nod. I didn’t want him to lose the earlier honesty. I needed the tough love, not the careful platitudes used with grieving people.
“It’s better,” I said decisively. “Because I had no proof. Not even a rumor. I only had a suspicion, and she accused me of being paranoid. And then she was gone, and what kind of monster accuses a dead woman of cheating?”
Jackson laughed a little, and I relaxed.
“She traveled to Bangor every week. She told me that guy, Greg, loved her work and was going to give her a column or something. That’s why she wanted to move there. That’s why she wanted to sell the house. Maybe she was in love with him.”
The words tumbled out of me with unexpected calm and clarity. I’d been blaming myself for our marriage falling apart. For her death. For everything. I was disagreeable. Antisocial. Annoying. But maybe there was more to it.
The worst thing about death was the silence.
I couldn’t get the truth out of her. We couldn’t reconcile or even properly break up.
Her last words were frozen in time. You’re like a fucking octogenarian!
she’d screamed, gathering her things and throwing them into a suitcase.
I refuse to live this small, pathetic life!
There’s nothing for me here, but you don’t care. You don’t care if I’m happy!
Maybe Jackson was right. I was a commitment junkie.
Even after she collapsed and never woke up, I wanted to work things out.
I needed to make sense of her. Of us. But I was ghosted, in a literal sense, without any chance of closure.
The dead offered nothing but silence. And as much as I abhorred socializing, I didn’t thrive in silence.
My brain went around in circles, always ending up in the same spot. Guilt.
Jackson held still as a statue, the beer dangling from his fingertips. “Do you… want to talk about it?”
“Maybe I do.”