18. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
KINSLEY
“ I ’m sorry,” Tessa says as we sit across from one another in her living room. “I have five days left. I don’t want to waste them fighting with you.”
“I don’t either.” I blow out a breath.
“How about we pretend the argument never happened, and you tell me about Ethan?”
I give my sister a tight-lipped smile. Ethan. What’s there to tell her? Do I concoct another lie or tell her the truth? Being in Ethan’s presence, his ability to calm me and work me up all at once, does something to my insides. It’s instinct to want to tell him everything, yet nothing at all.
“Did you two have sex?”
I choke on air. “What? No. Why would you think that?”
“Wishful thinking, I suppose. Plus, you two seem to have gotten awfully close in the last two days.”
In reality, we haven’t. It’s all fake. From the first accidental kiss to the dancing. Even breakfast this morning. None of it was real. I more or less forced Ethan into a corner when it dawned on me that Tessa was going to do it anyway.
“That, and you’re glowing.” Tessa adds.
My stomach knots at that accusation. “No. I’m not.”
Wait. I’m supposed to be glowing. “We’ve just been hanging out. Nothing has happened yet.” And that’s the truth.
Tessa sighs. “Have you two talked about it?”
I lean back against the couch, pulling a lightweight throw into my lap. “No. How would I even go about bringing it up? Should I just say ‘Hey, Ethan. Do you remember how we had sex the night before you left me forever? Well, we either didn’t use the condom right or you have some super swimmers, because I got pregnant with your child’? Oh, then I can tell him about how I lost our baby, found out I had cancer in my uterus, and had a hysterectomy, all before my eighteenth birthday. Then ‘Surprise, I can’t have kids like I’ve always wanted.’ And I can’t forget the icing on the cake: that I was adopted, and nobody bothered to tell me until I had to have a complete family health history.”
Tessa gives me a sympathetic look. It was the worst experience of my life. She was there through it all, but she didn’t take the news of our adoption nearly as hard as I did.
“Right there,” I point at her face, “is why I don’t talk about it. I don’t need you feeling bad for me. My life will never look the way I once imagined it would, and I’ve made peace with that.”
“Kinzie, he needs to know.”
“He does.” My chest aches so acutely I press a hand to it to ease the pain. “You’re right. I’ll tell him. But I’m not ready yet. Right now, we’re just having fun,” I say, again with truth. “Now, can we talk about your job?”
Tessa grimaces. “When I word vomited earlier, I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“It’s too late to backtrack now. Might as well spill. Why would a tax accountant be sent to Spain?”
Tessa drops her chin and shifts on the couch. For a moment, she’s silent. Then, finally, she stands, shuffles across the room, and sits beside me. “I’ll tell you, but only if you promise you’ll go see Mom and Maggie while I’m gone.”
With my heart in my throat, I look away.
“Promise me,” she says, louder this time.
“All right, all right,” I say, pushing down the trepidation swirling inside me. “I promise. Now spill.”
She inhales deeply and then blows it out slowly. “Do you remember when I applied to become an FBI agent, and I said I didn’t get in? Well ,” she drawls, cringing, “I sort of had to lie.”
The next morning, Tessa drops me off at Maggie’s house before she goes to work so I can change my flat tire and meet Jill for coffee, but when I get there, my tire is no longer flat. I inspect it, confused. Did I hallucinate the flat the other night? No way. As I stand back up and head to the driver’s door, a scrap of paper tucked under a wiper blade catches my attention.
Lips pressed together, I snatch it and unfold it.
I had your tire patched. Have fun sorting through boxes today. I’ll pick you up at your sister’s place around six. By the way, we really should exchange numbers.
My heart lifts, and a smile teases at my lips. He patched my tire? Did he take it somewhere? No. He didn’t have my keys, so he couldn’t have. Did he do it himself? I’ll have to ask him later, when I see him for our date. Our fake date.
I can do this. We can be friends.
I hop into my car and reverse down the long driveway. As I’m approaching the road, a black Escalade pulls up behind me, blocking me in. A man gets out of the driver’s side first, then opens the passenger side door, and a woman exits. She’s sporting a black business suit with matching black pumps. Her blond hair is slick against her head and pulled into a taut bun.
Together, they approach my car.
I roll down my window a couple of inches, just enough to greet them. “Can I help you?” I ask, when I really want to question why they’re blocking me in.
The woman pulls her aviators away from her face slowly, like she’s trying to look important.
“My name is Roxie Rogers. You wouldn’t happen to be the real-estate agent for this listing, would you?” she asks, her expression flat.
“No,” I say with a frown. “I’m friends with the owner. Is there something I can assist you with?”
The two of them exchange a look I can’t read before the woman turns back to me.
“The lawyer handling the estate, I believe his name is Dwight Owens, took us on a tour last month and promised this would be an easy transaction. But,” she lifts her chin and scans the long driveway and the line of trees that leads to the house, “it looks as if we’ve run into a snag. Would you be willing to give the owner my card? We’d love to get in touch with her. We’re very motivated to buy and willing to increase our offer.” She pulls a business card from her breast pocket and hands it to me through the slit of the window.
“Sure,” I say with a forced smile. Her stuffy demeanor—the way she speaks, the way she looks at me with cold, hard eyes—makes me uneasy.
She gives me a crooked smile and then slips away.
Flipping the card over, I study it. Roxie Rogers, CEO, Warehouse Fulfillment Services, Savannah, Georgia .
I scrunch my nose. Why would somebody from Savannah be out here looking at Maggie’s house? With a shake of my head, I slip the card into my pants pocket. Then I shift into reverse and pull onto the main road, pushing Roxie and the Escalade out of my mind.
When I enter Nora’s café, Jill is already seated at a small table in the back corner. She waves at me, but she doesn’t look happy. Actually, she didn’t look happy yesterday either. She was drinking. A lot. At the time, I assumed she was enjoying a little bit of Sunday Funday, but looking back, nobody else was drinking, not even the boys.
“Hey,” I say as I sit across from her.
Jill pushes a steaming mug of coffee toward me, then picks up her own. “Lots of sugar and a splash of milk?”
With a tilt of my head, I arch a brow. “Do I want to know how you know that?”
“Ethan,” she says with a wave of her hand. “I texted him this morning.”
I blow over the surface of the steaming liquid, then take a quick sip. When I place the mug back down, I say, “Okay, I’m not sure what’s odder—you texting him to see how I like my coffee, or his knowledge of how I like it.”
“What can I say? We’re an odd family,” she laughs. “Not that you didn’t already know that.” She takes her own mug and gulps down a mouthful. “But seriously, out of all my brothers, Ethan is the only one who pays attention to things like that. After how much time you’ve spent together the last few days, I figured he might know.” Though she keeps her tone upbeat, it’s hard not to notice her heavy eyelids and the dark circles below her eyes. “So,” she continues, “you didn’t tell Ethan, I take it.”
“Nope,” I say. I don’t need to ask to know that she’s referring to my accidental pregnancy.
“Not going to judge, but the longer you wait, the harder it’ll get, and Ethan’s a pretty sensitive guy. Add to it the fact that he’s already bringing you home—”
“He didn’t bring me home ,” I grit out, my eyes narrowed on her.
“ The hell he didn’t. And before you give me any of the ‘we’re just friends’ bull crap, Ethan doesn’t bring anybody home. Not friends from the station. Not his military buddies, and certainly not any girls. “Oh,” her eyes pop open wide, “he did invite Victoria a few times, but that wasn’t until after they were engaged.”
The bell on the door chimes, drawing Jill’s attention. She lets out a long breath, then fixes her focus on me again.
“Somebody else joining us?” I ask.
Jill stretches her neck and yawns. “No, but can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
Her voice softens. “I’ve known about your blog for a while. Honestly, I’ve followed you since the beginning. You’re incredibly talented.”
“Thank you,” I say, my face heating.
“When did you know you wanted to be a writer?”
I sit back in my chair, but I don’t have to think about it for long. Crossing my legs, I say, “I’ve always wanted to write.” Maggie’s voice plays in my mind, strings of encouragement she’s given me over the years. “It’s the reason I chose Columbia for college. But I’m not entirely sure I really love what I write about anymore. Canceling weddings is what brings in my readers, because let’s face it, there are a million other bloggers out there who do home design. And honestly, even that doesn’t bring me joy anymore.”
Jill frowns, studying me thoughtfully.
“What’s this really about?” I unfold my legs and lean in.
“You’re going to think I’m silly.”
“Try me.”
She opens her mouth, but snaps it closed again.
There’s definitely something bothering her, but I don’t want to pry, so I don’t push.
Finally, after a few silent moments go by, she releases a heavy breath and says, “I feel lost.”
She tells me about her fiancé, Peter, and how the two of them met in college. They had big dreams of becoming family law attorneys, but once they graduated, his dad convinced them to move toward tax and real estate law if they weren’t planning to live closer to the city. She even tells me a quick version of his proposal two years ago. It’s a sweet and romantic story, but Jill’s eyes don’t light up as she details it.
“I quit last month,” she admits. “Peter was pissed. But I told him I couldn’t work with him, day in and day out, and then come home to him on top of it. I quit to save our relationship. But now, I don’t know. We fight all the time. He said that keeping the firm open is a bigger struggle than he imagined, and even after we hired another attorney, we can’t afford for me not to work.”
I clench my teeth, grimacing at the predicament she’s in.
“That’s not even the worst part.” She sets her elbows on the table and rests her chin in her hands. “Last night, he said that helping my brothers at the restaurant wasn’t going to cut it anymore. That telling people that his wife is a bartender is embarrassing.”
My mouth falls open, and my heart sinks. “No. He didn’t.”
She nods. “I told him to go fuck himself and then locked him out of the bedroom. He slept on the couch, and this morning, he was gone before I woke up.”
I gently grasp her forearm and squeeze. “I’m so sorry.”
She shakes her head. “I’m lost. Like, I don’t know what I want anymore. I hate fighting with Peter, but I don’t want to practice law either. And what if he’s not the only one who’s embarrassed with me bartending?”
Head tilted, I frown. “Who else would be embarrassed?”
“Okay. I guess I don’t think Ethan would be embarrassed. But I’m afraid I’m disappointing him.”
“Why would he be disappointed? Wouldn’t he want you to be happy?” At his core, Ethan is a kind, gentle, considerate man. It’s not in his nature to be disappointed in his sister.
“When my dad died, none of us had much money set aside for college. My parents had five kids to feed, so large college funds weren’t realistic. When the bills start flooding in from Dad’s funeral, as well as Andy’s heart surgery, Ethan said he’d enlist and that he wanted me to have the money our parents had put away for his tuition.”
Jill’s eyes go misty, but she quickly clears her throat and composes herself.
“I argued with him about it, but he was insistent that I would need it more than him. Then, because I had such big dreams, he continued to contribute to my account. Month after month, he made deposits, and by the time I graduated from high school, I had enough money to get me through the first two years of college. He helped me fill out my FAFSA, found scholarships to apply for, and even cosigned on the only loan I ever had to take out, and that was only after I refused to let him take one out himself.”
Jill’s phone vibrates, interrupting her from her story. She unlocks it, and her whole body deflates. With a low sigh, she turns the device around so I can see the screen.
Peter: Danielson and Danielson are looking for somebody with experience with bankruptcy law, and they’re close to home.
I cringe.
“I haven’t spoken to him since yesterday,” she says, “and this is what he sends me? It’s like all he thinks about is our future, but I can’t even think past today.”