10. Un-Welcome Home #2
I’d expected to feel so much if I ever saw him again, dreamed about it time and time again. I never thought in a million years I’d ever feel so… pissed.
Devastated, of course. Crushed beyond reason, surely. Giggly, desperate, indifferent.
Never angry.
My brows knit together, my eyes hardening at the sight of the gorgeous man I grew up adoring.
He stops too, every bit as frozen as I am and as cynical, as cold as ever.
No colder. My gaze slams to our feet, resentment choking me, pulling me under as I spin on my heel, giving him my back.
The sight of his nice, polished shoes seared into my mind.
He always said I’d be the one to make it out of here, to live the high life out in a big city.
Somewhere where it was warm all year round.
But he left, and that was something we were supposed to do together. A taste far more bitter than the coffee settles on my tongue as I school my features. Jim fidgets uncomfortably, and I can feel Gideon’s stare peeling away my hardened outer layers until he exposes my goopy insides.
I flash Jim a smile. “This color suits you much better than the other.”
His homely, freckled cheeks flash pink as he chuckles. “As long as she’s happy, I’m happy. Heck, Al could stick me in pink with yellow polka dots, and I wouldn’t bat an eye.”
“Your mother-in-law might,” I giggle. It manages to sound only slightly forced.
Remembering the way the strong-willed woman had to be skillfully distracted by Mrs. Johnson so I could show Ally the wedding dresses without her finding a reason to hate each one.
She’s a downright terror at the best of times; I don’t envy her daughter, even if they are one of the better-off families in town.
I certainly don’t envy Jim Kessler for marrying into them, money be dammed.
Mrs. Jonhson whirls out of the back like a tiny tornado headed straight for the man I’m nearly certain is still glaring at my back as I kneel in front of the platform, tacking up the hem on Jim’s pants.
“Audrey.” This one is less accusation, more… soft. A request, like he’s asking me to look at him. My stomach does something bizarre and entirely unfounded. I ignore it all the same. He moved away, got some big important job, it’s been years, and he never even—
Jim clears his throat, speaking under his breath, which does almost nothing to hide what he says in the cozy, cramped room. “Audrey, I think he’s trying to get your attention.”
What is with nobody in this damn town knowing how to whisper?!
My cheeks flush as Jim glances up, nervously shooting Gideon a smile.
I know all too well what it’s like to be the subject of his attention.
He used to make adults uncomfortable as a child; I can’t imagine how intimidating he is now.
Especially considering even I’m taller than Jim Kessler at a whopping five foot six.
I shoot Jim another smile but ignore him too. Politely, of course, because I work here.
“Oh dear. You’re tense, loosen up a bit, son. You aren’t dressing for war,” Mrs. Johnson chastises Gideon, artfully cutting through the tension in the room with her old lady charm.
I’m being childish, but hell… this feels more horrific than I’d imagined, and I’ve spent ten years imagining.
Daydreaming and night dreaming about what his homecoming would look like.
It certainly didn’t involve petulantly ignoring him.
I want to show him I’m great, unaffected.
That I got over it. Got over what he did.
Maybe next time I will. Maybe next time, if I have time to prepare, if I’m not… caught off guard, it’ll be believable.
Jim and I fall into a comfortable silence as I work, pretending not to be heavily invested in the conversation behind me as Mr. Johnson again joins the fray, all of his afternoon coffee buddies long departed.
Not to be confused with his morning coffee buddies or the evening ones.
None of which I think even own a suit that’s seen the light of day since before I was born, save for the occasional wedding or wake.
“Sorry about the loss of Jackson. A kind, troubled soul he was. It’s a shame the funeral home won’t be staying in the family,” Mrs. Johnson comments.
“Thank you.” Gideon’s voice is just as flat and aloof as ever; it shouldn’t make my stomach knot.
It really, really shouldn’t. There was a time I loved his cold, calm demeanor.
Where it seemed to unsettle everyone else…
for me, he was the steady rock in a wailing storm.
It annoyed me at times, a lot of times, sure, but it was just part of the thing that made him, him.
“Anyone lined up to take the helm?” Mr. Johnson cuts in.
“Just me, for now. Although I have been considering keeping it.”
My hands pause, my breath hitching.
“Oh, that would be lovely!” Mrs. Johnson coos from beside me. “It’s been in the Bell family for three generations! Your father would—"
Mr. Johnson cuts his wife off. I can’t see her, but I can picture the daggers she threw him for it. "I can’t imagine you leaving your big funeral director job for our little old town.”
“I’m an ME actually,” Gideon corrects gently, his voice mimicking their flow of conversation. I wonder if anyone else can feel how surface-level it is. Like honey on velvet, but the honey’s gone off.
“ME, what in the world is what?” Jim finally chimes in, and I lose my only ally in the war against Gideon Bell.
“I’m a medical examiner up in Piedmont. When a death is sudden or unexpected—"
“When people get murdered, he plays Sherlock,” Mr. Johnson cuts in helpfully.
Gideon chuckles. “Not so glamorous as Holmes, but yes.”
Jim makes some approving sounds. “Piedmont. Whereabouts is that?”
“Washington State.”
My hands slow again. So far away…
“So that’s where you two buggered off to,” Mr. Johnson cuts in louder than necessary, like always. “Hell, when your old man would make his trips back, it was hard enough to get him to look at us, let alone speak. Suppose you can’t blame the guy after finding your poor mom the way he did.”
“Bill!” Mrs. Johnson scolds, and I’ve all but stopped working.
“It’s alright. The loss was hard on all of us.” Gideon adds the last part like an afterthought.
A strange boy turned into a strange man.
I almost smile.
Almost.
“I can’t imagine that poor man working on her.
It made me ill thinking about it back then.
God, I hope he didn’t have you help on that one.
A growing boy shouldn’t see his mama like that.
It was bad enough you found her.” Mr. Johnson keeps going, never the one for mincing words, and I’m sure his wife’s face is turning an alarming shade of red by now.
The next pass I make with the thread is shaky, the needle barely scraping Jim’s calf, but he’s too engrossed in the disturbing turn in conversation to mind.
Gideon did help, though. It was one of the worst nights of my life.
And that’s saying something because I had several around that time.
I’d snuck in. I just wanted to check on him and Mr. Bell to make sure they were okay.
I’ll never get the image of him out of my head.
It was the first time I’d looked past the double doors.
Years of half living in that house and I never looked.
I wish I hadn’t that day either. Her body was—
“Audrey, you good down there, dear? Need help?” Ms. Johnson asks, quickly changing the subject.
I shoot to my feet from where I’d entirely zoned out on the floor, throwing my balance off. Jim snags my hip, steadying me as I lose my footing.
“Shit, thanks,” I mutter, hazarding a glance over my shoulder, embarrassment insisting I see if he watched me stumble.
What I see in formerly aloof, cold eyes is nothing short of malevolent.
Gideon’s jaw works as he stares at Jim. It’s a look I’ve seen before, but I never thought it could get darker.
Didn’t or wouldn’t imagine there was a darkness in the world that could exist, deeper or more unsettling than that look.
It exists, and it’s even more chilling on the man than it was on the boy.
Jim coughs, adjusting and pulling away the sleeve I had gripped to steady myself, bringing my attention back to him.
“Jim, I still have your measurements from last time. This should be more than enough. Ally mostly wanted to make sure the color looked good. We’ll get you scheduled for next week for the final fitting?”
He gives me a half-nod, gratefully fidgeting his way back to the changing booth.
Summoning the deepest breath known to man, I spin toward Mrs. Johnson, ignoring Gideon still.
As much as I can, anyway. Everything about him screams authority, discipline.
Gideon Bell, all grown up, doesn’t just catch your attention; he demands it.
My flush is creeping down my neck, dipping and flowing across my chest under his perusal, but it does little to quell my anger. In fact, it inflates it.
“Mrs. Johnson, my head is killing me. Is it okay if I head home? I can take a few garments home for mending if you’d like.”