Chapter 41
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Fiona
By Sunday, the bruises around my wrist had faded from angry purple to a sickly yellow that looked worse than it felt.
I’d stopped rubbing at them whenever someone was nearby because every time I did, Granny noticed.
Then Frank noticed Granny noticing, and Georgie somehow knew about it five minutes later.
The first two days after the gas station had been ridiculous.
Frank insisted on following me to work. Georgie showed up at the Creamery before closing and sat at a table with a cup of coffee he barely touched until I finished my shift.
When I pointed out that I’d managed to survive eighteen years without an armed escort, Georgie reminded me that surviving wasn’t exactly the standard he was aiming for.
Granny had been quieter about it. She simply started leaving the porch light on earlier.
Tonight it glowed through the front window even though I’d been home for hours.
I was stretched across one end of the couch with my feet tucked beneath me while Granny watched a home renovation show.
The couple on television had spent the last ten minutes arguing about whether knocking down a wall would destroy the character of a hundred-year-old house. Granny had firmly sided with the wall.
“People need rooms,” she muttered. “Nobody wants to sit in their kitchen and stare at the toilet down the hallway.”
I looked up from my phone. “I don’t think that’s what open concept means.”
“That’s where it starts.” She pointed at the television. “Mark my words. Take down one wall, and next thing you know, you’re brushing your teeth beside the refrigerator.”
I laughed and returned my attention to the screen in my hand.
Jasper had been unusually quiet for the last hour.
He’d called me the morning after the gas station incident and every night since, but he hadn’t mentioned the man again after the first conversation.
I’d expected questions. A lot of them. Instead, he’d asked about my wrist once, listened when I told him Frank and Georgie had everything handled, and moved on.
I appreciated that more than I’d told him.
Everyone else kept looking at me as though I might shatter if someone opened a door too quickly. Jasper had listened when I said I was okay.
Mostly okay, anyway.
My phone vibrated against my palm.
Jasper: Important question.
I smiled before I even opened it.
Me: Those are never actually important.
Jasper: Rude.
Me: Accurate.
Jasper: I’m serious.
Me: That makes it worse.
His response took longer this time and I knew he was typing out more than a word or two.
Jasper: If you had complete control over a house, what room would you spend the most money on?
I glanced at the television. The homeowners were now standing in what used to be a kitchen while the designer explained why removing perfectly good cabinets had somehow added thirty thousand dollars to the budget.
Me: Kitchen.
Jasper: Really?
Me: Why is that surprising?
Jasper: I pictured a library.
I sat up a little straighter.
Me: I can have both.
Jasper: Expensive woman.
Me: You gave me complete control. This is your fault.
Jasper: Already regretting it.
Me: Too late
His answer took only a few seconds.
Jasper: Fine. Big kitchen.
Me: Huge kitchen.
Jasper: How huge?
I looked toward Granny. She’d fallen completely silent now, absorbed in watching contractors remove the wall she’d already declared essential to civilization.
Every gathering in this house eventually ended in the kitchen. Holidays, birthdays, random Sunday dinners. Someone was always leaning against a counter while somebody else cooked. Kids wandered in looking for snacks. Adults stood around drinking coffee long after everyone claimed they were leaving.
It had never been the largest room.
Somehow, it always held everyone.
Me: Big enough for a ridiculous island.
Jasper: Define ridiculous.
Me: Enough stools that nobody has to stand around holding a plate.
Jasper: That sounds less like a kitchen and more like a cafeteria.
Me: You’ve clearly never seen my family eat.
Jasper: I’ve met some of them. I’m beginning to understand.
Me: And lots of cabinets.
Jasper: What the hell are you putting in all these cabinets?
Me: Things.
Jasper: Very specific.
Me: Dishes. Pans. Food. Normal kitchen things.
Jasper: You burn toast.
My mouth dropped open as I stared at my phone.
Me: ONE TIME.
Jasper: There’s photographic evidence.
Me: You’re never seeing another picture of anything I cook.
Jasper: Cher, I’m trying to protect my future kitchen.
I stared at the message.
Not your kitchen.
Not a kitchen.
My future kitchen.
There were probably a dozen harmless ways to read it, and every one of them disappeared beneath the warmth that spread slowly through my chest because he wasn’t hiding it anymore.
I forced my fingers to move.
Me: I thought I had complete control.
Jasper: Apparently I made a terrible contractual agreement.
Me: No takebacks.
Jasper: Fine. Giant kitchen. What else?
I curled farther into the corner of the couch with a smile on my face.
Me: Library.
Jasper: Obviously.
Me: With actual shelves. Not those little floating ones that hold six books.
Jasper: Floor to ceiling?
Me: Yes.
Jasper: Ladder?
Me: Now you’re getting it.
Jasper: Fireplace?
I paused.
Me: In the library?
Jasper: Wherever you want it.
Me: Definitely.
Jasper: Anything else?
The question shouldn’t have felt intimate. We were talking about an imaginary house neither of us owned, created because Jasper was apparently bored enough on a Sunday night to interrogate me about cabinets.
Still, I looked around Granny’s living room before answering.
The house wasn’t large or impressive. Nothing matched perfectly.
The wooden floors creaked in places, and the porch needed repainting every few years because Virginia weather had no respect for maintenance schedules.
There were pictures everywhere, some in expensive frames and others in cheap ones that had probably come from a dollar store.
Granny’s afghan hung over the back of her chair.
A basket near the fireplace held toys for the grandchildren who didn’t live here but somehow always left something behind.
I knew exactly what else I wanted.
Me: A porch.
Jasper: Front or back?
Me: Both.
Jasper: Greedy.
Me: You asked.
Jasper: Rocking chairs?
Me: On the front.
Jasper: What’s on the back?
I thought about it.
Me: A table. Maybe one of those big ones that looks better after it gets beat up a little.
Jasper: For dinner?
Me: Dinner. Coffee. Whatever.
Jasper: A place to enjoy the quiet.
Me: You remembered.
Jasper: I remember everything you tell me.
My smile faded into something softer.
He did.
That was one of the things about Jasper I still wasn’t completely used to. I could mention something once, buried inside a conversation about ten other things, and weeks later he would remember it. Not only the big things. Sometimes especially not the big things.
The way I drank my coffee.
The name of my biology teacher.
The fact that I hated raisins in oatmeal but liked them in cookies.
Things nobody needed to remember.
He did anyway.
Me: Yes, quiet on the back porch.
Jasper: Better.
Me: And a yard.
Jasper: How much yard?
Me: Enough that I can’t see directly into the neighbor’s house.
Jasper: That can be arranged.
I narrowed my eyes at the screen.
Me: You sound very confident for someone who does not own this imaginary house.
Jasper: Who said I didn’t?
My stomach fluttered.
Me: Jasper.
Jasper: Fiona.
Me: What are you doing?
Jasper: Talking about a house.
Me: Very funny
Jasper: I thought so.
Me: You know what I mean.
This time he took longer.
Jasper: Maybe I do.
I bit the inside of my cheek and looked toward the television without seeing any of it.
Granny glanced over. “What are you smiling at?”
“I’m not smiling.”
Her eyebrows rose.
I lowered my phone enough to glare at her without any anger. “I’m not.”
“You look like somebody just told you Christmas is coming twice this year.”
“Watch your show.”
“I can do both.”
Of course she could.
I waited until she turned back toward the television before looking at my phone again. Jasper hadn’t sent anything else. He was waiting for me to respond. The annoying man had become very good at that.
Me: Where is this imaginary house?
His answer came quickly enough that I wondered if he’d already been expecting the question.
Jasper: You tell me.
Me: I don’t know.
Jasper: Virginia?
I looked around the room again.
Virginia was home.
Rosewood was home now. Granny, Frank and Claudia, Georgie and Josie... Charlie. The mountains, and every road I’d learned to drive on. It was the place where I’d finally stopped running because somebody had given me a key and promised I could keep it.
I couldn’t imagine not loving it.
That wasn’t exactly the same thing as never imagining leaving.
Because now there was someone else. Someone who lived fifteen hundred miles away.
Me: Maybe.
Jasper: That didn’t sound convincing.
Me: It was a text. It didn’t sound like anything.
Jasper: I know you better than that, Cher.
I smiled despite myself.
Me: Maybe I haven’t decided where it is yet.
There was a longer pause.
Jasper: Fair answer.
Me: You sound disappointed.
Jasper: Nope.
Me: Liar.
Jasper: I don’t lie.
That was true—Jasper never lied. He carefully worded his responses so they were never untruthful. The reminder made me look at the message differently.
Me: Then what?
Jasper: I said it was a fair answer. Doesn’t mean I don’t have a preference.
Me: Are you going to tell me?
Jasper: Nope.
Me: Coward
Jasper: Patient.
That word had become his favorite weapon.
I shook my head.
Me: Fine. New question.
Jasper: I’m listening.
Me: Do you think you’ll always live in Diamond Creek?
His answer didn’t come immediately.
I watched the three dots appear, then disappear.
Jasper: Probably.
Me: Because of the club?
Jasper: Club. Business. Brothers. Family. It’s home now.
I read that twice.