Chapter 29
I feel like someone just plunged a dagger into my heart.
No, not just someone. Police Chief Matthew Cordray.
Maybe I’m seeing this wrong? So I keep looking, watching.
But no, it’s an intense embrace in the shadowy alley, the kind of embrace I often share with him these days—and Joy Lynn’s clinging to him in a desperate way that makes my chest ache even more.
He pulls back slightly then, his hands at her waist, before bending forward until their foreheads are touching. He whispers something to her.
Part of me wants to keep watching, in that mode of self-torture when you can’t look away from the thing that’s killing you, but a bigger part of me can’t stand another second of it. Unable to catch my breath, I rush back to my car, get inside, toss the book aside, and slam the door.
And then I attempt to catch my breath. Because maybe there’s some logical explanation for why he would be touching her this way, whispering to her this way.
But I can’t think of one.
I try not to squeal my tires as I pull away from the curb, but I want to be far, far away.
Far away from that alley, far away from everything.
It already pains me that I have nowhere to go but home, and that home is right next door to him, which is going to make it hard to feel very far away from this.
So I just drive, trying not to react, trying not to think.
I don’t do a very good job at either. My mind whirls.
I can’t believe that apparently I was right about him and Joy Lynn in the first place but forgot about it somewhere along the way when they quit seeming likely to me as a couple.
I came to think he was so much more evolved than her.
And knowing of her past, her husband’s overdose, just makes this somehow seem even more .
.. ugh. Is he taking advantage of her sorrow?
Is she needy because of it? Did they get cozy in the course of her husband’s drug problems and him being a cop?
And what the heck has been happening between Matt and me anyway? Have I misread it all? Which one of us is the sidepiece here, and does it even matter?
Of course he and I have never talked about our relationship because I’ve always insisted it’s casual, which means he’s not even doing anything wrong.
Right? And yet it feels very, very wrong to me.
I keep trying to tell myself maybe there’s some non-heinous reason for what I just saw, but each time, a defensive part of me instantly rebels, not wanting to be naive or foolish.
Does Joy Lynn even know he and I are a thing?
No—because if she did, she’d come closer to murdering me in my sleep than asking me to play “High Hopes” on the jukebox.
The irony of the song hits me since I suddenly don’t feel very optimistic about anything .
I thought I’d become so happy here, but it all suddenly seems fake, grounded in pretenses.
Is happiness real if it’s based on something false?
The worst part of this, though, isn’t even his behavior (since casual or not, this seems horribly deceptive to me)—the worst part is how awful it felt to see.
Apparently something downright catastrophic has happened: I care about him.
In a possessive way. And apparently I thought he cared about me, too.
Even though we never said it. It just seemed that way.
It just seemed so ... good. And now I feel so silly, in so many ways.
Arriving home, I stomp into the house, resolving to ignore any attempts he makes to see me. We see each other pretty much every night now. When on earth is he finding time to hook up with Joy Lynn?
Well, it’s obvious: during the day, when he’s supposed to be working. Yuck.
Of course, she works during the day, too, but clearly they’re squeezing it in sometime .
I thought I knew him. I really thought I knew him.
And even if, by some miracle, there is some logical explanation for what I saw, I still feel ... obliterated by this new realization that I’m crazy about him, and that I’ve let myself get so ridiculously attached to him.
I punch some couch cushions to expel some anger—and that’s when Ophelia goes darting across the room, clearly wondering what kind of lunatic she’s been forced to cohabitate with.
But I can’t care about that right now. In fact, I’m tired of all this caring.
I cared about Matt. I cared about Grace.
I cared about Jo. I even cared a little about Joy Lynn.
And where has it all gotten me? I’m alone and punching couch cushions.
Remembering I never ate, I go grab an apple I got from Mr. Freeman and chomp into it like it’s the enemy.
I eat it angrily. I guzzle a bottle of water because I’m tempted to guzzle a bottle of wine instead, and I refuse to do that because now wine and Matt go together in my mind.
I’m standing at the kitchen counter, still wanting to punch something, but there’s nothing soft enough not to hurt myself, so I go plop down on the couch and just stare blankly ahead, feeling more alone than I have .
.. since I first got to Lost and Found.
When something brushes against my ankle, I see that the cat has come to look up at me, probably still trying to decipher why I’m acting like a nut. I reach down, pick her up, and pet her. She purrs, and I feel a little less alone.
But I’m still pissed. And hurt. And confused.
And then it hits me that I’m exhausted, so I lie down, my head on one of the pillows I beat up, and I’m out like a light—the sleep of the emotionally spent.
When I wake hours later, a blazing neon sunset shines through the back windows—but it brings me no joy, only blinding me instead.
That’s when I realize someone is rapping on the back door—and it’s Matt.
Without a plan, I thrust myself up off the couch, walk over, and yank it open.
“Hey, I got home late. Have you eaten? I was thinkin’ of firin’ up the grill—could you eat a burger?”
It’s only then that he sees on my face the maniacal glare of the unhinged.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. I instantly despise how concerned he looks. Like he cares about me or something.
“What’s wrong?” I spew back at him. “ What’s wrong? ”
This is the moment he begins to understand he’s in the presence of a madwoman—his eyes widen and his jaw goes slack.
“What’s wrong,” I say, “is that you’re a creep.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “I am?” He’s clearly astonished.
Well, let me just end his confusion. “I saw you, Matt.”
“Saw me what?”
“And I know we’re not exclusive or anything. I know I’ve made a huge deal out of keeping this thing between us casual. But still ...”
His brow is knit now. “Still what? What are you so upset about, Jessie?”
“You and Joy Lynn,” I say, my voice thick with disgust. “I mean, I always wondered if there was something between you, but I eventually decided I was wrong. Only it turns out I was right. And even if you haven’t technically done anything wrong, did you really think what we have is so casual that it’s all right to be hooking up with somebody else who I see all the time?
Who sees me all the time? Is that the kind of man you are?
The kind who thinks it’s okay to be spending your nights with one woman and making out with another in an alley during the day? ”
When I finally finish, his expression is all twisted up and even more confused looking. “Wait a minute,” he says. “Are you sayin’ ...? You think ...?” He stops, gives me a look. “I don’t know what you think you saw, darlin’, but are you accusin’ me of makin’ out with my own sister?”
He has a sister? “No!” What is he talking about? “Didn’t you hear me? I saw you with Joy Lynn.”
“ Who is my sister. You know that, right?”
Now I’m the one slack-jawed. “Huh?”
“Joy Lynn is my sister.” He keeps saying that, as if it makes sense, when it doesn’t.
I blink, possibly as confused now as he is. “What? Wait. Are you sure?”
“Am I sure?” He sounds incredulous, which I get, yet I’m just so stunned. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“But ... how is that even possible? I mean, why would you never have mentioned that?”
He’s blinking now, too, still trying to catch up to the gargantuan misunderstanding. “I guess I thought I did. Did I not? Did you really not know?”
I’m shaking my head, which feels like it might explode at any second. “No. No, you most certainly never mentioned that. Ever. You once claimed she liked you. And then she once indicated to me that she did not. But no one ever said anything about the two of you being related .”
“We have a stormy relationship.”
I blow out an audible breath. “That part I knew. The part about being siblings, though ...” I’m shaking my head some more, still trying to wrap my brain around this.
There is a logical explanation. I’m not a silly fool.
He’s still into me. Okay, wait—maybe I am a silly fool, just in a different way.
“You ... never talk about her. All the hours we’ve sat on this porch together, and you never talk about her. ”
He lets out a sigh. “Guess she’s not my favorite topic.”
“Oh.” I suppose I can understand that. She seems like such a handful, and now I’m learning she’s a handful he can’t just walk away from.
He holds his hands out, palms up. “She’s part of why I can’t bring myself to leave Lost and Found. Her and Toby got nobody. Nobody but me.”
“Grace told me about her husband dying.”
He nods. “Another reason I hate drugs so damn much. But the fact is, he was never a great guy and she’s made a lotta poor choices.
And sometimes she still does, so I don’t bend over backward makin’ things easy for her—she still needs to grow up some even though she’s pushin’ forty.
” He runs a hand back through his hair. “Regardless, though, without Mom and Dad here, I feel some responsibility for her. I’m her big brother. ”
“I get it,” I murmur, still taking it in.
Now he’s the one shaking his head. “I still can’t believe you thought ...”