Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
“Why would she do that?” He follows me.
“Because she …” Nope. I’m not telling him about the letter. I don’t know him. “She’s unwell.”
“Then go to the police.” He follows me.
“Why do you care?” I whip around just before reaching my car. “Huh?”
“For the same reason that I fixed your leaky toilet.”
“Because I asked you for help?”
“Because you needed help.” He slides his fingers into the back pockets of his jeans, drawing his sweaty shirt tight against his chest.
I let it distract me for five seconds before clearing my throat. “The only help I need is for you to stop telling me to go home. And if you could get Eloise to stop worrying about me, that would be great too. Can you do that, Jack? Can you help me in that way?”
He rubs his right eye like something’s in it, then nods.
“When you stop playing that song you wrote for your wife, I’ll take your ‘life tips’ with more than a grain of salt. But for now, I will not feel guilty for my emotions or my need to make the people who destroyed my family pay.” I retrieve my bags from the car.
When I shut the door, Jack’s twenty paces in front of me, heading back to the lawnmower.
I can’t figure him out. I don’t have time to figure him out. But it doesn’t mean I don’t want to know why he was going to kiss me. The bigger question is why I wanted (still want) him to kiss me. Why do I want to feel his hands on me again?
The intensity of his gaze.
The heat of his body.
The mindlessness of the bubble around us when we’re alone.
I feel seen with Jack.
Perhaps it’s music. Maybe it’s grief. But it’s something.
CHAPTER TWELVE
FRANCESCA
I love baseball.
John played shortstop, and our school won the state championship our senior year. There’s nothing better than metal bleachers in the hot sun, concession stand popcorn, and fresh-cut grass.
“Oh, hey!” I adjust my new baseball cap before bounding up the bleachers toward Molly and her friends.
Her jaw drops, as does the phone in her hands.
“Shit!” One of her friends gasps, trapping the phone beneath her foot inches from falling underneath the bleachers. “That was close.” She hands Molly the phone.
“Are you feeling better?” I make a shooing motion for her friend to move aside so I can sit next to Molly, my new BFF.
The girl with black streaks in her blond hair scowls, but she slides to the left.
“Popcorn?” I offer to Molly.
She returns a barely detectable headshake, swatting at a wasp.
“Do you think it was food poisoning? What did you eat before your appointment?”
Colin’s cum?
“Nothing. It was nothing. I’m …” She leans over and whispers something in her other friend’s ear.
“I’m Frankie.” I dust salt off my hand and offer it to the friend on the other side of Molly. “Steven’s aunt.”
Blood drains from the friend’s face. Did she know about the letter? Did Molly tell her I’m in town? Did she help Molly burn down the house?
“Brea.” The girl gives me a wimpy handshake.
“Steven loved baseball. Did he tell you I took him to his first Cubs game? Speaking of Steven, did you hear his house caught fire? Total loss. I’m not sure I can take much more devastation.”
It takes less than a second to assess her guilt.
“What?” her friends ask in unison.
Molly swallows hard, eyebrows knitting together with a slight headshake. But she doesn’t look at me. Her jaw is set, eyes glued to the game. She’s a statue of guilt.
“They’re pretty sure it’s arson. I can’t imagine who would do something so horrendous. It’s like dancing on their graves. Don’t you think?”
Her friends nod. They seem to have genuine sympathy… actual souls.
“Is that Colin?” I point to the pitcher.
Molly ignores me.
“Does he drive a truck? I was in town the other morning, and I swear I saw you get out of a truck.”
“Were you in Colin’s truck?” The girl who moved her ass over for me leans forward to interrogate Molly. “What were you doing in his truck?”
“Jesus, Sadie, just shut up,” Molly bristles.
“There’s your mom.” Brea points to the bottom of the bleachers.
Perfect.
I stand. “Nice chatting with you and your lovely friends.”
Corinne stiffens when she glances up at me just as I approach her.
“Hello again. Molly was just introducing me to her friends. Great afternoon for a game.”
She glances around the bleachers and waves to a group of ladies a few rows behind us. “Yes. It is.” She lowers her sunglasses with a smile as stiff as the rest of her body. “Are you leaving so soon?”
“I like to watch from behind home plate. Good to see you.” I exit the bleachers and glance around the crowd. My gaze snags on the overdressed man in the concession line. I look back at Molly and Corinne, who are occupied with their friends, and then I meander toward the line.