by Iris Morland
The only sin you need to confess lately is thinking about your boss’s sister way too often.
His heart twisted. He thought of Grace’s expression as they’d stood together outside under the stars. The scent of her hair, the softness of her skin. How he’d been weak and called her Graciela, and how she hadn’t pushed him away like she should’ve. She should’ve told him to go to hell. But she’d clung to him and leaving her that evening had taken all of his strength and then some.
Sheriff Jennings sat down in Adam’s chair, forcing Jaime to take the chair across from him like some kind of subordinate. He also noticed that the sheriff had shut the door. He refused to be intimidated, though: he gazed straight at him, waiting expectantly, and praying that the sheriff couldn’t hear his pounding heart.
Sheriff Jennings glanced at a folder filled with a jumble of documents, then pulled out a notebook from his pocket. “You don’t mind if I take notes, do you?” He scribbled something down before asking, “So, where are you from, Jaime?”
“I’m from St. Louis, actually.”
“Yes, but where from originally?”
Jaime dug his thumbnail into his palm. “From St. Louis, like I said.”
The sheriff made a note, frowning. “Are your parents from St. Louis?”
“They’ve lived there for over thirty years, but they immigrated from El Salvador in the early ‘80s.”
Sheriff Jennings nodded. He then scrawled his notes, flipping pages and pages, like Jaime had imparted years’ worth of information in these brief statements. He continued to ask questions about Jaime’s heritage, his parents, their immigration status, and never once did he ask about the missing money.
And the worst part was that Jaime couldn’t fight against this assumption without making the situation worse for himself.
The only question semi-relating to the investigation the sheriff asked was, “Have you ever had money troubles?”
Who hasn’t? he thought. It’d only been after a few years at River’s Bend that Jaime had felt like he was in a position to feel comfortable with his income. Before that, it’d been all about scraping and saving and living paycheck to paycheck, if he wasn’t in school or interning somewhere. His parents had lived similarly, despite his father’s work as a professor. There never seemed to be enough money, no matter how many hours worked.
“Well, I can say that since I started here, I’ve been doing fairly well in terms of money,” Jaime replied, couching his words. “If you’re asking if it’s a concern right now? No, it’s not.”
The sheriff eyed him, as if skeptical of his answer. Then he scribbled something, his cheeks somehow redder than before.
He asked Jaime a few more questions before saying he could go back to work. As he opened the door for Jaime, though, he just kept nodding, his eyes slightly narrowed, as if he’d figured out the puzzle and was just waiting to impart the answer to someone.
An hour or so later, Jaime heard Adam saying goodbye to Sheriff Jennings. It was only then that he let out a sigh of relief. Logically, he knew that he couldn’t be arrested unless charges were filed, but some small part of him had worried that that wouldn’t have mattered to the sheriff. He’d put him in handcuffs and haul him away to the jail in nearby Columbia, because Heron’s Landing didn’t have a jail.
“Hey Jaime, can I talk to you a minute?” Adam poked his head into the kitchen. His expression wasn’t grim, per se, but it was serious.
Jaime nodded and finished up his work, washing his hands and wiping them off on his apron.
Is this just going to be the day where I get my ass grilled for hours? He had no idea what Adam needed to talk about now, unless the sheriff had told him that they were moving forward in some way.
Exhaustion swamped his limbs. He didn’t even want to cook for himself when he got home. He wanted to order a pizza, drink a beer, and then sleep until everything blew over.
“Can you close the door?” Adam asked. He was standing at his desk, shuffling some papers around.
“That doesn’t sound good.” Jaime tried to sound like he was joking, but really he sounded strained and tired. Déjà vu hit him, and he wondered if the sheriff were hiding underneath Adam’s desk, ready to pop out the moment he caught Jaime confessing to his crimes.
Adam looked up. “Sorry. I know you’ve had a lot going on. This actually isn’t about the money or anything, if that helps.”
Sitting down, Jaime was even more confused. “Now why do I feel like I’m getting an impromptu performance evaluation?”
Adam laughed. “Nothing like that. You’re my best employee and quite frankly I wish I could clone you.”
“So that means you’re paying me more money?”
“Now you’re just being ridiculous.” Adam sat down, his hands folded. His initial amused demeanor faded quickly, and now he looked as serious as ever. “This actually has nothing to do with work. This is a friend-to-friend conversation. Or man-to-man.”
“Okay. Shoot.”
Adam looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but in his office, having this conversation. Jaime’s stomach twisted when he realized what his friend was probably trying to figure out how to say.
Does he know about Grace and me? Does he know how much I want her?
He dug his thumbnail into his palm like he’d been doing earlier, hardly feeling the pain now. His mind whirled and his head pounded and God Almighty if his heart was about to burst from his chest.
Realizing he was fidgeting, he forced himself to still. He didn’t even know what Adam wanted to talk to him about, anyway.
Adam cleared his throat, he pulled at his shirt collar, and then he looked up at the ceiling.
“Dude, you’re killing me. What is it?” Jaime practically growled.
“This is the last thing I want to talk about, but I have to ask: is there something between you and Grace?” Adam finally returned his gaze to him, his expression hopeful, embarrassed, and deeply uncomfortable.
“What makes you think there’s something between us?”
“There have been…indications that things might not be as they were.” Adam sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Now I’m talking in circles. Look, I’d rather shoot myself in the arm than have this conversation. The thought of my little sister dating any man is something I can’t wrap my head around, but at the same time, I can’t stand by and see her get hurt.” His jaw clenched as he asked again, “Is there something between you two?”
Jaime dug his thumbnail so deeply into his palm that he was surprised he didn’t draw blood. He was torn between being honest with his friend and protecting Grace from her brother’s censure. They hadn’t done anything wrong. He knew that. But that didn’t make the situation less uncomfortable, less potentially painful.
“I think I should explain that I saw you two, when you came by the house the other day,” Adam said quietly. “I only saw a split second, but you two were embracing.”
Will the joys of this day ever end? Jaime thought. “Grace and I…” he began, not sure where to start. “We’ve gotten closer.” At Adam’s look, he added, “As friends. We’re friends. I was feeling down, she was being kind to me. That’s it. You don’t have to worry about anything.”
Liar liar liar liar liar liar.
Adam let out a breath, as if he’d been holding it. “I know Grace has held a torch for you for a while now, so any attention from you could make her think there was something going on. You know what I mean?”
Jaime, though, couldn’t respond. Grace has held a torch for me? Of course, now that he thought about it, it made sense, given how she’d always acted around him. Perhaps a part of him had known, but he’d dismissed it as a schoolgirl crush.
“I’m not going to take advantage of your sister,” Jaime ground out, his heart still pounding at Adam’s revelation. “If that’s what you’re asking.”
I’m not going to dream about her, or think about her. Because she isn’t mine to have.
“Okay, yes, that’s w
hat I was asking.” Adam cleared his throat again. “Just, be careful, Jaime. You could break her heart without even realizing it.”
Jaime almost laughed. Adam had no idea—no idea. He had no idea that even if he held Grace’s heart, she was the one who could destroy him with the smallest of smiles.
“Now that this awkward conversation is over, how about a drink? Oh, and I meant to ask you: do you want to come over for Thanksgiving? You know you’re always welcome.” Adam got up without Jaime responding, opening the door. “I think we should open a bottle of that red we just got in.”
“Sure, sounds good.” Jaime followed him, but he hardly heard anything else that was said. He knew that Adam was looking out for Grace. He knew that. At the same time, she was a grown woman who was capable of her own decisions. Did she really need her older brother intervening on her behalf? He couldn’t imagine she’d ask Adam to come talk to him on her behalf.
Adam poured him a glass of the red. “So how about it? Join us for Thanksgiving?”
Jaime took a sip, knowing the answer he should give. But because he seemed incapable of making good decisions lately, he replied, “Yeah, I’ll come.”
Chapter Seven
Grace peeled the potatoes with such force that more than one poor spud was a mere nub of its former self. Quickly tossing the offending potatoes in the trash so her mother wouldn’t see, she forced herself to peel only the brown peels.
I’m not freaking out. I’m not freaking out. I’m. Not. Freaking. Out.
“Grace, do you know where the potholder is?” her mother Julia asked.
Grace jumped, the peeler clattering into the sink.
“Goodness, you’re so on edge today!” Julia plucked the potholder from around her daughter, giving Grace a concerned look. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Just have a lot on my mind.” Grace turned and began peeling, slowly and without destroying the potato in hand.
Julia didn’t say anything, but Grace could feel her mother’s gaze on the back of her neck.
“Well, let me know if you need any help.”
Grace had been like this since Adam had so helpfully told her that they’d be having a guest for Thanksgiving: none other than Jaime himself. Of course he was coming for Thanksgiving, Grace thought, her face turning into one of irritation as she tossed the peeled potato in the nearby bowl. I can’t get away from the man!
Jaime had attended the Danvers’ Thanksgiving before, usually when he was too busy to get home to St. Louis or, in the beginning, couldn’t afford the trip back. From what Grace understood, the Martínez family enjoyed Thanksgiving but didn’t consider it a vital holiday, so they didn’t press Jaime to make it back, that was saved for Christmas.
Grace told herself she could sit far away from Jaime and not even look at him. She didn’t have to say anything. She could serve food and replenish plates and do the dishes and she could sink into her chair and act like nothing was wrong and it would work splendidly.
Looking at the third potato nub in her hand, she had a feeling she was in deep, deep denial.
“How’s the cooking going, ladies?” Carl kissed Julia on the cheek before coming around Grace’s shoulder. “I know I’m no cook, but I’m thinking we’ll need more potatoes than that for mashed potatoes.”
Grace forced a smile. “This peeler is just too peel-y,” she explained lamely. “I keep peeling more potato than peel.”
“Well, let your mother take over so you don’t ruin all of the potatoes. You know that’s my favorite part of Thanksgiving.”
Grace nodded, swallowing hard. Normally she didn’t mind that her father didn’t help with the cooking and expected she and her mother to do it. Normally she just brushed off her father’s criticisms. But today she found herself thinking, If you’re so concerned, why not actually help for once?
Carl Danvers was an odd amalgam of old, conservative values with the occasional ability to adopt change when he thought it necessary. He was the one who hired Jaime, the one who first had the idea to do events at River’s Bend, and who wanted his daughter to make something of herself instead of simply marrying and settling down. But those conservative values reared their heads often, and in this case, he had the expectation that the women cooked and the men waited to eat the food those women cooked.
Grace watched as her father stuck his finger in the gravy Julia was cooking, and then watched as her mother slapped his hand away playfully.
The kitchen felt small and pressing, the sudden sensation overwhelming. Grace had never minded living at home so much as she had within the last few weeks, when the ground had been shifting with every step. It wasn’t so much a tidal wave of feeling but one that crept up on her, encircling her throat until she could barely breathe.
The thought of having Thanksgiving with her family seemed unbearable now.
“Grace, did you apply to any of the job listings I sent you?” Carl asked, plucking a roll that had just come out of the oven and biting into it. “You can’t keep working at Trudy’s forever.”
Grace turned, staring at the sink full of brown ribbons of peels. She hadn’t opened her father’s email because she didn’t want to work in an office, making coffee and copies and answering phones until her brain melted through her ears.
“No, I haven't had time,” she answered, trying to sound like she was going to look at the email soon. “And I don't mind working at Trudy’s.”
“Of course you don’t,” he said behind her. “You don’t have to pay rent or the electric bill and so you can make minimum wage for as long as you want.”
“Carl,” Julia warned.
Grace picked up a potato and began peeling it with quick movements. “You know I’d contribute if I could. I pay for my own groceries.”
Carl sighed, like Grace were the greatest disappointment in the history of the Danvers family. “And yet who was the one who wouldn’t listen and decided to get a degree in art? Didn’t I warn you this was where you’d end up if you stuck to that plan?”
“Carl!” her mother remonstrated. “It’s Thanksgiving. Can we do this later?”
“I’m only saying what the girl needs to hear. She made a decision that wasn’t a good one, and now she’s going to have to fix it. She can’t live in our house forever.”
Grace peeled and peeled and peeled. She tossed the naked potato in the bowl and picked up another. She wondered why the sink seemed like it was wavering and then she realized she had tears in her eyes. She couldn’t wipe her eyes. She blinked away the tears as best she could so her parents couldn’t see them.
How did you tell your father you didn’t know how to fix the problem you’d made? I just want to paint, she’d told him when she’d decided to pursue her degree. I’ll figure out the rest later.
Grace didn’t know how she could say that she didn’t know what she wanted to do. She didn’t know how she could tell her father that she felt lost lately and like she was walking through a dark forest without any means to find a path.
“Ignoring me isn’t going to make this go away, young lady,” Carl said. “You need to get yourself a real job and stop frittering away your time, painting things nobody’s gonna buy or see.”
“That’s enough,” Julia hissed. “Leave Grace alone. It’s Thanksgiving.”
Carl muttered something and walked out. Thankfully, the front door opened and he was distracted by the arrival of Adam and Joy. Grace could hear Joy saying that she’d brought her famous pecan pie, and Adam ribbing that she’d burned three crusts this morning before finally buying a store-bought one.
Grace looked at the sink, realizing she had no more potatoes. She turned and came face-to-face with her mother.
“Your father loves you, you know,” Julia said quietly. “He just wants what’s best for you.”
Grace took the bowl of potatoes to the counter before getting a large pot to fill with water. “He needs to keep his mouth shut,” she muttered.
“You shouldn’t talk about your father like
that. He means well.” In a pleading voice, Julia asked, “Please don’t let him ruin Thanksgiving. Let’s try to have a good time?”
Grace watched the water fill the pot. She swallowed. “I’ll try my best.”
Thanksgiving dinner was served by three o’clock. Grace didn’t know why they had to eat in the middle of the afternoon or why that was a tradition, but when she’d asked why, Carl had said that was how they’d always done it. Besides, they could watch football right after (which really just meant Carl could fall asleep in front of the TV).
But everything regarding her father faded away when Grace came into the dining room, carrying the bowl of mashed potatoes, and saw Jaime standing there. He was wearing a dark green sweater and jeans, his hair freshly trimmed. He seemed younger, and when he laughed, she almost forgot that she had a giant bowl of potatoes in her arms.
“Those look amazing,” Jaime said as she set them down on the table. “Did you make them?”
She nodded, her chin in her chest. She couldn’t look at him, but she replied, “I used the potato masher. Mom tried to use the mixer, but I stopped her just in time.”
Her heart fluttered when she saw his face split into a wide smile. “So you were listening. Excellent. I’m sure there’s not a lump to be found.”
She blushed, then blushed harder because Jaime had said her mashed potatoes were lump-less and it was the best compliment she’d received in ages.
“I have to get the rest of the food,” she mumbled as she scurried back into the kitchen.
Jaime had been right: the mashed potatoes had no lumps to be found. Grace felt inordinately proud of that fact.
“This is amazing,” Joy said as she served herself slices of turkey. “Thank you for cooking, Grace and Julia.”
“Yes, thank you. Otherwise I would’ve had to eat Joy’s burnt turkey and had to act like it was good.” Adam tore a roll and then slathered it in butter.
“Haha, you’re hilarious, acting like you didn’t burn canned biscuits just a week ago.”
If Grace hadn’t known better, she’d swear a flush of color was climbing her older brother’s cheeks. “You distracted me,” he muttered.