Now You See Me

by Kris Fletcher

  As if he could forget.

  He hoped she was alone. He really didn’t want to deal with the Ted factor, not that he would let Jillian know that.

  He knocked quickly, pulled up a cocky grin and pushed the door open. A brief yip let him know he’d caught her off guard. Good. He needed all the advantages he could get.

  He skated in and let his backpack fall to the floor. “Hello, Jillian.”

  She glared at him, one hand over her chest, the other clutching a ballpoint pen like a weapon. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Do you know how glad I’ll be to never hear that question again?” He chose a chair in front of her desk and sprawled across it before glancing around the painfully neat office. “Nice place. You’ve painted.”

  “And you are out of line. I have a meeting to prepare for. Leave. Now.”

  “Sorry,” he said with mock cheerfulness. “No can do. I need to talk to you before that meeting.”

  “There will be time on the agenda for you to make your presentation.”

  “There will? Great.” He sat up, all bright and eager. “I’m sure there’s a lot of folks who would love to hear what I have to say.”

  She glanced toward the door. Probably checking to make sure no one could overhear them.

  He felt a twinge of conscience, but refused to let it stop him. There were two futures on the line—Lyddie’s, and hopefully his. As long as Jillian did her part, no one would be the wiser. He couldn’t back down now.

  “Here’s the thing,” he said softly. “I’ve heard the rumors, Jillian. I know you’re still trying to block the sale. I think it’s time to talk.”

  She didn’t even blink.

  “You say you want to do what’s best for the town, and you know what? I believe you. The fact that you’ve been pushing for Mr. Crispy all this time tells me you’re sincere. I have to salute you for that.”

  “There’s a hell of a but behind those words, isn’t there?”

  “More of an and. You’ve mentioned a number of times that this issue is dividing the town, that I’m stirring up trouble. You and I both know that there’s more to it than that. People are afraid of me and what I know.” His lips twitched. “Lucky for you, none of them know that you’re in on the secret, too.”

  Again, not a sound, though she looked a little green around the gills.

  “The real problem isn’t the store, Jillian. It’s the fear. The fear and the guilt. As long as people are afraid that the truth will come out, they’re going to keep doing stupid things.”

  She nodded slowly. “It’s a sorry day when I agree with you, but I think you’re right.”

  Thank God. If she could say that, he was halfway there.

  “So here’s what I want. I’m going to go into that meeting and make a speech that will guarantee everyone in the room will not only want Lyddie to have the building, they’ll be volunteering to pay the mortgage for her. All I ask is that you refrain from saying anything that would change their minds.”

  “I’m only one person. I only have one vote.”

  “You’re the only one with half a brain on the committee,” he said bluntly. “They’ll do whatever you say and you know it. They trust you.” He paused, then added, “Do this, and I will give you exactly what you need to make sure this is the end of the fire problems.”

  “What, are you going to turn back time?”

  “No, I will stand up there and take full, public and sole responsibility for what happened that night.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “And,” he continued, “I give you my solemn word that if this goes through, I will never set foot in this town again.”

  “Your word? Seriously, J.T., if you expect me to put a lot of faith in that—”

  She stopped, eyes fixed on the old, slightly tarnished ID bracelet he had pulled from his pocket.

  “I promised you I would never tell anyone that you were with me that night.” He tossed the bracelet on top of her papers. It landed with the name upright, clear and undeniable. The faint jingle as the clasp slipped onto the wood of the desk hung in the air between them like the echo of a long-ago song.

  “If I give you my word, Jillian, you can damned well believe me.”

  * * *

  LYDDIE WALKED INTO the planning board meeting without the faintest idea of what she was going to say.

  “Place is packed,” Nadine remarked from beside her. “You’d think there was going to be a hanging.”

  Lyddie looked around the overflowing room, searching for the one face she longed to see. She strained to hear through the drone of low conversations, listening for the only voice that could soothe her and settle her and make her believe that things might actually work out.

  Try as she might, she couldn’t find J.T.

  Behind her, Nadine sighed. “I hope this crowd doesn’t slow things down.”

  Lyddie gave a quick, reflexive thought to the kids, but she knew they were fine. Tish was happy at her friend Millie’s house, and Ben had become decidedly more responsible since he’d started working with J.T.

  Sara, however, still wasn’t speaking to her.

  “Where is he?” she murmured as they picked their way toward two seats in the front row.

  “You know J.T.,” Nadine said. “Probably waiting to make a grand entrance. Swing from a chandelier or something like that.”

  Lyddie gritted her teeth and gave thanks that the only empty chairs weren’t together. She loved Nadine but couldn’t listen to her now. She needed a few minutes to catch her breath, to think, to put everything out of her mind while she figured out what in God’s name she was going to say when it was her turn to address the board.

  She sat in the molded plastic chair and pulled a notepad and pen from her purse, tapping them together in the hope it would convince her neighbors that she was deep in thought. Anything to focus her attention instead of constantly looking for—

  “Hello, Lyddie.”

  So much for hiding. She looked up to see a pair of familiar brown eyes gazing down at her. Unfortunately, they were in the wrong face.

  “Oh, hi, Iris. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “I had to come. Couldn’t miss the show, you know.”

  “What show?”

  “You’ll see.” Iris was obviously enjoying whatever secret she held. She looked more animated than Lyddie had seen her in months.

  “Is Ruth here?”

  “She’s over on the other side of the aisle.” Lyddie pointed to where Ruth sat in deep conversation with Harley Prestwick.

  “Ah, so she is. I think I’ll go remind Harley that a true gentleman always gives his seat to a lady in need.”

  “Wait.” Lyddie gulped and reached for Iris’s sleeve. “I don’t see... Where is— Is J.T. going to be here?”

  “He’ll be here.” Iris bent closer, lowering her voice. “And he’s going to show Comeback Cove a side of him they’ll never forget.”

  Oh, Lord. Lyddie slumped back in her seat and wondered how the hell this night could get any worse.

  Then Jillian walked into the room and Lyddie had her answer.

  Jillian looked like Lyddie felt—totally lost. She seemed dazed as she sat at the conference table heading the small chamber. She was as impeccably dressed as ever but moved with small jerky movements that caused her to bump her hip on the table, not once, but twice as she sat. Her hands shook as she reached for a pitcher of water. Lyddie winced, anticipating a flood, but luckily one of the other committee members grabbed it and poured for her.

  It was probably too much to hope that Jillian’s distress had nothing to do with the show Iris had promised.

  Jillian gulped her water, spoke briefly to the man who’d rescued her from imminent disaster, then slammed her wooden gavel to the sounding block. The vibrations bounced around inside Lyddie like a final reminder that this was it.

  “This meeting is now in session,” Jillian announced over the final whispers. “The items on t
he agenda are as follows...”

  She read through the list. One other sale, a couple of zoning variance requests and then—

  “Proposed transfer of properties at 321 and 333 River Road, Delaney to Brewster.”

  Whispers buzzed through the room. Jillian looked ready to pass out. Lyddie prayed for strength.

  The first two items were handled quickly. The last variance request led to a brief debate, but soon that, too, was decided. Jillian gave some final instructions to the secretary and gripped the gavel. It looked much like the death grip Lyddie had on her pen.

  “Number four, Delaney to Brewster.”

  Jillian ran through the facts of the sale as she had with all the previous items. As before, once she was finished, she asked for comments from the floor.

  A chorus of “here”s sounded behind her. Lyddie turned in her chair to see approximately twenty hands shoot into the air.

  Jillian gestured to the front of the room. “All those wishing to speak, please move to—”

  “Wait a minute, Jillian.”

  Lyddie’s heart thumped at the sound of that unforgettably deep voice booming through the chatter.

  The man making his way to the table bore so little resemblance to the one she knew that for a moment she thought she must be mistaken. She saw no shorts, no tank top, no Rollerblades. He wasn’t even in a short-sleeved dress shirt, as he’d been that day at the cemetery. Instead, he was formally clad in a navy pinstripe suit highlighted by a baby blue tie. His hair looked freshly cut. He was clean shaven, with no hint of the five o’clock shadow that had brought her such delight.

  He made it to the podium before the table, and turned to catch her eye. There, clear on his face for the world to see, was all the laughter and tenderness and understanding that had led her to fall for him. The buzzing in the room escalated.

  For one brief moment, she let herself soak in that gaze. Then she looked away.

  But she couldn’t block out the memory.

  A movement on the other side of the room drew her attention. Ruth stood, staring at J.T. with disbelief. Then a thin arm reached up from beside her and yanked her back into her seat.

  Despite herself, Lyddie snickered.

  J.T. cleared his throat. “Madam Mayor, members of the committee, members of the audience...”

  What the heck was this?

  “I know that many of you wish to comment on this sale, but I ask for your indulgence. Let me speak first. I can guarantee that when I’m done, the number of others who feel moved to do so will be greatly reduced.”

  Lyddie stared in amazement at the man addressing the crowd so easily. He’d always seemed so cocksure and certain, strutting through the town with a devil-may-care grin, but this—this was different. He stood and moved and spoke with a confidence and respect she’d never seen before.

  Though, yes. She had. When he listened patiently to her stammered proposition. Whenever they were alone together. When he comforted her as she cried over Sara.

  When he told her he loved her.

  Behind the table, Jillian nodded warily. She looked ready to keel over at any moment.

  “The committee recognizes J.T.—”

  “Justin,” he said with a hard smile. “Justin Tanner Delaney.”

  Iris’s voice floated above the crowd. “Actually, it’s Dr. Delaney.”

  Surprised mutters rose and fell like a cicada’s song.

  “He has a PhD in physics and astronomy,” Iris continued happily. Up at the podium, J.T. turned slightly pink.

  Jillian closed her eyes.

  “J.T.,” she said softly. “Dr. Delaney. You may continue.”

  “Thank you.” He offered a deferential nod to the committee before turning back to the audience.

  “Folks, we all know why I’m here. I want to sell my properties to Lydia Brewster. And I know why most of you are here—you either wanted the sale to go through weeks ago, or you want those buildings to go to someone who can bring more jobs to Comeback Cove.”

  Murmurs of agreement filled the hall.

  “Let me say, first thing, that I sympathize with you. The town’s economic growth is important. And let’s call a spade a spade. I know many of you feel the town wouldn’t be quite so eager for more jobs if not for the fallout from actions committed by me—” he paused for the briefest moment “—me, and only me, the night of the Big Burn.”

  What on earth?

  Voices rose once again. A couple of chairs scraped. Lyddie’s jaw sagged and she stared at J.T., certain she had heard him wrong, praying he wasn’t doing what she had a horrible feeling he had planned. She was probably the only person in the room who could read the assurance in the quick glance he shot at Jillian. She knew she was the only one who noticed the way Jillian bowed her head, as if in agreement. Or acceptance.

  Holy— Had Jillian been part of the group that night? Jillian?

  What had he said about the girl he’d been with? Lyddie replayed the conversation in her mind, fast and frantic, and realized he had very carefully avoided saying anything that would identify her.

  Holy crap.

  Lyddie looked at Jillian, barely holding on, and realized J.T. had lied when he said he never saw the girl again. He had crossed paths with the one person who could exonerate him, each and every day of this long summer.

  And she had a horrible feeling that he had turned around and chosen to dance with the devil to ensure this sale went through.

  Lyddie tried to catch his eye, to stop him before he said anything even more damning. But now, of course, he was doing his best to avoid looking in her direction.

  “I’m here to ask that you all let go of the issues surrounding the Burn. Yes, Comeback Cove survived some hard times back then, but, people, fixating on it and letting it be the basis of your decisions won’t do a bit of good. I hurt this town. No argument there. But letting it continue to split you apart? That’s going to do more long-term damage than anything I ever did.” He glanced down at his notes before looking to the crowd once again. “Right now, I want you to forget ancient history, and focus on something more recent. Something that happened four years ago.”

  Lyddie bolted upright. He wouldn’t. Not after everything she’d told him. Not after promising that he would never pity her.

  “Lydia Brewster is here tonight because her husband put his life on the line for Comeback Cove.”

  No. He couldn’t play the widow card. She wouldn’t let him.

  “Everything she has done since he died has been for one reason—to help his children remember him. She brought them here. Moved into the house where he grew up. Took over the coffee shop where he—”

  “Excuse me, can I say something?” Lyddie jumped to her feet. She didn’t dare look at J.T. If she did, she wasn’t sure if she would kiss him or kill him.

  Instead, she kept her gaze fixed on Jillian, who first brightened, then slumped back.

  “Sorry, Lyddie. He has three minutes left.”

  “But I—”

  “No.”

  “But—”

  “Lyddie. Sit down before I have to ask you to leave.”

  Well, hell. How was she supposed to just sit there and listen while J.T. condemned her to life as the Young Widow Brewster? Because that was exactly what was happening. As he went on, talking about Lyddie’s sacrifices, about memorializing Glenn in ways that mattered, she could feel the pity level rising ever higher. It was as if the river had overflowed and crept into the room. But she was the only one who would be lost in this flood.

  No. She wouldn’t. She was an adult who knew who she was now. But her children didn’t have that same certainty. Not yet.

  At last, he finished. He ended with a final appeal to the committee to do the right thing, to lay aside whatever feelings they might have about him and instead, focus on her and the kids. “Give Lydia Brewster exactly what she has earned,” he said to the quiet room. “Give her the chance to keep herself and her children in the building where her husband’s memor
y still lives.”

  His footsteps were the only sound as he walked back the way he’d entered and left the room. Without ever once mentioning the rest of the story. Without ever once hinting that there was more to Glenn, more to himself, than most of the people in this room would ever know.

  Jillian broke the silence. “Is there anyone else who wishes to speak?”

  Lyddie paused in anticipation of the sea of hands she’d counted before. But as she scanned the crowd, one by one the faces reddened and turned away. Not a single person approached the front.

  “Lyddie?” Jillian toyed with the gavel as if itching to smash it over someone’s head. “It’s your turn.”

  Slowly, Lyddie rose from her chair. She’d never been one to fear public speaking, but this time her legs insisted on wobbling as she walked to the front of the room. Once she made it, she took a deep breath and looked out.

  There they all were. Ruth, with tears running down a face twisted in both sorrow and fear. Iris, smiling at her in encouragement. Nadine, frowning, gesturing to her to get on with it. And around them, all the people who had come to mean so much to her, all the residents of Comeback Cove who had no idea what they had done—to J.T., to her kids, to her. All those usually kind hearts that had no idea that their good intentions were choking the life out of her.

  “Um...hi. Okay, for the record, my name is Lydia Brewster, and as J.T.—uh, as Dr. Delaney said, I want to...”

  She stopped. What did she want? It had been so clear, once. Before J.T. had loved his way into her heart as well as her bed. Before Sara’s dreams had slammed against her own wishes, leaving her uncertain what was best for anyone anymore.

  Before she saw that there was more to Glenn. To J.T. To herself.

  “I’m not sure where to begin, but...”

  But what?

  Someone in the back row shook a head. Lyddie squinted. Anna Lockhart, the teacher who never got over Glenn. Anna Lockhart, who made Tish uncomfortable with her constant comments.

  “I’m sorry. I thought I knew what to say, but then everything—”

  The crowd was growing impatient. Feet shuffled, voices whispered. They wanted her to finish so the meeting could end and they could go home and tell themselves they’d done the right thing. And every time they walked into that shop they would remember what they had done for her. Everything they had given up for her. For her and her children.