Exception

by Mariah Dietz

  Chapter 7

  Joey

  “You know I think you’re crazy, right?” Arianna asks.

  I use my shoulder to hold my cell phone to my ear as I fill a laundry basket with dirty clothes. “You remind me of it daily.”

  My sister laughs. “Is it terrible? I can’t imagine living out in the boondocks.”

  I rest the filled basket on my bed. “Don’t tell Coen, but it’s actually not that bad.”

  “Are you giving him a hard time?”

  “Hell yes. I agreed to come down here to help do some painting and shit like that, not tear down entire walls and construct new ones.”

  “Ma says you’re earning yourself a lot of good karma.”

  “Well, she’s right.”

  “I don’t know, Joe. If I was given time off and getting paid for it, I think I’d be telling Coen good luck and flying to some tiny beach town where the sun is hot and the drinks never stop.”

  “You talk a tough game, but I know you’re a softy.”

  “Says the man who’s stuck in Haven Point doing construction for his baby brother.”

  “Or maybe this just proves Catholic guilt is a real thing.”

  Arianna and I share a laugh.

  “How are things going for you? What’s new?” I ask.

  Ari hesitates. “Not much. Work’s been crazy. I’m going out on a blind date this Friday, though.”

  “Who is he? Who set you up?” My questions fire off in rapid succession.

  “Easy, Cujo,” she warns. “He works with one of my close friends, and Mia already pulled his background. He’s clean.”

  “You mean he hasn’t been caught.”

  “Not everyone’s a criminal, Joe.”

  “Just make sure you pack mace in your purse.” The line is silent for several seconds. “And stop rolling your eyes,” I warn her.

  Ari chuckles. “What about you? Has anyone caught your eye out there in the boonies?”

  “Nah. I’m not even paying attention to anyone.”

  “No country girl trying to steal your heart?”

  “Nope.” I pop the “p” and lift the clothing basket again, ready to sign off on the call. Talking to my twin sister about dating is nearly equivalent to having a root canal.

  “That guy you’re down in Haven Point because of—Holden—he’s supposed to be on the news next week with his first exclusive. He’s going to be telling his story.”

  I grumble a string of profanities and drop the basket, this time to the wood floor, where it makes a satisfying thump. “I can’t believe people can be so naive.”

  “Come on, you remember that woman who was eaten last year by her pet python. Common sense is a luxury these days.”

  I rub the back of my neck, which is growing increasingly tense as our conversation continues.

  “Be sure to send the specifics of your date and the guy you’re going to meet to Mia or Sophie or me or Dad or all of us.”

  “Because that sets the scene for romance.”

  “Oh, and punch him in the nose if he doesn’t open doors for you.”

  Her laughter filters through the line, making me smile. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Love you, Ari.”

  “Love you, too, Joe.”

  I hang up and toss my phone onto the bed. Coen’s at work, and Ella took Hayden into town to go shopping for the house remodel. The mice have been exterminated, and yesterday we finished filling three dumpsters with the old Sheetrock and insulation we tore out. I had debated driving home to DC today to get a break from this place, but since my truck is still in the shop—two weeks later—I’m stuck.

  With my laundry in the washer, I slide on a pair of flip-flops and head outside. It’s still too hot and too humid to be comfortable, but hearing about Holden has me restless. I begin walking down a trail Coen pointed out that he said would loop around the edge of town.

  Dragonflies with wings that are black and white fly past, and squirrels race through the trees. I stop when a subtle movement catches my eye. Slowly, I scan back over the area, searching for what had caught my attention. It takes two passes before I see the doe, stopped near a bush that she’s nearly hidden behind. Her ears rotate, listening for predators while she grazes. I take the opportunity to look around, noting how green everything is from the frequent afternoon showers that generally last for about an hour before passing through. The longer I study the space, the more I notice. Lizards and birds, giant spider webs, and then I see fishing line. Sweeping it up with my fingers, I follow where it’s snagged on bushes and trees, gathering it as I go up a small bluff that looks out over a large pond.

  “Well, what do you know?”

  I shove the fishing line into my jeans pocket and head toward the water, peeling off my T-shirt as I go. The water is murky but clearly used based on the multiple footprints surrounding the bank. I leave my shirt in a patch of shade and make quick work of releasing my buttoned down fly, and hook my thumbs into my waistband.

  “You might want to leave those on.”

  My head snaps in the direction of the pond, spotting familiar blonde hair. My librarian friend.

  “Snapping turtles are known to live in here, and they might think you’re offering them lunch.”

  I pull my thumbs from the band of my boxer briefs. Of all people, it would be her I’d run into when I’m already annoyed.

  She treads water, looking from me to the nearest bank clearly unsure of what she should do.

  “Do you want me to . . .” I tilt my head back toward the woods I emerged from.

  “That’s up to you.” The water fans her hair around her shoulders, which look several shades darker than the last time I saw her a couple of weeks ago.

  I fasten the bottom button of my jeans.

  “But . . . it’s a public pond, if you want to swim. With this heat, you have to find something to do indoors or find water.” She swims backward, her gaze still on me, waiting for my decision.

  I look around for a pile of her clothes and find a pair of tennis shoes nearly hidden beneath some folded clothes.

  “Are you really wondering if I’m naked?”

  My eyes cut back to her, wondering if my thoughts had been that obvious.

  “Don’t think so highly of yourself, Mr. DeLuca.” A smile rounds her cheeks before she plunges into the water and begins swimming. She remains close to the surface so I can see her bright-red bikini, and before I can consider what I’m doing, my jeans are in a wadded pile by my shirt and shoes.

  I jump into the water and am shocked to find how cold the water is as I slice deeper and deeper into its depths. Bright-green eyes are staring at me when I surface, shaking the water from my hair.

  “It feels good, right?”

  “I might enjoy it more if I were a polar bear.”

  She tips her head back as she laughs. “It’s not that bad. Once you get used to it, you don’t even notice.”

  “Notice what, the frostbite?”

  “Oh, come on, I heard you’re from DC. You know what cold feels like.” Her arms continue pushing the water to keep her afloat.

  “What else have you heard about me?”

  She shrugs. “That you work narcotics and really like blueberry pie.” She shares the information without hesitation. “People talk, and when you’re in a town this small, people notice a lot.”

  “I used to work narcotics,” I correct her. “And you still haven’t discovered my age, shoe size, or phone number. Clearly your stalking skills are lacking.”

  Once again, the air fills with her laughter; it’s soft and invites me to join her. “You definitely aren’t lacking confidence.”

  “Believe me, I have no reason to lack confidence.”

  Her eyebrows shoot up her forehead, probably debating whether to take my words as an innuendo. Not knowing better myself, I continue treading the water, watching her lips tip from a frown into a smile, then finally into a calm look, which I can tell she’s trying to maintain.

>   “We all have weaknesses,” she finally says. “Even you.”

  “Weaknesses have little to do with confidence.”

  “In my experience the two often work to camouflage the other.” Her eyes grow bright when I realize her insinuation.

  “You want me to take off my underwear so you can grab them and run away, don’t you?”

  Green eyes turn playful, smiling though she maintains a stoic look.

  “I bet guys have fallen for that before, haven’t they?”

  She shrugs, a smile finally hitting her lips.

  “It’s been known to happen a time or two.” Her smile grows wider, distracting me from discerning whether she’s joking or not.

  “I bet many poor saps have fallen victim to your smile.” As soon as the words are out, her lips slip, and she no longer fights to remain in one place, drifting back a good foot.

  “Where are your glasses? I miss the librarian look.”

  She ignores the dig. “I put in my contacts.”

  We both stretch our arms as we swim forward. “Do you always go by Jelly Bean?”

  Her eyes roll, a faint smile tugging her lips back north. “Only here in Haven Point.”

  “Only here?” I ask, my eyebrows rising with question.

  “I’ve been living in Boston for the last ten years.”

  “Is that where your accent went?”

  A smile hits her eyes, and I notice how impossibly long her lashes are. “Believe me, it still comes back. Alcohol, anger, and exhaustion all bring that twang back.” She laughs at herself, and I smile.

  “When did you move back?”

  Kennedy’s eyes pinch at the outer corners. “You sure ask a lot of questions.” She gives me the side-eye, and I think she’s done talking to me. “A few weeks ago,” she says after a couple of seconds.

  “A few weeks!” My eyes grow with surprise.

  She nods, tilting her chin back so her hair falls into the water.

  “Why’d you come back? Did you miss it?”

  “More like I couldn’t afford Boston anymore.” Her blonde hair appears darker as it fans around her.

  “It’s an expensive city.”

  Her nod turns into a shrug. “But worth it.”

  “So you’re back living here permanently?”

  Her eyes narrow with a wince. “Just a couple of months.”

  “You don’t want to stay?”

  She lifts both eyebrows, and then Kennedy falls below the surface. She pops up several feet away and runs a hand down her face. “What are you doing in Haven Point?”

  “Do you really think it’s fair to ask me a question when you don’t answer mine?”

  “You’ve been interrogating me since you got in. Besides, I thought you were a detective. Don’t you know everything about everyone? Isn’t that why you run laps through downtown?” Her grin appears, and I mentally trace the outline of her lips, focusing on the distinct arch and fall of her top lip. The first day I saw her, red lipstick had enunciated her perfect lips—a feature I rarely focus on. Kennedy’s lips have been in my thoughts for days, the image of them like an imprint on my brain.

  “You know more about me than you let on.”

  Her grin grows into a smile. “Maybe . . .” I can’t tell if she’s flirting with me or simply has one of those personalities where words and actions can easily be misconstrued for being something more than benign friendliness.

  “Maybe?”

  Her cheeks somehow pull higher, enjoying this moment.

  “You’re holding all the cards,” I tell her.

  She drops her chin to hide her quiet laughter. “You say that like this is a game.”

  “Is it?”

  She stops swimming, and I realize her feet can touch as she begins moving out of the water. Disappointment weighs in my chest with the realization she’s leaving. I watch her, hope building as she walks in the opposite direction of where her pile of clothes are stacked. She continues up an incline, where the bank disappears into a steep drop covered in grass. Her hair clings to her back and shoulders in long ropes that I follow over the wide band of fabric covering her modest chest. I continue down to her toned thighs and calves, noting a long scar along her kneecap.

  “What are you doing?” I finally ask when she stops.

  She lifts a slender shoulder. “Waiting for you to be done checking me out.”

  “Who’s not lacking confidence?”

  When Kennedy laughs, her face turns up toward the sky, allowing me the opportunity to trace her side profile. “I figured this might make your game more fun. For every jump off this rope swing, the other person has to answer a question.”

  For a moment I think she must be kidding. But Kennedy grasps the rope and pulls it back. “You really want to know me better, don’t you?” I ask.

  “We don’t have to play. This is my first day off, and I could really use a nap.”

  I stare at her, attempting to read her intentions, what’s motivated her to show me this playful side. Is this simply a game? Am I a game?

  Her gaze remains focused on me, waiting for my decision. “Okay.” I nod. “What’s your question?”

  Her chest rises as she sucks in a deep breath, and slowly her hands slip farther down the rope, and her gaze travels to the other side of the pond. “Is Coen your only family here?”

  “Him and his girlfriend, and her son, Hayden.”

  She waits for more.

  “The rest of my family all lives up in the DC area.”

  In one fluid motion she kicks off from the ground and wraps her legs around the rope as it swings forward. She falls into the water with a splash.

  I follow Kennedy’s path up to where the rope swing still sways.

  “There’s a stick up there you can use if you can’t reach the rope!” she yells.

  Holding onto a branch, I lean forward, grasp the rope, and sit back on my heels. “Are you dating Jackson?”

  She pulls her head back several inches. “Jackson Jackson? As in the Jackson who works for my parents?”

  I nod.

  “Your detective skills need sharpening. I barely know him anymore.” She tilts her head toward a risen shoulder. “I mean, I know him, but I don’t. We haven’t hung out in years.”

  “I thought small towns talk?”

  “That sounds an awful lot like a question . . .”

  Shaking my head, I grip the rope tighter and swing through the air, dropping when I’m above the water.

  When I surface, Kennedy’s smiling. “It’s fun, right?”

  “Is that really the question you want to ask for your next jump?”

  Kennedy laughs, trudging through the water and up the bank to the rope swing.

  She faces me. “How long are you in Haven Point for?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “That doesn’t count as an answer.” Her chin drops as she looks at me with annoyance.

  “I really don’t.”

  She continues staring at me, waiting for an answer I don’t have. “Since you didn’t give an actual answer, I get a new question.”

  “You’re making these rules up as you go!”

  Kennedy shakes her head, fighting a smirk. “I’m pretty sure in the original game if you don’t do the truth, you have to do a dare.”

  “I told you the truth.”

  “I’m all about specificity.”

  I close my eyes to stop them from rolling. “What’s your question, sweetheart?”

  “Joe or Joey?”

  “I don’t know, I kind of liked when you called me Mr. DeLuca.”

  She drops the rope with one hand and flips me the bird. My stomach clenches with laughter that she doesn’t reciprocate. “Either,” I tell her. “I go by both.”

  “But which do you prefer?”

  “Are you asking so you can call me by the opposite?”

  She stares at me, her face void of emotion.

  “Joey,” I tell her. “I prefer Joey.”

  With
one swoop, she’s down, and I’m already heading up the hill to retrieve the rope.

  “Did you run into my truck on purpose the other day?”

  She juts her chin forward, an expression I’ve seen her do a couple of times now, but unlike previous times, I laugh.

  “You’re kidding, right? You really think I ran into you on purpose? I didn’t even know it was you.”

  I don’t risk asking another question or a follow-up, knowing she’s going to be a stickler after that question.

  When Kennedy reaches for the rope, she tilts her head in thought. “What exactly do you do? I mean, is your job like the millions of cop shows?”

  I shake my head swiftly. “Not even a little.” I take a deep breath “In the task force I’m in, we handle abuse, child neglect, and sexual assaults. There are far too many cases and not enough manpower, so something, or someone, is constantly falling through the cracks. But I spend most of my time talking to people and trying to piece together fragments of memories that fear has skewed.”

  Kennedy drops into the water, and when I make it to the top of the hill, I stare down at her slicking her hair back and ask, “What was your job back in Boston?”

  “Retail and the occasional substitute teaching job.”

  “You’re a teacher?”

  She nods and then stops, her shoulders lifting. “Sort of . . .”

  “Sort of?”

  “Well, I’ve never been hired to be a teacher, so I don’t know if you can actually consider me one.”

  “You graduated with a teaching degree, right?”

  She nods. “Yeah, but—”

  “And you’ve worked as a substitute teacher, right?”

  She rolls her eyes as she nods.

  “So why don’t you teach full time?”

  “You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to find a teaching job right now. I’m overqualified and under-experienced, which means I receive a lot of nicely written decline letters.”

  “Why didn’t you stay here in Haven Point and teach? Why move to Boston? I’d think you could find something here.”

  Kennedy pulls her lips in, and for a second I wait for her to remind me that my question’s been answered and she’s already allowed me grace with clarifying details; then I realize I’ve seen this current expression as well—she’s thinking about something, lost in thought. “It’s complicated,” she tells me. “Besides, right now, it doesn’t matter. I’m back where I started.”