by Mariah Dietz
“Did she say how long they’re expecting it to last?”
She sucks in a deep breath, her eyes darting to the window. “A few hours.”
A few hours.
Her words settle slowly, a million thoughts attached to them, the first one being, “How’d you find out there was a storm while you were swimming?”
Her eyebrows rise high on her forehead and her lips part. I’m sure if her skin wasn’t gray tones from the lack of light, her cheeks would be flushed. “I didn’t. I mean, they’ve been talking about a storm for a week now, and I figured it wasn’t happening. Violet and I were swimming down at the pond, and Jackson found us on his way to my parents’.”
I consider the layout of the town. “Your dad mentioned that Jackson lives over near the bluff.”
Kennedy nods. “He does. Over by the small motel you see coming into town.”
“Cutting through the woods would take him twice as long as going through town.” My heart hammers, knowing this isn’t the first time he’s taken the same long path.
“Who knows? It’s Jackson.” She brushes a stray raindrop from her face and grins.
“Something about the guy is just off.”
She pulls her head back, her lips falling into a frown. “Like what?”
“He’s like your shadow. Even that day in the parking lot, he was there.”
“There’s only one grocery store in town.”
“But why was he there?”
Kennedy raises her eyebrows, looking at me like I’m crazy. “You think he’s following me?”
“Think about it!”
A smile teases her lips. “I am. But this is Haven Point. I see everyone a couple of times a day.”
“You don’t find it strange that he randomly just appears?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t. I see him all the time because we work together, and he used to swim in the pond with Grace and me. Believe me, he doesn’t have any negative or bad intentions.”
“Then what are his intentions?”
She hesitates, the delicate skin between her eyes wrinkling with thought. “You have to remember that we’ve known each other forever, and he’s been working for my parents for years. Jackson’s like an honorary member of my family. Sure, bad things happen in situations like this—I get that. But Jackson’s a good guy.”
I’m inclined to tell her how many times I’ve heard from victims and their families how great they thought a person was before they did something terrible, but then I consider Coen’s remark of me creating an enemy for him.
“I bet it’s really difficult to trust anyone when you’ve seen and heard what you have.” Kennedy’s tone is soft and gentle, conveying an understanding that has me leaning back on my heels.
The truth is, every day my trust grows thinner.
“I bet it’s really hard since you can’t tell many people about it, either.”
It’s as though she’s crawled into my goddamn mind.
She drops a single shoulder, and the tail of her braid falls behind her back, elongating the curve of her neck. “You know how when you were a kid the worst part about being in trouble was seeing the disappointment on your mom’s face? That look like you’d personally hurt her and damaged the way she saw you? Well, Haven Point is kind of like that. This town is so small and so full of history that if someone does something, everyone knows. Everyone. I think that’s why crime doesn’t happen here. It’s not because it’s sleepy and forgotten, but because no one wants to disappoint the town. No one wants to tarnish the reputation or breach the trust that’s been created.”
“Sometimes it’s hard to remember that people are good.”
Kennedy presses her lips into a thin line. “Not everyone is.”
I expel a deep breath. “Isn’t that the truth.”
“But you can let your guard down while you’re here, especially with Jackson. He’s good people.” Another raindrop follows her hairline and drips to her shoulder.
“You’re soaked,” I tell her.
Her full lips curve into that smile that makes it difficult for me to think straight. “So are you.” She waves a hand over me.
“Come on, I’ve got some gym shorts and a T-shirt you can wear.” I lead her over to the small dresser against the far wall. I hand her a dark DC Police Department shirt and a pair of mesh shorts along with the flashlight. “There’s a restroom right through there.” I point toward a narrow white door behind us.
She turns, and I reach for another clean shirt to replace mine.
“Are you sure about this?”
I look over my shoulder to see her paused in front of the bathroom door. I’ve already tossed my wet shirt on top of the hamper. Kennedy’s gaze travels down my chest, and I wait until she’s finished before asking, “Sure about what?”
She blinks several times and then looks over my shoulder instead of at me. I wonder if I affect her as much as she does me.
“I don’t know.” Kennedy moves to slide her glasses up again, only to realize they still aren’t there. “I intended to just stop by, not stay for several hours. I could—”
“That’s okay. It’s nice to have someone here.”
Her head tilts as if she’s trying to read my sincerity.
“It’s nice having you here,” I tell her.
She smiles, and though it’s not as wide as others I’ve seen, there’s a genuineness and sincerity that makes it my new favorite.
Once the door is closed behind her, I lift an arm to smell myself and cringe. It was hotter than hell in the house today with so many people. Even with the air conditioning cranked high and box fans running, the air couldn’t manage to keep up with all the work we were doing. In addition to that, there’s no job messier than hanging drywall. The dust managed to get everywhere.
Kennedy steps out of the bathroom with my shirt falling to the middle of her thighs, and suddenly a shower is even more necessary—a very cold shower. Her blonde hair looks almost gold in contrast to the dark shirt, and her long, lean legs tease with the idea of being bare. “I, um . . . just left my shorts on.”
She doesn’t admit that mine were too big for her, just carefully places the folded shorts on the corner of my bed. I take three more passes over her legs before I can lift my gaze all the way to her face. Her lips are pulled into another thin line, exposing her discomfort.
“You’re different,” I tell her. “You’re like those Sour Patch candies, where one bite is so sweet and the next is so sour.”
Once again, her eyelashes flutter with thought.
Perhaps it’s because my job requires so much vagueness and solitude, a complete contrast to how I was raised and who I am, that I am openly telling her, “I’ve never met anyone like you.”
Her chin tilts and her eyes slit. “How have I been sour?”
I chuckle. “You know exactly when you’re being sour. You purse your lips”—I point toward my mouth—“just like you are right now. And your eyes become laser beams of pure, unadulterated hatred.”
“You cause this”—she waves a hand over her face, searching for the right word—“sourness.” She closes her eyes, like saying the word was a chore. “No one else in Haven Point would tell you I’m difficult or sour.”
I smile. “I know.”
She glares at me.
“When you’re being sour, you’re usually the most honest with me. I like that.”
Kennedy’s scowl softens, revealing hints of her sweeter side.
“I know you said you weren’t hungry, but if you change your mind, please help yourself. I’m going to take a really fast shower.”
“You should be able to get hot water. The tanks usually last at least eight hours.”
“I’m kind of hoping it’s cold,” I admit.
Chapter 15
Kennedy
My heart hammers erratically in my chest.
I should leave.
I never should have come.
Violet is probably feeling like I�
�ve abandoned her. She drove all this way, and I ran in the opposite direction.
Grace is likely going to have a nightmare because our schedule has taken such a wide detour—something that often triggers her negative thoughts to devour every positive one.
Outside the sky is getting darker by the second, and the rain is coming down so hard and fast, it’s difficult to see anything aside from the bright lightning flashes overhead.
I drop my head back and take a deep breath. In addition to Vi and my family, I’m sure Jackson’s annoyed. He came to check on me, and I left him, too.
Another glance out the window, and I make the resolution that as soon as the rain eases, I’ll leave. If I go now, they’ll only be more upset with me because of the potential risks. I take a deep breath and look around, taking in the space. It’s smaller than I had expected, not covering more than half of the garage. The shiplap walls have been painted white, and the floor is covered in wide-planked oak boards. Opposite of the door we came in is a queen bed with a whitewashed headboard and two small tables on either side of it. A dresser sits against another wall with a TV above it. Four wood-framed windows all have curtain rods but no treatments, giving the space an unfinished and bare appearance. Somehow, I find it welcoming in contrast to the chaos in my own current bedroom.
The water turns off, and Joey’s sentiment about hoping for a cold shower has me wishing he’d stayed in there longer. I’m not ready to try and navigate what’s between us.
Within moments, he opens the bathroom door, releasing the faint aroma of cologne and soap to compete against the scents from the Chinese food. He’s wearing a plain white V-neck T-shirt and a pair of navy-blue shorts that hit him at his knees.
Joey drops a handful of laundry into the hamper, and I watch the muscles in his shoulders roll. He grabs the bag of food sitting next to the TV. “Sorry there aren’t many options for sitting,” he says, taking a seat on the bed.
“Oh, it’s no problem.” I shake my head, looking around to see if a table would even fit. “This space is actually really beautiful.”
Joey looks up from where he’s emptying the small takeout containers across the bed, his brown eyes bright with the humor his lips allude to. “Did you look through my drawers and nightstands while I was in the shower?”
“No!” I cry. “I would never!”
He chuckles. “You should’ve. I totally would’ve looked through your bedroom if you would’ve have left me in it.”
“You would not.”
Joey’s lips form a line and he nods. “Yup.”
“Good to know. You can consider yourself permanently banned.”
“I didn’t know I’d been invited.” His eyebrows dance high with insinuation.
“It’s hard for me to believe you have so many sisters when you act like such a jerk sometimes.”
His eyes stretch. “What did I do?” He laughs because he knows. He totally knows.
Still, I tell him, “You twist words.”
His wide smile distracts me as he laughs. “I learned that from my sisters. They also sharpened my skills of sarcasm, rolling my eyes, and paying far too much attention to other people’s emotions. Don’t tell my brother, but he might have been my saving grace because I finally had someone to beat up and compete against.”
I’m laughing before I can stop it, and Joey’s shoulders fall as he joins along. “So are you telling me you’re all talk?”
His lips curl into a grin. “Maybe. But do you really want to find out?” His brown eyes are startlingly intense and serious as he stares at me, showing his question isn’t rhetorical.
I keep his gaze, uncertain of how to reply. My logical thoughts are debating if he’s referring to snooping through my room—and all of my emotional thoughts are hoping he’s not.
“When are you planning to move back to Boston?”
His sudden question has me blinking away thoughts in an attempt to catch up. “Boston?”
Joey nods. “You said you wanted to go back. Is that still the plan?”
“Yeah . . . I mean, I think so.”
“You think so?” His responses are coming too fast.
“I don’t know . . .” I sit on the edge of his bed and drop my chin into my palm. “Being back here makes me feel like I’ve totally failed at this adulting thing. I mean, I’m living back at home with my parents and sister. My room is the same as it was when I moved out over a decade ago, and so is my bathroom and the rest of the house. It’s like I’ve entered a time warp.”
“That doesn’t explain why you’re now considering moving back.”
“I just . . .” I take a deep breath. “I’m not.”
“You’ve missed Haven Point, haven’t you?” His eyes narrow with thought.
“Yes, but it’s also really weird being back. I don’t feel like I fit here anymore. So many things have changed—so many people have changed. It’s like they resent me being back. Like me leaving was the same as me turning my back on them, even though they all were so excited for me when I did.”
“Time changes everything. I’m sure you’ve changed a lot, too.”
“It doesn’t feel like I’ve changed at all. Being back has really shown me that.”
“Why didn’t you choose to stay in Boston, then? Why not stay with your friend or something?”
“You asked me this before,” I remind him.
“Are you really here for you? Or are you here for Grace?”
I sigh heavily. “I thought I was here for me. I mean, I definitely needed help. My financial situation was getting grim. But Grace being here was a welcomed excuse.”
“And now?”
“Now leaving seems like it would be almost cruel.”
“You can’t change the course of your life for someone else. If living in Boston is what’s going to make you happy, you need to do that. Otherwise, you’ll resent her and this entire town.”
I swiftly shake my head. “You’re forgetting that when I was a kid, I never wanted to leave.”
“Would you open your bakery if you stayed?”
My weight rests on the balls of my feet because I’m barely seated on the bed, my shoulders tight. I shrug and then slowly nod as the idea blossoms in my mind.
Joey stares at me silently, then smiles. “I bet you’re a good baker.”
“What makes you say that?”
He lifts a shoulder. “A hunch. Plus, I’ve heard a few rumors about your brownies.”
Pride fills me—a decade has passed since I’ve baked brownies for anyone in Haven Point.
Joey suddenly moves his attention to the takeout cartons and begins opening them.
The wind howls, and the rain goes from falling on the roof to splattering against the windows.
“It’s really coming down out there,” I say.
Joey nods, opening the last box. “Is Grace struggling with being back?”
“Are you indirectly asking me about what you heard, again?”
He grabs a plastic fork and a pair of chopsticks and holds them out to me, his gaze once again heavy on me. “I wasn’t trying to spy on you guys. I didn’t even know you were there. I was going for a jog, and heard a scream. I was trying to help.”
“You saw it all?”
Joey nods. “I was going to head back because you seemed to have the situation under control, and I didn’t want to interrupt things or chance making them worse, but then she didn’t come above water, and you looked terrified.”
“So you jumped in?”
His head tilts as he shrugs. My heart spins.
“Has she done that before?”
“You have to be more specific. A lot happened that day.”
“Is she suicidal?”
Once more, I reach another crossroad. The highway of guilt is heavily dotted with lies and regrets, and the highway of honesty looks nearly lethal because of the slick spills of responsibility coating so much of it.
“I don’t know what you know about bipolar disorder. For some r
eason, the general public is under the false assumption that everyone diagnosed with it is a danger to themselves and society. The diagnosis has such an ugly stigma surrounding it.” I rub my lips together, processing memories of the school board wanting to talk to my parents about the safety risks Grace could potentially pose. “People with bipolar disorder aren’t monsters. Grace never hurt anyone or wanted to hurt herself, it’s just her moods fluctuate greatly—and really fast sometimes.” I fiddle with the back of an earring, struggling to keep years of secrets securely put away in the confines of my memories. Maybe it’s the rhythm of the rain or the dim lighting, or maybe it’s just Joey, but for the first time in my life, I want to share every single story with him. “Grace struggled with certain things, but for the most part her moods were controlled, until she got in a relationship with a man who told her that the medications she took to help moderate her moods impacted who she was. He thought her differences should be celebrated and allowed, not masked. And in some ways, I agreed with him. She had told me that she couldn’t fully feel an emotion while taking her medications. Like something would happen, and she knew she should be happy or sad or scared, but she wouldn’t fully experience it.” I search Joey’s face for understanding. “Can you imagine knowing you should be happy but not feeling the emotions that come with it? It didn’t seem fair. But my parents were really against her going off them, and so Grace shut everyone out and did it anyway.
“When she was young and experiencing a high period, she wanted to do things like bake a cake or race me across the pond or pick up every single pine needle in the yard, things that weren’t risky or dangerous for anyone. But I never saw any of her highs when she stopped taking her meds as an adult. I was in college, and she was living in Wisconsin, but once in a while she’d call me and start talking a million miles an hour. She once tried to explain her highs to me, telling me it was like watching four shows all at the same time, and I believe it. Her mind would go a million miles an hour and in so many directions, it was impossible to keep up with her. She’d be talking about what she wanted to accomplish and what she was worried about and how things at her work were doing, and then veer over to my schooling, then Mom and Dad and Haven Point, and then she’d start telling me about things she heard in the news and her yoga class.”