22
Jamie
The night is still,the quiet solitude is like the space between the stars. They float in the sky together, but they’re thousands of light years apart and will never, ever meet. It’s three in the morning, and the space between Gavin and I may as well be the distance between two stars.
Before, I always thought the night sky was beautiful and looking at the stars made me feel less alone. Now, though, thinking about how those stars will always gaze at each other but never meet, it makes me horribly lonely.
Bobby used to say that the stars were shards of glass scattered through space, and that someday, they’d all melt, and a new universe would be made. I guess in that scenario, the only time the stars meet is when they’re destroyed.
I kick off my quilt and the bedsheets, and glare up at the ceiling fan, lazily rotating, not sending a lick of cool air my way. The bedsprings creak and groan and I wipe at the sweat dripping down my chest. At the creaking noise, I lay still in my bed, and listen.
But no. There’s no shifting, no sighs, no noise coming from the living room.
I guess Gavin is asleep.
Why wouldn’t he be? He works twelve-hour shifts with Big Tom, he repairs the house, he fixes meals, he plays with the kids and helps with their homework, he talks with me after the kids are asleep, charming me, teasing me, learning me. Of course he sleeps well.
I grasp the wash-worn bedsheet in my fist and twist it into a tight ball.
A picture of Gavin in the cellar, his face white, his eyes glazed, flashes in my mind. When I saw him, my heart nearly exploded from my chest. I thought he’d remembered. I thought he knew what I’d done and he was shocked, stunned, devastated.
But that was my own fear coming to the surface. The truth, though, was worse. Someone hurt him when he was a kid. They hurt him so much that it made a kind, generous, strong man become overrun with fear. He couldn’t remember where he was or find his way out.
I want to go back in time and wallop whoever did that to him. I’d like to take Granny’s shotgun and deliver a talking-to. But what a goldarn hypocrite I am. I’m running the scam of the century on this man. All for a bit of just desserts.
Granny claims it’s never too late to mend. But just like the stars, if I mend things and tell Gavin the truth, the minute we come together and know each other for true, everything we have here will be destroyed.
When I was younger I destroyed a lot of things. I’m not keen to do that again.
I kick at the sheets and tug down my pajama shirt. It’s three thirty now, I may as well head out to the studio. I’ve been working on a new project, one with interlocking spheres. Azure, cerulean, lavender blue, all the colors Gavin loves. It looks like a hundred bubbles floating in the sky. A wish, every single one.
I slip into my overalls and then tiptoe across the cool wood floor. When I pass by the couch, Gavin is a dark, lean form lying on his side. I pause, take in the long line of him, Scooter on his feet. The wall clock ticks the seconds by as I hesitate. I’m only a foot away from him. The moon bathes him in cool silver light, and I have the strongest urge to reach down and run my fingers over his jaw, then kneel down and—
“Looked your fill yet?”
I squeak and jump back. “You’re awake.”
Slowly, Gavin opens his eyes, then stretches. His lips curl into a sweet smile. “How couldn’t I wake up? You’re leaning over me like creepy stalker looking to do naughty, nefarious things.”
“I was not!” I whisper.
He grins and looks me up and down, his eyes crinkling. “Too bad. I wouldn’t have minded naughty and nefarious.”
Gosh. It is so, so hard not to like him. I can practically hear Gran and Diedre yelling, he wants your honey pot! He’s not a good man! But they’re not here, they haven’t been living with him, they haven’t seen him with the kids, and they didn’t see him in the cellar.
They don’t know him.
And you do, Jamie Lynn?Gran’s voice scolds.
Maybe not.
I sigh and look toward the front door. “I’m going to my studio. You can go back to sleep. Sorry to wake you.” I take a step past the couch, but as I do, Gavin reaches out and grasps my wrist.
“Wait.” His hand burns on my bare skin, and my pulse pounds in my throat at his touch. It’s dark, it’s quiet, and he’s holding me.
“Hmm?”
His thumb strokes the inside of my wrist. “Can I come with you?”