Chapter 20

Kennedy

 

 

It’s been a week since I began sleeping in Joey’s bed.

Seven nights he’s met me outside of my house, his back against the same chestnut tree. I often wonder if he’s becoming as addicted to this new schedule or realizes how much I am.

Seven nights I’ve gone over in my own clothes because his oversize T-shirts are far more comfortable than the camisoles and shorts I’ve been wearing for the past decade, thinking I looked feminine and sexy—even if there have been few people to look sexy for. Now, I opt to lie in a T-shirt that smells like laundry detergent and focus on the notes of Joey’s cologne staining my skin in the most delicious manner with scents of citrus and then cedar, followed by the underlying fragrance of leather. It’s intoxicating, and addictive. When his eyes roam unabashedly over my body, taking in each detail—I feel sexy. And when I see him the next day wearing the same T-shirt he slowly peeled from my body, I’m once again reminded of his hands running along my bare skin and the trails his lips followed over.

A dust rag hits me in the face, falling to the counter and dispersing my thoughts of Joey.

“What are you doing?” my sister asks.

I look to Grace and shake my head, pretending to act clueless—like I hadn’t been imagining Joey naked or counting down the hours until I climb back into his bed. “Nothing. I’m just tired.”

Blue eyes narrow with scrutiny. “You have this goofy look on your face.”

“Thanks . . .”

Grace laughs. “Seriously, though, what were you thinking about?”

“Nothing. I’m just tired.”

She smiles. Once upon a time, I thought I knew my sister. Believed I understood what made her tick. It’s taken me a decade of not living beside her and seeing her be torn apart by a stranger—and later, by memories of that stranger—to realize how much of her is what I remember her being like rather than who she’s become.

Though it’s difficult for me to admit, there are sides of Grace that I don’t understand and others that I don’t even know. This smile reveals one of those sides. I don’t know how to interpret it. Is she being playful? Teasing? Why does it look like she’s laughing at me because I’m the only one who doesn’t know a secret?

And then it dawns on me that she isn’t the only person who is a quandary for me. Dad has always been difficult—if not impossible—for me to read.

As quickly as the realization hits me, Grace is reaching for the company credit card that we keep in the cash register drawer. “I’m off to pick up lunch.”

“I thought Mom was bringing something in.” For years, my parents have either packed lunches, gone home in shifts, or Mom brings something hot in for us all to eat. It used to be a way to save money, and now it’s just habit.

Grace shakes her head. “Burgers and fries today.”

“From Frosty King?”

“Of course.”

My eyes grow with excitement. “Will you get me a strawberry milkshake?”

“Already ordered it.” Grace smiles, and like the sand shifting beneath a wave, so does my sister, and suddenly I recognize this smile—recognize her.

“Thanks.”

She winks and heads toward the door.

I should feel settled—relieved by the fact my sister and oldest friend isn’t the stranger I sometimes fear she is. But it creates a nagging in my head that is impossible to ignore.

The bell over the door rings, and I shift my thoughts aside and smile as Ella walks in.

“Hi, Kennedy.” Her smile is friendly, but there’s a shyness present that I haven’t noticed before.

“Hey!” I sound too happy and am likely smiling wider than a casual greeting warrants, but I can’t help it. I’ve been sleeping with Joey in the apartment over her garage, and something about this has me feeling both guilty and nervous.

She quickly pushes her dark hair behind an ear, her smile widening.

Mom comes in from the back room, smiling as well. “Hi, Ella. How have you been?”

“Good morning, Mrs. Wallace!” She turns her smile to my mom. “I’m great, thanks largely in part to you guys! That team of people you sent over to help install the insulation sped things up dramatically. They finished dry walling, and the taping and mudding is all done and dry, so I’m here to pick out some paint colors.”

Like anytime Mom receives a compliment, she beams. “I’m so glad we were able to give you a hand. I’m sure moving was hard enough. We wanted you guys to get situated and have it start feeling like your home.” Mom walks over to Ella and takes her arm. “We have paint samples and swatches you can borrow that have all the colors, so you can decide at home with the correct lighting.” She leads her to the painting section, which is on the opposite side of the counter, and starts pulling large decks of samples down.

“Painting is a lot of work. Are the guys going to be doing it?” Mom asks.

Ella looks from my mom to me and then back, tucking her dark hair behind an ear again. “The guys are working on fixing the fence. It got broken in the windstorm, so I’m actually going to get started on it and see how it goes.” Ella smiles sheepishly. “I was a single mom for a long time, and painting was one of the DIY projects I learned to do pretty quickly on my own.”

I’ve never considered Ella being a single parent. Coen fits in so seamlessly with her and Hayden that it’s difficult for me to imagine him having not been a part of their family.

“You’re going to paint all by yourself?” Mom asks.

Ella smiles, accepting my mother’s onslaught of questions. “Well, they’ll be around if I need help.”

“Kennedy will go with you!”

Mom’s suggestion leaves me speechless. My eyes bore into her shoulder, pleading with her to stop.

But Mom ignores me. “She used to help her dad paint when we hired out projects. She’s great at cutting and making sure there are no drips or lines. Plus, it would be good for her to get out and make a new friend. Since she’s been back, all she does is work or go swimming.”

Or sleep with Ella’s future brother-in-law . . .

“I don’t want to intrude.” My voice sounds raspy, my words uncertain, because the last thing I want to do is offend Ella.

Mom drops her chin, looking at me over the top of her gold-rimmed glasses. “Nonsense. This will be great.”

Ella smiles timidly and glances toward the door. My embarrassment grows with her clear discomfort. “That would be great.”

If this were any other resident here in Haven Point, I’d likely be considering my missed milkshake and burger, which Dad would likely polish off without guilt. But all I can think of is how incredibly awkward this is going to be.

Mom talks to Ella about dimensions and paint finishes as Ella selects a color.

“I’ll go grab my things.” I head to the back and find Jackson sharpening the blades of a lawn mower, his back to me as I enter the office.

“Hey.”

His hands continue down the long blade with practice and ease as he looks back at me. “Hey, Jelly Bean.”

“You’ve got a whole list of random projects today, huh?”

He chuckles. “You’ve just described every day that ends with a Y.”

I smile, but a picture on my dad’s desk catches my eye. It’s a picture of him and Grace together, a matching expression in their eyes.

“You okay?”

His question has me jerking my attention free from the image that’s now stained to the back of my mind. I nod once, twice, and then stop, attempting a smile that feels too fragile to be genuine. “Is my dad difficult for you to read? I mean, do his moods ever confuse you?” I attempt to keep my tone high so I don’t expose the emotions that are milling through me.

Jackson sets his tool and the blade down, seeing right through my facade. “What do you mean?”

I move my gaze to the boxes around us, knowing that if I keep his gaze, I won’t be able to continue the conversation but will instead make a joke or change the subject. “Sometimes I feel like I barely know my dad.”

“I think that’s a normal feeling to have about our parents.” Jackson’s light brown eyes are, framed with russet eyelashes. I don’t think I’ve ever studied him this closely before, and realizing this makes my gut twinge with guilt. Grace is right; I’m constantly looking ahead and thinking of what’s coming next.

Jackson chuckles and lifts the tool to sharpen the blade again. “You’re trying to work through too many thoughts, Jelly Bean. Your poor mind looks like it’s about to combust.”

I try to laugh with him, though my lips and lungs and even my throat want to reject the action. “You’re right.” I release a deep breath. “Well, I’m off.”

His eyes jump to mine with question.

“Mom’s trying to make me friends.”

“What?”

“It’s a long story. But if you can, will you try to save my milkshake? Hide it behind the ice-cube trays.” I grab my purse.

“Where are you going?”

“To paint.”

His eyes narrow as he shakes his head. “You’ve got to learn to say no, Jelly Bean.”

I laugh. This time the action is freeing, easy. “You’re so right.” I move toward the door. “Don’t forget my milkshake!”

In the front of the store, Mom is standing by three gallons of paint. “It might rain this afternoon, so just call Dad or me, and one of us can come get you.”

I hide the wince her words inflict with another forced smile. I’m pretty sure she’s looking to the past as much as I’ve been focused on the future.

“Where’s Ella? Does she need anything else? Drop cloths? Brushes? Rollers?”

Mom returns my smile, hers genuine. “We already got all that stuff bagged up. She’s just putting it in her car now.”

“All right, well, I’ll see you guys tonight, then.” I grab the paint cans and ignore the pinch from their metal handles against my palm as I head toward the door. Ella swings it open as I draw near and reaches for one of the paint cans. I follow her to her car.

“You know you really don’t have to come help me paint, right? I feel terrible.”

“Please don’t feel bad. This isn’t your fault. I feel bad for you because my mom is essentially forcing you to be my friend.”

Ella laughs and loads the paint cans into the trunk of her car. “Don’t worry, it could be so much worse. My mom was setting me up for blind dates for the past couple of years because she didn’t think I could find a guy to date on my own.”

My eyes grow wide. “That’s definitely worse than setting up a playdate. Did you go on these dates?”

She nods, unlocking the car. “Dozens of them.”

I feel my eyebrows pinch. “No!”

Ella chuckles. “I know. She and a friend did it.”

“She had an accomplice? Were they awful?”

She fastens her seat belt, her face relaxed and thoughtful. “Most of them were pretty terrible, but I will say this: having gone on so many bad dates taught me a lot about myself and relationships.”

“Is that how you met Coen?”

Ella turns in her seat to look at me, her lips curved into a smile. “No. We met when he moved into my neighborhood. Things just kept bringing us together.” She lifts a narrow shoulder. “Really, though,” Ella says, “you don’t have to stay and paint with me. You can take the day off, and I’ll vouch for you.”

My mom would totally find out. She’ll ask a million questions to ensure I was there. I wouldn’t even put it past her to drop by. Plus, there’s something about Ella that makes me almost glad my mom meddled in my personal life. She’s easy to talk to and funny, and the fact that I didn’t grow up knowing her makes me even more intrigued to be spending the day with her. I don’t tell her any of this, though. Instead, I shake my head. “Really, it’s okay. It’s kind of nice to be out of the store today.”

Ella pulls into her driveway, which is shaded by wide oak leaves. The sight of Joey’s truck has my heart bouncing in my chest as I help Ella unload her trunk.

Once inside, Ella pulls a note off the front door and reads it to herself before glancing at me. “The guys took Hayden and Shakespeare fishing.” She smiles. “I’m willing to accept bets on who gets bored first.”

I smile in an attempt to hide my disappointment.

“At least we’ll save some time with not having to tape,” Ella says, opening a drop cloth. “I figured we’d paint all the trim and put it up after the walls were done.”

We cover the light wide-planked hardwood floors that have recently been refinished and begin setting up our brushes and rollers.

“Not to sound cliché and ask the generalized questions, but what kind of work do you do? I heard you work from home, is that right?”

Ella chuckles and nods. “I do. I work for a marketing firm out of North Carolina, but I am about done there.”

“Really? You don’t like it? Or the distance?”

She pulls her hair back, her gaze settling on the paint supplies. “Well . . . I’m actually going to start my own business . . .”

“Really?” My tone is high with surprise that I instantly regret as Ella’s lips fight a frown. “That’s amazing! I mean, I’m really inspired by this. I hoped to open my own business, too.”

“Not anymore?”

“No . . . I mean, yes.” Flustered, I shake my head. “I wanted to and still do, but I’m also terrified by the idea. There’s so much overhead and just the idea that things won’t go as I have always imagined them.”

Ella expels a deep breath and nods. “Believe me, I understand. I completely understand. It was a scary decision to do this, but it also feels right. I mean, I might flounder and fail.” She lifts her shoulders, revealing this is a genuine fear. “However, I’ve been doing this for years and have had an amazing mentor. I’ve lived in fear for over nine years, worrying what others thought of me, and I’m over it. I’m so over allowing my fears to be my guidelines for how I live my life.” She releases another deep breath, her blue eyes lost in thought. Slowly, she blinks and focuses on me. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean you’re allowing fear to control you. I just . . . I was on a tangent. This is all new for me.” Ella huffs out a quiet laugh. “I was sort of a social leper where I lived before.” Her nose crinkles. “Let’s start again. I’m out of practice when it comes to friends, and I don’t want to scare you off.”

I smile. “I’m pretty sure you might be my soul mate,” I tell her.

Ella laughs. “Team Awkward!”

“Team Awkward,” I agree.

We share a laugh that’s effortless and natural, making me realize how easily I could be friends with her—how I want to be friends with her. It’s amazing how difficult it is to make friends once you graduate and no longer see the same people consistently. Relationships spark out of convenience and proximity rather than substance, and those relationships are never strong enough to last time or distance.

“Um, Kennedy?”

I look over from the paint can I’ve just pried open to see Ella standing by the front window, her brows laced with confusion.

“Yeah?”

“Do you know anyone in town who rides a . . . Is that a lawn mower?”

I move beside her and glance out to find Billy doing a doughnut in the driveway. I cover my eyes and recall why returning to Haven Point has been such a conflict for me. “Sadly, I do.”

“Jelly Bean!” Billy yells at the top of his lungs.

“What did he say?” Ella leans closer to the window.

My cheeks grow warm. “He’s calling for me.”

“What did he call you?”

I shake my head and wrench open the front door. “What are you doing?” I yell.

Billy laughs. “Your mama told me you came out here to paint. I just thought I’d check in on you.”

I didn’t hang out with Billy or any of his friends while growing up. Never was racing lawn mowers or mudding an activity I looked forward to on weekends. Why he’s now interested in paying any attention to me or what I’m doing is so far beyond me.

Ella steps out from behind me, and though it’s slightly more embarrassing to have her here witnessing my past colliding with my present, I’m grateful to have her beside me because everything about Billy has always been a few notches south of my comfort level.

“Is there something we can help you with?” she asks.

“Just offering my lawn-care services.” His smile is lewd and has me crossing my arms over my chest.

“Maybe a tree branch fell or you just missed it, but we have a ‘No Solicitation’ sign at the edge of the driveway.” Ella’s voice is polite yet firm.

“Well, if you ladies change your mind, you just call!” Billy’s eyebrows dance, and he puts the lawn mower back into gear. “See you later, Jelly Bean!” He sprays dirt and rocks in a wave as he peels out down the driveway.

“I swear, he’s a very small minority.”

Ella’s smile is kind and patient, and though I know she’s around my age, it makes her seem much older and experienced. “Even Cinderella’s fairytale castle walls held a couple of bad apples.”

Inside, Ella locks the door, and I wonder if it’s for her benefit or mine. “He seems like a bunch of talk, though, right?”

I nod. “I’m sure. I don’t really know him well, but he knows my friend Jackson would hang him up by his toenails if he tried anything.”

She glances toward the window again. “I think your friend would have to beat Joey and Coen to him.” She turns to me and winks.

 

I’m splattered with a pale-blue paint. Streaks of it line my thighs and shins and the hem of my shorts, but as I look around at what we’ve accomplished in just a couple of short hours, I feel proud.

“I can’t believe how nice it looks,” Ella says as she turns in a full circle.

“It’s going to look beautiful.”

Ella nods. “It’s so much more than I had imagined. I mean, it was a beautiful house before, but now it feels like home.”

“We can go pick up more paint and work on the kitchen while this dries if you want?”

She looks at her phone and then me. “I’m sure we have enough time, but I can’t make up my mind on which colors I want to use on the rest of the house.” She retreats a few steps to the adjacent dining room and lifts a short stack of the swatches Mom had given her, fanning the colors against a wall.

The front door unlocks behind us, and before I can turn around, Ella is dashing around me, yelling about Shakespeare needing to stay outside.

“Uncle Joey’s putting her in the backyard, Mom,” Hayden answers, his eyes traveling the walls.

My heart twists and leaps like it does whenever Joey’s name is mentioned, and I nearly miss Ella asking Hayden, “What do you think?”

He nods his approval, making me chuckle. “It looks really good.”

Coen appears in the doorway and looks around, his customary smile broadening.

“It’s starting to become real, right?” Ella asks.

Joey’s heavy footfalls on the deck make my heart beat faster, and then he stands behind Coen, his focus falling on me and then Ella, then quickly returning to me. Soft lines form at the outer corners of his eyes, which are bright, revealing he’s not surprised to find me here—but happy.

“What do you think?” Coen raps his fist against Joey’s biceps. “Not the mouse palace anymore, huh?”

Joey stares at me for another second, then breaks his attention to glance around the room, looking up at the nine-foot ceilings. “It’s definitely not the mouse house anymore,” he says, taking a second look around. “I might become your permanent house guest.”

His words have me pulling my chin back with surprise, but he laughs as he links his elbow around the back of his brother’s neck.

“We can gut the entire garage and turn it into a place for you. Make a nice kitchen and living room downstairs, expand the bedroom upstairs and make it a loft.” Coen’s words paint a picture in my mind of a wide airy space filled with natural light and a huge fluffy duvet covering the bed, white gauzy curtains blowing in a warm breeze, and Joey and me tangled on the floor in the private retreat.

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” Ella asks. “We’re grilling, so it’s nothing fancy, but we’d love to have you.”

My thoughts vanish, bringing me back to the present. I’m about to politely decline the offer, but Joey’s head tilts and a broad smile flashes across his face so quickly it distracts me.

“Yeah,” Joey says. “That’s a great idea.”

Ella nods a couple of times, drawing my attention to her. “I’m kind of a mess,” I say, looking down at my marked clothes and body.

She laughs. “That’s become our new attire here.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

“I’m positive,” she says.

“I’d like that, thanks. I won’t be able to stay very long, though, because I have to be up early for a flight to Boston.”