Chapter 6

Kennedy

 

A cop.

I hit a freaking cop!

That would be my luck.

And not just any cop—I hit the cop whom I gave the proverbial middle finger to yesterday morning at the store. Sure he deserved it, but I doubt he’ll see it that way.

While Violet will likely laugh and ask me to describe what this guy looks like, I fail to see any humor in the situation. Of all the things that could go wrong, why now when I’m already broke and failing at life?

A sheriff’s car pulls up sans lights, and an officer steps out. “Kennedy? Kennedy Wallace?”

My shoulders slump. To make this disaster even greater, I now get to endure another homecoming. I breathe in deeply and turn toward the person calling my name.

His face is mostly shaded by a baseball hat, but what I can see tickles my memories as I try to pinpoint the nervous smile he’s flashing me. “Oh, hi!” I cry with false bravado—I can’t concentrate on him long enough to recall if I remember him a decade after leaving this tiny town behind.

“Jelly Bean . . .” His lips curl, then he yanks off his navy-blue baseball hat to reveal his face. It isn’t necessary though. I recognize the drawl and drawn-out pronunciation of my name regardless of the time lapse.

“Oh my gosh! Ethan!”

His smile grows wider. “You look as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room filled with rocking chairs.”

“I had no idea you were back in town!” I’m still searching over his face, which isn’t nearly as familiar as it was fifteen years ago, before he graduated and enlisted in the army, leaving Haven Point and taking my older sister’s heart with him.

Ethan nods, folding his arms across his broad chest. “Got back last year.”

“That’s amazing. Terrific . . .” I close my mouth to stop the dozen other adjectives that wish to join the first. Then I think of Grace and of mentioning her, and whether that would be appropriate or not.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” Ethan tells me. “How’s your sister? I bet she looks the same, too, doesn’t she?”

His smile slips, and my heart aches. A twinge for him. A twinge for her. And a third for the loss of what could have been.

What should have been.

I paste a smile across my face to hide the emotions that have me imagining myself as an aunt to their children and then nod for good measure. “She hasn’t changed a bit,” I lie.

“How’s your dad? I heard your folks expanded their store.” Ethan shakes his head. “I keep meaning to stop in and say hello.”

I understand exactly why it’s taken him so long. I’m sure it would be difficult to see the parents of the girl whose heart you broke.

Ethan’s shoulders fall as he expels a deep breath. “Are you back? Like back back?”

“No.” My reply is instant. “Just short term.”

He smiles but doesn’t ask for more of an explanation. “And Grace?” His blue eyes grow wider as they slip past my shoulder, avoiding my gaze, and then darting back to me, assessing my face quickly before moving his attention again.

Is he nervous? Afraid?

His gaze again bounces between my eyes and across my face before falling over my shoulder.

He’s terrified.

I’m about to reply when there’s a loud guttural sound that has Ethan and me turning to face the man who called this little party—Joey DeLuca.

“Sorry to break up the reunion, but I was anticipating being gone for five minutes to grab some domestic beer—and some of the root variety—and getting back to dinner with my family . . . which will likely be cold by the time I make it back.”

Family. Growing up here I knew what that word meant. I understood the expectation was to go home and sit around a table with your parents and siblings, say grace, and eat a hot supper. Over the years, that single word and the definition have changed so monumentally, I never know how to interpret it. Is he married? Does he have kids? Do his parents live here?

“In this heat?” Ethan asks, breaking my litany of thoughts. “It’s like God made you an oven today to ensure your supper won’t get cold.” He laughs, and it has the same warmth it did when he was eighteen and camped out on our living room couch with my sister. But now there’s a gravel to it that exposes he’s grown into a man. Ethan turns his full attention to Joey and his dark hair and even darker eyes, though Ethan likely isn’t noticing those details nor the width Joey’s dirty and stained T-shirt has to spread across his chest or the defined planes of muscles in his biceps. He’s also likely not noticing how ample and soft his lips appear.

I shake my head to dispel the thoughts and turn to the truck they’re both staring at with the dent that is the same size and shape of my car.

“You must be Joey,” Ethan says. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Joey. In my head I hear myself saying his name, drawing it out for no other reason than the fact I likely won’t ever be able to say it aloud without following it with a dozen expletives.

He nods. “Joey DeLuca. Nice to meet you.”

“And you’re related to Coen, right?”

Joey smiles broadly, the look of triumph clear with his shoulders squaring. “He’s my kid brother.”

“I can see the resemblance. This whole town’s grateful to have him here.” Ethan’s sentiment closely matches the one my father shared yesterday after the DeLuca brothers had left the hardware store and Jackson asked me if they had bothered me. Dad laughed and explained Coen was a firefighter with expansive medical knowledge.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

“So what happened, Jelly Bean? Did you forget to check your mirrors?”

I cock my head and stare at Ethan with stretched eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to remain neutral? You sound completely biased! I mean, what you just said has to be illegal. You’ve just influenced everything.”

“The hood of your car fits into the side of my truck. He’s not making assumptions—he’s stating facts.”

Moving my glare to Joey, I stand straighter, waiting for him to cower or at least roll his shoulders. Something. Anything to lessen his confidence.

He doesn’t slump, though. Instead, he stares me down, initiating a challenge that is so much more welcoming than anything I’ve faced over the past few days, and one that I feel confident in not just facing but also winning.

“Luckily, our mechanic, Lynne, is still at the shop. She said she has a couple of jobs she has to get done but can fit you in later this week. We’ll just need to take it over to her place, and then I can drive you home.” Ethan pulls out his cell phone.

Joey tears his glower to Ethan.

With rounded eyes and a slack jaw, he stares, as if waiting for a second option. “What?” he finally asks.

Disdain runs through me as his chest puffs out.

Ethan notices it, too, standing straighter before shrugging. “It’s a small town. We only have one mechanic.”

My lips involuntarily curl as Joey’s jaw locks and then tics. It’s the first time in days that I’ve wanted to laugh out loud, and though I feel a twinge of guilt for this unfamiliar sense of unadulterated hatred toward someone I hardly know, I’m able to shove that aside and bask in the knowledge that this week is going to put a small thorn in his ass, too.

Welcome to the party.

“Why don’t y’all be sure to trade insurance information, and then we can back your truck up so Jelly Bean here can leave.”

Joey leans forward, his mouth popping open. “You aren’t writing her a ticket?”

“Nah,” Ethan says. “There’s no use in making all of us suffer longer in this heat. Not when it’s something that’ll be easily repaired.”

“Easily be repaired?” Joey looks at the dent in his truck again.

“Is everything okay?”

I turn to see Jackson walking toward us, a grocery bag in his hand as his eyes sweep over the scene. I smile at him, grateful for his presence because I know without a doubt he’ll be on my side.

“Just a little fender-bender,” Ethan says. “How are you doing, Jackson?”

Jackson studies my face slowly and thoroughly. “You all right?”

Guilt swirls in the humid air, binding itself to my thoughts and forcing me to look at Joey. I never asked him if he was okay. I’m sure he is since he barreled out of his truck with no problem, but the fact that I didn’t ask makes my heart thrum, allowing the guilt to sink deeper.

I nod.

Joey’s eyes are trained on me, hard and unrelenting; then he nods in reply to my silent inquiry. He swiftly moves his attention to Jackson, who meets it with a hard glare. I don’t know what was shared between the two yesterday morning that made Dad laugh, but evidently it wasn’t finished.

“Jelly Bean, grab your papers, and I’ll take a quick picture of them so you can head out. I’m sure your mama’s waiting for you.” Ethan ends the heated stare, his stance calm—relaxed, even, as he leans against the hood of his cruiser.

I’m about to chime sure thing, when I grit my teeth together. It took me years to get rid of my southern accent, yet it takes only a second for it to grease its way back into my vocabulary, making me sound far less like the accomplished professional I’ve been striving to become.

Smiling is safer. So I do, then head to the passenger side of my car and extract my insurance and title information.

Ethan makes quick work of taking pictures of the information, and then, using his same charm he possessed as a teenager and a level of authority he gained sometime after he left, he asks for Joey to move his truck so I can head home.

With a tight jerk, Joey shakes his head, clearly shocked that he’s receiving orders.

“You want me to follow you home?” Jackson asks.

I shake my head. “I’m fine. Really. But thanks.” I smile in assurance. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Jackson’s gaze averts to Joey and Ethan before returning to me. He wraps his free hand around my shoulder. “See you tomorrow, Jelly Bean.”

Joey watches me get into my car, his gaze unnerving and intense. I shift my attention to Ethan and Jackson, waving goodbye to them as I back up. What I don’t do—what I resist doing—is looking to see if Joey’s still watching me.

Once his truck is a few feet forward, I slowly pull out of my spot and onto the main road in the direction of home.

Parked in the driveway, I walk around to the back of my car to see how extensive the damage is. My right taillight is cracked, and the bumper is severely dented and scratched.

“What’s with the long face?”

I spin around, a high-pitched squeal bubbling out of me at the sight of my older sister. “Grace!”

She grins, and though it doesn’t reach her eyes, it’s a vast improvement compared to the last couple of years.

“When did you get in?”

Grace leans against the deck’s cedar railing. “The better question is, what took you so long? Mom said you were going to the store to grab tomatoes, and that was like an hour ago.”

“How are you?” I volley another question to her, not wanting to discuss the accident or anything else that seems so trivial in comparison.

“Do you feel like we’re in The Twilight Zone?” She asks, avoiding my question. Her blue eyes spark, but it fades as quickly as it came.

I stare at her, searching for the same differences and similarities I’ve been seeking within everyone since returning to Haven Point. Grace drops her gaze to the deck, reminding me once again how many of her changes aren’t visible on her skin or long auburn hair.

I swallow the questions fighting to be voiced and paste another reassuring smile on my face as I climb the deck stairs, grocery bag in hand. She doesn’t see my smile, though, because she still won’t look above our feet. Under the pressure of my hand, Grace flinches and takes a step back before she can force herself to stop. It’s become instinctual and second nature for her.

“Mom made meatloaf for dinner,” she tells me.

“We might have to come up with some sort of excuse to go grab a burger.”

“I can’t eat burgers anymore.” She clamps her hands over her narrow thighs. “I swear, just the scent of one makes me go up a pant size.”

My sister has never been overweight but grew up being heavier, with rounded thighs and a stomach she always insisted on covering when we’d go swimming in the pond near our house. But she has been a rail for several years now. Her jeans are at least a size too big for her. A burger with extra bacon and cheese wouldn’t even touch her gaunt frame.

“There you are! I was just about to call.” The screen door bangs shut as Mom steps out onto the porch with a dishtowel between her hands. She looks over Grace and then to me. Like Grace, my mother’s eyes fall to the floor as she forces a smile—she also doesn’t know how to approach the many changes my sister’s endured. “How was the grocery store?” Her gaze lifts, her brow heavy with creases of worry.

I lift the sack I’m carrying to show her it was successful. “Need some help in the kitchen?”

“Sure. That’d be great. You girls want to prepare the green beans?”

Grace was right. It does feel like I’ve entered The Twilight Zone as Mom places a large colander filled with green beans at the kitchen table between my sister and me, a garbage can at our feet.

“All right, Mom, what’s new in Haven Point? What has Kennedy missed that we need to fill her in on?” Grace grabs a bean, snapping off both ends before dropping it back into the colander and snagging another one.

“So many things,” Mom says, checking on the meatloaf already baking away in the oven.

“Oh yeah? Like what?” Grace’s teasing tone throws me completely off course, just like it does each time I hear it over the phone. She sounds fine, happy, daring—all the things my older sister once was.

“The store of course, but she’s seen that now.”

Grace looks at me, mischief rounding her eyes. “Of course.” Her voice is enthusiastic, the sarcasm indiscernible to our mom. “What else?”

“They built a new playground down near the pond.”

“That’s only twenty years too late,” Grace says, smiling at me.

I’m about to mention Ethan being back in town but stop. “The Porters got a bunch of sheep,” I share instead. “If you’re not feeling too old, we could go see if we can tip them over like cows.”

“Kennedy!” Mom cries, making my name sound like an obscenity. “You girls leave those sheep alone.”

“They have it coming. They stood in front of my car for an hour.”

Grace laughs so hard her eyes close. “What? How is that even possible? Stuff like that only happens to you, I swear.”

“Broken fence near Blue Spruce Road,” I tell her. “The sheep flooded the road. And you know how sheep always follow each other? These ones didn’t!”

My sister leans forward, laughing again. “You should have gone mutton riding.”

“Not a chance. Animals with slit pupils freak me out.”

Mom stops mashing the potatoes on the stove and looks at me. “What?”

I swing my rounded eyes to her. “There’s something creepy about them.”

“What’s creepy about them?” she asks.

I lift my shoulders and look to my sister for her input. All she does, though, is laugh and shake her head to tell me I’m on my own. “Pretty much everything.”

“How’d we never know about your aversion to sheep?” Grace looks at me; sadness creeps back into her blue eyes. She slowly focuses on my gaze, and quickly looks away.

“Not just sheep,” I tell her. “Crocodiles, alligators, snakes, lizards, cats, goats—”

“Cats, too?” Grace cracks up. “How can you be afraid of a cat?”

“I’m not afraid of them . . . I just don’t like them.”

“Who don’t you like?” Dad asks, coming into the kitchen from the back door and taking a seat at the table by Grace and me.

“Kennedy’s just confirming how strange she is.” Grace shakes her head. “Nothing we weren’t already well aware of.”

The edge of Dad’s lips lifts with a subtle smile.

“We’re talking about what’s new in town,” Mom says. “We discussed the store, and the new playground, and how the Porters are now raising sheep.”

“The new fire captain, Coen,” Dad says. “I’ve heard he’s been making lots of good changes down at the firehouse.”

My attention is piqued, wondering what all my parents know about him and his pain-in-the-ass brother.

“I forgot about him,” Grace says. “I haven’t met him yet.”

Dad nods. “I’ve only seen him around town a few times. He keeps busy. He and his brother came into the hardware store yesterday.” He looks to Mom. “You know how he bought that old farmhouse out off of Sunset Lake?”

Mom pulls the meatloaf out and drops a sheet of biscuits into the hot oven before nodding.

“I guess they have a mouse infestation.”

Mom turns, her eyes wide. “Oh, that’s awful.”

“Do mice have slit pupils, too?” Grace asks.

Dad’s eyebrows knit.

“No, but they have those red beady eyes, and that’s equally creepy,” I tell her.

Grace bursts out laughing, and it’s so pure and genuine that the rest of us follow suit, even Dad.

“I thought we could get a crew together once they get rid of all the mice and help him get things moving forward.”

I wait for him to say more. To explain the situation further. Does he know about Joey? Would Joey be there? I’m considering ways of getting out of being added to the team, ready to volunteer manning the hardware store or doing inventory or fleeing back to Boston.

“That’s a great idea, Tom.” Mom drops off a platter of sliced meatloaf at the table, and though it’s a dish I grew up avoiding, the tangy and savory scents waft in the air, making my stomach grumble and mouth water. “Maybe we should make up some meal baskets for them, too.”

Dad nods, but, again, doesn’t add anything to the head count of Coen’s family.

“Heard you got in an accident.” Dad looks to me. “You all right?”

“An accident?” Mom cries. “When?”

I throw the last green bean into the colander. “At the store. I backed into someone.”

“Are you okay?” Mom echoes Dad’s previous question.

“I’m fine,” I assure them. “I thought he’d moved, and he’d stalled because a spot opened.” I don’t bother asking how Dad learned it happened; he likely already knows all the details. News travels fast here in Haven Point and is generally far more accurate than the trending news I skim over on social media.

“Jackson said he can likely fix the damage to your car,” Dad continues. “But you should probably put a heating pad on your shoulders tonight. You’re probably going to be sore tomorrow, I’d imagine.”

Mom scoops up the green beans and runs a hand over my hair. “I’m glad you’re all right. You should have mentioned something when you got home.”

Dad’s words and Mom’s actions comfort me, leaving me relaxed in my chair in this house I grew up in—my first home. “It really was nothing.”

“Thankfully,” Mom adds.

The four of us sit down to dinner, and conversation is light, smiles wide. It’s strange being back home, but at the same time, there’s something nice about not rummaging through my fridge to make dinner for one.

Afterward, Grace and I help Mom clear the table and wash the dishes. Memories of how homework always preceded dishes vanish when Grace dumps most of her dinner, which was carefully hidden by her napkin, into the trash.

I look at Mom and then Dad to see if either of them noticed, but they’re chatting about the store and another summer storm that’s supposed to hit soon.

“I’m going to call Vi really quickly and check in,” I tell them, placing the last dish into the dishwasher and closing it.

“Okay, sweetie.” Mom runs her hand along my shoulder as I pass. “Let me know if you start hurting or need anything.”

With a final smile I disappear down the short hall to my room, dialing Vi’s number before I close the door behind me.

“Kennedy!” Violet cries. “How are you? How was your day?”

I flop back on my bed, my stomach full from dinner.

“It had its pros and cons,” I tease my best friend, the queen of making such lists.

“More pros than cons, I hope.”

I think of my sister, the meatloaf I shockingly devoured, and the vast number of warm greetings I’ve received. Then raven hair and eyes the shade of midnight fill my thoughts. “For the most part,” I tell her, shaking my head to rid the mental image of Joey folding his arms over his chest in some faux power pose. “How was your day?”

“Exhausting. I had to work today, and then a few of us went to dinner. I’m actually hiding out in the bathroom right now because we’re still at the restaurant.”

My heart falls. If I were there, I’d be out with her, drinking a glass of chardonnay I couldn’t really afford, but laughing. Instead, I’m sitting on my old twin mattress, staring at the image of a curly haired boy-band member who was popular over a decade ago and still covers most of my walls. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your night out!”

“No, no! Don’t be silly! You’re never an interruption. Ever. Have you heard from Kevin?”

My mood plummets. “Nope.”

“Not even a text?”

“Radio silence.”

Violet sighs. “He’s such an asshole.”

I think of Joey DeLuca. “All the hot ones are.”

“Promise me you won’t call him when you come back home.”

“No. Like I said before I left, I think this will be good for me. It’ll force me to quit Kevin, if nothing else.”

“Agreed.”

“If you see him, will you punch him in the face for me?”

Vi laughs. “Can I punch him in his nutsack, instead?”

“Deal.”

She sighs. “I’m sorry to rush this call, but I have to get back. Can I call you later tonight or tomorrow?”

I try to hide my disappointment. “Yeah. Absolutely.”

“Okay, I’ll talk to you later.” She hangs up, and suddenly my childhood room seems far smaller, and my decision to be here far worse.

A knock on my door has me swinging my head up, plastering a smile across my lips so no one can see the doubts flooding me.

“Hey,” Grace says, hovering in the doorway. “Want to go cool down?”

“It’s going to be dark soon.”

“Like that’s ever stopped us.” She grins.

I stand and head to my suitcase, which is perched open on my old desk chair. I’ve rarely had a need for a bathing suit over the past ten years, but I bought one last summer for a weekend-beach trip Violet and I took. With the small pieces of fabric fisted in my hand, I turn triumphantly to show my sister. Her cheeks stretch with a broad smile before she disappears, closing my door behind her so I can change and exchange my glasses for contacts.

We slip out the back door off the kitchen, me in nothing but my bikini and Grace in a sundress that reaches past her knees. Both our feet are covered by sneakers and our faces with smiles.

“I bet it’s starting to get cold,” I tell her, breathing too hard because I haven’t made this jog in years.

Grace’s reddish-brown hair appears darker with the setting sun as it blows behind her. She doesn’t object. The nights are beginning to cool down, and though it feels hot, July was hotter.

We run along the footpath that winds through the woods, continuing our quick pace, though both of us struggle to maintain it. There are certain habits that are too hard to break, even with age and time.

I stop at the far edge, where an old rope swing still remains as another remnant of our past.

“Maybe we should just walk in?” Grace says, stopping beside me, holding her side.

“Since when—”

My words end as she shoves me forward, pushing me into the pond.

Adrenaline courses through me as I fall into the chilly water that combs through my hair and moves with my descent. I don’t stop myself from falling deeper into its depths for several seconds, and then once I do, I remain under, counting until I reach twenty before I surge back to the top.

Grace’s eyes are as rounded as her lips; she lifts a hand to her chest. “I’ve always hated when you do that.”

“And yet never once have you jumped in to save me.”

She glares. “You’re such an asshole.”

I grin, bobbing in the water that is far warmer near the surface. “Come on in. It feels nice.”

Grace kicks off her shoes and reaches for the hem of her dress. As soon as her elbows bend, she pauses and releases the fabric, letting the dress fall back over her. She doesn’t say anything as she avoids looking at me; she simply plugs her nose with one hand and raises the other high in the air as she jumps and slices through the water.

“You’re such a liar!” she cries, shivering as she surfaces. “This feels like it ran off from an iceberg.”

“It’s not so bad.”

“No, it’s not bad, it’s terrible!” Her lips shudder, turning a pale shade of blue.

“Come on. I’ll race you to the other side.”

“I’m thirty!”

I lift a hand and send a gentle wave her way that splashes against her chest. “Are you telling me you’re too old to have fun?”

Her lips purse, but her attempt of looking angry is tainted by her shivers, making me laugh. With one hand she reaches for me, her intent to dunk me. Before she can reach me, though, I swim away, waiting for her to follow in my wake.

We swim until our sides, arms, and legs ache, and the water turns frigid against our fatigued muscles. The sun has nearly fully set, casting long shadows across the pond.

“Want to go check out the playground?” Grace asks as we make our way up the bank, shivering and soaking wet.

“Depends, are you going to push me off the swing, too?”

Grace throws her head back and laughs. “I always reserve the right. Birth order ensured it.”

“All right, old lady, let’s check it out.”

She glares. “I’m not racing you.”

“We should have brought towels,” I say, shivering as my wet sneakers slosh against the shore.

We make our way up to the grassy stretch that connects to the forest, where Grace and I used to sunbathe between hours of playing in the lake, and discover the new playground. It’s meager compared to some of the ones I’ve passed in Boston, the equipment all traditional pieces. There are a few swings, a couple of slides separated by a bouncing bridge, and a large structure comprised of triangles for kids to climb.

“I don’t know if I’m sad this is here or envious,” Grace says as we step onto the soft mesh turf. “We would have had so much fun racing each other to the top of that thing and sitting in the tube of that slide until someone came by for us to scare.”

“I don’t like it,” I tell her. “This will draw more people here.”

Grace laughs. “There’s only nineteen hundred people in Haven Point, and all of them know about this place. I doubt this will draw more attention.”

I lower my chin with doubt. “Come on, let’s see if we can dry off on the swings.”

The seat of the swing bites into my hips, reminding me that I’m too big, but I pump my legs until I’m high enough to feel the breeze skirt across my damp skin, each kick pushing me forward.

“So did you meet the fireman?”

The uneven cross of our swings and dark sky make it impossible to see my sister’s face as I try to place her mood based upon her tone. “What fireman?”

“The new one that Dad was talking about. The one you paid a lot of attention to hearing about.”

“You’re reading way too far into things.”

“Am I?”

“Yes!” I cry. “I met him and his brother for like a second.”

“Ah.” Grace drags out the syllable. “It’s the brother you like!”

“I’m not interested in either of them.” I don’t tell her that I just ended a relationship, because according to Kevin we never were in a relationship. “The firefighter seems nice enough, but his brother is a total jerk.”

“Like he pulled your pigtail or a legitimate asshole?”

“Legitimate asshole.” My reply is instant. “He’s the reason I was late getting back from the store.”

“Because you hit him with your car?”

“You say that like it was my fault.”

“Well, you did hit a few trees.”

“I was fourteen!”

“You still hit them.”

“Scraped,” I argue. “I scraped them. And in my defense, it was a stick shift, and we weren’t on a road.”

“You still hit them,” she says again.

“This was totally his fault. I saw his truck in my rearview mirror and then was watching some pedestrians walk behind me. I watched them start loading groceries and backed up right into him.”

“You hadn’t checked again?”

“People aren’t supposed to remain parked in the middle of an aisle for a decade!”

Grace laughs. “Your Boston is showing.”

“What does that mean?”

“I just mean that Boston has brought out a little bit of feisty in you.”

“There were plenty of days when I felt like the city ate me up and then spit me back out.”

Grace doesn’t respond, and so I slow my swing by dragging my still-wet shoe across the ground.

“You ready to go back home?” she asks when I come to a stop.

I nod and follow my sister. We walk home her a few paces ahead of me, each of us lost in thought as we follow the path we know by memory rather than sight.