Page 70 of Just Like the Brontë Sisters

Chapter 43: Gavin

“I need a job,” Skylar said to Gavin.

She was watching him work, having stopped by the bakery unexpectedly just to say hello. He was so pleased at her unanticipated appearance that it took him a moment to grasp the weight of her words, that she wanted to create another needless tie to Black Diamond, one more obstacle that would prevent her from moving to Chicago with him.

“A job?” He stuttered. “But why? Why now?”

“Why not now?” she replied. “You have a job. My mom has a job. So does my dad. You’re all productive citizens; you contribute something and you work for what you have. I don’t do any of that. That’s why I need a job.”

“Oh, so you don’t want to be like Mitch?” he retorted.

Skylar scrunched up her face and let her fingers glide over the handle of her teacup. “What does Mitch have to do with anything?”

“He’s not productive. He doesn’t contribute.” Gavin tried to say this diplomatically but he knew it came out sounding petty.

“He’s caring for a baby. I think that counts.”

“Right.” He finished straightening up the muffin display and pulled up a stool so he could sit across from Skylar. “But have you ever wondered about his sanity?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. I know you’ve had your suspicions—you’ve asked yourself if he had a hand in Jo Beth’s death. Maybe he did. And maybe it’s because…” Gavin tapped a finger three times against his head, “… something isn’t quite right up there.”

“Why would you say that?”

“No reason. Except…” He paused and took time for a long sigh. “The other day when I was over and you were in the other room, I heard him talking to himself.”

“He was probably talking to Bijou.”

“She was napping, and anyway it was like he was having a conversation with Jo Beth. Only she wasn’t there. Obviously, she wasn’t there.”

Skylar squinted, concern overtaking skepticism. “What exactly did he say?”

“I don’t know. Forget it.” Gavin smiled, giving her a playful punch in the shoulder. He knew it would be impossible for her to forget, that she’d dwell on it for hours, days even. “What kind of job do you think you want to get?”