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* * *
Luke and I don’t say a word to each other for the rest of the morning. But his eyes meet mine as Danny and I climb in the truck, and there’s a question in them: What are you gonna do, Juliet? Are you going to end things with him now that you finally understand?
“I don’t know,” is the answer. I don’t know what to do. I promised Donna I’d help. I can’t just abandon them now.
But God knows I might not be doing them a favor by staying, either.
27
NOW
I find Donna on the front porch, on the morning of the opening ceremony. She stares at the small stage that’s been set up in the yard, something melancholy in her face as she gazes at it, at her dream coming to fruition.
“It’s going to be perfect,” I assure her.
“I know. It’s just a happy occasion and a sad one at the same time.”
“Why sad?”
She sighs. “The idea of this house…it’s what got me through those first years after Danny died. It felt like I was moving toward something, with Danny. He was still with me.”
Her mouth pinches closed, trying to hold in her tears. She’s been moving toward this with Danny. And tomorrow, once the house is officially open, it’ll be over. They’ll be parting ways. I know exactly what she means. I feel it, too, the way I am about to close the door on a part of my life I hated and loved at the same time. The gala’s a week away, and I’ll leave after that. Where did the time go?
“There will always be more to do here,” I tell her. “The kids coming in will need so much from you.”
She smiles through her tears and squeezes my hand. “I know,” she whispers. “And I know I’m being silly. I just felt like it was us and Danny, taking one last trip together, you know? And there will be other journeys, but he won’t be with me for them.”
She goes upstairs to get dressed because the caterers will be arriving soon, and I start unloading the dishwasher, my stomach tied in knots.
I have done my best to keep these entities separate—Luke, Grady, the press. Today, they all come together. Today, people will be discussing Danny’s life and perhaps his death, creating a fuller picture…and fuller pictures are dangerous.
Luke enters the kitchen. My body blooms to life at the mere sound of his footsteps, but I force myself to ignore him until he steps up beside me with a dishtowel in hand, standing closer than he should.
“Stay away from me today,” I tell him, slamming the dishwasher shut before turning to face him. “I don’t want people thinking the wrong thing.”
He throws the towel on the counter and leans toward me so only I can hear what he’s saying. He’s like a space heater—I can feel the warmth of him when he’s not even touching me.
“My sheets smell like you,” he says against my ear, his fingers grazing my neck as he pushes my hair away, “and I have your claw marks on my ass. I could follow you to your room right now and have you begging me to fuck you in seconds. It wouldn’t even be an effort. So, explain, exactly, how it would be the wrong thing for anyone to think.”
I shiver at his nearness, goose bumps climbing up my arms, core clenching.
He walks out of the room, not expecting an answer. I’m so tired of pushing him away, I’m so tired of trying to make him hate me, but God knows it matters today most of all.
When I go to my room to get dressed, I lock the door behind me because he’s right—I’ve never said no to him once, even when I was with someone else, and seven years later I still can’t manage it.
I cannot be trusted. I guess I already knew that, though.
* * *
By the afternoon, the sun is blindingly bright, with no breeze to offset it. The caterers all try to remain in the kitchen as much as possible, and the audiovisual guys are drenched in sweat as they tape down power cords in the front yard.
I emerge from my room just before the ceremony in a beige Dries Van Noten sheath and matching heels. It’s the most prim, conservative clothing I own, but Luke’s gaze still feeds on me like I’m wearing nothing at all.
The board members arrive and come inside to escape the heat while seats begin to fill. When it’s finally time for all of us to file outside to the reserved rows in front, I follow them out…and come to a stumbling halt.
Why the fuck is the reporter from the Times here? I expected local press, but an event like this would only merit a line or two in her article at most—so she must be here for something else.
Is she hoping someone will break?
