The line stretched all the way to the opposite end of the tent and it was obvious that everyone near the front had been listening to our conversation. One of the women closest to the table held up a hand and said, “No rush. We can wait.”
A few people were directing the line to keep it from blocking other vendors. Someone had tasked themselves with cleaning up the jar of spiced pear I’d dropped when I saw the fucker grab Shay’s wrist. Another person stood nearby with a bottle of water and a handful of tissues, ready to hand them over to Shay. People drove me fucking crazy but they also humbled the hell out of me.
I glanced down at Shay, sitting on the ice chest with her legs crossed in front of her. She looked young—and lost. A lot like that first morning when I offered her a ride to school. I held out my hand to her. “Do you feel like putting those cute earrings to work, wife?”
A touch of color warmed her cheeks as she took my hand. “I’d love to.”
* * *
The remainderof the market and the lunch that followed flew by in a blur. It was good and productive but I couldn’t tear my focus away from Shay for long. I kept looking for signs that the day was catching up with her though I couldn’t find any. The morning had shaken her but she seemed determined to forge ahead with a smile.
I did not share that determination. All that mattered to me was keeping Shay close, which wasn’t the easiest thing to do while walking through the bustling streets of Boston’s North End.
“Forgive me for asking,” I said after we’d ducked around a tourist group, “but how does Jaime afford an apartment in this neighborhood on a teacher’s salary?”
“She has three roommates,” Shay called over her shoulder as she moved in front of me to avoid a woman pushing a double stroller. “But the key detail is that one of the roommates’ boss and his wife own the building and they offer it at a reasonable price.”
“Are we going to meet these roommates?”
“Probably.” She leaned into me as we waited to cross the street. “Dylan is the one with the boss who owns the building. Layla is in college. Linnie works somewhere in the Back Bay. Marketing or something.”
“And who else will be there?”
“Emme, Grace, Audrey. Maybe a few other people from my old school. It won’t be a huge group.” She pointed up at a building on Prince Street. “This is it.”
We climbed the stairs to the second floor of this old warehouse and traveled down a long hallway that reminded me of my first apartment in Brooklyn. It was a building just like this one but the stairwells always smelled like boiled cabbage.
We waited at the door, Shay’s head lolling against my arm as I stroked her waist. “They’re coming,” she said after a minute.
I kissed the top of her head. “I’m in no hurry.”
The door swung open to reveal Jaime, her hair pinned up in rollers and her smile contagious. “Get in here, you two. I’ve been bouncing around here all afternoon, just waiting to see you. Come in, come in.” She leaned in close. “What happened with the ex? No, wait, don’t tell me until I pour some drinks. I have a feeling we’ll need drinks.”
“We’ll need drinks,” Shay said.
I followed them into the apartment, spacious by Boston standards, and toward an industrial-style kitchen. Jaime looped back toward me, whispering, “Well done with the birthday cake.”
“Then you won’t be sending the mafia after me?”
She grinned. “No. I’m on your side now.”
“I had to bake the perfect cake but that fuckbag ex of hers could just go around being a fuckbag without you sending the mafia after him? Is that how it goes?”
Jaime rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Believe me, that’s not how I’ve wanted it to go. I wanted to get rid of him years ago.”
“What the hell stopped you?”
She tipped her head toward Shay, who was busy chatting with two other women in the kitchen. “She wasn’t ready for that. It sounds like she might be there now.”
I hoped so. I really fucking hoped so.
chapterthirty
Shay
Students will be able to doubt everything and drive themselves crazy in the process.
I feltlike I was made of paper-thin glass. One wrong move, one faltering smile and I’d crack. I’d shatter. But that couldn’t happen. I’d already shattered once. I didn’t think I could do it again and live to tell the tale.
