Trusting Jack because, well, because I do, I extend a hand. Guysniffs it, looks at me with those woeful eyes, and then, apparently having sent his message, loses interest. Putting his jowly muzzle on Jack’s thigh, he closes his eyes.
“Looks like I made a big impression,” I remark.
“That’s the best kind,” Jack replies and lifts a tall coffee to his mouth. His palm covers most of the lid, while his long fingers splay over the front. I raise my sunglasses to my cap, but the logo stays the same.
“Starbucks?” I ask in mild disbelief. Bay Bluff prides itself on homegrown coffee. It prides itself on fresh burgers and in-house chips. At least, it used to.
He takes a drink, then says, “There’s one near work.”
Which raises another issue. The Jack Sabathian of old would have slept late unless the house was burning down. Granted, in this chapter of his life, he is a professional with a practice to run. Still. “You work weekends?” I ask, but redundantly. His scrub top is dark green and still pressed despite spatters of something fresh in the area of his abs. Studying them, I wince. “Those look ugly.”
“It was,” he says. “A family cat was hit by a car. I got the call at five this morning and did what I could, but I’m not sure she’ll survive. My partner is with her now. I’ll check back later.” He sounds like he’s trying to be matter-of-fact, but that groove on his forehead says he’s discouraged, which puts me to shame. Sure, he could have changed his shirt before being seen in public by people who have just eaten breakfast, though it is in the nature of Jack to make statements. Still, criticizing bloodstains earned by a lifesaver?Shallow, Mal. Shallow.
“I’m sorry.”
He squeezes my elbow so unexpectedly that by the time I realize what he’s done, his hand is back on Guy’s head. He frowns and says a quiet, “I understand that some pets have to be outdoors. By definition, a barn cat is an outdoor cat. But this isn’t a barn cat. She’s a longtime pet that goes in and out of the house at will. That’s asking for trouble. Dogs, fine,” he says, running a hand along thepit bull’s sleek flank. When the dog opens its eyes and smiles—I swear, it does—he smiles back. “They have to be walked. But cats are safer staying indoors. The alternative is inviting trouble.” His smile fades. “Lately it’s been coyotes. The small animals they grab are often found dead or close to, in which case the best I can do is put them out of their misery. Or they’re not found at all.” He presses his lips together and inhales through his nose. Exhaling, he says, “Then it’s just wondering what happened.” Ashy eyes meet mine. “Guess I’m the expert at that, right?”
His rancor isn’t what it was yesterday, but I know he’s thinking about Elizabeth. My presence has to be bringing it back.
“You were right, what you said,” I grant him by way of apology. “I can’t imagine what that’s like.”
He isn’t surprised that I’ve followed his thoughts. We were always on the same wavelength, Jack Sab and me. Still, I’m startled when he says, “I’m sorry about your mother. She shouldn’t have died that way. It must have been hard for you, being in New York.”
Funny. My first thought when I learned that my mother had died was to call Jack. Joy was too young to understand, and my friends didn’t know my mom. Jack did. He knew that I loved her with the kind of love that never, ever died. Most anyone could guess that. At the same time, I blamed her for things I didn’t understand. Only Jack knew that. But we were enemies by the time she died and couldn’t talk. I’m not sure we can now, either. So I simply wrap my arms around my middle and nod.
“Did you ever ask—” he started.
“No.”
“She never explained—”
“No. We should have had all the time in the world, but she was here one minute and gone the next. Who knew that would happen?” I look around, seeking comfort in the sun-soaked glory of the square. Tables are clean and waiting—glass-top rounds outside Small Plates, square-top woods at The Deli, long picnic tables, like Jack’s, fronting the Clam Shack. The door to the bookstore has just opened. Anothercar pulls into the lot with the crackle of tires on gravel. I smell the sea and bacon, and it is rich to me in the way of childhood memories. But my mother’s childhood memories were elsewhere.
“She wouldn’t have wanted to come back here,” I say as much for my own sake as for Jack’s. Lord knew we had debated long and hard, but bringing her back just didn’t make sense. “Margo and I were both gone, and Annie wasn’t about to visit her grave. My father always overshadowed her, and after—well,after—people didn’t know what to say to her, so she was a victim of that night, too.” I feel the same sense of resignation now as I felt then. “We buried her with her parents in Illinois.”
Jack sets down the coffee and flexes his hand. It wants to touch me—pure habit again, I know, because I feel it, too. Our relationship was a physical one, and it went beyond sex. We touched easily and often, satisfying a need that no one else in our lives filled.
Times have changed. But his eyes don’t seem to remember that. Their warmth makes me want to cry.
“Was she finally happy?” he asks.
Swallowing, I managed to say, “Yes. Finally fulfilled.”
“That’s good.”
I take a minute to recompose myself, thinking of my mother and Jack. My stomach clenches around the memory, causing an involuntary grunt. “You’re being very generous. She wasn’t particularly nice to you.”
“She thought her husband was having an affair with my mother. How was she supposed to act?”
I could more easily understand if Jack hadn’t looked just like Elizabeth’s husband. “Like it wasn’t your fault?”
Tearing his eyes from mine, he looks down and gives a sad laugh. “Like human nature forgives and forgets?” His thumb glides back and forth over the drinking hole on the lid of his coffee. He takes a drink and lowers the cup, then, seeming to realize, offers it to me. I take a sip and hand it back, by which time he is staring into the distance. “But I’m a fine one to talk.”
About forgiving and forgetting? And here he is outside Sunny Side Up, which is pretty much the headquarters of his nemesis. “So you’re just… hanging out here on your way back from work?”
He shrugs.
“Do you know my father is inside?” I ask.
