Chapter Three
“Amotel would havebeen fine.”
Marissa bit back a sharp retort. Was his throat made of steel? As Jarrett downed another mouthful of coffee, she gripped her warm, insulated mug and sipped the steaming hot brew. Yum. Her taste buds danced from the richness of cinnamon and ginger. If only the grocery store sold that holiday-themed creamer year round, though she could easily make her own.
The freezing bike ride had chilled her to the bone, but the deep-seated sorrow and resentment dwelling inside her threatened to shatter her like glass. How pathetic. What had she been thinking, spending the day with Jarrett? He wanted nothing to do with her or his parents, but she’d locked him down in some pitiful attempt to make peace. What for? So she could speak the words she’d longed to say for the better part of a decade?
The heat wafting from the hearth warmed her skin. She sat on the plush rug in front of the fireplace and stared so hard at the flickering flames that they would’ve jumped around the dark room had she been in one of those fantasy kid movies Jason loved to watch. The woodsy scent of smoke and burning logs tickled her nostrils. How many winter nights had she sat alone in this spot with the fire casting wisps of orange light around her?
Jarrett settled beside her and set his mug on the coffee table behind them. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Only a fool would believe that. Her husband was dead. The love of her life—the man she’d trusted, who abandoned her—was now close enough for her to touch. She released her pent-up breath in a long exhale and drank her coffee. “So much has happened since you left. I don’t know where to begin.”
“If you’ve changed your mind about talking, I’ll go. I don’t want to bother you.” He shifted his feet to stand.
Her temper snapped. “Sit your ass down.”
He froze, then plopped like a sack of potatoes.
She grumbled a curse and softened her tone. “I’m sorry. Please, don’t go. I didn’t feel like spending the night in a motel. With everything we need to talk about, we might be up until morning, so why pay for a room to talk?”
Jarrett glanced around the large living room. “The house looks great. No offense to Aunt Carol, but I’m relieved her ugly lace curtains and that scratchy old sofa finally made a date with the landfill.” He scratched his arm.
She fought back a smile. “A thrift store, actually.”
He’d always broken out in a rash whenever he sat on that piece of furniture.
“I’m not surprised you’re living here. After all you did for her, this place should be yours. When did she pass on?”
Marissa massaged the tight tendon in her neck. “A few months after you left. I inherited everything—the house, her possessions, what was left of her life savings. I didn’t expect it.”
“I did. Who else would she have left her stuff to—your mom? No way.”
The doctors had diagnosed Aunt Carol with leukemia after Marissa’s sixteenth birthday, but Carol’s younger sister—Marissa’s mom—refused to help the woman. So Marissa stepped in and did everything she could to make the last few years of Carol’s life comfortable. Not that taking care of Carol was a chore. She adored her aunt. Jarrett never complained when she canceled dates or rearranged them around Carol’s caregiver’s schedule. He’d often kept Carol company and consoled Marissa when the stress and sorrow took its toll.
Why did fate not give a damn about handing out crap to good people?
“After the lawyer read the Will, Mom cursed a blue streak and threw a vase at the lawyer. Her latest boyfriend dumped her and walked out of the meeting.” Marissa set the mug aside and hugged her knees to her chest. “I wasn’t even embarrassed. She’d humiliated me so much throughout my life that her tantrum didn’t faze me.”
“I still can’t believe Social Services never removed you from her home.”
“I’m not. Red tape doesn’t just affect criminal cases.”
Aunt Carol had petitioned the courts to get custody of Marissa to no avail, and Social Services launched investigations that went nowhere. Apparently, the State didn’t care that Ellen Reinn often bought booze instead of groceries and let a string of abusive boyfriends live with her. At least those men had never touched Marissa.
She shuddered. “I didn’t know the first thing about planning a funeral or dealing with all the financial issues and paperwork that came from being Carol’s beneficiary, but Linda and Harold helped me through it. They even helped me redecorate this place and often called or texted me to make sure I was safe.”
He drew back. “Why wouldn’t you be safe?”
“Mom threatened to burn down the house.”
“Jesus.” He pursed his lips. “I should’ve been here.”
“Yes, you should have.” He flinched at her bitter words, but she didn’t care. “I wanted nothing to do with my mom, but she wouldn’t stop harassing me. There were so many times when she would show up drunk and throw bottles at the house. She’d call in the middle of the night to cuss me out.” She craned her stiff neck until it popped. Her tension eased a little. “Joel worried about me so much. We assumed she would go away once he moved in, but she didn’t. He convinced me to get a restraining order. She violated it, of course, and faced a year in jail.”
“Did she serve any time?”
