“Jenna? Are you . . .”
She felt herself clench down so tight she doubled over. Jenna did not weep. She probably would have, if she could find the air. She felt a spasm run through her entire body and feared she was going to be sick. Not even sprinkling Millie’s ashes along the Miramar beach had left her so bereft. It wasn’t seeing the boat. Not really. It was, well . . .
Everything.
Strong hands took hold of her shoulders. “What’s the matter?”
She made a feeble effort to shrug off his hands, and failed. “I need a minute.”
“Sure thing.” Just the same, Noah gradually eased her upright. “Why don’t we move back over into the shade.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Hey. There’s no need for that.” Noah guided her slowly across the yard.
“I should go.”
He drew Jenna up the back steps, letting her set the pace. “Just take it easy. No rush. You want to rest here in the rocker?”
“No, no, I . . .”
“Okay, sure. Let’s get you inside.” The words formed a comforting wash as he used his shoulder and pushed open the screen door. “Sorry about the mess. I’m not even close to unpacking. All I do is work on the boat, eat, and collapse.”
Noah led her around an assortment of boxes and half-empty cases, through the kitchen and into the parlor. He settled onto a threadbare sofa that smelled of horses and old sweat. She wanted to protest, to flee, to be anywhere but here. Just the same, there was an odd comfort to be found, she the caregiver being gentled by a stranger.
She only realized they were not alone when she heard Noah say, “Amos, why don’t you grab a pillow and blanket off my bed.”
“Sure thing.”
“I’m being so silly.”
“No need for that either. Here you go.” Noah slipped a pillow under her head and swept a blanket over her. She heard footsteps, then water running. He returned. “Okay, there’s a damp cloth and a glass of water on the table. You rest, I’ll come check on you in a bit, okay?”
Jenna nodded. Kept her eyes firmly shut. Beyond embarrassed. Unable to find anything that felt even remotely right to say.
She listened to footsteps retreating through the kitchen. Heard the screen door open and close.
A pair of male voices drifted away.
Soon as the diesel motor started thrumming again, Jenna rose from the sofa. It was so ridiculous, acting like this. Even so, hearing the jet wash and the sound of scraping, the image of those blast holes, it drove her across the parlor and out the front door. She skirted around the tanker truck and almost ran for her car. Unlocked the door, slipped inside, started the motor, checking the rearview mirror, desperately hoping the racket masked the sound of her pulling away.
She should never have come.
CHAPTER9
Jenna woke at dawn and began just another day. Prepared coffee, fixed a bowl she set aside for later. Punctuating every few minutes with the same muttered litany.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid.”
She felt utterly embarrassed over the spectacle she had made of herself the previous afternoon.
Not to mention furious with herself for having gone.
She had always considered herself able to manage almost any emotion. Keep it all carefully stowed away until she was alone. Safe. Staying calm despite whatever tempest might surround her. She considered it one of the few bonuses from a childhood dominated by her mother’s emotional explosions.
Her mother had been bitter by nature. Almost everything failed to live up to her expectations. She was consistently disappointed by Jenna. Her rages were the talk of the neighborhood. Twice school counselors had asked if Jenna wanted to enter foster care. But she had learned early on to play the human turtle. Retreat into her shell. Hide in the shadows until her mother calmed. Or slip away and stay overnight with sympathetic neighbors. By the time she entered her teens, Jenna had known a secret sympathy for the father who had run away. Which was precisely what Jenna had done at seventeen. Graduated early and used a full ride from UC Santa Cruz to gain her nurse’s degree and ticket out.
Her mother’s final tirade and ensuing stroke happened six weeks before her graduation. Jenna spent the summer packing up and selling their home.
