“I’ve missed everything about you, Jack.” Before I could stop myself, I leaned forward to kiss him, but at the last moment, I turned my head and pressed my lips against his cheek instead. I was playing with fire—the fire that always smoldered between us, waiting for ignition. A fire I had to keep banked for now. I pulled away and ran from the room, running up the steps as fast as I could so I wouldn’t change my mind.
“Was that almost kiss number five?” he called out softly.
I paused halfway up. “If it wasn’t on the lips, then it doesn’t count.”
I ran the rest of the way up the stairs and into my bedroom, closed the door behind me, then leaned against it to catch my breath. I heard the grandfather clock chime the half hour as my gaze traveled to the bed. My breath sat suspended in the middle of an inhale at the sight of the neat little pile of buttons on my pillow, right next to the Frozen Charlotte sleeping inside her tiny iron coffin.
CHAPTER 16
I stood in front of the coffee machine in the kitchen, my bleary eyes staring it down to make it go faster, my fingers tapping impatiently on the counter. I hadn’t been able to go back to sleep the previous night, my toes continually bumping into loose buttons at the foot of the bed. Several times I’d gone to the door, wanting to go to Jack to talk to him about what the buttons might mean and who the “bad man” could be. My mind immediately jumped to Marc or Harvey, but we already knew they were bad. I just worried that we were missing something.
I told myself I just wanted to talk with Jack, discuss why the girl was trying to warn Nola and about what. Yet I never turned the doorknob, knowing that I had ulterior motives for going to Jack’s room in the middle of the night. I’d forgotten what you look like first thing in the morning. . . . I’ve missed it. The expression in his eyes as he’d said that was the primary reason I’d been unable to succumb to sleep.
Exhausted but still unable to sleep, I’d showered and dressed, then written Jack a long e-mail explaining everything I’d discussed with Yvonne and, not wanting to wake him with a bing on his phone, scheduled it for a delayed send so that he wouldn’t receive it until my meeting with Suzy Dorf was over. He usually stayed up late to work and, like JJ, he was a grouch if awakened too early.
Squinting at the tiny numbers of the clock on the coffee machine, I gave up and looked at my phone. I had exactly thirty minutes to get out of the house before the film crew and actors arrived. For the first couple of days after the filming started, I’d waited to go into work so I could see them in action. Despite everything, I was a little in awe that a piece of Hollywood was in my parlor. I didn’t recognize the ridiculously young actors portraying Jack and me—although Nola did and was trying very hard not to appear starstruck—which took away some of the excitement. By the second day of watching Marc’s overblown self-importance and smirk every time he caught Jack or me looking in his direction, I’d had enough. Although Jack said he could handle staying in the house to work and to keep an eye on Marc, I avoided the house as much as I could while the crew was there. There were a few night scenes to be filmed, already negotiated by the lawyers and on our calendars, and I was still deciding if I’d remain and stew in my room while they filmed, or decamp with the children to my parents’ house.
At the sound of tapping on the back door, I jerked, knocking my hand into my ceramic mug and sending it sliding toward the edge of the counter. I closed my eyes, waiting for the crash, not wanting to witness the death of my favorite mug. It had been a gift for my first Mother’s Day from Jack and had the tiny handprints of JJ and Sarah in blue and pink, respectively, glazed onto the sides. When nothing happened, I opened my eyes again. The mug sat suspended precariously on the counter’s edge like an Olympic diver.
I snatched it up. “Come in,” I called out while I filled the mug with coffee and a healthy pour of cream as my mother entered the kitchen.
“Good morning, Mellie,” she said as she hugged me, then kissed each cheek. Pulling back, she examined me more closely. “You look tired.” She raised a suggestive eyebrow.
“No, Mother. That’s not why.”
She unwound her silk Hermès scarf from her neck and unbuttoned her coat. “You can’t blame a mother for wanting her daughter to be happy. And you and Jack make each other happy. Most of the time.”
“Well, someone needs to tell that to Jack.” I frowned. “What are you doing here?”
“Jayne has a dentist appointment this morning, so I’m going to watch the children. Jack said he would, but I know he’s deep into the research phase for his next book and Jayne and I didn’t want to break his momentum. And it’s not like I don’t look for every opportunity to see the little munchkins.”
“Jack’s busy researching?”
“Amelia told me,” she explained. “I assumed you knew.”
I shook my head. “He said he’s not ready to discuss the new book project with me yet.”
“I’m sorry. That must have hurt your feelings.” She narrowed her eyes. “So why aren’t you acting hurt?”
“I’m not?”
The word “munchkins” reminded me that I hadn’t had breakfast yet. Eager for a distraction, I placed my mug on the table, then opened the pantry door and pulled out a box of instant grits—an item guaranteed to sit on a shelf unopened in perpetuity. No self-identified Southerner would ever desecrate grits by getting them from a box. Reaching into the box, I pulled out a grease-stained bag from Glazed Gourmet Donuts, closing my eyes as I sniffed the doughy and sugary greatness contained inside. I replaced the empty box in the pantry and closed the door.
“No. What are you up to, Mellie?”
I kept myself busy getting two plates from the cabinet. Manners dictated that I offer one to my mother even though I knew she’d say no.
But instead she hung her coat on the back of a kitchen chair, sat down, then primly folded her hands on top of the table. “Thank you, Mellie.”