“. . . there’s no such thing as coincidence,” we said, finishing the sentence together.
He didn’t say anything else, allowing the room to settle into an odd quiet, making me improbably nervous with the need to fill it. As if I no longer knew how I should behave in a darkened bedroom with my half-naked husband. As if I was afraid of what would happen next if I didn’t fill the silence.
I began to jabber, barely pausing long enough to take a breath. Afraid to stop. “So it’s not about Evangeline not having a last name. It’s about her not being able to use it. Remember Nola telling us about the sense she had that the girl who’d appeared in her bedroom didn’t want to show her face? I wonder if it had less to do with it being burned and more to do with being taught to be ashamed of her parentage. She didn’t want Nola to see her face more from habit than not wanting Nola to see the scars.
“I’m glad we found Evangeline’s final resting place, and at least now we know what that symbol is, although we have no idea what the clockface means—but Yvonne is still digging. I’m thinking we should bury Evangeline’s toys with her and the dog bones. Maybe that will put a stop to Frozen Charlotte showing up every time I turn around. But I can’t stop wondering why she’s visiting Nola and why Nola thinks Evangeline is there to protect her from the tall man, although I have no idea whom she’s referring to.”
I took a deep breath and waited for him to speak, for the serious look on his face to transform into anything else. Finally, he said, “Yvonne was right.”
“About which part?”
“About how I wouldn’t mind if you woke me up.”
I swallowed, the sound ridiculously loud. “I’ll let her know.”
He smiled his trademark grin, which always did funny things to my heart and turned my bones to the consistency of warm grits. He reached up and pulled something out of my hair, then held it up to reveal a lone Cheerio. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever known who could make flannel and cereal sexy.”
His hand dropped, the Cheerio making an audible click as it hit the wood floor. He tilted his head. “Do you remember that kiss you gave me in the foyer downstairs while I was attempting to speak with Desmarae on the phone?”
I nodded dumbly, ashamed to admit that I could barely think of anything else.
“That wasn’t an almost kiss, was it?”
I shook my head.
“That was the real deal. The kind of kiss that almost makes me believe in do-overs.” Jack stepped closer, his eyes studying my face while his hands cupped my head, his thumbs stroking my cheeks. “What is it about you, Mellie, that I can’t resist even when I’m at the end of my rope and I’m blaming you for putting me there? I’ve been using these long weeks to try to work it out in my head, trying to think of how to move past everything. But I keep hitting mental roadblocks.”
I watched him, not daring to move or to close my eyes. “Yvonne said something else.”
Jack’s eyebrows rose.
“She said we should accept that we’re both wrong, then take a leap of faith.”
We stared at each other for a long moment until he lowered his head and brought his lips to mine gently, like a person testing water in a tub. He pulled back, his eyes looking into mine as if he was gauging my reaction. I wanted to reach behind his neck and pull him closer, but I couldn’t. I was already halfway there. I just needed him to meet me in the middle.
He moved forward, pressing me against the side of the bed. “Say no and I’ll stop. No regrets.”
I managed to find my voice. “I don’t have a single regret where we’re concerned, Jack. I’ve never done anything but love you.”
He exhaled, his lips following the trail of his warm breath down the side of my neck, sending goose bumps—the good kind—up and down my body. Then he kissed me again—a real kiss this time—as we tumbled onto the rumpled sheets, where the last thing on my mind was regret.
* * *
? ? ?
I awoke in Jack’s bed, the gray light of dawn beginning to erase the shadows, with what sounded like a marching band playing a celebratory piece in my head, complete with sliding trombones and clashing cymbals. I opened my eyes, surprised to find myself smiling, remembering all the reasons why.
My smile slipped when I felt the absence of a warm body next to mine. I sat up, the covers that someone had neatly tucked around me falling off. Jack wasn’t in the bed or anywhere in the room. His running shoes were thrown in a corner, and his laptop was missing. I placed my hand on Jack’s pillow, any residual warmth long gone in the chill of morning.
Scrambling to the other side of the bed, I picked up the bedside clock and held it within two inches of my face so I could read it. Six thirty. A part of me was relieved that it was still early enough for me to return to my room undetected to dress, but the largest part of me wondered why Jack had gone.
I slid from the bed, shivering as I searched the room for my nightgown before I found it draped over a lampshade. I threw it on, then headed for the door, stopping before I reached it. On the floor right inside the room lay a piece of notepaper, folded in half, that appeared to have been slipped beneath the door.
Eagerly, I bent to pick it up, hesitating briefly to contain my excitement.
Mellie, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have allowed that to happen last night. I’m completely at fault and ashamed of myself. Things are still so unsettled between us, and I don’t want to give false hope. I do love you. I just need more time. Jack
I felt light-headed for a moment, and when the blood flowed back to my head and extremities, it was accompanied by a strong dose of motivating anger. I remembered what my mother had said about me being her warrior daughter, who knew how to fight for what she wanted.
I crumpled the note and threw it on the bed before storming out the door. My mother might have been right about me knowing how to fight, but she’d also mentioned that I had a forgiving heart. And that was something I was no longer sure was true.
CHAPTER 27