“Fine. I’ve been fine.”
“I heard about Jonathan,” he said. Sullivan sounded genuinely upset, and that more than anything pierced her. Everything that she had been tamping down, pressing deep into a place where she promised to deal with it later, came bubbling up. Not just Jonathan’s accident and the possibility that she might never speak to her brother again. Willa, and Juniper’s fierce desire to have her daughter back. What happened to the Murphys, who were like family. The uncertainty and rejection Juniper felt, the loneliness of being so far away from all that she had once known and loved. And, of course, there was Sullivan. Fifteen years later, and she still wanted him. She wanted to press her face against his warm skin. To trace the well-known and totally unfamiliar angles of his body and recapture those long summer nights when everything seemed so uncomplicated and pure.
But that was an illusion shattered by the events of that summer. Nothing about that time had been uncomplicated. Nothing had been pure. It was messy and messed up, a summer that didn’t change the rancid heart of a hard community; it merely exposed it for what it was. Even if Juniper didn’t know exactly what happened, she could close her eyes and feel the sickening pitch of her stomach as she came face-to-face with each difficult truth. There was darkness in Jericho. And this moment was a lie. Sullivan and her. Talking as if they were friends. They were strangers, not lovers. They were nothing to each other.
“I need to go.”
Sullivan didn’t move. “Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not okay! Nothing about this”—she gave her arm a jerky wave, encompassing the farm and Jonathan and Jericho itself in the gesture—“is okay.”
“Is he going to make it?”
She wrapped her arms around herself and studied Sullivan for a long while. He didn’t flinch beneath her gaze. Yet Juniper couldn’t find even a hint of the cocky swagger that had characterized him all those years ago. Gone was the sly smile, the twinkle in his eye that made her feel like he knew all her secrets. The boy that he had been would have been cracking jokes by now, pushing her up against the counter and kissing her slow. Inviting her to forget that anything at all existed outside of the circle of their embrace. This new Sullivan, this man she didn’t know, looked sad, his eyes lined with worry.
“We’re not sure,” Juniper said finally. Simply. There was nothing else to say.
“I’m so sorry.”
Juniper took him to mean he was sorry about Jonathan, but there were a dozen other things he could be apologizing for. Still, Juniper wasn’t entirely guiltless herself. The last thing he said to her that summer was: “I would have married you.” Maybe she should apologize, too.
Instead she said, “We’re hoping for the best.” It was such a clichéd thing to say, but all at once Juniper was tired all the way down to her bones. She could have curled up on the floor of the roadside stand and slept with her head on the hard ground. “I really should go.”
“Me too.” Sullivan nodded. And yet he still stood blocking the door. “It’s good to see you.”
Juniper had been so good. She had done all the things they wanted her to do. She didn’t talk about that summer. She had the baby and handed Willa to her mother. She went to college and moved away and didn’t come back—partly because she didn’t want to and partly because she knew she wasn’t welcome anymore. Juniper was too broken, too complicated for quiet, orderly Jericho. And all at once she wanted to be the troublemaker they all believed her to be.
She wasn’t the same wilting wallflower she had been for the nine long months of her pregnancy and the weeks of parting that came after. Juniper met Sullivan’s gaze. “It’s good to see you too.”
Her confession was permission-giving, Juniper knew that, and she didn’t back away when he moved toward her. He touched her softly. Just his fingertips on her cheek, his eyes searching hers for something they had lost a long time ago. Sullivan let his forehead fall to hers, and when she didn’t pull away, he drew her close.
They stood like that for a long time, just holding each other, her head tucked against his chest and his arms tight around her. Then he kissed the top of her head, and when Juniper looked up, Sullivan brushed his lips against the pale curve near the corner of her mouth.
The shock of it startled them both, and they pushed away from each other at exactly the same moment.
“God, June.” Her name sounded like a curse on his tongue.
Then Sullivan turned away and marched out of the old chicken coop. She followed him to the door, leaning against the frame because she wasn’t sure she could trust herself to stand upright without help. Juniper watched as he trudged through the snow and climbed into the cab of his truck. After he slammed the door, he gave her one last hard look through the windshield, then slung his arm over the back of the seat and reversed out of the driveway, tires squealing as he punished them on the ice. He was gone before Juniper could even raise her fingers in goodbye.
She didn’t fault him. She wanted to do the same thing. To drive hard and fast, to break something, to scream. She knew exactly how he felt. And when he had studied her through the windshield, he was wrecked with warring emotions that she understood all too well.
He still loved her. But he hated her, too.
CHAPTER 12
SUMMER 14 AND A HALF YEARS AGO
“Let’s go.”
I look up from where I’m tucked into the very corner of the couch and close the book over my finger to mark my place. Jonathan is leaning on the doorframe, truck keys in hand. “Go where?” I motion to the novel I’m reading. “Kinda busy here.”
“Busy” is a relative term. I’m in a pair of faded boxers and a tank top with a built-in bra. Pajamas, essentially. It’s been dark for an hour already, and I was just thinking about bed.
“Bonfire at Phil’s. Come on.” He takes the book out of my hand gingerly, as if he’s afraid of how I’ll react. I let him do it, but only because I’ve changed my mind. If I was avoiding time alone with him before because I was afraid he’d drill me about Sullivan, I’m craving a few uninterrupted minutes now. We have a lot to talk about.
“O-kay,” I say, exaggerating my reluctance. Pushing myself off the couch, I tell him, “I just need to change.”
“Make it quick.”
“Meeting someone?” I wink.
“No, but I think you are.” He skewers me with a look so laced with meaning I stop in my tracks.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“We have to talk about Sullivan.”
“Fine,” I say, an edge in my voice. “We have to talk about Cal, too.”
“Just get dressed.”
I throw on a pair of cutoffs and a long-sleeved Henley. It’s late, and nights still get cool in early June. Stopping in the bathroom, I swish some mouthwash while brushing on a bit of mascara. A quick finger tousle and I decide I’m good enough. I’ve taken more than five minutes, and Jonathan isn’t patient.
The main floor is dark and empty when I creep down the stairs, and I can see the glow of Jonathan’s headlights through the kitchen window. I loop my fingers through a pair of sandals near the door and run out barefoot, jogging lightly over the gravel as the stones prick at my feet.
“What’s the story, morning glory?” I ask, trying to keep it light as I slide onto the bench of his truck and slam the door behind me.
“No story, June. It’s just a party.”
“Where have you been all day? The Murphys’?” Law never bothered to track Jonathan down, and fixed the fence himself, presumably. He popped the tab on a beer when he came in the house around suppertime, and drank steadily from that moment until he lumbered off to bed. He hardly said a word to either me or Mom.
I glance at Jonathan’s profile, illuminated by the dim dashboard lights. His jaw is set, and he nods tersely.
“How’s Cal?” I finish up with my sandals and sit back, pulling on my seat belt and giving my brother my full attention.