Anna Tate clearly knows my brother better than I would like her to, and she leans across the pinwheel centerpiece a couple of times to say something to him that demonstrates their familiarity. Dalton acts like he and Jonathan are best friends, and Wyatt has a strange habit of slapping him on the back at regular intervals.
Jonathan’s not the blushing sort, but I can tell that it makes him feel awkward to be included among the Tates as if he’s practically a family member. It’s making Law crazy, too. When we were young and still begged Law and Reb for a boat, a vacation to Disney World, a bigger house, he used to shut down our requests with the same tired line: “Do I look like Franklin Tate to you?” It was meant to remind us that our parents weren’t made of money, but there was an edge to his reminder, too. We understood by that one line and the way he delivered it that Law didn’t want to be Franklin Tate. And the reason behind that always seemed mysterious—and slightly ominous.
I’ve lost my appetite, but I force myself to take a bite every few minutes anyway, and while I listen in on the conversations around me, I study Franklin and his boys. He’s a large man with a thick neck and a bald head that’s been baked brown by the sun from years of working outside. Still, he’s attractive, and I can tell that he used to be distractingly so. It’s obvious where Sullivan got his looks, but I’m not sure what to do with that information. It’s hard to gaze at Franklin—at the marble-hard glint of his eyes and the way he watches the room as if taking stock of everything and everyone—and see bits of Sullivan reflected in him.
For just a moment I imagine what it would be like to join the Tate clan, to be a daughter-in-law to a man who, according to the Murphys, willfully and intentionally poisoned their wells and scoffed at the consequences. Who swallows up small farms when people get behind on their mortgage. Who allegedly pays off the cops when his wife gets a speeding ticket and bails his son out of jail and turns a blind eye when another son throws parties on his land that include meth and strippers. (I asked around—turns out the nature of Wyatt’s parties is hardly a secret.)
A tremor passes through me, and without thinking, Sullivan wraps an arm around my waist. We both stiffen immediately, and he makes a show of rubbing his hand on my back and then looking at the floor. “Spider,” he says roughly. “I think I got it.”
I’m not sure that anyone would have noticed the familiar way that he touched me, but Dalton barks a laugh and then gives Sullivan a knowing smirk.
“What?” Reb says, looking around the table and, frankly, sounding a bit batty. Her eyes are wide and confused, and I feel sorry for her because it must seem like there’s some inside joke that she is simply not a part of.
“There was a spider on my back,” I say, getting up. “It’s gone now.”
I’m the first to gather up my things, and once I’ve done so, everyone else moves to do the same. Our table disperses quickly, Franklin leaving without a backward glance, and Anna offering a cursory wave before heading off to say hello to a group of well-dressed, perfectly coiffed ladies who look like a much better fit for her than my sweet mother.
Jonathan grabs Mom’s plate and says in one breath, “I’ll take this for you; I’m going with Dalton,” as if a trifling act of kindness will soften the unexpectedness of his departure.
Mom opens her mouth to say something, but Jonathan doesn’t wait around for an answer. He’s weaving through the growing crowd before she can even say goodbye. “I thought we were going to the Pattersons’ together,” she muses, sounding sad.
Ashley’s family has been hosting a Fourth of July picnic and barbecue for as long as I can remember, and as of last night, Jonathan had been planning on going with us. But obviously he has more important things to do with Dalton and Wyatt, and I wish more than anything that I could follow. It’s a futile hope, though, and I turn my attention to Reb. “I bet he’ll come later,” I say, hoping to console her, but I doubt he will. I wonder if we’ll see him at all today, and what that means for the plan he’s allegedly hatching for the Murphys.
“It was so nice to meet you, Mrs. Baker.” Sullivan steps beside me and gives my mom a warm smile. I had almost forgotten that he was nearby, and I feel a rush of gratitude and something that’s a lot like pride as I watch him study my mother. His expression is open and genuine, and she smiles right back.
“Nice to meet you, too, Sullivan. You’re welcome at our home anytime. I’m sure Jonathan would love to have you swing by.”
I have to look down because I’m afraid my eyes will betray me. Is it written across my face? Does she suspect I love him? It’s so unlike me, so terrifyingly uncharacteristic, but I want to press myself against him and link his fingers in mine. It would feel so good to claim Sullivan right here and now, in front of my mom and Law, in front of everyone. But as much as I want that, I fear it, too. I’m scared of what’s happening to me because of Sullivan Tate.
We say our goodbyes, and Mom follows Law in the direction of the car. But before I can take a single step, I feel something brush against my hand. Sullivan’s knuckles barely graze mine, and I know at once that we’re feeling exactly the same way. I glance up and find myself looking into his eyes for the first time all morning. There are a dozen things I want to say to him, a hundred, but now is not the time or place. Still, he must see desire written all over my face, because he nods almost imperceptibly as if to say, Later.
Now, I wish, but I content myself with linking my pinky with his for just a heartbeat or two. Then he walks away, and I’m left standing in the shelter house surrounded by acquaintances and friends, people I’ve known—and who have known me—since I was born. They feel like strangers to me. I’m pulled taut between wanting to run and wanting to stay, and I’m convinced I have never felt so torn and confused in my entire life.
Until I catch Ashley staring at me across the crowded space. Her look is like a slap to the face, and anyone watching her would know beyond a shadow of a doubt that hitting me is exactly what she wants to do. I’d love to pretend that I’m reading her wrong, but I can’t deny it: Ashley knows.
CHAPTER 19
WINTER TODAY
“Why aren’t you answering your phone?” Cora demanded the second Juniper cracked the library door, a full twenty minutes before her lunch was up. She didn’t have time to stomp the snow off her shoes or unzip her coat before the older woman had caught her in an uncomfortably tight grip. “Where have you been?”
“Lunch,” Juniper said, confused. The door fell shut with a thud behind her. “It’s not even quarter to. I’m not—”
“Jonathan’s awake,” Cora blurted.
“What?” The room went airless and still.
“Your mom called here when she couldn’t get you to answer your cell phone.”
Juniper sucked in a frantic breath. “I turned the ringer off,” she said, shaking off Cora’s hands and fumbling in her backpack for her phone. She hadn’t wanted to be interrupted during her supposedly innocuous conversation with Everett. Sure enough, there were four missed calls, all from Reb’s cell. And then a text:
Call me.
“I don’t know any details, just that he’s awake and he’s asking for you.”
“I have to go.” Juniper felt molded from clay, her mind slow, her fingers fat and clumsy as she dug deeper in her bag for the familiar ring of car keys. As she snagged them with a finger, a thought tried to worm its way to the foreground, but it was sluggish and slow to form. She stared at the keys.
“Your tires were slashed,” Cora reminded her. “You can take my car.”
“No, take mine.” Barry stepped from behind the circulation desk—Juniper hadn’t even realized he was there—and held out his keys. “It’s no big deal. I live a couple of blocks away.”
“But—”
“I insist. Cora lives across town—it’s too far to walk. And clearly you have to go. Take my car. You can return it tomorrow.”
Juniper’s eyes felt hot, but she didn’t know if it was because of the kindness of a near stranger or the fact that Jonathan was awake. Maybe both. “Willa—”