Whatever. I’m past playing nice.
“No problem,” Dalton says, seemingly oblivious to the nonverbal exchange between me and my brother. He waves at Jonathan as if to shoo him in my direction. “I’ll just be waiting at the car, drinking a beer, keeping myself company…” he trails off as he walks away, his path wavering.
Jonathan hangs back reluctantly, but the moment Dalton is out of earshot I take my chance. I punch my brother in the shoulder. Hard.
“What the hell?” I cry, pulling back to hit him again.
He sidesteps my fist and lifts his palms in surrender. “I’m sorry, June. Really I am. I didn’t know Dalton was going to grab you like that. I would have stopped him if I did.”
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say to me?” I’m panting, my heart pounding. “That’s just the tip of the iceberg, and you know it.”
For just a moment the facade crumbles, and the Jonathan I know and love peeks through. His mouth twists down like he’s about to cry—something I haven’t seen him do in years—and in a split second everything changes and I want to take him in my arms like the big sister I am. But then he clears his throat and squares his shoulders, and the mask is back in place as if it never slipped at all.
“Just go home, June. Take a long bath, read a book. I don’t care what you do, just go home.”
He wheels away from me and is swallowed up by the darkness. Almost as soon as I can’t see him anymore, the first big firework explodes above me. It’s brilliant, enormous, a crimson bloom that fizzles to gold as it streaks across the sky. When I was little, fireworks always made me cry. They were loud and terrifying. Clearly dangerous. I couldn’t understand why everyone smiled and laughed while the world was ending around us.
They keep coming, an onslaught of light and sound accompanied by the suggestion of gun smoke and sulfur. Of course, I can’t smell the fireworks from where I’m standing, but over the years I’ve held the punk and lit enough cherry bombs, bottle rockets, and fountains to know exactly how they sting at the back of your throat. Fireworks engage every sense, and for a few minutes at least, it seems the whole earth is entranced, faces turned heavenward.
Suddenly, I know what I have to do.
But as I hurry off toward my car, someone calls my name. I spin without thinking, and her blow catches me completely off guard. Before I realize what’s happening, I’m on my hands and knees in the grass, left cheek flaming and eyes watering so hard tears drip onto my knuckles. I’ve never been slapped before.
“You bitch,” she spits. I can hardly recognize Ashley’s voice, but her sandals are familiar and so is her sparkly purple toenail polish. I bought it for her. “How could you?”
I could tell her that Sullivan had explained over and over again that it would never work between them. I could confess that it was an accident, that I never meant to fall for him. I could throw myself on her good graces, whisper that I had fallen in love. That this thing between Sullivan and me is real. But I know her well enough to know that her fury is all-consuming as a house fire. There is nothing for me to do but watch it burn.
Ashley stands over me for a few ragged breaths, and I worry the whole time that she will kick me while I’m down. But she doesn’t.
So I sit back on my haunches and scrub at the tears with the heels of my hands. I dare to say, “I’m sorry,” and she laughs.
“You’re dead to me,” Ashley says, which seems both ridiculously melodramatic and perfectly apt, and suddenly I’m just as angry as I am sad. I push myself up to face her, but Ashley is already walking away, leaving me behind as if we were never anything at all.
“He didn’t want you,” I call after her, my voice fracturing over the words. “He never did.”
Ashley pauses just a moment, a stutter in her step, as a firework rips apart the black sky. It’s red and fierce, the mouth of a dragon, and I’m reminded that there is much more at play tonight than the annihilation of our friendship. Because it is over. I’ve cemented it. She’ll hate me forever, but I’m crushed, too, winded by not just her palm against my cheek, but the fact that she can simply walk away. If she ever loved me at all…
But I don’t have time to cry over Ashley Patterson tonight.
I turn my tearstained face away from the place where she’s fading into the shadows and take off in the other direction at a sprint. Maybe I’m not too late.
CHAPTER 21
WINTER TODAY
“Barry’s car again?” Willa asked, hopping into the passenger seat. She waved goodbye to Zoe through the windshield as she clicked on her seat belt. The girl was almost chipper, clearly invigorated by the excitement of the day and Jonathan’s unexpected awakening. In some ways it was as if he’d come back to life.
“Yup,” Juniper said automatically. She was really in no condition to deal with a hyper teen.
“How’s Uncle Jonathan?”
“Awake.”
“I mean, did he ask about me? Can I go see him? When can I see him?”
Juniper paused in the blue light of the dashboard and regarded Willa. She looked much younger than her thirteen years in the pale glow, her lips parted in expectation and the forward slant of her shoulders pitched with hope. She was so pretty Juniper couldn’t speak for a moment.
“Soon,” she forced herself to say. “You’ll get to see Jonathan very soon. He misses you.” Whether it was true or not didn’t matter right now.
As Juniper navigated the dark streets toward the bungalow, she felt drunk with the bitter elixir of all she had missed. She wanted to stop in the driveway and tell Willa everything there was to know. About who her father was and how they had once been so in love. About what had happened the night that everything changed, and the role that her mother had played in it.
But the game wasn’t over yet, and as much as she wanted to leave the past behind and move on, seeing Jonathan with his eyes vacant and his body dependent on machines only underlined the fact that nothing had changed. Not yet. Jonathan was still the most likely suspect; Willa, the Butcher’s Girl. Juniper bore the weight of her flight and her exile, the abandonment of her daughter, who was nobody’s baby—not really—because teenage June didn’t have the courage to tell the truth back then. Did she now? Juniper snuck a sideways glance at Willa as she drove down the dark streets toward home. The girl was nibbling on the tip of one fingernail, brow furrowed as she studied the windshield. She looked small and uncertain and lonely.
I do, Juniper thought. I’m brave enough.
“Willa, I’m so sorry, but there’s someone I need to talk to.”
“Is it about Jonathan?”
“Yes.” Juniper pulled into the driveway of the bungalow and called Cora. Willa tried to insist that she’d be okay alone for a while, that this was Jericho after all, but that was exactly what Juniper was afraid of.
A few minutes later, Cora pulled up in front of the house and met Willa in the driveway. They hugged like old friends, and Cora waved over Willa’s shoulder and gave Juniper a knowing wink.
Juniper watched until Cora and Willa disappeared inside the house and had enough time to turn on the lights and lock the doors. Willa swept the curtains shut and then she was finally blocked from view.
There was so much Sullivan in the girl. Juniper could see it now. The lightheartedness, the innate desire to laugh and have fun. Willa was fearless and bold, with just a hint of her mother’s learned watchfulness. She was no dummy, that was for sure. And though there were things about her daughter that were wholly unknown and even a little scary, Juniper felt feverish with the desire to know her. To make up for all the lost years between them.
But first: this.
The number Cora had given her was now saved in her phone. She thumbed through her contacts until India Abbot was highlighted, then punched the call icon.