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33
JEREMY
Thanks to a text from Joyce, I know when Blaze is expected back. The sun is getting low, and the heat of the day is cut with a mild breeze that ruffles the grass of the lawn and the leaves of the nearby maple trees. I’m waiting on the front porch of the duplex with an iced soy vanilla support latte. Joyce kept the Flying Saucer open a few extra minutes this evening so I could pick it up right before Blaze came home.
Too restless to sit in the Adirondack chair, I pace back and forth on the porch, my heart thudding loudly in my chest. I’ve got a lot going on, emotion-wise. Anger, hope, impatience, and longing all vie for dominance. Meanwhile, the latte is making my hand freeze. I consider letting Jackie out to be with me. On the one hand, he might help soften Blaze up if she’s still upset with me. On the other, I want to be sure that I’m 100% focused on Blaze when she arrives. On the other other hand, I could use some support from my companion animal.
I’m just about to let him out when Blaze pulls into the driveway, making my decision for me. It’s been three whirlwind weeks in which I’ve hardly had a chance to breathe or sleep, but some of the tension seems to drain away when she parks and gets out of her car.
Even after flying in from Chicago then driving the two hours home from the airport, she’s as impeccably dressed and made up as always, her glossy hair falling around her shoulders, perfectly styled as always, and her large sunglasses giving her a movie-star glamor. She’s wearing a floral sundress that floats around her, a light cardigan tied casually around her shoulders.
She looks good enough to eat.
She may still be angry, she may still be on the verge of leaving town, and we may still have a lot to work out, but right now she’s here, and I can work with that.
Latte in hand, I walk down the steps as she pulls a bag out of the car. “Welcome home.” I hold out the cup. “It’s getting late, so I got you a decaf.”
She hesitates a moment then takes the cup. To my relief, she doesn’t throw it in my face or anywhere else. She just says, “That was very thoughtful of you.”
Her voice is subdued and her body language reserved. Of course, I’d hoped she’d throw herself into my arms and tell me how much she missed me and how sorry she was for leaving without finding out what happened. I didn’t really expect it, though. She asked me for space, and I’ve honored that request, and it’s possible she still needs it.
Now, I’m standing two feet apart from the woman I love at the bottom of the steps and we’re staring at each other like almost-strangers.
“You’re welcome,” I tell her. “You know the Addison wasn’t my fault.” I’m tempted to throw Walden under the bus but decide to take the higher ground. “I guess after the fire, all the support went to the fire station.”
“Fair enough, I guess. I said the same thing myself.”
She reaches for her suitcase, but I take it and carry it up to the porch. She follows me without objecting.
“It was pretty crappy of them to let you think you still had a shot, though,” I point out as she unlocks her door. “And I swear, they didn’t say anything to me about it. The council meeting was the first time I heard about it.”
“I believe you,” she says, her voice so soft I can hardly hear her.
“I’m hurt and kind of angry that you didn’t stick around to hear my side of the story or find out what happened,” I tell her. I’m not trying to start a fight, but I need to get it off my chest. And even a fight would be better than this cool, distant conversation.
She pushes her sunglasses on top of her head and looks me in the eye. “You’re right. I’m sorry I accused you of going behind my back. And I’m sorry I took off without talking to you about it. You deserved better.”
They’re the words I’d hoped to hear for the past three weeks. I’m glad to hear them now, but it still doesn’t look like I’m in any danger of a friendly hug, let alone a passionate kiss. I guess I’d hoped she’d see the truth and things would go back to normal but the formality between us doesn’t lift.
Maybe she’s been offered a great job somewhere else and is pulling away. Heck, for all I know, she’s been offered a half-dozen great jobs.
Maybe she’s just never going to get over the fact that the fire station got the Addison, even if that was out of my hands.
And maybe part of it is me. I can face down a raging inferno, but I don’t have it in me to broach the topic directly. Instead, I ask, “How were the interviews?”
“Good.” Her gaze slides away from mine again. “Thanks for the latte. I should head in. It’s been a long day.”
“Hey, how about we take a walk?”
She pushes open the door and turns to look at me. “Jeremy, I know we need to talk and all, but I’ve been in transit most of the day—well, for most of the last three weeks, and I’m exhausted. Can we talk tomorrow?”
“If you’ve been sitting all day, stretching your legs will make you feel better,” I point out. “Besides, Gigi’s at the library, and she wants to talk to you.”
Her forehead creases. “Why? Is something wrong?”
My heart rate kicks up a notch, but I just give her a nonchalant shrug. “Not sure. I ran into her, and she told me she needed to see you. In person.”
She takes a deep breath, thinking, then closes the door, leaving her suitcase inside.
