I thought of one of our earliest conversations, back in Kirby Falls, running on a dirt path. Joan had scolded me, telling me I couldn’t go around doing whatever I wanted just because I was famous. She’d said that my wants and desires weren’t any more important than hers. And she’d been right.
So, I lowered myself slowly to the third stair from the bottom.
“I’m listening,” I said.
Finally, she sighed. “I think I just need some distance.”
“Please don’t let one thing ruin your time here. It was good.Wewere good. Even in LA,” I reminded her.
“It’s not just one thing. This is your life.” A very deliberate pause. “Yourreallife. I just don’t see how I fit into that. Not even with a spray tan.”
Frustrated, I fought to find the right words.
This trip was supposed to show her the reality of being with me. And I guess, in the end, it had done just that.
“I love you,” I told her hoarsely. “I love you, and none of this—Hollywood, my career, the fame—matters as much as you do.”
Joan was quiet. I heard an airport announcement in the background as the weight of her silence settled into every crack in my heart.
“That’s not true, Ian. And I wouldn’t want it to be.Thatshouldn’t be what love is. Carving out space, throwing things away to make room for something else. That’s not love. That’s making concessions. Building resentment. And even if I understood that sort of love—which I don’t—I could never say that my life doesn’t matter, that my family and the orchard don’t matter, just because you exist.”
“I know. You’re right. I know that. I don’t expect you to change yourself for me.”
Joan huffed a humorless laugh. “There’s some blond hair stuffed under a ball cap right now that would disagree with you.”
I closed my eyes.
“I need some time,” she explained. “I need to go home and figure some things out. Can you respect that? Please?”
“Yes, of course. If that’s what you need.” But my heart was in my throat, making it difficult to breathe.
“Thank you,” she said, and her voice caught on the final word.
“Joan,” I begged.
But her voice firmed itself. “Listen, I’m getting ready to board. Good luck with the tour. We’ll talk when you get back.”
And then she was gone, and I didn’t have anyone to blame but myself.
twenty-two
JOAN
I showed up at my sister’s house two days later with a box of Clairol Nice’n Easy in medium neutral brown.
Mercer opened the front door, and his eyes went wide.
I shook my head, nose stinging inexplicably with sudden emotion.
My friend stepped back and held the door wide before calling out for Candace.
My sister’s reaction was slightly less controlled, but she recovered admirably and ushered me into the kitchen.
“I’m, uh, going to head out to the greenhouse,” Mercer stated awkwardly. “Give you two some time.”
He brushed a kiss on Candace’s lips and squeezed my shoulder as he passed.
When he was out the back door and halfway across the yard, Candace turned to me, a hundred questions all queued up, I could tell.
