Page 133 of The Exit Strategy

“Are you done?”

“Yeah, I’m stuffed. I’m kind of glad I wore a dress now.” She smiles, and all feels right in our little bubble.

“Why don’t you sit on the couch?” I say while clearing our plates. “I’ll bring us some wine.”

Junie opens her mouth, then closes it.

“Go,” I say. “I have zero expectations for tonight. I just don’t want it to end yet.”

“You’re still bossy as ever,” she grumbles but heads for the family room with my bark of laughter trailing her.

Moments later, I find her on the couch, her pretty shoes kicked off under the coffee table. I’m struck again with a sense of rightness. Here, with her, is what home is supposed to feel like.

I sink down next to her, and she leans into me like a reflex. I bend my neck to rest my chin on top of her head, and then just…breathe.

“Do you remember the house on Cape Cod?” she asks.

I’m glad she can’t see my face—memories of her mother are not my favorite. “The rental? With the porch?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“You were young. Thirteen, maybe? That summer, your mother was very…”

“Nice?” Junie shrugs. “Or as nice to me as she could be, I guess.”

“I was going to sayinvolved,” I grumble. “She was never nice to you the way she was to Nolan. But yes, she did seem to…try. I remember she insisted on everyone learning to play cribbage.”

Junie laughs, a small, rough sound against my collarbone. “She was on a mission. She said it was going to make a comeback, but I think she already knew she was sick. She wasn’t great with sharing details. But I’ve thought a lot about it. I think it was her way of making amends when she could.”

I wish that were the truth. Anna Mercer was never trying to make amends with her daughter—she was just allowing her the illusion of it. The truth was much darker.

“She told me I was the worst cribbage student she’d ever had.” There’s no sadness when she speaks of her mother now—only a resolute understanding of a toxic relationship. One I’ll ensure stays buried.

“She told me…” I say, as a memory I’d buried floats to the forefront now. “Do you know what she said to me after that week?”

My throat is unnaturally dry as Junie angles her pretty blue eyes to face me. Then she shakes her head, the smallest movement—I would’ve missed it if I wasn’t paying attention.

“She told me that I understood you in a way most people never would and to protect that bond.”

Air whistles through Junie’s teeth. “That almost makes it sound as if she cared.”

We both know she didn’t.

“At the time, I thought it was creepy. I mean, you werethirteen, and I was a freshman in college. But she didn’t make it weird. It was just…”

“Something she knew to be true.”

I stare down at her. “Yeah.”

“And are you?”

Tiny fissures crack behind my ribs. “Am I what?”

“Protecting what we have.”

“Sometimes, I think it’s the only thing I’ve ever done right.”

She hums as though the story of her mother will remain an unsolvable riddle. Then—and this is the one thing I’ll remember about this night, long after I’ve lost track of what the pasta tasted like or how often I wanted to kiss her—she starts talking about her mom.