Page 87 of Timid (Lark Cove 2)

“No, you didn’t.” Dad patted my knee. “But Jackson’s guarded, honey. Seeing his mother couldn’t have been easy on him, and I can see why he’d lash out. Give him a chance to realize he messed up.”

It didn’t surprise me that Dad’s advice was to cut Jackson some slack. Dad was the most understanding person on the planet.

We were sitting at the dining room table, staring out the big sliding glass door that went out to the back patio. Mom was in the kitchen doing the breakfast dishes. She’d escaped after we ate, leaving me and Dad alone to talk.

She’d always done that. She let Dad tackle the tough conversations because the outcome was always better. I loved Mom, but her forward approach usually just made me cry. I loved that she knew it too. When it was something really important, she’d always weigh in. She made sure Dad knew her position and opinion.

But she left the delivery up to him. She recognized that Dad and I were kindred spirits.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Anytime.” He sipped his coffee, looking across our yard to the playground beyond.

Had Jackson walked home last night? Had he even cared at all when he’d passed this way? Had he hesitated, wanting to come apologize? Or was this the end?

My eyes filled with tears just thinking about it.

I was so angry at him. How could he accuse me of flirting with another man? Didn’t he see how much I cared? Didn’t he see that I only had eyes for him and had for years?

I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs. I wanted to pound my fists on the table because it was so unfair.

But I didn’t. I silently took another sip of my coffee and stared blankly at the yard.

Jackson may have treated me badly last night, but it hadn’t changed my feelings toward him. If he knocked on my door right now, I’d forgive him instantly. Unless he did something truly nasty or spiteful, I’d always be there for him.

But I wasn’t going to chase him.

If he still wanted me, it was his move to make. I deserved an apology.

Sniffling, I wiped my eyes dry and focused on the playground. It was cold this morning and the grass was covered in white crystals. I was studying the frozen blades just as a man came down the sidewalk on the far side of the playground.

A man wearing a green plaid shirt, faded jeans and black boots, the same thing he’d been wearing last night.

I sat up straighter, leaning forward as I watched Jackson walk.

Dad spotted him too because his posture matched my own.

Jackson was walking past the playground with his eyes aimed at the sidewalk. His hands were stuffed into his jeans pockets. His shoulders and neck were bunched.

It was as if he was trying not to look over at my house. He looked like he was forcing one foot in front of the other while his face pointed stoically to the cement.

Temptation must have gotten to him because about halfway down the sidewalk, he glanced over once. After two steps, he glanced over again.

My heart was pounding as I watched his indecision. Step. Glance. Another step. Another glance.

Would he stop? Would he go home and call me “tomorrow or something?”

Stop, Jackson. Just stop.

The tears came back as he kept walking. He wasn’t going to stop.

He’d almost reached the corner of the school, where he’d disappear from sight, when he slowed, his st

ride about half its normal distance. He took two more shuffled steps before his feet halted on the sidewalk. His chest heaved with a long sigh before he turned on a heel and stepped onto the grass.

I let out a little cry, the relief causing a tear to fall.

At my side, Dad put his hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Then without a word, he stood and left the dining room.