AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I stifle my guffaw, but Jamie—she lets out a bark of a laugh. And because I struggle to believe what I’m hearing, I step beside her, just so I can see her face—make sure the sound is actually coming from her. It’s loud, and it’s free, and it’s as odd as it is fascinating. After a while, she silences the sound, but her expression is still there—her smile still present. She has a tiny gap between her two front teeth, something I never noticed before, and her eyes—her eyes meet mine, crinkled at the corners. Seconds pass, neither of us breaking the stare, but her smile is waning, and maybe she’s better at this game than me. “What?” she croaks out, her throat moving with her swallow.
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I tell her the truth, “You’re kind of cute. I mean, when you don’t look like you want to knee me in the nuts.”
Her breath hitches right before she catches herself. And just like that, she blinks, and she’s void again. Completely empty. Expressionless. “Thank you.”Weirdo.
I shrug. “You’re welcome.”
6
Jamie
I’d spentmost of the car ride going through the notes that Dean had provided, so I thought I knew what I was walking into. Sitting on Esme’s porch, gripping an ice-cold lemonade, while listening to her speak with shaky hands and a constant wobble in her voice—it’s kind of heartbreaking. And regardless of how I acted or what I said to Holden in the car, I’m not the cold-hearted bitch I’ve unintentionally portrayed myself to be. After the initial shock of her welcoming words wore off, she apologized no less than four times for them. And no matter how many times Holden and I said that it wasfine, that it was—in Holden’s words— “a good icebreaker,” I could tell that it embarrassed her. When Holden asked if one of her grandkids had told her to say it, Esme had us sit down at a little table on the porch, a pedestal fan blowing hot air on us, and told us her life story.
She didn’t have any kids, so grandkids were non-existent. She and her husband, who died almost three years ago to the day, spent a lot of their lives trying and failing for a family they both wanted more than anything. Eventually, they realized it wasn’t in God’s plan for them, and so they focused on their love and their home. Wesley, Esme’s late husband, spent most of his days in the yard. And while he didn’t have the sons he wanted, the football team he’d dreamed of coaching or his children’s achievements he looked forward to boasting about, he was proud of two things in life: his wife and his yard. And that was who Wesley was right until the day he died. He collapsed in the front yard of a heart attack, doing what he loved. And Esme—she’s never been the same.
She became a recluse after his passing, and it’s only been the past couple of months she’s found the courage to leave the house for anything other than essentials. For over two-and-a-half years, she didn’t speak to a soul, so when the opportunity came up at the church she’d just started attending, to have a couple of high school kids help around the house, she jumped at the chance. And then she panicked, feeling as though she’d forgotten how to interact with people in general—let alone kids of our generation—so… she googled it.
The Internet, she said, had been the only thing to keep her sane for the past three years. That, and Netflix…
… andporn.
That last part had Holden spitting out his lemonade and spraying it all down hisTownsend HS Athleticst-shirt.
“You’re right,” Esme said, smirking as she winked over at the six-foot-four behemoth of a man-child who seemed to take up the width of the entire porch. “Iamgood at ice-breakers.” Then her eyes slid to mine, her cheeky grin revealing her lipstick-stained teeth, and she said, “It’s so easy to get to him, huh?” And then she laughed, and I laughed with her, and I forgot—just for a moment—how much I missed my only friend in the world, Gina.
Esme then asked us about our lives. Holden seemed to be an open book, telling her he’s from North Carolina and how he grew up on his family’s nursery, thus assuring her she’s in excellent hands. He also told her he’s an only child to divorced parents and that he takes part in almost every sport under the sun—a fact that has Esme smiling and mentioning how much her Wesley would’ve loved him.
I didn’t realize how enthralled I’d been in their conversation and all the additional information I was learning about Holden—as his own person—rather than just Dean’s friend, that when the questions came at me, I wasn’t prepared. The only things I told them are that I grew up about four hours north of here, that I’m an only child, too, and that I don’t have as much experience as Holden does, but I do love flowers. One of those things is a fact. The other two are questionable.
Once the entire jug of lemonade’s gone and our time’s almost up, Esme stands and offers to show us the yard and all the work she’s hoping to get done, which is where we are now: me, following behind as Esme and Holden walk side by side, her hand in the crook of his elbow.
I will say this, for such a giant, cocky douchebag, when it comes to Esme, Holden is polite and respectful and full of yes ma’ams and no ma’ams and whatever you want ma’am.
It’s weird. And I don’t like the way it’s making me feel. Like I have to second-guess the revulsion I have for him.
In the large back yard, we head toward a swamp that I’m sure was once a pool, and Esme stops beside it, her shoulders dropping with her heavy sigh. “We spent many a lovely day in that pool—my Wesley and me.” I like the way she saysmyWesley. Like he was hers and hers alone.
Must be nice.
“And that,” she adds, pointing to a building crawling with ivy, “is my Wesley’s workshop. Well, it was the pool house, but he filled it with all his gardening tools, so that’s what it became.” She hands Holden a set of keys and backs away, saying, “I’m not quite ready to go in there, so…”
I frown while Holden’s gaze flicks to mine. “YourWesley’s yard and tools are in excellent hands, I promise,” he tells her. His tone is gentle, comforting, and I almost want to shake him becauseWho Is Heright now?
Esme smiles at him, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, and a moment later, she’s moving toward the back door. As soon as she’s inside the house, Holden steps beside me, keeps his voice low when he says, “Don’t think I didn’t see you thawing on that porch, Ice Queen.”
I roll my eyes.
He pokes my side. “Admit it, Nanna Nelly. It’s sad.”
“It is,” I reply with a shrug, leading us to the workshop.
After sliding the key in the lock, Holden turns to me and whispers, “Hey, you really think she watches porn?”
I don’t give him the reaction I’m sure he’s expecting. “I bet her drawers are filled with vibrating toys.”
He lets out a disbelieving scoff. “You’re a little twisted, Jameson.” And then his lips kick up on one side. “And I’m into it.”
“Shut up.” I move past him and enter the space, stopping just a foot inside. Tools cover an entire wall, and a workbench spans the length. There’s a couch on the opposite wall, facing the workspace, and I imagine Esme sitting there, watchingherWesley work for hours and hours. And then there’s the dust—so much of it—covering every space, every surface, floating through the air, completelyunwanted.
