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“Yes.”
“That’s not what I heard,” his mom sing-songed.
Seb knew that gossip spread fast in town, but was it possible that his mom had heard that he’d spent the night with Kennedy? How was that even possible? He’d left her house and driven directly to the airport to pick her up.
He glanced at his mom who was wearing a cat that ate the canary smile. “What did you hear?”
“I heard that you got an unexpected visit from a very single, very attractive masseuse.”
“Where did you hear that?” he asked, surprised that instead of feeling relief that his mom didn’t know about Kennedy he was disappointed. He wasn’t sure where that reaction had come from.
“Ivy.”
“Where did Ivy hear that?” Seb hadn’t told anyone. Not Ford. Not Keaton. He’d spoken to Kennedy about it, but he hadn’t been the one to tell her.
“I think Chrissy told her.”
“Chrissy?” he repeated.
“Before you ask, I don’t know where Chrissy heard it. But word is, even though you knew it was a setup, you still had the massage.”
“Yeah, I did, because I was in a car accident six months ago,” he explained. “It wasn’t because I was interested in Amelia.”
“Amelia, I like that name.”
Seb didn’t want his mom to get the wrong idea. And if she was going to have the wrong idea, he at least wanted it to be about Kennedy, not Amelia. “Mom, I told you. I’m just focusing on my recovery.”
“I know you did. And Ford told me he’d sworn off relationships before he met Chrissy. And Knox was only going to spend the summer in town, and he met Laura. I think there must be something in the water in Whisper Lake. Some kind of magic.”
“Keaton has lived here for over five years and he’s still single,” Seb pointed out, even though he wasn’t writing off her theory. He’d been able to paint here. He’d met Kennedy, and even though they weren’t going to have a fairytale ending, she was special to him and had shown him that he could feel again.
“You don’t know that,” his mom countered.
He did know that since he’d just talked to Keaton the night before, but he kept that to himself. Arguing with Elaine Savage was like talking to a brick wall. It was pointless and made you feel like you were going crazy.
As he turned down the long drive that led to the rehab center, he could feel his mother’s scrutinizing stare boring into his right cheek.
“What?” he asked.
“There’s something different about you.”
His eyes cut to his mom who was studying him like he was the Saturday morning NYT crosswords puzzle.
“If it’s not a woman then—"
“Are you asking me if it’s a man?” he cut her off, hoping that making light of her scrutiny would throw her off the scent.
“No, but I haven’t had this feeling, I haven’t seen you like this since you were fifteen and you came into the kitchen and showed me the tattoo, you’d given yourself.”
“The cross.” It was the first tattoo he’d ever done. He’d freehanded it on his thigh. He thought she was going to flip out, but she’d actually been impressed with it. And so had Ford. After that, his brother had let him tattoo him any time he wanted. It was just one more way Ford had stepped up and been there for him.
“Yeah, the cross. I’d been so worried about you, you know with school and everything. But after that day I knew…I knew you’d be okay.”
That might be true, but if memory served, she’d still freaked out when he’d told her he was dropping out of school two years later. Ford had been the one to calm her down and explain that him becoming an apprentice was the best thing for him.
“So what are you saying? You know I’m going to be okay, again.”
“Yep.”
