Joanna opened the door, the darkness of the unlit foyer giving her some protection at least, and sent him a smile that was supposed to be cool and sophisticated, but somehow ended up wobbly and fake instead. Matt didn’t smile, and she found herself missing the grin he’d usually greeted her with. He nodded curtly as he entered the house, his eyes raking over her once from the top of her head to her toes and back up.
“Hello, Jo,” he said, unsmiling, and she stepped back, the shock of being so close to him again confusing her senses and making her head spin. The warmth of him almost seemed to reach out toward her and despite everything that had happened, the instinctive longing to step into his arms and feel them close around her was almost uncontrollable.
It was also hateful.
He hadn’t changed since she’d seen him last. The dark hair, now glinting with raindrops, was the same. The green of his eyes was still hypnotizing, even when filled with fatigue and wariness instead of love and humor.
Of course he hadn’t changed, she castigated herself. People didn’t change in just a few weeks. Not unless some life-altering event happened to them, something that took their life, their existence, and turned it upside down.
Obviously, no such thing had happened to him.
Matt switched on the light and stared at her, his expression changing from serious to astonished. “You’ve changed, Jo.” He took a deep breath and reached out toward her, only snatching his hand back when it was inches away from touching her hair. “What the hell did you do to your hair?”
He sounded furious. Joanna rubbed her temple self-consciously. Her hair was rather short now. In fact, Matt’s hair was probably longer. She’d gotten carried away. So had her hairdresser, taking her cry of “I just want it gone!” a bit too seriously.
Matt’s obsession with her hair was the reason she’d cut it, she knew that now that she was finally out of the denial stage…but leaving only a few inches had been a mistake. She looked like a shorn sheep.
She bit back the natural response: “It’s none of your business,” and tried for a cold smile and a neutral greeting instead. “Hi, Matthew. Good you could make it.”
Matt’s gaze was still on her hair, astonished and livid. He might not have loved her, but he had loved her hair. She straightened her back, suddenly very pleased with her new haircut.
His gaze slowly moved to her face again and his eyes narrowed as he shook his head. “You look like hell, Jo. You’re thinner, too. Haven’t you been eating?”
Was that guilt in his voice? Surprised guilt? Did he think she’d been pining away over him?
She’d ignore him. She’d ignore all personal comments he made and just focus on Grandma. “Thanks for coming, Matt,” she managed to say amicably. “Grandma will be happy to see you.”
Matt snapped out of his intense scrutiny of her and glanced toward the stairs. He pulled off his gloves and stuffed them in the pockets of his jacket, the anger finally fading from his eyes. “How is she?”
Jo shrugged. “She thinks she’s dying,” she said, disappointed to hear her voice break. “We don’t know. She hasn’t been getting out of bed much and she says she’s weak, but then she isn’t really sick either. She’s an old woman.” Breath left her in an involuntary sigh and she felt those nasty tears gather forces again. “The doctor says he sees no immediate problem, no reason to think she’s really dying…but she’s so sure that it’s impossible not to worry…”
Matt reached for her, compassion in his eyes, but she flinched away. “She needed to see you,” she said, gritting her teeth as she realized she’d wanted his touch. “That’s why I called. She asked for you.”
Matt headed for the stairs, without even removing his jacket. She grabbed his arm, the cool leather of his jacket familiar under her hand. “Wait. She’s asleep now. And she isn’t upstairs in her room, she’s been staying in the downstairs guest room.”
Matt paused and looked back. She released his arm. “She hasn’t been sleeping well lately, so it’s probably better if we let her sleep a bit. She has a bell, and will ring as soon as she needs anything.” She paused. “Unless you’re in a hurry to get back to work? If so, I suppose I could wake her up.”
Matt shook his head and shrugged off his jacket. He tossed it over a chair and looked around. “No. I’m fine. I told people I had a family emergency and wouldn’t be in for a while. I brought my laptop, so if you just have a kitchen chair and telephone line for me, I’ll be fine for a few days.”
A few days? She wouldn’t survive several days with him in the house. “Matt, you don’t have to stay. She just wanted to see you for a minute. She wants to talk to you about…”
Yes, Jo, a sarcastic voice whispered in her ear. What is it she wants to talk to Matt about?
Jo bit her lip. She had to tell Matt. She wasn’t sure how she was going to tell him, but he had to know before he talked to her grandmother.
“…some things. Well, anyway, there are plenty of kitchen chairs.” She led the way to the kitchen, where she had consumed untold gallons of coffee for the past couple of weeks. Somehow everything looked surreal with Matt at her side again. “Would you like some coffee? Or tea?” She knew he preferred coffee, knew how he liked his coffee, was familiar with the way he liked to stir it even though he never added sugar or cream, but they were strangers now. She was determined to keep it that way, to treat him like a stranger.
“Thanks. Coffee would be great.”
She poured him a cup, put milk and sugar on the table, even though she knew he used neither, and sat opposite him at the kitchen table. She’d expected anger in his eyes, real anger, not the momentary fury of shock over her vanished hair. There had certainly been enough anger last time they’d seen each other. But now there was none. Just wariness in the way he looked at her, as if he wasn’t sure what to expect. Somehow, the lack of anger was disappointing. He didn’t care anymore—if he ever had, if it had ever been more than infatuation. The old woman napping in the guest room was now all they shared.
“Why is she staying in the guest room?”
“She suggested it herself. Going up and down the stairs was getting to be difficult for her, and she likes to be able to come to the dining room to eat.”
Matt held his teaspoon between forefinger and middle finger and started work on creating a whirlpool in his mug. His eyes were steady on hers, too familiar and too alien, both at once. “Fill me in, Jo. What’s wrong with her?”
Joanna shrugged. “We’re not really sure what is wrong, except the big one: old age. I visit at least twice a month, and I started to notice about a month ago that she was a bit preoccupied and absent. I was worried, but her memory seemed to be functioning fine. But then for about two weeks now, she’s been feeling very weak, and she hasn’t wanted to get out of bed much. So I moved in for the time being. The doctor says he can’t find anything specifically wrong with her, but at her age…” Joanna bowed her head and warmed her hands on her own cup. She wasn’t ready to let Grandma go. Far from it. “We just don’t know. She thinks she’s dying. She’s quite sure she only has a few days left. I don’t know. At her age, people may sense these things. Be ready to go. The doctor says he’s seen that before.”
Matt put his elbows on the table and raked both hands through his hair as he stared into his coffee cup. “It’s been months, hasn’t it? I haven’t seen her for months…not since we’d just started—”
“She asks a lot about you,” Jo interrupted. “She keeps talking about you.”
“She does?”
“Yes…” Joanna clenched her