In response to her sister’s latest dig, Lillie said, “At least I didn’t commit marital alliteration. Matt and Molly, I mean really.”
“Marital alliteration?” Her brother reared back with mock surprise. “She dragged the dictionary out for that one, and much as I hate to admit it, she’s right!”
Arms crossed, Molly huffed. “You’re a fine one to talk, Sam, marrying a girl with the same name.”
Liam’s laughter filled the sunny yard as his wife said, “All right you guys, if you want to eat later, get back to work!”
The construction crew had completed the exterior work and moved inside to put the finishing touches on the kitchen addition. That left the outside clear for Lillie’s family to work on. Plants that had grown in beds around the old porch now stood in lopsided plastic pots along the back fence.
“Lillie, would you mind going around front to tend the rose garden? I know the crew tried to be careful, but they made a huge mess out there. You have the magic touch, maybe you can save them.”
Lillie grabbed a shovel, a trowel and her garden gloves. “Happy to, Mom.” And she meant it. Working out front would allow her to contribute to the cleanup project while ignoring the occasional sidelong glance or raised eyebrow, proof the family wasn’t entirely convinced of her trustworthiness.
After fertilizing and replanting several rose shrubs, Lillie decided to form a border around the bed by moving dozens of marigolds and zinnias from the side yard. Standing back, she gave her work an admiring nod. “Not bad if I do say so myself,” she said.
“Self-confidence looks good on you.”
Startled, she spun quickly around, nearly losing her balance. If Jase hadn’t grabbed both biceps, Lillie would have landed on the spade’s sharp blade. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d stood so close.
Blue eyes boring into hers, he said, “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
He turned her loose and took a step back, and she saw she’d left muddy handprints on his white shirt.
She removed her right glove and made a half-baked attempt to brush away the dirt. Sadly, it only made the mess worse. “Omigarsh. Look what I’ve done. I’m so sorry. And this looks like a freshly pressed shirt, too.” And his jeans were dark, making him appear taller and slimmer than she remembered.
“It’s okay. Couple squirts with some stain remover and it’ll be good as new.”
He pointed at the flowers. “Nice job. You always did have an artistic eye. And a gift for stuff like this.”
“Thanks.” Just as she had weeks ago outside the Flower Basket, Lillie struggled for the right words. But what could she say? She’d promised to call him and hadn’t. Would he see that as proof she was still untrustworthy?
“Guess your dad doesn’t have my number after all.”
So, his mindreading talents hadn’t faltered while she’d been in New York.
“He probably does, but to tell the truth, I never asked for it. I’ve been working a lot of extra hours, waiting tables and clerking at the hotel up the street. Unfortunately, I’m still a couple hundred dollars short of what I owe you.”
His Orioles cap shaded the upper half of his handsome face, but not enough to hide his furrowed brow.
“You don’t owe me anything, Lill. Really.”
“Are you kidding? Of course I do. If you’d like, I can write you a check right now, and pay the rest just as soon as I’ve earned it.”
Feet planted shoulder-width apart and arms crossed over his broad chest, he studied her. Because he hadn’t answered any of his questions? Or because of what she still owed him?
“Two jobs. In addition to helping out around here. When do you sleep?”
In fits and starts, she thought. A guilty conscience will do that to a gal.
She considered joking her way through a response, when he asked, “You have wheels?”
“I borrow Mom’s car when I need to drive someplace.”
“That’s gotta be tough on somebody like you.”
Somebody like her? This whole conversation felt forced. Stilted. Uncomfortable. Good as it was to see him again, she wished he’d just leave.
“What I mean is, you used to be so independent.”
Used to be, as in, before you became an out-of-control, thieving drug addict.
“So you’re walking to and from your jobs?”
“Unless it’s pouring rain. I’d walk then, too, if Mom didn’t insist that I drive.”
“Uh-huh.”
She wished he’d yell at her. Curse at her. Give her a stern talking-to. Anything was preferable to this oh-so-calm stoic demeanor that told her he didn’t care enough to let anything she did rile him. Right now, Lillie wished she’d spent a lot more time talking with her therapist about her feelings for Jase. Seeing him at the flower shop had rocked her, but not nearly as much as standing mere feet from him.
“So, which restaurant?”
“The Sip & Bite.”
“And I’m guessing since you’re hoofing it, you’re clerking at the inn at Henderson’s Wharf?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
Why did he care? He didn’t love her anymore. The way you still—
“Why not wait tables in their restaurant?”
“There weren’t any openings when I applied. Besides, I can pretty much choose my schedule at the Sip & Bite. And the tips are great.”
Jase’s brows drew together. “Do you ever miss being onstage, singing?”
“I’ll say. It’s one of the reasons I started volunteering at Hopkins’ Children’s Oncology. Some days I sing to the kids, other days I paint faces.”
He thumbed his cap back, causing some of his shining black hair to fall forward, hiding one eyebrow. Skeptical was as close as she could come to describing his expression. Had she hurt him so badly that he couldn’t believe it possible for her to spend time with sick children? That shamed her. Hurt her, too. But, she had no right to feel anything but sorry for all she’d put him through.
“I hate to sound redundant, but with two jobs, helping out around here, and putting in time at the hospital, when do you sleep?”
Now that he knew she couldn’t repay him—yet—why was he still here? To make her regret losing him even more than she already did?
Maybe a change of subject would put them both at ease. “Saw you on TV the other day.” He’d looked so handsome. So at ease, smiling for the camera, making small talk with the show’s host. Thankfully, she’d been alone in the family room, so no one had seen her drop onto the couch cushions and blubber into a throw pillow. “You’re a natural.”
“It’s a different way to make a living, I’ll admit, but since Mom’s stroke—”
“What! Stroke? When did that happen? How bad was it? Is she all right?”
He held up a hand. “Whoa. Easy, girl.” Grinning, he said, “She’s fine. Happened a couple months back. Doc says she should be fine as long as she takes her meds, exercises, eats smart.”
She felt selfish. Self-centered. Childish. Because in all the time she’d been away, her only contact with Colette had been when she placed a check into a carefully chosen greeting card that featured lilacs, Colette’s favorite flowers. According to her bank statement,