One Long Embrace
Page 49
“You worked with your hands when you were young,” she guessed.
“I didn’t mind.”
The answer was so short and casual that she could have easily dismissed it, but she didn’t. Something made her probe for a more complete explanation. “You had to work, didn’t you?”
Jay laughed it off. “Everybody has to work.”
“Not everybody. Some people are born with a silver spoon in their mouths. But not you.”
“Few people are. Look at yourself,” he deflected. “You want to work because it gives you independence from your parents. Nothing wrong with that.”
“We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you.” She pointed at his hands. “You don’t have the hands of an idle man.”
“Is that why you believed me when I said I worked in construction?”
She nodded. “Partially.”
“And the other part?”
“You seemed so normal. So down to earth. And nice.”
“Ahh, the killer word: nice. What guy doesn’t want to be labeled nice?” he joked.
Shaking her head, she rolled her eyes at him. “You know what I mean! And don’t you be changing the subject now. We were talking about you.”
“Yeah, I know. About how nice I am.” Jay grinned, the sadness from earlier seemingly forgotten.
She slapped the back of her hand against his bicep. “Can’t you be serious?”
“I thought you didn’t want serious. Didn’t you tell me when you still thought I was a waiter that you just wanted to have fun?”
“Oh, great, now you’re gonna use my own words against me?” But she couldn’t be mad at him. She liked the friendly banter between them. It made her feel at ease. Almost made her forget what he’d done, how he’d deceived her. Almost, but not entirely.
~ ~ ~
They reached a small coastal community in South Carolina a few hours later. After docking the yacht at a small marina with both commercial boats and sailboats, Jay looked at her.
“I have a car waiting for us.” He reached his hand out to her.
“Where are we going?”
“My home.”
Tara slipped her hand in his palm and followed him as he led her to the shore. A casually dressed man leaned against an SUV. He straightened when he saw them approach.
“Mr. Bohannon?”
Jay nodded. “That’s me.”
The man handed him a clipboard and a pen. “Sign here please.”
Jay signed and handed back the clipboard, then accepted the key.
“Call us when you want me to pick up the car again.”
“Thank you.” Jay nodded and opened the passenger side door for Tara. “Hop in.”
Tara took her seat and waited for Jay to slide behind the wheel. He drove off wordlessly. He didn’t speak during the drive, as if he was preoccupied. She looked out the window and scanned her surroundings. This wasn’t an affluent area. And the farther they drove, the shabbier the area seemed to become. The houses lining the street were rundown, the front yards unkempt. With every mile they traveled, they seemed to get deeper and deeper into another world, a world of poverty and despair. This didn’t look like the United States anymore. This looked like a third world country, one that needed help from its more prosperous neighbors.
Jay slowed the car and turned off the main road. “I don’t come here very often.”
She glanced at him from the side. “You grew up here.”
He answered by way of nodding, as if saying it out loud was too painful.
At the next bend in the road, he pulled into the driveway of a dilapidated one-story home and brought the car to a stop. He turned off the engine, and silence descended upon them.
Slowly, Jay opened the door and stepped out of the car. Tara followed him and walked around the car to his side. He stood there for a moment, looking at the house. A few steps led to the wrap-around porch and the front door, which looked as if a well-placed kick would lift it out of its hinges.
“I can’t get myself to sell it,” he murmured.
“Nobody lives here?”
“My mother died a long time ago. And my dad left years before that.” He walked toward the house.
Tara followed him and watched how he pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. A musty odor greeted her when she walked inside. The house was small and simple. A living room in the front, two bedrooms to either side of the hallway, a door to a tiny bathroom. The back of the house opened up to a relatively large eat-in kitchen. The stove looked like it was a hundred years old, and the refrigerator was something out of a 1950s movie.
“I didn’t mind.”
The answer was so short and casual that she could have easily dismissed it, but she didn’t. Something made her probe for a more complete explanation. “You had to work, didn’t you?”
Jay laughed it off. “Everybody has to work.”
“Not everybody. Some people are born with a silver spoon in their mouths. But not you.”
“Few people are. Look at yourself,” he deflected. “You want to work because it gives you independence from your parents. Nothing wrong with that.”
“We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you.” She pointed at his hands. “You don’t have the hands of an idle man.”
“Is that why you believed me when I said I worked in construction?”
She nodded. “Partially.”
“And the other part?”
“You seemed so normal. So down to earth. And nice.”
“Ahh, the killer word: nice. What guy doesn’t want to be labeled nice?” he joked.
Shaking her head, she rolled her eyes at him. “You know what I mean! And don’t you be changing the subject now. We were talking about you.”
“Yeah, I know. About how nice I am.” Jay grinned, the sadness from earlier seemingly forgotten.
She slapped the back of her hand against his bicep. “Can’t you be serious?”
“I thought you didn’t want serious. Didn’t you tell me when you still thought I was a waiter that you just wanted to have fun?”
“Oh, great, now you’re gonna use my own words against me?” But she couldn’t be mad at him. She liked the friendly banter between them. It made her feel at ease. Almost made her forget what he’d done, how he’d deceived her. Almost, but not entirely.
~ ~ ~
They reached a small coastal community in South Carolina a few hours later. After docking the yacht at a small marina with both commercial boats and sailboats, Jay looked at her.
“I have a car waiting for us.” He reached his hand out to her.
“Where are we going?”
“My home.”
Tara slipped her hand in his palm and followed him as he led her to the shore. A casually dressed man leaned against an SUV. He straightened when he saw them approach.
“Mr. Bohannon?”
Jay nodded. “That’s me.”
The man handed him a clipboard and a pen. “Sign here please.”
Jay signed and handed back the clipboard, then accepted the key.
“Call us when you want me to pick up the car again.”
“Thank you.” Jay nodded and opened the passenger side door for Tara. “Hop in.”
Tara took her seat and waited for Jay to slide behind the wheel. He drove off wordlessly. He didn’t speak during the drive, as if he was preoccupied. She looked out the window and scanned her surroundings. This wasn’t an affluent area. And the farther they drove, the shabbier the area seemed to become. The houses lining the street were rundown, the front yards unkempt. With every mile they traveled, they seemed to get deeper and deeper into another world, a world of poverty and despair. This didn’t look like the United States anymore. This looked like a third world country, one that needed help from its more prosperous neighbors.
Jay slowed the car and turned off the main road. “I don’t come here very often.”
She glanced at him from the side. “You grew up here.”
He answered by way of nodding, as if saying it out loud was too painful.
At the next bend in the road, he pulled into the driveway of a dilapidated one-story home and brought the car to a stop. He turned off the engine, and silence descended upon them.
Slowly, Jay opened the door and stepped out of the car. Tara followed him and walked around the car to his side. He stood there for a moment, looking at the house. A few steps led to the wrap-around porch and the front door, which looked as if a well-placed kick would lift it out of its hinges.
“I can’t get myself to sell it,” he murmured.
“Nobody lives here?”
“My mother died a long time ago. And my dad left years before that.” He walked toward the house.
Tara followed him and watched how he pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. A musty odor greeted her when she walked inside. The house was small and simple. A living room in the front, two bedrooms to either side of the hallway, a door to a tiny bathroom. The back of the house opened up to a relatively large eat-in kitchen. The stove looked like it was a hundred years old, and the refrigerator was something out of a 1950s movie.
