My vision blurred, and I blinked back rogue tears before finishing my climb. Once composed, I shouldered my way past the screen door with what I hoped was a reasonable facsimile of cheerfulness.
They were in the kitchen, already making a happy mess slicing tomatoes and cheese. I dropped the bags and carrier by the door and joined them, peering over Eileen’s shoulder to inspect their handiwork.
“Grilled cheese?”
“With tomato!”
“Sounds perfect. With coffee.” I reached across Adam for the canister and scoop. “Want some?”
“Nah . . . ” He gestured to the bags. “I’m sorry. I should’ve helped you with those.”
“It’s our stuff . . . you’re too nice,” I teased; but instead of smiling he turned away, suddenly interested in the label on the block of cheese.
Coffee would have to wait.
“Think we could take down a couple more boards before we eat?”
He cleared his throat. “Sure.” He brushed past me and out onto the porch just as my daughter realized something was amiss.
“Lemme talk to him alone,” I whispered.
She nodded somberly. “He wants to talk to you.”
I kissed her forehead and hurried to follow him. She had a real gift for sensing what people were feeling and thinking.
Even aliens?
I fought back a blush. A human, a good man, was hurting because of Sal—or at least because of Sal’s people. That was all that mattered right now. I found him on the west side of the house, drill in hand, starting to climb the ladder.
“Hey, you know you need a spotter.” I tried a wider smile as I walked up, but he waved me away without even looking.
“I’ve got this. You go back in to Eileen.” His tone was brusque.
“What’s wrong? I mean, I know something’s wrong . . . ” Way to trivialize. “You know you can talk to me . . . don’t you?”
He kept his face averted and one foot on the rung, but at least he was listening. Of course, so were the freaking aliens, but there was nothing I could do about that.
“In the kitchen . . . I’m not sure what I said . . . or didn’t say . . . ?” I bit my lip, resisting the urge to beg for information. “Will you tell me what’s wrong? Please?”
The muscles in his hand whitened as he gripped the ladder, and I wanted so much to reach out and pry his fingers loose and make him turn around and face me. But that’s what his wife would do. If she was here.
Damn it. Now my chest felt like someone was standing on it. I looked out to the windswept trees and marsh, struggling to pull myself together.
“What happened with Eileen’s father?”
Shocked, my head began moving side-to-side before my mouth had an answer.
“I don’t want to pry. I just thought . . . you know . . . that maybe you’ve been through the same thing.”
Not hardly. “All that matters is what you’re going through.”
“But you’ve been listening to me for days! And I don’t remember a single time that you’ve talked. Really talked.”
Days?! His new memories included entire conversations over multiple days? What did he remember sharing that he thought I should know? Had Eileen supposedly been privy to any of it? Goddamn aliens. “Thanks a lot,” I muttered.
“What?”
“What do you want to know?”
He frowned and inspected the drill bit. “If you don’t want to talk, that’s okay. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, it’s . . . it’s fine. Really.” I contrived a smile. “It’s just not something I’m comfortable talking about.” Especially with an audience! Bastards. But if Sal was doing research on me anyway . . . Shit. I’d forgotten about that. This kept getting worse and worse! Couldn’t I at least have had coffee first?
Adam was clearly waiting now, his expression a mix of impatience and curiosity—and sadness. Mostly sadness. I sighed, suddenly bone-weary, and went over to sit on the railing. Carefully. I made a show of wrapping one arm around the closest column and was glad when his lips twitched. Guess he remembered my near-death stupidity, too. Did that mean he remembered our whole conversation yesterday? No, that wouldn’t work . . .
I straightened my back. “My story. Her father died the day she was born, which was the day before I was served with divorce papers. Guess the sheriff and the coroner hadn’t had a chance to talk.” This water had long since flowed under the bridge, but it sounded so wretched that I hated telling anyone about it. And I was definitely skipping the part where my grandmother, my last relative, had also died—on the day before Eileen was born. Pretty emotional three days.
Sure enough, Adam’s face creased into deep lines of pity, and in two steps he was off the ladder and in front of me. “I’m so—”
“Stop.” It was my turn to wave him away, though I tried to soften it with a grin. “Seriously. The whole thing was a mistake. Except for Eileen, of course. But the rest . . . ”
“How did he die?”
I frowned, remembering the pointless stupidity of it, and the tragedy of the mangled bits they’d used to I.D. him. “Speeding.”
After a second, he seemed to accept that was all I was going to say. “You didn’t know he was unhappy?”
“No. I didn’t.” In spite of all the water under my proverbial bridge, his words stung. “How could I tell the difference? I can’t even remember why I dated him, much less married him! He was cold, and never there, and he was . . . he was just . . . ah, whatever.” My annoyance puddled into apathy. It wasn’t as if he was here to defend himself, and what did it matter, anyway? “It was me. I don’t remember ever being glad to see him. Ever. Pretty shitty, huh?”
“Kind of . . . ” his delayed smile fell short of a tease, “ . . . guess your wedding wasn’t much of a party . . . ?”
That was it. I was through talking about me—and about how little I remembered of the year I’d spent with
