She sat frozen, staring at Rita with wide eyes. Her skin matched the color of the white napkins stuffed into a little metal box on the table. “What—did my mom know? How come this wasn’t in the papers?”
“Alastair’s family kept it out of the papers,” Rita said, obviously delighted she knew something Jules didn’t. “Very hush hush, but someone leaked the info. Can you believe it? Your poor mom. Though she did know and stayed with him after so…” She trailed off and cleared her throat. “Anyway, what brings you back?”
“I…” Jules finally blinked. “My mom died a few days ago.”
A heavy, awkward pause hung in the air.
“Oh.” Rita cleared her throat again, her eyes darting around the diner. Crimson colored her face. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Hey, I gotta run, but it was great seeing you again and, uh, condolences.”
She rushed off, nearly knocking over a server in her haste.
Good fucking riddance.
“Old friend?” I asked.
“In the sense that she used to copy off my math tests.” Jules was starting to regain color, though the shock hadn’t fully left her expression. ”As you can probably tell, she’s the biggest gossip in town.”
“Yeah.” I eyed her with concern. “How are you feeling about the Alastair news?”
I felt partly vindicated by the man’s financial ruin, but Jules had enough going on with her mom’s death without dealing with the ghost of her disgusting stepfather.
“Shocked, but not surprised, if that makes sense.” She took a deep breath. “I’m glad Rita told me. I know they’re just rumors, but when I think about it, it all kind of makes sense—why he left my mom so little money, the mysterious circumstances surrounding the fire. At least Alastair was held somewhat accountable for the things he did.”
“And now he’s dead.”
“And now he’s dead,” Jules repeated. She huffed out a small laugh. “No need to bring up that asshole again.”
“Agreed.”
The server arrived to take our orders, and I waited until she left before I switched the subject. “So, Jules Miller, huh?”
She winced. “I changed my last name. Miller was my mom’s name. I wanted a fresh start after I left Ohio, so I applied for a legal name change.”
I almost choked on my water. “How the fuck didn’t I know this? Ava never mentioned it.”
“That’s because Ava doesn’t know. It’s just a name.” Jules fiddled with her napkin. “It’s not important.”
If it wasn’t important, she wouldn’t have changed it, but I resisted pointing that out. “How’d you come up with Ambrose?”
Some of the tension left her body, and a shadow of mischief crossed her face. “It sounds pretty.”
A laugh rose in my throat. “Well, there are worse reasons to choose a name,” I said dryly. “Is it weird, being back here?”
Jules paused before answering. “It’s funny. Before this trip, I built Whittlesburg up into this monster in my head. I had so many bad memories here—good ones too, but mostly bad. I thought coming back would be a nightmare, but other than the revelation about Alastair, it’s been so…normal. Even running into Rita wasn’t so bad.”
“The monsters in our imagination are often worse than those in reality.”
“Yeah,” Jules said softly. Her gaze lingered on mine. “And what about your monsters, Josh Chen? Are they worse in your imagination or in reality?”
A silent, charged beat passed between us while I debated my answer.
“Michael sends me letters almost every week,” I finally said. The admission tasted sour, like something I’d stored away so long it spoiled before it saw the light of day. “I don’t open them. They sit in my desk drawer, collecting dust. Every time a new one arrives, I tell myself I’ll toss it. But I never do.”
A commiserating spark glowed in her eyes.
If anyone understood the futility of wishing for a redemption arc that would never come, it was Jules.
“You said it yourself. The monsters in our imagination are often worse than those in reality.” She curled her hand over mine. “We’ll never know for sure until we face them.”
My chest squeezed. Her mother’s funeral was tomorrow, and she was comforting me.
I didn’t know how I ever thought Jules was insufferable, because as it turned out, she was pretty damn extraordinary.
37
JOSH
The next day, I accompanied Jules to her mother’s funeral. Besides the minister and funeral home staff, we were the only people in attendance, and the service passed without any fanfare.
“Would you like to say any words before we put Adeline to rest?” the minister asked after he delivered the eulogy.
Jules shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “I don’t want to say anything.”
I reached for her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze, wishing I could do more to help. Jules didn’t look at me, but she gave me a small squeeze back.
The minister nodded, the staff lowered the casket into the ground, and that was that.
It was, in Jules’s words, anticlimactic, but that didn’t stop a knot from forming in my stomach when I stared at Adeline’s burial plot.
Decades of life, snuffed out just like that, with no one except her daughter and a stranger seeing her off. A lifetime of dreams, fears, accomplishments, and regrets, wiped out by a single freak accident.
It was fucking depressing.
I allowed myself to dwell in melancholy for a moment before I pushed it aside and placed a gentle hand on Jules’s elbow. The minister and funeral home staff had already left, but she hadn’t moved since the service. “We should head out. Our flight leaves soon.”
There was only one evening flight from Columbus to D.C. today, so we were flying together by default.
“Right.” Jules sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Thanks for being here with me,” she said as we walked toward the exit. “You really didn’t have to.”
“No, but I wanted to.” My mouth tugged up in a half smile. “Who knows what trouble you’d get into if I leave you alone?”
“The possibilities are endless,” she said solemnly. “You sure you don’t want a tour of the Whittlesburg police station before we leave?”
“I’m sure it’s fascinating, but I’ll pass.” I examined her, trying to figure out where her head was at. “How are you feeling?”
“Surprisingly okay.” Jules tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I think the shock has worn off, and now I’m just…resigned, I guess. I’ll never get to say bye to my mom or make amends.” She hesitated. “Actually, I know our flight leaves soon, but can we make one stop before we head to the airport? I’ll keep it quick.”
“Yeah, of course.” We were squeezed for time, but I wasn’t going to say no to her after her mother’s funeral.
Fifteen minutes later, we arrived at a small, dilapidated house near the outskirts of town. Chipped blue paint covered its exterior, and the door was unlocked when Jules twisted the knob.