“Luke took me to the hospital. He speeded.” Violet lifted her arm. “Look at all the people who signed my cast.”
Carmen gave Violet a tight-lipped smile before looking back to Jenessa once more. “Luke?”
“Oh, he’s um . . . he’s . . .”
“There he is!” Violet hopped away from the table and pressed her nose against the window, knocking with her good hand.
Even from across the yard where he’d just parked his truck, Lucas must’ve been able to hear the hullabaloo. Because he waved back, and Noah did too.
“Isn’t that the cottage where you found the kids? Those two men . . .”
“Right, um, well, they’re staying there at the moment.”
“It’s a rental property? That would’ve been important to include on the paperwork you filled out pertaining to your home and—”
“No, they’re not tenants, really. They’re friends. At least, Lucas is.”
With every word, Carmen’s posture seemed to stiffen. Oh, this was not going well. “The information you provided was that you are a single woman who lives alone—”
“That’s true. Very true. Those guys—they’re just doing some work on my yard. A-and yes, Lucas was the one to drive Violet to the hospital, but that’s because he was babysitting just for a very short time while I worked and—” She couldn’t very well finish that story. She’d gone to that football auction downtown, which had seemed like a totally logical thing to do at the time, but it would sound awful to Carmen and . . . how had this turned into such a mess?
“A broken arm and a visit to the ER is something you should’ve notified me about immediately. That’s why I gave you my cell number. I answer at all hours.”
“I’m sorry, I . . . I made a mistake.” What if this was the kind of thing that could interfere with the custody arrangement? Carmen wouldn’t take them away, would she? Her pulse galloped.
“Colie?” Carmen tilted her chair to face the girl. “How are things going for you?”
Jenessa bit her lip, forced herself not to make eye contact with Colie. She couldn’t let Carmen think she was trying to do anything to sway Colie’s answer but . . . please God.
“Good. Things are good.”
Carmen looked back and forth between them. “Could I talk to you a few seconds alone, Colie?”
The question did nothing to calm Jenessa’s nerves. But she took her cue, reaching for Violet’s hand, leading her from the room, and closing the French doors behind her.
“Did I say something wrong, Jessa?” Violet’s voice was faint and threaded with worry. The kind of worry a six-year-old should never have to bear. “We don’t have to leave, do we?”
Jenessa pulled her close. I hope not. I sure hope not.
The doors reopened in scant moments. Colie was seated at the table now, eating a cookie, and Violet joined her.
Carmen came out. She’d gathered her purse, her files. She was leaving? Did that mean . . . ?
“We need to communicate more,” she said abruptly. “I’d appreciate a nightly report. Just an email each evening with a few notes about the day. Until further notice.”
Okay. She could do that. She’d clearly lost some of the woman’s trust, but not enough that it meant losing the kids. Thank you, God. Thank you.
But it didn’t change the point that Carmen had attempted to drive home earlier. That this was temporary. That she could be returning the next week or the next day with news that would change everything.
Dustin Hollis wouldn’t be off the grid forever.
She sent the social worker on her way, then returned to the girls. “Hey, Colie, what’d you say to Carmen?”
“That I like it here.” She finished off another cookie. “And if she tries to take us away, I’ll run away again.”
He was going to tell her.
Lucas didn’t know exactly when and he sure didn’t know how, but one way or another, he wasn’t walking back to that cottage tonight until he’d told Jenessa.
Everything.
About Tashfeen and the scars and Bridgewell and . . . everything.
The warmth of the flames in the outdoor fireplace flickered over him as he took in Jen’s profile. Her hair was pulled away from her face, secured with a ribbon that looked like Violet had tied it. She wore the same pink fleece pullover he’d seen her in the other night and long black jogging pants, and she was hunched over the sketch of the gardens, squinting to make out his rough drawing under the subdued glow of the string of patio lights overhead, the fire nearby, a sliver of moonlight.
She seemed so . . . comfortable.
Somehow he’d just known earlier. The moment he’d opened her back door and she’d appeared with a bag of marshmallows in hand, declaring it was the perfect night for a fire, he’d known he’d tell her tonight.
Because Mariana was right. There was something he wanted more than Bridgewell. But it was something he could never have if he couldn’t bring himself to be honest.
And if Noah could share his story with someone he’d only known a week, Lucas should be able to tell the truth to a friend he’d known for years.
“I love what you’re planning to do with the different levels and the little rock walls. And it makes sense because the land already slopes a little there.” Jenessa propped her chin on her hand, her fleece sleeve pulled over her knuckles.
“Are you cold? We can go inside.”
She looked up. “I’m not that cold. Mostly I’m feeling a little guilty for doing a fire without the kids. They would’ve loved this.”
“Yeah, but you probably would’ve spent the whole time trying to keep Cade away from the fireplace and you’d have ended the night picking sticky marshmallow out of Violet’s hair.”
Instead, she’d end the night . . . how? As disappointed in him as Sam was?
Or maybe—was it possible?—that hearing his story would open up a new pathway between them? Wasn’t that what had happened with Noah earlier today? All the way back to Maple Valley, they’d talked about his friend, his experiences in the Army, the trouble Noah had gotten into over the winter.
How Flagg had found him in a jail cell not all that different from Lucas’s.
“So we’ll mostly bring in potted plants and flowers for the night of the gala, but you’re thinking we can at least plant some hardy grasses and bushes?”
He blinked. Stuffed a marshmallow in his mouth to give himself time to refocus. “Yeah. With it being October, planting flowers is iffy. We’ll seed a few areas that’ll bloom next spring, though.”
Next spring. Did the thought of the future that far down the road bring as many questions to her mind as it did his? Did she think of the kids and where they’d be? Or was there any chance . . . ?
“Lucas?”
He had to stop letting himself get distracted. He’d never find the words he needed to say otherwise. Or maybe she’d help him out and give him the opening he needed. Ask about his scars or his friends or Noah. “Hmm?”
“Want another marshmallow?”
Or maybe he’d have to man up and make his own opening. “Sure.” He reached for a roasting stick and plopped a marshmallow on the end. “Am I doing one for you too?”