At the Stars(59)

Four and a half hours later, we’re parked across and two doors down from a neatly kept colonial trying to look inconspicuous. AJ managed to score a pair of opera glasses from Mrs. Choi, which he’s using as binoculars (I’m beginning to seriously wonder if that woman ever asks what he does with any of her stuff). Me, I’m trying to not lose my lunch.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this.”

“Wasn’t that hard,” he murmurs. “You totally wanted to.”

“I know. I’m judging us both. Jake’s going to hate me when he finds out.”

“Yeah. Well...” AJ drops the glasses in his lap. “He wasn’t talking to you at all the past few days anyway, right? Not like you’re really losing out.”

I pinch him on the arm to let him know exactly what I think of that argument. “So is there anything going on over there, Sneaky Sneakerton?”

AJ works his lip between his teeth, checking out the window again. “Nothing new. Guy mowing the lawn is still mowing. Oh, no. Wait. He’s moved on to the edging.”

“Good grief.” I sigh. “Well, great. Now that we’ve gotten this very informative look into their lawn maintenance regimen, can we go home?”

He casts a glance my way. “You called it home. Does that mean maybe you’re gonna stay in Evergreen? Even if Broody McHotness doesn’t manage to get his head out of his ass?”

I drum my fingers on the window while I ponder the question. Not like I haven’t pondered it for weeks, but it still seems like a toughie. Part of me wants to go simply because I feel I should. I’ve never known anywhere except back home and Evergreen Grove.

Part of me wonders if I’m only staying because I’ve gotten to know Evergreen Grove, and a place I know feels better than a place I don’t. Then again, I remind myself that I’ve gotten a job. Made friends. If I stayed, I could build a life. Maybe even if Jake and I didn’t stay together, I could be happy there.

But all I say is, “I don’t know.”

Committing to a definite plan still feels daunting when I don’t know yet about Jake. A small part of me, maybe the same part who needed to run after Mom’s funeral, still wants that escape hatch. Once I start telling people I’m staying, it’ll be hard to leave.

AJ’s back to staking things out, opera glasses in one hand and chocolate chip cookie in the other. Because what self-respecting amateur investigator doesn’t bring cookies?

“Oh. Hey, now. This is interesting.” He’s mumbling past cookie crumbs. Whatever he sees has him straightening up in his seat.

I smack him lightly on the arm. “Don’t talk with food in your mouth.”

“Whatever, Mom. Look.” He shoves the glasses at me and another cookie in his own mouth.

So I look. There’s a massive SUV in the driveway, one of those things that looks like a minibus took steroids so it could intimidate all the other cars on the road. A family of three emerges, one elegantly made-up mother, a well-dressed but tired-looking father, and a girl of about eight wearing ballet clothes and sparkly ribbons in her hair.

“I guess that’s his family. He had a picture in his house of him and his parents, so that must be his dad. And there was a birth announcement for his little sister that had a picture of the dad and stepmother on the back. That’s gotta be her. So?”

AJ grunts with what I assume is irritation, nudging me in the ribs with his elbow. “Look at the kid.”

“Yeah. Kid. Cute. Ballet clothes. And?”

“And now look at the lawn guy.”

“What—” Oh. The guy who was mowing the lawn has stopped. He’s by the curb now, kneeling like he’s possibly futzing with the trimmer or whatever. Except he’s frozen. His shirt is off thanks to the hot day, and there’s no hiding the tension that creeps into his shoulders. The way his neck bunches and twitches as he watches the girl go into the house.

At first, the cynical side of me wonders if he’s some sort of perv. But then I see his head turn, the hand come to his face, the smile he tries to keep hidden that looks like one of pride.

“I bet she had a performance today.”

“Hmm?” AJ’s on maybe his fourth cookie, and I’m starting to hate him a little. How does a person eat like that without it affecting them?

“The clothes,” I say. “I did ballet when I was a kid. She looks like she’s dressed for a performance. Or a rehearsal.”

“They’ve got the same hair,” AJ says. “Lawn boy and the kid. Dad’s is dark and wiry. Mom’s is long and straight. Kid’s and lawn guy’s hair is curly, almost strawberry blond. Think maybe that’s what the big family blowup was about?”