Her obituary is halfway through the box. I've already read the murder book thanks to Doris. Uma Gupta was declared brain dead after a single gunshot wound to the head during an apparent home invasion. Per the file, Jem was the one who discovered her in their apartment, lying in a pool of blood. I saw the crime scene photos, it was pretty gruesome. They took her off life support the next day. She was twenty-three years old. They never found the shooter.
The next batch of photos are older and more worn. The first is a wedding photo of two unsmiling young people I recognize as Jem's parents. Can't even muster a smile on the supposed happiest day of their lives. I know he told me he was adopted, but Christian Ambrose has the same hair and killer cheekbones as Jem. Maybe he was the product of an affair and was just told he was adopted. Wealthy people are assholes like that. The next photo is of an older woman with her white hair in a bun reading to two small children by a pond. One of the boys has his back to the camera but the other has to be Jem. Same dimple. He smiles even bigger while hula-hooping in his dark bedroom beside a desk stacked high with books. The next is at Christmas. Jem, wearing a crown and with a silver sword by his side, stares intensely at the camera with almost hatred. His Camelot phase. Wait, didn't Jem say his--
The sound of an opening door startles me. I toss everything back in the box and shove it up on the shelf as Jem steps out. He's dressed in brown boat shoes, pressed khaki pants, and royal blue fleece shirt. Gone is the toothpaste, only to be replaced by shaving cream on his earlobe. "I was just, uh, looking at your books. You have a lot."
"You can borrow one if you want."
I step away from the bookcase. "I'm not much of a reader. But, uh, I like your workout room. How long have you been boxing?"
"I've dabbled through the years," he says, sipping his coffee.
"Nothing like beating the crap out of something to relieve stress, huh? I go shooting."
He quickly touches his chest. "I'm not a big fan of guns." He takes another swig of coffee. "I'm ready if you are. Am I dressed appropriately?"
"Might want to change one thing. Hold on." I grab a tissue, and his eyes follow me as I approach. His head moves away as I reach for him. "Stop it. I'm not going to bite." I wipe the white foam from his ear as he stares at me. Damn, even his eyes are tense. "There. Now you're perfect." I smile and meet those strained eyes. He's studying me again, and my smile drops. The fluttering in my stomach makes me step away. I've found that when I get the urge to pounce the best thing to do is flee. "Come on. Daylight's wasting."
Hope I don't have to jump into the ocean today.
*
My forty-foot cruising sailboat The Athena has become my refuge since Justin's death. It's the only place I can go where no one will find me, and that I can be well and truly alone. The middle of the sea is awesome like that. I learned to sail with Justin in our late teens, and at least once a month we took her out. Well, until he met Rebecca. There's something about riding along the open water with no one around for miles that is so freeing. You're relying on yourself and Mother Nature to reach your destination. I can get behind that simplicity.
As I'm sure he does all things, Jem picks up the machinations of the boat quickly. He only fouled the preventer shroud once. It took me months to get that right. Of course I never tripped on the ropes twice like the good doctor. He caught himself before he fell overboard but damn near gave me a heart attack anyway. I even taught him to steer and navigate. For the most part we don't talk, which is nice. It's hard to find people I'm comfortable just being with, where we don't have to fill every moment with chatter. Where it's just easy. There isn't enough easy in this life.
I stay on the bridge steering while he sits at the bow taking all the beauty of the ocean and sky in. Occasionally he feels me staring, pivots around, and presents me a tranquil smile before turning back. Think I just found my first mate.
When we're halfway back to port, I decide to drop anchor and serve dinner. It's my favorite time of the day, twilight, where the moon and sun share the sky, blending their darkness and light, creating deep oranges, purples, and blues. I join Jem on the bow where he arranges our feast on the blanket. We had sandwiches for lunch but dinner is a little more formal with Caesar salad, chilled salmon, sparkling cider, and cheesecake for desert. He mentioned it's his favorite. Dobbs even put a candle and holder for the centerpiece, not that I light it. This is already the most romantic non-date I've ever had, no need to add to the atmosphere. I pour the cider then hand Jem the plastic flute. "To serenity, beauty, and good company," I toast. He taps my cup with a nod and we drink. I devour my salad as he yawns for the fifth time in half the minutes. "Getting tired? I can make more coffee."