“It is.” I shrug, feeling a bit self-conscious for going so far down memory lane. “Sometimes I think the lullaby had the word Rachel instead of Angel, that’s why maybe it wasn’t a memory at all, maybe it was a dream.”
“At least it wasn’t a nightmare.”
“No, this memory wasn’t a nightmare, that’s for sure. I had enough of those later.”
“Maybe one good memory is enough,” Judy says, adding diced onions to the salad. “Maybe it’s enough to see you through the bad times.”
“It’s seen me through the worst.”
“It’s not over yet, Tess,” Judy says softly.
“What’s not over?”
“Your story.”
***
A few days later, after dinner, Jack and I are sitting down by the water on a Pendleton blanket. We brought out a bottle of wine to drink while we watch the sun set.
It’s romantic, he and I out here, in this island oasis, tucked away from the rest of the world. But there’s a sense of time running out, even as the sun falls away and the sky turns to night. I know that this can’t last forever.
“Are you ever going to let me hear what you’ve been working on in the studio all week?” I ask him. I hold my glass steady as he pours red wine into it.
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“On what happens next.”
“With what, specifically? Come on Jack, what do you mean?”
“I know we’ve avoided this topic pretty well for the past week,” Jack says, “but I have a show this weekend, and my parents are coming, as they’ve mentioned repeatedly. And I just wanted to hear how you’re holding up, knowing that this week won’t last forever.”
“I’m okay,” I tell him honestly. “I appreciate that you haven’t pushed me, or anything. And I know it’s inevitable, going back to Vegas. I can’t stay here forever, can I?”
“Would you really want to, Tess? I mean, hypothetically, if you could stay and live here, would you?”
“Loaded question, right?” I take a sip of the pinot noir, not wanting to gush everything out at once. Because the truth is, I love it here. I never want to leave. This home is a cocoon that has completely protected me from everything I fear.
“I know you’ve been having a great week. I see the way you are with my parents, your naturally quiet demeanor and how it flourishes in the outdoors. I see how you move here, on this property, with such ease. But wouldn’t you miss your life?”
“Jack, do you really want to do this, tonight? I mean, we’re having such a good time.”
“Yeah, but at some point we need to talk about us. Our future. What things are going to look like for you and I.”
“So we’re a couple?” I ask him. “Because I think we missed a few key conversations.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, we never even talked about it beyond me being your gal.”
“What is there to talk about?” He sets down his wine glass, and puts his hand on my chin, turning my face to his. “I love you, Tess.”
I put my hand over his, my eyes blinking slowly. “Jack, don’t.”
“Don’t what?” he asks, cupping both his hands on my face, not letting me retreat. “Don’t say I love you? Tess, you know I do. I love you in ways I never knew were real.”
“Jack,” I whisper. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough.”
“You don’t. I haven’t let you in enough for you to know if you love me.”
“Then show me the places you’re hiding. Show me your secrets. Show me your past.”
“You’ll hate me.”
“It’s not possible.” His eyes are on mine, and he sees inside of me.
And that’s what’s so scary.
“You’ll leave me,” I tell him.
“I swear to you I won’t.”
“You’ll regret these promises.”
“Never.” He holds my face so close to his, it’s close enough for me to let go. Close enough that I think he might catch me. Close enough that he’ll never let me fall.
“Jack.” I stop. I bite my lip and open my heart and take a leap of faith. “I killed my mother. That’s why I’m running. That’s why I can’t be caught. I’m a murderer.”
Chapter Eighteen
JACK
Out of all the horrible scenarios I’ve played out in my head, this was not one of them. This is nothing I could have imagined.
This is....
Fuck.
I have to say something. I’m literally holding Tess in my hands. And she has trusted me with everything.