“I’m not done talking, Joanna,” he says with another step my way, “so kindly shut up and let me finish.” He’s never spoken to me like that. I’m stunned into silence. “As I was saying, as best we can figure, this was retribution.” Suddenly, he takes my arm and pulls my ear toward his mouth. “But that still doesn’t make this your fault, Jo,” he says quietly. “He didn’t do this because you cared for her, which I know you did despite everything you said or did. He didn’t do this because you asked for it in anger a few times. And he didn’t do this as some divine punishment you feel you deserve. He did this because he’s insane, and cruel, and evil. You are none of those things. So stop torturing yourself. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. It’s wasted energy.”
He releases my arm. “And I don’t hate you,” he continues. “Am I pissed off you didn’t trust me? Hell, yes. Am I hurt? Damn straight. But I could never hate you. You try my patience, and you make me nuts sometimes, but you also make me laugh and make me feel good about myself. I like being around you. You’re beautiful, and strong, and fiercely loyal. I just don’t know why you can’t see that. That’s why you’re in love with a man who can’t love you back. You think that’s all you deserve—misery and heartache. You’ve built this damn wall around your heart, and I don’t know if I have the strength to bust it down. I don’t.” He shrugs. “You gotta help me here.”
Before I can respond, there’s another knock on the door. Without permission, Justin steps in. Harry steps away and composes himself, but I have to take a deep breath and turn my back on the men. “I’m sorry,” Justin says, “am I interrupting something?”
“No,” I say, struggling to calm down.
Justin steps next to me, trying to read my face. “Are you okay?” I turn away, and his gaze whips back to Harry. “What’s going on?”
“Jo, you want to tell him?” Harry asks with an undercurrent of anger.
I open my mouth, but have no clue what to say. Each of them stares at me, waiting for an answer. I don’t know where to look. “I, um…we were just talking.”
“Were you harassing her?” Justin asks Harry. “I know what people are saying, but she—”
“Justin, we were just talking! Calm down!” I say. “Can we just get the hell out of here, please?” I pull Justin away before he makes things worse. Harry watches with a small scowl as we pass. I can’t leave like this. I turn back. “Thank you.”
“For what, Jo?” Harry asks, no longer hiding his anger.
“Trying.”
I walk away.
***
Only about twenty people are invited back to the mansion for the reception. The mourners stand around with their plates of food and stories. Since I’ve never been good at gatherings, big or small, even in the best of circumstances, I help Dobbs with the serving and clean-up. Keeping busy has gotten me this far. When I have time to think I’ll end up going crazy in a church.
About an hour into the reception, I notice Justin has vanished. The last time I saw him he was talking to one of the eulogizers, but she says he excused himself. I check the whole house, but he’s nowhere. Even the guards have lost track of him. There’s only one other place he could be.
He sits alone on the beach facing the ocean, barely moving. I tell Geoff to hang back by the stairs and walk over to him. He doesn’t turn around, doesn’t look at me even when I sit next to him. There are two bottles of Jack Daniels in the sand, one almost empty. In all our time, I’ve barely seen him finish a glass, let alone a whole bottle.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey.” He picks up the bottle and finishes it off, tossing the empty glass into the surf.
“Where’s Bryan?”
“I’m the boss. I told him if he followed me down here, I’d fire him. He believed me. You gonna give me shit for it?”
“Considering I got a lecture for making Geoff wait inside instead of outside when I was on the patio,” I pause and pretend to think hard about it, “um, yes. Yes, I am.” I punch his arm. “What are you thinking?”
“Ow. Don’t hit the bereaved. I just…had to get away from everyone and their good intentions.”
“Just you and Jack Daniels, huh?”
“You’re going to lecture me on drinking? How many times have I held your hair while you puked?”
“Countless. And I’m not going to lecture you.”
He opens the second bottle. “Good.” He takes a swig and holds it out to me. “Want some?”