Killing Kate(39)
“Oh?”
“Oh.”
Devin steps out on the porch and I pull away from Justin. Devin doesn’t say anything about what he obviously just saw. I can see he’s having a horrible night. “Let me have one of those,” he says to me, pointing at my pack. I hand him one and watch him light up. He sits in a chair and puffs quietly, looking down the street.
“I’m taking off,” Justin says. “Good game, Dev. I’ll talk to you both later,” he finishes, putting a stress on “both”. I try not to beam and stare as he walks away.
I sit in the chair next to Devin and we watch Justin get in his Civic and drive off. “I’m sorry,” I say.
“That’s the problem, Jenna,” he begins, and I know I’m in for it. “You’re sorry and you don’t need to be. Kate isn’t sorry and has the most to apologize for.”
“I know it,” I say. “I’ll go back to therapy.” I expect a huge reaction and get nothing. “Devin?”
“I don’t want you to apologize to me anymore,” Devin finally says. “Everything you are isn’t because of your actions.”
“I know,” I say. “You have made it abundantly clear that you feel that way.”
“But what you don’t realize is that I’m partially to blame.”
“Devin, no, you’re not,” I say. I’ve heard this many times before. “You were a kid when everything happened. You couldn’t do anything.”
“I want to see a therapist too,” he says. “I’ve been thinking about it and it’s been a long time since I’ve talked to someone. So we are both going back. Maybe sessions together.”
“Like couples therapy?” I joke, but see he doesn’t find this the least bit funny. “Okay,” I relent. “I probably am the last person you want to hear this from, but you’re really fucked up, Devin.” We give each other a long look and burst out laughing. I am laughing so hard I can’t breathe, and it feels amazing. I wipe the tears away and fall into Devin’s lap. “I’m glad I’ve got you in my life.”
“Me too,” he says. “Even if your crazy bitch side comes out and ruins my game.”
“Oh shut up,” I tell him. “If you were a Sox fan you’d feel differently.”
Chapter 11
Ixtapas is a dump on the outside. Inside its cozy and dark, with hidden tables and beautiful murals of beaches and streets of Mexico, though they aren’t done in the Mayan style that I usually associate with Mexican art. The owner is friendly with Justin and immediately serves us with a heaping bowl of warm, oily chips, four different kinds of salsa, including a mango one I can’t stop eating, guacamole and a silver tray of pickled carrots, onions and peppers swimming in oil and vinegar. I can’t imagine I’ll be hungry by the time I get to the entrée, but I order the carne asada anyway after Justin assures me it’s amazing.
I’m wearing a sage green linen dress and I’m glad I’m dressed lightly, because although there is probably air conditioning and moving air with the help of two ceiling fans, Ixtapas is small enough that the heat from the kitchen permeates my hair, making it damp and slightly wavy. I’m wearing it loose around my shoulders, and I resist the urge to pull it back into a ponytail to get it off of my neck. Justin looks cool and comfortable in a white muscle tank top and khaki shorts and flip flops. He’s tanned and it makes his green eyes stand out more than usual. I’ve never seen his upper arms before, and find myself staring at how well built he is. He has a tattoo circling his left upper bicep of a dragon and it’s sexy as hell.
“So how do you know about this place?” I ask him. “It’s awesome, but I swear I never would have known it was here from the outside. It looks condemned. And do you bring a lot of girls here?”
Justin pours me a second glass of wine from a bottle he brought in based on Ixtapa’s BYOB policy. It’s a sweet but dry red and although I don’t know much about wine, it tastes deep and rich and I feel giddy from a glass. “To answer your first question,” he begins, “I painted the murals for Jose, the owner.”
“Wow, really?” I look around me at the huge sunset over the ocean, the tropical birds, the beautiful women lying on the sand, the fruit vendors selling papayas. It’s all beautiful and colorful and lifelike, and even though I am not an artist, I know enough about art. I find myself comparing Justin’s work to Devin’s, as I do whenever I see artwork. The first thing I really notice is that Justin paints about life. Devin has always painted darker. Not usually as dark as the paintings I found that he had stashed away when we were moving. I don’t know what became of those paintings, and I don’t ask. Devin and I both have personal things we don’t share, but we still share so much. Maybe one day he’ll share his stashed away paintings with me but I can’t ask him to do that. There is too much that I keep to myself and I respect his privacy. “They’re beautiful,” is all I can say. “Seriously, I love them.”