You try killing the woman you loved and see how you sleep at night.
Jensen’s words had riveted her to a spot in the hallway by the nurses’ desk, where she’d been trying to nail down a conversation with her grandfather’s doctor.
Loved. Of course he’d loved Felicity. She knew that. But to hear him admit it . . .
Hours later, Claire still couldn’t shake away the anger clawing at her—mostly at herself for doubting Felicity. No, her friend hadn’t actually said the words, but she knew the truth in the way Felicity suggested it—she and Jensen had an affair. He’d loved her.
Loved.
When she nearly sliced off a finger, she set the knife down on the cutting board, shaking.
Next to her, Grace stretched out crust, a ticket lined up in front of her. She glanced at Claire. “I’d offer to trade places with you, but this order calls for a thick crust, not something beaten to a pulp.”
Claire managed a smile. “Sorry.”
Tucker ran the register out front, although at the moment, he was cleaning the microwave. The dining area was empty, their lone order a takeout.
Claire probably didn’t need to be chopping onions, but she’d store them for tomorrow. Besides, it gave her someplace to put the ache.
What a fool she’d been letting Jensen back into her life to roam around and kick more holes in her heart.
Maybe she should leave town. When her parents arrived and sold her grandfather’s home out from under her, she’d have nowhere to belong anyway.
She blinked back the burn in her eyes.
“What’s eating you?” Grace ladled out white sauce, running it around the dough. She must be making one of her signature spinach pizzas.
“It’s nothing.”
Really. Because how could Claire admit to anyone how betrayed she felt? How in her head over the past few days Jensen had . . . well, maybe simply become less of a villain, more of the friend she remembered.
And then, with one sentence, he’d reminded her exactly why she hadn’t talked to him for three years.
“You nearly added a finger to the toppings.” Grace glanced over as Claire clasped her fist tight. “Yes, I saw that.” She dusted the top of the pizza with shredded provolone. “We missed you in Bible study last night.”
“I was with my grandfather.”
“We prayed for him. How’s he doing?”
“I don’t understand. He’s bedridden, in pain, and he’s acting like he’s having the time of his life.”
“Your grandfather always made me smile. Always had a kind word for me at church. But you missed a great study. It was on Psalm 145, verses 17 through 19. ‘The Lord is righteous in everything he does; he is filled with kindness. The Lord is close to all who call on him, yes, to all who call on him in truth. He grants the desires of those who fear him; he hears their cries for help and rescues them.’”
Trust Grace to have memorized it.
She dotted spinach on the pizza. “We talked about what it means for God to be righteous in everything He does and to be filled with kindness.”
Right. Kindness. Claire didn’t want to argue, but frankly, God felt anything but kind these days.
She scooped the onions into a stainless steel container, wrapped it with plastic, and put it in the oversize fridge. Stood there, the cool air washing over her.
She hated how the rest of Jensen’s words sat in her head, threatening to dissolve her anger.
See how you look at yourself in the mirror. All you want to do is run, pretend you aren’t the person you see.
Claire understood not wanting to be the person she saw. Looking in the mirror every day, wearing that stupid black visor, the black polyester shirt emblazoned with Pierre’s Pizza. Yes, she knew what it felt like to go to bed with disappointment weighting down your chest. She even understood the desire to run.
But she’d done the opposite. Stayed in Deep Haven, paralyzed. Always paralyzed.
Still, how did a person forgive himself for destroying so many lives? Even if it had been an accident? She’d watched him stalk out to the parking lot, sit in his truck, and for a moment . . .
Yes, for a long moment, she wanted to forgive him. And that, perhaps, made her most angry. Jensen didn’t deserve it. Hadn’t even asked for it.
She needed to remember that while he might not have been guilty of reckless driving, he’d broken up Felicity’s marriage, driven her out of her home that dark night.
Jensen was right. It was much, much easier to be angry. Especially at herself for nearly falling for that signature Jensen charm.
Grace put the finished pizza in the oven, the rollers sending it through the heat. “No more orders?” she asked Tucker.
He shook his head. “The place is dead.”