“Stuck?” He lifted abrow. “What do you mean?”
“Um, well …” Ishrugged, fussing with the hairs at the nape of my neck. “Okay, so for months,I stared at my computer screen, trying to write a horror novel, because it’swhat I like to read. I had thought, obviously, that’s what I needed to write,but I’ve found out that I’m not very good at it. And I felt trapped in my ownmind, not knowing what else to do from there. Like, I knew what Iwantedto do, but I didn’t knowhowtodo it. Until a couple of weeks ago, I decided to try somethingnew.”
Jon’s genuine intriguewas refreshing, after he’d spent so much time being standoffish and closed off.“And how’s it going?”
“Really well,” Iadmitted, thinking of my story back at home. “I love it, actually. I mean, it’sromance, so it feels really cheesy, but …”
“Why is that cheesy?”
I snorted and rolled myeyes. “Because it’s romance. I mean, when I think aboutromancenovels, I’m immediately struck with visions of Fabio andbillowy shirts. It’s so lame, but …” I lifted a hand and let it drop back tothe table. “
Jon shrugged inresponse, leaning back in his chair. “My wife—Beth, was her name, in case youdidn’t know. She loved romance novels. She, um …” Talking about her was roughon him. I could see it in the pinch of his lips and the firm set of his eyes.“She and I had alwayskindastruggled in ourrelationship. She came from money, and her parents thought she should marrysomeone who also had money and could take care of her. That obviously didn’thappen.” His chuckle was dark and bitter, and I bit down on my lower lip. Hard.“Anyway, she’d devour romance novels. It was the one thing she really did forherself. I’d tease her about it sometimes, like, ‘What? I’m not good enough foryou?’ But she’d tell me it was just to find an escape from her day to day life.They made her happy, and that’s all that really mattered.”
When talking about hislate wife, his eyes took on a far-away gaze, as they peered into the past.Remembering. But then, he turned and set his focus entirely on me as his gazesettled into mine. “There’s nothing cheesy about making people happy, Tess.That’s a gift.”
He knocked the windfrom my lungs with that line. I memorized it, held on tight, and I couldn’twait to run home and write it down. But first, I needed to say something bluntthat could possibly cost me my job.
“Jon, can I be reallyhonest with you about something?” His nod was stiff and curt, and as though heknew what I’d say, he diverted his gaze from mine. “I don’t think you’reletting yourself move on.”
He snorted, maybe evenbitterly. “You sound like my brother.”
“Well, do you thinkwe’re wrong?” I challenged, feeling bold.
To my surprise, Jonshook his head. “No. You’re not. But …” His breath was ragged. “I wasn’tsupposed tomove on, youknow?She wasn’t supposed todie. And now, I keep singing these same songs to remind myself of alife I used to have, but I honestly don’t relate to them anymore.”
I nodded my sympathies.“Well, yeah. Your life has changed since you wrote them.”
“Well, that’s part ofit, too;itkind of hasn’t changed. I haven’t done awhole lot of adjusting. I’ve just … stood still, hoping it would all go away,or that it’d get better, but it’s not.” His voice cracked, his eyes watered,and he blinked away the tears.
“You hired me. That’sone change, right?” I pointed out, but he remained silent, fighting back hisunrelenting emotions. “So, what do you want to do?”
“I was thinking ofquitting,” he confessed. “I mean,itkind of makes mefeel like I’m admitting defeat, or like … like all of our time spent here hasbeen for nothing, but I’m not providing for my kids. I’m not … I’veneverbeen the man any of them deserve.”
“What wouldBethwant you to do?” I asked quietly.
He looked up past myface, and I turned to follow his gaze to the picture of his wife above thecouch. His angel frozen in time on a day that should’ve been the prelude todecades spent together.
He shook his head. “Idon’t even know,” he replied honestly. “I know what she would’ve said threeyears ago, but now? I have no idea, and God, IwishI knew.”
I nodded solemnly. “IfI can bereallyblunt for a second...” He lowered his gaze to mine and encouraged me to continue. I gentlyshrugged my shoulders, hesitating with a sigh as I silently apologized to thedead. Hoping I was about to say the right thing. “Beth isn’t here, Jon. You’reon your own now in making these decisions for your family, and ifyouthink the right move is to stopplaying at your brother’s club, then I think you should. But don’t make thatdecision and feel like it’s yougivingup. It’s movingon, not letting go.”
His lips fell open,stunned as he stared, and looking as though I had just turned on a lightsomewhere in the darkness of his mind.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
JON
It’s moving on, not letting go.
Those words … God, theyresonated. They managed to ring loud and clear in my clouded mind, and on aweekday night in my little apartment, I felt like I was waking up after beingin a coma for years.
Moving on from Bethdidn’t mean I was letting her go.
I could never let hergo.
“But can I suggestsomething?” Tess asked, scratching at the label on her beer.
Nodding, I replied in agraveled voice, “Yeah, sure.”
