“I have a question toask you,” he said, taking a seat at the table and pulling another chair out forme.
My imagination ran wildas I replied, “Okay, shoot.” I poured hot water over the tea bags and broughtboth mugs to the table, handing him one before I sat down.
“So, I know I probablyshouldn’t be asking at all,” he began, fingers clenched around his mug. Irealized that he was nervous, speaking hesitantly and worrying over what myanswer might be, and dammit, my heart clenched with the slightest bit of apprehensivehope. “I don’t want to make you feel pressured, or put you in an awkwardposition, but—”
“Jon,” I cut him off,smiling timidly as my heart thrummed wildly. “Just ask, whatever it is.”
“Okay,” he breathed.
Bringing his eyes tomine, I saw hope. Settled in the warm, comfortable brown of his gaze. With awish so hard I felt it in my soul, I prayed he would ask me out. Ask me to makehim better. To make him whole. I could doit,I wouldtry. All he had to do was ask.
“So, Devin invited meto his place in Connecticut for the weekend. He wants me to jam with him andSebastian. I guess to see how we work together.”
The disappointmenthurt. The anger I felt toward myself was so bitter, I could taste it, sour onmy dry tongue. “Oh …”
“Yeah.” He nodded, wipinga hand over his mouth. “I really didn’t want to ask, because I knew it’d behard with your grandmother, but I was really hoping you could come. To hang outwith the girls while I’m working. If you can’t, please don’t feel pressured tosay yes. I understand. I just—”
“I’ll see what I cando,” I replied softly, hoping he couldn’t detect the letdown tremoring in mylungs. “I can talk to Tim and see if he does overnights.”
“Really?”
He seemed utterlyshocked, as though he’d expected me to turn him down immediately. If only heknew there wasn’tmuchI wouldn’t do for his girls. Ifonly he knew there wasn’tanythingI wouldn’t do forhim.
“Yeah,” I repliedlightheartedly. “Come on, it would be fun, hanging out with a couple of rockstars for a weekend.”
Relaxing, he chuckledand lifted the mug to his smiling lips. “I’m not sure they’re those kind ofrock stars, Tess,” he said before taking a sip. “They seem like prettylaid-back, family guys.”
“Really?” I drank frommy mug, and he nodded.
“I mean, they curselike sailors, but apart from that, they talk a lot about family, so …” Jonshrugged and took another drink. “Anyway, thanks for considering it. I knowit’s short notice, but I, um … I …”
His head shook and hischeeks inflated with a leaded sigh. There was something he wasn’t saying.Something that made his fingers tap against the handle of the mug, lift hishand to rub a spot above his eyebrow, then nervously work at his bottom lipbetween his teeth.
“Jon?” I asked, boldlytouching his tapping fingers with my own. “What’s up?”
Dropping his gaze andstudying his pointer finger, where I had laid my touch, he huffed a chuckle.“That always used to drive Beth nuts.”
The mention of hiswife’s name was a ball weighted with shame that plummeted heavily into the pitof my gut. “What?”
“The tapping.” Helifted his left hand and stared at it. First the front, and then the back. “I’dalways do it when I was nervous, stressed or thinking a lot, and it drove herabsolutely insane. She’d yell at me to knock it off, instead of asking what waswrong, or what I was thinking about. Just … ‘Knock it off,’ and that’d be it.”
Light bounced off thesimple gold band as it wrapped in its infinite circle around his ring finger.He studied it, shifting his jaw from side to side.
“We fought a lot,” headmitted, and I didn’t dare reply. “I haven’t thought much about that since shedied. But we did. She wasn’t happy.” He laughed sardonically and shook hishead, keeping his gaze on that ring. “I don’t know how she ever could’ve been.I was a bad husband.”
“I’m sure that’s nottrue,” I blurted, finding it impossible to believe that this incredible man,this amazing father, could ever be a badanything.
But he persisted. “No,I really was. I kept us in this dump and made her feel like she had to workthree jobs while also doing her part to raise three kids. All because I wastrying to do something with my music. Mypassion.”He bit the word with sarcasm, and I winced. “She wouldn’t let me quit, though.She wouldn’t let me do it, and I never asked but I think it came down to thefact that it would make her resent meevenmore. Forall ofthe time spent living here, allof the hours she worked ... I mean, I don’t know, but that’s my guess.”
I didn’t know what wasprompting the confession or why he was tellingme, if there even was a reason. But I maintained a silence, as hecontinued to watch that ring, glinting and darkening with every pass underneaththe light.
“I killed her.”
I couldn’t remainsilent anymore. “Jon, that’s not—”
“Yes, I did.” He wasadamant, shifting his gaze from the ring to my eyes, and his hand dropped tothe table. “Tess, she wassostressedandsotired, all the time.Always. She never got a break and she didn’tget to see us reach the other side of it. Andnow, the opportunityshewas waiting for has landed at my feet, over a song I wrote about herdeath. And it just feels …” He sighedwearily. “It just feels so wrong and so unfair.”
The air left my achinglungs. He didn’t cry, but I knew he wanted to, as his jaw clenched andcontracted. And all I wanted was to throw my arms around his neck and give himthe permission to let go.
