The blush returned to my cheeks. “Maybe.”
Michaela seemed alarmed. “You don’t have to go so fast.”
I looked at her. “Things haven’t gone fast, though. Well, until last night. And then I wanted them to go faster.”
“You should wait,” she said.
“Are you the virtue police now?” Tammy asked.
“And wait for what exactly?” Bridget asked.
Michaela pursed her lips. She reached for Bridget’s pie plate and slid it toward her. Then cut a huge hunk out of the back of it, crust, whipped cream, and all. Surprisingly, Bridget didn’t protest. “There’s nothing wrong with getting to know someone before you have sex with them.”
“I do know Handel,” I said.
Michaela gave me a skeptical look. “But you don’t really know him, do you? I mean, have you met his family?”
This question was like a punch in my stomach. “No.”
“Seriously, M?” Tammy asked. “This isn’t the Victorian era. Next thing we know you’ll be advocating marriage.”
“I told you,” she said as she polished off the rest of the key lime pie. “I’m feeling protective of Jane.” Michaela set her spoon down on the plate. She looked hard at Tammy, then at Bridget. “It seems we’ve all agreed not to mention the latest headlines about the break-in.” Michaela looked hard at me. “You have so much going on. This isn’t a good time for you to be acting reckless with Handel.”
I wanted this conflict to end, and I didn’t want to talk about all those things Handel helped me to forget. To Michaela I said, “I know you don’t want me to get hurt, and I appreciate that, but it’s not your decision what I do or don’t do with Handel.” To Tammy and Bridget I said, “And I appreciate your enthusiasm, I really do.” I closed my eyes a moment before continuing. “But I can decide for myself what’s best and how fast and if Handel’s feelings for me are real.”
“Of course you can,” Bridget said, quick and generous with her confidence.
“New subject,” I said. “Benign subject, please,” I added.
But as the conversation moved forward onto other topics, Handel’s hesitations hovered somewhere in the back of my mind, and I wondered if Michaela’s caution was somehow warranted or if Bridget was justified in thinking that I was the one who knew best. I just didn’t know which one was closer to the truth.
• • •
On my way home, the gaze of the McCallen brothers was heavy from their corner—they were all there, save Patrick. I’d managed to avoid them for days now, but my luck had run out. I picked up my pace on the other side of the street. Maybe Patrick was locked up. Maybe that was why Officer Connolly kept leaving me urgent messages. Regardless, I was sure the McCallens knew I was the one who told the police about their brother. Their conversation came to a halt as I passed, and Joey McCallen took in an audible breath, made like he was about to speak, but, in the end, didn’t say a word.
Then I saw why. Three policemen, all of whom knew my father about as well as anyone in this town, appeared from around the corner. I waited for one of them to call out my name, stopping me, forcing me to face the uniform my dad used to hang up so carefully on the outside of the door of his closet each night. The beloved attire of a man so devoted to his job he was willing to sacrifice his life for it.
The three policemen watched as I went along. So did the McCallens.
Too many gazes on my back.
It sent chills up my spine even in all this summer heat.
When I thought I was safely away, when I thought somehow I’d escaped more than one of these uncomfortable encounters, I breathed a sigh of relief.
But then I heard: “Jane Calvetti, come over here.”
I swallowed. Joey McCallen had followed me. I turned and saw that he was across the street. “Hi, Joey,” I said, but my feet stayed planted where they were, a couple of old Buicks parallel parked between us.
Joey waited there, arms crossed. When I didn’t move, he came to me.
“You told the police to look into my baby brother,” he said. “How could you do that? You’re killin’ me, Jane. I told you I was looking out for you.”
I shrugged, like this was no big deal, but my heart was in my throat. “Maybe you’re only looking out for me because you’ve got something to hide and you’re worried I’ll figure it out,” I said, surprised at my own boldness. I looked around. There was no one else in sight. No one to help if Joey got angry. “Besides, I was just telling the truth. The police asked if there was anything else I remembered, and a couple of weeks ago when I saw Patrick, he was wearing those black boots of his. I saw a pair just like it the night of the break-in. I had to tell someone.” I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to defend myself, but I did. Maybe because I was afraid of Joey, or maybe because there was something about the look on his face that made me doubt myself.
Joey’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, well, lots of people wear them boots.”
I looked at Joey straight on. Did my best not to let him intimidate me. “But his are different. They’ve got a metal band across the toe.”
He was shaking his head. “There’s something else you didn’t realize, Jane.”
“Oh?”
“Patrick found ’em next to the garbage bin down on the wharf. Perfectly good boots and someone tossed ’em. Makes you wonder why they’d get rid of ’em, eh?”
“Patrick found them,” I whispered.
“That he did.” Joey sounded pleased. “There were about ten witnesses, too, and the police have already ruled my brother out as a suspect.”
My lips parted. “Maybe Patrick just pretended to find them. Maybe they were his all along.”
“Well, I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that. I don’t know what the police got in terms of evidence, but I know for sure that Patrick is no longer on their radar. They’re looking elsewhere.”
Joey was staring at me hard. I stared hard back, even as my heart lurched. If it wasn’t Patrick, then who? “The police haven’t told me they’re looking elsewhere,” I said. I left out the part about how maybe the police had tried to tell me, but I hadn’t let them.
Joey cocked his head. “You’re at square one again, I guess.”
My eyes dropped to the ground. “Yeah, I guess,” I said, my voice hoarse. “I’ve got to go,” I added quickly, already turning to leave, disappointment roaring through me. I had to get out of there. I’d thought what I wanted most was to forget, but I’d been lying to myself. What I wanted far more was for this whole nightmare to be over. I’d wanted that memory to be a real lead, one that would put an end to this terrible chapter of my life. Maybe that was why I couldn’t seem to make myself call Officer Connolly back. I couldn’t bear the possibility that he would tell me how the little detail I’d finally confessed led them nowhere.
“Despite what you did,” Joey called out as I walked away, “I’m still gonna be looking out for you, Calvetti.”
I didn’t turn around. Didn’t say thank you or tell him not to bother.
It was all I could do to keep moving.
TWENTY-THREE
I WORRIED THAT JOEY was following me. Levinson’s was ahead, and I decided to stop in to get myself off the street. Make sure I wasn’t alone for long. I could walk the aisles until my heart stopped racing. My hand was already reaching for the bar across the door to the deli, but I retracted it. Tried to turn back quickly enough to escape a whole other kind of attention I didn’t need right now, but I was too late.
Miles was coming out of Levinson’s, a paper bag gripped under one of his arms. He smiled when he saw me. The fact that he could still be so nice after I’d led him on made me feel guilty. The bell over the door jangled as it shut, and the two of us stood there looking at each other, neither of us uttering a word at first.
I took off my sunglasses. “Hi, Miles,” I said softly.
/> “Hi, Jane.” He looked like he wanted to say something else, but he was hesitating. “You and I can still be friends. Right?” he asked finally.
“What do you mean?” I really didn’t want to do this now. Then again, if I was talking to Miles, Joey McCallen wasn’t about to come up to me. “Of course we’re friends.”
Miles shifted the bag to his other arm. “I mean I can handle you being with that guy,” he clarified.
“Handel,” I said, glancing behind me.
No Joey in sight.
Relieved, I turned back and saw Miles nod in answer.
I used my hand to block the glare in my eyes. Squinted at Miles in the bright sun. Our neighbor, Mrs. O’Malley, was trying to get to the door, so I stepped aside. She looked tired, forehead shiny with sweat, breaths audible, but she perked up once she took in the scene of Miles and me.
“Hello, Jane,” she said politely. Gave Miles a once-over.
This sighting was sure to make its way to my mother’s sewing room within the next few days. “Hi, Mrs. O’Malley,” I said awkwardly. “Nice to see you.”
She nodded. Headed into the deli, a whoosh of cold air spilling out.
“Do you know absolutely everyone?” Miles asked.
I thought about the McCallens right then, how sometimes living in a town like ours could be oppressive. But I wasn’t about to explain this to Miles. “Most people, by sight if not by name.” I made an effort to sound casual. “The women especially, because of my mother’s work.”
Miles half smiled. “You don’t sound happy about that.”
“No, it’s fine. I just end up being the subject of gossip a lot, though my mother does her best to fend it off. Sometimes people around here can’t resist telling her things.”
“And what will Mrs. O’Malley tell your mother about you now?” Miles asked in a way that was definitely flirty, his confidence returning.
I felt my cheeks redden. Miles was fishing for compliments, and for hope, I realized. He might be able to handle me being with “that guy,” but if he could wedge his way between us, he would do that, too. Between the police, the McCallens, and now Miles, I was feeling overwhelmed. “She’ll say she saw me with a boy who’s obviously not from around here,” I said. I knew this was what Miles wanted to hear, and somehow I thought that if I satisfied this need of his, we could say our good-byes and part ways.
“And what else?” he asked.
“Miles, quit while you’re ahead.” Frustration broke through into my words.
Miles grinned, ignoring my signal. “Ahead of who?”
I put my sunglasses back on. “There isn’t a competition. I have to go.” In a huff, I pulled open the door, welcoming the cool air that ran over me head to toe. As it swung shut, I could hear Miles’s protest of “Jane, wait, I was just kidding around,” but I pretended not to. Instead of letting him finish what he had to say, I plunged forward into the icy deli, unsure of what I was doing there, or what it was that I wanted, which left me to wander the aisles aimlessly until I was sure that Miles had gotten tired of waiting for me to come back out.
• • •
“I’m on my way to the door,” Seamus called as he crossed my front yard later that afternoon, making my head turn toward the open window. “I didn’t want to startle you this time.”
“Come on in,” I yelled back, setting my novel aside on the couch. “Stranger,” I added softly when Seamus’s freckled face peeked inside. Seamus was one of the few people I could handle being around at the moment.
He picked up the mail scattered on the floor. I’d ignored it when I arrived earlier. Picked up my book instead, in an attempt to distract myself from the encounters of the day so far. Seamus parked himself next to me. The couch spring creaked loudly. “I’ve had stuff going on.”
“Too busy even for me?” I asked gently.
He handed me the mail. “Nah. Never.”
“Does this have to do with Tammy? You’ve been hanging out with her a lot.”
Seamus’s face colored. The luck of the Irish always ran out on the embarrassment front. His freckles were darker from spending time in the sun. “Yeah, but just to go running and stuff.”
“You should ask her out for real,” I said, relieved to have someone else’s life to think about, to advise about. “She’s going to say yes. I mean, aside from going running, you guys had ice cream together.”
“But that was just an accident.”
I shifted positions to face Seamus. Crossed my legs underneath me. “It doesn’t matter. You hung out. It’s almost like a . . . practice date.”
“A practice date?” Seamus’s blush deepened. “You really know how to make a guy feel manly.”
“I was just trying to help.” I regretted kidding Seamus in a place that made him feel vulnerable. I hated when people did that to me. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I know you’re looking out for me.”
I nodded. “Forgive me, then?”
“Yes.” He drew the word into two syllables. “So, are you going to tell me what’s going on with you and Handel Davies, or are you going to make me wait even longer?”
Seamus’s question made me take a sudden interest in the mail. I had to hide my own blush now. I flipped through the letters that had arrived, one by one. Electric bill. Credit card bill. Postcard for a pizza special at Tony’s down on the wharf. I opened a catalog to the middle and stared at the pictures of couches we could never afford and wouldn’t want to, anyway. “I think there’s still plenty more to discuss about Tammy.”
Seamus leaned closer, looking at the catalog with me. “Oh? What else?”
“I think she likes you. Likes you, likes you,” I clarified.
Seamus turned red and pointed at the white china teapot in the middle of the page. “I should buy that for my mother’s birthday,” he said.
“With what? Your charm?”
He laughed. “My charm is useful sometimes.”
I got serious again—I didn’t want to embarrass him anymore. “You should turn it on Tammy, then. For her. And for you,” I added.
Seamus didn’t respond. Just pretended to read the teapot description for a moment, before shifting the subject back to Handel. “Do you like him or what?”
“I do,” I admitted, setting the catalog aside. Seamus was nice enough to distract me from the earlier events of the day, even if he didn’t know it, so I owed him some honesty.
He smiled shyly. “That’s great, J.”
“Really? You mean you’re not going to scold me like Michaela?”
He looked at me strangely. “Why would I do that?”
“Who knows? Why would she?”
“That’s a good question,” he said, picking up the catalog and starting to flip through it but not really looking at anything on the pages. “What does Michaela have against Handel Davies?”
My eyes dropped to the mail again as I thought about how to answer. There was a thank-you note from one of my mother’s brides. The phone bill. Then an official-looking envelope. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. My lungs stopped and wouldn’t start, a car that wouldn’t turn over. Someone was sitting on my chest. I tore my eyes from the letter.
Seamus was watching me. “Jane, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”
In one big gulp I finally got some air into my body, my lungs expanding greedily. I got up. “I need you to go. I need to be alone.”
“Did I say something—”
“It’s not you.” Tears pushed into my eyes. “Please don’t be mad.”
“I’m not. I’m here if you need me.”
I nodded. I almost couldn’t talk. I watched Seamus walk out of my house, glancing back twice. It was only after he’d disappeared down the street that I looked down at the letter in my hands for the second time.
My father’s life insurance ch
eck had arrived.
• • •
“Were you even going to tell me?” I asked angrily when my mother got home from the beach. I was sitting at the kitchen counter, on the side facing the door, waiting for her. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
Her face went white underneath all that color from the sun. “Jane,” was all my mother said.
I held up the letter in my hand. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. I don’t even need to say it.”
The screen door banged shut behind her. She walked across the living room and slid onto the stool facing me at the counter. “Your father wanted you to have that money. That’s why he had the policy.”
“Well, I don’t want it,” I said. “Ever. It’s money for his death.”
“Honey, I know how upsetting it is to think about it that way, believe me I do. But you can go to any college you want with it. You need to be practical about this and think about your future.”
I looked at her in horror. “You want me to build a future on . . . on Dad’s murder?”
“Jane—”
“You signed for me, didn’t you? As my guardian? That’s the only way this check would be cut. The insurance company said so when I called them.”
She tried to take my hand from across the counter, but I snatched mine away. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she said.
Her apology did little to ease the guilt raging inside me and pumping my heart like I was on a run. “There’s a reason I refused to sign those papers. How can I go to college on money I got because someone killed my father?”
For the first time since my mother arrived home, her face flushed. “There’s a reason why your father took out a policy in your name only! Have you thought about the part where you’re not honoring his wishes? Do you really think he’d like that, Jane? Do you think that would solve everything? Do you think it would make him happy that you refused this money he left you?”
Tears burned my eyes. I blinked them back. “I don’t know,” I said, my throat choked with a sob. “It’s my fault he died. He was there because of me, and now he’s dead.”
The Tenderness of Thieves Page 20
