Chapter Eighteen
Bailey shifted in thepassenger seat for the millionth time, trying to find a comfortable position for her broken arm. It didn’t hurt, but with the silence in the car, the itch under the cast became a focal point for her.
She wanted to reach out to Jonathan and comfort him, but couldn’t think of anything new to say. The further they drove into the city, the more he seemed to close off. The wrinkle of a frown was gone from his brow, and his mouth was flat. No smile, no scowl, no anything.
“I didn’t get to spend a lot of time exploring when I got in.” Even his voice was devoid of emotion. “Where’s a good place to eat?”
The break in the silence jarred and relieved her at the same time. “Depends on what you’re in the mood for. Greasy? Fine dining?”
“Turkey avocado.”
“You’re such a California boy,” she said teasingly.
His lips twitched, but no smile materialized. “They grow avocados here, too.”
“But they also have fresh seafood and okra—”
“And sweet tea and grits and chicken fried steak. I’m familiar with regional cuisine, thanks. I’m homesick.”
She’d call bullcrap, but she wasn’t in the mood to argue. The implication he didn’t consider this home—at all, apparently—dug deep. The reminder he wouldn’t be here much longer hurt more. “There’s a sandwich place downtown. Cali Kitchen. Ought to be perfect.”
That was the end of the conversation. They reached his hotel, and rode the elevator up to his room, neither of them saying more than a few words at a time. She hovered near the door, wishing she could cross her arms.
He slid his laptop into a bag, gathered up the rest of his luggage, and shouldered the bags. A shudder ran through him, strong enough she saw his frame shake, and his things fell to the floor.
When he sank to the edge of the bed and dropped his face into his hands, her heart broke. His sob, though quiet, echoed in her eardrums like an air horn.
She crossed the room in a few strides, and knelt on the mattress next to him. It was awkward, draping her arm around his shoulders, and pulling him into a hug, but it was her only choice. “I’m so sorry this hurts.”
“She fucking lied to me. For thirty years. Fed me lines about the beauty of life. How every person should be allowed to enjoy what they had. Told me I’d be happier if I stopped every once in a while, to smell the roses. And she hated it here so much, she ran away.” His interpretation of events hurt as much as the reality.
Bailey struggled with the internal war between sympathy and resentment that he didn’t get this. “That’s not why she did it.”
“No?” He met her gaze with red-rimmed eyes, tears fresh on his face. “Then explain it again, because I don’t fucking understand. The world is full of people who don’t practice what they preach, but I thought she was a believer. She taught me our time here is sacred, and she never meant a word.”
She wanted to offer sympathy, but didn’t think it was the way to get through this. “You don’t actually think that’s true. You might hate the choice, you might loathe that she left you alone when she moved on, but you’re not stupid. Part of you gets this.”
“But I don’t want to. I don’t know how to cope with knowledge like this. The world is supposed to make sense at its core. Be ordered and logical and not driven by things likenot wanting to lose one’s self.” Anguish filled his voice.