Page 11

Seven

“Are you paying attention?” She made a hairpin turn, an immediate lane switch, and another left. “This part’s tricky, and GPS apps get it wrong. I don’t want you to get horrifically lost on your way back to the hotel.”

“Yes, I’m paying attention.” Carson’s big frame overflowed the passenger seat. “Are you okay? You seem edgy.”

“Fine,” she said tightly.

Since she wasn’t actively vomiting, she’d call that the truth.

Scarlet Macaw Lane hadn’t changed much. The happy yellow house in which she spent her childhood, however, was now turquoise. Alex had enclosed the front porch, too. Minor changes, but enough to deepen Julia’s disconnect from this place.

She glided to a stop. Time’s obvious passage stung.

This was Alex’s home now. She’d bought Julia out of her half, and the windfall paid the grad school tuition not covered by scholarship or loans. Eager to put distance between herself and Belize, Julia had taken the money and run to Ithaca.

“This it?” Carson asked.

“No, I like stopping at strangers’ houses.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He unbuckled his seat belt.

She squeezed the steering wheel. That was rude.

Carson seemed unbothered, but still. Snippy bitch wasn’t who she wanted to be.

It wasn’t Carson’s fault she was operating on an adrenaline, coffee, and cookie cocktail.

And he’d been helpful and kind on the plane, so she should attempt to be a little nicer.

She checked her reflection, swiped on more gloss, then met him outside.

“The door’s up the side stairs,” she said.

He unlatched and held open the front gate for her, and for once, she didn’t argue. Might as well enjoy the princess treatment. Rich aromas emanated from the house, and her stomach audibly rumbled.

“I’m hungry, too,” Carson said. “Smells good.”

“Stewed chicken, rice, and beans, I’d bet. It’s a traditional meal in Belize, but don’t get your hopes up too high. Alex is a terrible cook.”

A light breeze swirled around them. Like a ghost saying hello, her father’s wind chimes jingled against each other.

She paused as the reminder of him—and his absence—clawed at her most tender parts.

She wished she could talk to him about things—Alex’s boyfriend, the pandemic, the mangrove-protection legislation that made it harder to give up-close-and-personal tours.

Hear his laugh as she told him about the guest who’d requested she build a pillow fort.

Simple stuff, but the simple stuff was everything.

“Forget something?” Carson asked.

“No. The wind chimes…” She massaged her hands.

Grief made her fingers tingle like she’d slept on them and cut off the circulation. Her doctor had diagnosed her with anxiety numbness and prescribed deep breathing and distraction.

Distraction, however, was a tall order when everything reminded her of Dad.

“What about them?” Carson asked gently.

“My dad brought them home when I was little.” The unvarnished truth spilled from her. “My mom said they were melancholy, but Dad loved them. We played dolls out on the porch, did homework, watched the sunset, hid from their arguments while the chimes played.”

That was way more than she meant to share. Carson brought out her most authentic self, warts and all. Petty snark, bummer memories, impatience, hangriness… Probably because she didn’t like him, so she didn’t make an effort to hide her flaws.

“It must be nice to still feel connected.”

His voice tickled her ear, and his chest warmed her back. His solid presence was confusingly reassuring, like he’d catch her if she fell.

She wanted none of it.

“Can you back off? You’re crowding me.” She rushed up the stairs, then knocked twice before entering the house. “Hello?”

The aluminum door slapping into its frame was another echo from her childhood.

Alex was a blur as she rushed from the kitchen. “You’re here!”

She sank into her sister’s outstretched arms. “I’m here.”

“Don’t stay away so long next time,” her sister murmured.

She wouldn’t go anywhere if Alex gave her a job, but hey, no need to ruin a nice family moment by pointing out reality. She’d indulge in this hug as they rocked back and forth.

“Turquoise?” Julia asked.

“It was on sale.” Alex peeked over Julia’s shoulder. “Carson?”

“That’s me. Hi.” Carson stuck out his hand, but she went straight for a hug.

Since when had Alex become a hug machine?

“Hello, stepbrother.” Alex released him, then cupped her hands around her mouth. “Bo! They’re here!”

A bespectacled man with a slanted smile came through the door, wiping his hands on a dish towel. Her sister’s boyfriend seemed sweet and attentive to Alex during their occasional video chats. She hoped he liked her. He’d been around for six months now and seemed like he’d be sticking around.

“Julia! Nice to see you outside of a computer screen.”

“Hi.” She hugged him, then gestured toward Carson. “This is Carson, and this is Bo, my sister’s boyfriend.”

Alex hid a giggle behind her fist as Bo shook hands with Carson.

A giggle ?

Alex Stone didn’t giggle. She chuckled, chortled, guffawed, and occasionally slapped her knee.

Her entire tomboy life, she’d never done something so girly as giggle.

Girly was Julia’s territory. Styled hair, makeup tutorials, clothing chosen because of trends, not because it had deep pockets and could survive a tropical storm.

Something was up. Alex was grinning at Bo like he’d simultaneously solved world peace and given her an orgasm.

“What’s up with you two?” Julia asked.

“Bo’s not my boyfriend.” Alex slipped her arms around his waist. “He’s my fiancé.”

For the second time in ten minutes, Julia went numb.

She barely knew Bo’s name, and her sister was marrying him?

They’d always rolled their eyes when Mom announced a sudden engagement, and here was Alex, doing the same thing.

What was wrong with the women in her family?

And why hadn’t Alex called her immediately to share the news?

Julia forced herself to breathe. Her mother and sister were happy, thriving, glowing, moving on while she was floundering.

This was terrible.

She zeroed in on her sister’s hand. “You don’t have a ring.”

“I don’t need one. I have this necklace.” Alex drummed her fingers against the gorgeous pendant hanging against her breastbone. “We have a lot to catch up on. Most importantly, though, will you be my maid of honor?”

Well, fuck.

“Yes!” She awkwardly looped her arms around her sister and future brother-in-law.

The hug gave her a chance to hide her face. Her big sister was getting married to a guy Julia didn’t know at all. She squeezed them, like she could reduce the itchy distance between herself and Alex by gripping just tight enough.

Their embrace was interrupted by a tabby cat prancing from the kitchen.

“When did you get a cat?” Julia stepped back.

“When I got Bo.” The cat buffed Alex’s ankles. “Her name’s Lorelai, and she’s a Stone through and through. Gets hangry.”

“That’s my cue.” Bo backed toward the kitchen. “I’ll feed her and finish up dinner.”

“He cooks?” Julia asked.

“Like a demon.”

“Lucky.” Neither she nor Alex could make anything beyond the most basic meals. They were too impatient to let things simmer. Both Mom and Dad had enjoyed cooking, so they’d never recruited her or Alex to help, preferring to do it themselves.

Just as well. Julia preferred eating to cooking every day of the week.

“I can cook.” Carson squatted to scratch the cat’s ears.

“You can?” She twisted toward him. “Color me surprised. You give off big frat-bro energy. Like your idea of a meal is dinosaur chicken nuggets and a pound of spaghetti.”

He swept his hand down his midsection. “I contain multitudes. Frat bros eat, too.”

“Does Mom know?” Julia asked.

“That Carson can cook?” Alex scrunched her forehead.

“No, about the engagement, you goof.”

“Ah.” Alex relaxed her face. “Not yet. I wanted to tell her in person. Either of you care for a drink? I made sangria.”

Carson nodded as she said, “Yes please.”

A barrel of rum wouldn’t sand the edges off this rough evening, but sangria was tasty.

“Dinner’s ready,” Bo called from the kitchen.

“You go help yourselves, and I’ll bring out the drinks.” Alex opened the doorway to the now-enclosed porch, where their father’s minibar lived.

“This way.” Julia led Carson to the kitchen as Bo set a tureen on the counter. The concentrated aroma of stewed chicken, rice, beans, and—oh wow, he’d fried plantains?—made her mouth water. “Bo, this smells amazing.”

After they heaped food onto their plates, Julia led Carson to their parents’ dining table.

As busy as her parents had been with work—Dad giving tours, Mom ringing up sales at Belizean Bliss Boutique—they’d always eaten a late dinner together as a family.

This was also where they’d breakfasted and drawn pictures of their adventures with Dad.

Rather, it had been.

“You got rid of our table?” Julia’s voice caught.

“Had to.” Alex set down glasses of sangria. “Hurricane Lisa ripped the screening off and smashed the table to the street.”

“You didn’t tell me that.”

“Didn’t want to be a bummer. Hey, why does your name sound familiar, Carson Miller?”

“Oh, you remember him.” Julia sipped her sangria. “You gave me tips for how to deal with his snide comments about my clothes, about living in the cheap apartment buildings near school, and that I’d probably never have sex. He’s that Carson.”

“That’s you ?” Alex laid her cutlery on the table.

Carson sighed. “Yes, but I promise I’m a changed person.”

She touched Julia’s hand. “I’ve got a tranquilizer gun and a shovel.”

Bo sat next to Alex. “The tranq gun’s locked up at the office.”

“Which is a two-minute walk away. Are you okay, Jules? This—” she gestured in Carson’s direction “—is a lot.”

“I’m fine,” she said through a smile.