Jo

I can’t concentrate. It’s wonderful that Margot has all these questions about a local author whose private papers and all were donated to the archives, and they can only be answered with intense searches and careful photographs of pages, but my mind’s not on it right now. I just want to be with Jamie, and it’s so unfair that my parents came up the exact same weekend Helen’s out of the house, because I can’t just go there and not leave until Sunday. I have to pretend that it’s fine to be away from him, even though the clock’s ticking and soon enough we’re going to be five hours apart instead of a short walk, but there’s nothing I can do about that. I have my apartment, and he has Helen.

The only thing that’s fallen into place this summer is Jamie. Maybe some people, somewhere, are pursuing Davis’s confession and trying to figure out who the other Milwaukee Millennium Murderer is, but mostly they’re treating it like a media stunt. He was very badly hurt and thought he might die, so of course he’d want to send everyone on a wild goose chase from beyond the grave. He got well enough to go back to prison—and lots more people complained about their tax dollars at work—and now he’s in solitary so nobody tries again before the trial.

I guess it’s like Helen said: lightning doesn’t strike twice. I can’t vouch for that as far as scientific accuracy, but I get what she means. I absolutely lucked into the connection because Kara and Tess asked for my help purely as a pity move. They could’ve asked anyone. If Davis hadn’t shown up at my adoption hearing, none of the rest would’ve happened.

So on the one hand that means I’ve come around to Jamie’s side of things: it’s his fault, not mine. I didn’t have his name until he popped in just the once, saying he cared, and then didn’t follow through. Obviously he didn’t know that one day, he’d be arrested for murder because of it, but even if he murdered Sophia and Akira as a perverted means of trying to deal with losing me, he didn’t have to murder my birth mother. He could’ve just walked away.

The fact that I wasn’t born in a hospital and didn’t have a birth certificate or any kind of records worked in my favor, because even though he gave them Cece’s name, she simply drops off the record when she’s kicked out of the house for being pregnant. Her parents are still alive, but they’re protected by lawyers, so basically everyone assumes she lost the baby. It sucks, but it sucks less than some of the other options.

Working with archival material means I can’t check out completely. I’ve got to handle it properly, one page at a time, and take my photos or make some notes on my laptop, and remind myself what Margot’s looking for. Just because she has questions doesn’t mean the archive has answers, but I have to make sure I check everywhere, just in case.

Normally it’s really cool looking at things people haven’t cared about in years, maybe since the original author wrote it. I feel like I know this guy from reading so many of his notes, even though he died when I was three. He writes a lot of his thoughts, and sometimes they’re fragmentary and really hard to decode, but every so often he comes out with this beautiful sentence that’s just been hiding in here. Even if I can’t find answers for Margot, I can get her those sentences.

It’s not enough. I’ve been doing research for a few years now, and it’s been fine, but right now …

There are plenty of coffee shops in Marquette. I could bring back my barista skills. There’s no way in hell that’d pay for an apartment anywhere near here, though. I’d use all my money on gas and all my time on the commute, which wouldn’t really help out in the end. I could go for roommates, but me having roommates and Jamie living with his mom doesn’t work out in our favor, either.

I can’t ask Jamie to abandon his mother and move in with me. Not when he only first kissed me less than twenty-four hours ago. Not when I’ve only known him maybe two months.  I could find someone to take over my Traverse City lease easily enough, but then I’d just be double screwed if things didn’t work out up here.

Yeah, I’m way too distracted to last a full day. Instead of my camera, I go to my messages. I’m useless here. I’m going to push through for another half hour or so, but then can we do lunch? Send. You’re just asking for lunch, Jo. Not the rest of your lives.

Three pages later, I’ve got a response: We can do whatever you want.

God, you can’t read tone in a text. Is he just being friendly and happy at the thought of seeing me, or are there deeper layers there? I’ll see you soon. I said half an hour, and I checked the time, so Margot will get another half hour.

A new message pops in: Not soon enough.

Okay sometimes he deserves to have his whole name thrown at him. I make a note of where I am and return all the documents to the folder. Annika just smiles. “The forecast’s too nice to spend all day in here,” she commiserates, even though she is, in fact, going to spend all day in here. My contract with Margot isn’t full time, but Annika’s position is.

It’s not a long drive to Jamie’s house, but it’s not walking distance, either. Honestly it’s just long enough for me to agonize over it: consider the future? Focus on the present moment? Lightning can’t strike twice, so does that apply to Jamie if Jake already happened? And honestly, if the conditions are right, lightning strikes the same place plenty of times. If it didn’t, lightning rods wouldn’t work. There are ways to attract lightning, which is basically the only way we know how to keep something from being hit: give the lightning something it wants more.

None of this is making any sense. I’m tired, and overwhelmed, and distracted, and I really should be focused on how my backpack is actually useful today because I’ve got my toiletries along with a change of clothes so I can spend hours and hours with Jamie, and I shouldn’t keep thinking about how limited our time might be. Not when I pull into his driveway and see he’s got the garage door open so he can keep an eye out for me and grin the moment my car comes into view. He pulls off his gloves and the hairnet and comes around as I open the car door. “I feel like I should point out, first, that you’re not useless,” he greets me.

“Useless in the archives,” I protest, but I feel myself flush, too, because yeah, he called me out on that. Self-talk matters. I lean back in for my backpack and shut and lock the door, but I can’t not say it: “I keep thinking about you.”

He tilts his head. “I was kind of hoping you’d say that.” And maybe he was only waiting for my text because he hits the garage door button, reaches for my hand, and pulls me toward the house.

---

Chapter Thirty-Eight – coming November 7

Jamie

Jo got awkward sometimes. Jamie could think that because it was true, because it often happened to him, and because he didn’t mean it to judge. Okay, those rules probably said more about his own mental state than he really wanted to consider, but he saw the ways Jo responded to him—and to his mom, and to anyone else around them—and figured he could do some things for her. They hadn’t talked about it outright, but she hadn’t told him not to, and he could see how she relaxed a little when the decision was taken out of her hands.

That sounded terrible. It wasn’t like he had full control of her life, but he could see sometimes that she got stuck thinking about all the possible consequences of what might seem to other people like a simple action, turning into Dr. Strange following every possible path with the infinity stones. It still felt like overstepping when he told her what to do, even when it was clearly the thing she’d intended to do, but the quick flash of a grateful smile made him feel better about doing it.

It was weird, maybe, that Jo’s parents weren’t asking him about himself. He had to assume they’d talked about him, the way Mom had talked about Jo with him, but wouldn’t they want to hear the answers from his own mouth? Surely at some point they’d want to know exactly how much the food truck actually made, and if he was living with his mom because there was no way he could support himself, much less their daughter.

Okay maybe they didn’t want to ask that yet because it presumed some sort of solid future beyond just another month of Jo in Brent and Amanda’s apartment. And wait, Jo only had a month left up here? The summer was just slipping away.

“Well, I figure we’ll do dinner tomorrow night?” Mary-Beth said in response to Allan’s questions about their plans for the weekend, raising an eyebrow at Jo and Jamie.

Jo smiled and squeezed his thigh. “I’m planning on bringing them by your food truck for lunch.”

That made him smile more than it really should. “We could still do the Rusty Barrel, though. I could get us reservations.”

“Whoa, eating Jamie’s meat twice in one day?” Allan chimed in.

“Allan Nathanial!” Mom hissed, but Jo’s parents burst out laughing.

“Bet that’s the first time you’ve heard that one,” Kent told Jamie, wiping tears from his eyes.

Jamie shook his head morosely. “Yeah, first time. Nobody’s ever thought of it before.”

“The Rusty Barrel sounds great,” Mary-Beth reassured him, but she was flushed, and yeah, once again Allan’s charm and double entendres worked their way on a married woman. “I mean, for dinner. A rusty barrel as a concept isn’t very appealing.”

“They had that discussion,” Jamie reassured her, hoping he didn’t sound like he’d said this dozens of times before. “It was this whole thing about how upscale they wanted to make it and what sort of expectations people would have depending on the name.”

“What were the other options?” Kent wanted to know.

Jamie shook his head. “More generic things, really. BBQ or Barbecue something or other. They didn’t really want to put a name to it in case management changed.”

“Unlike your food truck,” Mary-Beth put in brightly.

“Hey, that was a brilliant name,” Allan protested. “It’s clear, it’s specific, and it’s easy to remember. Where did you get that? Jamie’s Food Truck.” He shrugged. “Brilliant.”

“Yeah so Allan and Shane actually bought me the truck,” Jamie explained, which meant Jo’s parents laughed again.

Allan shook his head and held up a hand so no one else would jump in. “And it’s your favorite color, isn’t it? Everybody recognizes it, everybody knows the name, and Comic Sans is a good font even if you’re dyslexic, so I stand by all our choices and you’re welcome!”

“Okay, but did you know that about Comic Sans when you picked it, or did someone just come along and tell you later?” Jo interjected.

He pointed a finger at her. “You’re just mad I didn’t look at your files and pull out a name.”

“Wait, what?” Mary-Beth wanted to know, and Jamie winced a little.

“They showed me their Milwaukee file,” Allan explained. “Jo pulled Davis’s name out of nowhere like that”—he snapped his fingers—“so she thought maybe I’d look through it and remember one of Jamie’s creepy neighbors or something.”

Mom sniffed. “As if you could expect lightning to strike twice.” She, at least, didn’t seem to notice the way Kent and Mary-Beth shot their daughter intense looks to see how much Allan knew about where, exactly, she got Davis’s name, but Jo just laughed.

“It can hit me once and Allan once,” she protested, but her smile also dismissed the idea and accepted Mom’s rebuke. “Fine, you used up all your luck naming the food truck.”

Allan laughed and leaned over to nudge her shoulder with his own. “Slightly different impact on the course of the world in general and popular culture specifically, but I’ll take it.”

“Well, I’m sure we’ll enjoy the results of your influence tomorrow,” Mary-Beth reassured him, getting them back to the food truck rather than Davis deftly and without even a wink, but Jamie relaxed a little.

“When we eat Jamie’s meat,” Kent added deadpan, causing his daughter to sigh and drop her face in her hands.

Jamie laughed despite himself, more at the combination of Jo’s reaction and Mom’s tight non-reaction, and he gave Jo a side hug before getting up to start busing their dishes. It really seemed like a good time to end things before Mom got too frustrated with Allan and refused to go away for the weekend.

They ended up walking Mom and Allan to the car. Allan shook hands with all the Lewises, but it seemed like Mom was having one of her struggles. She shook with Jo’s parents but gave Jo a brief hug, although it wasn’t really any shorter than the one she gave Jamie. “We’ll be back Sunday,” she told him, either like he’d have to make sure to get the house cleaned up by then or like he’d never been on his own this long before and needed a deadline for survival. Jamie didn’t want to ask what time Sunday, since it would just cause a delay here and now, so he nodded and told Allan to drive safely.

This was also the corner for him to head up the hill, though, so after Allan drove off he had to figure out his own departure. Jo turned to him before he could think of what to say. “Mom and Dad are following me up to see the archives,” she told him, “but then they’re on their own for the rest of the day. I’ll come by when I’m done?”

He wanted to tell her to be done early, but all he said was, “I’m packaging and prepping today. You know where to find me.” It didn’t take as long as the smoking days, and she had his schedule down by now.

Jo went up on tiptoe to give him a kiss and he moved to meet her for a peck on the lips. That made her grin, and blush, and okay, maybe his message had gotten through loud and clear.

“Until tomorrow,” Kent told him, offering his hand, and Jamie shook with him and then Mary-Beth before Jo gestured her parents down the hill so they’d have a gentler slope on the way back to her apartment and he was left alone on his trek up.

---

Chapter Thirty-Seven – coming November 6

Jo

I can’t tell if Dad told Mom exactly how he met Jamie or if he just let her assume he saw us walking down together, and I’m sure as hell not asking. I don’t need that conversation on our walk up to breakfast, thanks, especially when I can’t figure out what to tell them about Helen. They know Jamie hasn’t dated before, and they know why I went to talk to him in the first place, so I think they’re ready to tread lightly anyway. It’s also one of those things where I can’t tell if my parents are actually cringe or if I only think they’re cringe, generally lovingly, because they’re my parents.

They knock on my apartment door at a quarter to, and I’m all ready with my shoes on and backpack over my shoulder. “Okay, so do you want to drive up and go right to the archives from there,” I ask, “or walk back down here and get the cars?” They’re not spending the whole day with me, but I can at least show them around. It’s not quite take your parents to work day but I think it’s another aspect of what Dad said: Mom just needs to see how I’m doing, and that means at work as well as with Jamie.

“We can walk,” Mom says with a shrug, not even consulting Dad. I mean, it’s not like we need to: if walking’s an option, she’s picking it. Dad and I catch eyes and grin, but she either doesn’t see or ignores us. “Lead the way!”

“And tell us more about Allan?” Dad requests.

I can’t help the laugh. “He’s a fireman who poses for their beefcake calendar every year.”

“Oh my God, he’s that friend of Brent’s?” Mom fans herself, and I can’t tell how much is pretend.

“He won’t let her hang the calendar in the kitchen,” Dad adds.

Okay this laugh is more of a snort. “Helen keeps it in her kitchen.”

“So basically everybody greets this guy with hi, hello, I’ve seen you mostly naked?” Dad guesses.

“Yeah, you should try it.” He can stick with his intention to make things as awkward as possible.

Dad looks over at Mom, but she just rolls her eyes instead of telling him not to, so I may have created a monster.

They want more information, though, but I don’t really have much: lives in Green Bay. Divorced three times. Currently single. Taking Helen to Munising on the trip he’d had planned for his latest girlfriend—although at this point I wonder if it may have been a boyfriend instead. Does he just make up names for when he’s talking to people who don’t know?

They’ve already got basically everything I know about Helen: volunteers at the library and likes to think she’s hip with today’s youth. Book club and bridge night. No coffee or red meat. Likes to think she’s well-read and some sort of elite since her husband, whom she never talks about, was a professor at NMU.

“Oh, hey, that’s them,” I add when we come up to the one parking lot that’s closest to Babycakes, in case they’ve got questions that maybe I don’t want them asking when a Whittaker can hear.

Jamie breaks into a grin and his shoulders drop when he sees me, which means I smile back, and I notice Allan noticing even if Jamie doesn’t. Rather than nudge him or try to point it out or anything, Allan just waves at us and says “Jo’s parents! Hi!” He even takes over the introductions so I can go over to Jamie and take his hand and grin too much when he kisses my cheek. It’s just my cheek, though, which is why he avoids looking at me while I laugh and squeeze his arm.

It’s probably good that we met up here, though, because once we get to Babycakes we can scope out the tables and push two of them together while Mom and Dad consider all the menu choices. Helen sits to claim the table—and make sure she gets what she considers to be the best seat—and Allan insists on paying for everyone so we get our orders in and then have to sort out the rest of us. Helen’s in one of the chairs, so Allan sits across from her on the bench. I slide in from the other side, so I’m bookended by the brothers, and Dad takes the chair across from me. He immediately turns to Helen and says “So tell me about the work you do at the library,” either accidentally or on purpose leaving out the word volunteer and setting her up to go on and on.

Allan raises his eyebrows at me to give Dad silent props. It’s a bit of a reach, since he’s talking to the other end of the table, but he looks at Mom. “So you’re Amanda’s college bestie.”

She raises her water glass. “Class of ‘97. No, I don’t still have those pictures.”

I blink. “Mom?”

Mom giggles, and I’m not sure if it’s over Allan—who is, after all, older than she is—or at the memories. “There were some parties. It’s fine. Your father was there.”

Oh, man. If she’s calling him my father, then we’re talking wet T-shirt contest pictures at best. I know she was a bit of a party girl in college, which was the main reason why nobody thought their marriage or my placement would stick, but I’ve never seen proof of it. The photos on display are pretty demure, floral-print dresses with lace collars and sensible low heels.

Allan’s grin tells me he’s got more info on those pictures than I do. “That’s a shame.”

Mom clucks her tongue and gives him an oh, you gesture before taking pity on me. “Jo says you’re doing Munising this weekend. Kent and I went there for our honeymoon.”

That gets them onto safer topics like hikes and waterfalls and Pictured Rocks, and I slip my hand into Jamie’s as we just listen. It’s kind of hard to focus with the two different conversations going on, and I don’t think either of us wants to start up a third in case someone points out that hey, we can talk to each other any time and we don’t often see the other people here. Plus it’s like I said: Jamie doesn’t make me feel like I have to say something if I don’t want to.

Our drinks get brought out, and then our food, and Helen’s tea doesn’t stand out so much as her single plain croissant next to all of our breakfast burritos. My parents know how much I’ve struggled with food, starting with the best nutrition my mother could get me but never really having enough or knowing for sure if more was coming—and yeah, I’ve brought up with a therapist how other people’s we were poor but my parents never let us know it posts can be triggering—and then struggling with balance and body issues and how no, I totally don’t have the same body type as my parents. They’re both slender despite their breakfast burritos, and I’m … not … but I can pretend that Helen’s raised eyebrow and sniff is for any number of other things.

I think Jamie’s noticed it, too. He’s never said anything about how little I eat Tuesday nights, like maybe it’s just because I’m not such a fan of chicken or fish, but he sees so much else of what goes on with me.

Like right now, how he leans over and murmurs “Eat your breakfast” in my ear under the guise of giving me a kiss. It’s not even over guilt of cleaning my plate or because Allan paid for it. It’s because bodies need energy, and that’s what calories are.

I probably fail at giving him a normal, not overly grateful, smile, but I also see how Dad’s watching as he listens to Helen and I pick up my burrito and realize I’m hungry enough to eat every bite.

---

Chapter Thirty-Six

Jamie

Jamie first suggested to Mom that they all meet at 8:30, because he knew she’d have to change it, just because she could. “Can you bump it back to nine?” she asked over her cup of tea. Even though it was early, she was fully dressed, all makeup and jewelry accounted for.

When Allan visited Jamie in Milwaukee or Chicago, they could do their first cups of coffee in boxers and nothing else if that’s what they wore to bed, but the house on Ridge Street had its own rules. See, for example, how Mom tsk tsked at Allan’s damp hair. “What’s the plan?” he asked, presumably so he could decide whether to bother with coffee.

“Babycakes at nine with Jo and her parents,” Mom announced, and the inflection on her parents was odd coming from a woman who’d adopted a child herself. Maybe it was supposed to indicate distaste at meeting them at all, because meeting the parents meant things were serious, even if said parents showed up of their own accord, unplanned.

Allan checked the time. “Do you want to load up my car and just leave from there? I can call ahead and get us a paddleboat rental for this afternoon.”

It was smooth, and it was something Jamie learned from Allan in the first place: instead of asking if Mom really wanted to walk down the hill and back up again, he used their planned trip as an excuse and gave them a reason to leave earlier.

Mom considered it as she took a sip of her tea, and Jamie bet her contrariness was at war with itself. It often was, and the day he realized it must be an awful way to live was when he’d started offering her these choices more for her sake instead of his own. “Yes, I think that’s fine,” she finally said, getting smoothly to her feet. “I’ll finish packing.”

Allan grabbed a glass and filled it with water before he leaned against the kitchen counter. That was another thing they did when Mom wasn’t around: lean instead of sit. He tilted his head and looked at Jamie. “Do you have any idea how much you relax around Jo?”

Uh. That made it doubly ironic he’d been tensing for whatever Allan wanted to say. “What?”

“You relax around her. It’s not …” He nodded at Mom’s recently vacated chair and then grimaced at another thought. “God, so. Jo’s parents. Do I ask how you ran into them?”

Of course he hadn’t wanted to say in front of Mom. “I kissed her behind the apartment and her dad was like well, might as well make this as awkward as possible.”

“Seriously?”

Jamie couldn’t tell which part he was supposed to be confirming. “Seriously.”

“Man, that, uh.” He took a drink and shook his head a little. Then, when Jamie kept looking at him, he shrugged a little. “None of my business.”

“Ask anyway.” It didn’t even feel dangerous, considering … well, this was Allan.

Allan shrugged again and turned more to face Jamie. “Is kissing the most you’ve done?”

Ah. Okay. He nodded once.

“So I figure it’s more like my partner’s dad walking in when we’re in the middle of it,” his brother concluded with a shrug.

But Jamie shook his head. “I get what you’re saying, but it’s not like the dad’s going to react the same way both times.”

“Okay, true,” Allan acknowledged. “That’s never happened, by the way. During sex, at least. Man, do you think Shane’s given the boys any kind of talk by now?”

What, because their nephews were in middle school? “I would guess not.”

“Like he doesn’t remember being that age. Full of hormones. Well.” He winked at Jamie. “Most of us were full of hormones.”

Jamie wasn’t sure if being ace meant the hormones didn’t exist or what, but he’d definitely still thought female anatomy was something weird and gross in middle school even when his peers veered toward curiosity and fascination.

“I just, uh.” Allan shook his head again, but this time it was accompanied by the smile that meant girls had been curious about and fascinated by him since he was in middle school. “It clarified a lot, that’s all. And I guess … I guess I was thinking that we should’ve said something earlier, you know? I’ve never been close with Shane, but you and me?”

He nodded slowly. It was weird, maybe, because Allan was so much older. Obviously that made more of a difference when they were kids, but when Jamie thought of his childhood, he saw Allan as open arms. Shane was the back of a shirt, hurrying off to Mom.

Allan nodded upstairs. “Does Mom have any idea how things are with you and Jo?”

“She knows we’re dating.” What else was he supposed to tell her?

But Allan shook his head. “You can’t ever be without her. You could be Jamie before Jo just fine, because you didn’t know she was out there, but Jamie after Jo? Impossible.”

“We haven’t, uh.” Jamie cleared his throat, maybe because he’d already thought what Allan said and couldn’t find any way to make himself believe it wasn’t true. “We haven’t talked about any of that.” Even now, just with Allan, he didn’t want to say marriage.

“What, because of Jake Cooper?” Allan clucked his tongue. “You’re worth ten of him, easy.”

Jake Cooper was Jo’s own age, for one, which meant there was a far bigger gap between him and Mary-Beth. And Jake was classically good-looking with his short black hair, green eyes, tan skin, and perfect teeth.

Okay but Jake Cooper was also the kind of guy who’d cheat on Jo. That meant he thought that, for whatever reason, there was someone better than Jo. He’d even known Tess for as long as he’d known Jo, so why hadn’t he just gone for Tess in the first place? Except Jamie thought he had the answer to that: Tess wasn’t the kind of woman who’d support Jake through grad school. Honestly it was like she was using Jake and even the scandal to get clicks.

Allan waited for Jamie to focus back on him. “You’re worth ten of him,” he repeated before putting his glass in the sink and going upstairs to see what he could carry down for Mom.

---

Chapter Thirty-Five

Jo

I’m definitely flushed, but it’s not for the good, oh my God, Jamie just kissed me reason. It’s not like Dad walked in on us, exactly, because we were right there out in public, but come on, what are the odds? And now we’re in the apartment above them, and I can’t quite work out which room of theirs is below the bedroom, and my face just gets hotter because I’ve thought it, even if nothing’s going to come of it.

God, I don’t even know. I have to figure Jamie’s got enough of his own feelings bubbling up, and maybe he’s confused and flustered, too, and now I’m basically useless. I let us in, and put my keys on the hook, and slip off my shoes, and give a helpless little shrug because I’m not sure what to say.

Jamie sets my backpack down and kneels to untie his shoes, which is encouraging, because that means he’s going to stay a while. When he stands up again he reaches for my face, not pushing me back but pulling me in for another kiss. I hardly need the urging, and I move up against him so he’s the one who takes a half-step back and braces himself against the wall, pulling me closer as I straddle one of his thighs, and my God, am I touch starved or it is just because it’s Jamie? His hands are on my back, pressing me closer, and I want to shuck my dress so he can have me skin to skin, but if he does that, I’m going up in a pillar of flame. I’ll become a pile of ashes, just from his hands, and Amanda will have to rent a carpet cleaner before the next renter moves in.

He’s in no rush, and it’s sweet agony. We kiss slowly, and thoroughly, barely moving, like it’s some sort of challenge. My fingers twitch, wanting to run through his hair or trace the line of his jaw, but his hands are steady pressure, keeping me in place. All I can do is melt against him and try not to moan too desperately into his mouth when his tongue makes me shiver.

Jamie finally breaks off the kiss, and the fact that he needs a moment to get his wits back makes me tingle and bury my face in his neck. His laugh is a little breathless as he kisses my hair. “I really shouldn’t stay. If I’m not back before Mom goes to bed …”

God, we really are teenagers. I’m here thinking about what the downstairs apartment can hear going on upstairs, and he’s calculating his curfew.

“But, uh.” Jamie waits until I look up at him and tilts his head. “They’re respecting game night, so you can still stay over tomorrow, right?”

I giggle and drop my head back to his shoulder again. “You don’t think they’re going to stay up and wait for me to come home?”

“They said they’re going out with Brent and Amanda,” he reasons. “Maybe they’ll just assume you got back before they did.”

Okay but it still feels like sneaking around, which, let’s face it, is totally part of the appeal. Helen’s fine with me in her house for meals and when she’d not there, but Jamie and I haven’t spent the night together yet. I’d have to guess that she waits to make sure she hears that he’s home, and sleeping with Jamie—even if it’s just sleeping—when she’s only down the hall would be worse than getting up to something tonight with my parents downstairs. At least that’s technically a separate apartment.

I’ll sleep with Jamie—or at least next to Jamie—in Helen’s house when she’s not there, but at this point … well, I can see why Allan wouldn’t have wanted to move back in, even if they had all been girlfriends.

Jamie chuckles and nuzzles my neck. “Look at me, all in a hurry to leave.”

Yeah, because I’m in such a hurry to let him. “Take my key. You could totally make it a Simpsons episode: leave there after she goes to bed and then leave here so you’re home before she gets up.”

“What, because that worked out so well for Lisa?” he laughs.

“For a few days it did!” I protest, and yeah, we’re all giggly and hyped up on various emotions.

He sighs and touches his forehead to mine. “I’m going to go home, and stay there for the night, and we’ll plan on Babycakes at nine unless I tell you otherwise, okay? At least with me, maybe with Mom and Allan. I’ll let you know.”

I nod slightly, but not enough to jar our skulls. “Okay. Is this the part where I have to move?”

Jamie smiles and kisses me again, not nearly for long enough this time. “Yes.”

I sigh but pull away, and he gives me a little half-smile as he kneels to put his shoes back on. Honestly he could’ve kept them on, considering, but I’m guessing neither of us exactly had a plan for how this was going to go. Or, well, scratch plan. Neither of us had a clear idea, either, and now he stands up to see me grinning uncontrollably.

“Hey, no,” he protests as I bury my face in my hands. “It’s a lot harder to kiss you that way.”

“And kissing is something you like doing,” I confirm, because come on, this is new, emotions are up, and I don’t want to go making assumptions.

Jamie nods slowly, but I think it’s more at my need for clarification than his answer. He cups my face in his hand and runs his thumb slowly over my cheek, considering. “When it’s just the two of us, yes,” he concludes firmly, “but in front of other people …”

I nod at that. We’ve all got our limits. Maybe they’re different for family versus friends, but they still exist. We’re alone right now, though, so I lean in to kiss him again.

“Yeah, see.” He laughs a little and hugs me. “I really should go.”

This time when I step back I raise my hands, clearing him for the exit. It’s Jamie’s turn to hesitate, biting his lip—damn, seriously—but then he shakes his head and gives me a little wave as he leaves.

My God. Okay. Tomorrow there’ll be family time, but for now I’m alone and free to think about him all I want.

---

Chapter Thirty-Four

Jamie

Allan insisted on doing the dishes, even though that mostly meant just putting them in the dishwasher. When they were kids, it was an actual chore, and Allan was all too willing to shed that one as soon as Jamie could be trusted with it. “Walk her home,” Allan told Jamie with that intense look that meant there should be more than walking. “Take your time.” He was so solemn he didn’t even wink.

Before he knelt to tie his shoes, Jamie moved Jo’s backpack over so she wouldn’t pick it up. It wasn’t super heavy today, since she’d walked up after dropping any papers and things off at her apartment, but he still wanted to carry it for her. She didn’t like leaving without it, but she was willing to let him take it, at least on a trial basis, like she was testing to see if he was just humoring her or if he respected her needs and wanted to help. Hey, she saw his tender spots, and he saw hers.

Jo sighed indulgently, but she let him shoulder the backpack as she told Allan goodnight. He offered a handshake, not a hug, and at this point Jamie couldn’t figure out where that fell between friendliness and respect. Jo shook it, and then slipped her hand into Jamie’s as they went out the door. He wanted to say something, maybe to ask what she thought of Allan, but there was a certain tilt to her head that made him hold his tongue.

July in Marquette meant that it was barely even dusk at 8 p.m. The sun wouldn’t set for another hour and a half, and then it would be back before 6:30. Winters were dark, but summers were wonderful, and he could certainly appreciate walking along with Jo in silence, her hand in his, her bag on his back because she trusted him to carry the things that made her feel safe. All she had to do was tilt her head and he knew she wanted to get down to the water directly, taking the steepest slope and working against gravity so they wouldn’t get there too quickly. It just emphasized the difference in the length of their strides, and he grinned at the way their hands jostled, but neither of them let go. Jo just caught his eye, laughing, and tugged him across the road.

They were almost all the way back to her apartment when Jo sighed happily. “Yeah, see, as fun as Ricky and Allan are, I like that I don’t have to fill all the silences with you.”

He stopped walking and used her hand and her momentum to pull her in, catching her face with his free hand so he could kiss her. Maybe it was more of a collision, but his lips landed on hers. She didn’t tense or pull back—God, was that really what he was expecting?—but he’d probably shocked her, because it was a moment before Jo’s hand went to the back of his head and she returned the kiss. He let go of her hand to pull her closer, shifting his weight so they could meld together, and he couldn’t tell if he was thinking too much or just the right amount, but at least this time he hadn’t let all those thoughts freeze him before he’d even started. He was kissing Jo, really kissing her, and it was another confusing new step, but it was Jo, and he could make a fool of himself in front of her and it would be okay, but maybe they should go inside first. He pulled back enough to catch her smile, but then her eyes flickered to the side and she started. “Dad?”

Wait, what?

There was a car by the garden apartment, which was the Airbnb, so there was nearly always a car there. The man standing by it gave a little wave before coming to join them. “Your mom was going to call you tomorrow, but I figured hey, why not make it as awkward as possible.” He shrugged and held out a hand to Jamie. “Kent Lewis.”

“Oh my God, Dad,” Jo groaned, but she hadn’t pulled out of Jamie’s arms and she dropped her red face to his chest.

Jamie cleared his throat and shook. “Jamie Whittaker.” At least Kent had started off by saying it was awkward, but seriously? He couldn’t have realized this was their first kiss, which meant this man figured Jamie had been kissing his daughter for a while now.

Kent grinned. He was more backlit by the sunset than anything, so at least the light didn’t flash across his glasses and hide his eyes. “I assumed. Kiddo?”

Jo sighed, but she gave Jamie a squeeze to let him know she was pulling back and he should let her go before she hugged her dad. He wasn’t that much taller than she was, and he was thinner, but it looked like a solid hug all the same. “What the hell are you doing here?” she asked, clearly resigned.

Her dad laughed and kissed her hair. “Amanda had a last-minute cancellation. We weren’t sure what time we’d get up, but we’re here through Monday. And we know tomorrow’s game night,” Kent added, holding both hands up as he turned to Jamie, “so we’ve already got plans for dinner with Amanda and Brent, but really, uh.” He turned a fond and apologetic smile on Jo. “Your mom just needs to see you.”

Jamie reached for Jo before he could think of whether it was okay, comforting her when her dad was right there, but of course Jo leaned into him and Kent even smiled and shrugged as if to say Yeah, like that.

“Kent, what …?” A woman came out of the garden apartment and looked around.

He winced and, Jamie thought, winked at them. “Caught now. Over here, honey.” He raised a hand to wave to Mary-Beth, but Jo tilted her head to suggest the three of them go meet her and she could shake Jamie’s hand and give her daughter a hug.

“I was going to call you tomorrow,” Mary-Beth explained, rocking Jo a little in her arms. “We didn’t want to crash date night.”

Jamie caught how Kent suddenly looked away and pretended to whistle innocently and yeah, fine, Jo’s dad seemed okay. He was absolutely not cool, but he embraced his quirkiness, and it wasn’t exactly an everyday sort of situation for him, either. They’d arrived, knowing where Jo’s apartment was but not meaning to cross paths with her tonight, and then he’d come out to get another load of luggage and seen Jo and Jamie across the way …

“Tomorrow,” Mary-Beth declared, both hands on Jo’s shoulders. “We don’t have to do breakfast if that’s too early, but something tomorrow.”

Jo looked over at Jamie, almost smirking. “Would your Mom and Allan do breakfast? His brother just showed up tonight, too.”

Kent’s eyebrows did some acrobatics as he worked through what they might have been up to when Allan walked in on them, but Mary-Beth just shrugged. “Text us, honey. And it’s so nice to meet you,” she added to Jamie, offering him a wide smile. “But we’re not crashing, so.” She made little shooing gestures.

“See you tomorrow,” Kent told them as Jo took Jamie’s hand and pulled him toward her apartment.

---

Chapter Thirty-Three

Jo

I’ve seen the photo collages Helen’s hung in the upstairs hallway, but Allan insists on getting out some of the old albums. He’s giving off pure golden retriever energy, but I’m still not sure if this is going to be okay. The albums aren’t really Jamie’s idea of a good time. I can sit between the two of them, sure, but you don’t have to know the Whittakers all that well—or all that long—to see that Allan’s the shining star. Maybe Jamie’s long since made his peace with it, with Allan always getting the girl and the trophy and the attention, but when it means Allan’s getting attention from Jamie’s girl …

Jamie sighs, but he leans in. It’s probably more to put his arm on the back of my chair and his chin on my shoulder, but he leans in.

I really doubt Helen would approve of us looking at her carefully-curated albums while we eat dinner, even though the photos are all behind protective plastic, but Allan sets it up above my plate so nothing’s crossing the danger zone, anyway. Maybe the collages upstairs are one per year, but at least the albums aren’t. There just aren’t enough photos. He even started with the one from when he was twelve, because that’s the first time Jamie shows up.

It can’t be possible that a two-year-old already has that frown line between his eyebrows, can it? We’ve talked more about his own story, and he’s told me he doesn’t remember his life before the Whittakers except maybe in dreams, but it takes little Jamie pages and pages to do more than look intently into the camera like he’s waiting for something to bite.

Allan doesn’t really linger on that, but he also doesn’t know that I can make too many connections: you have to know what a camera is, and that smiling’s expected. You also have to have people smile at you before you smile back. Allan, twelve or so and already a heartthrob among his peers, smiles plenty. In some shots he holds Jamie, and in others he presses their cheeks together, always grinning. Allan didn’t start back when he was an only child, so I can’t entirely tell how big the difference is, but this kid is thrilled to be a big brother. The progression is really Allan shows Jamie all the cool stuff from whiffle balls to the beach to a play set that must’ve stood in this backyard for years. Allan’s a golden retriever tween, eager to teach someone else all the things Elias and Helen already taught him.

When Shane appears, it seems different. It’s probably good Allan glommed on to Jamie, because Helen’s inseparable from her youngest, except it seems to be more because he’s a clingy child than her own mothering preference. Either Allan won’t take Shane or Shane won’t go to Allan, especially once we get to the stage where Allan’s definitely out of the house, and when Elias is in the photos instead of taking them, he has an arm around Helen. He doesn’t touch any of the boys as they grow into young men.

“Don’t,” Jamie orders Allan once we reach the end of one album.

“Have to,” Allan counters grandly, opening the next one directly into the dark roots, blonde tips, and shell necklace stage of Jamie’s life. “I was actually jealous,” he admits with his own lopsided grin, “but I’m already blonde.”

“You were not,” Jamie argues, reaching up to turn more than a single page, but Allan intercepts and pushes his hand away.

“If she loves you, she’s going to love every version of you,” he lectures, then gives me a wink. “So. Trial by fire.”

I shrug and warn Jamie, “You’re going to have to sit through something like this with Mom.” Except of course my confused, tired pictures don’t start until I’m maybe seven.

“Did you ever bleach your hair?” Allan wants to know, continuing to take us through one page at a time.

Absently I nod, scanning these shots that are more of Jamie and Shane. They’re closer in age, by half, but not physically. I don’t know if I want to call it weird that Jamie melded into the family better than Shane did despite the different ways they came to it, but it’s certainly noticeable. “I’ve done a home job a couple times when I really wanted to go wild with it.”

“Oh, God,” Jamie groans, but he makes me shiver because he does it directly into my ear. “Please tell me it was never hot pink.”

Uh. I’m not sure why hot pink’s worse than any other color until Allan informs me, as an aside, “Allan’s Achilles heel is cute girls with hot pink hair.”

“Yeah, it was, actually. Hang on.” I get out my phone and scroll way back through my photos. It’s from college, but it was a group shot and not just me and Tess, so I think I’ve kept it. Shit, Jake’s in there too, because of course he is, but I tap the photo and hold it out so the brothers can see the screen.

“God, you’re young,” Jamie murmurs, reaching out to zoom in on my face.

“Jo’s manic pixie dream girl stage,” Allan dubs it, and I do have the required bangs, but I don’t think my clothes really match that vibe. Plus aren’t all manic pixie dream girls skinny things with visible collar bones?

“I’m just going to …” Jamie slips my phone out of my hands.

“Hey, no!” I try to grab it back, but Allan catches my wrist.

“It’s only fair,” he points out, laughing as Jamie scoots his chair further away from me. “Come on, I’ll show you the ones he hates the most while he’s looking through those.”

It’s not like I’ve got nudes, or any old photos of Jake from days long gone to moon over in a fog of nostalgia, but I can’t actually remember everything that is on there. Screenshots of poems and Tumblr posts and other things that struck right to my heart, sure, and I guess at least it’s Jamie looking, but what about the random everyday stuff I stop to take pictures of? It’s rarely myself, because it’s not like I see myself all that often. It’s flowers, and trees, and the sky, and shoot, I might’ve snapped a couple of Jamie that he doesn’t know I have, so I guess all I can do is hope that he doesn’t delete them.

“Jo, focus,” Allan orders, looking for a specific page. “There was this one time we all went to Florida to take Shane to Disney World and Jamie got cornrows. With beads.”

“Okay, maybe I had some questionable hairstyles, but make sure she gets a good look at you in a crop top,” Jamie shoots back. Then he smiles at something on my phone and starts tapping the screen deliberately, not even trying to hide that yep, he’s texting it to himself. He catches my eye and drops me a wink. “Mesh crop top. In Disney World. Get an eyeful.”

“That’s what a photo’s there for,” Allan declares, entirely self-satisfied as he gestures to a two-page spread of some very dubious fashion choices.

---

Chapter Thirty-Two

Jamie

Allan offered Jo a beer first and, when she shook her head, he held it out to Jamie. If Jamie refused, he knew Allan would make some excuse about really just wanting a water. He wouldn’t drink in front of Jo if Jamie signaled that he shouldn’t.

Jamie nodded and took it. “Thanks.”

“Hey, so.” Allan circled the island so he could take up a position next to Jo, which meant he was out of Jamie’s way but also just closer to Jo. He pointed back and forth between the two of them before turning to her as he cracked open his own can. “All I’ve got from Mom is that she came home one day and you two were together. So how’d that happen?”

On Thursdays Jamie prepped on the kitchen island because it meant facing, and being able to fully participate in, a conversation with Jo, but he carefully kept his eyes on the cabbage. That was two months ago, and he hadn’t talked to Allan about Jo. It wasn’t like he’d been keeping her a secret, but this was his own brother. The one who’d just split with his girlfriend, sure, but that was recent. Jamie could get away without talking to Shane, maybe, but …

Jo just snorted. “For the record, I did not accuse him of being the Milwaukee Millennium Murderer.”

“Wait, what?” Allan laughed.

Jamie looked up. It was safe. He should’ve known it was, because Jo wasn’t going to get mad at him for things like that, even if being in this house with any of his nuclear family brought him back to those feelings. “I was kind of insulted at how quickly she dismissed me.”

“No, wait.” Allan couldn’t seem to figure out which one of them to confront, and he turned to focus on Jamie. “Anyone who’s ever met you would know you aren’t a serial killer.” He frowned as he turned to Jo. “And I thought you met him in May. Why would you say he wasn’t the Milwaukee Millennium Murderer?”

“Wait, wait.” Jamie held up a hand. “Mom didn’t tell you?”

“Aw, man.” Allan ducked his head. “Listen, I love her, but sometimes when she calls I put it on speaker and just say uh-huh in the pauses, you know?”

So that meant Jo had to explain, yet again, and Allan’s eyebrows went up when he realized Jo was that friend, and he demanded to see all the research she’d pulled together. Jo said she’d go get it, and as soon as she left Allan leaned across the island and stage whispered “Dude, do you see the way she looks at you?”

It was totally out of left field, but Jamie did see it, and his smile was unbidden.

“Man, I thought …” Allan shook his head slowly, gaze drifting either to follow the memory of Jo or maybe to keep an eye out for her, and the smile slipped off his face. “I wondered if you were gay and I should’ve said something to Mom and Dad.”

Jamie blinked, because wait, what?

He gestured to himself. “Bisexual. Not all those breakups were girlfriends.”

No, it wasn’t computing. Allan was a ladies’ man, period.

“Yeah, see.” His older brother slouched a little and turned the can between his palms. “I figured I was already a big enough disappointment, so I wasn’t going to add all that. Didn’t even come to my wedding.”

Jamie realized he’d stopped chopping and he debated before setting the knife down instead of continuing to work. He hadn’t known how much that bothered Allan. At the time he’d laughed it off, drinking it up and partying and focusing completely on Suzanne. “I’m asexual,” he found himself saying as Jo came back in, and then he shrugged and added, “and grayromantic.”

Jo blinked but didn’t hesitate more than that. “Nonbinary,” she offered as she put the folder on the island and resumed her seat.

“Uh.” Allan needed more than just the single blink. “Bisexual,” he belatedly told Jo. “So, uh …”

She pushed the folder a little closer. “You want to be the one who comes in, reads what we’ve got, and pulls a name out of a hat?”

“I mean.” Allan grinned the grin that meant so many women—and apparently men—jumped right into his bed. “No pressure.”

Jamie sort of faded into the background for them as Allan asked questions or made comments like “Oh, man, Jamie’s haircut!” He was used to that on so many levels: being the third wheel. Having Allan’s date ignore him.

Whoa, where had that come from? Sure, the house held those kinds of memories, but this was Jo. He was okay with Jo spending time with any of their other friends without him, even one-on-one, but, what, because they came in pairs? It wasn’t because none of them would be interested in her, but they did all call the Jamie-Jo couple at first sight. They all acknowledged that Jo was special to Jamie, so he needed Allan do that, too? Or …?

When Allan went to set the table, which hadn’t been his chore in years, Jo got up, too, and came around to Jamie. She pressed her mouth against his shoulder, not quite a kiss, and one hand slid along his belt as she put an arm around him: walking the line between the all-clear and the risqué. “You could’ve told me it was some sort of rice bowl,” she murmured, teasing.

“You could’ve guessed,” he countered, maybe not teasing so much.

“Yeah, but then the conversation’s over, and I like talking to you.” She went up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek absently, like maybe she hadn’t noticed how irked he was.

And just why was he irked? Jo and Allan had to meet eventually. Just because Allan was suave and confident and popular and all the things Jamie had never been, he couldn’t keep them apart forever.

Despite his attempt to remain distant, he caught the way her eyes followed Allan out of the kitchen. His footsteps went upstairs, so it was probably more to drop off his stuff than to just use the bathroom, and Jo sighed. “I didn’t really feel like I could just ask him to leave,” she said in a low voice, as … an apology?

Jamie looked up from plating three servings and tried to figure out what all was going on in, and behind, her eyes.

She shrugged one shoulder. “I mean, he seemed sincere about offering, but oh, yeah, leave your mom’s house?” Jo wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “Doesn’t feel like my place. Oh,” she added suddenly, brightening. “This means I get you to myself all weekend.”

He blinked, and blinked again, and the first thing in his mind was a litany of protests: there’d be game night, and the farmer’s market, but that wasn’t her point. Her point was … him. Or even the two of them, alone together, because maybe she felt bad about how Allan was taking her attention on date night, because she’d rather just be with Jamie.

Nobody ever preferred Jamie over Allan. That was simply a fact of life.

The toilet flushed and jerked him back to the present. Allan wouldn’t linger up there forever. Jamie focused back on Jo’s eyes, bright and clear and maybe just a little too understanding. “Stay over tomorrow night.” It was hoarse, and rushed, but her entire face lit up with a grin, and Jo nodded, and he’d be damned if he was going to kiss her for the first time in front of Allan but he almost did it, anyway.

---

Chapter Thirty-One

July

Jo

I think Jamie took me literally, but I can’t say I’m complaining. Even if I just stop by for a half hour of coffee before the archives—and, let’s face it, a half hour isn’t actually enough—I see him every day. If I’m not helping out with the food truck on the weekends, I’m at lunch after. Fridays are game nights but Sunday brunch is just for us, as is Thursday dinner. Helen’s apparently just as much a person of habit as Mom, because Tuesdays are now dinner for the three of us. Those are, let’s face it, the blandest meals, which probably means they’re the healthiest, but it’s not the kind of stuff Jamie makes on Thursdays.

I’ve offered to cook, but he doesn’t accept. “You’re my guinea pig,” he told me, kissing the tip of my nose.

He hasn’t kissed me on the lips yet, but the rest of my face is fair game. There’ve been a couple times when I see him hesitating, thinking about it too much, but I don’t push it. He’s also had to get used to me being in his personal space and actually wanting to touch him—seriously, how did Helen take in a toddler if she’s always so primly at a distance?—and honestly I’ve had to adjust my own thinking there.

The last guy I kept wanting to reach out toward was cheating on me for a year or more at the end. Was I a fool, or was Jake that good of an actor?

It’s probably good that we’re both dealing with things, with weirdness and second-guessing and moments when we forget and just mesh together, because then it’s not framed as just a Jamie issue. It goes both ways, but once we’ve established where the boundary is—Jamie’s not comfortable with me, say, putting my hand in his back pocket when we’re around other people, but touching his hand or his arm or his back or his face is fine—then either one of us can be the first to reach out.

Okay and he’s not the only one surprised that someone keeps showing up and reaching out. It doesn’t even really matter that nobody’s connected any dots to me as far as Davis is concerned. At this point, I’m just basically convinced I’m going to wear out anyone’s interest. Sure, it took me over a decade to run Jake off, but it still happened. The only people who have consistently chosen me throughout my life, all my versions of myself, have been my parents. Considering what they first brought into their home, a lot of things have just gotten easier.

They’ve seen me at my worst. Jake never did. He didn’t want to, and I didn’t want him to. Thanks to Amanda and her key, Jamie’s seen me at my most recent worst.

And I’m still here in his kitchen, drinking a glass of water and peering over his shoulder because he won’t tell me what he’s making tonight. That way, if it doesn’t turn out like he imagined, he’s the only one who’s disappointed.

He’s such a dork. I might be falling in love with him.

“Deconstructed something,” I guess, backing up so he won’t step on my toes. He’s in his socks, but I’m in bare feet.

Jamie sighs. “I’m not done making it.”

“Future constructed something,” I correct, allowing him to shoo me to the far side of the kitchen island. “With vegetables.”

“You’re so brilliant, and yet.” He holds up a head of something I’m pretty sure is green cabbage and not just lettuce. “It’s even whole. You can see all of it.”

I can, but he’s also far enough away that I can’t steal a leaf to get an idea of texture or taste. “Cabbage,” I tell him with full confidence, like lying to your boyfriend is okay if you’re only five percent unsure.

He clucks his tongue and tries not to grin at me. “Fifty-fifty shot.”

I’m about to protest that it’s not like he gave me much of a chance to tell for sure when the front door opens and someone announces, “Your night is now complete, little bro!”

There’s only one person in the world who’d call Jamie that, but nobody said anything about Allan showing up. Jamie blinks and carefully sets down his knife, grabbing a towel to wipe off his hands as he turns toward the doorway.

“And I have brought—” Allan cuts himself off mid-sentence, even though he’s holding up a six pack of beer that finishes it for him. He blinks, then blinks again. “Jo. Shit.” When he moves again it’s all a flurry, setting down the cans and wiping his hand on the side of his fashionably faded jeans and holding it out. “Allan. Mom didn’t say you’d be here.”

“Mom told you to come over?” Jamie’s skeptical, because Allan’s the one who’s still the furthest away, in Green Bay.

“What, she didn’t …?” Allan shrugs, lingering on our shake before stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I booked a weekend in Munising with Marissa, but, uh …”

Jamie nods once, and Allan doesn’t need to finish this sentence, either. Marissa is the latest ex-girlfriend, and she’s only recently taken on that title.

“So Mom said she’d come. Do the boat tours. Take the other twin bed.” His grin seems a bit forced, and I can’t tell if his beard is calculated scruff or post-break-up neglect. Allan’s hair is also blonde, so it’s harder to see if said scruff is really graying or just lighter than Jamie’s. “She said drive up, spend the night, and we’ll take off tomorrow and do the tourist thing.” This shrug, in a faded Radiohead T-shirt, emphasizes the firefighters’ physique that means he’s had a lock on August in the charity calendar for ages. It creeps me out that Helen and a bunch of her friends all buy them, but it’s on the wall in this very kitchen.

Munising isn’t written on the next couple days, though. Helen’s very precise about recording everything, so either this was a recent occurrence or …

That’s paranoid, Jo. Helen didn’t set you up for Allan to interrupt date night.

“I really don’t have to crash your dinner,” he tells Jamie in a low voice I take to be sincere. “I’ll go park it somewhere until Mom’s home.”

Jamie looks at me, which means they’re both willing to send Allan right on back out that door if I say so.

I shrug. “Jamie won’t tell me what he’s making, but if he’s got an entire cabbage, I bet there’s enough for three.”

---

Chapter Thirty

Jamie

Was it normal to be proud of someone for this? Jamie wasn’t even sure what you’d call it, exactly, because telling the truth didn’t entirely cover it. Jo waited for everyone to gather at Ricky and Chase’s, where even Ricky was subdued, and laid it out: researcher for Not Forgotten. First to bring up Davis’s name. How she knew Davis’s name.

Trevor got up, went into the kitchen, and brought back a plate full of mini quiches. Chase had been good as his word.

Jo looked at the plate, then up at Trevor, and dissolved into giggles. There were some tears with the giggles, but she leaned into Jamie when he offered, and she made short work of the quiches. Considering the only other thing she’d eaten today was a breakfast burrito, Jamie figured that was a good idea.

Dune suggested Jenga, since that didn’t take mental concentration, but Jo shot them down with “Yeah, because I need more stress!” They ended up with a triple deck of Uno all shuffled together, some of them on the couch and others on the floor around the Walkers’s enormous coffee table. The others seemed to be doing their best to take their cue from Jo, the same as Jamie was, and once she got the information out she was looking for a distraction. It wasn’t the usual game night energy, but it was helping Jo relax.

At least, it was until Trevor pulled out his phone, frowned, and handed it to Jamie.

Jo carefully set her cards face down on the table and put her hands in her lap, clearly waiting for him to see what Trevor found. Jamie tried to get something from Trevor’s expression, but he was obviously guarded. This wasn’t going to be good.

He checked the headline and scrolled down for the first paragraph. “He’s still alive,” he reported, because maybe that wasn’t the worst-case scenario, but it was certainly top on her mind. Then Jamie scrolled further, and frowned, and realized maybe he shouldn’t be frowning, except he couldn’t undo the frown. The silence stretched on, and he felt like he had to both read faster and corral his face, but neither one was happening. It was a lot to take in, and when he finally looked up, Ricky was letting Jo hold onto one of his hands with a death grip. “Just tell me,” she whispered.

“Uh, there’s a …” Shit, this wasn’t the way to do any of this. Jamie looked down at Trevor’s phone again and scrolled to the proper paragraph. “Davis is conscious and gave a written statement. It’s signed and dated today and says …” Jamie cleared his throat in case she wanted to jump in and tell him she’d changed her mind. “I would like to set the record straight. I am responsible for the deaths of Chelsea Cunningham, Sophia Brunet, and Akira Koenig. I have never met, and I did not murder, Julie Juntunen, Anjelina Truesdell, Lauren Lachen, Tara Kurtycz, Brooklyn Dompier, Aiden Gransell, or Cassie Kujansuu. I am willing to accept a plea deal for the crimes I have done, but not for the women whose lives I did not end.” That was the end of the statement, so he looked up even though he was sure his question was clear in his eyes.

Jo nodded once. “Cece. They all called her Cece.”

Trevor and Mitch exchanged a confused look, but Dune said “Oh, honey,” in a tortured voice and moved off the couch to the floor to wrap their arms around Jo and Ricky combined.

“Her mom,” Chase mouthed across the coffee table, grabbing the Kleenex from the end table and moving it—and himself—closer.

They piled on her, which meant Jamie didn’t really have access to his own girlfriend, but she freed a hand and held it out to him. Jamie took it, but he felt his hoodie pocket buzzing a bit more angrily than usual. He fumbled out both their cell phones, and each of them was lit up with the word Mom.

Jo sighed. “You answer yours,” she told Jamie. “Anyone want to take mine?”

Chase shrugged and plucked it off the table without giving anyone else a chance. “Jo Lewis’ phone. Chase Waker speaking.”

Jamie waited for Jo to squeeze his hand and let go before he swiped on his own and got up, heading for the kitchen. “Hey, Mom.”

“Well, you’ve been gone all day,” she scolded him cheerfully. “There’s an update on Davis. He—”

Holding the phone away from his ear seemed like the best option here. He could tell she was still speaking, but he didn’t have to listen to every word, and he knew Mom’s cadence well enough to put it back up in time.

“—that something?” she concluded breathlessly.

It was, but Jamie had first heard it almost a month ago. “Mom, Jo was one of the first researchers on Not Forgotten. She told me Davis only did two of them the first day we met.”

There was a long pause. He could picture Mom sorting through her various responses. Jamie hadn’t told Mom that the day he’d met Jo, so clearly he was just making it up. If Jo knew how much Mom liked the show, why hadn’t she shared? And of course, since Jamie took off right after he heard about Davis and hadn’t been home all day … “Is she Jake Cooper’s ex-wife?”

Of course she’d go for that description. “Yes.”

“And she knew all this about Davis?” Mom pressed.

Jamie wanted to know what was happening in the living room, but he didn’t want to take Mom’s conversation in there. “When her contract ended, she told Kara and Tess that there was more to the story and they needed to keep digging.”

Mom clucked her tongue. “My, my. Are you with her right now?”

“Yes.” Where else would he be?

“Well then don’t let me keep you!” she admonished, and she was only passing off his attention because it could be coupled with a correction. “The poor thing needs a strong shoulder.”

Jamie blinked, because he wasn’t sure that Jo really was a poor thing, but she was gone. His phone screen changed to show the call was over, and when he looked up, Jo was leaning against the doorframe. “I’m thinking of hiring Chase as my personal assistant,” she announced, “and Dune’s calling their other partner.”

Dune was a lawyer. Their other partner was also a lawyer. Wait, “Dune thinks you need a lawyer?”

She shrugged. “Better to need one than not have one.”

Jamie tried to consider everything she wasn’t saying. She’d extracted herself from the group hug, but she hadn’t come to ask him for one. “You’re not getting rid of me,” he blurted, and he could feel himself start blushing by the third syllable. It was awkward, and clingy, and really he should’ve tried to tell her how he felt about her, even though what he felt like was not leaving her.

Jo tilted her head as she slowly came into the kitchen, looking up at him. “I think you’re going to have to prove that one day at a time,” she finally told him with a helpless little shrug.

He held out a hand like he wanted to shake, and waited out her frown for her to take it. “Bet,” Jamie declared, pulling her in for a hug that showed, even if he was awkward and clingy, he wasn’t alone.

---

End of Part Two (June)

Chapter Twenty-Nine