The Truth about Us (22 page)

Monday afternoon, I'm in the greenhouse.

“Hey guys,” I say to the azaleas. “Looking good. Wilf would be happy.”

I mist and water and fuss over them. When I'm all done, I head to the area where I've lined up the potted herbs. I bend down to inhale the peppermint leaves, and when I stand, I grab my chest and scream. Flynn is right in front of me. Holding a small plant.

I clench my hands into fists and only just resist punching him hard on the shoulder. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Jess!” Kyle calls and walks out from behind the counter. “Soap!”

“Sorry, Kyle,” I tell him. “I didn't see you.” I force a smile. “You look good. You feeling better?”

He holds up his hand. “I got a new train,” he tells me. “A girl. Annie.”

“That is awesome, dude,” I tell him.

“Kyle, can you go and water those plants?” Flynn puts down the plant he's holding and picks up a water bucket and walks Kyle far away from the herbs and starts him watering a row of flowers.

My hands flitter around. I feel like throwing up.
I don't care
, I remind myself.
I don't care
. When he returns, Flynn touches my shoulder lightly.

“Please don't touch me!” I say, gritting my teeth and moving away. He doesn't have any right. Not now. Not ever. He can't touch me again.

His hand hovers over my arm and then he pulls it back. “I'm sorry,” he says.

“Yes,” I agree with him. “Yes. You are.”

He picks up the pot with the cactus. He holds it out. He's giving me a cactus? A thorny plant that sucks the life out of the ground around it. Seems appropriate.

I frown and focus on my anger. Anger is better than hurt. I turn to my herbs. “What are you doing here?” I ask and angrily pull a piece of thyme out by the root.

“I need to talk to you. Explain some things.” He's staring at me. “I hate that you're so angry with me.”

I hate it too. But I don't tell him that. It's none of his business.

“I brought you a cactus because it symbolizes endurance and adaptability. And finding ways to survive even in tough circumstances.”

Behind us Kyle is singing a rhyming song about purple stew.

“And that's supposed to make everything better? A cactus?” I frown. “I don't want anything from you, Flynn,” I tell him.

“No.” He inhales deeply and puts the cactus down. “I want to tell you the truth. Even if it hurts.”

“I kind of want to punch you in the stomach until it hurts,” I tell him. “That's me. Being honest.” I pull a peppermint leaf too hard, and it rips in two.

“I don't blame you,” he says.

I scrunch the leaf up into a ball and bring it to my nose and inhale. I don't want him to hurt me anymore. I don't want to give him that power.

“My way of dealing, not getting hurt,” he tells me. “It's always been to keep things locked down. Not let people in. Do it alone, you know. But you came along. And Kyle loved you, and then, well, it was different.”

I turn my back on him and watch Kyle. Holding the watering can, chattering away to the plants, and singing.

“I blamed myself, Jess. For not being there that night. For not protecting my family.”

I sigh. “I know that. You think I don't know that? But you can't always be there. You know?”

“That's what your dad said too.”

I freeze to the spot, not sure I heard that right. “My dad?”

“Yeah. He came to see us. Talked with my mom. He's helping her get her divorce done so it's official. So Kyle's dad has no right to come near her again.”

“My dad?” I frown. What the hell? My forehead wrinkles deepen from my angry frown. Since when does my dad talk to Flynn's family?

“He said he would have one of his partners, the one who handles marital law, draw up the papers. He's making sure my stepdad signs them.” He looks over at Kyle, who is belting out a verse in his song. “He refused my offer to pay him back whatever it costs.”

“Let him do it,” I say, and some of my anger for my dad, the constant thing that's still between us these days, shrinks just a little. “He can afford it. If he wanted money for it, he would have said so.”

He nods. “I went to see him.”

“My dad?”

“Yup. At his office. Fancy place.”

I haven't been to my dad's office since I was a little kid. I try to imagine Flynn in the corporate setting and almost smile at the contrast.

“I told him I wanted to work it off. He refused. He told me it was karma. His way of dealing with things he had no control over. Bad people. And then we talked a little bit,” he says. “About feeling responsible. He told me how he felt. About not being there for your mom. He told me he feels responsible every day for what happened.”

“That's crazy,” I say. “She went for a run.”

“Still, I get it. It's a thing. Feeling responsible for your family.”

I concentrate on my feet, shaking my head. No. No. He is not allowed to get along with my dad. He is not allowed to have the sympathy of my family. I've worked hard to get to the place where I am. I don't want to forgive him. It doesn't excuse the girl.

“I'm sorry you saw me with her,” he says. “With Lindsay.”

I barely resist my urge to grab a nearby spray bottle and attack him with it. Yell at him and curse him while I hose him down. Lindsay. She has a name. I loathe it.

“It doesn't matter,” I whisper and focus on Kyle. Watching him. So innocent still.

“It matters a lot.” His voice cracks. “She doesn't live in Tadita. She was visiting for the weekend. It was stupid. A mistake. I was trying to forget you.”

“Yeah. Well, I was doing the same. Only I chose yogurt instead of a boy. And you should be more careful with people. How do you know it didn't mean something to her? Maybe she thought you cared.”

“She has a boyfriend,” he says. “In Seattle.”

Kyle's sweet voice dances in the air. I shake my head. Back and forth. Back and forth, focusing on Kyle, watching him.

“I wanted to be the same way I was before I met you. Not involved, you know. Not caring. But it didn't work.” He pauses. “It made it worse. Because no one else is you, Jess. No one.”

I shake my head. No. He is not allowed to say these things to me. I have worked hard to make myself believe that we will never be. That he is bad. Wrong. Gone.

“And then I realized something else. I want to be like Wilf,” he says. “I want to fight for you.”

I reach for the nearest bottle and spray him. I spray him again. And again. “No,” I tell him as I'm spraying him. “It's too late. You screwed up. Wilf would be furious with you too.” Tears run down my cheeks, and my hand drops to my side, limply holding the water bottle.

“Did you hear?” he asks softly. “Did Stella tell you what Wilf did?”

My heart flutters, and I put down the bottle. “You mean besides die?” I ask.

Flynn winces, and that secretly makes me smile. Wilf would have appreciated my dark humor. Even if he thought it was rude. Flynn, on the other hand, looks horrified.

“I'm only kidding. God. What?” I ask impatiently. “What did he do?”

“He left my mom his house. We found out from his lawyer. They had to get a relative to sign off on it before they told us.”

Pow. That gets my attention. I almost hear Wilf's voice in the greenhouse. Laughing. I turn and finally look Flynn right in the eye. God, it hurts.

“He did?” I ask.

“Yup. We have to pay inheritance tax and there are bills to look after and stuff, but there's no mortgage. He left me a note.”

“Wow,” I say and glance down. My sarcasm and bitterness are corked by the hugeness of what Wilf did for Flynn's family. “That's pretty great.” I look over at Kyle.

“I know. It's an old bungalow in Heritage Point, old but in great shape. It's a better neighborhood with a better school for Kyle. He starts first grade this year.”

I glance across the greenhouse at Kyle again. He's still singing and slopping water all over the floor as he tries to water the plants.

I smile. What a great thing to do. What an amazing old man. I miss him. Wilf. I miss Kyle. God. I miss Flynn too.

“I miss you,” Flynn says quietly, as if he really does see inside my head sometimes.

I bite my lip and look away. No. I can't do this. I can't hear him say things like that. I've been working hard the past couple of weeks to file him away in a part of my brain that I don't ever have to visit. Far, far away from the shredded thing that used to be my heart.

He takes a step closer to me. He's looking down at me with an expression he's not allowed to use anymore. “I really screwed up, Jess. I messed up bad.”

“You're only doing this now because you have a house. Well, Wilf didn't give you the house so you could screw me over. I hate you.” I start crying full on then. “I hate you so much.”

“It's not the house,” he says. “I've been trying to get the nerve to talk to you. I'm so afraid, still afraid, that you won't be able to forgive me.”

I close my eyes but I don't move away.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers. “I've been miserable trying to figure out the right way to reach you. I thought I should give you time. To get over being mad.” He puts his hand on my arm. “I was stupid.”

“It didn't work,” I whisper. “It made me madder.”

My hand betrays me though. When he puts his hand on top of mine, I don't move away. He slowly moves forward, tentatively, and then I'm crying against him. Drenching his T-shirt with my tears.

“It's the truth, Jess. I don't want anyone else. Only you. Spoiled. Rotten. You.”

“I can't stand seeing you with anyone else,” I say and cry on his shirt more.

“I know. And I'll never screw up again. I want this. I want real. I want scary. Please. Forgive me. Take me back.”

“I've been working so hard to let you go,” I tell his chest.

“A chance,” he says. “One more chance. Let me fight for you. Let me try.”

I'm gripping his shirt in both hands, staring up at him, tears still running down my face.

“What about your mom?” I ask. “What will she say about it?”

He rests his chin on top of my head. “She knows I'm a mess without you. She wants what I want. She hopes you'll go and talk to her. When you're ready.”

I can think of a million reasons why I don't want to talk to his mom.

“Are you two done hugging yet?” Kyle asks. He wanders closer, holding the empty water bucket, and he's smiling at me, like it's the most normal thing in the world, seeing me hugging his brother again.

“He missed you,” Kyle tells me. “Like a girlfriend. I missed you like a friend.”

I laugh and wipe away the tears collecting all over my face.

“We want to take you somewhere, Jess!” he says to me. “For a hangover.”

“To hang out,” Flynn clarifies and smiles at me.

“We want to show you the flowers,” Kyle says. “Will you come?”

I run my hands through my hair, trying to catch my breath. I'm dizzy, disoriented. Nothing feels real. Flynn stares at me. Waiting.

“It's the turtle place!” Kyle blurts out. “Flynn wasn't sure if you would come. But I was. How can you resist turtles?”

“It's an indoor atrium,” Flynn adds. “There are flowers and plants and ponds with fish and turtles. It's in one of the buildings my mom cleans. People are allowed to visit.”

“I don't know,” I say, afraid. Hopeful, but still so afraid.

“Please?” Flynn asks. “Come?” He holds out his hand.

I stare at him and open up another little crack. And put my hand inside his.

“You're sure?” I ask. “Really sure?”

“I'm so sure. I'm the surest. Surely.”

Kyle runs ahead of us.

“Stay where we can see you!” Flynn calls to him. “Wait for us.”

“We have to go slow,” I tell him. “I have to be sure too.”

“As slow as you need,” he tells me. “I want you sure. Why do you think it took me so long to kiss you the first time?”

I take his hand. There's a sound in the air, almost like a sigh. “I kissed you,” I remind him.

I think of Wilf and smile, imagining him giving me a thumbs-up.

I grab my purse from a shelf and take out the greenhouse key to lock up behind us. When I throw my purse over my shoulder, my sock monkey hangs from the handle down my back.

“Hey.” Flynn points at it and smiles. “You've got a monkey on your back.”

“You're right.” I laugh and unhook it from my strap and hold it in my hand. “Not anymore,” I say. “Hey, Kyle!” I shout. “You want this sock monkey? He has special powers.”

Kyle runs to us and squeals over the monkey. I think of something else and turn to Flynn. “What did the note say?” I ask. “From Wilf.”

He smiles. “It said, ‘You better be fighting for her.'”

And then he holds up his fist and I bump it with mine.

Thanks to my mom for inviting me along to volunteer at Siloam Mission in Winnipeg for Christmas dinner, which gave me a place to base my setting on and gave me a peek at how one shelter operates. Bravo to volunteers at Siloam and everywhere!

Thanks to Aubrey Poole, my new editor at Sourcebooks, who helped massage this book into shape. Thanks to Sabrina Baskey and Elizabeth Boyer for stellar edits and EVERYONE at Sourcebooks who all work so hard to make beautiful books with beautiful covers and get the books into book stores and libraries. Thanks also to my agent, Jill Corcoran, for getting me this far on my publishing journey.

Also thanks to everyone at Raincoast Books in Canada. Let's grab our Chapters/Indigo and Indie bookstore friends and go play some hockey and hang out at Tim Horton's after. You're all welcome to visit my igloo anytime you're in Calgary.

Special thanks to Linda Duddridge and Denise Jaden for early eyes and helpful advice while writing this book. And to Linda for the hot yoga and writing sessions. Thankfully not at the same time. Ew. Sweaty keyboards.

I'd also like to give a shout-out to book bloggers and librarians everywhere, who love books so much and help spread the word about their faves. Having my work read is an honor. You can have the last cookie from my cookie jar every time.

I'd also love to give special thanks to people I've met or corresponded with over the years whose kind words and/or encouragement have meant more than they probably know. For Aly Phanord, Fifi Islaih, Kim Baccellia, Amanda Pedulla, Amy Mueller, Hannah Doermann, Michelle Arrow, Ashley Morrison, Lindsay Robertson, Julie Goldbeck, Lisa McManus, and Jean Vallesteros: big hugs! And to all of you who I should have mentioned and forgot to because my brain is getting old and kind of mushy…give me a virtual smack next time you see me around, okay?

To my favorite son, Max Gurtler, and my favorite husband, Larry Gurtler, thanks for putting up with the weird things that happen around me when books are getting written. And the piles of dust and take-out food that follow. Thanks for long rides to BC and threats to take off your seat belt when the parents are getting too embarrassing. For the big garage that still keeps filling up with stuff and the swim meets that numb our butts but make us proud. The good, the bad, and the ugly. You're my family and I cherish you.

Lastly, to everyone who touches my life just by being in it. Go you! Hugs and thank you.