Page 27 of Present Tense

LIAM

We left The Olde Bar and came right here. And now she’s clutching my hand and evening out her breath.

“Jillybear, there isn’t a dimple, wrinkle, or piece of you I haven’t seen in the last day. You have nowhere left to hide.” She smiles at me weakly and curls up on my shoulder.

We’ve gone over a list of topics to cover with him, like she’s cramming for a test. Benign things, like how Ethan is learning guitar from his best friend’s father, the lead singer of the band Grade Repeated. Or that they’re tearing up her street in the spring. And from what I gather, a street this man has never bothered to see, despite the fact she’s lived in her house for over a decade.

He’s in the lobby waiting for us in a leather wingback chair. I haven’t seen him in about three years. He’s not around the courthouse much these days. His legs are crossed, white oxford pressed, and book open. He’s too young to need this swank retirement home, but as Jilly explains it, he’s not so much retired as he quit.

He looks puffy and red-faced but completely the same otherwise. Their eyes are so similar. Her face breaks into a forced smile I’m not a big fan of, and he summons us. He closes his book and stands. He’s in sweatpants. I don’t know how to rectify this once very formal man in my mind. His gaze goes to me.

“Liam Fletcher. You’re a goddamned surprise. Good to see you.” Jillien jerks her hand away. I recapture it, pull it back, and tuck it into my chest. If we’re together, even for a moment, then we’re together down this path. I’m never one to jump into an abyss, but here I am, twisting and turning. But as I fall, I’ll be damn sure to hold her hand and take her with me.

I reach out with my other hand to shake his. “Sir. It’s nice to see you again, it’s been a while.”

“Indeed, it has. And it’s Jeffery now that you’re a man. What brings you with Jillien?” She sucks a sharp breath through her teeth. She mentioned his favorite hobby is to remind her she’s a single mom. I can see his archaic baggage tearing at her seams. Nope.

“I’m with Jillien,” I say and my knees buckle a bit at the abrupt sentence, but I see him judging, and I want to make that disappear for her.

Jeffery tries to respond, but she kisses his cheek and hugs him tightly. He squeezes her quickly with one arm and turns back toward me. There’s an awkwardness between them, much like when you haven’t seen a friend in a while. As if they need to warm up, even though they were together a couple of days ago. And they’re father and daughter.

She successfully pulls away from me and loops her arm through his crooked elbow. “What do you say we go grab some ice cream?”

He shakes his head. “What am I, six years old?” He spits his words with a judgment reserved for those who know him best. She came up with this idea because of their weekly ice cream dates on Wednesdays after her piano lessons. She wanted to remember the good.

My instinct is to shove some ice cream down his throat as I watch her shrink. But I smile at her. She’s flustered and he softens, given her reaction and that there’s an audience to his tone. She tries again. “Pizza or coffee? Unless there’s somewhere you want to go.”

He looks down on her, in every possible way, and says, “It is Christmas Eve eve. Surely we can do better than pizza. Let me treat you to the country club.”

Ugh. The dreaded club. Sure. Why not wind ourselves deeper into this memory time loop pocket. I’ll bet Jilly pays his club bill.

“Great idea, Dad.” Her voice is strained. Her father leads the way out the door, even though he has no idea where he’s going. He casts a long shadow in the afternoon sun as he approaches the door, and I wonder where my Jillybear has gone. I kiss her on the cheek, and she turns to me.

“It’s worse, Bella.” I gather her in my arms, and she’s so stiff. I won’t let go until she relents a little. I whisper in her ear, “He kept all the formal lawyer bits, the ruthless jabs and intelligent quips, but lost all affection and joy.” Her breath catches. My thumb and forefinger lift her chin so I can see her eyes. They’re filled with tears.

“I know,” she says quietly.

“Let’s make a break for it.” There’s no telling what I’m going to do to stop her tears. She smiles weakly. I say, “I’ll wave around something shiny, knock him onto that bench, and you rev the engine and take off.” Where’s the aggressive, funny, acerbic, confident mom I saw when she was talking about Ethan? She’s turned into the daughter still looking for approval.

“I got this. Thank you for being here. This was a terrible idea.”

“Nonsense. I can’t imagine a better afternoon.” She laughs. “We scarf down lunch and later, we go home, order in all the comfort crap you want from anywhere in the city. Then we’ll let a finger of bourbon and Bing Crosby take this day away. No family.”

Only ghosts.

She smiles a sly, sexy grin with just a trace of duck lip. “I don’t want a finger of bourbon when I know what your fingers can do. Can we have all the sex?”

I bend down and brush my lips across hers. “Better plan. Let’s do that instead.” I nibble her bottom lip, then we head out to where her father is waiting. She walks in front of me and I smack her ass, and she jumps a little. We join him out front, underneath the heat lamp, as they pull my car up the line.

“Was the plan to give me pneumonia for Christmas?” He chuckles as if this is a funny joke. I wink at Jillien.

“Yup. That’s the plan, Dad. Get you good and sick, because we haven’t had enough hospitals lately.” Her dad stands dumbstruck, and Jillien looks like she wants to take it back. I place my hand on her lower back and guide her to the car.

I whisper in her ear, “Nice one.” I turn back toward Jeffery, motioning to my Mercedes. “You ready, Mr. Thompson?” He whistles at my car. My dad had the same fault—snobbery. I inherited it, but it might be time to expand my world instead of narrowing it.

21

JILLIEN