Best Kept Secret (Rochester Trilogy 3)

“Are you going to leave like Jane did?”

My chest feels like it’s cracking. I put down the spatula and face her. There’s true worry in her eyes. “No, sweetheart. I’m not going to leave. Not ever.”

This is the thing that haunts me the rest of my goddamn life. First Paige’s father died, and her mother left her. And then I sent Jane away. Why wouldn’t she expect the same from me? “Everyone else did. Even Jane, and she said she wouldn’t.”

“Well, I mean it. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Prove it.”

How could I prove something that happens in the future? “I am going to prove it, Paige. By getting this grilled cheese right. You need to eat something. It’s dinnertime. Marjorie left us some crab salad in the fridge if you want to try that in the meantime.”

“I’m allergic to shellfish.”

“Since when?”

“Since Jane noticed I got rashes on my back after eating it.”

Christ. “I’ll tell Marjorie not to make that anymore.”

Paige rests her head on her small fist. “I need to finish my homework anyway.”

Her hair is a wild tangle of blonde curls. There’s a smudge of something on her cheek. She was never this much of a mess at the dinner table when Jane was here.

It’s not a surprise that we need her. I knew it even when I sent her away. Maybe that was why I was so determined she should go. For her own safety, yes. And for my peace of mind.

I can’t need anyone. It will only be harder to lose them.

With a damp paper towel, I gently wipe the dirt from Paige’s cheek. I run a hand over her hair, taming it by the smallest percentage. She accepts my ministrations with a solemn expression. The silence throbs with the unspoken plea: please bring Jane back.

We’ve had this discussion, of course. Paige cried and begged, and I said no. She knows the answer will be the same if she asks again, so she doesn’t even try.

This child is entirely too accustomed to loss.

“History?” I ask, my voice gruff.

“Math,” she says, and I hold back my wince.

Last night’s homework with three-digit division nearly destroyed us. It’s not enough to come up with the correct answer. You need to show your work using the confusing new methodology the teacher taught. I didn’t think it was possible but they changed math. It’s different than it was decades earlier when I learned the same thing.

The printed worksheet is filled with fractions. Five eighths plus three tenths. Thirty-seven over forty, my mind supplies, but I know it’s not enough to have the answer. She has to show her work, and there’s probably some new way of doing that, too.

“Let’s look at the YouTube channel,” I say, resigned. Her math teacher has a video for each lesson showing precisely how she wants the work completed.

From the kitchen I can hear someone arrive. The bell above the front door rings. Marjorie left a few hours ago on some mysterious errand. And Mateo is taking an evening run along the beach. They’re the only people who have the code to the front door.

The video loads the intro animation, featuring numbers as various jungle animals. We’ve only gotten to the monkeys and the elephants before something lifts the hair at the back of my neck. Awareness ripples through my body. I look up. It’s not Marjorie with her hands full of shopping bags. Not Mateo covered in sand and salt spray.

Jane breezes into the kitchen, as casual as if she walked out an hour ago.

Paige’s mouth drops open. This is what they mean when they say eyes like saucers.

“You’re here.” I say it like the end of the explanation I was going to give Paige. It doesn’t make any sense.

“I’m here.”

“Hi, Paige.”

Paige closes her mouth, still staring.

“I need to talk to you.” The words come out of my mouth, and my mind supplies several possible endings. Forever. Always. For the rest of my life. “Out in the hall. We’ll be right back, Paige.”

I gesture Jane out of the kitchen and around the corner, push her back against the wall.

“You shouldn’t have come back here.” All I want in the world is for Jane to be where she is right now. Within reach. “I told you to leave.”

“I had to come back.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Relief rolls over me, crushing the air out of my lungs. Something essential moves back into place. I wasn’t whole without her. Every goddamn thing was wrong.

“Yes, I did, Beau.”

“You were safer where you were.”

“No,” Jane insists. “I wasn’t. But I am now.”

She looks into my eyes, and I see it. Something changed. There’s a confidence about her. Jane is sure. I want to believe her. I want to hold myself back. For all of a second before I kiss her.

CHAPTER FIVE

Jane Mendoza

Beau kisses me with the desperation of an ocean surge. I thought I might sink down to the ground if he kissed me again. I thought I might not be able to stand it, but instead it makes me feel like the cliff near Coach House. Solid and strong no matter what rain lashes on the rock.