Big Lies in a Small Town - Diane Chamberlain Page 0,96
general?” he asked.
“In general. It’s old-people music. Vietnam protests are ancient history.”
“My parents were old folkies and I grew up on this stuff,” he said. “It’s deeper than today’s music. Has more of a message than ‘oh, I wanna get laid tonight’ or whatever.”
I laughed. I love you, I thought, but of course I kept my mouth shut. Dangerous thinking. The last man I’d fallen in love with screwed me over royally. Instead, I said, “It’ll be easier to relate to Nathan if you listen to the music he listens to. Music’s a bridge between people.”
In the rearview mirror, I saw his face, caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. His look was sober, and he nodded.
“Point taken,” he said.
In another few minutes, he turned the van into Lisa’s driveway. I drew in a long breath. What a terrible night it had been, and yet I felt oddly happy. Happier than I’d felt in a long time.
Oliver helped me hop my way to the front door. I opened it with my key and quickly turned off the alarm system once we were inside, not wanting to awaken Lisa. The house was dark and silent.
“Where’s your room?” Oliver asked quietly.
“At the back of the house. The sunroom.”
“Jesse’s old room?”
“Yes.”
He put his arm around my waist and helped me maneuver through the dark living room and dining room. Instead of the pain, I focused on how wonderful his hand felt against my side, but he let go of me as soon as we reached the sunroom. I turned on the light, glad I’d made my bed that morning. I sat down on it and looked up at him.
“How am I going to work?” I asked.
He put his hands on his hips and looked down at me. “We’ll figure out a way,” he said. “For right now, what can I get you? Water? Snack? Can you take off the boot by yourself? Can you get to the bathroom?”
Oh God, I didn’t want to be this needy around him! I could feel the pain beginning to throb in my ankle now that the medication they’d given me in the ER was wearing off.
“Just one thing,” I said. “Lisa has Tylenol in the kitchen cabinet by the sink. Could you bring me a couple and a glass of water, please?”
“You’ve got it,” he said, and he disappeared into the hallway.
He returned a moment later with the Tylenol, water, and an ice pack. “Look what I found in the freezer,” he said, holding up the ice pack.
I took the ice pack from him and set it on the bed, then looked up at him. He was eyeing me with worry. The night table lamp caught the blue of his eyes. The straight line of his nose.
“What else can I do?” he asked.
You can lie here next to me until I fall asleep, I thought. It would be so comforting to curl up against him all night long, breathing in the leathery scent of his aftershave or whatever it was. Instead, I smiled up at him.
“You’ve done a lot,” I said quickly, before I said anything I’d regret later. “And I’m fine, really. I’ll see you tomorrow—after my appointment with my PO—and we can figure out how the hell I’m going to work with a screwed-up foot.”
“Okay,” he said. “Call if you need me.” Then he leaned over to give me a hug I could only describe as brotherly. It was all I could do to let go.
Chapter 42
ANNA
March 6, 1940
Ever since the anniversary of her mother’s death, Anna had been staying late in the warehouse each day, unable to tear herself away from the mural. At first, she thought she was focusing on her painting as a way to stop the memories, but now she knew she was painting simply for the joy of it, the way she had as a student. There was nothing she would rather do. This was her passion. Her calling. She wondered if she would ever have time for a husband and children. She doubted she could attract a man at the moment, anyway. She always seemed to have paint in her hair and she’d stopped trying to get all of it out from under her fingernails. Looking pretty wasn’t her priority, and she believed Miss Myrtle had completely given up on turning her into a lady.
So, she had no man in her life, but she did have a best friend—Jesse Jameson Williams—and she thought that was even better. What