idea her nephew was nailing him with one question after another. She probably should feel bad for Jared. Probably, but she didn’t.
She braced her arm near the door, squinting into the bright sun. Twice she’d headed out to call Cody back, and twice she’d stopped herself. He’d made it more than clear he wanted to spend the afternoon outside with Jared. But that didn’t stop her from feeling guilty. Less than an hour ago, she’d vowed to be a better aunt, to find a way to bridge the gap between them. But then Jared had walked into her kitchen, and all of her good intentions had flown out the window.
She rested her head near her shoulder. He infuriated her . . . annoyed her . . . flustered her. But most of all, he scared her. Around him, she was finding it impossible to stay numb like she had for the past nine months. Each heated look he gave her seemed to thaw her heart a little more. When he’d first arrived, Jenny’s only worry had been about Blue Sky. Now . . . now she had a far greater scare.
Jared reached the hangar first and disappeared into the long shadows. A few moments later, Cody followed.
Jenny dropped her arm and went into her office. She turned on the computer, and as she waited for it to boot up, her gaze slid to the desk’s bottom drawer. Staring at it, her heart began to race and her palms sweat. She reached out, intending to open the drawer, only to draw back her hand. She sucked in a deep breath. Ever since Steven’s death, she’d been avoiding this moment.
She lifted her gaze and stared out her window to the hangar. Even though she couldn’t see Jared, she knew he was there. Where he would stay until she repaid him. And while she still had four months to come up with the money, she was beginning to realize there was no way she would survive that long. His loan and the letter from Steven might have brought him here, but it was up to Jenny to make him leave.
Steeling herself, she opened the desk drawer and withdrew her camera. The moment her hand closed around the cool metal, her heart kicked into overdrive. Her breathing became short and choppy, and she fought hard to drag slow, even breaths into her lungs.
She stared at the camera, marveled how something so light could feel so heavy. But then she knew. It wasn’t the camera itself that weighed so much; it was the memories it held. She tried not to think about the last time she’d held the camera in her hands . . . the last time she’d snapped a picture. She tried . . . and failed.
She’d been outside, under a hot summer sky. Steven had been getting ready for a charter.
Snap some pics of me taking off, Jen-Jen. We’ll need ’em for the website.
She’d clicked away, nearly filling the memory card, never realizing that would be the last time Steven would ever fly. A day later, he’d been gone.
As the pictures uploaded into the computer, tears pooled in her eyes. Each image cut deeper than the last, but she refused to look away. She drank them in. The first dozen or so were close-ups of Steven. Silly, candid shots of him smiling, goofing off. She soaked up each picture, finding it all but impossible to move on to the next. When a new photo loaded on to the screen, she laughed out loud. It was another shot of Steven, one of him just before he was about to board the plane. With his hand braced on the door, he’d turned around and stuck out his tongue at her. The camera had caught it all: the sunny day, his sandy blond hair that always needed to be trimmed, his bright green eyes, and that big-as-the-sky smile. She laughed again, even as fresh tears filled her eyes.
For months, she’d avoided looking at these pictures, not wanting to feel the pain of them. And while her heart still ached, there was also an unexpected joy. She was shocked to realize that looking at the still images of him didn’t crush her like it once would have. Now, instead of remembering only the pain, she was also remembering all of the good times, too.
She wiped at the tears on her cheeks and finished saving the images. Then she picked up the phone.