the movie. I’m sure it’ll seem like brand-new every time. Good-bye, now… What?” She shook her head, still focused on the voice in her ear, impatience rolling off her like body odor. “Mrs. Golgrath, you will get your lunch when you get your lunch. Have we ever forgotten? Ever since you’ve been here?” She waited a second, then looked back up to address Jocelyn. “We can have someone walk you around after lunch. Maybe three o’clock. We’re seriously shorthanded today.”
Jocelyn swallowed. “No, that’s all right.”
“We have a video you can watch in the waiting room.”
Jocelyn backed away, bumping into Zoe, who was right behind her. “I don’t…” Want to put even my worst enemy in this hellhole. “… have the time.”
The woman shrugged and returned to her work.
“Let’s get out of here,” she whispered to Zoe, practically dragging her back outside. “It looked a lot better on the Internet.”
“Most things do,” Zoe said drily.
They couldn’t get outside fast enough, both of them sucking in the fresh air after all that stale, miserable sadness.
“I’ll cross that one off the list,” Jocelyn said as they reached the parking lot.
She waited for a Zoe quip, but none came. Zoe just adjusted her sunglasses and Jocelyn could have sworn she reached behind one lens to wipe her eye.
“Maybe this is a bad idea,” Jocelyn said. “I should have come alone.”
“No, no. It’s just…”
“You’re thinking about your Aunt Pasha?” Or… Oliver Bradbury.
“No, that poor Mrs. Golgrath.” Her voice cracked. “I hate that stupid movie.”
Jocelyn sighed and nodded. “The first place I saw was better.”
“Really?”
“I swear it was.”
Zoe stopped in the middle of the parking lot and took off her sunglasses, looking right at Jocelyn, not hiding the moisture in her eyes. “Do you remember that night you got drunk?”
Seriously? “Jeez, how often are we going to relive it?”
“Do you remember it?” she insisted.
“Well, since I was pretty much pickled on Southern Comfort and orange juice, I’m going to say no, I don’t remember the details, just the fact that I never wanted to be that drunk again. And I haven’t been.”
“Then you probably don’t remember what you said to me. You told me that the only thing in the world that mattered was seeing your father go to hell.”
Jocelyn swallowed. “Did I?”
Zoe gave her a squeeze. “Guess some dreams die hard, don’t they?”
Chapter Twenty
Will didn’t trust himself to stop at Guy’s house when he got home from work. No, he’d be too tempted to give the old bastard a taste of what a fist in the face felt like.
For the first time in months, probably in well over a year, Will bypassed 543 Sea Breeze Drive and pulled into his own garage next door. He didn’t bother with the mail, threw his tools on the kitchen table, and didn’t waste his time opening up his laptop looking for an e-mail from his agent that wouldn’t be there anyway.
Restless, tense, and itching for a fight, he stripped off his work clothes, yanked on a threadbare pair of jeans, and took the stairs up to his old room two at a time.
Halfway there, he paused, closing his eyes.
He’d been in this room a thousand times since that dark evening fifteen years ago. Somewhere along the way, it had stopped reminding him of Jocelyn and even of Guy.
But now he’d have to remember. Remember how the early-evening light had cast Jocelyn in shades of gold as she curled up on his bed and sniffed his comforter. He’d have to remember the way they’d kissed and touched, the sheer breathlessness of knowing it was finally going to happen. He’d have to remember how far they’d gone: He’d had his fingers inside her and she was begging for more, rolling against him and—
“Hey.”
He spun around so fast he nearly lost his balance, grabbing the handrail and barking out, “What are you doing here?” at the sight of Guy standing at the bottom of the stairs. “You never come over here.”
“Thought I’d change that.” Guy drew back, out of the shadows of the landing, into the fading light. “Something wrong, son?”
“I’m not your son.” He spoke through clenched teeth, squeezing the handrail like it was a bat—and he wanted to use it on Guy’s head. “What do you want?”
The words felt foreign and ugly on his tongue. Will didn’t speak like that to Guy; he hadn’t said a harsh word, except for the occasional reprimand when Guy didn’t follow instructions or tossed the remote in the trash.
Guy was too helpless, too