Page 84 of The Hundred Loves of Juliet
The Smokehouse
March 29
7 p.m. until the BBQ and the booze run out
Jealousy rears its fanged head, the same as when I watched the elderly couple at Shipyard Books holding hands and celebrating their anniversary. Helene and I will never have what everyone else can. I crumple the invitation in my fist.
Obviously, Adam had nothing to do with mailing it. In the two months that have passed since we argued over my retirement, I’ve tried calling him so many times that I lost track, but he refuses toanswer. I drove out to Ryba Harbor to theAlacrity’s office, but Adam peeked out the trailer window and saw me coming up the ramp, and locked the door before I could get there.
Now Helene sticks her head through the doorway and steps onto the frozen porch. “Hey…I’ve been looking all over. What’re you doing out here?”
My hands fly over the card and envelope in a pathetic attempt to hide them.
She wrinkles her nose skeptically. “The junk mail is so compelling that you decided to read it in the cold?”
I sigh and hand over the crumpled invitation.
Helene skims it, then says, “You could go to the party.”
“I’m not going to show up and ruin their celebration.”
“But if Dana sent it to you, maybe she thinks there’s a chance you and Adam could make up.”
“Maybe. Or maybe she’s trying to fix us, when he’s not ready for the fix yet. If ever.”
“I’m sorry.” Helene moves the invitation onto the pile of mail next to me and climbs onto my lap. “Can I share some good news to cheer you up?”
“Please.” I wrap my arms around her; she’s not dressed warmly enough to be out here. But as soon as I hold her, I know that I need her close to me more than the other way around. Because her nearness is an antidote to any darkness I ever feel; her touch alone could save me from the brink of extinction.
Helene leans in and whispers into my ear. “I finished my manuscript.”
“What?” I pull back so I can look at her, and any remaining thoughts of Adam evaporate. “You finished? Congratulations!”
She grins, so happy that she’s bouncing in my lap. Which has another not unwelcome effect.
“Well, it’s only a zero draft,” Helene says.
“What’s a zero draft?”
“It’s muddled chaos, masquerading as a loosely coherent story.”
“But it’s enough pages to be a book?”
Helene squeals and nods.
I pick her up and spin her on the porch. “You wrote a book! Awhole damn book! Do you know how many people dream of doing that, but never get to where you are?”
She laughs as we get dizzy together and fall back down onto the bench. “I have to admit,” she says, “I’m pretty proud of myself right now.”
I lean down and kiss her. “Let’s open up some champagne. I’ll cook something special for you tonight—whatever you want. We’ll also plan a proper celebration.”
This is what all the wealth I’ve accumulated over the centuries is for. Not for me, but for Juliet. To spoil her, because my time with her is short, and I want as much of it as possible to be everything she could ever want.
Helene grins. “And what does a proper celebration entail?”
“Surprises.”
Her eyes gleam, even brighter than the sunlight reflecting off the snow. “Surprises, plural?”
