Page 31 of Saving Her Heart
"I'm handling it."
"No, you're drowning in it. Let people help." She glances at Jax. "Let him help."
My phone rings before I can argue. It's Sarah Williams.
"Hi Sarah, is everything okay with your aunt?"
"Oh yes, she's fine. Actually, that's why I'm calling. We found a wonderful memory care facility here in Jacksonville, but I need help to organize her things for the move. I hate to ask, but?—"
"I'll be there in an hour," I say immediately.
"Thank you so much. Aunt Helen keeps asking for you, anyway. Says you're the only one who knows where my uncle kept his reading glasses."
I end the call to find Jax and Charli both looking at me.
"I need to help Mrs. Parsons pack," I explain.
"I'm coming with you," Jax says.
"It's not dangerous. It's packing."
"Everything's dangerous right now until we catch whoever's doing this." His tone brooks no argument.
"He's right," Charli says, surprising me by taking his side. "Plus, you could use the help. Mrs. Parsons has lived there for what, twenty years? That's a lot of stuff."
She's not wrong. And honestly, the idea of sorting through decades of memories alone sounds overwhelming.
"Fine. But we're taking my car."
"Your car's covered in paint," Jax reminds me.
"Then we're taking a rental. That truck of yours still looks like a crime scene."
Charli slides out of the booth. "I'll spread the word that you're helping Mrs. Parsons. Maybe it'll make Valerie think twice about her next move."
"Since when has public opinion stopped Valerie?"
"Since the other night when half the town saw her get exposed for fraud." Charli grins. "I’m on my way to Miami butI’ll be back by this weekend. By the way, kickball's at ten on Saturday. You're pitching, Jax is joining The Walking Ladies in cheerleading."
"I didn't agree to—" Jax starts.
"Deal with it." She grabs another piece of my bacon and heads out. "Use protection! And I don't mean the bodyguard kind!"
I bury my face in my hands. "I'm never living this down."
"Could be worse," Jax says. "They could have shown up with a minister and a wedding cake."
"Don't give them ideas."
He laughs, and the sound takes me back to summer nights and stolen kisses and plans we made before everything fell apart.
"We should go," I say, signaling for the check. "Mrs. Parsons needs help."
"Kendall." He catches my hand as I reach for my wallet. "Thank you. For letting me explain."
"It doesn't change anything," I say, but my voice lacks conviction.
"Maybe not. But it's a start."
