Page 87 of His Best Friend's Baby

“Mama!” he shouted.

“Hear, hear,” Mac said, his blue eyes sad, and they all raised their glasses and Julia figured, of all her fresh starts and new beginnings, this one, as painful as it was, had to be her favorite.

But that night she dreamed of Jesse. The old dreams, in which he had holes in his chest and his eyes were dead. She woke up with a gasp and painful lurch of heart.

I can’t save him, she reminded herself. He has to do that himself.

But it didn’t stop her loving him and she wondered, staring out her dark window to the mountains, when that would end.

She feared never.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

JESSE WORKED like a man possessed. His body ached and burned with old and new wounds. The first night Julia and Ben were gone, he took some of the pain medication that he had left—pain medication he hadn’t touched in weeks because of Julia and Ben. That night his dreams of her, of her body, her kiss, the cool brush of her fingers, were torture, so the next morning he dumped the meds out.

He worked. Four days later the roof was half-finished, but he couldn’t sweat or beat out his memories and his quickly gathering regrets.

“Looks good!”

Jesse peered over edge of the roof and saw Mac standing on his lawn, his hands in his pockets.

“Thanks.” Jesse stood, braced himself when the blood rushed to his head and then carefully made his way down the ladder. It’d been four days since Julia had left and he wanted to pump Mac for information.

“You’ve been pretty busy,” Mac said, holding the ladder as Jesse stepped off the bottom rung. He wiped his filthy hands on hisT-shirt and shook Mac’s palm. It was his first contact with another person in four days and he was surprised at how good the solid warm grip of his old friend felt. “You look like shit, though. Do you ever sleep?”

“Not much.” Jesse managed to laugh a little. “How is Rachel?”

“Happy. Hungry.” Mac shrugged. “Life is good.”

Jesse smiled. Gladness, like some kind of seed buried under all his stupid years of pigheadedness, bloomed in his gut.

“Come by for dinner and see for yourself.”

“I’ve got a lot of work to do.” Jesse lifted a hand toward the roof. The truth was, stepping inside of his sister’s happy house wasn’t something he could deal with. His brush with the land of the living had proved disastrous. He was better on the roof. Alone.

“Working yourself to death or making yourself miserable isn’t going to change anything, Jesse. Mitch will still be dead.”

“I know, Mac. But how am I supposed to live in this town a block away from his parents? How am I supposed to live with his widow? His son? I mean, it’s torture.”

“More torture than it is living without her?”

His words slid in between Jesse’s flesh and bone and settled in his gut like the hard cold weight of truth.

“Where’s Julia?” Jesse asked.

“She’s got an apartment.”

“Where?”

“She asked us not to tell you, Jesse. She’s pretty fragile and if you show up on her doorstep—”

“Why the hell does everyone think she’s fragile?”

“Because she does.” Mac shrugged. “Or used to, anyway.”

“Well, she’s never been the best judge of character,” he muttered. He felt small and evil, as though a black spill of bitterness coated his entire body.

“What would it matter, Jesse?” Mac tilted his head and regarded him carefully. “I mean, even if you did know where she was, what would you do about it?”

“Make sure she’s okay.”

“She’s okay, you can rest easy.”

Jesse nearly laughed. Rest easy. Right. Not until he was gone from this place. Away from this house and its old memories that had been slicked over by those new ones created by Julia and Ben.

This house was haunted.

He swallowed. “Does she ask about me?” If Mac said yes, he’d run to her. He’d find her no matter what it took.

“No.” Mac sighed, as if knowing that was the opposite of what Jesse needed to hear. “She’s trying to get over you.”

Jesse nodded, eviscerated. “That’s for the best.”

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