Chapter 8: Pity Doesn't Kiss Like That

Jude put me in the passenger seat of his truck and shut the door.

Through the windshield I watched Declan stand in the gravel lot with his hands in his pockets, and then go back inside.

Jude got in on his side and started the engine.

He did not speak until we were out on the coast road, with the heater roaring and the wipers going.

"Can he do that?" he asked. "Make you sign the inn over?"

"I don't know."

"You should ask someone who does."

"I will."

My hands would not stop shaking in my lap, so I sat on them.

"He had me by the arm," I said. "In front of the whole parking lot. He knew nobody could see."

"I saw."

"I know you did. Thank you."

The rain started halfway home, thin at first and then hard.

It drummed on the roof of the cab so loudly that we stopped trying to talk.

He pulled up in front of the Tern House and switched off the engine, and the noise folded in around us.

The porch light was on.

Every window on the second floor was dark.

"Frances is still at the supper," I said. "I should go in."

"You should."

Neither of us moved.

I could hear the rain and the tick of the cooling engine.

I could hear him breathing.

"I was wrong about June," Jude said, low, looking straight ahead.

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