Page 79 of All's Well that Friends Well

I also know that because he’s Rodney, he’s going to say them anyway.

“You didn’t kill that girl,” he says. He doesn’t use a gentle voice; he doesn’t soften the blow. “And what’s more, you did the right thing. Marrying her would have been a mistake, unless a lot of things had changed and both of you had healed. You know that as well as I do.”

I bristle, a restless energy coursing through me as I fight the desire to run from this conversation. The feeling I woke up without is returning, an ugly, heavy fog in my lungs that makes it hard to breathe.

“And if she decided to end her own life”—my eyes widen, my heart stilling in my chest as he puts into words my deepest, darkest fears—“that was her choice. You did not make her do that.”

I try to say his name, to tell him to stop, tell him I don’t want to hear any more, but the words are stuck in my throat.

“She made her choices, whatever they were,” Rod goes on. His voice has finally changed, less abrasive now. “You’re not responsible for what she did—whatever it was. And drowning yourself for the rest of your life won’t change anything. She’s gone, Luca.” He pauses as a flash of sympathy glitters in his eyes. “Let her stay gone. Remember her if you want. Respect her memory. But don’t trail mud over the rest of your life every time you visit Maura’s grave.”

It’s a vivid mental image, one that makes me shudder—myself, stomping muddy footprints everywhere I go, in my home and at work and all the places in between, too.

I don’t like mud. Have I been wallowing in it?

“I’ll think about it,” I say heavily, words that come out distracted but sincere.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Rod replies, pushing himself back off the couch. “I know it’s hard for you to use your brain.”

I just roll my eyes.

“Get your act together,” he says as he shuffles out of the office, and then he pauses. “Your birthday’s next week. Want anything?”

“Not a thing,” I say, like I do every year.

He shrugs his stooped shoulders. “Fine. You’re on your own, then, kid—you and Miss Juliet Marigold.”

JULIET

Friday passeswith only glimpses of Luca. Even when I do see him, he’s usually on the phone or talking to someone on the work floor about whatever they discuss—Paperwork? Kayaks? Bikes? I don’t know.

And maybe it’s better that way. After our conversation about new boundaries for our relationship, I need to regroup and come up with a new strategy.

I also need to talk to my sisters. They can tell something is going on; they haven’t asked, but I see the glances. So, once we’ve all gotten home on Friday, I invite them into the living room. My hands are gross and damp from sweat, and my heart is stumbling drunkly in my chest.

It’s not a great feeling. I don’t mind telling them about Luca—I’m excited to, actually. But the other things I’ve been keeping to myself? Those have been locked inside me for so long, sealed behind closed lips. I don’t even know what I’m going to say. I’ll just be winging it.

I pace a bit as they come into the room, my hands clasped in front of me, my body full of nervous energy that demands an outlet. I could dance right now. I could bake. But I hold those impulses back. And when my sisters finally settle themselves on the couch, I speak.

“I’m ready to talk,” I say simply.

India slumps back on the sofa, rolling her eyes. “Finally,” she says, her red ponytail flopping to the side. “We’ve been dying, Jules.”

Aurora nods, looking serious, and I glance back and forth between them.

“Why haven’t you asked?” I say.

Aurora shrugs, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. She’s in her favorite spot, tucked into the corner of the couch, and India is sprawled next to her, both of them in their comfortable clothes.

“Usually you tell us,” Aurora says. “Almost always, and right away. So we figured this time was different.” She eyes me. “It’s a guy, isn’t it?”

I can feel my cheeks heat as I stand in front of them, and India points at my face, her eyes widening.

“Look at her,” she says. She leans forward, peering more closely at me. “It’s totally a guy. She’s blushing. Is it Luca Slater?”

I clear my throat primly. “It is partly Luca Slater, yes.” I pause as my heart climbs into my throat, pounding wildly. “But there’s something else first I wanted to talk about.”

Because I’ve been struggling. It’s a lie to say otherwise, and it’s just as much a lie to pretend in front of my family. I always have ups and downs, everyone does, but the last week has been rough.

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