across question-boy’s face. “Oh, so you guys know each other?”
“Knew each other,” I say pointedly. “A long time ago in a state far, far away.”
Damn the Star Wars reference. Jared was a huge fan of the original trilogy, and it just slipped out. He catches it, too. His lip twitches as he looks between me and his friend. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure you guys met at some parties back in high school.”
I throw question-boy a cursory glance and come up empty. Maybe we did, maybe we didn’t. Maybe if I could really see his face, I’d remember. But I can’t. All my brain can focus on is Jared. His friend is just a blur of human-like features.
Jared stuffs his hands in his pockets, as though trying to make sure we share as little common air as possible. “So how are you?”
Ready to pass out? My emotions run the gauntlet from confused to furious, then back again with occasional forays into something that feels a lot like grief. It must be the shock.
“Fine.” I make sure to put some anger into my voice, or try to. I’m not sure how successful I am. “I think the sunblock’s—”
“What are you doing here?” His gaze sweeps around the store and lands on my blazer.
I could ask the same question of him. Why is he here, in this town, in this market, making my already screwed-up summer even more screwed up? What did I do to deserve this? But I don’t ask because I don’t want him to think I care.
Scratch that. I don’t care. I’m not the least bit curious about the jerk who made himself famous by singing lies about me to the whole world. Nope, not at all.
My inner monologue needs to stop protesting so much so I can believe myself.
I take a deep breath, fighting for control. “I’m working. What does it look like I’m doing? I think sunblock’s down the next aisle with the shampoo.”
Thankfully, I’m right. I show it to them then hurry off because Jared has this look about him that makes me think he wants to say something else, and I don’t want to hear whatever it is. My sanity feels incredibly fragile. Shatterable. I always had the worry that one day I might run into Jared back home, but I was supposed to be leaving that worry behind in Connecticut. I wasn’t prepared for this.
Down the next aisle I collide with Ben. He has an application for me to complete and some tax form. I take my time, not wanting to be at the register when the guys pay.
How must it feel to be Jared now, I wonder as I write the address of my uncle’s beach rental on the application. To go from rags to riches while the ex you hate go from riches to rags? Part of me wants to hit him over the head with one of those stupid Grammys. Or maybe run him over with my red fucking Miata.
That, in particular, might save me some awkwardness later. I mean, what if he’s vacationing at Eliot Beach, too? What if he keeps coming to this store? How can I avoid him?
Running him over might be a solid plan.
The only thing that gives me some comfort is the belief that there must be a song in all my angst. Unfortunately, I have no time to think about it. I need to concentrate on my training.
By the time I get home, I’m too exhausted to write. Six hours of unexpectedly standing around on my feet takes its toll. I’m also starving because two peaches wasn’t much of a lunch.
Yawning, I trudge up to the attic. If I can’t channel my emotions into an I-hate-Jared song, then an I-hate-Jared conversation will have to do. And Kristen will only be too happy to help. That’s what best friends are for—pointing out all the flaws in your exes and vindicating you of any responsibility for the disaster that was your breakup. Obviously.
Kristen answers on the third ring. “Greening’s Morgue. You kill ’em; we chill ’em. What’s up?”
Ordinarily, Kristen’s sense of humor works wonders on my mood. But not today.
“How about what’s down, like the temperature in Hell. Kris, you’re never going to believe this. Jared’s here.”
“What? Who?”
“Jared. You know. Him.” In the silence that follows, I hear Delirium playing through the phone. Great. There’s only one time when Kristen listens to trance music. “Are you stoned?”
“Just a little. Wait.” The music volume decreases. “The Jared? Are you serious?”
“Yes! I ran into him today. It was horrible. I need comfort.”
“Good God. What happened? Tell me everything.”
That’s why Kristen is my best friend. She doesn’t care that I’m ruining her buzz.
So I fill her in on exactly what went down, ignoring the rumbling in my stomach and the scent of cooking meat that wafts through the window.
“That’s like...wow.” Kristen falls silent.
“I’m in crisis here. Can you try to be articulate?”
“Sorry. Okay, first thing first. You are not in crisis. You are having a crisis. They’re totally different. Now let’s review the coping strategies you developed to handle this situation.”
I bang my head against a pillow. “My coping strategy was to pray this day wouldn’t come.”
“Claire, that’s not proactive behavior. You were supposed to come up with strategies so you’d be prepared and it wouldn’t be this traumatic.”
“You know, I’m pretty sure blaming the victim here is not helping.”
“You’re right. That was really bad of me, I’m sorry. Okay, calm down. Let’s breathe. Deep yoga breaths.”
I inhale. Exhale slowly. “Tell me something helpful.”
“Fine. You’re unlikely to meet Jared again.”
“How do you know?” Inhale.
“It’s a big state. Not New York big or anything, but what are the odds?”
“The state is big. The town is not.”
It sounds like she blows me a raspberry. “Do you know for sure he’s staying in the town? Come on, you got hit by lightning today. How many people get hit by lightning twice?”
Exhale. “None, because they’re all dead?”
Logically, I know Kristen’s probably right. Why would Jared be staying in Eliot Beach? Unlike me he has no family here, and it’s not exactly a happening music scene. I just need Kristen to say it a few more times. Or maybe pass a little of whatever she’s smoking through the phone because this deep-breathing thing is not helping.
April screams my name, and I groan. “I’m being paged,” I tell Kristen. “Better go.”
“Keep me informed. I’m here for you.”
I hang up as April reaches the doorway. She’s still wearing her
