Eversea A Love Story

encounter last night though.”
    “He’ll be there,” she said confidently as I climbed out of the car into the warm humidity. “Oh, and don’t forget, on the subject of hot guys from books, it’s book club this week, and we’ve volunteered you to host this time. Expect everyone at four tomorrow.” She winked and drove off.
    I’d totally forgotten about book club. Jazz had been going on and on about getting one set up and finally started one last month with Liz, Brenda from the grill, Faith who owned the boutique where she worked, her mom, and I think she even invited Mrs. Weaton. It was a strange grouping of ages, but surprisingly, our book tastes were rather similar.
    As I climbed into my truck, my phone beeped with a text. My heart sped up a moment, but it was just Jazz—texting and driving, as usual.
    Jazz: I just squealed out loud at the traffic light. Ppl looking at me weird. OMG—can’t believe convo we just had! But seriously, if he breaks your heart, I’ll break his beautiful face—See you this PM. Xoxoxox
    I smiled. She may be ditzy at times, but there was no one who looked out for me more than Jazz. She was like a sister, a crazy lovable aunt, and a best friend rolled into one. She was an old soul—that much was certain. Not for the first time, I hoped things would eventually work out for her and Joey.
     

 
    F O U R T E E N
    I pulled into the driveway at the back of my house behind Mrs. Weaton’s cottage and peeled my bare legs, like a Band-Aid, off the hot vinyl seat. I felt like every day was getting unseasonably hotter, not cooler, as we moved away from summer.
    Hearing the whine and screech of a large truck, I realized they must be delivering the dumpster around the front of the house, so I jogged up the back stairs, through the blessed cool of the house, and back into the hot wet air on the front porch, trying not to look around for Jack as I did so.
    Mrs. Weaton’s cottage was off to the side. It used to be the old kitchen block, back from the days when kitchens were built outside to avoid the heat of the cooking in the summer months or the whole house burning down in the case of a fire. It had been remodeled into servant’s quarters after the end of slavery, and then into a rent-producing cottage once the land started being sold off after the depression.
    José was out front speaking in Spanish to the two guys who were with him unloading packs of roofing shingles. I made sure everyone knew what they were doing and directed the guy with the dumpster to drive around to the back of the property before the town council had a kitten about it being parked askew on my front lawn. Then I went to knock on Mrs. Weaton’s door. I waited a few minutes and after getting no answer, headed back to my place.
    Upon re-entering my house through the front door, I heard a cackle and a deep chuckle coming from the kitchen. Lo and behold, there sat Jack and Mrs. Weaton hamming it up over coffee at the table. She was giggling like a schoolgirl, her bony hand on his arm, and he had his head bent toward hers conspiratorially.
    They both turned and looked at me guiltily as I walked in. I tried not to look at Jack and instead focused on my elderly neighbor as she greeted me.
    “Hi, dear! Jack was just keeping me entertained with secrets of Hollywood while that awful racket was going on outside the house. But I must be off!”
    Wow, he was really getting comfortable trusting people.
    Mrs. Weaton patted his shoulder, and I noticed his nonplussed expression.
    She grabbed me for a quick squeeze, enveloping me in a waft of lavender and cinnamon. “See you tomorrow at book club. I’ll bring lemon squares.” She pulled back and held me at arm’s length, a big grin on her friendly, lined face. Then pulling me in for another quick hug, she whispered, “Nana works in mysterious ways.” And with that she shuffled out to the hall.
    I turned back to Jack whose jaw was slack.
    “Oh my God, she knows who I am. Did you tell her?”
    “No. I thought you must have. I haven’t spoken to her since I told her about the roofers. What were you talking about then, if you weren’t filling her in on star gossip?”
    “You. Funny childhood stories about you.”
    “Oh.” How horrifying. “Like what?”
    He grinned and winked. “Well, I quite like knowing something about you that you don’t know I know. It’s a novel feeling for me to be on the other side of that.”
    “Okaaaay.” I decided to let that go. For