Page 38 of Sweet Trouble
Gram’s blue eyes were suddenly full of tears, and the two women embraced for a minute in silence.
By the time Jillian had finished up with the snacks and her plans for the next day, the girls were in bed and Gram and Grampy were too.
At some point, snow had begun falling outside. She could see the thick flakes falling past the lights of the back porch.
The house was so cozy with everyone sleeping. She was tempted to make a pot of tea and curl up by the living room window just to watch the snow fall and catch her breath.
But if she stayed up much longer, she’d be sorry in the morning. She let out a long sigh, then wiped down the kitchen counters. As she moved through the house, she turned off the lights and picked up the girls’ things wherever they had been abandoned. She made a mental note to remind them about tidying up. They weren’t leaving a huge mess or anything like that. It was mostly just that they were so excited to see their great-grandparents when they came home that they tended to leave their scarves and jackets where they fell.
She was just turning to the stairs when there was a knock at the door.
What in the world?
It had to be after nine o’clock. What kind of maniac showed up in the middle of the night like this?
She hurried to open the door before they knocked again and woke the whole house, suddenly wondering if something might be wrong.
On the other side stood Tripp, snowy air swirling around him, pale flakes dotting his jacket and catching in his too-long hair.
“Tripp,” she said softly.
“Allie told me,” he said, his voice rough.
“Oh,” she breathed.
Jillian hadn’t even considered that. But of course Allie told him. The two of them were close, just like Jillian and her sister.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
She stepped back, opening the door fully and watching as he took off his boots and coat before joining her in the hall.
“Do you, um, want to sit?” she offered, gesturing to the loveseat in the sitting room.
She would have preferred to talk at the kitchen table instead of the intimate little room, but everyone else was in bed and they would be less likely to disturb anyone out here.
He nodded and took the chair across from the loveseat.
She turned on the lamp on the side table and sat on the little sofa, trying to imagine what she could possiblysay to him.
“I’m sorry,” she began, then stopped, unable to find any more words.
“We were friends, Jillian,” Tripp said. “You knew me. Did you really think I would do something like that to you?”
“Do you remember Emmalene Monk?” she asked him carefully. “And what the basketball boys did to her?”
“Of course,” Tripp said, his eyes serious. “It was horrible. That poor girl. Most of them felt bad about it afterward, from what I heard.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Jillian said. “No one deserves what happened to her.”
“But Emmalene was unpopular, and she didn’t even know Dave Bouchet,” Tripp said. “She had no reason to think he would ask her to the formal. You and I were friends.”
“Emmalene and I were a lot more alike than any of the girls you dated,” Jillian said, her eyes on the window.
“What are you talking about?” Tripp said.
“I was a nerd,” Jillian said. “I had a handful of friends, but I wasn’t popular. And I’m not ashamed of that, by the way.”
“Why would you be ashamed?” Tripp asked, looking surprised. “You were smart, and your friends were all smart too. And you volunteered all the time. From where I was standing, you had your life all figured out. And there was no place in it for a class clown whose only skills were skating and milking cows.”
