Jealousy Junction by Cathryn Grant (rosie project .txt) 📗

Jake had been together for over six years. I couldn’t imagine facing the end of something like that.

“What are your plans after this?” I asked.

“After dinner?”

I laughed. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I really don’t know. Are you kicking me out already?”

“No. I was just curious.”

“It feels so…safe here,” she said.

That was alarming. “Did Jake—“

“Oh no. Not that. I meant I feel like I can be myself. There’s nothing like blood relatives to help you let go and not feel you have to project an image. You can totally be your original self. Right?”

I nodded. I hadn’t experienced that kind of ease with her in years, but I knew what she meant. “So are you thinking school? A job? Where do you think you’ll settle? Eventually.”

She sighed, and her eyes filled slowly with tears. “I don’t know. Do we have to talk about this right now? I was just starting to—“

“No. We don’t have to. I wasn’t trying to pressure you. I’m just interested.”

She gave me a defeated smile. “And I really appreciate that. I do. You’re being so kind to me. Both of you. I feel totally welcome here.” She picked up her water glass and took a long swallow.

I thought she might say more, it sounded like there was more, but she didn’t. I wondered about her comment the night before—offering me props for making love with my boyfriend. Had she been drunk? She’d sounded so caustic, but now, she sounded vulnerable and truly caring. I couldn’t make up my mind. It occurred to me that we’d spent so little time together since I’d left home for college that maybe I didn’t know her at all anymore. Even less than I’d thought.

After that, she asked me a lot of questions about the store and about organic food. She wanted to know if it was difficult to get, whether it was expensive and, as a result, hard to make a profit. I told her I was doing alright. “You should come by and see it.”

“Maybe you can give me a job there.”

That shocked me. I had no idea she was actually planning to seriously think about work. She’d always pretty much been supported by well-off boyfriends and then her fiancé. “There’s no rush to get to work,” I said. “Give it some time; focus on your healing right now.”

She looked so grateful I had to turn away, slightly embarrassed about how simply allowing her to stay at my house seemed to be the kindest thing anyone had done for her in years.

After dinner, we went for a walk along the shore.

When we returned, Jerry was home. We made popcorn, watched a movie, and went to bed at a decent time so that I could be up early for work.

It was just before one-thirty in the morning when I woke suddenly. My first thought was frustration. Was not sleeping going to be my new thing? I was used to falling into bed and losing consciousness quickly, never waking until my phone tinkled out the sounds of an electronic harp.

What had woken me? I sat up and stared into the darkness.

I wasn’t sure if my sister’s sudden reappearance in my life had unsettled me more than I’d realized, messing around with my subconscious so that it refused to let me sleep, or if this was about the man that had followed me that morning.

Usually, upsetting experiences like that become more monstrous in the dead of night, but now, it all seemed kind of ridiculous. Nothing had happened. There was just a man walking behind me. So what? Why had I felt so anxious, so sure that he was after me, that he’d stood outside the store to keep an eye on me?

As I had the night before, I turned from side to side, trying desperately to quiet my thoughts. And as I had the night before—I failed. I finally got up, crept out of the bedroom and down the stairs. The living room was empty, which eased my mind. I walked around the main floor, checking that everything was in order. I wasn’t sure why I was doing this, just jumpy nerves and uncertainty about what, exactly, was bothering me. There was never anything out of order in my house, and my sister was extremely tidy. None of her belongings were scattered about, and when I’d passed by the guest room earlier, I’d seen a nicely made bed, a nightstand that was bare except for the lamp and the charger for her phone.

I went into the kitchen and poured a glass of water. I stood near the bar, sipping it, feeling more and more wired with each sip. I grabbed a brownie from the box Jerry had brought home with him from the bakery. I nibbled bits of soft, comforting chocolate and then refilled my water glass.

Carrying the glass, simply to have something to do with my hand, I walked into the living room and over to the picture window.

Outside, the moon glazed across the water, a thin stream of glistening light visible through the trees. Stars sparkled in parts of the sky, the other spaces covered with a light dusting of clouds. As my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, I looked at the street below.

A man stood on the opposite side of the street. He was barely visible in the cluster of trees, leaning against a tree trunk, looking up at my window. Looking at me.

I let out a small cry and stepped back from the window. The sudden movement caused water to splash out of my glass, soaking the front of my nightshirt and drenching the back of my hand. For once in my life, not caring about the damage to the furniture, I placed it on the table that sat in front of the window, bare except for a large vase of dried wild grasses.

I kept well back from the window as I looked out, wondering if he could still see me. Wondering if he’d seen