“Didn’t trust myself with it,” he continues. “Given my role model, you know.” A pause. “It’s hard to picture yourself raising a kid when the only example you had threw your mom’s body in an unmarked grave.”
I don’t say anything. I just let him talk, because he so rarely does this: opens up without being crowbarred.
“Being with you has changed something, though.” He finally looks at me. His gray eyes are quiet and clear. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself.”
“Maybe,” I tease weakly. My throat feels dry.
“You’d be a good mother, Jillian.”
I thought I was cold before, but I was wrong. Now, I feel cold, cold, cold. Colder than any December day could ever make me. I turn my head toward the ocean. The woman and the girl are walking away now, getting smaller, their shapes blurri
