Gemma's POV

I'M ODDLY relieved, yet uneasy. I head into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water.

"Hey," Veronica walks in, pulling the sash of her robe together, "what was that about?" She looks at me.

"You heard?"

"Well, yeah. You two were very loud," she heads towards the fridge, and grabs a bottle for herself.

"I'm really sorry about that," I sigh, "I didn't know that would happen."

"You wanna talk about it?"

I shrug, "maybe some other time."

"It's okay. I don't mean to pry."

She grabs a bag of chips, and walks into the living room, "you can't sleep?" She shakes her head.

"I'm going to watch some tv. Want to join me?"

I smile, "sure."

"I've been meaning to catch up on a few episodes of Lace and Frankie."

"Okay," I follow her, and we sit on opposite ends of the couch, "I think I watched a few episodes a few years back."

"Great. I'll fill you in on the rest. I'm on season five," I look at her and smile.

"I'm really sorry about earlier. How much of it did you hear?" I bite on my lower lip.

"Um, would it be rude to say all of it?" I tense up. Shit.

"No. Just embarrassing."

"She seems like a bitch, by the way," Veronica says.

"She is. She's who I was trying to hide from at the fair. But she still found me."

I think I'm beginning to overstay my welcome in this town. Even though it's not a small town, it still seems like one. And I don't ever want to see Sabrina again. Or her son. I don't want to be part of the drama when shit hits the fan, and Jack starts asking more questions. That's for Sabrina to deal with. Not me. I will not be caught in the middle of her drama anymore.

"Wait. Is she Sabrina? I knew her voice sounded familiar," Veronica says.

I furrow my brows, "how do you know her name?"

"I bumped into her at a store earlier today. Recognized her from yesterday."

"Oh," I mumble, "yes, it was her."

"Don't worry. It's not like I'm going to tell the whole town your business. We've all that shit we don't want anyone to know."

Maybe if my grandfather was alive I would care if anyone found out. But he's dead and I have no one to disappoint.

"It's not my secret. It's hers. She's just part of my past that I'd like to forget."

"I don't think we ever forget the way someone hurts us, even when we forget about them."

If I had a beer, I'd be raising it in agreement. But I shouldn't be drinking now. I'll get emotional, and embarrass myself further.

"As much as I want to talk about it, everytime I do, I feel guilty," I say.

"Why?"

"I've been told that I talk too much. It's a genetic flaw, I suppose," my grandfather would tell the same stories over and over. And me, well I seem to always tell people too much about myself, or the things I do.

I used to be an open book, almost completely. Now, I'm just a kindle preview.

"It's your story to tell. My ex-husband would love it if I stopped telling people that I'm a lesbian. But you know, it's not for him to decide."

"He sounds like a dick."

"He can be. Just know if you ever want to talk, I'm here."

She turns on the tv, and logs onto Netflix.

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

I DROP off the documents for the church's land to Mr. Johnson. One of the main reasons I've stuck around so long is because I wanted to change the title of the deed over to him.

Now, it's one less thing on my mind, "you should come to church this Sunday," Mr. Johnson says.

"I'm not sure if I should. I mean no disrespect, but I don't go where I'm not welcomed too often. I only did it because of grandpa's funeral."

"What do you mean not welcomed?" He fixes his glasses, and places his hand in mine, "any child of god will never be turned away here."

"I'm not very religious, Mr. Johnson. I'm sorry. But I should get going," I step back and he nods.

"You're always welcome here, Gemma. Regardless of what you believe. But I do know that you believe in God."

"I do. Just not the way you do."

I turn and leave, before he can say anything else. The last thing I need is a lecture about the teachings of the bible.

I head to Audrey's house, knowing that I'm going to need as much patience as I can conjure up.

Claire basically summoned me to do her makeup. And how can I say no? Audrey was there for me alot when we were younger, the least I can do is paint some damn flowers on her daughter's face.

I can't complain too much. Audrey promised that she'll bake me some banana bread. So it's a win-win situation.

"Oh my god, I frickin' love it!" Claire squeals and jumps out of her seat. I wipe my forehead with the back of my palm, and head to the bathroom to wash my hands.

"Thanks again, Gemma. I know it was a big ask," Audrey leans against the doorframe of the bathroom.

"No biggie. It's the least I can do," she smiles, "is Brian okay with it though?"

She nods, "we had a talk about it. He doesn't mind as long as it's not lipstick and mascara. He just wants her to stay a kid for a while longer."

"I understand that. Kids grow up so fast now. They have Birkins and credit cards before they even learn to put on their shoes."

"That's rich kids, Gemma. Who have you been hanging out with? I can barely afford Michael Kors."

I dry my hands and laugh, "it's all over Tik Tok," she laughs too, "but I've met Kylie Jenner. Her kid's got a Birkin."

"Is Kylie adopting? Cause I'd be a great toddler," she jokes, "anyway, are you staying for dinner?"

"No, I need some time to clear my head. Guess who showed up at my door a few days ago."

"Justin Bieber?" We walk downstairs, and into the living room. I can hear Claire talking to her friends on the phone, probably facetiming. Doesn't that girl have headphones? She's loud.

"No. Why would—you know what, forget it. It was Sabrina," I want to roll my eyes.

"Oh, really? Did you two hook up for old time's sake?" Audrey asks.

"No! Why would I do that?" She shrugs, "she thinks I told Jack about our affair."

"Wait, what? Did you?" I glare at her, "okay, you didn't. Don't kill me. It was just a question."

"When he called me that day, he wanted to meet and talk about something," we sit and she stares at me in anticipation, "he started asking me questions about my relationship with his mother. I denied everything, but he still ended up confronting her about it. I don't know where he got that information from."

Audrey leans back, and places her arm on the head of the couch, "Gemma, he probably always knew."

"He couldn't. He would've said something sooner."

"Well, maybe he wasn't sure. Sometimes it takes years for people to figure things out. Or maybe his dad told him before he died. Who knows."

"Gosh," I rub my temples, "this shouldn't be my problem. Why am I always in the middle of her shit?"

"You let it happen," she places her hand in mine, "listen, it's not your problem. Just ignore them from now on."

"I've been trying to do so. I'm thinking about cutting my trip short because of them."

Audrey sighs and frowns, "don't do that because of them. If you continue to let Sabrina's issues affect you. It'll be the past all over again."

"Yeah. I'm gonna go. I've got some stuff to do," I grab my purse, and fish for my car keys.

"I shouldn't have invited him over for dinner. I didn't think he'd—"

"I know. It's not your fault."

Audrey nods, and gives me a comforting smile, "you want to borrow a pair of Claire's jeans. There's paint all over you, and my clothes won't fit. I'm probably three sizes bigger than you."

I look down at my clothing and sigh, "no, I'll head back to my room and get changed, before I do anything else for the day. But thanks."

"Okay. Text me or something."

I nod, "I will, I promise."

LYING ON the couch, I look at the ceiling above. The chandelier is as pretty as I remember it to be. My grandfather didn't change much about his house in the twenty years I've been gone.

I think it's even the same curtains.

I wonder what he thought of me. Did he still think I'm a disappointment, even in his last thoughts?

He died of a heart attack. Maybe thinking about my lifestyle made that blood clot in his artery. Who knows. It might have been all that red meat that he'd never stop eating.

My childhood room is no longer there, instead it's a storage room for all this stuff. Nothing of mine is left here. He probably gave it all away to Goodwill.

Why did he leave me everything if he hated me so much?

I get up and walk around the room, looking at the dusty pictures on the walls. There's no pictures of me, but there's lots of my mom. He did love my mom alot—his daughter.

He talked about her almost everyday while I was growing up. Maybe they're finally together, wherever that is.

My phone begins to buzz in my pocket. Looking at the caller's ID, I want to decline, but my good conscience won't let me.

"Hello?"

"Hey, I'm so sorry about—"

"Jack, please talk to your mom, and leave me alone."

I rub my temples and sit down. All of a sudden my head hurts.

"I'm sorry, okay. But I didn't think she'd react like that. I just want the truth, Gemma."

"So she told you about our argument the other night?"

"Yeah. I'm assuming that it was worse than how she explained it. Maybe I'm crazy, but even though you're both denying it, I still don't believe it. It's like the more you deny it, the more I think it's true. Why else would you two react so badly?"

"Jack, please, please, leave me the fuck alone. I have no desire to be part of your investigation. And even if your mom and I had an affair, it's none of your fucking business."

"Is that you admitting to it?"

"Between me and you..." I clench my jaw, "stay the hell away from me."

I hang up the phone. That fucking kid needs to move on with his life.

"YOU WANT a glass of wine?" Veronica asks as I walk into the kitchen. I nod and she pours me one, "how are you holding up?"

"I booked myself tickets to go to Brazil," I say.

"Oh. Wow. I assume you're leaving soon," is that disappointment in her voice?

"Yeah. I've got barely anything sorted here. But I need to go. Get away from all this drama."

"I understand. When are you leaving?" I drink my wine, and lean against the counter.

"Tomorrow. You going to miss me?" She shrugs, "that a yes?"

"I guess. I hope you have fun."

With all the stress of this trip, she's been the best highlight of it all. And looking into her blue eyes, something comes over me.

I step closer, and I can tell that her breath is caught in her throat. Cause mine is too. I place my hand on her waist and lean in, hoping that she'll meet me halfway.

"I've wanted to—"

"Gemma," she steps back, and my hand drops to my side, "you're leaving tomorrow. It makes no sense for us to—"

"I'm sorry. I understand," I turn away. The tinge of rejection hitting me.

"My life is here, in this town. Yours is back in Vegas," she runs her fingers through her hair, "we can be friends?"

I nod. I've been friendzoned. Dammit.

"Of course. I'll probably be back here sometime or another. I've still got a lot of stuff to take care of."

"Good. I hope you'll stay here again then."

"Yeah, we'll see. I'm, uh, going to pack. I'll see you later."

"Yeah," she mumbles.

I head up the stairs and into my room. Fuck, what was I thinking? Now, things are going to be weird between us.

"AND YOU'RE sure that you'll keep in contact this time?" I nod, as Audrey pulls me in for a hug, "I'll miss you, Gem."

"I'll miss you too. Don't be a stranger," I smile at her.

"Here," she hands me a paper bag. Looking inside, my stomach suddenly feels empty, "you left so abruptly yesterday, I didn't get to give it to you."

"Perfect snack for my long flight. Thank you."

She waves at me, as I walk into the airport.

Audrey gave me a lift here, since I returned the rented car to the dealer. I'm really happy that we reconnected. And I'll be back sometime next year.

I feel relieved that I'm on this plane, going away from this place. And at the same time, I'm going to miss it.

Audrey and Veronica are the only people I actually like here. An old friend and a new friend. At least I hope Veronica and I are friends. Some time away will help with the rejection I feel. But I'll get over it soon enough, it's not the first time I've been turned down.

"Passengers for flight 1403 Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, we'll take off shortly."

I'm excited for my trip, before I start my next project. It's just what I need—a change of scenery, great food, and beautiful women.

What else can a gal ask for?

THE LAST time I got a sun tan, it was indoors at a spa. I know that the sun can be harmful to my skin, but who cares. I've already got wrinkles in all the wrong places.

My hat is as big as the first apartment I ever had, and the book in my hand has enough sex so that I won't need any physical touch.

Okay, I'm lying. I could use a good fuck, for lack of a better term. And though all these women are beautiful, I can't seem to find one that's interested in me.

Either they're all straight, or I'm losing my charm. But I'm not going to let that bother me...

All I need is right here with me.

"Well, hello, beautiful stranger."

I might have forgotten to mention the older men trying to seduce me. These Brazilians do have they're charm. But the men aren't charming enough for me to confuse my sexuality.

"Hi," I slide my sunglasses onto my forehead, and look at the handsome, tanned man. He's not as old as some of the men I've encountered. So I'll take that as a compliment.

He's good looking. But unless he's got a vagina under those swim shorts, I'm not interested. And how can I forget boobs... gosh, I miss holding those.

"All alone, I see. Would you like to join us?" He looks behind him, where it seems like a few of his friends, and their ladies are having a good time.

"I wouldn't want to interrupt," I place my index finger on the page I'm on, and flip the cover shut.

"The more the merrier," his thick accent is cute, "I noticed you have been reading for a while. Don't you want to—"

Wow, his English is really good. I'm impressed.

"The girls over there look half my age. I'm not sure it's going to be as fun for me."

He sighs, "if you change your mind, you know where to find me," he winks and walks away.

I decide to call it a day, and head back to my hotel room. There's a restaurant that I've been meaning to try, and I'm quite hungry.

I shower, get dressed and grab a taxi. I'm craving a glass of wine, and perfect cuts of meat.

I'm not usually such a heavy eater, but with everything so delicious, I can't help myself.

I know I should have made a reservation, but everything these last few days has been spur of the moment. I'm seated at the bar, while I wait for a table.

"O que você gostaria de beber, senhora?"

I smile at the young lady, "vinho da casa servirá," I order myself a glass of wine.

I've picked up a few words that help me communicate. If not, I'd be one of those idiot Americans trying to illustrate what I want with my hands.

No judgement. I've been that American before. I find that it's easier to use google translate to my advantage instead.

"Claro," she responds.

"Obrigado."

She pours and slides the glass over to me. I take a steady breath, and look around the room. The aura is so calming, even with all the background noise.

I need to take trips like these more often. Maybe next time, I'll go to France. Or Paris. All the cliche places that everyone wants to travel to, I want to explore.

There has to be a reason why everyone wants to.

"Olá," a woman sits on the chair beside mine. She lifts her finger to gesture the bartender to come over, "o que você está bebendo?" She asks me.

Looking at her side profile, my stomach tingles. She's stunning. And that accent is to die for.

"House wine," I lift my glass.

"Mais dois," she tells the bartender, before looking back at me, "you're American?"

"Yes," I nod, "de férias."

"You're Portuguese is very good. How are you, um, curtindo suas férias?"

"You're English is good too. How am I enjoying my vacation?" She nods, "it's been great so far. The best part's the food."

"Yes. I'm learning. How you say... hopefully, you understand, você é muito bonita."

I bite on my lower lip, "obrigado, you're beautiful too."

"That's how you say it?" I nod, "okay, are you here by yourself, beautiful?"

Whew, it might be the lack of sex for the past few months. But that makes my insides tingle.

"Sim. I'm waiting on a table."

"Não fez reserva?"

I shake my head, "I don't mind waiting. O vinho é bom."

"Would you like to join us?" If she's talking about her, and her husband or boyfriend, I will lose faith in humanity. Do I look like a unicorn?

"You and your?"

"My friends. It's apenas nós três."

"I wouldn't want to intrude," she looks like she's trying to figure out what I just said, "eu não gostaria de, um, what's the word, interromper."

"We'd love to have you join us. Our table's ready. Por favor?"

"Você tem certeza?"

"Sim," I grab my wallet from my purse, and attempt to pay, "no, I've got it. Tenho certeza."

She leads me over to the table, the glass of wine that she bought for me in my grasp. My eyes lock onto a table of brown eyes. Three pairs of brown eyes.

"Olá," she pulls out a chair for me, "espero não estar interrompendo."

"She's American," she tells her friends, as we both sit.

A bald middle aged man says, "oh, great. Someone I can speak English to. I'm Paulo. This is Camila and Matilde."

I look at the other two women. They all seem to be in the same age group like me. Late thirties to mid-forties.

"I'm Estela," the woman beside me says, "seu nome é?"

"Gemma. Gemma Cohen."

"I'm glad you joined. These three have bored me enough," Paulo runs his hand over his forehead.

I'm also glad. I can feel Estela's eyes on me. Maybe I'm reading too much into things. But I do think that she likes me.