by Nancy Isaak
Jacob helped me onto Beauty, while he took the Chestnut.
“I’m freaking jealous,” Kieran told Jacob. “You guys have an amazing honeymoon.”
“Thanks, bro,” said Jacob, giving Kieran a fist-bump. “Is everything ready?”
“Roger that.”
* * * *
There were hurricane lanterns set up along our route—one every hundred feet or so. The night was dark and I stayed close to Jacob, our horses walking placidly side-by-side.
“I don’t see any guards,” I said, peering into the shadows behind us.
“They’re there,” said Jacob. “And in front of us. They’re just being discrete.”
“We really do have good guys in our tribe, don’t we?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to get you to understand,” Jacob said. “These guys consider you one of their own. They’ll protect you, they’ll fight for you.”
We reached a driveway—set far apart from its neighbors. A small ribbon dangled from its mailbox and there were lanterns on each side.
“If I could, I would take you to Fiji or Bora Bora,” said Jacob. “Someplace totally exotic for our honeymoon. I’m sorry I can’t, but this is as close as I can get.”
“I don’t need an exotic honeymoon,” I said. “I just want time with you.”
“Well,” grinned Jacob, “we have exactly two days.”
* * * *
The house was small—very small for Point Dume standards; most likely it was a guest house or, perhaps, a maid’s quarters. There was only one bedroom, a living room, a bathroom, and a kitchen. Jacob’s secret helpers had already been there, stocking the kitchen with food and lighting the lanterns.
“What about the horses?” I asked, as we dismounted.
Jacob tied them up to a nearby fence railing. “Don’t worry. Somebody will take them back to the compound in a few minutes.”
He walked over and held out his arms. “Ready?”
“For what?”
“For me to carry you over the threshold. It’s tradition.”
* * * *
You would think that lifting your bride would be a simple thing. But when that bride is wearing yards and yards of lace and tulle—it can actually wind up quite comical. By the time I had gathered up the many folds of my dress and Jacob had maneuvered my puffiness into the tiny house, we were both laughing—busting a gut over the folly.
“Now, I’m glad I didn’t have that second piece of cake,” I giggled. “The extra weight would have done you in.”
“Hey! I’m not weak and you’re not heavy,” said Jacob. “It’s just that dress is kind of—fluffy.”
“The bodice is scratchy, too,” I said, wiggling in it. “I’ll be glad to get out of it.”
Jacob stopped moving; his eyes went wide.
I suddenly realized what I had just said. My cheeks were turning red again; I could feel the heat running up my face.
“Um…do you want to see the backyard?” asked Jacob.
“Yes!” I quickly said.
Anything to cover up my embarrassment.
* * * *
It wasn’t Fiji or Bora Bora, but Jacob’s little wedding-elves had done an admirable job of creating an exotic, romantic getaway. There was a rocky grotto behind the house; a small waterfall that tumbled over artfully arranged river rock. The owners had obviously taken advantage of a creek that ran through their property, changing its direction to include the grotto.
Now, there were small tea candles positioned throughout the rocks. Their flames flickered, creating dancing shadows. Meanwhile, a small table on a nearby patio was set with a bottle of champagne and two crystal flutes.
“This is so beautiful,” I whispered.
“Kieran found it,” admitted Jacob. “He thought it would be a good choice.”
“It’s an excellent choice.”
I moved forward, over to the table. There was a plate of strawberries on it, dipped in dark chocolate and decorated with white icing so that the berries looked like they were wearing little tuxedos. “So cute,” I marveled, admiring them. “This is definitely Sophia’s handiwork.”
“A lot of people contributed,” said Jacob.
“What’s this?” I asked, pointing to a large present, wrapped in wedding paper, with a giant silver bow.
“Oh, well…that’s from me.”
My heart dropped. “I didn’t get you anything,” I gasped, horrified. “I didn’t know.”
Jacob reached out and pulled me into his arms. “You gave me a wife.”
* * * *
“Before you open that gift,” Jacob said, a few moments later, “I want to tell you something.”
We were sitting at the table, drinking champagne and nibbling at the strawberries. The ‘present’ still hadn’t been touched; my eyes kept drifting toward it, however, trying to guess its contents. By its size, I figured it to be a picture. My guess was that Jacob had enlisted Cherry or Wyatt to draw something for me.
“So,” began Jacob, “last year, we were in Social Sciences together.”
“You sat behind me.”
“Because I liked to look at you,” he admitted. “If I was behind you, you didn’t know that I was doing it.”
“You were my stalker.”
“Says the girl who hung out in the park across from my house,” he grinned.
“I like to paint. Sumac Park has some good scenery.”
“Well, speaking of painting…do you remember how we studied the Spanish Civil War in that class?”
“Sure,” I nodded. “Denny Passelmore did that report on the bombing of Guernica. He brought in the Picasso print. That was a good class.”
“I thought so, too,” said Jacob. “And I remember that you and Denny had this long conversation about Picasso.”
“One of the few times that Denny was actually a human being, instead of being one of Brandon’s minions.”
“You guys had Picasso in common.”
“Well, he was kind of an artistic genius,” I said. “And Guernica is, like an amazing piece. Jay and I talked about going to see it in Spain after we graduated from college. We had this whole trip planned—like we’d start with the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre in France. Then, we’d head over to Spain. Guess that isn’t happening anymore.”
“Sorry,” he said. “A lot of our dreams are changing these days.”
I reached out and touched his hand. “Not you, though,” I grinned. “You’re one dream that came true.”
Jacob pointed to the wrapped present. “Well, maybe that’s another.”
“Does that mean that I can open it now?” I asked, becoming excited.
He nodded and I leapt for the present. As I ripped away the wrapping, I was expecting to see a painting or maybe a drawing—probably of Jacob or maybe even of the two of us. What I wasn’t expecting was…
“A Picasso...ohmigod, you’re giving me an actual Picasso?!”
* * * *
I am embarrassed to say that I started to hyperventilate.
For an excruciating minute, my breathing became so erratic that I couldn’t get enough oxygen; I felt faint and struggled to stay conscious. Jacob actually had to take the Picasso from my hands and focus my attention on him to calm my breathing.
“Just look at me,” he urged. “Breathe as I breathe…one, two, three.”
As I stared into his eyes, my breaths became deeper; I felt air fill my lungs once again. “Sorry,” I eventually gasped—totally humiliated. “I kind of fangirled there for a moment.”
Jacob began to chuckle, “You are so going to make my life amazing, aren’t you?”
I leaned over and kissed him. “With every breath I take.”
* * * *
There are certain things that I’m not comfortable writing about—Jacob’s and my first night as husband and wife being one of them.
But I will say this—
Some people’s first time is by choice. Others’ is because of peer pressure. And some unfortun
ate people—like Peyton—have their first time stolen from them.
I will always consider myself blessed that my first time was based in love.
That said…it certainly wasn’t the unforgettable passion we were used to seeing in films. Instead, it was awkward and uncomfortable and a little embarrassing. And, to be completely honest, it was also a bit painful in the beginning—and it was over very quickly.
But—that was the first time.
The second time…that was heaven.
MARCH
JACOB
I liked being married.
Without a doubt—I was the happiest that I’d ever been. I loved having Kaylee in my life—waking up with her in the morning, going to sleep with her at night. Looking at her beautiful face, I often wondered what I had done right to deserve such an amazing girl.
One of my favorite things was drawing her baths at night; it was worth every pail of hot water that I would have to lug up the stairs from the fire outside. Even though I had guys who would certainly do the chore for me, I preferred to do it myself. I think it was my way of earning the right to sit next to her, watching as she drew a soapy sponge up her arm, or helping to massage lavender shampoo through her long blond hair…or climbing in with her.
Once upon a time, the internet was my nighttime entertainment.
Now, it was my beautiful bride.
Life was good.
* * * *
I dearly wished that my parents could have met Kaylee. Sometimes I wondered if, perhaps—somewhere—they knew.
My mom was always so smart—so aware.
Surely, she would have seen Kaylee’s picture up on my bulletin board. In fact, I wouldn’t have been surprised if mom had noticed Kaylee outside—in Sumac Park—pretending to paint while secretly watching our house.
Hopefully, she had; I liked the thought that my mom knew before me that Kaylee and I would ultimately wind up together…and that she would have told my dad.
Those thoughts gave me comfort.
* * * *
Of course—then there were Rhys and Kieran.
I took a lot of teasing those first few weeks of marriage.
They were always digging for information, wanting explicit details from Kaylee’s and my private life that, of course, I wouldn’t give. Kieran, in particular, took great pleasure in trying to con me into talking about sex.
“I don’t know why you’re so closed-mouth,” he would tell me. “If it’s because you’re embarrassed, I can give you some guaranteed tips to make Kaylee squeal.”
Rhys, inevitably, would cackle with laughter, while I would turn a bright red. Usually, it would end with a grinning Kieran racing off as I tried to catch up, intending on giving him a good-natured whack.
My brothers were so annoying.
In a world of disappeared families—I knew I was lucky to have them.
* * * *
Another thing my brothers teased me about were my living quarters. At one time my rooms were full of surfing equipment, stinky socks—and guns.
Now—everywhere I looked, tiny pink pillows seemed to be procreating. They covered the bed and lined the couch and chairs. And my closets were full of clothes that weren’t just brown or black anymore; now a rainbow of colors peeked out at me every morning.
And—of course—there were sweet-smelling candles everywhere.
And—make-up…and hair products…lots of hair products.
And—a Picasso placed lovingly above our bed.
* * * *
While Kaylee and I did spend most of our time together, we also tried to make certain that we ate at least one meal each day with the tribe. It became one of our favorite things—enjoying Sophia’s wonderful food—talking and laughing with the people we loved.
We learned that communal meals brought us all together.
It gave us a sense of ‘family’.
With full stomachs and good conversation, I noticed more and more how the guys and girls were beginning to connect. There was less staring or grumbling when the girls walked by. I heard fewer complaints about inappropriate behavior; instead, friendships were being forged, relationships strengthened.
I was finally beginning to believe that our tribe would become one—girls and boys—truly together once more.
* * * *
“We’re living just down the road from the farm—in the yellow house.”
Guys were everywhere, sitting at tables or on low walls, eating a pancake breakfast that Sophia and her helpers had specially cooked for Sunday morning. Afterwards—for those who wanted—there would be a small prayer circle out at the Nature Preserve. It would be multi-faith; just guys and girls getting together who ‘believed’ and wanted to pray together.
The rest of us, however, were simply enjoying a good breakfast.
“And you actually moved in with this lunk?” I teased Peyton. She, Frank, and Lance were seated together at a long table, directly across from me.
“Frank’s paying me,” said Peyton, with a straight face.
Beside her, Lance was struggling to cut a sausage link in half. With a sigh of irritation, Peyton grabbed the knife and fork from him and cut the sausage herself. “Boys!” she grumbled. “I’m definitely not being paid enough.”
Frank reached over and kissed Peyton on her cheek. “Definitely not.”
“Have you got enough weapons?” I asked Frank. “I mean, you’re not behind the compound walls, which means you’ll be more vulnerable than us.”
“Four of the guys who work in the field have moved into a house next to us,” he answered.
“Still, I’d be more comfortable if you had more security. I’ll talk to the Council—see if we can open up more houses around you. Might be smart anyway. We’re picking up a lot more guys coming down the highway from the north. Could be a good thing for everybody, setting them up in neighboring houses.”
“I’m open to that,” said Frank. “But we’d prefer it if it was guys who’d want to work the farm. We’re kind of trying to create a…well, a…”
“Non-violent community,” explained Peyton, rolling her eyes. “Frank wants it quiet and peaceful.”
“Me, too,” said Lance, softly.
Peyton nudged him with her shoulder. “Then, you boys will have to leave the guns to me,” she grinned. “Because I have no problem shooting the nuts off anyone who annoys me.”
“No, she won’t,” Frank told Lance. “She’s just kidding.”
“No, I’m not,” insisted Peyton. “Bang, bang…good-bye, nut sack.”
Personally—I believed Peyton.
* * * *
“You gotta’ have another,” ordered Sophia, dropping a huge pancake onto my plate. “It’ll give you energy.”
I thanked her as she moved away, watching as she stopped here or there to take a pancake from the huge platter she was holding to add it to a grateful Local’s plate. I noticed how respectful the guys were treating her; they responded to Sophia like they would their mother.
Every now and then, she would reach out—straightening a guy’s collar or stopping to wipe off a bit of dirt. Her actions would always be answered with a smile and a word of gratitude.
As with Peyton—in the old world—I had never really liked Sophia, had thought her a fake and a brown-noser. But in this world, in this place—I finally saw a Sophia I liked.
This was a girl who took care of people.
She fed them and she talked to them—and she made them feel like they had a mother again.
Sophia gave comfort.
* * * *
“I see you staring at Sophia. Not getting enough from Kaylee?” It was Jude, sitting down beside Lance—a plate overflowing with pancakes in her hands.
“That’s not what I…it’s…well,” I sputtered.
“Yeah, whatever,” she said, then turned and tapped Lance on the head. “You want to pass the maple syrup, ghost-boy?”
Lance reached over, grabbed the syrup, and handed it to her. I watched, fascina
ted, as Jude poured half the bottle over her pancakes. Then, she cut her stack straight down, into quarters. When she took her fork and speared one of those quarters, shoving the mass of pancakes into her mouth, I couldn’t help but grin.
“What?!” she asked, looking annoyed. “Can’t a girl enjoy a couple of pancakes in peace?” She leaned over then, yelling down the table to where Kaylee was sitting, talking to Jay. “Hey, Barbie! Tell your husband to stop staring at me. I think he’s undressing me with his eyes!”
Kaylee looked up, grinning. “Jacob Riker,” she yelled at me. “You stop undressing Jude right now or I’ll stop undressing for you!”
All around us, amused guys started hooting.
I turned a bright red.
Kaylee, meanwhile, went back to her deep conversation with Jay. From the way they kept looking back at me and grinning, I had no doubt that they were talking about me. I just hoped that I was getting a good review as a husband.
* * * *
There were so many happy faces that day; a tribe united and in good cheer.
A couple of tables away, Nate and Xavier—their hair still wet from an early morning surf down at Little Dume—were chatting away in brother-speak. Meanwhile, Kanga was moving from the shoulders of one brother to the next, impatiently meowing for the little piece of pancake he knew would be forthcoming.
Halfway through the meal, warmed by the sun, Nate took his shirt off. My eyes narrowed at the sight of the Crazy tattoo on his back. It reminded me of my own tattoo; the space between my shoulders began to itch in response.
Unsettled, I turned my gaze away, looking instead at Cammie and Kieran, down at the end of our table. They were seated closely together, Cammie feeding Kieran a forkful of pancake. I noticed that Kieran looked tired—there were circles under his eyes and he had to push the fork away to cough.