by Cassie Beebe
Charlie shrugged. “Eh, some people stick to karaoke, some do full-on covers with the band and everything,” she explained. “Jen’s the only one who ever plays her own stuff, though.”
Jacob’s eyebrows shot up. “She wrote this?”
“’Course,” Charlie chuckled. “What, you’ve never heard any of her stuff before?”
He stared ahead with new appreciation for the song. “No,” he shook his head.
“Huh,” she muttered. “I figured you must be somethin’ special for her to bring you out here. First time I’ve ever met any of her college buddies.”
That drew Jacob’s attention, and the woman gave him a smirk.
“Enjoy,” she said, nodding toward the stage as she headed back to the bar.
Jacob turned his eyes back to Jenna, listening more closely to the words of the song, now that he knew that she was its composer. But by the time he focused in on the music again, it was coming to a close as she strummed the last note and people clapped.
She gave them all one of her breathtaking grins and disappeared backstage again. A moment later, she came out through the side door of the stage and headed back to their table.
As she stepped up beside him, she met his gaze with apprehension.
He opened his mouth to speak, but the words evaded him. “That was…,” he shook his head, trying to come up with an appropriate adjective.
“Do you wanna go for a walk?” she interjected.
His heart swelled at the idea. “Of course.”
They stepped out the back door, into the frigid breeze of the night, and Jenna directed them toward a gravel path lined with twinkle lights.
“So,” she began as they fell into a casual stride down the rock path, presumably headed toward the old gazebo in the distance, “what did you think?”
Jacob looked at her as she peeked at him from the corner of her eye, biting her lip. “I thought it was a very beautiful song,” he said with a nod, reading the darkness that still loomed behind her eyes.
“Thank you,” she muttered, turning to her feet.
He thought back to the soft, romantic lyrics.
“Who’d you write it for?” he asked.
She smirked at his perceptiveness before her face faded into wistful sadness. Not meeting his gaze, she answered, “Tom.”
Jacob nodded. “Tom,” he repeated. He thought over the strong emotion laced through the song, curious why, in all of their time together, he had never heard the name before. “So… Who’s Tom?” he asked, trying to read past her hard exterior as they came upon the gazebo.
There was a swinging bench inside, hanging from chains attached to the roof of the structure. Jenna sat down, and Jacob followed suit. It was dark outside, and the lights that lined the path were far enough away from the gazebo to leave them in near blackness. He wished he could see better to read her expression.
She pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around them, letting out a slow breath. He waited for her to speak, willing his eyes to adjust to the darkness so he could see her face.
“We were married,” she said.
His eyebrows shot up. “Oh,” he muttered, trying to think through the bewilderment. “Um…,” he shook his head clear, shock fading into confusion as to why he had never heard anything about this man until now. “So… what happened?”
Her eyes were glassy in the faint moonlight as she stared ahead at nothing for a long moment. He tried to stop his leg from shaking in discomfort. He didn’t have much experience with love or marriage or divorce, and he had no idea what the etiquette was on discussing such matters. Finally, she swallowed, took in a deep breath and looked him in the eye.
“He died.”
Jacob stared at her, dazed. His mouth fell open and hung there as he blinked, and now he was grateful for the darkness.
“Jenna…,” he muttered, shaking his head. He opened his mouth to say more, but nothing came out.
She sniffled, but he couldn’t see if she was crying or not. If she was, her voice didn’t give her away.
“We got married right out of high school. One of the many things that have made me an utter disappointment to my parents,” she said, and the eye roll was nearly audible in her voice. “Everybody thought I was pregnant, but it wasn’t like that. We were just crazy and impulsive and in love.”
She looked back at him and shook her head. “It was stupid, honestly,” she chuckled. “I mean, we were a mess. In dating language, it was called ‘passion,’ but once you’re married, it just turns into arguing over stupid shit all the time, like what movie to watch or who’s turn it was to pick up dinner.”
She smirked at him, but he didn’t have the heart to return it. She turned her head back, resting her chin on her knees.
“But anyway, we were always… passionate,” the air quotes evident in her tone. “We had no money and no real plans to make any. He was a musician, too, so our big idea was to travel the country together, making music and living off the land,” she said with a wistful smile.
The breeze picked up, blowing her bangs into her face, and she pushed them aside with her hand.
“It wasn’t some tragic thing,” she shrugged and sniffed again, quickly wiping her sweater sleeve across her cheek. “I mean, he didn’t have some terminal illness or rescue a kid from a burning building or anything. One day, he just…,” she shook her head, “didn’t wake up.”
Her breath stuttered in her chest, and she closed her eyes, breathing in slowly. He counted in his head as she breathed in for four, hold for four, out for four.
“The doctors say it was pul-,” her breath caught in her chest. She cleared her throat and tried again. “A pulmonary embolism.”
He wanted to close his eyes and push the thought from his mind – or at the very least, to say something thoughtful and encouraging – but all he could do was stare at her. His eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness, and he could see the trail of a tear on her cheek, darkened by her mascara.
“So, anyway, I was a wreck after that,” she half-laughed, putting her feet on the ground. The bench swung from the movement, drifting back and forth in gentle consolation. “I, um,” she sniffled, picking at her fingers for something to keep her eyes on. “I was really depressed for a few years. That’s when I…,” she peeked up at him. “Well… you know.”
He nodded, thinking back to her admission of her suicide attempt.
“My parents didn’t want me to live alone anymore after that, so they made me move back in with them. And it was just…,” she shook her head, frustration lighting her face through the tears. She huffed a sigh and leaned back to stare at the wooden beams on the ceiling. “All of my friends were our friends. Even my parents’ house… everything was so full of… of him. The couch where we watched scary movies on Halloween, the back porch where we used to do our homework. The pool where we had our first kiss.”
Her eyes were distant, lost in the memories. After a minute of silence, she snapped back to the present.
“So, anyway, I couldn’t stay there, anymore. I just couldn’t stand walking around every day with everyone looking at me, thinking, ‘oh, you poor thing.’” She cringed at the thought. “They all treated me like I was made of glass. Which… I mean, I get it,” she sighed. “I was a widow at nineteen. People don’t know what to do with that.”
Jacob nodded in understanding. He didn’t know what to do with it, either. If he had known her back then, he probably would have seen her the same way everyone else did. A tragic story.
“So, I packed a bag, grabbed my guitar, and just… drove,” she shrugged. “I wanted to get as far away from Chicago as possible, so I headed for California first. Hell, I probably would have gone to Mexico if I had a passport. Spent some time in L.A…. then Vegas, Dallas… never did make it to New York,” she said, looking at him.
He gave her a half-smirk.
“I was on the road for… probably a year or so. Everywhere I went was an opportunity to be someone new. When p
eople looked at me, I was just… Jenna. Whatever Jenna I wanted to be,” she smiled sadly. “We were together for so long, Tom and me, that it was like I didn’t even know who I was without him.”
Jacob thought back to losing his own rock, the source of his life and love, and he knew exactly what she meant. Without Maggie, he was completely lost. His purpose in life was gone, and it sent him into a tailspin of grief and bad decisions.
“Eventually, I started heading toward the east coast. I’ve always wanted to go to New York, but I stopped here first. Made a pit stop at Uncle Al’s for the night. He was so great,” she laughed with glassy eyes. “He didn’t scold me for being irresponsible or threaten to call my parents and tell them I was there. He just invited me in, asked if I was hungry, and made me a grilled cheese sandwich.”
She smiled, but the tears were falling now, and Jacob could feel his own eyes starting to well in response.
“As always, I couldn’t sleep, so I snuck out, looking for any place that was still open and served good coffee. That’s when I found this place,” she gestured to the building behind them. “Not the best coffee, but a damn good old fashioned.
“I was here until last call, but Charlie could tell I didn’t want to go, so she let me stay after all the staff had gone home. We got to talking, and…,” she shook her head. “I don’t know what it is about that woman, but I swear she was born to be a bartender. Or a therapist,” she chuckled once. “She had me spilling my whole story in minutes.”
He had goosebumps, nervous for her in retrospect. He knew better than most how terrifying it can be to open up to someone about your deepest thoughts, not knowing how they will respond.
“I just told her everything. Even some things I hadn’t said to anyone before. And you know what she did?” She looked at him with a smirk, pulling her feet underneath her again, to shield her legs from the chill wind. “She gave me that look. You know, the ‘I’m sorry you had to go through that’ look. But just for the briefest moment. Then she got up, went to the kitchen, and came back with a carton of ice cream and two spoons.”
Jacob remembered the night he told Jenna about Maggie, how in his time of need, she had offered him ice cream as the solution. Strangely enough, it was exactly what he needed in that moment. Not the ice cream, but the acceptance. She accepted that he was sad, and that nothing she could say would make it better, so there was nothing left to do but be together, be sad, and eat ice cream.
He had found it odd, at the time, but looking back with new perspective, he found himself tearing up at the gesture. She knew, even then, that they were the same, and that he needed exactly what she had needed from Charlie that night: to be seen, but not treated any differently.
“That was the first time someone knew and didn’t treat me any differently,” she said, echoing his thoughts. “She didn’t pity me or treat me with kid gloves. She just… knew,” she shrugged. “And that’s it. Nothing else changed.
“So, we spent the rest of the night eating ice cream and talking. But not about Tom. Just about everything else, you know?”
He did know. It was how he had felt living at Bellevue, surrounded by people just as damaged as he was, where nobody besides your therapist forced you to talk about anything you didn’t want to talk about.
It was different than living with Sarah. Psychoanalysis of criminals was her job, and while he never felt particularly judged by her, he also never felt like she saw him as an equal. There was such a vast difference between them – their lives, their experiences – and no matter how much she tried to pretend she didn’t see it, he always knew it was there.
But with Bellevue, there was comradery, a mutual understanding. He had hoped it would be the same with Jenna someday, but after that night at the party, he still wasn’t sure if they could ever get there.
“So, after that, I stuck around here for a while,” Jenna continued. “Stayed with my uncle and spent every night here with Charlie. I hadn’t written anything since before Tom, and then finally, one night, that song practically wrote itself,” she nodded back to the bar.
He thought about the lyrics he had heard, seeing them in a new light now. He was right about the theme. It was a story of love, but also of loss.
“Every time I tried to write anything, over the years, I couldn’t, and I think it’s because I knew that was the song that needed to come out. It’s like I had this mental barrier,” she waved her hand around her head. “Like I couldn’t write anything else until I got past this, but my brain wouldn’t let me go there yet. Until I came here,” she sighed. “So, I settled here. Enrolled at Westbridge, moved into the dorms, and I’ve been here ever since.”
Jacob appraised her face as her story processed in his mind. Her eyes were deep, her expression softer than he had ever seen before, and he decided vulnerability was a good look on her.
“Can I ask you something?” he muttered softly over the chirping crickets.
She nodded.
He opened his mouth and hesitated, trying to word his question carefully. “Why are you telling me all of this?” he asked, shaking his head in confusion. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you are,” he added with a sincere look. “It’s just that the last time I saw you, it seemed like you would have been perfectly happy to never speak to me again,” he chuckled once without humor. “And yet…,” he trailed off, gesturing between the two of them, swinging gently under the gazebo.
Jenna took a breath, staring ahead at the tall grass past the edge of the structure as she gathered her thoughts.
“Something you said… kind of stuck with me,” she began, lost in thought for a moment. “You said that, after, um… the stuff with your dad, you felt something besides grief for the first time, and you wanted to chase that feeling.”
Their eyes met and he could see the understanding there.
“I think I get that,” she nodded, keeping his gaze as her eyes welled.
They stared at each other. He could feel the hope bubbling up inside him, and he tried to push it back down. There was still a long way to go before things could ever be the same between them, but his heart couldn’t help but swell at the words. She understood.
With a sniffle, she wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “And then I talked to my uncle.”
She peeked at Jacob, measuring his reaction, but he wasn’t bothered by the idea. On the contrary, Al seemed to have a very positive view of Jacob, even knowing a bit about his past, so maybe them talking about him would work in his favor.
“He reminded me of why I chose to stay here in the first place. To be around people who wouldn’t look at me and just see my past. To start over.”
Jacob nodded, but she wasn’t looking at him.
“And I guess I just realized,” she took in a deep breath, setting her feet back on the ground and resting her hands on her legs, “well, maybe we have more in common than I thought.”
Jacob smiled. “So…,” he trailed off, afraid to put the question into words that could be rejected, but he needed to know. “Does that mean we’re… okay?”
Jenna thoughtfully considered that for a long minute, a hint of her previous caution returning to her eyes. “I have questions,” she decided.
“Of course,” Jacob answered quickly, grateful to hear any answer that wasn’t a flat hell no. “You can ask me anything.”
She pursed her lips. “You said you were in a… mental institution?” she asked.
“Yes,” he answered.
She nodded. “So… are you, like… crazy?” she cringed at the poor choice of word.
He let out an uncomfortable chuckle. “Um… I suppose it depends on your definition of the word.”
She just stared at him, waiting for a more solid answer.
“I was… treated. For eight years,” he said. “And, as I’m sure you noticed earlier, I take a lot of medication. And I go to therapy once a week, along with weekly parole meetings to keep things in check.”
She bit her lip, trying to mus
ter the courage to say more.
“Look, Jenna, I know this is… a lot,” Jacob said, reaching out and taking hold of the sliver of hope that she might actually be capable of moving past this. “And, frankly, the fact that you’re even sitting here instead of running away screaming is… maybe more than I deserve.”
Their eyes met, and she listened.
“I just want you to know that whatever you want to know…,” he hesitated, making sure he really meant the words before he made them a vow. “I’ll tell you,” he decided with a firm nod. “Anything.”
She chewed on her lip for a moment, and he waited anxiously for her reply.
“Not tonight,” she declared, sitting up straight and taking in a sharp breath that pierced through the intensity of the conversation. “It’s getting late. We should probably head back.”
Jacob took in a breath of his own, leaning back against the seat. He stretched his back, realizing how stiff his muscles were from the tense conversation. “Yeah,” he agreed, rising to his feet and stepping down the gazebo steps.
“Hey, Jacob?” Jenna muttered softly from behind him.
“Yeah?” He turned around.
She stared at him for a moment with a new kind of severity. “Thanks,” she said.
Jacob raised his eyebrows, wondering what she could possibly have to thank him for. “For what?” he asked.
She shrugged with a wry smirk. “Not looking at me like I’m broken.”
Jenna continued to surprise him that night. She had always been guarded, easy-going, light, but Jacob was beginning to see the depth lurking beneath the surface. All of those deeply buried insecurities were staring back at him through her slightly watery eyes, and he could feel it. He could feel it because he knew what it felt like, to lay it all on the line and hope, with everything you have, that nothing will have to change.
Taking a step back toward her, Jacob held her gaze with his severity. “You’re not broken, Jenna,” he stated confidently. “You’re...,” he trailed off, shaking his head as he tried to conjure a more accurate word than the elementary ones that were coming to his mind. “You’re strong. I mean, you lost everything, and you handled it a hell of a lot better than I did.”