by Kim Golden
Evan starts. He blanches visibly. "I told her I was in Boston…"
"Well, the storm missed Boston," I say coyly. "You'd better think fast. Otherwise, I may have to call her and tell her about how you came here, begging me to still be your bit on the side."
"The hell you would."
"Oh, I most definitely would…" Then I leave him hanging. It's nice to be bitchy sometimes.
I walk back to the main house and wonder where Jake is. His absence leaves a cold sheen on the day. His truck is not in the driveway, so he has managed to drive…somewhere. I can't call him, because I don't even have his cell phone number. Ruth Carter has it. I know she does. But calling her for his number would mean answering too many questions. And I am convinced she has had a master plan to bring us together. If I tell her that I don't know where he is, she will become worse than an inquisitor.
I take advantage of having power again to light the outdoor Christmas lights. Their warm, white glow adds a coziness to the wintry landscape and softens the shadowy silhouette of the Green Mountains.
In the living room, I roll up his sleeping bag. It still smells of his skin, that warm scent like honey that rolls off him. Will my bed still smell of him? If we ever make love, will I catch his scent on my skin? Then I think of how he kissed me…how his lips lingered over mine and made me yearn for more. Why didn't I take the lead? I tried, but he still wanted to take it slow. And maybe he's right, but there is something irresistible about him. He is so golden. His skin, his hair, the smell of him.
I set his rolled-up sleeping bag on the sofa and then get a fire going. Something is missing from the living room. Yes, we haven't set up the Christmas tree. It's still in the pantry. I hope it has survived being exposed to heat, then cold, and then heat again. I go out to the pantry and breathe a sigh of relief. The tree hasn't lost many needles. I think about dragging it into the living room, but it is too big for me.
So, instead, I go back into the kitchen and begin making chili and cornbread. It's been on my mind since our "date" at the diner. I grab a beer from the fridge and tell myself we were lucky none of our food went bad.
"Where've you been?"
"Out helping Owen and Billy with the plowing…anything to keep away."
"I missed you."
"You've had your hands full."
"Don't be like this, Jake."
"Maybe we should go back to following your rules. I'm not sure I can handle you any other way."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Maybe you're more trouble than you're worth."
"What have I done now?"
"It's not what you've done…it's all your men."
"All my men? I don't have any men."
"What about Evan? What about Owen?"
"Owen and I haven't been anything more than friends since I was 15—that was almost twenty years ago!"
"But, you know what? He would still do anything for you."
"Because he's my friend!" I counter. "I would do almost anything for him too! I've known him since I was five. He's always been there for me!"
"Then, you have Evan, who lies to his wife and drives all the way up here just to keep you—"
"I don't want him. I told you that."
"But he's still here." Jake retorts. His jaw tightens. His entire body has gone tense. Brick by brick, a wall is forming between us.
"Well, he won't be much longer! If he doesn't get a move on it, I am going to call his wife."
"I wish you'd called her earlier."
"What difference would it have made, Jake? There was a god-damned blizzard."
"Why does he think he can just snap his fingers and you'll come running?"
"Have you seen me running to him? Who was I in bed with last night? Was it him or you?"
"I don't know where we stand."
"I don't either, but I am not giving up, just because you've been with other women. Christ, you act like I should be a vestal virgin coming to you. I'm thirty-four years old, Jake. I am not fifteen anymore!"
"How many others am I going to bump into here in Hunters Grove?"
"None! Owen was the only one."
Silence wells between us. He's stopped pacing and is standing with his back to me, his hands braced against the mantle. "I hate this. I hate that I am so scared." Jake says after a long while. He won't look at me.
"Why can't you trust me?" I ask him softly. "Is this because of Amanda?" He has told me enough about his ex-fiancée, who left him for a man he'd thought was his closest friend. She was the last woman in his life, the one whom I will be compared to and held up against. Just as he will have to contend with Evan and even Owen.
"I don't know."
"I'm not the woman Evan painted me out to be. I don't make a habit of chasing men just for the thrill of it. I don't go after other women's men. I did with him because, I felt entitled to him, and because, he made me think he loved me."
"I love you, Mia."
"I think I love you too."
"This just feels too…"
"Fast?"
He nods. "I don't want us to rush into this and then a few weeks later we realize we're each other's rebound."
"Even if we are, we could still come out of it being friends, Jake. We could make it work somehow. I don't want to lose you."
"Would you stay here if I asked you to?"
I don't have to think about it. More and more I have been thinking that I don't want to go back to Philadelphia. My life has somehow always been here, waiting for me…idling on hold until I could figure out what I wanted. "I would. But the question is, if this is enough for you? You've got your family in South Africa. You've got your assignments with Reuters. Will you always want to come back to this place?"
"I will always want to come back to you."
As soon as he says it, I know it's true. I go over to him and wrap my arms around him. I breathe in the rich, clean scent of his skin and close my eyes. I could ask myself what his parents would say about us. But does it matter? We're not kids. I don't care what my mother would say. And in this house that was once my grandmother's, I feel as though she is watching over us and giving us her blessing. I will keep this inside of me and tell myself that we can be okay together. We can have everything we want.
10 No Room at the Inn: Jake
Rule #6 No surprise guests! If you're going to have visitors, you need to let me know first!
It's been four days, and Evan still hasn't gone back to his wife. But, then again, he has been laying low and leaving us alone. Sometimes, I see him wandering down the driveway and I wonder where he is going. He's definitely a sight in Hart Wilkinson's old winter work clothes. This is probably the first time in Evan's life that he hasn't been stylish. Last night, Mia said over dinner that Evan always thought he was a Mack Daddy. I had no clue what she was talking about, but I laughed. I waited until later to commandeer her computer and Google it. Then I found out that it could mean three things— a guy who has a lot of bling, a man who has unusual power over women, or a man who is the top pimp. I think Mia meant a combination of all three. I can see it. The way he strutted around when he first arrived, his absolute conviction that Mia would just fall to pieces without him and would be gagging to have his affection again. He's used to being the center of everyone's world. It's nice to see him being brought down a peg or two by Mia and his inability to control his car situation.
Today the sun has come out for the first time in days. Mia has borrowed my truck and driven to White River Junction to pick up more Christmas decorations. We're running low on food, so I decide to head into town for some groceries. I take her car. She has left the keys for me in the catch-all glass bowl on the console table in the vestibule. I don't know why she calls it that either. In South Africa we'd just call it the hall or the entrance. Maybe it's one of the things I will learn if I stay past spring.
Outside, the rawness of the cold hits me in the face. It's that sort of cold that seeps in no matter how many layers you're weari
ng. My down jacket isn't helping much. Now, I wish I'd gone back to my place and grabbed my insulated work shirt, but I don't want to go into my house and witness the mess Evan has made.
Mia has already warned me. He is a slob. He is used to Melissa cleaning up after him. And I hate messes. I'm used to living without leaving a footprint. It's how you have to live in war zones. Leaving something behind could be your death warrant. And we all learned pretty quickly in Serbia, in Sierra Leone, in Afghanistan…don't leave anything behind, live like a ghost. So, it's disconcerting to feel territorial after so many years of not having a proper home.
Mia drives one of those Mini Coopers that everyone's crazy about. It's a deep, glossy shade of red she calls carmine. It's not a color I would have chosen, but at least it isn't pastel blue or baby doll pink. I would feel silly driving such a car. It takes a while for me to adjust the driver's seat, but then I'm ready and begin heading into town. I'm halfway there, when the car behind me honks and flashes its blinkers to get my attention. I pull over and wait for them to drive up. I don't recognize the woman in the driver's seat when she rolls down the window and asks me if I know where the Wilkinson place is.
"You just passed it," I tell her. "It's the house on the left, just before the bend."
She blinks in confusion. "I passed it?"
"Yup, you did." I study her pale face. She wears the harried expression I recognize from the antiquers who sometimes drive up from Boston or New York. People who are used to crowded city streets and sky-high buildings. The looming mountains and the enormous sky here always seems to take them by surprise. "You looking for Mia?"
"I guess you could say that," she says and then glances back at Mia's house. "I'm looking for my husband, Evan Powell, and I think he's here with her."
I open my mouth to speak, but I can't even figure out what I should say to her.
I guess the shit is about to hit the fan.
In the end, I tell her to follow me and we drive back to Mia's house. I don't take Melissa to the guest house immediately. Instead, I bring her into the main house. It seems like the right thing to do. She tells me she's never been this far north before—she always thought Mia was boasting when she said how beautiful it was in Vermont, but now that she's spent the last nine hours driving from Philadelphia to Upstate New York and then on to Vermont, she can see why Mia loves it. Her tone of voice is almost relaxed, but she can't sit still. I try to get her to sit down in the living room and offer to make her tea or coffee, but she declines, asking for a glass of water, instead. She can't seem to decide if she wants to stand or sit. She keeps getting up to examine the pictures on the mantle and the Christmas cards Mia has stuck there.
Then she stops and focuses on me for, perhaps, the first time. "I'm sorry," she says with the faintest of smiles. "I just realized I haven't properly introduced myself. I'm Melissa…Melissa Powell. Are you the caretaker?"
"I'm Jake Groenewald. Nice to meet you."
She glances around again. "Where's Mia?"
"She's out doing some shopping. She should be back soon." Then I tell her to make herself comfortable. I go into the kitchen and start some coffee, even though she has said she doesn't want any. Coffee usually solves most problems. I go through the cabinets until I find the cookie jar where Mia hides her shortbreads and Fig Newtons, then I arrange some on a plate the way I've seen my mother and Ruth Carter…and even Mia…do it. Maybe I should call Mia, I think. I check my pocket and find my cell phone, then I dial her number. It takes five rings before she answers. I don't even give her a chance to say more than "hello", before I launch into, "Evan's wife is here."
"What? Wait—Melissa is at the house?"
"Yeah, she's in the living room. I am making her some coffee."
"Shit…no wait, this is good. Has Evan seen her yet?"
"No, I don't think he's at home. I saw him walk toward town earlier."
"OK…I'm at…Windsor, I should be home in maybe twenty minutes."
"OK."
"Keep her occupied."
"Okay…"
Once the coffee is ready, I pour it into the coffee jug and then put it on a serving tray with two cups, a pack of milk, and the cookies. I return to the living room and set it on the table. Melissa isn't there, but I can hear footsteps upstairs.
I go to the bottom of the stairs and shout, "Evan's probably gone into town. You may as well come down and have something to drink."
After a few moments, she retreats down the stairs, looking contrite at being caught out. "I shouldn't have done that…"
"No, but I can understand why you did."
"You called Mia, didn't you?"
I nod. "She was already on her way home. She'll be here pretty soon."
"Who are you? Are you a neighbor…?"
"I'm a friend of Mia's."
"She's never mentioned you before."
"We're relatively new friends," I explain. "I rent the guest house from her and we've gotten to know one another while she's been here."
"Then you probably know."
"Sorry?"
"You probably know she's been fucking my husband."
I shrug. I don't want to get pulled into this, but I also don't want this to turn ugly. Maybe it's better to lie and say that Mia and I are together. It's not a complete lie. We could be together. Maybe we will be.
So I say, "I thought that was all over."
"How could it be when he's here with her?"
"Well, he's here, but he's not with her."
"He came here because of her."
"Yeah, but she told him to leave her alone. For three reasons: you, the baby….and me." Saying it feels almost like the truth. I haven't got a clue what Mia will say when she arrives. I don't even know if I will have time to warn her. But, saying this to Melissa feels close enough to what has been lurking inside me since I met Mia. "It's all been kind of sudden. Mia and I…we both came here to be on our own, but it didn't work out that way, and we found each other."
"She's with you?"
I nod. "Well, yeah, she is."
"I'm sorry I'm having a hard time digesting this," Melissa says slowly. "Maybe I will have some coffee."
I pour some for her and hand her the cup.
"It's just that…only a month ago, she told two of our mutual friends that my husband was leaving me for her."
"Yeah, she told me about that. Then you found out you were pregnant and you guys made the announcement at the Thanksgiving dinner."
"She's been seeing my husband behind my back for years…"
"She told me everything. I know all about it."
"Then, how can you trust her?"
"How can you trust your husband? He's the one who's been lying to you for years."
"They've both been lying to me!"
"But you knew." This is a chance I take. I don't know why but she doesn't even seem angry enough to me. She knew. I think she knew all along.
"I suspected—"
"You knew, before he even married you." I sit down opposite her and watch her reaction. A startled look flashes across her face and she looks down, then chews for a moment on her lower lip. "I'm right, aren't I?"
She sets down her cup of coffee and then fidgets with the gold charm bracelet jingling on her left arm. "You have no idea what it has been like for me."
She looks too fragile, too dainty to be caught in this sort of triangle. "It hasn't been easy having your husband here when Mia and I are trying to figure out where we go from here."
"He'll be out of your hair soon."
"What are you going to do then? When you get back to Philadelphia?"
"I honestly don't know."
A car pulls up in the driveway. I stand up and go to the window. "Mia's here now."
"He tried to keep her a secret for a long time, you know," Melissa said. "He made it seem like they were just good friends and I bought it. I think it was what I wanted to hear."
I keep my eyes focused on Mia as she gets out of the car. When she g
oes to the bed of the truck and begins unloading bags, I tell Melissa I will be back in a second. She's got that look on her face that I have seen on other women—when they want to talk shit about another woman. I know Mia isn't innocent, but she should be present when Melissa begins accusing her of whatever crimes she thinks she is guilty of. I rush outside and do what I have wanted to do for a very long time—enfold Mia in my arms and hold her close. At first, she goes stiff in my arms, but then she softens and lets her arms come around me. She kisses my chin and sighs.
"What do we do now?"
"You talk to her…I guess… and I can call around. See if any of the inns have a room they can have."
"Good idea…" We separate reluctantly, gather the bags of decorations and presents and head back into the house. A light snow is already beginning to fall. Inside, I take all the bags from Mia and store them in the dining room closet while she takes off her winter coat and boots. I glance back in the vestibule. She takes a deep breath and then exhales slowly, to calm herself. When she sees me watching her, she whispers, "I'm okay… I knew this would happen sooner or later."
So, I go back into the kitchen and call Ruth Carter for advice. But, I keep one ear open for any sounds of distress.
Evan isn't worth fighting over and I think both women finally realize it.
When I tell Ruth about the situation in the living room, she hoots and then says, "Well, it was a long time coming."
I wonder how many other people here knew what was going on in Mia's life. Did Owen know? Did his wife know? They didn't mention it…but, then again, why would they? I think back to how Owen was with me. He didn't behave like I was ever a threat to his friendship with Mia. I had the feeling it took a lot to make him feel threatened by anyone. Maybe he thought I was already Mia's new boyfriend. Maybe that was why he mentioned his past with her. To let me know that was the lay of the land from the onset. Or maybe he just figured I was here to stay and everyone knew…?