by Carol James
Working at the church today had been more fun than she’d anticipated. The façades of Bethlehem were coming along well. She’d gotten most of the exteriors painted, and tomorrow Jake would show her how to add features and shading to make them look more three dimensional.
For just a few seconds this afternoon, while they were lying on the drop-cloth watching the clouds, she’d heard something in his voice—a vulnerability she hadn’t picked up on before. A universal sensitivity had tempted her to reach over and place a hand on his shoulder in comfort, in understanding, but she couldn’t. He might have interpreted her action as something she didn’t intend. After all, she’d originally suggested they stay in the same house, and he’d been the one who’d insisted they not. Plus, maybe he had a girlfriend. She had no idea.
The laptop silently beckoned her. Why not? She picked it up off the kitchen desk, sat at the table, and typed in “Jake Wolesky.” A complete page of entries popped up. Most of them referenced Chris Wolesky. But one referred to Carmichael, Smith, and Wolesky Architects. Jake was an architect, for goodness sake. No wonder the Bethlehem structures were so realistic and well-made.
She went back up to one of the first entries mentioning Chris. Some referred to his baseball statistics, but most of them referenced the fatal wreck, complete with pictures of him standing beside the red convertible and then the indistinguishable mass of mangled metal it had become. He’d survived, but his teammate hadn’t.
Other entries referenced the trial and ensuing conviction. Both men had been under the influence, and Chris had been driving almost twice the speed limit. His team of attorneys had made some sort of plea bargain, so the sentence had been greatly reduced, but he’d been injured badly enough that he’d most likely never again play once he got out of prison.
She clicked onto the “images” tab, and a picture of Chris when he’d signed his first contract popped up. Smiling beside him stood an older man and woman—obviously his parents—and a younger version of himself. Younger and much more handsome. She enlarged the image and leaned in closer to the computer screen. Yes, the eyes were the same. The picture showed a thinner and beardless Jake. The date on the photo was about five years earlier when he was probably a college student, or maybe a recent graduate.
Scrolling farther down the screen, she quickly scanned the images. Here was another of Jake, but this time he was with a woman. A woman who looked like a fashion model. And there she was again...and again....and again. Smiling with her arms around him, her body language screamed romance, and his echoed the same. She was obviously a girlfriend, a fiancée. Some sort of love interest. Whoever, she was beautiful.
So the images spoke volumes about his earlier reactions. They clarified the primary reason he’d been so concerned about the two of them staying together in the same house. Plus that explained the sharp tone his voice had held this morning at the church—when he’d repeated her statement about there being no possible way she and he could be involved.
He had a girlfriend, and in some strange way, that knowledge calmed her. It lessened the tension she’d felt since lunch today when propriety had conquered empathy. Most of all, though, it gave her a sense of freedom. She didn’t have to worry about her every word or deed and how they might be interpreted. Neither he nor she was available.
She should have heard from Drew by now. Most of their breakups had been forty-eight hours or less. While this one was long past that timeframe, it didn’t hold the record. The last time he’d broken up with her at Christmas, a month had passed before he’d apologized and begged her to take him back.
She opened another window in the browser and searched for the weather in Aspen. The image on the screen might have been a Christmas card rather than a live photo. Reflections of the streetlights cast a shimmery glow on the licorice streets and the marshmallow mounds blanketing the ground and the buildings. Rainbow Christmas lights twinkled as fluffy snowflakes the size of quarters rained down peace on the city.
Yawning, she glanced at the clock on the oven. She’d hoped Jake and Riley would have been back by now. She’d make a quick check of social media before she went to bed, and if they weren’t home by then, Jake could let Ri in. Just as he had last night.
A notification from Drew popped up in her newsfeed. The emptiness in her heart surprised her. She missed him more than she’d realized. She didn’t recognize the woman’s name tagged in the post, Lindsay Clark, so she clicked on the post. A series of images popped up. Drew’s Mom and Dad, a huge flock of people she didn’t know—probably relatives. He’d said his whole family would be there. That’s why it had been so important for Mary to come. An official introduction before they set the date.
The next few images included a gorgeous blonde. Lindsay. Maybe a cousin? In one picture she was hugging Drew’s parents. In another snuggling up to Drew in what Mary could only assume was a slow dance. And in a third, she was kissing him and not under any mistletoe that Mary could see. No, they were definitely not related.
As Mary’s heart began to race, disappointment knotted her stomach. She clicked on Lindsay’s name and was rerouted to her page. Mary skimmed the biographical information searching for only one heading. “In a relationship with Drew Stevens.”
The dam that had been holding her emotions in check since Drew left her last week cracked, and a tear slipped down her cheek. A few clicks of a mouse had changed her life forever. Drew wasn’t coming back this time. The single droplet grew into a trickle, and then a stream, and finally into a full-blown tsunami.
The back door swung open, and Riley bounded in with Jake right behind him. She grabbed a napkin from the holder on the table and madly dabbed her eyes, begging the tears to disappear. But they didn’t comply.
“You’re still awake. I figured you’d be—” The upbeat tone of Jake’s voice vanished as his cheeks flushed from that embarrassed bewilderment some men displayed when they happened upon a woman crying. Especially a woman they don’t know very well, and especially when he’d seen her moping at the same table only a day earlier. “I, uh...are you...sorry if I...”
As she wiped her eyes once more and then blew her nose into the napkin, Riley leaned against her thigh in comfort. She took a shaky breath. “It’s nothing...you did.” Sobs punctuated her words. “I’m...OK. Just...tired.”
Jake shifted his weight from foot to foot and then inched toward the table and slid into the chair across from her.
She wrestled to get her breathing under control. She wanted him to leave, but she couldn’t speak right now, and he was no mind-reader.
So, he stayed.
After sitting silently for a few seconds, he finally spoke. “Wanna talk about it?” His voice was gentle.
That was the last thing she wanted to do. Especially with him. And even if she had wanted to, she wasn’t physically able. She shook her head.
He stood, walked to the desk, and rummaged through one of the drawers. When he returned, he handed her a sticky note. “Here’s my cell. You need anything, you call. OK?”
She nodded, not because she meant it, but because agreeing would make him leave more quickly.
As Jake moved toward the back door, Ri followed him and nuzzled his hand. “Good night, buddy.” Riley padded back to Mary and rested his head on her thigh. “Good boy, Riley,” Jake continued. “You’re a good dog.”
As Jake closed the door behind him, Riley nosed his head under her hand and placed it on her thigh. Unconditional, unfailing love. People could learn so much from dogs.
5
Jake sliced the strawberries and mixed them in with the blueberries and pineapple. International trade was a wonderful thing. When he was a kid, they could only get fresh berries for a few weeks in the summer, but now people could get them twenty-four seven, three sixty-five. The sausage was cooked, and the blueberry pancakes would be done any minute.
A cold nose nuzzled his hand from behind. “Morning, buddy.” As he turned to pet Riley, Mary stepped through the doorway into the k
itchen. She wore a light green robe over some plaid pajama pants and a pair of pink fuzzy slippers. Gray circles underscoring her eyes confirmed she’d had a rough night. “And good morning to you, too.”
“Hi.”
She sat at the table, last night’s mood apparently under control. But, judging from her blank expression, not gone.
“You’re just in time. Hope you like pancakes.” He plated the breakfast and set it in front of her. Then he took her a cup of coffee. “Looks like you might need this. Rough night, huh?”
“What is it with you and cooking?” She ignored his question.
“Not cooking in general. Breakfast is my thing. The best days start with a good, hearty breakfast.”
“Is that a promise?” Her voice was flat.
He carried his plate and coffee to the table and sat across from her. “It’s conventional wisdom. You can’t get up and rolling without some fuel to keep you going. So yeah, I guess I’d say it’s a promise.”
She poked at the pancakes with her fork.
“But you have to eat the food for it to work.”
As she took the first bite, she ran the fingers of her left hand through her hair. The rock was gone. Maybe she’d taken it off to sleep. Maybe she’d taken it off so she wouldn’t get paint on it today at the church. Who knew? Anyway, her finger was bare.
She ate a second bite, and then a third.
“Looks like you’re working on making it a good day.”
“It pretty much has only one way to go.”
She set down her fork and for the first time looked him directly in the eyes. No chocolate-diamond sparkle this morning.
“Jake, I, um...I don’t think I’ll make it to the church today. I’m feeling a little under the weather, so I’m just going back to bed.”
“Sure, I understand. You helped more yesterday than you probably realize. We’ll get it done.”
She stood and walked out of the kitchen with Riley at her heels. Something was definitely up.
~*~
Mary steered Mom’s car behind the church and parked it by the gym entrance. Only one other vehicle was there. Jake’s truck.
Not only had she been unable to sleep last night, but her insomnia had continued this morning. After she’d left Jake in the kitchen, she’d gone back upstairs and stayed in bed until eleven. By then, the minutes had transformed into hours. This day was never going to end. She needed a distraction, and this was the best one she could think of. At least she’d be accomplishing something worthwhile.
In true Texas fashion, yesterday’s spring had transformed into today’s winter. The high was only going to be in the thirties, and the ever-blowing wind only added to the chill factor. Pulling her sweater tightly around her, she ran from the car to the gym door, the wind chasing her all the way. As she gripped the door handle and tugged, her invisible adversary held it closed. She pulled as hard as she could and finally won the tug-of-war.
The wind blew the door closed behind her as she hurdled over the doorjamb. She ran her fingers through her hair and pulled it back and away from her eyes. She should have worn a ponytail.
“Well, look what the wind blew in. Literally.” Jake’s voice sounded to her left. “A very nice surprise.”
He was sitting at a small table with one almost-eaten sub sandwich in front of him and a second still wrapped up beside it. “You hungry? How about a sub? They were buy-one-get-one-free. I can’t eat two of them, but I can’t pass up a BOGO.” He grinned, and those golden flecks sparkled.
She was starving. “Sure. Thanks.” She sat in a chair across from him, and they ate in silence for a couple of minutes. Maybe if she acted as though everything was OK, he’d believe it was. “So, what’s my job today?”
“I’ve penciled rectangles on some of the façades. They need to be painted to give the illusion of large bricks and stones on the exterior. If you’re willing, I’ll show you how to make them look 3D.”
She took another bite of the sandwich, but that was all her stomach could handle. “I guess I wasn’t as hungry as I thought. I'm ready to start whenever you are.”
They stood and walked over to Bethlehem. Large pieces of cardboard randomly decorated with penciled rectangles rested on the floor next to the buildings. “Practice sheets,” he said. “We’re going to bring these façades to life with a couple of easy brushstrokes.”
Maybe this was the time to broach the topic of her grade in art. “I’m willing to try, but I need to warn you. I’m no Van Gogh. Painting’s definitely not my thing.”
“You’ll be surprised what a little technique can do. Watch.” He picked up an angled brush about two inches wide. “The two most important things are correctly loading the brush and applying even pressure.”
Loading the brush. That was an appropriate description. In her hands, it probably would end up being more of a weapon than a creative instrument.
He knelt down. “Watch.”
He dipped the brush in water, correctly removed the excess, and then “loaded” the paint at an angle onto the tips of the bristles. “Note the angle of the paint? Very important.”
Then he placed the brush inside one of the rectangles with the tips perpendicular to the upper pencil mark. Slowly and evenly he stroked across the top and then turned at the corner and went down. The effect was a shadow that was darker on the outside and faded away to nothingness in the center. Next, he took a small foam brush, “loaded” paint on the tips, and drew in the remaining two sides of the shape.
“Now step back and look.”
As she complied, he held the cardboard up. It really did look amazingly three dimensional. “Wow, Jake. That looks great.”
“Thanks. See, like I said, easy.”
He laid the cardboard back down and held out the brush. “Your turn.”
She knelt down, loaded the brush, and then took a deep breath. “Here we go.” She did exactly as he’d done, but the result was nothing like his. “Horrible. Like I said, no Van Gogh.”
“It just takes a little practice to get the pressure right. Give it another shot.”
She did...and another...and another...and another.
“It’s the pressure.” He knelt down beside her. “Now load the brush again.”
She did as he asked.
“Perfect.” He reached over and hovered his hand above hers on the brush. “May I?”
As she nodded, he covered her hand with his. It was calloused, definitely not manicured like Drew’s. But not unkempt. Just more...manly. It kind of fit his whole lumberjack look. Together they placed the brush inside another of the rectangles and drew the line across the top and the side. The outcome was perfect. The brick looked just like the sample he’d done.
The seconds that passed before he released her hand seemed like an eternity. As heat rose up her neck and into her face, she glanced over at him. His bright red cheeks probably mirrored the color of hers.
He released her hand and grinned. “Perfecto. Do you want to practice together one more time?”
An unexpected “yes” almost slipped out. “No. Thanks. I think I get it now.”
“Great. I think you’ve got it, too.” He stood. “I’m, uh, going to go do a little faux stonework on the inn down the way. You can start on the storefront and the house. And remember the most important thing. Paint’s not permanent. It can always be redone.”
She practiced once more alone. The result was almost perfect, so she scooted her supplies over to the first building and began.
Jake was humming Christmas carols as he smoothed black and white paint on portions of the inn. The result was patches of gray swirls in various intensities. Almost like marble, or granite. Yes, granite was more like it.
He seemed like a nice man—even though he’d almost had her thrown in jail that first night home. She smiled. He was just hard to figure out. The man in the images on the Internet seemed so different from the man staying in the garage apartment. An architect living like a carpenter. A breakfast chef a
nd artist. If she hadn’t seen pictures of him with that woman, she could have never imagined him in a suit. Jake, the artistic lumberjack. So different from Drew, the immaculate attorney.
Drew. Her eyes began to burn. He was the only man she’d ever loved. When he’d proposed, she’d willingly followed him to Atlanta. He’d just needed “a little time” to get his career established before they set the date. “A little time” had turned into months and then years. This Christmas would have been the fourth anniversary of his proposal, and yet they still hadn’t set the date. Their lives had morphed into more of a responsibility than a relationship.
How had she let that happen? Easy. Love, or what she’d believed was love, had blinded her. There had been signs, but she’d chosen to ignore them. And now...she’d spent a huge chunk of her life waiting on a man who’d obviously decided he didn’t want to waste any more of his on her.
She should have listened to Dad two years ago when Drew broke up with her before that Christmas. She should have followed Dad’s advice and not taken him back. But when she’d promised to marry him, she’d promised to marry him. The commitment had been made, and she always honored her commitments.
And that’s how it had happened. She had refused to admit defeat and give up on something into which she’d invested so much time and effort. In her insistence that it could work—that it would work—she had allowed determination to overshadow reality.
While all that was true, it was no less true that she had loved him and still did love him. But maybe her love wasn’t enough. She couldn’t make him continue to love her. He had to make the choice.
She reloaded the brush and escaped into the world of monotony. Sometimes, it wasn’t such a bad place to be.