“Good. I’ll call you. Soon.” With a little wave, Billie moved on.
First inviting her neighbor to dinner and now promising to go to lunch with an old friend. Her mother would be pleased when Jessica told her what she’d done. She supposed she was pleased with herself. They might be small steps, baby steps, but at least she was moving forward and not staying stuck in a rut.
She hurried through the remainder of her shopping and was checked out and on her way in under twenty minutes. At home, she emptied her shopping bags, then decided to do a quick straightening of the living room and her studio before she baked the root-beer cake and corn bread. She didn’t want Ridley to think her a complete slob.
Shortly before six o’clock, the house was in order, the dinner prepared, and Jessica was showered and dressed with her hair blown dry. She’d even remembered to apply a little mascara, something she hadn’t done since the day of her grandma’s funeral. At least tonight she wasn’t likely to cry it off, leaving black circles under her eyes.
The ringing of the doorbell, although expected, made her heart jump. It felt strange to have a guest, invited or otherwise. Brushing back hair from her face, she went to answer it.
Ridley smiled when their gazes met. From behind his back, he whisked out a bouquet of wildflowers. “Not much,” he said with a shrug, “but I didn’t want to come empty-handed.”
“I like wildflowers.” She took them from him, then took a step back.
“I thought you might.”
“Where’s Kris?”
“I decided to leave her at home.” He stepped inside, his gaze moving slowly around the room. “This is nice. Nothing like my folks’ place, though, is it?”
“No.”
“Down in the city, you get used to house plans being more cookie cutter in some neighborhoods.”
She offered her own small smile. “Can you call two houses on a dead-end road out in the middle of nowhere a neighborhood?”
“I guess we can if we want to.”
It felt good, having him in her home, and that surprised her too. It hadn’t felt normal to have anyone there—not even her parents—in many months. Even before Joe died, it hadn’t felt right to have guests. There’d been too many emotions to hide from others. Out in public, away from the house, it had been easier to pretend. But right here, within these walls . . .
She drew a quick breath and forced an even brighter smile. “I’ll put these flowers in water, and then we can eat. Dinner is ready.”
Ridley followed Jessica as far as the doorway to the kitchen. He stopped there, leaning his shoulder against the archway, and watched as she put the wildflowers into a large mason jar and filled it with tap water. Delicious odors filled the air. He hoped she didn’t hear his stomach when it growled in response.
The table in the adjacent dining room was set for two. Early evening sunlight spilled through the slats of the mini blinds, pooling on the floor behind the closest chair.
“Can I help with anything?” he asked, looking in Jessica’s direction again.
“You could take those to the table.” She tipped her head toward two serving dishes on the raised counter.
“Sure.” He took a plate with squares of corn bread in one hand and a bowl of green beans in the other and carried them into the dining room.
Jessica followed behind him with a platter of fried chicken. After setting it in the center of the table, she motioned to a chair. “Please. Sit.”
Instead of doing so immediately, he stepped to her place and pulled out the chair. She glanced up at him, her surprise evident, then dropped her gaze and settled onto the seat. For some reason, the look in her eyes made his heart pinch. A woman like her shouldn’t have to look surprised over an act of simple courtesy.
Softly clearing his throat, he moved to his place and sat down. “This is real nice of you. To ask me over. As pesky as Kris has been, I should’ve been the one to ask you to dinner. I owe you.” Funny, he’d been determined to remain anonymous when he came to Hope Springs, determined not to get involved with anybody, and here he was, barely a week later, sitting down to a home-cooked meal with his attractive—and very pregnant—neighbor.
Like Mom would say, I need my head examined.
Jessica slid the platter of chicken toward him. “Help yourself.”
In the living room, he’d noticed a couple of plaques on the wall, each with words from a familiar Bible verse. Assuming they meant something to his hostess, he said, “Would you mind if I said grace?”
Again he saw surprise in her eyes. Surprise but not displeasure. “I’d like that,” she answered before bowing her head.
“For food in a world where many walk in hunger, for faith in a world where many walk in fear, for friends in a world where many walk alone, we give You thanks, O Lord. Amen.”
“Amen,” she whispered, then looked at him. “Thanks, Ridley. That’s a nice blessing.”
“It’s one my mom taught me when I was a kid.”
Silence settled over the dining room, as if Jessica didn’t know where to take the conversation from there. Then for the second time, she nudged the platter in his direction. “Better dish up. The food’s growing cold.”
Ridley helped himself, realizing he didn’t know where to take the conversation either. If this had been a first date, he’d have had a better idea. After all, he’d been on lots of first dates in the past couple of decades, beginning when he was fifteen and ending with Selena. He’d had more first dates than he cared to count, come to think of it, because, despite appearances to the contrary, he wasn’t a confirmed bachelor. He would like to meet someone special with whom he could have a long-term relationship. He’d like to fall in love, marry, have a family. Not right now, of course. Right now he didn’t want any emotional entanglements. Hadn’t the energy for them.
“Ridley?”
The sound of Jessica’s voice drew him from his thoughts, and he looked at her.
“I should tell you something.”
He cocked an eyebrow, waiting.
“I saw a photo of you on the news the other night. It was about the Treehorn campaign.”
Hunger became a stone in his belly.
“All I want to add is that I’m sorry this is happening to you.”
Politeness kept her from asking, but he saw the questions in her eyes nonetheless. “I’m not sure what it said, but just for the record, it isn’t true that I was the one who leaked the information about Ms. Treehorn. I believed in her and wouldn’t have done anything to damage her run for office.”
With a nod, she lifted the butter dish and held it toward him. “For your corn bread?”
Relieved that she didn’t press for more details, he offered a fleeting smile. “Thanks.” He took the dish, and their fingers brushed in passing. For some reason, the touch drained the last of the tension from him.
“You told me you moved around a lot because of your dad’s job.” She put a drumstick on her plate. “Where all did you live?”
“California. Texas. Florida. Pennsylvania. Ohio. Colorado. Oregon. Idaho. We were living in Meridian for my senior year in high school. I liked it there, so I came back after I graduated from college.”
Her eyes had widened. “You really did move around a lot.”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve lived in one state and only two towns in my whole life. In fact, I’ve lived in two houses in my whole life. I feel a little . . . What’s the word? Provincial?”
The self-deprecating look she tossed across the table made him chuckle. He didn’t know if she was provincial, but he did believe she was sweet. Considering her tragic losses of the past winter, she had plenty of reason not to be.
He took a bite of the fried chicken. As soon as he could, he said, “Wow. That’s good.”
“Thanks.” Her smile blossomed. “It’s my grandma’s recipe. She taught me how to make fried chicken like this when I was a girl.” She closed her eyes for a moment, still smiling. “I loved going to her hou
se on weekends when I was little. She always taught me something new in the kitchen. I never became a great cook, but anything I do well is because of Grandma. Even my mom says that.”
He could almost see the memories written on her face as they floated through her mind.
She opened her eyes again. “I loved Grandma so much.”
“She’s passed away?”
“Last month.”
So recent. And right on top of two other deaths. Ridley wondered how Jessica could bear it. Made his own troubles—ruined reputation, job loss, betrayals—seem less important.
“She was eighty-six years old and a very special woman.” Her voice softened. “I hope I live and die as well as she did.”
Ridley decided it was time to take the conversation in another direction, so he asked a question about Hope Springs. That’s where they remained for the rest of the meal.
PORTLAND, OREGON
Tuesday, December 23, 1930
Excitement welled in Andrew’s chest as he watched the train roll into the station. His anticipation was not unlike that of his cousin’s boys, waiting for Christmas morning. Any moment now, Helen would step out of one of those passenger cars. His heart seemed to pound in his ears as he looked for her.
“Daddy!” a young girl in a red dress with frilly white petticoats shouted before tearing away from her mother and racing into the arms of a man just off the train.
Envy gripped Andrew’s chest as he watched the grinning father lift the girl into the air. It surprised him, how often that profound sense of loss swept over him. Loss . . . and guilt. Guilt because he’d been less than excited about the timing of Helen’s pregnancy. If he hadn’t been so worried about providing for a family, if he hadn’t fought with Helen so often . . . Even months later it felt like the stillbirth had been his fault. In his head, he knew that wasn’t true. If only he could convince his heart.
He forced his gaze away from the joyous father-daughter reunion in time to see Helen step from a car farther down the station ramp. She looked nervous, even a little anxious.
“Helen!” He lifted his arm high above his head. “Helen!”
She found him with her eyes at last, and a small smile lifted the corners of her mouth.
He felt another catch in his chest as he moved toward her. “Helen.” He embraced her, breathing in the scent of her favorite cologne. After several heartbeats, he drew back enough to kiss her. “You look wonderful.”
She laughed softly as she patted the curls that showed beneath her hat. “I doubt that. I’m exhausted.”
“The train was late. They said it was due to weather.”
“It snowed from Boise all the way through the Blue Mountains. I didn’t think we would make it up one of the mountains, the snow was coming so hard.”
The words seemed stilted, as if they were two strangers having a chance conversation.
He took her suitcase with one hand, then hooked her elbow with the other. “Let’s get out of here. Mark and Nancy can’t wait to meet you. The boys too.”
“I hope my coming isn’t too much of an imposition.”
“It’s not. They’ve been looking forward to your visit.” He squeezed her arm against his side. “Come on. Mark loaned me his Ford so I could pick you up.”
“That was nice of him.”
“He’s a good guy. He and Nancy have been very generous and kind to me.”
She was silent awhile, then said, “So were my parents.”
“Yes,” he answered without hesitation. “They were. They still are. I love your folks. You know that.”
Helen stopped walking, causing Andrew to do the same. She stared up at him for a long while, and in her eyes he saw that he hadn’t been forgiven for taking the job in Portland. Not yet. What would it take for that to happen? Was time enough, or was something else required of him? His absence certainly hadn’t made her heart grow fonder. Not that he could tell, anyway.
He released her arm. “Come on. Nancy’s planned a special welcome dinner for you.” He turned and moved toward the automobile. The click of her heels told him she followed.
Frustration replaced excitement. Their reunion was not turning out as he’d hoped it would. He’d expected her to be happy to see him. He’d expected her to have missed him. It seemed neither was true.
How do I fix it? How do I make it better?
He didn’t know if that was a prayer or simply trying to work things out in his own head. And he didn’t like that he couldn’t tell the difference.
Chapter 8
Jessica stepped into the room ahead of Ridley, flipping on the overhead lights as she moved through the doorway. “And this is where I work.”
Her workroom wasn’t merely a bedroom that had been converted into an artist studio. Ridley could tell that right off. This room had been designed for her use. Counters lined three walls, much of it cluttered with what he supposed were art supplies. Large windows let in natural light, but there was plenty of electrical lighting as well. Two easels were set up, their backs to him, each with a canvas on it. He resisted the urge to peek at whatever was on them. In the corner off to his right he could see an iMac with an extra-large display, while in the center of the room sat an island. The top of the island was splashed with various paint colors and mediums. A couple of cloths lay wadded up near one corner, and a large toolbox sat in the center. There was a sink to his left. It, too, was stained with colors—bright red, olive green, teal, sky blue, sunshine yellow.
“Impressive,” he said at last. “What do you paint?”
“Wall decor mostly, but I’m a crafter too. I enjoy working with leather. I make bracelets.”
His gaze returned to the computer. The screen was black. If he touched a key, would it awaken? Would he see a browser window? Would he be able to find the local news in a few clicks of the keyboard? Not that he needed to see it.
“Would you like to see one of my creations?” Jessica asked.
Grateful for a reason to turn away from the temptation, he answered, “Sure.”
She opened a drawer, lifted something from within, and placed it on the center island.
He stepped closer to examine it. A bracelet, made of narrow strips of leather, rope, and wooden beads. From the center hung a sterling silver ichthus. “It’s beautiful, Jessica.” He glanced up. “Your husband must’ve been proud of what you do.”
The change in her expression was infinitesimal and yet it struck him powerfully. Did he hear her suck in a breath before she turned away? He couldn’t be sure. But one thing he knew: he’d hurt her by mentioning her husband. The last thing he’d meant to do.
“That’s all there is to see.” She dropped the bracelet back into the drawer, her voice brisker than before.
“Thanks for showing all of this to me. And thanks for dinner too.” He moved out of the studio, on his way to the front door, then stopped and turned again. “And listen. Thanks for not asking a bunch of questions about the Treehorn thing. You’re the first person who’s discovered my identity and hasn’t tried to interrogate me about what happened. Well, except for Pastor Phelps. He knows who I am.”
“I didn’t know you’d met him.”
“Yeah, we met. And I went to hear him preach yesterday.” He waited for her to say something, perhaps admit that Hope Springs Community was her church home. She said nothing. “Well, thanks again. It was a nice evening.”
After closing the door, Jessica leaned her forehead against it and let the hurt wash over her.
“Your husband must’ve been proud of what you do.”
Had Joe ever been proud of her? She couldn’t remember. Maybe once, early in their marriage. He’d built her the studio then, before she got pregnant with Angela. Neither of them had suspected she would one day sell her creations. The studio had been to help keep her occupied and less lonely during his frequent travels. But somewhere along the way, Joe had stopped caring what she did with her art or anything else. He’d barely noticed her toward the end.
> She turned, now leaning her back against the door.
“I don’t want to live like this anymore.” Joe’s voice was low but full of anger. “I want out. I want a divorce.”
She twirled away from the closed bedroom door, sucking in a gasp. “A divorce?”
“Yes. I’m miserable. You’re miserable.”
“We can’t divorce, Joe. We can’t break up our family.”
“Jessica, we’re already broken. Can’t you see that?”
She moved to the bed. Silent tears streaked her cheeks as she sank onto the edge of the mattress. He’d made love to her in this bed last night, and this morning he wanted a divorce. How could that be? If he didn’t love her, how could he—
“I love someone else, Jess.”
She gasped aloud this time.
“You must’ve known.”
He might as well have called her stupid. And yes, deep down in her heart, she supposed she had known he was seeing another woman, that he’d been cheating on her for a long time. Even when he was home, he was absent. But last night . . .
“We’ll get through Christmas. Then I’ll move out and we can tell our families.”
She went cold. “You want to live here with me and pretend everything’s all right?”
“Why not? It’s just more of the same.”
She wanted to hit him. She wanted to throw up. Either. Both.
“We’ll keep it together through Christmas for Angela’s sake.”
“Joe.” She held out a hand toward him. “Don’t do this. We can get counseling. We can save our marriage. We can be happy again. It isn’t right to throw it all away. God wouldn’t want us to give up.”
He walked to the bedroom door. “Angela’s waiting for me. We’ve got Christmas shopping to do.” The anger was gone from his voice, leaving only frustration in its wake.
“Don’t go yet. We haven’t settled anything.”
Over his shoulder, he tossed her an irritated look. “It’s already settled, Jess. You’vre just too stubborn to admit it.” He opened the door and left the room.
Who I Am with You Page 7