Sandover Beach Memories

by Emma St Clair

  Steve. Jackson closed his eyes, missing the rest of the conversation. How could he have forgotten that he had lived next door? His heart went out to Steve’s mom even as it was also having a mild panic attack about the fact that Steve had been here earlier in the week. Why hadn’t Jenna mentioned that?

  “Jackson!”

  Ethel had gone and Jenna stood in the doorway, staring at him. He had obviously missed something she said. “I’m sorry—what?”

  “I need to go. I’m going to lock up their house and follow them to the hospital.”

  Jackson put his hands in his pockets, trying to channel the compassion for Steve’s parents, shoving down the molten jealousy burning a hole in his chest. Behind her, a fire truck and cop car pulled up beside the ambulance. Jackson recognized Cash, Jimmy, and Beau. Great. If he talked to them, they wouldn’t miss the fact that he was losing his cool over this. Beau and Jimmy knew about his history with Steve.

  “Of course, go. Need me to do anything?”

  Jenna gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and grabbed her purse from the front hall. Pulling a key from the door, she pressed it in his palm. “Do you mind turning off the lights and locking up here? I’m sorry to bolt like this.”

  A joke about giving out house keys died before hitting his lips. Not the right time. He needed to pull it together. He may not like Steve or his past with Jenna, but he should care that Steve’s dad was hurt. Jenna certainly did. “I’ll call you later. If you need me, I’ll come up to the hospital with you.”

  She waved him off. “I’ll be fine. Thanks, Jax.”

  She was already halfway out the door before he realized that she had used his nickname for the first time. It had to be now. Jackson wanted to kick himself for the sour turn of his attitude. Especially as he watched Jenna holding Ethel’s hand as the paramedics wheeled her husband out, an oxygen mask over his face. Once the couple was safely in the back of the ambulance, Jenna disappeared into their house.

  Jackson went through the house, turning off lights and straightening up a bit. When he locked the front door, Jenna was just dashing across the lawn to her car with a duffle bag over her shoulder. She waved once to Jackson while holding the phone in her other hand. Was she calling Steve? The thought was like poison, making his whole body feel sick. Jealousy was such an ugly emotion, like a poison.

  The fire truck and police car were still out front, lights and sirens off now. Cash stood in front of his cruiser, talking to Beau, while Jimmy sat in the front of the truck, door open and legs out. When he saw Jackson, he jumped down and met him on the way to the truck.

  “Hey. Jenna followed them to the hospital. Neighbors, huh?”

  “And her ex’s parents,” Beau said. He and Cash joined them.

  Jimmy’s eyebrows shot up. “Steve? Those are Steve’s parents?”

  “The Steve?” Cash asked. “The one who is always trying to pick fights with you when we see him out?”

  “Yep.” Jackson rocked back on his heels. It had been a few months since they last saw Steve. But every time their paths crossed, he tried to find a way to provoke Jackson. It was like he never moved on from their high school drama and kept trying to bring it back to the surface.

  “Jenna obviously cares about them. She’s known them most of her life. I should be concerned and compassionate. But I also just heard his mother saying something about calling Steve and that he was over here this week.” The other guys were silent for a beat. “Yeah, exactly my reaction.”

  Beau spoke first. He usually did. “It’s natural for you to be upset. You can ask God for help feeling compassionate, but I don’t think one of us would blame you for how you’re feeling given your history with Steve and his history with Jenna.”

  Jackson looked down at the ground. He hated the feelings that were rolling around in his gut right now. They made him feel immature and weak and reminded him of the powerless sway his emotions held over him before he started going to church.

  “Things are going so well with Jenna right now. But it’s all new, you know? Tentative. I don’t know if she’s even planning to stay On Island or what’s next. I’ve been afraid to push her, so I haven’t told her how I feel or what I want. I know she’s vulnerable and I probably shouldn’t push things too fast. Knowing that Steve is trying to worm his way back in her life … I feel sick.”

  “Maybe you should go up to the hospital with Jenna,” Jimmy suggested.

  Jackson shook his head. “That’s the last thing I need. I can’t imagine his reaction if I show up there. Jenna doesn’t need me going all caveman on her. I can trust her. She was burned by him before and I’m sure she has her guard up.”

  Beau clapped a hand on his shoulder and grinned. “You’re a good man, Jackson. I mean, just as messed up as everyone else, but still. Good.”

  Jackson chuckled. “Thanks, I think?”

  “We’ve got to get back, Jimmy. Load her up!” Beau called to the other firemen who were lounging around the back of the truck. Jimmy patted Jackson on the back before following Beau.

  “Maybe I’m the odd man out, but I wouldn’t let that guy anywhere near my girl,” Cash said. “For what it’s worth. It’s not caveman. You’re being practical, protecting your woman. Just my opinion. Anyway, see you later and let me know if you need anything.”

  Jackson got in his Jeep as the cruiser and the fire truck turned around in the small cul-de-sac and headed off. When he got to the entrance to Jenna’s neighborhood, he hesitated, hand on the blinker. Left, toward his house. Right, toward the hospital. He wanted nothing more than to put everything on the line. To reassure Jenna that he was going to be there no matter what, not to let his fears and his jealousy and mistrust of Steve affect the way he behaved. Would she feel comforted if he showed up at the hospital or smothered?

  With a silent prayer that he was making the right choice, Jackson turned left and headed away from the woman he had no doubt he loved.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jenna had felt like an intruder in Ethel’s house. It was one thing talking with Ethel in the matching living room chairs, and another altogether going inside without them. Especially seeing Bob’s chair turned over along with the tray table next to him. Her stomach dropped.

  Had he fallen right here? Or was this from the stretcher and the team of paramedics? Somehow, she didn’t think professionals would be so careless, even in a hurry. There was a dark spot that still looked damp on the rug. Was that blood? Her stomach turned a little, but Jenna found a dish towel in the kitchen and soaked it in cold water, pressing it to the spot. The rag quickly turned pink and her stomach rolled again.

  She gave up on the stain, leaving the rag in the washing machine. She needed to get Steve’s number and get to the hospital. When she told Ethel that she didn’t have his number, Ethel said she could find his work and cell on the refrigerator. Sure enough, there was a typed sheet with contact numbers stuck to the fridge with magnets made from seashells. The sight made her suck in her breath. Her mother had a similar one on the side of the fridge that neither she nor Rachel had taken down. Ethel’s sheet looked just like her mom’s: a neatly typed sheet that had been taken over with hand-written notes in various colors of pen.

  Steve’s number was third, below Jenna’s mom and Steve’s older brother Jeff. Jenna saved both brothers’ numbers in her phone and started calling as she hurried through the house, turning off lights. His cell rang and rang. Hearing Steve on the voicemail recording made her jaw clench. Where was he and why hadn’t he answered his phone?

  “Shoot me a text or something so I know you got this. Or call your mom. I’ll probably see you up at the hospital,” Jenna said before hanging up. She would stay as long as Ethel needed her, but she really hoped she could avoid seeing Steve.

  It wasn’t just that he was suddenly unavailable when his parents needed him. Thinking back to the week before when Steve had showed up at her house sent waves of unpleasant feelings through her. A part of her had felt the pull of nostalgia, eve
n as she felt sure she needed to keep herself guarded from him. Though if she had been reading his signals correctly, he might have been tentatively feeling her out for interest. The thought made her shudder. She was with Jackson now.

  Wasn’t she?

  They had spent most of the last five days together. It felt serious, which should have scared her. Especially with Rachel’s warning popping into her mind every so often. But the more time they spent together, the more Jackson started to feel like a necessary part of her life. Someone she didn’t know if she wanted to live without. And yet, he still hadn’t even asked her to be his girlfriend. Every look, every touch, every kind gesture seemed to indicate how he felt, but he hadn’t put it in words. Even the way he challenged her—albeit gently—about the way she had shut God out, even that spoke volumes about his feelings.

  So why hadn’t he said anything? Maybe she had been out of the game too long. She had a terrible track record with men: Steve, Mark, and a handful of guys in college who were hardly memorable. Who’s to say she wasn’t reading all the signs wrong?

  And then there was that mysterious phone call on the deck. Had he really been talking to Mercer? She had caught the genuine smile on his face and the way his body hunched, like he was trying to hide from view. When she had stepped onto the deck, Jackson had immediately gotten off the phone. Though she had missed them with Mark, Jenna knew the signs of unfaithfulness. Furtive phone calls? Sign number one. Mercer was young and beautiful and they worked closely together. Maybe their relationship was more than professional. It wouldn’t be the first time Jenna had fallen for a man who had another woman.

  Now Jenna’s stomach was in knots. This was exactly why Rachel had warned her about Jackson. It was clear even after a few days that he was completely capable of breaking her heart. Because if she was being honest, she had already given it to him.

  Focus. She needed to focus on the task at hand. Feeling like she was violating some kind of code, Jenna went into Ethel and Bob’s room to pack up an overnight bag. Surprisingly, the room had a minimalistic bent. Whereas the rest of the house had gold-framed paintings and upholstery and drapes, the bedroom had a simple white duvet, wooden plantation shutters on the windows with only gauzy white curtains, and a classic Oriental rug as the only real pop of color or richness.

  Jenna grabbed a quilted bag in Ethel’s closet and packed up a pair of soft gray pajamas, two pairs of underwear, a few shirts, a cardigan, and a small, matching toiletry bag that she found in the bathroom, already packed with a small bottle of lotion, a lipstick, and toothpaste. Before she left, she grabbed the book that sat on Ethel’s bedside table, a cozy mystery with a cat on the front.

  She tried Steve’s work number as she jogged to her car. Seeing Jackson lock up her front door, Jenna’s storm of emotion rose to the surface. He seemed like he belonged there—on the front porch of her childhood home with a key in hand. She wanted him there. Not at this house, but wherever home was. The realization sent a sharp wave of panic through her and she practically sprinted to the car, giving him a brief wave. Later. They could work this out later. She could ask him about the phone call, maybe press him for how he felt about her. No, that felt needy and desperate.

  It took ten minutes to get to the new hospital. Well, new to Jenna. As of ten years before, you would have had to go by ambulance to the mainland. Now there was a very out-of-place, shiny glass box of a hospital on the main causeway, six miles south of her neighborhood. On Islanders referred to it as the Cube.

  It wasn’t hard to find Ethel and Bob, and Jenna had no trouble getting back to see them. Walking through the whishing automatic doors, Jenna was hit suddenly with the loss of her mother and it almost took her breath away.

  For her mother, there had been no worried hospital visits. No late nights. No talks with doctors or slow decline. No warning at all. Jenna had talked to her mom just a few days before she died—a totally normal phone call. Nothing special. After hearing the news, Jenna replayed that conversation over and over again in her mind, trying to remember if she had said “I love you” before hanging up.

  When she was just a girl, her mother had spent weeks before Jenna’s grandmother passed in the hospital. Her father made frozen dinners for Rachel and Jenna, barely holding down the fort. A few times he drove them up to the county hospital Off Island where her mom had a makeshift bed set up on the plastic-y couch. Her grandmother looked terrifying, like a shell of a woman, her eyes always closed, mouth always open. She remembered her mom massaging lotion into Jenna’s grandmother’s skin and applying balm to her cracked lips.

  Though she felt relieved that she hadn’t had to watch her mother waste away, Jenna felt somehow robbed that she didn’t have the opportunity to care for her mother the same way. To rub lotion on her elbows, to hold a straw to her lips with water, to read books to her, even as she slept. Jenna did not think of herself as a natural caregiver, but she would have been for her mom. She would have loved that job.

  Before walking into Bob’s room, Jenna waited in the hallway until she felt like she could talk without tears spilling over her cheeks. Between worries about Jackson, frustration with Steve, and the ache of missing her Mom, Jenna’s emotions threatened to unravel her.

  “He’s asleep,” Ethel said as Jenna gave her a hug. In this setting, Ethel looked much older and frailer. Bob, too, hooked up to machines monitoring all the normal things.

  “What do they think happened? Is he okay?”

  Ethel sighed. “Nothing’s broken, but he had a nasty cut on the back of his head. They stitched that up and are waiting for an MRI in the morning. I guess they can’t be that concerned if they’re not doing it tonight.”

  That or they didn’t have the facilities or ability to do it now, Jenna thought. “I saw the blood on the rug. I did my best to put water on it, but it’s probably going to stain.”

  Ethel waved a hand. “A rug is a rug.”

  Jenna handed her the duffle bag she had packed. “I brought this for you.”

  “Oh, you are such a dear. Thank you. I’m stuck here since I rode with the ambulance.”

  “I’m sure we can get your car up here, or I can drive you home and let you bring it back tomorrow or something.”

  “Steve can probably help. Did you get ahold of him?”

  Jenna shook her head. “I left a message. Did you try him? He probably didn’t recognize my number.”

  “I’ll try again in a bit,” Ethel said. “Nothing he can do now.”

  Nothing except be here. Jenna felt anger rise again, clogging her throat. She felt oddly protective of his parents, without having her own to protect. And of all the things causing her emotions to flare, she’d rather focus on this anger than the concern of what was happening with Jackson and the thoughts of her mom.

  “Child, go home. You look exhausted. We are fine here. Bob is stable and, thanks to you, I have what I need to stay. Go.”

  She touched Ethel’s arm. “Okay. Please let me know if I can do anything tomorrow. I can bring whatever you need. Or just run you home to shower and get the car if you can’t reach Steve. Don’t hesitate to call, okay? Just get some sleep if you can.”

  When Jenna left the room, Ethel was tucked into the hospital-issue recliner next to the bed, a taupe-y faux leather chair that probably was incredibly uncomfortable. Jenna’s chest ached. Rage continued to bubble up toward Steve and his brother, Jeff. She had left a message for Jeff, too. He didn’t live On Island, but close by and could have been here within an hour. Ethel shouldn’t be alone. Here in the hospital, or even in the day-to-day at their house. With Bob’s size and his dementia, it wasn’t safe or fair.

  For a smaller hospital, Jenna struggled to find her way out of The Cube. The emotions pressing down on her didn’t help. Jenna ran straight into a wall of a man as she rounded a corner.

  “Whoa, there!”

  Not just any man: Steve. She immediately tried to back up, but he held onto her arms, a little too tightly, forcing her to stay in his spa
ce. She glared. He smiled.

  “Where’s the fire?”

  The crooked grin on his face, the one that used to make her teenaged heart flutter, filled her with rage. “Steve, I’ve been calling you. Your father is up there in a hospital bed and your mother is sleeping in a chair. Where have you been?”

  Of all the things her anger could do, it released her tears. Hot and sudden, they spilled over her cheeks and made her voice tremble. Today—this week—it had all been too much.

  Steve’s smile disappeared, replaced with concern that only made her more angry and made the tears come faster. He pulled her gently into his chest and she sobbed against him, even as she tried to pull away. After a moment, she gave up and let him hold her. It felt familiar and also wrong somehow, but she didn’t have the energy to fight him.

  “Aw, Jenna. I always hated to see you cry. I’m so sorry you couldn’t get me. I was out on a boat. Can’t always hear the phone over the engine. I’m so glad you were able to be here for her since I couldn’t. You have always been so good to my mom. Thank you. It means a lot to me.”

  These last words were little more than a murmur, his breath moving in her hair. Jenna stiffened, and felt a shudder move through her. Finding her strength, she shoved Steve back. They still stood in the middle of a busy hallway near a waiting room. Hospital sounds filled her ears at once and she felt instantly mortified. She stepped closer to the wall and out of the way of a nurse who shot them both a dirty look.

  Steve leaned against the wall and ran a hand over his jaw. A pleased smile made her want to smack him. The tan line from his ring looked less pronounced and his cheeks were either sun- or wind-burned. His eyes, now that she was looking, had deep circles beneath them.

  “You should get up there and see your parents.”

  His smile widened. “Always thinking of other people. That’s my girl. I’m glad my family means so much to you.”

  Her brain had short-circuited when he called her his girl. She wasn’t a girl. Or his.