"You're asking me to disappoint you," I said.
She wheeled her wagon to the cash register. I followed. "You know I'm not asking you to give anything up, right? I'm asking you to expect more. I'm asking you to care about someone and let that person care about you too. I'm asking you to try it out and see what happens. I'm asking you to invite someone into your bed when they mean something to you and not only when it's entertaining. And don't misunderstand me when I say someone. If you're happy with more than one person, then I'm happy. If you tell me you're settling down with the Seven Dwarfs, well, honey, I'll just have to find room for them at the supper table on Sundays. But I want you to try caring and being cared for. You haven't let yourself do it in too long."
"You said it yourself. I'm fine when I follow my own path."
She tipped her head to the side as a frown pulled at her lips. "That's just it. You're not following your path. You haven't in ages. Do you really think I can't see the way you hold everyone at a distance, even Ash and Magnolia? Do you believe I haven't noticed you drowning yourself in all the available fish in the sea these last few years? Or that it's been much more than a few years since—"
"Hell fucking no," I interrupted. "No. We're not talking about that. I will stand here and listen while you say these things and make these ridiculous demands but I'm not hashing that out with you."
After a pause, she said, "You should hash it out with someone."
I didn't say anything. I didn't really know what to say. Arguing was pointless. Defending my quiet, calm existence wouldn't get me anywhere. Being a moody bastard wouldn't help either. Carving through layers of scar tissue and fossilized memories would solve nothing.
Eventually, I managed, "I'm sorry I snapped at you just now. And that you feel you need to give me a kick in the ass—"
She reached into her purse. "Oh, stop it. Enough apologies."
"Fine." I ran a hand through my beard. "Then I'm not sorry."
"Now you're just being belligerent. I don't need that attitude from you on top of everything else." She beamed up at the cashier. "I have the azalea and three mums, and I'd also like the dogwood back there. The big one. Can you deliver that this week?"
"Why am I even here?" I mumbled.
"Because it pleases me to spend time with you."
"Even when you're driving me crazy by overplanting your yard and meddling in my personal life?"
She nodded. "Especially then. Remember what I said, young man. Find a date for my party or I'll find one for you."
Instead of fulfilling tree warden responsibilities in Scituate, I went straight home after leaving the garden center. It was fine. The trees would manage without me for another day or two but I would not manage if I didn't talk to Jasper today.
Also, I had to get that conversation with my mother out of my head, and obsessing over someone taking a job on another continent and abandoning their wife worked wonders. I didn't understand how such a thing could occur or why anyone would stay in a hollowed-out marriage.
Then again, I'd spent the last week with my brain throbbing in my jeans because Jasper was in my shower and I wasn't there with her to experience any of it, and nothing outside the criminality of that made sense to me.
She baked biscuits every day now. They weren't awful. They served as a handy distraction when I arrived home every evening and wandered through the rooms as if I'd find a forgotten pair of panties waiting for me. The biscuits helped. Nothing like carbs to keep from barging next door, throwing your neighbor over your shoulder, taking her to your bed.
Yeah, the biscuits helped with that. The exterior was dry enough to require a full glass of milk to wash them down, and there was nothing like chugging milk at the kitchen sink to cool thoughts of mouthy women mouthing off at me in bed.
Mostly.
Enough that I didn't bang on her door.
What I did in the shower was another story.
And that was the reason I needed to know why her husband lived overseas and—apparently—had a fiancée there too. Those were only two of the reasons I hated the guy.
How anyone could just up and leave their wife was a mystery to me. And how could she accept that? She came at me hissing and spitting when I carried a couple of boxes for her. How could she tolerate a husband walking out of her life and still allow him use of that title?
Maybe it was an immigration status marriage. Or a health insurance marriage. Or something that wouldn't inspire outright loathing in me for the man.
Those were the questions on my mind as I turned down the dogleg bend of my street—and spotted a pair of fire trucks outside Jasper's house, lights flashing and firefighters streaming around her property.
"Jasper."
Once my heart got back to beating and I wheezed out a breath, I steered the truck to the side of the cul-de-sac, out of the way of the fire trucks.
There I was able to confirm that neither the house nor the yard was in flames, the firefighters were ambling in and out of the house without urgency, and the only concern seemed to be a charred box on the driveway.
As I exited the vehicle, I spotted Jasper sitting on the curb. She had her legs folded in front of her and her arms braced on her thighs. The red skirt she wore was wet and dirty, and her navy blue sweater wasn't in any better shape. Her head was bowed like she was praying or meditating but I doubted she did much of either. Didn't seem the type.
I dropped down beside her and stretched my legs out. "How's it going, Jas?"
She sniffled. I handed her a bandana from my back pocket and she accepted, saying, "We can't keep doing this."
"What's this?"
"You coming over here and handing me a hanky because I'm crying again. I have a reputation to uphold, and routinely needing a hanky or any other rescue isn't part of it. I'll have you know I once managed twelve hours with a broken finger before leaving the office to see a doctor and there was another time when I worked a full week while I had pneumonia."
"Those are not the badges of honor you think they are, but sure, I'll stop handing out the hankies. That's one way to fix a problem that doesn't exist."
"You're very rude," she said on a sob.
I glanced away as she blotted her eyes. "Sorry."
"You can ask," she said.
"About what? I need you to be more specific."
She waved a hand at the fire truck in front of us. "About this."
"Okay." I ran my fingers through my beard as I watched several firefighters pile into the truck. "What's going on here?"
She gave a pathetic little shrug that squeezed my heart. "Oh, you know. Just a small fire in the kitchen."
"Please tell me it wasn't the crockpot."
"Nope." Another shrug and I ached. "The toaster oven."
I glanced to the driveway again and the box abandoned there. It was about the right size for a countertop oven.
"I was making some toast for lunch and—"
"What do you mean, you were making toast for lunch? That's not lunch."
She turned her tearstained face to me, her expression as fierce as ever. "Toast is a perfectly appropriate lunch."
"It's…it's just bread, Jas."
She gave me a look that said I knew nothing. Not a single thing in the whole world. "I take my toast very seriously. It's my favorite thing to eat, and fancy toast can be—"
"Fancy toast? What the fuck is fancy toast?"
She planted her hands on the grass behind her and leaned back, her face upturned to the late September sun. "Not really in the mood to go another round with you on toast today. I don't have a lot of favorite things but toast is one of them and I'm not defending it to you right now."
The second fire truck pulled away.
"Come on." I pushed to my feet and held out a hand to her. "Up you go."
She studied my hand for a beat before accepting. "Thank you."
I dragged a glance over her clothes. "Is it safe inside?"
"Yeah, it wasn't too bad. Just a small fireball
in the toaster. Everything except my lunch is salvageable."
"Then go change into something else. Like those yoga pants girls like you wear."
"Yoga pants? That girls like me wear?"
I crossed my arms. "You know what I mean. You, my sister, my mom, my future sister-in-law, women everywhere."
"And why do I need yoga pants specifically?"
"Because I have to check on some trees and you're coming with me. Do you have normal shoes?"
"Normal shoes," she repeated under her breath. "Wow."
"You can't wear those"—I motioned toward her pretty heels—"in the woods."
She gave me a long, measured look. "So, I need the yoga pants that girls like me wear and normal shoes. Because we're going to see some trees."
I jabbed a finger toward her front door, still standing open. "Stop repeating me and get dressed. You can be outraged when we hit the road."
Jasper absently smoothed her hands down her skirt. "The kitchen is going to be a mess. I should deal with that."
"It will be a mess later." Then, because I couldn't help it, not really, I added, "Come on now, Peach. Let's get you out of here for a bit. You need a break."
After a pause, Jasper nodded and marched into the house. I stared after her longer than necessary, longer than made any damn sense. Then I grabbed some heavy-duty gloves from the back of my truck. That burned-out oven would be better off cooling on the gravel-paved path along the opposite side of my house for now. She didn't need any more reminders.
When that was handled, I stored the gallon of stew my mother had plied me with in the fridge. That was when I spotted today's batch of biscuits—and Jasper's latest note.
Linden,
I could've explained why my husband left last week. What's changed?
~J
"Isn't that a great fucking question," I muttered to myself.
For the next five minutes, I waited in my truck, alternately screwing around on my phone and glancing next door. Rare was it that I brought anyone along with me to check trees but rare was Jasper. That was all I could say about this decision.
Soon enough, she stepped out her front door and I was smacked upside the head with my mistake. Jasper in skin-hugging yoga pants only emphasized how much those skirts and dresses of hers concealed. The loose-fitting shirt that skimmed her hips made me think about fisting the fabric and twisting it around my hand. The ponytail swishing behind her had the same effect.
I'd created this trap and now I'd fallen into it.
"Hey," Jasper said, a bit breathless as she opened the door. She settled in beside me and shot an arched eyebrow in my direction. "What?"
A grunt sounded in my throat before I managed, "Nothing."
"Oooookay."
We drove in silence for several minutes but it was comfortable silence. It was the sort of silence I favored in the morning, between the states of sleep and stepping into the woods for the first time that day.
I looked after all the trees on public land in Scituate, which was handy since I did that in Hingham and Cohasset too, and these towns shared craggy, skeleton key borders. Today my concern was an old maple in the Conservation Park. This slab of protected land sat wedged between two golf courses and two rivers, with the Massachusetts Bay as its southeastern border. It was a coastal marsh with a relatively young woodland and the town was eager to preserve the land. It was one of my favorite spots on the southeast coast.
"I think it goes without saying but I don't want there to be any surprises. I am not what anyone would call an experienced hiker." Jasper scrunched up her nose as if such a thing mortified her. "In case that was unclear."
I pulled into a spot in the empty parking lot and smiled over at her. "Yeah. I figured that out."
"I mean," she continued, "I can handle it. I'm used to running in heels and I grew up on a big spread in the country. I have a basic knowledge. I'll manage perfectly well—"
"I like how you're rattling off your bona fides while also making it clear you refuse to put up with anything but flat, dry terrain."
She pulled on the haughty, no help needed here face she relied on so much. "I'm preparing you for what will happen if I am forced to scale a mountainside or get whacked in the face with a branch or fall in the mud."
I gestured to the sea-level terrain. "Do you see any mountains here?"
Not interested in answering, Jasper exited the truck and took off in the wrong direction, that ponytail swinging behind her. I'd spent a lot of time thinking about her hair. Fantasizing could also be an appropriate term for this new fixation of mine. All of my previous thoughts involved her long waves loose around her shoulders, often spilling down like The Birth of Venus right there in my bedroom. I'd never imagined her hair tied back in a ponytail, exposing her long neck and the pale, delicate skin there.
It effectively doubled my fantasies.
I whistled to her, hooking a thumb over my shoulder when she turned. "This way. That direction is the marsh and you will fall in something cold and wet if you keep going."
Jasper fell in step with me and we started down the trail.
I waited until the parking lot fell out of view before asking, "How are you doing?"
"I'm all right," she replied automatically. "It was just a toaster oven."
"Okay, sure," I murmured. "I can roll with that but what about the part where there was a fire in your kitchen?"
"Not what I expected when I started out this morning, that's true."
I touched her elbow, pointing to the left. "This way. There's a maple I want to see that's down here."
We veered off the trail and I stepped closer to Jasper. If I was going to keep her out of mud and clear the way of errant branches, I had to stay within grabbing range.
"How does this work?" she asked. "Do you keep track of all these trees?"
"Yep."
"Like, every single one?"
I bobbed my head. "Yep. Every single one."
"And…you do this in other places too? Other towns and…I don't know how that's possible."
"I have maps. Diagrams." I smiled at her. The yoga pants really were a mistake. Something about her dresses had trapped my attention between her hips and breasts, and I'd skipped her legs altogether. Those pants allowed for no such oversight. She was on the short side but strong and sturdy—and I knew sturdy wasn't a word I could toss into complimentary conversation but it was an important piece of Jasper I'd missed from the start. She was sturdy as hell. Maybe it was strange but I wasn't sure there was anything more attractive. "I don't have to rely on memory, if that's what you're asking."
She pressed a palm to her forehead. "That is a very logical explanation and I can't believe that did not occur to me."
"No worries. My brother knows all these IRS forms and UCOA classifications, and it still baffles me how he can come up with that shit like it's nothing." I grazed my hand across her shoulders because I couldn't be here with her and stay fully apart. "I'm sure there's something you know from your work that baffles other people."
"There're a few." She barked out a laugh. "I can name every congressional district in every state. Where it is, what it's known for, who has been elected to the seat. Governors and senators too. All the counties in every swing state and their voter registration deadlines. Every secretary of state and when they're up for reelection."
"I take it you work in elections, then."
"Mmhmm. Something like that."
I gestured toward the woods. "I have the trees. You have that metric fuckton of information. Everyone has their thing, their bag of tricks."
"Why are you being so agreeable?" she said suddenly. "Why aren't you screaming at me about using appliances or nearly setting the whole house on fire? Why aren't you freaking out on me right now?"
I lifted my shoulders, let them drop. "Because I really need you to explain to me why your husband left you for a job overseas, and yelling about the old, wonky wiring in that house—which is not stable enough to run an oven a
nd a night-light at the same time—isn't going to get me that information. And I gotta tell you, Jasper, I can't think about the fire for more than a second without also thinking about forbidding you from staying there alone ever again. Since I doubt you want to revisit that discussion, I'm letting you tell me about the random shit you know."
Jasper stayed silent as we traveled deeper into the woodland. I didn't mind. I didn't interpret lulls in conversation as awkward, and since I spent much of my days alone, I didn't find the quiet bothersome. Even if Jasper was stewing over my comments.
Then, "I told you. His boss was appointed Special Envoy to Northern Ireland last year."
"Yeah, you said that. You also said your work can't pick up and move there. Why did he leave if he knew you couldn't follow?"
Jasper stopped walking, scanned the stand of trees around us, and settled her hands on her hips. "Haven't you ever married your best work friend because you hooked up one time after moving out of your ex-girlfriend's apartment? And that one time seemed like something you'd want to do on a permanent basis? And haven't you ever realized your best work friend is the last person you should've married because living together and sharing household chores is not nearly as entertaining as texting each other at midnight to complain about congressional aides? And haven't you ever stayed in something too long because ending it would be irrevocable, even if it was inevitable?"
"I haven't," I said slowly. "But I have ended a relationship with a woman and promptly moved onto one with a man, so I get that piece."
She laughed a bit, saying, "I like people. The anatomy comes second."
"Same." I shoved my hands in my pockets. It was difficult to stand here like this, holding myself separate and distant while Jasper unpacked her baggage. This wasn't the time to reach for her, even to offer comfort. She had to empty this particular bag before I could offer anything. "And now he's engaged."
Her rueful smile pinged my chest. "Sure is. We didn't even make it two years." She dragged the toe of her running shoe over a rock. "He asked for a divorce last month. Sent the papers last week. Right before you came over and hollered about my box-hauling technique." She laughed at that. "I knew it was coming but I wasn't prepared for it then. Not on top of everything else."
The Belle and the Beard Page 10