“It’s more than okay,” he said and kissed her before she made him open the package. In it he found a key ring. Attached to the ring was a silver oval with an engraving on one side of an image of the Dickensian Inn. On the other side were the words, God bless us, every one.
Jackson was surprised at how emotional he felt when he looked at it, and when he thought of being able to carry it with him wherever he went. As if she’d read his mind, she said, “Keys are something that go with a man nearly everywhere he goes. I want you to always be reminded of your time here, and your time with me, of course. And every time you look at it, I want you to remember that there’s always room at the inn.”
Chas was surprised to have him look up, a glisten of moisture in his eyes. “Thank you,” he said and hugged her tightly. “It’s perfect.” He slipped the key ring over one finger and took her face in his hands to kiss her before he murmured against her lips, “It’s been a perfect Christmas; everything has been perfect—especially being with you.” He kissed her again. “The only thing that could make it better would be having Granny here with us.”
“Yes,” she said, “but somehow I think she is.”
“Yes, I think she is.”
Hearing the children nearby brought them back to the moment, and they worked together to clean up the mess from the wrappings and put all the paper and boxes into the recycling can outside. They all worked together to put on Christmas dinner, although it wasn’t much work with all the preparations they had done previously. After sharing a beautiful meal in the family dining room, then cleaning it up, they all gathered around the table to play games until it was time to pull out leftovers for supper. After eating and having some hot chocolate along with remnants of their Christmas goodies, Charlotte and the children went home, and Polly went to visit some friends. Chas and Jackson sat down together to watch one of the many versions of A Christmas Carol. Again Chas cried, then they talked until late about the depth and magnitude of the story, and what an amazing miracle Dickens had been a part of in writing it.
“He was an amazing man,” Chas said.
“You inherited your grandmother’s admiration for him,” Jackson said. “Although I agree completely—speaking from his writings, that is. I think the writings are a testament of a great man, even though I know very little about him personally.”
“They say that David Copperfield is highly autobiographical. Some things are right out of his life, and some things seem to be how he would have liked his life to turn out. I’ve read a few different biographies, actually.”
“That’s impressive,” he said.
“I figured if I was going to run an inn with his name on it, I should know something about the man. I wanted to read multiple biographies so I could see what the different viewpoints might be, and what facts appeared in all of them. I think I got a pretty good overview of the man.”
“Really?” Jackson turned more toward her. “I’m very interested. Tell me.”
“Well, obviously it’s late and there’s far too much to tell in one conversation, but I can let you borrow the books—or perhaps just the best of the three.”
“I’d like that,” he said, “but I want to hear your summary of Charles Dickens.”
“I believe he was terribly unhappy. His childhood was difficult, and I believe it traumatized him emotionally in ways from which he never recovered. He wasn’t perfect, by any means, and I don’t agree with all of the choices he made, but I can understand why he made them, given his baggage, so to speak. What I believe is truly remarkable is that he actually devoted an enormous amount of time and energy to promoting the causes he wrote about. His influence effected a great many changes in prisons and schools and workhouses. No matter what mistakes he may have made in his life, he did a lot of good. As you said, his writings stand as a testament to the man. But he did a lot of writing for periodicals that had nothing to do with his novels, and he did a lot of good through that and many other avenues. He truly is one of my heroes.”
“As he should be,” Jackson said. “Who are your other heroes?”
“I don’t have many.”
“Tell me.”
“Martin,” she said.
“Of course. He’s one of my heroes, too.”
“Really?”
“He took good care of you, and you loved him. He died a hero’s death.”
“I didn’t look at it that way until you said what you did when we first talked about him. I’ve been grateful for the perspective you’ve given me.”
“Who else?”
“Joseph Smith,” she said.
“Ah, the first Mormon Prophet.”
“In the latter days,” she corrected. “You have been listening at church.”
“A little,” he said. “Anyone else?”
“You,” she said, and he looked at her with dubious surprise. “I’m serious. I think you’re an amazing man.”
“Maybe you don’t know me well enough to know whether or not I’m a hero.”
“If you ever do anything to fall from hero status, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
“You do that,” he said.
They talked more about Dickens, and recounted what a great holiday it had been. Then they both reluctantly said goodnight and went to their separate rooms about the time Polly came home.
During the following week, they stayed busy with outings and projects, trying to drag out the holiday mood as long as possible, especially while the inn was closed and there was no business to attend to. Chas dreaded the new year as much as she knew Jackson did, but neither of them voiced their thoughts. They just spent every possible minute together, collecting memories to carry them through their inevitable time apart. And for all that Chas dreaded his leaving, she could not go an hour without feeling gratitude for the time that he’d been able to spend with her. Whether he believed it or not, he truly was one of her heroes.
CHAPTER 14
Not a word was said about Jackson having to leave until New Year’s Day was behind them and the inn was once again open for business. The bomb was dropped at breakfast.
“I have to go back,” he said.
“I know.”
“I have a flight booked the day after tomorrow.”
Chas set her fork down and took a deep breath. She was determined to not complain. She’d known it was coming, and she’d had him here far longer than she’d hoped for or expected. In truth, she had to wonder if a part of her had been in some level of denial all along. They had helped each other through some tough things, and they had helped each other heal old wounds. But perhaps permanent just wasn’t feasible, and never would be. She wanted to beg him to stay, but in her deepest self she was convinced that this was the end, and she would be a fool to expect anything more once he left the inn and returned to the life from which he’d been hiding. She needed to prepare herself for that, whether she wanted to or not. She found some peace in believing that they would probably always keep in touch, and perhaps her influence on him would leave enough of an impression that he might one day be led to embrace the gospel. If such a thing were possible, she could never begrudge anything else.
Recalling that he was still here and she needed to make the most of it, she tried to sound positive as she said, “So, what do you want to spend your last two days here doing?”
“As long as I’m with you every waking moment, I don’t care.”
They filled those days with good memories, long conversations, and even a few tears. It was impossible to ignore any longer the imminent separation, nor the dark cloud that hung over their time together as they counted the remaining hours. They speculated over the possible outcomes of the situation, but neither of them could say for sure that marriage was the best choice, even though neither of them could even consider the possibility that it wasn’t. But Chas felt certain that for all of his hopeful speculations on the future, he just wasn’t being realistic, and it wouldn’t take long for him to merge back into his life in Virginia and r
ealize that this had all been just a dream.
On the morning that Chas knew Jackson was leaving, they shared breakfast as usual while Polly was already at work in the office down the hall. They had very little to say to each other, and it felt to Chas like a death in the family all over again.
After the meal, Chas worked in slow motion to clean up the kitchen, knowing that Jackson was finishing his packing and saying farewell to the room where he’d stayed for weeks. She felt desperate and terrified when she heard him coming down the stairs, then she could tell that he was setting his luggage near the door. A moment later she found him standing in the doorway to the kitchen, looking exactly as she felt. The fact that he shared her grief was somewhat of a comfort.
“I should stay, Chas,” he said, and she wanted to hit him for making this more difficult. “I’ll call and cancel the flight. I’ll cancel everything. There’s no reason I ever have to leave here. Ever!”
“Stop it! Just stop it!” she shouted and slammed the refrigerator door.
“Stop what?” he demanded.
“Stop . . . pretending that . . . some . . . permanent happily-ever- after is going to automatically happen for us. You’re a city man, Jackson. And your work is in your blood. We both know it.”
Jackson felt astonished. “What are you saying?” She couldn’t answer. “Don’t you want me to come back? To stay?”
“I do,” she said. “But it’s . . . not realistic. Maybe you just need to be in the city, and I need to be here.”
“I’m tired of the city, Chas. And my work stopped making me happy a long time ago. Being here is what makes me happy. Suddenly the things I thought I needed to do there don’t seem so important.”
“It is important, and you’re kidding yourself if you think it’s not.”
Jackson was hearing a side of her he didn’t understand, but he felt the need to defend himself. “Do you really think I’m so coldhearted and stubborn that I couldn’t leave all of that behind and—”
“Stop it!” she said again and turned her back to him. “You’re not coldhearted; not by any standard. But you’re living in a fantasy world here, Jackson. You’re miles away from the reality of your life. The time that you’ve spent here is just like . . . some Hallmark movie. It’s sappy and sweet and tender, and even the commercials make you cry. But ten o’clock comes, the movie ends, and real life goes on. Don’t stand there and tell me that you can give up everything for me, when you don’t even know what you’re giving up.” She turned to face him. “You can’t make a decision like that while you’re here like this.” She shook her head, and tears trickled down her face. “You can’t stay here when you’ve run away from home and left all kinds of holes in the life you were living. Those holes would start to eat at you, Jackson. You would never find peace.”
Jackson took a step back and looked at the floor. He had to swallow hard and cough to keep from crying. The silence beyond her sniffling became torturous until he said with a quaver in his voice, “You know what? You’re right. I hate it. But you’re right.”
He looked up to gauge her reaction. She shook her head again, and her tears increased. “No,” she muttered, “you’re not supposed to agree with me. You’re supposed to argue and convince me that . . . you should stay, that you should never leave me.”
“How can I when you’ve just given me such a convincing argument, Chas? You’re right. We both know you’re right. I have to go back. I have to face what I left behind.”
She nodded and started to cry so hard she couldn’t speak. He put his arms around her, and she clutched his shoulders tightly. “And then what?”
“I don’t know, Chas. I thought I knew what I wanted; now I’m not so sure. Maybe I’m not the right man for you, but maybe I’ve convinced you that you need a man in your life.”
“Not unless it’s you,” she muttered and lifted her lips to his.
Their kiss was long and full of fear. He took her wet face into his hands. “I love you, Chas. I will come back, but whether that is to visit or stay, I suppose I need time to tell.”
She nodded and kissed him again, then she turned her back and said, “Go. Go or you’ll miss your flight. Call and let me know you made it home safely.”
“I will,” he said and left the room. Then she heard him come back. “I will come back, Chas.”
“Maybe,” she said. “And maybe you’ll decide one day that it’s best to just enjoy the memories for what they are and move on with your life. One day, when you just stop calling, I’ll know that it’s time to move on with mine.”
“I love you,” he said again and left the room. She heard him pick up his bags, then the door opened and closed again. Chas moved to a chair and cried as if someone she loved had just died. She knew the feeling well.
Throughout the remainder of the day, Chas tried not to watch the phone or think that every time it rang it might be Jackson. Determined as she was to keep her focus elsewhere, she still held her breath each time it rang, and was always disappointed when she glanced at the caller ID. And he’d only left hours ago. She was just checking doors and lights before going to bed when the phone in her hand rang. She looked at it, letting out a squeal of laughter as she read the little screen: Leeds, Jackson T. In a voice more calm she answered, immediately saying, “It’s you.”
“It is me,” he said, and just the sound of his voice soothed her.
“You made it home safely?”
“I did,” he said. “Is everything okay there?”
“Everything except . . . it is pretty quiet. No guests tonight. Polly’s on a date.” At the risk of gushing, she added, “I miss you already.”
“I miss you, too . . . a lot. Can I admit that I’ve never felt as lonely being alone in this house as I do now?”
“Oh, yes. You can admit that. Can I admit that I know exactly how you feel?”
“Oh, yes.”
“I wish I could take it back,” she said. “When you said you would stay, and I talked you out of it. I wish I could take it back.”
“But you can’t, and you wouldn’t. I thought a great deal about what you said. In fact, I don’t think I thought of anything else during the flight. You’re a very wise woman, Chas. It’s one of the things I love about you. And I think you hit the nail right on the head. I’m ashamed to say that I couldn’t see it myself. But I know you’re right. If we’re going to be together, it can’t be with any doubts, or with unfinished business that might end up coming between us. Given that, and all the time I’ve spent thinking, there’s something I need to say.”
“Okay,” she said and steeled herself.
“It’s not easy to say, Chas, but it has to be said. I want to be with you, but I have to make sure I’m in a position to give you what you deserve, and I’m not sure I’m the man to do that.” Chas put a hand over her mouth to hold back her emotion, glad that he couldn’t see the tears rolling down her face. Was he trying to break it off completely? Even though a part of her had been trying to accept that it would probably come to this, she wasn’t ready. Had it only taken this many hours for him to decide that it was over between them? Her relief was indescribable when he added, “I need time, Chas, because if I’m going to commit my life to you, I don’t want it to ever go bad. I would rather have you love me in memory than come to hate me because I couldn’t give you what you deserve.” He became silent, but she couldn’t answer without letting on to her emotion. “Are you there?” he asked. “Chas?”
“I’m here,” she finally said.
“You’re crying.”
“Yes, I’m crying. However wise or practical this might be, I hate it. I want you in my life, Jackson.”
“I want you in my life too,” he said earnestly. “And with any luck, it will end up that way. But you were right about not making decisions under such circumstances. We just need time. All I was trying to say is that . . . given some time to think, I’ve figured out why I need time. Be patient with me.”
“Of course.” She
sniffled. “Does this mean we officially have a long-distance relationship?”
He chuckled. “It would seem that way.”
“Okay, I just . . . need some parameters here. If you see another woman socially, or romantically—at all—I need to know; I need you to be completely honest with me.”
“Chas,” he said gently, “I said I needed time. There’s isn’t going to be another woman. I’m not trying to choose a flavor of ice cream, Chas. I already know which flavor is right for me. I just need to decide if I’m the kind of man who should have ice cream at all.” He chuckled. “That is the most ridiculous metaphor I have ever come up with.”
“It made perfect sense. And I’m glad to know I’m the right flavor.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“What if some other guy comes along who—”
“Have you seen the town I live in?”
“Yes, but you run an inn. You never know when some mysterious man will show up and change your life.”
“Such things only happen once in a lifetime, Jackson. And it’s already happened. I love you. I will always love you. And until I have solid evidence that you’re not going to pursue a life with me, I’m going to be counting on that. I would just prefer that when you figure it out, you tell me straight—as opposed to just . . . not calling me . . . or avoiding my calls, or something equally male and immature.”
“I would never do that.”
“I know. I’m just paranoid. Can I admit that I’m paranoid?”
“Yes, because I’m paranoid, too. I’m afraid that when you pray for the answer, God will tell you I’m not the right one, after all. But until that happens, I’ll be calling you . . . a lot.”
The Best of Times: A Dicken's Inn Novel Page 23