Yesterday Is Gone

by HJ Bellus

  “It’s time to go,” I say in a smooth voice.

  “Oh, what? Jessie wants something, I guess he takes care of it.” She drags out the five words, and they drip in venom and pain.

  “Not here, Jules.”

  She thumps a finger in my chest. “Fuck you, Jessie James.”

  Tessi interrupts her. “That’s the Cher song.”

  Jules doesn’t stop. “Fuck you, Jessie, you broke my heart. No, not only did you break my heart, you ruined it. I came to you telling you I was pregnant, and you dumped me like a rotten fish! You blocked me out like a pompous, self-serving dickhead, so you don’t have a right to say two words to me.”

  She whirls around with her arms raised in the air. “You all heard it! Spread it back to Boone. Jessie and I have a child. She’s not his, though, because he wanted nothing to do with her.” Her voice cracks, and the tears spill over. “I’m back because the guy I called my dad died. I was forced from this town, and now I’m only back to lay his dead body in the ground. If one of you pathetic fuckers dares speaks ill of my daughter, we’ll have words.”

  I know she’s not done with her rampage. It’s her uncontrollable sobbing that stops her. She doesn’t have any other choice than to collapse into my chest. Instinct takes over, and I hold her. Don’t like one fucking bit that the attention of the bar is focused on us. I lift her up into me; her legs wrap around my waist as my hands clutch her ass. It’s natural, and this is home.

  I jerk my chin to Brady. Tessi and he follow me out the door. I had two whiskeys, far from being drunk considering I could polish off a fifth of Crown Royal each night and still function. It’s what my life has come to. Brady tosses me his keys. I give him a jerk of the chin, striding to his truck.

  “Don’t let me go,” Jules manages to get out between sobs.

  I change my course and make my way to the passenger seat. I climb in, keeping Jules clutched to my front. We remain in the parking lot, sitting and not exchanging a word. I don’t move, letting her release everything she’s kept bottled up for years. It’s not a breakthrough with us but a baby step.

  Jules’ cries cease. Her body goes still, and I know she’s passed out. I don’t move. I kiss the top of her head and keep her clutched to my front for minutes that turn into hours. When the sun threatens to rise, I know it’s time to take her home.

  I move with ease, laying her across the bench seat and cradling her head in my lap as I drive. I don’t waste a second soaking everything about Jules in. Her emerald green eyes that pulled me in from kindergarten. Her wild antics and carefree personality that stole my heart right down to her out of control laughter. I remember it all. They’re the same things that have haunted my dreams.

  Her childhood home is silent when I carry her in, her light snores the only thing filling the space. It reminds me of the times we’d sneak out to the barn and spend the night together. We’d both hustle our asses home before the roosters crowed.

  Jane and my sweet Whit are cuddled up in Jules’ bed. I sneak back down to the living room and place Jules on the couch. She reaches up for me, snagging my t-shirt. She pulls me down to her.

  “I never stopped loving you, and I hate you for that, Jessie.”

  Her features slacken back to sleep. It’s a slice of hope and a dagger to the heart at the same time. After getting her bundled in blankets and her sandals wrestled off her feet, I creep back up to her bedroom and study Whit. God, that little girl has the ability to destroy me.

  Her features are miniature versions of Jules. She’s the light in the darkness. Everything that’s good. I swipe back her hair from her face and see she’s sleeping in one of my old high school shirts with a worn teddy clutched to her chest.

  It’s in this moment I know beyond anything certain that I’ll fight with everything to have this little girl in my life, even if it crushes Jules.

  Chapter 6

  Jules

  “She’s not dead, Nana.”

  “She’s probably going to wish she was,” she replies.

  I don’t even have the energy to groan. My throat is drier than hell. My head pounds and my stomach lurches with just the thought of waking up.

  “What does that mean, Nana?” Whit asks.

  “It just means your momma stayed up way too late and missed her bedtime.”

  “I get the mean, mean Momma face that makes me scared when I do that.”

  More rattling ensues with whatever the two are doing.

  “You’ll understand one day, lil’ pumpkin. It’s not easy being a momma.”

  “Yeah.”

  I can only picture my sweet Whit shrugging.

  “But is it bacon time?”

  Nana’s soft laughter echoes around the house. “Yes, it is.”

  The racket from the kitchen ricochets in my skull. My throat coats in dryness. It’s like the fucking Mojave Desert. I’m dying. I swear I’m two seconds away from death’s bed. I enter the state of being both exhausted and wide awake while the marching drum continues to beat out a steady rhythm in my head. My stomach decides to join in, tumbling and swirling around.

  Bathroom. I race upstairs just in time to pray to the porcelain gods then experience the worst case of whiskey shits. By the time Satan has exited my body, I’m done with the day, even though it’s barely eight in the morning. I collapse down on my bed, not once worried about what’s surrounding me. I nestle my cheek in my pink pillow, inhaling Whit’s innocent scent, and drift off to sleep, not one single thought on my mind.

  Giggles. Loud and genuine giggles break through my foggy haze as I stretch my arms above my head and gain my bearings. Yep, my head still swims and is murky as hell. I am never drinking again. Famous last words, I know, but still never tying on a knot like that one for a long, long damn time.

  I kick my legs over the bed. It takes several seconds for my body to kick in gear with what I’m hearing. On steady legs, I walk over to the window. I blink several times. The blinding light pierces through the crystal-clear glass. My heart seizes in my chest when the picture develops before me. It’s one I’ve dreamed of and feared at the same time.

  My fingertips go on autopilot, lifting up the old style paned window. The fresh breeze strikes across my flesh. It’s everything. I focus in on Whit prancing behind Jessie, who’s moving hand lines. Irrigating is a merciless game that must go on to make everything bountiful.

  His attention is on packing the pipe to the next area of pasture. Whit doesn’t pick up on the fact he’s concentrating as she rattles on.

  “So about the dance studio? Did you sign me up?”

  Jessie tosses down the pipe and rolls up the sprinklers. He peers over to her and nods. It’s not a firm answer. Whit takes it as one.

  “So, should I wear a purple or pink tutu? Will the girls like me? Do you think I’ll be the best dancer?”

  Whit’s questions trail Jessie as he strides to the end of the alfalfa hay to the main line. He jerks his head, giving Whit non-committal answers.

  “Honey.” Hands land on the tops of my shoulders. “You have to address that. She’s been magnetized to Jessie.”

  I remain silent. Even with the hangover, anger and hatred pour through. I’ll never forget those words Jessie so carelessly tossed at me. No matter how much I love him. Spoken words always leave an imprint. I’ll never forget them.

  “She loves him,” Nana goes on. “It was an immediate bond between those two. You know the months we visited you, your papa and I saw Jessie in Whit. She walked before she should’ve via the books and doctors. She was speaking full sentences at one, ready to control the world. It was Jessie’s drive.”

  Her fingertips dig into the tops of my shoulders, cementing her message. I’ve known it since Whit was born. Jessie’s ghost has taunted me around every corner. Her smile, her drive, and her giggle were all reminders of my greatest love. I never stopped loving that man, no matter how hard I fought to.

  I nod, acknowledging Nana’s words. It’s time, and I for one know it’s l
ong overdue. As Jessie walks back up the pipes to a clogged sprinkler, Whit prances behind him. He reaches back into his worn jeans, pulling out pliers. He works on it as Whit studies his every move. Soon enough, water spurts out. He doesn’t have the valve on the main line turned all the way on. Jessie gets distracted with his phone.

  His hand moves across the screen. I don’t even want to think about who he is texting. I have no idea if he’s married or has a loved one waiting on him. The thought threatens to make me sick once again.

  Whit grows bored. Naturally, she begins playing with the sprinkler while Jessie goes from texting to answering a phone call. His jaw tightens and shoulders go taut. Whoever he’s talking to, it’s not a pretty conversation. He punches his phone then slams it in his back pocket.

  Whit isn’t detoured, her front already soaked from the sprinkler. Jessie kneels down to whisper something to her. The pressure heightens, and she flicks the sprinkler right at his face. Dead-on bullseye. It takes Jessie moments to realize what she’s just done.

  I wait with baited breath to see his reaction. Nana walked away from behind me moments ago. Jessie peers down at his soaked shirt then back to Whit, who has the sprinkler aimed on him. She’s relentless in her efforts.

  Jessie doesn’t flinch or even react. Whit stands there, soaking the shit out of him. Her cries of laughter echo up to my room. Everything happens so fast. Jessie swoops down, grabbing our daughter in his arms. She giggles and laughs until the sprinkler is aimed on her. He soaks the ever-loving shit out of her.

  Their bodies become a blur as they whirl around in the sprinklers, carefree and happy as can be. I wipe away a stray tear, watching them as my head continues to pound, and I feel like my body has been run over by a Mack truck. Jessie swoops Whit in his arms and hoists her up on his shoulders.

  “So what about that dance class?” Whit’s hands grip the top of Jessie’s head as she leans forward, peering down at him.

  They now stand in the yard on the side of the house, making it easy to hear their conversation, clear as day.

  “Whit,” Jessie’s stature visibly droops, “things are complicated. Your momma isn’t my biggest fan, but I will talk to her.”

  “She probably thinks you’re a douche just like Aunty Lydia thinks Roman is.”

  I slap my hand over my mouth, hiding my smile and stifling my laughter. I swear that girl will never have a filter.

  “A douche?” Jessie cranes his neck to look at her. “And who in the hell is Roman?”

  “Momma’s boyfriend and my aunt Lydia calls him a douche, douche bag, or douche canoe.”

  “Your mom has a boyfriend?” he growls.

  “Yep, and between us, he’s a douche.”

  “Sounds like it.” Jessie glances up to the window.

  I don’t move. I can’t. I stare back down at him. My hand runs down the windowpane. I’m so damn confused right now. Nana is right. We have to talk. Figure shit out because it’s clear Jessie loves Whit and deserves the chance to get to know her. There’s no doubt at all in my mind that Whit is hopelessly and madly in love with Jessie. Just like her momma.

  I force myself into a hot shower even though the only thing I want to do is curl up and hide under my blankets for the rest of the day. My heart remains shattered. The fragments of the once-perfect organ ache in pain for so many different reasons. Silent tears cascade with the shower water. I’m left even more exhausted after drying off. I firmly put on my mask for the day and head downstairs. I have to be the strong one.

  The one thing I have missed about this small town is being able to dress in comfy clothes and not getting a sideways glance. Back in California, I’d get glares from other parents dropping Whit off at preschool in yoga pants and a hoodie. My bare feet slap down on the wood steps. I slide on a pair of worn and well-loved flip-flops once I’m at the bottom of the steps and tug down my shorts.

  “Ssshhh,” Whit holds her finger up to her lips, “I’m not ’pose to get into the brownies until after dinner.”

  “Well, maybe you should wait,” Jessie suggests, stepping back and running his hands through his hair.

  It’s now that I notice Whit is wearing his snapback on her head, backward. She shrugs, thinking about it for a few moments, before her tiny hand dives into the bag. She’s no dummy, offering Jessie one and insisting he take it. I know exactly what her train of thought is—if she’s going to get busted, Whit plans to take him down with her.

  I wait until they’ve both taken several bites out of the brownies then clear my throat. Both of their heads whip in my direction. Whit goes on autopilot mode to save her butt.

  “Momma, you look so beautiful.” She tucks the brownie behind her back.

  Jessie’s shoulders grow tight, and he takes a step back the closer I get.

  “Whit.” I point at her.

  “You really do, Momma. I love you.” She sways side to side with both hands tucked behind her back.

  I move fast, grabbing the half-eaten brownie from her and shoving it in my mouth. I lean down and kiss her cheek. A masculine scent that’s full of hard work, sweat, and fucking Jessie assaults me. It ignites parts of me that shouldn’t be paying a bit of attention.

  “Good try, little one. Now you won’t get one with dinner.”

  “Momma!” Her eyes go wide.

  When I don’t back down from my stance, her eyes grow watery, her bottom lip pops out, and the water works begin.

  “Whit.” I kneel down. “You knew you weren’t supposed to get into those, and you chose to anyway. This is a natural consequence.”

  “Jessie had one, too.” She points at him and barely gets the words out between sobs.

  “Well, he won’t be having any for dinner either,” I reply. Her cries grow louder. “Go on up to our room until you can calm down.”

  She stomps her foot and turns on Jessie. “Thanks a lot for sticking up for me.”

  Before she manages to make it all the way to the stairs, Jessie stops her and gives her the rest of his brownie and a long hug.

  “Will you take me up there?” Whit’s voice quavers.

  Jessie turns to look at me, waiting for approval. He pulls her to his chest, and Whit lays her head down on his shoulder, continuing to cry. A piece of the anger I’ve held for years dissipates when he begins whispering in her ear and patting her back.

  I sink back on the counter, grateful there’s still coffee around. I pour myself a cup, adding plenty of creamer. Jessie comes back down several minutes later.

  “Coffee?” I ask, holding out a mug. It’s an olive branch. I have to be civil with him.

  “Sure.” He nods, tucking his hands in his pockets.

  I don’t have to ask how he drinks it. I know. I know everything about the tall, sexy as hell man standing in the kitchen way too close to me.

  “She’s adjusting to the change. Whit doesn’t typically throw that big of a fit. She gets busted a lot doing things she’s been told not to. I’m certain she’s exhausted, overwhelmed, and confused.” I turn around, holding out his mug, to find Jessie mere feet from me.

  I step back only to have the edge of the counter bite into the bottom of my back. He doesn’t make a move to back up. Those whiskey-colored eyes soak me up. He doesn’t have to say a word. Everything is conveyed in his stare.

  “You’re fucking beautiful, Jules. I know I don’t have the right to tell you that, but it’s eating me up on the inside.”

  My hands tremble. I stretch it out, offering the coffee. Jessie’s fingers brush with mine as he grips the mug. He doesn’t make a move to pull away.

  “We need to talk,” I whisper.

  “We do.” He grabs my hand, lacing our fingers together, and guides us to the dining room table. He goes back for my mug of coffee.

  “Want any coffee with your creamer?” He sets down the mug and smirks.

  I shake my head, gripping the sides of the mug. The pounding in my head escalates.

  “Not feeling so hot?” he asks.

 
; “Is it that evident?” I shrug.

  “Yeah, can tell you’re dying of pain.”

  “Damn Cody. I’m never drinking again. I swear.” I blow on my coffee and take a light sip. “I don’t drink often, Jessie, just so you know. It’s usually a few glasses of wine after Whit goes down.”

  “Stop.” He reaches over, placing his hand on mine, squeezing it gently. “You’re an amazing mom. I will never judge anything you’ve done. Ever. So let’s not even bring up that topic again.”

  I nod. “She deserves to know. We need to tell her.”

  “What does she know about her dad?” He keeps our hands connected. In an odd way, it gives me strength to carry on. None of it makes sense. I’m thankful beyond words we are having open communication.

  “She only recently started asking questions because of daddy-daughter functions at her school.” I swallow hard and close my eyes. “Every single time she’s asked about you, I’ve told her you were a very busy guy and had to move but that you loved her very much. She sleeps in your old football t-shirt. It’s her favorite.”

  “I do love her. Fell in love the moment I saw her, Jules.” He clears his throat. “I don’t deserve any of this. I can never tell you how thankful I am for giving this to me. I can’t take back what I did. I’ve regretted it every single day.”

  “Since your injury, right?” I can’t help the snarky dig. I’m trying here. I really am.

  He shakes his head. “No, since the moment you walked away from me in the gymnasium.”

  I nod and pull my hand back. This is all becoming too real and in my face. “I’d like to be there when you tell her.”

  “Yes, I’ll need you there.” He leans back in the chair, massaging tension out of the back of his neck. “This dance thing. She keeps asking about it.”

  “You can do that with her.”

  “How long are you guys staying, Jules? When are you going back?”

  It’s not lost on me he doesn’t use the word “home.” California isn’t my home and never will be.

  “I don’t know. I work from home. After the funeral, Nana is going to need all the support she can get. I’m playing it from day to day.”