“Admit that you are relieved about this,” Becca challenged as she drained the last Corona.
“How can I do that?” Chesney had laughed. “Don’t you know that my second cancelled wedding will very likely make me a damn orphan? Bec, I can’t even think yet about how to handle the stupid newspaper reports. They will slaughter me in the press. And Jack will love every minute.”
Chapter Seven
Chesney found it hard to believe but between February and mid-May, she had successfully survived hundreds of behind-her-back whispers about the failed wedding. She survived the ongoing criticism from her family about the move to southern Indiana. And here she was, moving. Making it happen. With the car packed, driving slightly faster than the speed limit, she was happily driving to Bean Blossom. She took a deep breath into her chest, the first one since the day she met Jack outside Crate & Barrel. With no comment, Chesney dropped the engagement ring into his palm and walked away.
When the heavily wooded two-lane road came into view, she smiled. When she turned left next to the nearly dilapidated mailbox, drove up the tree-lined road and started to cry when the house was finally visible, there was no doubt that she had made the right decision. In the silence, Chesney unloaded a duffle bag from the trunk and walked inside the empty massive home. Reminding herself that Grace wouldn’t step around the corner, wiping her hands on her favorite frilly apron only made the tears fall faster.
“Grace, I’m back,” Chesney whispered as she dropped the duffle bag near the stairs. She wandered slowly through the musty, dirty rooms. “I’m back to stay.” She kicked off her shoes, headed up the stairs in her stocking feet and changed into a T-shirt and shorts. On the way back downstairs, she tied her hair back in a messy blob and stepped outside on the back porch to think for awhile on the wobbly wooden step.
Quiet. It was deliciously silent. She studied the Black-eyed Susans peeking through the weeds by the massive weeping willow.
“I had tea parties with my dolls under that weeping willow,” she whispered aloud.
Then her eyes traveled across the meadow and back again to the dust-covered windows of the house. “I have so much work to do,” Chesney said with a sigh. “So much work to do on your house. And so much work to do on my life.” She cradled her chin in her hands, well aware that another wave of sad tears was on its way.
An icy fear filled her chest as Chesney began to doubt her decision. When she tried to shove away that familiar old feeling of failure, questions popped into her mind. Maybe her family was right. Maybe she was absolutely bonkers for buying this house. Maybe she was so psychotic that she didn’t realize just yet that she had made another gigantic blunder. She couldn’t see it, maybe, because she was so damn crazy. “Grace, have I done what I should have done?” she asked the silence. “Haven’t I done exactly what I felt I had to do? My life wasn’t working. I didn’t belong there anymore.” She stood and stretched, shivering in the cool spring air.
“I didn’t belong there,” Chesney said again. “But the truth is, Grace, that I have no idea where in the hell I actually do belong. Know what I mean?”
With the tail of the T-shirt, Chesney wiped the tears off her face. She went back inside, enjoying the loud whack of the wooden screen door. She dug through the duffle bag, retrieved a rather rotten looking banana, a couple of peanut butter crackers and a warm soft drink.
“I’m alright,” she said to the dirty parlor as she munched. Soon after the sun sank, Chesney fell asleep on the floor by the staircase, covered by the blanket from her apartment.
Early the next morning, with no running water to brush her teeth, Chesney drove into town, still wearing the shorts and T-shirt from yesterday. Describing Bean Blossom as a town was an exaggeration. It was more like a berg in the valley, with a café, a hardware store, post office and a small garage converted into a junk store, next to a gas station. On the way, the Realtor called to explain that once the well water was tested, Chesney would be free to use it. But since the house had been empty so long, it was a necessary precaution. She agreed to brush her teeth and take a few spit baths, as Grace had called them, with bottled water until tomorrow afternoon when the water test would be completed. At the hardware store, she purchased cleaning supplies, a bag of rags, several paper goods, a few light bulbs and some licorice. Before the clerk appeared to ring up the purchases, she watched as he finished final touches on a landscape.
“That’s beautiful,” Chesney smiled when he turned to bag her purchases. “Do you sell your paintings?”
“Sometimes,” he said with a nod. “I display them over there, next to the kerosene lamps on aisle five.”
“Really? I guess I didn’t see them,” She smiled as she studied the man, tall and muscular with a long wiry Fu Manchu and rather stringy brown hair to his shoulders. He removed his dark glasses to reveal nice blue eyes. “Next time I stop in, I’ll check out your art.”
“Deke Wooldridge,” the clerk extended his hand.
“I’m…”
“Gracie Blake’s granddaughter,” he said quickly. “Chesney Blake, the famous author. And you’ve come home to Chesney Ridge. But the big question around these parts is why you came back.”
Her cheeks colored. “Amazing,” she breathed. “I haven’t been here twenty-four hours and the hardware-store-owning artist knows my name.”
“Small town,” Deke said with a shrug. “Your Realtor is a friend of mine. And I live around the bend from Grace’s place. Last night I saw lights on so I knew you were in town.”
“In a few days, I’ll be back for some paint,” Chesney said. “But first I plan to do some heavy duty cleaning. The place is dusty from being closed up for so long.”
“It’s been empty for a year at least,” Deke said with a nod. “It’s a great place. Really beautiful this time of year and all summer, too. Miss Grace loved flowers.”
Chesney smiled, feeling tears again. “She had a beautiful garden. For lots of years, I spent spring break here, helping Grace plant flowers. As soon as I get a chance to mow down all the weeds, they’ll bloom again. But right now, the weeds are higher than my head.”
“Like I said, I don’t live far,” Deke smiled. “And I have a tractor. So let me know when you need help around there, okay? I’d be happy to stop by.”
“Thanks,” she smiled, hating that flirty male-dependent side of herself that stayed so damn hungry for attention.
“So…you didn’t answer the question we’re all asking,” Deke said. “Why did you come back here?”
“I needed a change of scenery,” Chesney said with a shrug. “How’s that for an answer?”
“I’m not sure I believe that…” Deke leaned in and she felt a catch in her throat. Yes, he was cute. Damn it. She liked that scruffy backwoods look. She liked the beautiful artwork, the genuine smile, the deep voice. He was too cute. And she was way too screwed up to do anything about it.
“That’s the answer, Mr. Wooldridge.” Chesney grabbed the bags of purchases. “I’ll see you later.” She hurried out, cursing herself for wanting to fall in love with the guy at the hardware store. What the hell was wrong with her? Why did she so frequently pretend that she didn’t have a problem with that other gender? It was a big problem. An Ass Magnet affliction that always resulted in disaster. No men. No way. She was practically a nun. Perhaps Grace’s house would symbolize a bit of a convent for her. To live safely and happily, her new life absolutely had to be a no-male zone.
Later, while waiting for the kitchen floor to dry after a second scrubbing, Chesney slid down the side of the dining room wall and dialed Becca’s number. Her dear friend answered on the first ring, bubbling with excitement. “Tell it,” Becca demanded. “Tell every single detail. Are you sick of it there? Ready to come home?”
“So far, I feel good,” Chesney made a quick decision to keep her loneliness to herself. “Today I met the cute guy at the hardware store. His name is Deke. He’s an artist. He has a great smile.”
“And?” B
ecca laughed.
“And that’s it,” Chesney said. “I learned my lesson, Bec. The guys I attract are screwed up in one way or another. Deke has to be alcoholic or married, impotent or gay.”
“Not nice, Chez,” she laughed. “Not nice at all.”
“You know it’s true,” Chesney laughed. “By the way, can’t wait to see you this weekend. I’ve been cleaning like a crazy woman, awaiting your arrival.”
A few days later, Becca arrived in Bean Blossom. Her reaction to Chesney’s decision was anything but positive. She stepped out of her Jeep wearing a very out-of-place linen dress and expensive pumps. As always, Becca was a perfect picture of success, even after a grueling drive to what she lovingly called Nowhere, Indiana. She frowned at the weeds surrounding Chesney’s paint-chipped purchase. She didn't attempt to hide her shock. She didn't need to try to hide it. Chesney could read Becca’s sharp, black eyes, even before she spluttered distaste.
“Why?” Becca asked in a shrill voice. “What would possess you to buy this place, Chesney? It's nothing like what we enjoyed when Grace was alive. It…it’s a dump.”
She scanned the severely neglected grounds, folding her lips inward like a pissed off teacher. Her eyes landed on every overgrown bush, every chipped or rotten board in the fence and every other eyesore she could possibly find. Chesney expected the negatives, just as she expected her parents' negative comments. Her cheeks burned from humiliation.
“It has character,” Chesney said finally. “This house is in a beautiful setting. See the fence line filled with flowers? It's peaceful here. You remember how wonderful it was to be here with Grace. It was heaven on earth.”
“Are we looking at the same place?” Becca slammed the Jeep door shut. Her large hoop ear rings glinted in the sun as she turned around to take in the tangle of berry bushes by the road, the mailbox, leaning forward so much that a puff of wind would blow it over. Silence again, for another long moment. In the weed-infested yard, both women stared at the house. Windows were cracked or broken. Paint peeled. Half the front porch was ready to fall off. The front door hung on for dear life, by one rusty hinge. “You gave up a high-rise apartment in the city to live in this scene from 'Green Acres?'” Becca asked. “I just don't understand it.”
Chesney shrugged and smiled. “This house needs tender loving care,” she said softly. “Just like I do.”
“But won't you miss the apartment?” Becca snapped. “Does this place even have running water? And by the way, it looks haunted.”
“Yes, there is running water and no, it isn’t haunted,” Chesney sighed as she dragged Becca’s bags out of the back of the Jeep. “And by the way, the apartment life belonged to Jack. When we were together, I gave up my visions of buying an older home outside the city. Jack wasn’t interested in anything except city life.”
A sudden, surprising surge of empowerment shot through her chest. Chesney was now doing exactly as she pleased. And she didn’t really give a damn whether Becca loved the house or not. It was Chesney’s house. She paid the bills here. She felt the attachment here. She could finally stop defending her actions.
“You never seemed like the type of woman who wanted to live in the country,” Becca said. “I don’t remember ever hearing you say that you wanted to live here.”
“Maybe it's time for me to explore who I am and who I want to be,” Chesney said. “Maybe I'm not exactly cemented into knowing what type of woman I am.”
While Becca squinted in the sun, inspecting the perimeters of the house, Chesney conjured up a perfect picture of her yesterdays in Chicago. In the corner apartment, there was a view of the city from nearly every tiny room. But who cared about the view. She didn’t care to look at buildings. Forgotten hardwood floors were buried under thick carpeting. Traffic sounds all hours of the night and day. A smiling doorman to greet her every afternoon. Yes, it was definitely an extravagant life in some ways, even in that quaint apartment. But it wasn’t how she pictured the rest of her life. She had a sneaky suspicion that more time away from Jack, her family and life in the city, would only solidify what she had secretly dreamed about for years. She wanted to be here. She needed to be here. She didn’t ever plan to leave.
“You should already have a good idea about your identity,” Becca said.
“My identity is different now,” Chesney smiled. “I'm not Jack's fiancé anymore. Two years of my life has been wiped away. A future with Jack has been erased. I'm back to simply being Chesney Blake. I'm on a new journey.”
“You're insane,” Becca muttered as she kicked at a tree stump near the gravel drive.
“Maybe,” Chesney smiled. “But I don't really care.”
To get to the front porch, they stumbled over broken bricks along the weathered walkway. Chesney opened the front door and smiled up at the massive staircase. “A wonderful scent of honeysuckle drifts into the house when the windows are open,” she said.
“Not a problem since most of the windows appear to be broken,” Becca grumbled.
“Honeysuckle grows wild in the fence row,” Chesney said. “Isn't that wonderful?”
A few feet inside the doorway, Becca planted her hands on her skinny hips. “What about your office? Where in the world do you expect to find a place to write?”
“I'm so happy you asked,” Chesney said. “Let me show you a wonderful place.”
A room at the top of the stairs, with slanted ceilings and tiny windows overlooking woods and a pond was the place Chesney chose. In this cozy space, she would write until late in the night. She leaned against the fireplace and smiled. “Don't tell me you don't see the charm in this room. Don't tell me your imagination won't let you see what this room could be, what this house could be.”
“I'm an accountant, Chez,” Becca said. “I have no imagination. All I see is a mouse-infested castle for termites. I see thousands of dollars worth of home improvement projects. I see thousands of hours of your time and sweat, spent on something that doesn't seem worthy.”
Chesney’s face fell. She wanted Becca to see at least a little bit of the magic that she saw. She wanted Becca to remember what the place was like when they visited Grace. Just as she wanted her parents to appreciate this rugged, unloved diamond in the rough, she hoped that Becca wouldn’t be so harsh. Chesney wanted all of them to be happy about the fact that she wanted to breathe life back into Grace's home. Instead, everyone assumed that Ms. Responsibility had lost her sensible mind.
Becca cupped her shoulder, apparently deciding to take pity on Chesney’s apparent insanity. “I'm sorry if I hurt you,” she said. “But I'm worried about you. Your parents are worried, too. You moved out here, in the middle of nowhere. You'll be alone.”
“That's what I want,” Chesney said, not entirely sure that it was the truth.
“You'll miss the theater,” Becca challenged. “You'll miss great dinners in wonderful restaurants. There's nowhere to shop around here.”
“I'll visit,” Chesney shrugged. “I'll still fly to New York on occasion to see my agent. I'll stay a few extra days in Chicago to visit.”
She wanted to tell Becca that her career could be nurtured in this solitude. She wanted to splutter about how it was nearly impossible to find a stretch of silence in Chicago. She wanted to say that writing kept her heart beating these days. And she would do whatever was necessary to protect that part of herself, and what better place than here to bring creativity? What better place to protect her imagination? But her words would have fallen on Becca’s totally logical ears. So Chesney kept her mouth shut.
They went back downstairs to the kitchen and Becca stared out the window as Chesney poured fresh lemonade in tumblers. “Let’s rest on the porch swing,” she said. “Grab a sweater. It’s cool outside.” They watched the sun set behind the trees and listened to bull frogs croaking around the pond. Chesney hoped that Becca could one day fall in love with all that she loved. But even if that never happened, Chesney knew she was staying. No matter what she faced, she would not
also fail here.
“Do you miss him?” Becca asked finally.
“Sometimes. But not as much as I did a few months ago. In fact, I'll be so busy with my projects here...” her voice trailed off. She wasn't sure she wanted to complete the thought aloud, that perhaps busying herself with home repairs would somehow repair her heart. Maybe it was possible to paint enough walls and sand enough hardwood to forget how Jack betrayed her. Maybe it was possible to heal from that kind of betrayal. And walk away from a failed relationship with some semblance of dignity intact. Maybe she would crawl through this mess and discover some skills she hadn’t yet acquired. Maybe she would grow a back bone, learn how to stand up for herself and how to stop bowing to everyone else’s demands.
“He called my office last week,” Becca said. “He called twice the day before.”
“Are we talking about Jack?” Chesney looked at Becca for a long moment. “Because if we are, you already know that it's over,” Chesney said firmly. “We were not meant to be together.”
“When you left, Chez, you know Jack was devastated,” Becca said.
“The affair was just a symptom of many other issues between us,” Chesney said. “I've been a lot more honest with myself about it. I've had enough time to realize what was wrong. And the truth is that a lot was wrong between Jack and me. He wanted a fat bank account. I wanted a loving marriage. He wanted a penthouse apartment. I wanted a country house. He wanted extravagant trips abroad. I wanted a baby. The list is endless.”
Becca hugged her knees. “I know there were problems in the relationship,” she said. “You know that Jack was never one of my favorite people anyway. But Chesney, people end relationships every day. And not very many of those people, no matter how distraught they might be, trade in a beautifully established life for…”
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