Chesney dropped her eyes. She wanted to reassure Becca that she was still quite sane. But she also felt angry with Becca for not trusting her decisions. She wanted to be respected for taking the steps to care for her own needs, even if Becca didn’t understand.
“Why are you doing this? Why are you making such a drastic move?” Becca asked. “Tell me the truth.” She cupped her face in her hands, ready to hear Chesney say something that made sense to her.
“I told you the truth,” Chesney sighed. “I planned a trip back to Indiana, only to visit my grandmother's grave and drive by this old place again. But when I saw it, my heart got warm in my chest. I love this house. I love the grounds around it. I know it needs a lot of work. But I don't care. I know what it can be.”
“And you think it's healthy to move here and become a hermit?”
“I'm a writer,” Chesney reminded. “You know I'm something of a recluse. I'll just be a hermit here instead of in the ninth floor apartment in Chicago.”
Jack’s face flashed across Chesney’s mind. She saw him standing in the foyer of his apartment. He wanted to schedule another dinner party with business partners. She wanted nothing more than to be left alone, to write in her pajamas. So many times, she surrendered her own wishes to please Jack. So many times, she went to bed angry or resentful, or both. So much of the time, she allowed her own dreams to suffer so Jack would be happy. It was no wonder really, that Jack found himself caught up in an affair with Belinda. She was everything Chesney was not, from her designer suits and sexy pumps to her love for good wines, four-star restaurants and hostile corporate takeovers.
“What are you thinking about?” Becca asked.
Chesney shook her head to clear the painful realizations. She muttered “Nothing,” and turned her attention to the dusky view of tiger lilies peeking through the weeds by the budding tulip poplar trees.
“I want you to be happy,” Becca softly squeezed Chesney’s hand.
“I know you do,” Chesney nodded.
“Even though I’ve acted like a total bitch since I arrived, I will stop now. And even though I loathe it, I promise to help you paint.”
“I could use an extra hand,” Chesney smiled. “Thanks, Bec.”
“What about these broken windows?” Becca asked as they walked back inside. And what about the porch that's falling off the front of the house?”
“I'm hiring a handyman,” Chesney said as they made their way to the kitchen to make tuna salad sandwiches.
“What about your furniture?” Becca asked as she slathered the tuna on rye.
“It will be delivered Monday or Tuesday,” Chesney said. “But I didn't keep much. I want to buy different things.”
“I couldn't believe you left that beautiful living room suite,” Becca said as she grabbed a few chips from a nearly empty bag on the counter.
“I want some antiques,” Chesney said. “I also want a very feminine bed, maybe an old feather bed, something deliciously feminine. But until then...” she pointed toward a bed roll in the corner of the entry. “I snuggle in every night in that sleeping bag,” she said. “I used it during my travels through Europe when I was in college, remember?”
Becca was so quiet, staring off in space. Chesney looked at her and said, “Don’t worry. I'll be fine.”
“Promise?” Becca asked.
“Don't worry,” Chesney said again. “I can do this. I want to do this. My house and I will rebuild our lives. When we're finished, we will both be beautiful and complete.” She paused and smiled. “Well, that’s the plan. We’ll see if it works out that way.”
Chapter Eight
Two days later, Chesney and Becca ordered breakfast at Cathy’s Café, Bean Blossom’s only restaurant. Becca went crazy for the plate filled with steaming hot gravy and fluffy, fresh biscuits. She ate the rest of Chesney’s fried potatoes and asked for a piece of fresh chocolate pie.
“I’m not eating it right now,” Becca said as Chesney rolled her eyes. “I’m taking it with me. I plan to stop and rest after a while. And when I do, I will very likely stick my entire face in the meringue of this incredible pie.”
As they returned to Chesney’s dilapidated house on the hill, Becca patted her non-existent stomach and declared that it was a good thing she didn’t also reside in Bean Blossom or she would weigh three hundred pounds. As they stepped inside the house, Chesney smiled at the fireplace mantel, graced with two empty wine bottles, drank during late-night talks. Early this morning, Becca had taken a walk down the lane and returned with three daisies which were now stuck in one of the wine bottles.
As she watched Becca stuff her clothes into the pricey leather luggage, Chesney felt more than sad. Sharing this house and land, all the flowers and especially the memories had been so important to her. And now it was over. Becca was driving north today to another world.
“I'll miss you so much,” Becca said as she squeezed Chesney’s shoulders.
“I'll miss you, too.” Chesney blinked away tears as she followed her dearest friend outside to the sun-drenched porch. She leaned over the porch railing and smiled, hoping the tears wouldn’t spill down her face.
“Is this about your Grandma Grace?” Becca asked as she opened the Jeep door.
Chesney shook her head. “Bec, I already told you. This is about me.”
“Don't you think you might be a little bit afraid to stay out here alone?” Becca asked. “No streetlights. No security guards. No doormen.”
“I'll be fine,” Chesney said with a laugh. “I’m in heaven.”
“Get yourself a bed soon,” Becca said. “Get me a bed too, while you’re shopping. My back is killing me from sleeping on that wood floor. Next time I visit, I think I at least deserve an air mattress, Chez.”
Chesney waved as Becca climbed into the Jeep and disappeared down the lane. Then she went back inside, allowing the screen door to slam shut, just to hear it echo through the emptiness. From room to room, she walked, dreaming about colors and rugs, plants, art. The silence was comforting, but a little unnerving, too. Of course, Chesney would never admit to Becca that sometimes she already felt so alone that her chest ached. And sometimes she felt so overwhelmed and lost that she just had to close her eyes and do some deep breathing to avoid a full-blown anxiety attack. Tomorrow, she would venture into town to buy paint. Then she would devote the weekend to painting the office so her desk and computer would be accessible. After that, maybe she would decorate a bedroom for herself. Maybe she would buy pink sheets for the fluffy new bed she planned to buy. Maybe pink curtains would hang against pink walls. This was her home. All pink if that's what she decided. And no one could take it away or tell her what to do in it. This was her very own home.
When her cell phone rang, Chesney’s obsession with decorating abruptly ended. For a moment, she could not recall where she placed the phone. It was in the alcove under the stairs which would someday become a library, near the wall where she planned to place a floor-to-ceiling bookcase. She answered quickly, and the sound of Jack's voice caused her to sit down on the bare, dirty floor, feeling irritated and exhausted.
“How are you?” he asked.
“Busy,” Chesney said, pretending to be lighthearted. “Moving is a big job, you know.”
“I wasn't sure your cell phone would work out there in the country,” Jack said. “But I guess you haven't had time to get telephone service.”
Actually, a land line installation was scheduled for Monday. But she said nothing. She didn't want Jack to know the number for the land line. And she mentally kicked herself for not looking first at the cell phone screen before answering the call. As if he could read her mind, Jack mentioned the phone. “In a week or so, I'll call information, just to check whether your service is installed,” he said. “I assume there will be no other ‘Chesney Grace Blake’ listed in Bean Blossom, Indiana, just like there is no other woman like you for me.”
Chesney rolled her eyes. Manipulation seemed to drip through the telephone
wires. She wanted to confront Jack about the blatant ploy, but instead she said nothing.
I am, after all, most comfortable with my role as a doormat. No matter how much I wish to change that role, it doesn’t come easily.
“Do you mind that I'm calling?” Jack asked.
“I'm wondering why you felt the need to call,” Chesney said carefully. She imagined that Jack was standing near the marble breakfast bar in his kitchen with his tie tossed over his left shoulder. He would remove his suit coat and throw it across a dining room chair while cradling the phone against his shoulder with his clean shaven cheek. As he wandered through the apartment, he would remove his watch and cuff links and leave them next to the coffee maker on the kitchen counter.
“I wanted to make sure you're alright,” he said.
“I'm fine.”
“So you really did buy your Grandmother Grace's house in the country.”
“Yes.”
“I can't really see you liking that lifestyle,” he said.
You don't know what I like or don't like, you big Jack ass.
Chesney held her tongue. Doormats never stick up for themselves.
“I miss you,” Jack said. “I'd like to see you, Chesney.”
“We are not together anymore,” she reminded. “There's a reason why we no longer see each other, Jack.”
“I'm not dating Belinda anymore,” he said flatly.
“I'm sorry it didn't work out for you,” Chesney said crisply.
“Is that a sarcastic tone in your voice?” Jack asked. “Maybe some jealousy?”
“No,” she said, eye roll following. “I mean that. I'm sorry for you. I want you to be happy. By all indications, it appeared that you could be happy with a woman like Belinda.”
“I want to be happy with you.”
“I need to hang up now, Jack,” Chesney said. “I'm very busy.”
“May I visit you sometime?” he asked. “I think I would enjoy a long weekend in the country. Remember when you and I drove out to the cemetery near Bean Blossom that afternoon a year ago on our way to Florida? We stopped to visit your grandmother’s grave. We weren’t there very long, but what a nice break from the city. Remember that? Maybe I could plan a trip soon...just to say hello.”
“I'm not sure that's a good idea,” she said.
“But it's possible?” he pressed.
“We'll see,” she said. “Good-bye.” Chesney hung up and sank back against the dusty wall. Her heart pounded. She was disgusted by her lack of assertiveness. Why didn't she tell Jack he was not welcome here? During their relationship, she spent most of her time allowing Jack the giant ass to control her damn life. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she grow a backbone and tell Jack to stay out of her life? Chesney wished she had the nerve to tell that self-absorbed narcissist how she really felt. She wished that she could scream at him and tell him how he hurt her in so many ways. But those words got lost somewhere. She had plenty of examples of times when other people's needs meant more than her own. There was no one to blame but herself.
“Here I am, a successful novelist, with a spine like a noodle,” Chesney hissed. “Oh my gosh, I make myself sick. It’s disgusting. I’m weak and foolish. No wonder so many people seem to take their turn, wiping their feet on my stupid forehead.”
She tossed the cell phone across the floor and watched it smack into the wall. Then she stood in front of the cloudy antique mirror, left by the last residents of the home. “How do I describe myself? Or do I even want to try?” Chesney whispered as she ran her fingertips along her jaw line, her chin, her eyebrows. Feeling like she might cry, Chesney cleared her throat and stared more intently at her reflection. “I am petite. I have auburn hair that screams for a style. I have gray eyes, the exact color of Grace's eyes and Piper’s eyes. I have my mother's soft voice and my dad's dimples.”
She blinked a few times so the tears would stay away. “But what else?” She bit her lip, thinking. “I have lived my life for everyone but myself,” she stammered. “And now…” Chesney leaned close until her nose made a print on the mirror. “What do you intend to do about the mess you’ve made of your life, Ms. Blake? Any ideas?”
Unfortunately her adult life had been nothing more than a series of starts and stops. Not one single male seemed like someone she couldn’t ever live without. But she tried anyway to develop those feelings. She tried anyway, to convince herself that she had the emotional connection that other people had. Actually nothing in her life had ever felt comfortable or right except her writing career. So through her work, Chesney created the kind of love she wished for but did not necessarily believe in. She created the books for other women like her, to get lost in for a while before they had to return to a rather boring, predictable routine with a man who snorted, farted and never remembered to thank her for all that she did every day for him. Chesney smiled and decided in that profound moment of introspection that she would focus only on her books and creating her new home. She would commit only to make herself happy and calm. She would bet only on herself.
“If someone doesn’t like that plan, they can kiss my skinny ass,” she said to the mirror. “And I mean it.” She leaned away from her reflection and winked at herself. “Got that? This is my show now. I have the starring role. Chesney Blake In Charge.”
Every day, from early morning until late at night she tirelessly worked on the house. But she always made time to rest on the porch swing, to pay special attention to the sunset, appreciating the wonder that not one single setting sun looked like the one on the previous evening. She was learning how to relax, how to appreciate and how to listen, truly listen to the silence. Quite often, she caught herself staring at the ceiling with a blank mind, while soaking tired muscles in a deep tub of bubbles. But it all felt okay for some reason. It all felt like necessary parts of her tomorrow. But while she so intently worked to make tomorrow an amazing place she wanted to be, Chesney was not dealing so well with the stuff of today. In fact, her agent, Gloria, called yesterday to hound Chesney about the draft of the new book. Where was it? Shouldn’t Chesney at least send the first few chapters? And why wasn’t Chesney returning emails and calls?
When family members and friends left messages on her phone, there seemed to be a sprinkling of pity in their voices. She hated that and refused to return the calls.
I hate all of it. No one trusts my judgment. No one respects that I might just have more sides to me than they ever cared to see. Even Becca thinks I’m acting crazy.
The break-up with Jack served only as a catalyst. This move was about her life. This storm she was now living was only hers, about a life that had never truly belonged to her until now. It had absolutely nothing to do with stupid Jack and his runaway penis. Every evening as she watched the sun sink, Chesney whispered to herself, “You've got to reclaim your life. Buying Grace's house is your first step. But you need to take plenty of other steps, miles of other steps.”
She had never worked this hard in her entire life. Manual labor was kicking her ass, sore muscles, blisters, scrapes and bruises. But the work was also toning her body, taking off the pudge of belly around the top of her waist band. To admit she was exhausted was an understatement that made her smile. But accompanying all the challenges was a sweet little feeling of luck. Yes, Chesney felt lucky that she wasn’t exactly like her mother and sister. Lucky that she was unique, from the frizzy curls to the slight build to the need to pull away from everything familiar and blaze a new trail. She pulled her hair away from her face with a barrette. “From now on, I will do only what I want to do.”
When the cell phone rang, her mother’s name was on the screen.
Damn it. I’m not in the mood for all this drama.
“We’re thinking about you, dear,” Madelyn’s voice was sweet on the message. “Your father and I wondered if you might need anything.”
I need a complete overhaul. I probably need a thorough psychiatric evaluation.
“I can’t talk to you right
now,” Chesney whispered to the unanswered phone. “I can’t possibly explain this metamorphosis. So I’ll spare you the drama, Madelyn. You sit in Chicago, hoping that you never have anything else to explain about me to your friends. And I’ll figure out my messy life on my own.”
On the way down the hall, she considered painting the bathroom a soft, moss green or maybe plum. Her footsteps were strong in the hallway as her bare feet padded along the hardwood floors.
“I am fine,” Chesney said aloud. “I will be fine, damn it.”
In the kitchen, she grabbed a banana and a glass of wine. Heck of a combination. She never drank wine until she moved here, and it was only when Becca visited. “There’s a lot to think about,” Chesney said to the quiet evening as she sat down on the porch swing. “But it’s time to find my answers. Right, Grace?”
She imagined her grandmother’s wise nod accompanied by that sweet, half grin. Grace would have wanted her beloved granddaughter to spew all of her thoughts, no holds barred. She would have listened with an unconditional ear. Grace would never care what other people thought about Chesney’s choices. Her only interest was her gray-eyed granddaughter’s happiness. A sweet sense of warmth and security mixed with adventure and hope brought tears to Chesney’s eyes as she munched on the banana and gazed at the full moon. Its faded color seemed to speak, soothe and encourage her. In the midst of feeling so splintered and lost, Chesney also experienced an odd sense of completeness. She wasn’t exactly sure about that feeling. But it was a nice new something that was quickly making a place in her new beginning. She went back inside, locked the front door and snuggled into the sleeping bag. It was the first time in a long time that Chesney fell asleep with a faint smile on her heart, which now beat much more frequently with a new hope.
Chapter Nine
Sunshine glinted through the bare window. When Chesney opened sleepy eyes, her face was immediately warmed by the morning sun. She crawled out of the sleeping bag and trudged into the kitchen. Coffee. Immediately. That was another new habit. After working a zillion hours on this house, lame little sips of hot chocolate just weren’t doing it for her anymore. She was hitting the coffee hard these days. Black. No sugar. The hard stuff. Like a veteran java junkie. She opened the window over the sink so that wonderful honeysuckle scent could burst into the room. Then she danced up the stairs and stepped into the shower.
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