I leaned on my dad. “Please, don’t make me go home.”
My dad wrapped me up in his arms. “Of course you can stay.”
“Davis, this is between her and Blake. Staying here will only make it worse.”
“Please,” I begged.
My mom didn’t say anything in return, other than to get up and start dinner. Sometimes silence speaks more than words.
I hated being the reason my parents were on opposing sides, but I couldn’t go home. The thought that Blake had a child that wasn’t mine killed me. My greatest wish and desire was to have a family with him and no matter what we did or how much we tried, that would never happen. And now for him to possibly have that without me, it was more than I could bear at the moment.
I snuggled closer to my dad and closed my eyes, willing the pain and hurt to go away, but it wasn’t working. I thought about how many times well-meaning people have said to me, “God will never give you more than you can handle.” Once upon a time I believed that, but not after this last year. I had tried to stay positive the past ten years after multiple miscarriages and dozens of negative pregnancy tests, but last year pushed me overboard. I finally thought we were going to be parents. Even Blake, who always acted cautiously, was excited. Every night he would lay with his hand on my abdomen as it steadily grew. We had never made it past the first trimester, but this time I was barely out of my second trimester and everything looked perfect. Perfect baby boy with a strong, steady heartbeat.
On July sixteenth, that all came to a crashing halt. My water broke early and Blake rushed me to the hospital. As scared as we were, I knew it could still be okay, until I suffered the silence of the fetal heart monitor. Then, in a cruel turn, I had to struggle through labor knowing there would be no cry at the end, no joy, only gut-wrenching emptiness. Just when we thought it couldn’t get worse as we held our lifeless baby to us, my body added insult to injury. My life flashed before me as I was rushed into emergency surgery. To save my life I was given a hysterectomy.
People say it doesn’t do any good to ask why or second-guess, but that’s all I’ve done this past year. And now I wondered if there is a God at all, and if there is, why me? Haven’t I suffered enough? I suppose it makes me selfish to wish the girl weren’t Blake’s. Jealously and pain filled me, and all I could do was soak my dad’s shirt.
I couldn’t eat. I opted for a hot bath and curled up in my old bed in one of my mom’s nightgowns. Not that it really mattered, but I appreciated that my mom didn’t dress like a woman of her age. She had a great sense of style and her black satin nightgown proved it.
An hour or so after dinner my mom came in and sat on my bed. She stroked my forehead gently. “You’re too thin,” she lamented.
I didn’t respond. I knew I was. I had lost my appetite along with everything else.
“Blake called me. He’s worried about you. Honey, you know I love you, but you can’t keep going on like this. You need to go home. It’s the only way this is going to get better.”
I closed my eyes and they stung from the ever-present tears. “Mom, what if it doesn’t get better?”
She wiped the tears gently off my cheeks. “Life is full of bumps and bruises and you’ve had more than your fair share; but honey, this I know: it will get better. It will take some time and lots of effort, but don’t give up,” she pleaded.
Giving up sounded so enticing. I didn’t know if I had it in me to try anymore. Not that I had been trying. I had merely been functioning. You know, one foot in front of the other and all of that garbage that sounds great on paper, but doesn’t really translate into real life.
I don’t know how long after my mom left that I lay there in the dark and stillness of the night before drifting off to sleep, but it didn’t feel like it was long before I was awoken by an intruder. I guess I shouldn’t consider him an intruder since we normally shared a bed, but he scared the living daylights out of me. I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming, but I felt the lightest of kisses on my neck and suddenly felt warm and secure, wrapped up in arms that were once familiar to me. When I realized I wasn’t dreaming I startled and tried to get away from the stranger in my bed.
“Jessica, relax,” I heard a familiar voice say low and deep.
I held my chest and erratically beating heart. “What are you doing here? How did you get in here?”
He pulled me closer against him. I could feel his warm breath against my hair. “I missed you in our bed and your mom let me in.”
Of course my mother did, I thought to myself silently. “I don’t know why. It’s not like you ever touch me anymore.”
He stiffened. “It’s not like you’ve been very inviting.”
I pulled away from him.
He gently pulled me back. “I’m sorry, that came out wrong. What I meant was, I didn’t think you wanted me to touch you.”
I did, but I didn’t, if that made sense. I knew I had been unfair to him the past nine months, but he had shut himself off, too. He was never a very expressive man, at least not verbally and sometimes not even physically, but I hadn’t been very sure where I stood with him as of late. We weren’t ones to argue and bicker; it was worse, we held everything inside.
“Jess, I’m sorry,” he whispered softly in my ear.
“Is she the reason you broke up with me?”
“No. Are you ever going to get over that?”
I knew I should and I wasn’t even sure why it still bothered me after all these years. Blake wasn’t the kind of man that had wandering eyes. And until today I never even worried about him being unfaithful to me. Even when he spent more hours working than at home, it never crossed my mind.
“I love you,” he responded to my silence.
He hadn’t said those three big words in so long. Tears pooled in my eyes and trickled down my already water-logged cheeks. “Do you really?”
He nuzzled his face into my neck. “Yes. Do you love me?” he asked hesitantly.
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly.
I could feel him tense. “Do you want a divorce?”
“Do you?” I asked instead of answering. Never once had we mentioned divorce. We had promised each other we would never toss that word around or use it to hurt the other person when angry.
“No, but I don’t want to go on like we have been,” he responded.
“Me either, but I don’t know if we can fix us, and I don’t know if I can deal with the fact that you have a child.”
“We don’t know that she’s mine.”
“But she could be, and you slept with Sabrina, of all people.”
He released me and lay back on the pillow next to me with his hands behind his head staring at the ceiling. “Jessica, you knew when we got married I’d made different choices than you. I wish I could say that you were the only woman I’ve ever been with, but I can’t. I made a mistake with Sabrina. But Jess, if Madeline really is mine, I don’t want to do this without you.”
Her name is Madeline. I had always loved the name. It had even been on my short list for girls names. I thought Madeline Summers would have been such a pretty name for a little girl.
I looked up at the ceiling, too. “I don’t know if I can.”
Blake turned and leaned over me. Even in the dark I could see his brooding eyes. They looked like storm clouds gathering. He lightly brushed his hand across my cheek. “I know I love you, and now more than ever I need you. More importantly, I want you and only you. I can’t believe you would even imply that I knew about Madeline before today. Do you really not know me after all these years?” He leaned down and kissed my forehead and lingered for just a moment. “By the way, the only reason I haven’t wanted to adopt was because it’s too risky and I wanted to spare you any pain that I could. I’m done losing babies.” He kissed me once on the cheek and then made his way off of my old, queen-size bed. He stood at the foot and watched me for a second.
I didn’t know what to say to him.
“I’ll be at home w
aiting for you.” And with that sentiment he turned and walked toward the white, six-paneled door that still had my favorite boy band poster from high school hanging on it.
“Blake,” I called quietly.
He turned back toward me.
“I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions.”
“Goodnight, Jessica.”
Chapter Three
Sleep was very hard to come by after that. By six in the morning I gave up. I figured I would quietly sneak out of my parents’ home. It had been a long time since I had snuck out of my parents’ house, but just like the last time I had attempted it, I was caught.
“Young lady,” my mom said.
I grabbed my heart. “Sheesh, Mom.” I flipped on the kitchen light. “What are you doing sitting at the table in the dark?”
She patted the seat nearest her, inviting me to sit down next to her.
I immediately complied.
My mother had her long hair braided to the side. She looked like she belonged in a Centrum commercial; she was beautiful.
She took my hands in hers. “Jessie Belle, I love you, honey, but don’t come running home again, no matter what your father says. You stay home and work it out.”
This was another reason I had wanted to sneak out of the house. I knew I had created some discord between my parents and I felt bad about that. My dad was ready to hire a divorce lawyer on my behalf and had been spouting off how I should have married Landon Riley, my old high school boyfriend, who was now the mayor and owner of one of the two insurance agencies in town. Blake and I used the other agent. My dad was dead wrong. Landon had a wandering eye and it frequently wandered over me. Let’s just say neither my husband nor I appreciated it. But Landon was a schmoozer and he had my dad fooled.
“Some things can’t be worked out.”
“Oh, honey, there’s nothing in your marriage that can’t be worked out. There’s no doubt it’s going to hurt like the dickens and you’ll want to throw in the towel a time or two, but joy always comes after sorrow. And if ever two people deserved joy, it’s you two.”
“I don’t even know if I love him anymore.”
She squeezed my hands. “You do. Trust me. You’re just going to have to discover it again. I’m here if you need to talk or if you need a shoulder to cry on, but Blake is the one you really need to talk to, and I have a feeling he wouldn’t mind sharing his shoulder with you, too.”
“Mom, what if this girl really is his?”
“Then I guess you’re going to learn how to be a fantastic stepmother.” Without so much as another word she got up and left me sitting there speechless.
I sat stunned for a moment after she left. Leave it to my mother to be rational. I’m sure one day I would appreciate it, but not today. I crept out the back door and headed home via the long way. First I stopped at the cemetery in the early light of day.
I wound my way up the hill that overlooked Merryton to the prettiest little cemetery. It was more expensive than the one in town, but I wanted our Carter to be buried there. Most people that have premature babies like ours cremate their babies, but I couldn’t bear the thought, so Blake handcrafted a small coffin according to the burial ordinances our town had set in place. It was a beautiful pine box engraved with all of our names. We didn’t hold a formal funeral service - it was just us, my parents, and a few close friends. I barely remembered the day. I felt like I was in a haze, like my mind was protecting itself against the harshness of my reality.
Blake and I had nothing to offer each other that day and days after the funeral. We were each so consumed with grief. Blake turned to his work like always, and I turned to my best friends, Abby and Cheyenne and to my café.
I pulled around the little road that circled the cemetery and stopped near Carter’s grave. I grabbed my sweater and wrapped it around me. Mornings were still quite cool in April. I walked slowly toward the small gravestone, thinking as I went. I looked around at all the newly budded trees and flowers. I was happy to see them. It made being there less depressing. I knelt down in front of his grave on the grass, still wet from the dew of the night. I could feel water seep through my jeans and soak my skin, but I didn’t care.
I didn’t pray anymore when I came. I figured why bother, they had all gone unanswered. I knelt there and thought as I looked at the inscribed name: Carter Nicholas Summers. Nicholas was Blake’s middle name. There was no birth date or death date. I wasn’t sure what to put since he had been stillborn. Besides his name, all it said was “Son of Blake and Jessica Summers.”
Seeing our names together reminded me how far we had drifted apart. I wasn’t sure what to do about it. And considering Blake’s possible impending fatherhood, I was even more confused. As I sat thinking, it occurred to me that perhaps I should start with me first. Maybe if I could love myself again, I could love Blake, too. The lingering question was if I could love him and his child, if she ended up being his.
I hadn’t even stopped to think of all the nuisances of him having a child. In the back of my mind I hoped it wasn’t true. I suppose there would be a paternity test. I mean, Sabrina could have made all this up. And why had she waited all these years to tell him if she thought that was the case? But I knew I had to prepare for the possibility and what that could possibly mean for us.
Regardless, I needed to work on myself, with or without Blake. I figured it was the first step. I looked down again at the cold, carved headstone and I tried to remember things about me, things I liked to do and liked about myself. I decided eating was going back on the list first. I ate, but only barely, and I loved food. It was my job to love food. It was time for me to get back into the kitchen and begin creating again. Our menu needed more than a new design; it needed some new food options.
I looked down at my tired, worn-out body and decided I should probably get back to the gym. The exercise would probably be good for my state of mind, too. Endorphins definitely couldn’t hurt. I knew I had more things to be added to the list, but at least I had a starting place.
I lightly ran my fingers across his headstone before I stood up. The sun was now over the horizon and I could barely feel its warmth. I took a deep breath and tried to fish for some courage to go home and face my husband. The scary part was I didn’t know how this would all end or how I even wanted it to end. I only wanted it to be better.
I pulled into our large, detached, three-car garage and Blake’s truck wasn’t there. I wasn’t surprised he was gone early even though it was Saturday, but I was relieved. I was sure he was working on some job or other. We never really talked about our professions anymore. He ran his company and I ran mine. We even kept separate bank accounts. That was his choosing, not mine. We had worked it out so that he paid half the bills and I paid the other half. He had taken the most expensive half. It was an odd arrangement to be sure, and one I wasn’t comfortable with at first. I wasn’t sure I was comfortable with it now, I just didn’t think about it much anymore.
I got out of the Tahoe that I paid for all on my own and walked toward our house. Our beautiful, white house with black shutters that Blake had helped construct. It was the one thing we had done together. We spent months with an architect going over designs until we got it just the way we wanted it. The two-story home sat on two beautiful acres lined with aspen and pine trees. In addition there was a shop where Blake could be found most of the time he was home. He got his shop and I got my gourmet kitchen with all the bells and whistles. The house was the only thing we owned together.
Together, I thought as I walked in the side door that led to the mud room. We hadn’t done much together as of late. I guess if I really thought about it, as a couple we really hadn’t done much together our whole marriage. It was a depressing thought, so I left it alone for the time being.
I headed straight for the kitchen and searched for food. I hadn’t been great about keeping a stocked pantry. I owned a café, so if I wanted food I had more than enough access to it. At home there wasn’t much need to cook�
��Blake made his own breakfast and he always packed a lunch and was rarely home for dinner. Besides, we differed on food preferences. Blake had been on a major health kick for quite a while, and me … not so much. I tried to eat healthy, but I was a pastry chef by trade.
I found some Froot Loops next to a box of whole grain something or other. It didn’t look appetizing, whatever it was. I went with the Froot Loops, the breakfast of champions. As I ate I decided I should probably go grocery shopping if I was going to put real eating back on my list of things to change. First up though, was a long, hot shower and maybe a nap. The lack of sleep from the night before was catching up to me.
I showered and wrapped myself up in my comfy, white robe and curled up on my bed, only to be disturbed by the house phone going off. We should get rid of that thing, I decided. I wasn’t sure why we still had it; we rarely used it. Then I remembered why. We thought when we had children it would be a good idea to have a landline, just in case.
On that depressing note, “Hello.”
“Spill your guts,” were the first words out of Cheyenne’s mouth.
“Good morning to you, too.”
“Yeah, yeah, good morning. So tell me what’s up with you and Blake?”
I lay back on my bed and sighed. Surely she didn’t know about Madeline. This town had an amazing grapevine, but surely not that good. I knew Blake would never talk to anyone and my parents wouldn’t either. I feigned innocence. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb with me. It’s all over town how Blake came into your office with flowers, but left storming out in a fury and you followed, crying.”
I went out the back door. Who saw me? This town really was too much.
“I’ve been trying to call you all night and this morning.”
“Sorry, I turned off my cell phone.”
“But you still haven’t told me what’s going on.”
“Cheyenne,” I sighed, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“That’s getting old, my friend.”
Jessie Belle: The Women of Merryton - Book One Page 2