by Dara Girard
Half an hour later, he jumped up so suddenly that Jessie shrieked.
He looked at her, stunned. “Did I fall asleep?”
“Yes.”
A light blush of color entered his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“It’s okay, Samson, your hair is still there.”
“It’s not that I don’t trust you—”
“Of course you don’t trust me. You don’t trust anyone.”
Since that was the truth, he didn’t argue. He stood and picked up her binder. He flipped it open and scanned its contents. “What’s this?”
She reached for it. “My plan to become an independent consultant.”
He blocked her hand, still reading. “In what?”
“Business.”
He glanced up. “Why?”
“Because it’s lucrative.”
“Hmm.” He nodded and closed the binder. “It’s a nice plan, but it’s not you.”
She frowned. “I can do it. I’ve taken night courses and everything.”
“I don’t doubt your knowledge. It’s…” He searched for words. “You’re not the business type.”
She folded her arms. “You mean I’m not like Brooke or Stephanie.”
He nodded in agreement. “No, you’re not.”
“And what would you have me do? Serve desserts for the rest of my life?”
He sat down and stretched out his legs. “I’d always thought you’d design and create jewelry like your father, or at least work in the field as a clerk in the store. You know so much about stones and the history of different jewels. You’re honest, free, artistic.”
“It’s not a practical profession.”
“So? Who says you have to be practical? You’d make a decent living. You don’t have to be like Michelle and go into business, or teach people like Teresa. You’re Jasmine. Do what you’re supposed to do.”
If only she knew what that was. “I already told you BJ is keeping the tradition.”
He tossed the binder on the couch. “You could do other things. Do a reading for me. You used to do readings for everyone except me.”
“I didn’t bring my stones with me.”
“Bring them over tomorrow. I’m willing to pay you.”
“No.”
He looked disappointed, but shrugged. “I’m sure a lot of other people would pay.”
“Yes, I know, but that’s just entertainment, not a real career.”
“You’re making excuses. You could use your knowledge in other fields. You could be a jewelry historian or a gemologist.”
“I’m not making excuses. I don’t want to go into the field.”
“Why are you so scared to be like your father? He was an admired man and good at his trade.”
And that’s all it was—a trade. Like a mechanic or a plumber. He’d had no great ambition to design the next Peacock Throne, an extravagant piece made up of diamonds, emeralds, and rubies. Or to own a store of his own. He had been content to fix the clasp of a bracelet, reset a pearl ring, or create simple broaches and earrings to sell to ordinary people. And then there were the stories (from the Kohinoor seized by Persia’s Nadir Shah to the diamond necklace that led Marie Antoinette to the guillotine) he told his stories to passing strangers, engaging them so completely that they missed buses and dinner reservations. She loved her father, but she wanted to be more than something ordinary and forgettable.
“I’m not like my father.”
“You’re just too scared to be who you are.”
She laughed. “Oh, that’s rich, coming from you.”
His jaw tightened. “What does that mean?”
“You take care of your brother’s child, pay your relatives’ bills, and suffer through a job you hardly enjoy.”
“I enjoy my work, and my family needs me.”
“I think you just need them to need you.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
She tapped her chest, her tone rising. “I know that you live a lie every day and that you have no business telling other people how to live a life you’re too afraid to live.”
His eyes hardened, but his voice grew soft. “And I know that you try to act brave on the outside, but inside you’re terrified of who you are. Go ahead and try to be a carbon copy of Michelle. Try to be tough and cool. Just like your other jobs, you’ll fail at that too.”
She clenched her teeth. “I’m not a failure.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
She snatched her binder and stood. “You didn’t need to.”
He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap. “Where are you going? I thought you liked to argue.”
“I changed my mind.” She elbowed him in the ribs and jumped up.
He feigned disbelief. “You mean you lied to me?”
“I didn’t lie.”
He stood. “Then why are you walking away?”
“Because I want to.”
He grabbed her arm and spun her around. “Chicken,” he said, in soft challenge.
She dropped her binder, then quickly shifted her position, tossing him over her shoulder. He fell on his back. “I don’t suggest you do that again.
He grinned up at her. “I’d like to offer you a challenge.”
She rested a foot on his stomach. “You’re not in the position to offer me anything.”
“I guess I’ll have to change that.” He yanked on her leg and brought her down hard. Before she could recover, he pinned her arms to the ground and straddled her. “That’s better.”
She struggled beneath him. “Get off me.”
“Now, that’s a first,” he said, thoughtful. “Never heard that before.”
“Kenneth!”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” He held her with careless strength. “Is that all the fight you have in you?”
“You weigh tons.”
“Here’s my challenge. You make a piece of jewelry, and I’ll buy it.”
She stopped struggling and stared at him, confused. “Why?”
“I’m interested to see what you’d come up with.”
“I’m not a jewelry maker, I’m a businesswoman.”
He stared at her for a moment, then stood, frustrated. “No, you’re not.”
She tripped him and jumped on him before he could recover. “I may not be Michelle or Brooke, but I’m smart and I can be ruthless.”
He didn’t fight her. The position was too comfortable. “No, you can’t. You have too much passion. All someone has to do is look in your eyes and see what you feel.”
“That’s not true.”
He suddenly rolled on top of her, his elbows resting on either side of her head. “Right. So when are you going to kiss me?”
“I don’t want to kiss you.”
“Now you’re lying.” He pressed his mouth to hers and immediately felt a pleasurable sense of release, of coming home. “I lied too,” he whispered. “I did miss you.” He brushed his lips against hers, then halted when he felt her knee positioned at a very dangerous angle against his groin.
“Let me up,” she said.
“Are you still angry?”
“I will be.”
He wasn’t too concerned. He knew he could move before she did any major damage. He opened his mouth to respond, but stopped at the sight of a pair of jeans. Syrah asked, “Are you fighting or making up?”
He quickly rolled off Jessie and stood. “I was just showing Aunt Jasmine some fighting moves. Right?”
She grabbed her binder and hit him on the top of the head. “Yes, and he lost.”
* * *
Syrah watched Jessie leave and slam the front door. Damn, they were arguing again. Why did adults like to argue so much? She would have to find a way to fix things. She wanted them to like each other. Perhaps she could give Aunt Jessie something and make her feel better.
She raced to her room. There she searched through her drawer and grabbed her special sock. She’d been able to return the
ring and a broach, but nobody wanted that ugly bracelet. She picked it up. Since no one else wanted it, Aunt Jessie might as well have it.
* * *
Arrogant jerk, Jessie fumed, kicking gravel in the driveway. She wasn’t scared of anything. How dare he imply she was trying to be Michelle. Her business plan was sound. It was a great idea; she was smart. She walked towards her car. The man had an ego the size of Greenland. Who was he to tell her about herself? Did he honestly think she wanted to spend her life with her father’s reputation? Her father had been a man people openly admired, but privately thought a little strange.
Granted, Dad loved his work and made a decent income, but it was nothing extravagant, not something that people would look at in awe and talk about for years. Did he think she wanted to be like her antisocial cousin, locked in the shop all day with metal and gems? She wanted to be noticed for something, to make a difference somehow. Their lives were not for her, and Kenneth—the man of many masks—had no right to imply that it was.
She kicked a large stone that turned out to be the top of a boulder. She stubbed her toe and swore, jumping up and down as she rubbed her sore appendage.
“Aunt Jessie, are you okay?” Syrah asked, coming up to her.
She gently put her foot down. “Yes, love. Thanks.”
Syrah adjusted her cap. “You and Uncle were fighting, weren’t you?”
“Yes.” Jessie bit her nails. “It must make the house very uncomfortable for you.”
“Nah. It’s sort of funny to hear you two fighting. When my parents used to fight, it wasn’t funny at all. My father would swear, and my mother would throw things. That usually happened when Dad was drunk.”
Jessie’s heart constricted painfully as the truth showed itself. “Does he still like to drink?”
“A lot.” She suddenly covered her mouth and looked at Jessie in horror. “I wasn’t supposed to say anything. Don’t tell—”
“Don’t worry.” Jessie knelt in front of her and held her shoulders. Her voice was gentle. “Is that why you came to your uncle?”
Her dark eyes hardened. “I’m not going back ever. Not ever.”
“No one’s telling you that you have to.”
Syrah hesitated, then said, “I want you to have this.” She took out the bracelet and slipped it on Jessie’s wrist.
“Oh…wow.” It was an ugly brown bracelet that looked like a child’s beaded project; it rattled, as if it were filled with pebbles. “It’s…very special.” She hugged her. “Thank you.”
Syrah stepped back, uncomfortable with Jessie’s affection. “No problem.”
Jessie watched Syrah return to the house, then glanced down at the bracelet as she faced the root of her anger. She wasn’t angry with Kenneth. He was right. She had always been fascinated by stones and the craftsmanship of jewelry, but she had never thought she had the skill. She didn’t want to be a faded copy of her father; he already had BJ. She had been scared and had never had the courage to try.
Dinner was a disaster. It was not the food itself (chicken with lemon sauce), but Freda was determined to punish Jessie for her deception.
“I thought about your business plan,” Kenneth said, leaning towards her. “If you want to go ahead with it, I’ll help you make contacts,”
Freda tossed Jessie’s plate in front of her, forcing him to sit back.
“How was the ‘dip and fall back’ Ms. Rose made?” he asked, glancing at Jessie’s plate.
“I didn’t make it,” Freda said.
Kenneth stiffened. He wasn’t used to an order being ignored. “Why?”
“There wasn’t enough salt.” She glared at Jessie.
“But I made a specific request—”
“It’s all right,” Jessie said. “What she made was delicious.” Chicken…again.
He glanced at them, then shrugged, determined not to make an issue of it. He picked up his fork and continued on his original topic. “You’ll have to sell yourself, of course.” He twirled his fork, searching for the right words. “In consulting, you not only sell knowledge, but your experience and…image.”
“I know that. I’m not asking you to believe in me.”
“You’ve barely touched your food, Ms. Clifton,” Freda said. “Not rich enough for you?”
Jessie’s cheeks burned. “No, I’m not very hungry.”
Kenneth rubbed his chin, oblivious to the drama before him. “I just think you should focus your energies on something you’re good at. You don’t like people enough to be a consultant.”
Freda blocked his view. “Let me refill this.”
Jessie reached for her glass, but Freda got to it first. “I don’t—”
“I hope it’s pure enough for you. I know you only want the best.” She refilled the glass, then banged it on the table, causing everyone to jump.
Kenneth sat back in his chair and glared at her. “Ms. Rose, what’s gotten into you? You can’t talk—”
“It’s all right,” Jessie interrupted. She didn’t want Freda reprimanded for her loyalty.
Kenneth studied the two women, then sent Jessie a knowing smirk. “Like I said, you just don’t get on with people.”
He said the words lightly, but they fell on her like rocks, grating on her raw nerves. It was too close to the truth. “That’s right. I’m so antisocial that I shouldn’t be seen in decent society. I think I should go.” Jessie pushed herself away from the table and excused herself. She grabbed her coat from the hallway closet and opened the front door.
Kenneth slammed it closed, all levity gone from his voice and eyes. “Okay, what’s going on?”
“Nothing.” She rubbed her temples.
“See? Now you’re giving yourself a headache.”
“I’m okay.” She moved towards the door.
He grabbed her shoulder, stopping her. “Stand still.” He massaged the back of her neck. Jessie tried to remain stiff, even as his fingers softened the tension within her. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”
She nodded.
His voice was gentle. “I was just offering advice.”
The warmth—not just from his hand or tone, but also his gaze—seemed to spread throughout her body, seeking to calm the worrying thoughts in her mind. She placed a hand on her forehead. If she wasn’t careful, his kindness was going to make her start to cry. “I know.”
“But you’re not going to tell me what’s wrong?”
“I just want to go home.”
He swung her into the circle of his arms and lifted her chin. His eyes filled with regret. “Did I hurt you by bringing up your father? I know you loved him very much. I’m sure you still miss him.”
She did miss him. He would know what to do. And if he were still around, she would have more time to succeed at something that would make him proud.
Her voice was barely a whisper. “I’ve failed him in everything.”
“That’s not true.”
Jessie squeezed her eyes shut, but the tears came anyway. She rested her head against his chest, allowing herself one moment of weakness. She drew on his strength, expecting it to feel strange and unnatural—she was a strong, independent woman, after all—but it felt right. He felt right. She needed his comfort and safety.
Jessie pulled back, holding her head down, ashamed of her tears. “I’m getting your shirt all wet.”
“I have others.” He wiped a tear away with his thumb. “Come on, tell me what’s wrong, Jas.”
She glanced up at him and suddenly knew what she had been fighting against all her life: a dream she felt she could never have. She wanted to be a woman in every sense of the word—strong, but not afraid of her weaknesses and honest about her desire to have someone else to lean on. A woman who loved and was loved. A woman not ashamed of her longing to have a husband and family and a career she enjoyed.
But women like her weren’t supposed to have such wishes. Their plain faces and sense of power rebelled against such simple, ordinary desires. They were happy with them
selves, and didn’t care if they never had a date or received gifts. They were the natural spinsters and old maids who enjoyed being “the aunts.” They were the rocks, the foundations you could depend on, not the weepy females who clung to men and stained their shirts with tears.
The revelation of her heart was both a pain and a relief. At that moment, the pendant no longer mattered; Kenneth did.
But that couldn’t be. She grasped the doorknob, ready for escape. “I have to go,” she said and darted to the freedom outside.
Chapter 19
Jessie burst into the house while Michelle and Teresa cleared the dinning table. They stared at her in surprise.
“What happened?” Teresa asked.
Michelle put a plate down. “What are you doing here?”
Jessie fell into a chair, folded her arms, and laid her head down. “Freda hates me and I hate myself.”
Her sisters shared a confused look, shrugged then sat.
“Start from the beginning,” Teresa said, patting Jessie’s back.
“Freda overheard me talking about the bet and thinks I’m a money-hungry hussy.”
Teresa gasped appalled. “Did she say that?”
“No, but it was implied. But it’s worse than that. It’s the most horrible thing in the world.”
“You’re in love with him,” Michelle said.
Jessie raised her head, her eyes wide. “Is it that obvious?” She groaned. “How awful. How embarrassing.” She covered her face. “I can’t see him again. What if he suspects? He’ll feel sorry for me.”
“He won’t suspect anything. I’ve discovered that most men aren’t that clever when it comes to women’s feelings.”
“You must despise me.”
“Why?”
Jessie sat back in her chair. “Because for the second time my selfishness has cost us the pendant. I have no honor.”
“You have honor. You have maintained the Clifton integrity by realizing that using someone in order to get what you want is wrong.”
Teresa spoke up. “But what about Deborah?”
Michelle frowned. “What about her?”
“Jessie will have to be her housekeeper for a year.”
“It won’t be that bad.”
Jessie rested her head down and groaned. “How did I get myself in this mess?”