“Should I grab a different one?” I ask, already sitting down next to her, ready to open the album and look at the contents.
“No… no… it’s all right. Let’s have a look.”
As soon as I open it, Barbara starts to cry. Her tears might be aided by the emotional aftereffects that come with strokes, or it might just be because the first photograph is of a bride and a groom. It’s in color, but faded, and even though the woman in the picture has dark hair and is so much younger, I can tell that it’s Barbara.
I place my hand on hers. “That’s you… and Harold?”
She nods, and I reach for a tissue on the nearby end table and offer it to her.
Not wanting to stare at her and make her feel self-conscious, I let her take a few moments for herself while I focus on the picture. Harold was a tall man, perhaps even slightly goofy looking, and he’d found a beautiful bride in Barbara. His smile is easy, the kind of smile that tells you he was a good man, a man who would stick by you, who would be at your side through life’s hardships.
“I bet he really loved you,” I tell Barbara once she’s stopped crying.
“And I loved him,” she says with a voice still full of emotion.
“I think you’re really lucky if you find that,” I muse. “It’s nice to see that people really do.” Out in the larger world, love that isn’t manufactured does exist, and this picture of Barbara and Harold is a good reminder.
I have since removed my hand from Barbara’s, but she’s the one who reaches for mine now and makes sure I turn and look her in the eyes, eyes that are insistent.
“If this man, the one who is making you smile today—well, you have to do something before he leaves. If he’s only visiting, you make sure to tell him you care. Harold was so good at that. It was so easy for him to talk about feelings. If it wasn’t for him telling me he thought I was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, I’d have never had the nerve to tell him I fancied him too.”
Now it’s me who is caught up by sentiment. I’m not sure of the exact thing Jack and I had seen in each other last night, but, if pressed, I would probably attribute it to a mixture of lust, confusion, heartache and loneliness. But what if it had been something else? What if there was something more profound beneath the surface of the obvious physical attraction we’d felt for one another, something neither of us were expecting, something I’d not seriously considered?
“No. I don’t think it’s anything like you and Harold.” I say the words, even though I’m not fully convinced by them.
She grips my hand tight. “Don’t listen to your damn head. Listen to your heart. Promise me. Promise me that.”
There is so much unexpected vehemence in this woman that it’s hard to believe I’ve only known her for a couple of days, that she could care enough about me to want me to pursue something with a man she’s never even met.
“Okay,” I tell her as a way to at least ease her grip on my hand. “I’ll tell him. I’ll let him know that I’d like to see where things could go.”
Her eyes light at that. “Good. That’s very good!” She lets go of my hand and eases back into the couch, her eyes not returning to her wedding photograph but instead moving back to the TV.
We didn’t get to the next page in the album, and that was okay. I hadn’t wanted to overwhelm her considering that first picture had brought out an onslaught of feelings for her. But I also didn’t want her to continue to insist that I see things through with Jack.
The rest of the day went much as it had in the beginning, and Melissa was again relieved to find her mother calm and pleased with the house clean and nearly half of a word search finished. She paid me in cash for the hours I’d worked, and I almost felt guilty for taking it when I’d enjoyed my day with Barbara so much. But I’m on my own now, and I really do need the money.
Once I’m in my car and on my way back to the cabin, I’m already trying to talk myself out of the promise I’d made to Barbara, the one about Jack. The thought of looking him in the eyes and telling him that last night might not have been a mistake makes my insides twist up, especially when I imagine him telling me I’ve got it all wrong, that he’d just slipped up, that he only misses his ex-wife.
But what if that’s not what he says?
I may have been weak when I’d allowed myself to remain under the thumbs of my parents and Michael, but I’d left them, hadn’t I? Hadn’t that taken at least a small amount of courage? Cynthia told me to do things that scared me because sometimes the outcome on the other side makes it all worth it.
So maybe that’s what I have to do.
Maybe I have to tell Jack that last night wasn’t a mistake.
Chapter Eight
NATALIE
I park in the rutted driveway next to the cabin, just to the side of Jack’s truck. My heart is beating a million miles a minute at the prospect of telling him what Barbara has pushed me toward. I eye myself in the rear-view mirror and attempt to give myself one of those pep talks that starts with something like, “What’s the worst thing that could happen?”
The simple answer is that when I tell Jack I wouldn’t mind exploring things with him would be that he’d reply with a very clear no. It could be argued that it’s better to get a no than to never have taken the chance at all, but I think it’s different when you’re living with the person, when the man is possibly still not over the ex he seemed to love more than life itself and when that man is one of your father’s friends.
“Fuck it,” I say to my reflection, opening my car door and deciding that I’ll do whatever seems right when I find Jack.
And I’m about to head inside the cabin to do exactly that when I hear the mechanical hum of what sounds like one of those electric saws. Mom was big on having our house remodeled every few years, so I’d gotten used to the sounds of construction. I follow the noise around to the back of the cabin, then stop at the sight of Jack pushing a piece of wood through the saw and cutting it in half.
And I have to catch my breath.
Today, Jack Pierce has decided to go shirtless, and I can’t really blame him considering it’s well above eighty degrees. There is a sheen of sweat over his lightly tanned skin, sweat that clings to the hair that grows in a perfect pattern over his chest and down his stomach—not too much and not too little—before it disappears into his cargo shorts. That’s the last place I want him to find me staring if he catches sight of me, so I lift my head back up and continue to admire the way his muscles move and flex under his skin as he finishes cutting the wood. Still unaware of me, he straightens up and pulls the safety goggles from his eyes, wiping at his sweaty forehead, the movement accentuating the muscle just beneath his skin.
I don’t believe I’ve ever found a man this attractive in my entire life, the humming sensation between my legs and the dryness of my throat confirming it.
And then he sees me.
Not wanting him to think I’ve been gawking, I quickly lift a hand and wave to him, then stride toward his place at the electric saw. “I didn’t want to startle you because of the saw and all.”
He only offers me a half smile. “I’m not easy to startle, but these things can be dangerous, so thank you.”
His voice is deep and masculine, and it makes my knees week. I’m so full of nerves that I can’t imagine it possible he doesn’t notice. I should probably just excuse myself, but something keeps me here. “What are you building?” I ask him.
He clears his throat, wipes his forehead again, then gives a quick tilt of his chin toward the cabin. “Figured this place could use a screened in porch. I’m guessing the mosquitoes get pretty bad out here.”
When I was a girl, my mother had sprayed me with so much insect repellent that I couldn’t say for sure if he was right.
“That will be nice,” I say instead. “It should keep you busy.”
“Yeah.” He half laughs. “I can only do so much fishing.”
I want him to say more or for me to have the courage to mentio
n last night, but when push comes to shove, I don’t seem to have it in me. Instead, I lamely say, “Well, I guess I’ll head in. It’s been a long day.”
I’m just turning away from him, ready to forget all about the talk I’d wanted to have when he says, “Natalie. Can you wait a minute?”
The touch to my arm is gentle, and it eases me back toward him. And then I’m caught up all over again by his beautiful physique and have to stop myself from reacting physically to the gorgeous man standing before me. I focus on his handsome, bearded face and prepare myself for what he’s about to say.
“I don’t feel right,” he begins, clearing his throat again and looking at the ground before he looks back up to me.
I feel my brows rise in expectation.
“Lying isn’t my strong suit,” he says, swallowing hard. “I know that your parents are worried about you, and I think you need to find a way to get in touch with them… to let them know that you’re okay.”
This isn’t at all what I was hoping Jack would say, but it’s not completely unexpected or uncharacteristic of a man who I’ve always known to be honest and good. Still, it draws me back into having to think about something I’d rather just forget for a while.
“I know,” I tell him dismissively, “and I’ll try to figure something out.”
He lifts his brows. “Soon?”
“Yes, soon.”
I can’t help but to think he also imagines that once I tell my parents I’m okay, that it will also mean I’ll leave and will be out of his hair. My heart falls at the prospect, but I lift it right back up again because I don’t want to be that girl, the sad, romantically obsessed kind who can’t take no for an answer. We’d both just gotten carried away by what had happened last night, and then I’d fed into what Barbara told me about it being the beginning of something amazing as long as I were willing to put my heart out on the line.
But that was just silly. Can’t I see that now?
“I can make dinner,” I offer, rather than pouring my heart out to him. “Since you fed me last night.”
The strain in his expression breaks a little. “That would be nice.”
His words are followed by a loud meow, and I look down to see that same black cat appear out of nowhere and wrap itself around Jack’s legs.
“Well, hey there, Blue,” Jack says, bending down and gliding his hand across the cat’s arched back. More meows and a loud, vibrating purr are given in response. I’ve always thought real men are kind to animals, and Jack is proving me right.
“Blue? It has a name?”
Jack looks up at me, a smile breaking across his lips. “Yeah… he has a name.”
“I didn’t even know you had a cat. He kind of freaked me out the first time I… well, the first time I technically broke into your cabin.”
Jack laughs, the skin around his eyes crinkling. “I don’t consider what you did breaking and entering, and I didn’t bring Blue with me. Remember I’ve only been here a couple days longer than you, and this cat just showed up out of the blue. That’s how I came up with the name. Kind of cheesy, huh?”
“No, I love it.” And I do. I crouch down and join in petting Blue right along with Jack. “Melissa and Barbara have a couple pugs, but just between you and me, I like cats better. They’re so chill, and they don’t try to hump your leg.”
Another laugh from Jack, and I realize how much I love hearing it.
“You never had pets growing up, did you? I seem to remember Lincoln—well, your father—saying your mom was allergic?”
I very much doubted my mother was allergic, but she’d announced she was after I’d had Peco, Pedro’s replacement, for three years. By then, I’d grown to love the new cat and didn’t feel guilty in loving him as much as I’d loved Pedro. So, it came as a shock when my parents told me Mom had developed an allergy to cat dander and that they’d have to find Peco another home.
“But can’t I just move with him to another part of the house?” Our house was big enough to house multiple families, so why couldn’t Peco and I just live somewhere Mom didn’t have to be exposed to his cat dander?
My parents both told me how impractical that would be and seemed to have forgotten their entire goal in getting me Peco had been to keep me from being sad about Pedro.
When I’d reminded my Mom of that, she’d snapped at me, said, “Well, you’re old enough now to start facing some disappointments,” and Dad told me to “buck up,” that, “There are things in life that are going to be hard, but getting over them is what it means to be strong.”
When I cried about Peco going to live with one of Cynthia’s good friends, I did it in private. I’d learned that crying was a sign of weakness, and I’d only ever been given Peco to stop me from showing that emotion. With him being taken away, I was being taught the life lesson of how to keep from showing your loss and grief, how to move on and act as though everything was just perfect. It was a lesson I could have done without.
“I guess she was,” I finally answer Jack, not wanting to rehash my sob story about two cats I’d loved and hadn’t been allowed to properly say goodbye to.
“That’s too bad. Marjorie loved animals, and…” He closes his eyes, and Blue slips over to me, nestling around my ankles.
“I’ll go in and start dinner,” I say, giving Blue a good pet before standing back up. I can see how it hurts Jack to even think of his ex-wife, let alone finish sentences about her.
Jack stands beside me, and I’m caught off guard by the sudden, somewhat desperate look in his eyes. “Look, I’m sorry about last night,” he says, one of us finally acknowledging that something actually happened. “I was out of line, and I’m ashamed. I think I just miss Marjorie—”
“Jack, you don’t have to explain.” I put my hand up and cut in before he can tell me I was just a diversion. No woman wants to hear that, even if it’s the truth. “You’d had a lot to drink,” I say, adding to his defense, “and we just got caught up in something. Anyway, it happened, and it’s over.” It pains me to say that because I’m not sure I want it to be over, but it’s the right thing to do, and I can at least take some comfort in that.
“Thank you… for understanding,” he tells me, his head lowered.
“I’ll yell for you when dinner’s ready, okay?”
“Okay,” he says with a slight smile, Blue returning to him.
I’m a mix of emotions when I head inside and dig through the refrigerator, trying to figure out if there’s something I can make for dinner without totally messing it up. I eventually settle on boiling a box of pasta, heating a jar of sauce, frying up some vegetables and saving the rest for a salad. All the while I keep thinking about Jack and how he doesn’t want me and how I have to be okay with that.
You did the right thing.
But the right thing doesn’t feel right at all as I get glimpses of him working through the windows of the back doors. It hurts my heart to see him out there, strong, masculine and hard working, a man I’d liked to have known better but one I’ll have to keep my distance from. I can admit to myself that, in all of my tangled up emotions and feelings, I’d gotten my hopes up and imagined something with Jack that simply couldn’t be allowed to happen. It’s now that the cruel life lesson I’d been taught when Peco was taken from me comes in handy.
And if I cry about Jack, it will be in private too.
Chapter Nine
JACK
Natalie tells me it doesn’t matter that I’m a stinking, sweaty mess when I come in, but I insist on showering anyway. Even if I’d come in clean as a whistle, I’d have found a reason to take a few minutes on my own. Seeing her for the first time since last night has triggered my interest in her all over again, and I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to act around her in the same kitchen I’d lost control in last night. Here in the shower, clouded by the steam of the hot water, I’m tempted to stroke myself as a way to ease my attraction to her, to get her out of my system.
But I don’t—I can’t�
��especially when I know she’s less than fifteen feet away in the kitchen.
That’s not the only reason I keep my hands mostly above my waist as hot, nearly scalding water, pours over me. It’s because I don’t know how the hell I can keep facing her after what I’d done, creeping up on her at that sink like a man possessed who hadn’t wanted to stop when I did. That was shameful enough, but grabbing hold of myself at the memory, at the vision of her, just compounds it and makes me feel all the more perverse.
I attempt to think about anything but her, about the fact that my role in this house should be to protect her, to offer her safety while she figures out what her next steps are going to be. But I’d already gone and fucked it up, and I really do want to believe her when she says it wasn’t a big deal, that she understands. But did she—does she really? Can she see beyond my words? Does she know I hadn’t told her the entire truth, that even though I’m conflicted, I really did enjoy what we’d done. Could she know that, for the first time, I’ve felt like a woman wasn’t just a distraction from Marjorie?
Marjorie.
I finish my shower and head upstairs to change and wonder if she’ll ever fully leave my thoughts. Our time together is over—I know that—but she remains on my mind, and this thing with Natalie is confusing me.
Our framed wedding photo is on the dresser in my room here, and after pulling a clean T-shirt on, I reach out and touch it. It seems like yesterday that I’d been a nervous as hell groom, waiting to marry a woman I counted myself lucky every moment of my life to have met. Everything seemed possible then, as we began our life together, me continuing my focus of following in my dad’s footsteps in becoming a plastic surgeon while she worked on her art. In the middle of it all, we restored that beautiful old house together and planned on filling it with at least a couple of kids, children that would never come. By the time we were ready, it was too late.
I sit at the edge of the bed, clasp my hands together and lower my head. I think back to the therapist I’d seen for several months after I’d lost Marjorie, how he said that I would need time to heal but that I shouldn’t dismiss the possibility of meeting someone else.
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