As he continues to sleep, I bring my hand up and smile at the sight of my ring. I don’t have any idea what it cost, but it was probably more than he should have spent. And yet the styling is simple and beautiful, nothing like the garish thing Michael had given me, the engagement ring I’d been glad to pull off and leave in the back of the church. Keeping it would have been wrong and would have only reminded me of the superficial lifestyle I’d turned away from when I left Seattle. I don’t dare imagine where I’d be now if I’d gone through with it, if I’d married Michael.
I just focus on the here and now, a now in which I’m pregnant and carrying the child Jack and I have created together. A drug store test confirmed what I’d already been sure of, and in the few days since Jack proposed to me, we’d talked about how we might move forward. He wanted to tell my parents himself as a way to protect me and take the brunt of whatever anger they’d direct my way. But I wasn’t ready for that. Part of me just wanted to go about our lives, for me to get back to school this fall, to marry Jack and then have our baby. If we could do all of that without my parents knowing, they’d never have a chance to stop any of it. And as much as Jack seems to think they won’t try to interfere, as much as I want to believe the same, there is a fear deep in my guts that tells me they’ll try to ruin what we have if given the chance.
Jack takes in a deep breath and slowly opens his eyes, his lips turning up into a smile when he sees me.
“Morning.” His voice is deep and gravely.
“Morning,” I return, sliding closer to him and dragging my hands through the light hair of his chest. “You sleep well?”
“I always sleep well when you’re next to me.”
“I think I can say the same thing.”
“And the great thing about a good night’s sleep means more energy in the morning.” With a crooked smile, he wraps me up in his arms and pulls my body against his, his hard, needy cock sticking into me like a pistol.
With what feels like a flood of butterflies dancing through my body, I lower my eyes to where our bodies disappear under the sheets. “We’ll need to take care of that, won’t we?”
“Absolutely,” he says, just before his lips are on mine.
He is familiar to me now. As our bodies intertwine, we attach and connect to one another in a way we could never with anyone else—that much I know. In a way, I can anticipate his next movements while still being surprised by them. I know how he’ll want me and in which way our bodies will fit together just right, not because of repetition, but because of some inner compass that guides me, that allows our bodies to come together so well.
This is how I end up on my back, my legs spread, Jack above me with a few strands of hair falling over his forehead and eyes that make me feel like I’m the only woman in the world. Just that look is enough to melt me, but when he pushes his thickness up and into me, it takes me to an entirely new level.
“I love you,” he tells me—more than once—and whispers it into my ear while he thrusts his hips, propelling his cock deep inside of me and pushing to my outermost edges. His face is buried in my neck, his teeth gently tugging on the lobe of my ear, thrilling and exciting each and every inch of my body.
“I love you, too, Jack,” I tell him, holding tight around his neck, wishing there was a word stronger than love that would properly define just what I feel for him.
He only comes into me after a crescendo has led to my own orgasm, and when he releases himself, I’m hit with another round of ecstasy, a crazy blend of light and heaviness, of feeling both grounded and free. There’s nothing like it on this earth.
We hold one another as we regain our breaths, remaining connected even after Jack pulls out of me.
“I really think I need to be at the ceremony tomorrow,” he says, in a low, even tone.
“I know Jack,” I say, strumming my fingers along his chest and down to his muscled abdomen. “I think it’s an amazing way to celebrate Marjorie.”
I’ve only known about the foundation for a short while, but I think it’s an amazing way to help college hopefuls while honoring the kind of woman Marjorie was. And tomorrow will mark the first ceremony in which four college scholarships will be awarded to students who had once taken art lessons from Marjorie. I know how much Jack wants to go, how important it is to him to honor the woman who was his wife.
“I’d really like you to come with me.” His eyes widen with expectation.
He’d already asked me to go with him, and I’d had to decline. I’m of course honored he wants me by his side, but it’s just too risky. My parents will be there because the scholarship money will be coming partially from profits from the clinic. While it’s only Jack’s portion the funding will be drawn from, my parents and Louisa Hellman wouldn’t miss the opportunity for good press.
“You know I want to support you, Jack, but you also know why I can’t be there.”
“It might be as good a time as any to tell them,” he says with a renewed vigor to sway me. “We could go up early and get it out of the way. They’ll find out eventually, Natalie, and I’d rather they hear it from us.”
“I’m not ready though!” The words come out louder than I’d have liked, but he’s just not getting it. “Maybe you need to absolve yourself of whatever guilt you’re feeling considering who my father is, but it’s not what I want. I just can’t face them, and I don’t know when I’ll ever be able to. And besides, Barbara needs me this weekend because Melissa has to go down to Redding for the day, and—”
“Okay,” he says in monotone, brushing my cheek and saving me from having to go through a long list of reasons I simply can’t go. “I’m not going to push you to do anything you don’t want to, so I’ll go up alone, and I won’t say a word to your parents about me knowing where you are. It’s going to be weird, but I’m going to do it because you’ve asked me to.”
I breathe a sign of relief and nuzzle in closer to him. “Thank you.”
“But I am planning to spend the night up there, and I’m not going to feel good about you being out here all by yourself in the middle of nowhere.”
“Well, I can’t very well leave Blue all on his own,” I shoot back, making sure to smile as I do.
Jack’s expression grows very serious. “Blue will be fine on his own for a night. He survived for months, if not years without us, and we’ll leave him plenty of food and water.”
“And you think I can’t survive?” I allow laughter to edge my words, even though I can tell there’s nothing funny about this to him.
“What I think—what I know—is that you’re having our baby.” He places the palm of his big, warm hand on my stomach. “And maybe it’s chauvinistic of me, but I’m not going to find a moment of peace if I know you’re here by yourself. Can you at least humor me and stay with Melissa and Barbara for the night?”
There are plenty of arguments I could make against him, including the one where I’ll likely see Camille at the house and have to endure a night sleeping under the safe roof as her. But I really don’t want to disagree anymore or send Jack off knowing he’ll just be worrying about me. So, I give in. “If it will make you feel better, then yes, I’ll spend the night in town with them.”
“It will.” He slides his hand over my hip and along my side, leaving tingles in his wake. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I give him a quick kiss before sliding out of bed. “Any interest in joining me for a shower?”
His wide grin gives me my answer as he jumps out of bed to join me.
Chapter Twenty-Two
JACK
A cascade of diverging feelings overwhelms me upon my return to Seattle, a twist of nostalgia and melancholy. It’s a city that holds great memories of my life with Marjorie but a city that witnessed her decline and death as well. When I pull up in front of the old house we’d restored, the place that would have been home for the children we’d planned on having, I have a tough time even getting out of my truck.
But if I expec
t Natalie to face her parents one day, then I have to be an example and not avoid the more painful parts of my past. I already know that I’m moving forward and finding a balance between the old life I never wanted to lose and the new one I never expected I’d be so lucky to get, but I need to make sure I show that to Natalie too.
With Natalie on my mind and in my heart, I open up the door and step down out of my truck, glad that I’d hired a lawn service to keep things up while I’ve been away.
“Jack?”
I turn back toward the voice, a woman’s voice I momentarily imagine belonging to Marjorie’s ghost.
“Oh, hey there.” It’s our next-door neighbor, Lauren… or is it Leanne?
“Have you been on vacation?” she asks. “We haven’t seen you in forever.”
“Yeah, I’ve been away.” I’m short with her but try to keep up a pleasant enough smile. I’m not really in the mood for small talk.
“We thought maybe you were thinking of selling the place, with Marjorie gone and all.” She stares me down, as if trying to decide how I’m going to react to what she’s just said. Whatever she sees in my eyes, she feels the need to add, “I’m sorry. That was probably insensitive of me.”
I don’t reply. I just want this lady gone.
After she appears to realize she’s not going to get another word from me, she goes on. “I see. Well, as I’m sure you know, my husband sells real estate, so I hope you’d consider listing with him if you do decide to sell. You know it’s a seller’s market, and—”
“I’ll give it some thought,” I bark out—but I won’t. “Nice seeing you,” I tag on, even though it isn’t, and then I turn to walk back toward my house.
She says something, but I’ve pretty much blocked her out. I was never a huge fan of her and her husband as neighbors, the nosey type, the kind of people who waited two weeks after Marjorie’s death to bring over a plate of cookies that were just props to attach the husband’s business card to.
Vultures.
When I finally take out my keys and open the door to the house, I’m flooded with images of our life here, most of them good, some of them bad. One of the worst had been the day we’d sat in our living room and told our loved ones that Marjorie had ovarian cancer and that her chances of survival were slim. But it’s also the house we’d celebrated anniversaries in, had put our blood, sweat and tears into restoring, where we’d laughed together, made love together and made our plans for what had once looked like a very long future.
I walk through every room of a house that has seen many more residents than just Marjorie and I. The place is a hundred years old, and if the walls could talk, I’m sure they’d say a lot. But the only memories I’ll ever know of this place are the ones I made with Marjorie. All of her things are still here, her canvases, her unfinished paintings, her clothes and mementos, photo albums and furnishings she’d excitedly found in antique shops and estate sales. There are photographs of her too, of her and I, our framed wedding picture and the sonogram of the child her failing body wouldn’t be able to carry to term.
It’s a day like today where it remains difficult to believe that she’s really gone, that someone so vibrant and alive, a person you’ve built a life with and where evidence of her living and breathing is all around you, faded away in a matter of months.
“Please don’t be mad at me,” I say aloud, standing in what was our master bedroom. I want to believe her spirit remains free but close and that she will understand the life I’m ready to create with Natalie. “It doesn’t mean I don’t still love you, because I do. It just means that I love her too, and I think she gets it. I think she realizes she’s the world to me, but that you were the world to me too and that you’ll always be a part of me.”
I wish she’d give me a sign, that she could somehow respond and let me know that she’s watching from some other place, that death isn’t the end, that there is something beyond, some eternity spent with the people we love the most.
There is a creaking in the house, the barking of a dog outside and the sound of a plane flying high overhead. But there are no cut and dry messages from Marjorie.
I sit on our bed, fold my hands together and lower my head. There may be no message now, but maybe it was Marjorie who guided me in some way, who pushed me to buy the cabin and to take the sabbatical because she knew it would lead me to Natalie. I again think that maybe I don’t deserve a second chance at love when there is so much misery and despair in the world. Maybe it’s just plain luck or maybe it’s because Marjorie has a way of pulling strings wherever she is. However it’s all come to be, I’m determined to make her proud and equally determined to be the best husband I can be to Natalie.
The collision of past and present makes me wish she were here with me, that Natalie had accompanied me and could see what my life used to be with the assurance she and I would create something of our own.
“Hi, Jack,” she says when she answers her phone, me calling her the second best thing to having her here.
“I was just thinking about you,” I tell her, my own phone glued to my ear.
“You’re in Seattle then?”
“Yeah, at my old house.”
There is a moment of silence before she asks, “Do you feel her presence there?”
Surprised by the ease with which she asks, I respond, “I think I do.”
“I’m glad,” she tells me in a soft, even tone. “I love you, Jack.”
“I love you too, babe.”
I love you too.
While I provide the funding for the foundation, it’s Marjorie’s older sister, Katherine, who runs things day to day. She operates the website, social media feeds and has done several interviews with local television stations. The work isn’t just about college scholarships or sharing the amazing woman my wife was but also about education, about getting people with family histories of genetic cancers tested and to make it easier for adoptees to get medical histories from their birth families so they can make the best decisions about their own health.
She eloquently discusses these things at the podium in the medium-sized event room at a downtown hotel before introducing me to the stage surrounded by flowers and a life-size portrait of Marjorie. Katherine is a tough act to follow, but I manage to get through it, introducing and awarding the scholarships to the four high school seniors who were all lucky enough to have Marjorie as an instructor in one of their art programs.
I congratulate all of them personally after the ceremony and speak to a reporter from the Seattle Times about the future of the scholarship program and then to the members of Marjorie’s adoptive family, some who have helped Katherine with tonight’s event and some who came to offer support. It’s when they leave that I face the two people in the room I’d barely acknowledged, worried they’d see through my lies about their daughter.
“Fine work, Jack,” Natalie’s father tells me, giving me a solid pat on the back. “You’ve made Marjorie proud, and the press is great for the clinic, really shows we have a community involvement.”
“Thanks, Lincoln.” I’m gritting my teeth to keep from telling him he can shut the hell up about the good press for the clinic while also aware I’m not exactly a saint here standing in front of him. I’ve been having sex with his daughter, a daughter he’s been unable to find.
“It really was beautiful,” Sharla says, moisture welling in her eyes. “To think, Marjorie’s legacy will help those four kids go to college.” She looks like she’s got more to say, but then she covers part of her face with her hand and begins to cry.
“Oh, Jesus, not here,” Lincoln tells her, pulling her close, not so much as an act of love but more like a move to shut her up and shield her from prying eyes. “You don’t want all these people to see you crying.”
Before I can react, Katherine walks up and says a soft, “Hello,” before producing a tissue and handing it over to Sharla. “I hope everything is all right?”
“It’s fine, isn’t it, dear?” Lincoln grip
s his wife’s shoulder, hard.
“No, it’s not fine!” She yanks herself away from him, dragging the tissue down her cheek and taking a layer of makeup with it. “Our daughter is missing, and you don’t even care! She could be dead, and we wouldn’t even know.”
“Your daughter?” Katherine is completely out of the loop on this one and looks up to me as if I’ll be able to explain the situation.
But the only thing I can think of is the guilt I feel watching Sharla break down in front of me. I’d made myself believe that Natalie’s parents were unfeeling and uncaring, that they were more angry about their daughter running out on a wedding she didn’t want to be at then they would be sad about her disappearing. But, at least as far as Sharla is concerned, I can see I’ve been wrong.
“She was supposed to get married,” Sharla goes on in an answer to Katherine, not allowing Lincoln to stop her. “She’d been with Michael for ages, and I don’t know… well, I suppose she didn’t love him the way you’re supposed to. She ran, and she hasn’t come back, and my husband doesn’t seem to care.” There is a touch of uncharacteristically hysterical laughter in her voice now as she moves further away from Lincoln.
He’s not trying to console her. Instead, he’s eyeing the room, as if taking note of the number of people that might be watching this unfold.
“Didn’t you get an email from her?” I ask Sharla, unable to keep quiet a moment longer. “Didn’t she at least let you know that she’s all right?”
“Yes.” Her answer comes immediately as she’s wiping at her eyes. “But it was a while ago, and we haven’t heard anything since, and—”
“How do you know we got an email from her?” It’s Lincoln’s voice, sure and accusatory, his eyes narrowing in on me.
“What?” Sharla’s eyebrows squeeze together, her head flinching to her husband and then back to me.
Damn.
I can feel the weight of Katherine’s eyes on me too, and there isn’t any way out of this. I’m not going to be able to keep my promise to Natalie.
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