Of course Gram and Grandpa would expect Jesse to step up to the plate and be there now that Mama has surfaced.
To have and to hold from this day forward.
The reality is blinding and a kaleidoscope of images flashes through my mind, scrambling my ability to focus on the obvious. I’ve been fucking her husband for damn near a year.
For better or for worse.
We’ve fallen in love and I’m not ready to part with that—with him. She can’t have him back. He’s mine now. He belongs to me.
For richer, for poorer.
Jesse sees the panic setting in, the uncertainty of us, and of our future. My mind races through the conversations we’ve had—the ones about her, the ones where he tells me about his regrets, and his mistakes. The excuses he’s made for her fucking walking out on all of us the way she did five years ago.
In sickness and in health.
A lifetime has come and gone in those five years. I’m eighteen, but I’ve lived more and experienced more than most thirty year olds have, and I’m not about to roll over and pretend it never happened.
To love and to cherish.
“There are things you need to be saying to me right now that you’re not saying, Jesse.”
From this day forward . . .
“I’m still in shock. I mean what the fuck? Give me five minutes to digest this shit, will you?”
Until death do us part.
“Take all the time you need,” I reply.
Chapter 32
* * *
“In youth we learn, in age we understand.”
Marie von Ebner-Eschenbach
Jesse got further details the following evening when he called my grandparents back and informed them that he was able to clear Thursday, Friday and the following Monday from his job taking emergency leave. He would be heading to Meridian if they needed him there, but that is dependent upon whether my mother wants to return to Meridian with them.
Apparently, it was through my grandparent’s tenacity and due diligence that had led them to find my mother. After the PI had failed to turn anything up, and was taken off their payroll, my grandparents decided to use whatever no-cost resources were available as a last ditch effort to find her.
They had contacted the Salvation Army’s Missing Persons Bureau and another agency called ‘NamUs’, who produced flyers with her picture and stats, including scars and birthmarks, and circulated them to shelters, soup kitchens, churches, hospitals, free clinics, morgues, and group homes throughout the country. A month later, they had been contacted by a women’s shelter near El Paso, Texas with a match.
The problem is that the woman they located has no memory of who she is—or was. She’s suffering from injury-induced amnesia, and has been at the shelter for two years. Social services placed her there after she was released from a county hospital in Presidio, Texas, where she had been in a coma for three months prior to that.
She goes by the name of Sarah Smith since she had no identification on her when she was found unconscious just a couple of miles this side of the Mexican border. A couple of border control volunteers in that county had discovered her and had taken her to the hospital in Presidio. She had been badly beaten and left for dead, which isn’t unusual in areas close to the border.
I think back to when we first heard through Casey about Mama being dead. The timing fits and although the investigator never managed to find the elusive Juan Martinez, I’m pretty sure he’s the same man in the shiny black car that picked her up that day from our trailer park with promises of marriage and money in Mexico.
I’ve never told Jesse that part of the story and now I feel guilty about it. It never seemed like it made a difference until now.
But what help could it have been?
It’s not like I got the license plate number or anything, or that she went missing under mysterious circumstances. She left by choice: her choice. No search had ever been conducted because of that.
Why do I feel guilty about that?
I mean, how much guilt did she ever feel before someone tried to beat her to death in a west Texas desert? The timing proves that she’d already been gone for nearly two years before she was found beaten.
How convenient is it that she doesn’t recall any of that—or any of us?
How fucked-up am I for thinking that thought?
The following day I’ve just come in from working my shift at the restaurant, when Jesse meets me in the kitchen. I can see that he wants to talk.
“Got a minute?” he asks, rubbing my shoulder.
“Sure,” I say, “Where’s Scout?”
“In the shower.” He takes a seat at the table, his hand wrapped around his coffee mug. “I think we need to discuss this trip to Meridian that will likely happen.”
“Go ahead,” I reply looking over at him finally. “What’s the plan?”
I know what he’s going to say. He’s going to say that I need to stay here with Scout since she doesn’t know any of this is going on, and he’ll go alone to assess the situation. There’s so much more to say though, and I guess that will come in time.
Like the status of the divorce that he’s filed for and will be final in a few months.
Like the one-on-one he hasn’t had with Scout letting her know about our relationship.
“Ruth called this evening. She and your grandfather have convinced Libby—your ma, to come back to Meridian with them. She doesn’t remember them, but they were able to convince her that she’s their daughter, so that’s a major step. Once they bring her home, they’re going to make sure she gets whatever psychiatric treatment she needs in order to get her memory back. But you need to understand that it’s possible she never will.”
“And then what?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean where are you going with this, Jesse?”
He pauses, and I can tell whatever he’s got left to say isn’t coming easily.
“I have to put the divorce on hold for a bit. Now hear me out. It’s only because she’s still covered on my medical insurance. As long as she is legally my spouse, I can’t take her off of it. Your grandparents can’t afford to pay any medical bills, out of their pocket, my God, it would bankrupt them. I felt I needed to offer that up to them seeing that she’s their daughter, Scout’s mom—”
“And your wife,” I repeat for the second time in as many days.
“Yeah, okay. And my wife.”
“So what else?”
“I’m making flight arrangements to leave Thursday morning.”
“Fine, I can stay with Scout.”
“Well, actually, I thought maybe we all should go. It’s time to face the reality of this, and unless Ruth tells me different, I think it’s time Scout met her ma, even if she doesn’t know any of us.”
“I’m not going. I have to work.”
“Come on, September. You can surely get someone to take your shifts for you.”
“Oh, I’m sure I can, but I’m not going to, Jesse. Do you have any idea how this is making me feel? Do you even care?”
“Baby, it’s tough, I know. But we can’t run from it.”
I shake my head as I study him. Clearly, he’s torn into pieces and I’ve no idea what he’s feeling other than conflicted.
Join the club.
“I’m not running from it. But I’m not running to it either. You do what you have to do—what’s best for you and for Scout. I’m not going, though.”
And as I leave him standing there in silence, I realize Jesse hasn’t told me that he loves me since we got the news that Mama is alive.
And now?
She’s coming home to Meridian for a family reunion.
Jesse’s divorce is on hold.
My instincts tell me that before it’s over, Mama will be joining Jesse and Scout in Fort Smith.
Once again, I’ll be recast as the stepdaughter, relegated to that former pathetic per
son who craves the love and attention of a man that can never be hers.
Always on the outside looking in.
My mind is invaded with childhood memories.
I must’ve been around twelve at the time. Scout wakes up during the night in the room we share in that old trailer. She whines and then throws up in her bed.
I go quietly down the hall to get Mama up. Their door is shut the way it always is when they go to bed for the night. I’m just about ready to turn the doorknob and go in to wake her when I hear Jesse’s deep voice.
“That’s it baby. God you feel so fucking good, Libby. Do you know how much I love you? How much I love this?”
Her voice comes softer, “I love you, Jesse. I love how you fuck me. I can never get enough of you—of this.”
The bed is squeaking loudly, in a synchronized rhythm. The headboard is hitting the paper-thin wall of their room. I hear manly groans and Mama’s high-pitched mewls as the tempo increases.
“Maybe we’ll make a baby this time,” Jesse says huskily as the squeaking of the bed gets louder. “You’re around mid-cycle, right? Maybe I’ll get my son.”
“I hope so, Jesse,” she croons. “I tossed those pills last month just like you said you wanted. “I want to give you another baby. I want us to be a complete family.”
Any further conversation is muted as I hear Jesse moan Mama’s name and tell her how sweet her pussy is.
And then Mama is whimpering, telling him that she’s coming and not to stop—to keep fucking her just like that.
I realize what they’re doing because I’ve heard it before, but never up this close, never right outside their door. I usually cover my ears with a pillow, but this time, I want to hear everything. I wish I could see what it is they’re doing that makes them sound like animals being satisfied in some primal way.
I hurry back to my room and find that Scout has fallen back to sleep.
The next morning Mama comes in after Jesse’s left for work to wake me for school. She sees the mess in Scout’s bed. “What the heck happened here?” she asks.
I sit up, rubbing my eyes. “I don’t know,” I lie. “She must’ve been sick during the night.”
“Well run get me a wet washcloth and towel,” she instructs me. “Oh, and bring me the baby aspirin I keep in my top drawer of my dresser where she can’t reach it. She’s got a bit of a fever.”
“Okay,” I say, taking off to get what she’s asked for. It’s when I open her top dresser drawer, digging around under bras and panties for the little glass bottle with the pinkish-orange cap that I see the round, beige-colored plastic disk containing her birth control pills. I flip it open and see that she’s halfway through the pack. And I know that Jesse won’t be getting his son anytime soon.
Chapter 33
* * *
“Strength lies in differences, not in similarities.”
Stephen Covey
Jesse and Scout flew out this morning. Scout took the news fairly well, for all that she remembers of Mama, which isn’t much. Jesse dug some old photos out last night to refresh her memory, though he told her not to expect to meet the same mother from when those pictures were taken.
She should only be that lucky.
Things between Jesse and me have been quiet and strange. It feels as if we’re both aliens of different species. We don’t communicate because we don’t understand each other’s language, but some magnetic force is still inexplicably drawing us together.
I’m wondering if it’s the whole Venus and Mars thing. Funny, but it’s never been evident before now.
We hadn’t made love—or fucked—since Saturday night. That’s certainly not typical for us to go that long between except of course when I’m on my period.
Which I’m not.
So, it was just after midnight this morning when he came into my room.
Finally.
My instincts tell me I should refuse him—force him to talk to me in a language that I can understand, but my body has other plans.
Neither one of us say a word.
How unusual.
Our bodies do all of the talking for once, and the message is loud and clear—at least it is for me.
This is our good-bye fuck.
Jesse can’t say those words, but with every touch I can feel the intent, the undercurrent, and the finality of it. It’s bittersweet and fragile. It’s a finely tuned instrument that is complicated to play but has the sweetest and most melodious sound emanating from it at the same time. It’s an exquisitely composed opera, pure rapture until the final act when the fat lady will take the stage.
Three orgasms later, she has sung and he leaves my bed with a whisper that carries no promise. “I love you.”
I have a lot to accomplish today, but I got the ball rolling on Monday. I’ve rented a furnished efficiency near campus. It’s in an old Victorian-looking house, a bit run down, but for four hundred dollars a month, it’s mine.
I’ve also secured a waitressing job at a steakhouse close to campus. More hours, better tips and no one knows me there. I start next week.
I drag boxes from the garage and set about packing my stuff up. I debate as to whether to take my laptop and printer, but rationalize that they were both gifts, therefore mine to take.
Everything I own fits into the trunk and backseat of my Honda. I won’t even need to make two trips.
I check everything in the house, making sure I’ve cleaned the room that was mine, including laundering the sheets and remaking the bed.
Our bed.
Not anymore.
Everything is neat and clean. There’s no reason for me to linger. I pull the house key off of my key ring, placing it along with my cell phone on the kitchen table. Jesse pays my cell phone bill so I’m not taking it. I’ll get a new one. I make sure to delete all texts, call history and contacts from it.
I look around one last time at the home that’s been mine for more than a year. It’s hers now. At least that’s what I think.
I push the button on the lock and close the door behind me, heading towards my car with one last box of shoes that I place in the front passenger seat.
“Well, well,” a familiar voice rings out, startling me. I shut the door of the car and look over to see Casey, arms crossed, a sardonic grin plastered on her face. “What have we here? Has Jesse come to his senses and banished the little Lolita from his kingdom?”
“Fuck you, Casey.”
“Oh honey, you can do better than that, right?”
I don’t give her the satisfaction of a response, climbing into the driver’s side, and shutting the door. Unfortunately, my window is still down and she’s going to take every advantage of it. “I’m just glad to see that he finally figured out what a manipulative and conniving little whore you are. Just like your mother. I’ve been wishing for him to wise up for a year now.”
I start the engine, and turn to look at her standing there in all of her pathetic glory. “Be careful what you wish for, Casey. It just might come back to bite you in the ass. Although, it is tempting to stay here and see how you and my mother get along, I think I’ll pass. I can see it getting real ugly. Turns out she wasn’t dead. Looks like you’ll have another new neighbor soon.”
And I put the car in reverse, taking special delight in watching Casey standing there, her jaw dropped, mouth hanging open trying to figure out if I’m being honest or merely fucking with her one last time.
I take off for my new home, my heart freshly broken, and hopefully, my lesson finally learned. When has ever trusting love worked out for me?
Certainly not with my mother.
Obviously not with Jesse.
I must focus on my goals for now. College, career, and then someday—maybe a relationship. That’s not my top priority at the moment, though because my heart has been fractured. It’s in pieces.
I feel a warm tear roll down my cheek, and then another. They keep spilling out, until
I finally pull over to the curb and allow myself the luxury of mourning my loss within the privacy of my car.
I feel better, wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand. My resolve is taking over now, giving me some semblance of strength.
I put my car in gear, and head out leaving the neighborhood I used to call home. I was much younger then; a naïve brat, clueless in the intricacies of the human heart, and the fabric of adult relationships.
Jesse has taught me so much more than just the mechanics of sex. He has schooled me well in what happens when a foolish heart is given so easily and freely to another. To one who isn’t in a position to give back with the same degree of commitment and intensity.
Jesse’s given me a life lesson.
And for that I must feel grateful.
Epilogue
* * *
“Delay is the deadliest form of denial.”
C. Northcote Parkinson
As soon as Scout and I are ushered into Henry and Ruth’s place, I spot Libby, sitting on their plaid sofa. She’s aged more than I would’ve guessed in five years, yet she still has a hint of that rare beauty that first attracted me to her. The same rare beauty that September wears like a veil draped all over her exquisite body.
Libby seems meek, nervous. Her hair is still long, halfway down her back, and it flows in soft waves. She’s extremely thin, too thin, and her brown eyes look like saucers deeply set into her pale face.
She wears no make-up, which makes the biggest difference in her appearance. But she looks freshly scrubbed. Ruth no doubt helped her be presentable. She’s wearing a flowered cotton skirt that falls well below her knees, and a white cotton sleeveless shirt. Both are too big for her tiny frame.
Nothing is reminiscent of her previous style.
She’s introduced to us as ‘Sarah’ though, and Ruth whispers her assurance that it’s just going to take some time.
“Sarah, this here is Jesse Ryan,” Ruth says, nodding towards me. “Do you remember Jesse?”
Loving Jesse Page 17