Finding Our Way Back (A Well Paired Novel)

by Rice, Marianne

  “You came back because he’s making money. That’s just like your type. You used him for a baby, and when you took her away from him, you left him in the dust. He was better off without you anyway.”

  “Mom.” Tristan stepped in front of Jenna. “Can we not do this right now? I’m going to do a quick clean up, then we really need to go. Why don’t you take a shower while I’m here.”

  “And now you’re insulting me in front of her?”

  “That’s not an insult at all.” He gripped his mom under her arm and helped her up from the couch. “I know how nervous you are about slipping and not having anyone here. I’ll make you dinner while you shower, okay?”

  Jenna stepped back as they passed by her. At the bathroom door, visible from where Jenna stood in the living room, Arlene turned.

  “This is all your fault, you know.”

  “Mom. Go shower.” He reached over her and turned on the light.

  Arlene didn’t budge and glared down the short hall at Jenna. “You ran that light that made me crippled and killed my granddaughter.”

  Jenna gasped and stumbled backward. She placed her hands on her belly and shook her head furiously. “I ... no. I didn’t.” She stared at Tristan, not to blame, necessarily, but to correct his mom.

  Only his eyes didn’t meet hers. He stared into the bathroom and nudged his mother. “Stop. Leave it alone.”

  “I will not.” Arlene shuffled around so she faced Jenna head on. “All these years he let you believe it was him who was at fault. But I’m tired of the lies. Of the shame you put on my son when it was you who was careless. He might have jumped the instant the light turned green, but you ran the red light. Because of you, I haven’t been able to work. I’m dependent on the state and my only son to care for me. Because of you, he never visits me. I’m dying a slow death in this miserable home while you’ve sauntered off living your life as if you hadn’t ended two others.”

  “Mom! That’s enough.”

  “Tristan,” Jenna whispered, needing him to come to her defense. To take the blame for their child’s death. When he didn’t turn to her, she cried out again. “Tristan! Is it true?”

  No. Clutching at her empty womb, the pain came rushing back. A tightening pulled at her belly and cramped her side. Once again, she felt her insides being ripped from her. Her baby. Her uterus. Her heart.

  All gone. Only this time it wasn’t her husband, the love of her life who took it all away.

  It was her. Reaching blindly for the wall behind her, she walked backward toward the front door.

  “I ... I ... I...” Tears blurred her vision and clogged her throat.

  “Jenna. Honey.” Tristan was at her side, his hands on her face.

  She pushed him away. “You lied to me? All these years?”

  “It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. Let’s focus on the present. The future.”

  “I killed Anna? It was my fault?” she cried, her chin trembling, her stomach heavy with guilt and shame.

  “No, baby. It was an accident.”

  “Baby? My baby is dead because of me!” The pain of the accident from so long ago played over and over again in her chest and in her head. “I need to go.”

  “Okay.” He took her hand and guided her to the door.

  “What about me? You can’t leave me here all alone again. I’m the innocent victim here.”

  “Go.” Jenna pushed him back. “I need...” she sobbed, “...to be alone.”

  It was like sharpened nails had ripped through her flesh, only those nails were hers and not Tristan’s. She took one long, painful screeching breath and somehow managed to find the handle to the front door. She wandered the streets, thirsty for the fresh November air.

  When her legs grew too weak to continue carrying her body, she found a patch of dead grass on someone’s front lawn and sat.

  All these years she’d been blaming Tristan for taking their baby away, for being careless and changing their lives in the worst possible way. She held onto her anger, her resentment, even her hate until it nearly took her life.

  She thought the worst pain she could ever feel was knowing her husband had killed their child. But she was wrong.

  Knowing it was her fault their baby was dead was the worst feeling imaginable. Her head throbbed causing the ground to tilt, while her heart pounded fear through her body. Despite the cold air, sweat coated her body, as her stomach threatened to heave up her lunch. The tightness in her throat made it hard to swallow, hard to breathe.

  It was her fault.

  The houses spun around her. Jenna pulled her knees to her chest and rocked back and forth, her muscles weakened, her limbs trembled. Her stomach spasmed uncontrollably as she tried not to completely breakdown.

  She killed Anna.

  She killed her daughter.

  Her head spun with dizziness as the world tilted on its axis. Time had stopped yet kept spinning around her.

  Shock.

  Disbelief.

  She was totally broken inside. And this time she’d done it herself. It took eight years to forgive Tristan, but she’d never forgive herself.

  She killed Anna.

  Her baby was dead because of her.

  She killed her daughter.

  Jenna’s mouth hung open in agony as desperate, pleading, groans escaped her lips.

  That familiar dark hole was back. And this time she had nobody to blame but herself.

  TRISTAN WANTED DESPERATELY to run after Jenna but gave her a few minutes to be alone. It was a big blow to take.

  Blow. Not nearly strong enough a word. One didn’t exist for something of this magnitude.

  He rushed through the dishes and scrubbed the counter and the tables in the living room while his mother showered. Every few minutes he went outside and looked down the street for Jenna. She couldn’t have gone too far.

  Hell. She could barely stand; he doubted she could walk more than a few hundred yards. He came back in and threw a load of clothes and sheets in the laundry. Normally he’d do that first off so he had time to put them in the dryer, but today he didn’t care.

  His mother could do more than she claimed. She loved playing the martyr. Maybe now that the truth was out, she would stop playing the victim card and take her therapy more seriously.

  There were plenty of jobs she could hold as well. One of these days, the insurance company would come knocking and call her on her hypochondria.

  Arlene came out to the living room, showered and changed and seemed almost happy.

  “That was cruel.”

  “You’ve been lying to her for years. I’d say that was more cruel. I didn’t like her making you out to be the bad guy while she carried on with her life.”

  “You know how fragile she was after the accident. Hell, Mom, she contemplated taking her own life after Anna died, and she thought I was at fault. I pray to God she’s more stable now and won’t think about doing it.”

  “Suicide? Jenna?” His mother’s voice softened in a way he hadn’t heard in years.

  “Yes.” And she was out there all alone.

  “I had no idea.”

  Not that he had either until she told him last month. He didn’t regret lying to her all these years. Had she known she was the one who ran the light, he feared she would have gone through with it and ended her life.

  “I need to find her.” He grabbed Jenna’s keys from the end table and opened the door. He had one foot out when his mother called to him.

  “Tristan.” He paused but didn’t turn around, too angry at his mother for hurting Jenna. “I’m sorry. I wanted your name cleared, but I don’t want her to...”

  “I know.” He believed his mother. She was bitter and enjoyed her pity parties, but she wouldn’t wish anyone dead. “I have to go.”

  “I am sorry. You love me, don’t you?”

  He nodded but didn’t turn around. “You’re my mom. I’ll always love you. And I’ll always love Jenna as well.” With that, he closed the door an
d jogged down the street, hoping he was going in the right direction.

  It didn’t take him long to find her. Her legs were drawn up, her arms wrapped around them and her forehead resting on her knees.

  He slowed as he approached her and took a seat on the brown grass next to her. She swayed back and forth, groaning, and bumped into his shoulder.

  Startled, she lifted her head, her eyes red and puffy, her cheeks streaked with tears. “I killed my baby.”

  “No, you didn’t.” He drew her into his chest and let her cry on his shoulder. They sat like that, on a stranger’s front yard, for minutes or hours, he didn’t know. Time stood still as he held her and let her cry.

  She needed to mourn, and he was glad she could do it in his arms this time instead of pushing him away.

  When the sun dipped behind the trees, he rubbed her back and helped her to her feet. “Let’s get you home, sweetheart.”

  Her body, limp with exhaustion, leaned on him as they walked back to her car. She slid into the passenger seat without a word.

  There were no words that needed to be said, that could be said. Once again, time was the only thing that could heal. She let him take her hand and hold it in his as he drove them home, but she didn’t squeeze his back.

  Passing through Crystal Cove, he continued on to Rockland and parked in front of his house. He wouldn’t let her be alone tonight. Hell, he didn’t want her to be alone ever.

  Taking her body language as a cue, he walked her into his house and to his bedroom. He turned down the sheets and helped her in between them, first taking off her shoes. Cute little ballet flats she’d called them back in the day.

  Not one for heels or even sneakers, Jenna liked the slip-on kind of shoes. He was glad some things stayed the same. Kissing her forehead as he pulled up the sheets, he whispered to her, “I love you, sweetheart. Forever and always.”

  He tucked his comfort bear under her chin and backed away, leaving the bedroom door slightly ajar so he could hear her if she needed him. When he reached the living room, he took out his cell to call his staff. He’d never canceled on a customer nor had he ever entrusted 100% of the prep, cooking, and serving to his team. But if he wanted to start cutting back hours so he could spend more time with Jenna, it was now or never.

  Because never wasn’t an option.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Jenna woke confused at her surroundings. Sitting up, she rubbed her eyes and took in the minimalist bedroom and familiar brown and white comforter. Stretching her legs and loosening her shoulders, the memory of the day unfolded and dropped in her lap like a bag of wet clay.

  The anchor in her gut weighed her down. No, not an anchor. It was guilt. One hundred percent guilt. She looked down at the bear cradled in her arms and fell back in bed. She couldn’t get up, couldn’t move on. Not now knowing she’d taken a life. Her baby’s life.

  The bear in her arms didn’t smell the same. Her ears weren’t worn out from being rubbed between Jenna’s fingers. She wasn’t weighted like the bear at home. While the bear was similar to hers, it wasn’t the same. Jenna carried the weight of Anna in her womb, and now the weight of her death on her shoulders.

  Noises from Tristan’s kitchen and the smell of garlic and sauce made their way into his bedroom. Lying in bed for the rest of her life wasn’t an option while she was at Tristan’s. Once she got home, she could hide in the dark hole she created. She slid from the warmth of his blanket and made his bed, fluffing the pillows and arranging them in a way she knew he’d never do.

  Unless he’d changed and started making his bed? No, the last time—the only time—she was here, his bed had been poorly made. It was something Tristan always said was a waste of time. Lastly, she placed the bear in between the two pillows and put on a brave face. Anything to avoid the reality of what she’d learned. What she’d done.

  “Did I wake you?” An apron was tied neatly around his waist and a towel flung over his shoulder. He always looked so good in the kitchen.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I figured you’d be hungry when you woke up.”

  “You think people are hungry all the time.” She sat on one of the stools at the counter and picked up an orange from the fruit bowl.

  “It gives me an excuse to be in the kitchen.”

  “Do you ever get tired of it?”

  Tristan stirred something on the stove and placed the wooden spoon on a spoon rest. “Of cooking? Never.”

  “What if you do? What if one day you wake up and realize your passion has become work and you hate it? What if you grow out of love with it? What will you do with your life then?”

  “That’s a lot of what ifs.” He wiped his hands on the towel and set it on the counter. “I can’t control the future, but I can control—somewhat—the now.”

  “How are you always so positive?”

  “Because I have you.” He sat on the stool next to her and spun them around so their knees touched.

  “You didn’t always have me.”

  “I wasn’t always positive.”

  She couldn’t do this right now. His kindness and unconditional love were too much for her to take. All she wanted to do was crawl in a hole and cry and hide. Forever.

  “Can you take me home now?” She stared at her knees and picked at the hem of her shirt.

  Tristan placed a finger under her chin and lifted it. “Stay with me tonight.”

  Keeping her eyes lowered, she shook her head. “It’s been a long day. I’d like to go home and rest.”

  “You can rest here. I’ll give you all the privacy you need. I’ll even sleep on the couch.”

  “I need to work in the barn.” That wasn’t a complete lie. Yes, she needed to, but her heart wasn’t in it tonight.

  He stroked her cheek, and the tingles danced up her arm. They always did when he touched her. And he touched her a lot. The gentle caresses, the innocent kisses to her forehead and nose were more meaningful than their make-out sessions.

  Not to say their make-out sessions weren’t amazing, but they were more sensual where the simple touches were more ... just more.

  Without further prodding, he conceded. “Okay.” He stood and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll pack up dinner. Just give me a few minutes.”

  She used the bathroom while he finished dinner and jumped at her reflection. Leaning closer to the mirror, she wiped the dark smudges from under her eyes. It figured one of the rare times she wore mascara she cried enough to fill the Grand Canyon.

  Jenna turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on her face, hoping it would help the red puffiness around her eyes. The woman in the mirror didn’t look any better. Giving up on her face, she undid her braid and finger combed her hair. Wrapping it around her finger, she twirled it up and twisted it into a bun, holding it in place with two elastics.

  It wasn’t like she was trying to impress Tristan. He’d seen her at her worst. Her very worst.

  As the one responsible for killing their daughter and the one responsible for his mother’s disability.

  The ache in her chest throbbed again. Lowering herself to the edge of the tub, she collapsed her head into her hands and wept. Living with Tristan had been too hard when she thought he was the one responsible for destroying their life. How the hell was she supposed to live with herself?

  She sobbed until her throat burned and her stomach ached.

  When a light tapping on the door sounded, she ignored it. She just wanted to be alone and wallow in her self-pity. She didn’t deserve Tristan’s kindness or forgiveness. His gentle touches and soft words only made her more depressed and more aware of how terrible she’d treated him.

  “Jenna. Can I come in?”

  Sniffing back her tears, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and cleared her throat. “I’ll be out in a sec.”

  She splashed her face with water again and dried it on a hand towel. Tristan was waiting for her by the counter. His probing gaze had her looking away. Zeroing
in on the containers neatly stacked on the counter, she figured food was the best distraction.

  “Dinner smells delicious. Thank you for thinking of me.”

  “I’m always thinking of you.”

  “Stop.” She held out her hand then quickly covered her eyes. “Please stop,” she whispered.

  If there was such a thing as too perfect, it was Tristan. She’d been a royal bitch to him, divorced him, telling him he appalled her, when it had been her fault their baby and marriage died.

  When he reached for her, she stepped back. “I need my space, Tristan. Please,” she choked on her words. “I need some time alone.”

  He nodded and picked up the food containers, placing them in a grocery bag. “I’ll get you home.” She followed him out the door and to her car. “Is it okay if I drive?”

  “Sure.” She didn’t think she had the energy to put the car in drive or the ability to focus on the road anyway. He handed her the bag of food, and she set it by her feet.

  They rode in silence, and when he parked in her driveway, she had one hand on the door handle and the other on the bag. “You can take the car. I’m not planning on going anywhere for a few days anyway.”

  Without waiting for a response, she let herself out and somehow managed up the stairs and into the house.

  She kicked the door closed behind her, and when it didn’t slam, she spun around.

  Tristan stood in her doorway, one hand on the door. “You need to eat.”

  “I need to be alone.” She pinned her arms against her stomach to ease the turmoil going on inside.

  “I disagree.”

  “It’s not your choice. Thank you for the food and the ride. I’m going to bed, so you can let yourself out.” She was proud of how smooth the words flowed from her trembling lips.

  “I’ll warm you up a plate.” He took the bag from her and took it into the kitchen.

  She could either follow him and continue arguing with him, or ignore him and go to bed. Ignoring meant less talking, which meant she was less likely to start sobbing again.