Finding Our Way Back (A Well Paired Novel)

by Rice, Marianne

  Exhaustion set in, and she dragged herself to her room and stumbled into bed, curling herself around her comfort bear. She lay in there and replayed the trauma over and over again.

  Waking up in the hospital and learning not only had her tubes been tied, but Anna had died.

  Learning—so she thought—Tristan had run the light and caused the accident.

  Hating Tristan.

  The grief.

  The rage.

  The depression.

  Tossing and turning, she pulled her bear even tighter to her chest and spooned it, searching for comfort as she forced herself to remember the accident. She’d blocked that moment out of her memory for too long.

  At first, she had no recollection of the crash, then when scenes from it invaded her nightmares, she forced herself never to think of it. Of the impact that crushed her child.

  Tonight, though, she wanted to remember. Needed to remember.

  The contractions had been steady for three hours, and they’d been four minutes apart for the past hour, getting stronger each time. Jenna reached for the throw-away phone Tristan got her for Christmas and left a message on his cheap phone. The service was terrible, but hopefully, he’d be in a place to get her call.

  Arlene’s dentist appointment ended an hour ago, and he’d mentioned running some errands with her before coming home. She waited for twenty minutes and left another message. When he didn’t respond, she called her doctor who told her to come into the hospital. Again, she called Tristan and left another voice message.

  “Tristan, where are you? I’ve been having contractions for”—she stopped to breathe through an intense one, counting slowly through the pain—“forever. The doctor said to come in. I can’t wait any longer, so I’m going to drive myself in. The hospital is only three miles. I’ll be fine. Meet me there. I love you so much! I can’t believe we’re going to be parents—”

  Another contraction tightened her belly, and she tossed down the phone, holding on to the counter for support. Once the pain subsided, she cradled her ginormous belly, found her keys, and waddled down the apartment stairs to her car.

  She hadn’t driven in a while and had to slide back the seat to accommodate her stomach. When she was a mile from home, she realized she forgot her overnight bag. Another contraction hit, so she pulled over until it subsided.

  As soon as it ended, her water broke, soaking the front seat. For a moment, she thought about going home to change and to grab her bag, but her contractions were getting stronger, and she was scared she wouldn’t be able to make it to the hospital.

  Excitement, worry, and fear filled her chest. The contractions were growing in intensity and frequency, and she was having a hard time keeping her eyes open during them.

  Pulling out into traffic, she drove slowly, clutching the wheel with one hand and her belly with another. She hit every red light turning an eight-minute drive into a fifteen.

  The slow drive gave her time to breathe through her contractions, and for that, she was grateful. At the last light, she could see the hospital up ahead. Knowing another contraction was coming any second, she stepped on the accelerator.

  Jenna closed her eyes and squeezed her bear. The memory was too clear now. The memory she’d blocked out of her mind for eight years now played out in high definition.

  The car to her left had stopped at the yellow light. She glanced at the driver and then to the light and past it to the hospital. Her focus had been on the brick building that would bring her relief. Where she and Tristan would welcome their little girl to the world. Fixating on the hospital, she sped through the intersection, seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.

  The impact of her driver’s side door was instant. The airbags inflated. Her head bounced from the bag to the headrest, and she instinctively reached down to her belly, but the airbag was in her way.

  The pain was sharp and sudden.

  And then it all went black.

  TRISTAN DIDN’T THINK Jenna would come out of her room to eat. Since he’d skipped lunch, he ate a healthy portion of chicken cacciatore and put the rest in her fridge. It was only nine o’clock, and he had a million things to do for work, but Jenna was more important.

  Settling on her couch in the dark, he called Michael and asked him if he’d be willing to spear-head the Pennington retirement party Friday night. Of course, he jumped at the opportunity.

  Next he called Stella with the shopping list and specifics on which produce to purchase from which farm stand and what to get at the grocery store.

  Handing over the reins to his staff hadn’t been as difficult as it had been when he left Maestro. At the time, his job was the most important thing in his life. This time, not so much.

  More than anything, he wanted to check on Jenna, to lay by her side and hold her in his arms and tell her everything would be okay. For now, he’d respect her space. Sort of. He wouldn’t make the same mistake he did last time.

  It wasn’t that he had given up easily; he fought hard as hell for her, but in the end, he had let her go.

  This time nothing in the world could keep him away from her.

  He stretched out on the couch and draped the blanket hanging on the back of it over his body. He hadn’t been asleep for long when he heard her stumbling about.

  The house was dark with only the dim light from above the kitchen stove reflecting around the corner. He could just barely make out Jenna’s silhouette walking toward him.

  He sat up and blinked back the sleepy seeds in his eyes. “Are you okay?”

  Jenna screamed and smacked into the couch. “Tristan? You scared me.”

  “Sorry.” He got up and turned on the lamp next to him.

  Dressed in loose sweatpants and her long work shirt, she shielded her eyes from the light.

  “What are you still doing here?”

  “I’m not leaving you.” Ever.

  “I told you I wanted to be alone.” She lowered her hand and blinked repeatedly.

  Yeah, she did. Only he remembered too well how she’d said she thought about taking her life once. There was no way he was leaving her alone until he knew she was in an emotionally and mentally stable place.

  However long that took. Days. Weeks. Months. For life. He was here to stay, and he’d help her through the grief and pain over and over again if she needed it.

  “Why—?” she started. He watched as her lips opened and shut a few times before she continued. “Why didn’t they ... arrest me for vehicular manslaughter?”

  He jumped up and reached for her but dropped his hand when she pulled back. “Is that what you think happened?”

  She looked away and shrugged one shoulder. The tears pooled in her eyes and he wanted more than ever to wrap his arms around her. To protect her. To comfort her. To love her.

  “Sweetheart.”

  “I killed our daughter.”

  “We were in a car accident, and she died.”

  “Is that what you told the police? Is that why they didn’t arrest me?” She lifted her chin and sniffed.

  There’d been countless interviews with the police and a lot of paperwork that he’d shielded her from. She’d been too fragile to deal with any of it. Being hospitalized for five days had been a blessing and a curse, keeping her away from the legal matters involving the accident and their daughter’s death. It helped that one of the detectives grew up next door to him and had known him since he was in diapers.

  Detective Munger had been a godsend, pulling whatever strings he had to. He didn’t explain much of what he was doing to Tristan, only assuring him he’d handle it. His daughter was a defense attorney, and Tristan had hoped he wouldn’t have to meet with her. He never did.

  He didn’t care if what Munger and his daughter did was illegal; all he cared about was being there for Jenna and mourning the loss of Anna. Then there was the small, intimate funeral to plan. Could she have been charged with vehicular manslaughter? He shivered, not wanting to think about it.

  T
he important thing was to focus on Jenna and their future.

  “They didn’t arrest you because you didn’t kill her. She died from a terrible accident.”

  “That I—”

  “No. Sweetheart.” He stepped toward her, and she moved back. “You found it in your heart to forgive me. You need to forgive yourself as well. I know, we all know, how much you loved Anna. It’s time to move forward. To be happy again.”

  She covered her face with her hands. “I need to be alone.”

  “I’m giving you your space, but I’m not leaving you.” He moved to the other side of the couch so she could see he meant his words.

  “That’s nice, but you have a job, and so do I. Speaking of, I’m going out to the barn. Alone. I can’t work with you hovering about.”

  “I understand.” He did. While he loved having company while he cooked, he preferred them to be sitting and watching and not getting in his way, asking questions when he was trying to concentrate on a new recipe.

  She moved past him into the kitchen and out the back door. The outside light brightened the living room, and a moment later, another light from the barn shone in the driveway.

  The next few days would be the hardest. Keeping her in sight twenty-four-seven without making matters worse and making sure his jobs were taken care of might be more than he could handle.

  He’d called in help at work but was hesitant to call in help with Jenna just yet. There was a fine line between respecting her privacy and caring for her well-being.

  Her parents needed to know. They could come down for a surprise visit while Tristan checked in with work.

  Even though a middle of the night call would scare them at first, it was better to talk with Frank and Carolyn without Jenna overhearing. Picking up his phone again, he dialed their number and told them the news.

  Stirring up painful memories from the past was always hard, but when you compounded them with news that wasn’t in your loved one’s favor, it was even more devastating.

  Still, it needed to be done.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  She should have known Tristan would have called her parents. Their impromptu visit wasn’t because they felt like taking a drive to the coast.

  “We wanted to check out The Honey Pot. I don’t think we’ve ever been there before.” Her mother and father stood on her front porch with smiles as wide as the big blue sky.

  “I don’t work again until Saturday, Mom.”

  “Then we have time to get lunch somewhere. The Happy Clam was nice the last time we ate there. Is Hope working? Or would you rather go somewhere outside of town?” The extra pep in her mother’s voice teetered on the edge of being annoying.

  Actually, getting away sounded pretty good right about now. Even though she figured Tristan had told her parents to come and visit, she wasn’t sure how much information he gave them.

  Did he tell them she was having a hard time, or did he tell them it was Jenna’s fault they never got to have a granddaughter?

  Swallowing the lump in her throat, she agreed. “Sure. Let me get my purse.”

  Tristan had been in the kitchen making magic with the minimalist supplies she had in there. He’d stayed true to his word—sort of—and stayed out of her way.

  When she was in the barn, he was inside the house. When she went into the kitchen, he’d leave her but not before telling her what he’d made for food and where she could find it: fridge, freezer, oven, cabinet.

  She thought about telling him she was leaving but figured he already knew. Besides, she could feel him lurking about close enough to be there if she tripped yet far enough away where she had the room to herself.

  The thing with Tristan’s presence was that it was always near. Either in the flesh or in spirit, she could feel him around her.

  At times she was comforted with that knowledge, and when the self-pity and guilt crept up, she hated that he never gave her privacy.

  “Should we invite Tristan to come with us?” her dad asked.

  “He has work to do,” Jenna answered for him. Even as she closed the door behind her, she could feel him watching from the kitchen.

  Her father looked past her and nodded in Tristan’s direction. Not very subtle, Dad.

  They picked a chain restaurant outside of town where there was less of a chance of running into anyone she knew. Her parents made idle chatter about work and the latest Skype call from Danny.

  He had another four months in Afghanistan and would be coming home toward the end of February.

  They made it through their meal, and her father had taken out his credit card to pay for lunch when a familiar voice called out her name.

  “Jenna.”

  “Carter. Hi.”

  “Hey, gorgeous. I haven’t seen you in a while.” He kissed her cheek and held out his hand to her father. “It’s nice to see you again, Mr. and Mrs. Snyder.”

  “It’s Frank and Carolyn.”

  Carter cast his infamous charm on his mother. “Are you in town for long?”

  “Just for lunch. Would you care to join us for dessert?”

  What the heck was her mother doing?

  “I don’t want to impose,” Carter responded, yet the gleam in his eye said he really did.

  “I’m too full for dessert.” At this point, Jenna didn’t really care if she was being rude. She’d peopled long enough and wanted to go back to her bed or her potter’s wheel.

  By herself.

  “The molten lava cake looks amazing. Frank, will you share it with me?”

  The waitress came by, and her father took back his card. “Seems like we’re not done yet. My wife will have the chocolate thing you have pictured here.” He pointed to the table tent. “Carter? Jenna? What would you like?”

  “Dad, I’m sure Carter is here with people.” She shook her head in annoyance. “Sorry about my parents. They’re the overly friendly type.”

  “Actually, I am alone and was about to order take out and had planned on eating on the road. This is much better.” He sat in the empty seat next to her and rested his arm on the back of her chair.

  The waitress took out her pad of paper and waited for their order. “I’ll have a BLT with a side of fries to go. And a large iced tea while I wait. On a separate tab, please.”

  “And for you?”

  “I’m fine with my water, thank you.”

  The faster they got their food and ate, the faster she could return to her solitude.

  She sulked while her parents and Carter carried on about mundane topics. Weather, seafood, football.

  Carter’s laughter was infectious. He’d make a joke and rub her shoulder in a friendly gesture, including her in the conversation even though she tried so hard not to be a part of it.

  The three of them got along well. There were no ghosts lurking around when she was with Carter. His carefree attitude and ignorance to her past and the mistakes she’d made should have made her feel better.

  For a few moments, the grief and guilt were lifted as she got sucked into his storytelling of some of the antics he used to pull as a kid. He had her parents and even Jenna laughing.

  This was what she thought she’d wanted. To find a man who could make her laugh and not remind her of the past.

  And he could. Carter could totally do that. But she didn’t love him. She loved Tristan.

  But Tristan reminded her of the past she tried so hard to escape.

  Only what she had been trying to escape was the person who she thought responsible for her misery. Now that she knew she was to blame, there was no escaping.

  The tightness in her chest burned, and she scooted back her chair to excuse herself and ran outside for fresh air.

  Carter’s arms were around her before she realized whose chest she was crying into. It was nice, but not what she needed. Who she needed.

  “Stupid question, but are you okay?”

  She nodded and stepped out of his embrace. “I’m sorry for crying on you.”

 
“No apology necessary. We’re friends, right? That’s what friends do. But as someone who had high hopes at being more than that, I gotta ask. Did he do this to you? Because if he hurt you...”

  “Tristan’s not at fault.” Carter had no idea how true those words were.

  “Things okay with your parents?”

  This peopling thing was exactly what she wanted to avoid. It was why she skipped book night. Why she hadn’t returned anyone’s texts or calls.

  “I appreciate the concern, but I have a lot going on I really can’t talk about.”

  “Understood. Promise me you’ll call me if you need anything. Anything.” He hugged her and guided her back inside.

  Her father paid the bill, and they all left in silence. Tristan wasn’t at the house when they returned. She didn’t know how she knew since he didn’t have a car there anyway, but she knew.

  “Frank, why don’t you go down to Coastal Vines and pick out a few bottles of wine for us to bring home?”

  “You don’t want to pick them?” Her father had never been the sharpest when it came to understanding women code.

  “I trust your judgment. Besides, you can’t go wrong with any of their wines.”

  When he left, her mother patted the cushion next to her. “We’re worried about you, sweetheart.”

  “You know.”

  “Yes.” Her mother hugged her, and they both cried in each other’s arms.

  “I’m responsible, Mom. I ran the light. If I had stayed home ... if I hadn’t rushed through the light ... if I—”

  “Our lives will be an endless what if, if we don’t learn to grow and forgive and move on.”

  “But my irresponsibility cost me my child and any future children,” she sobbed. It was the lack of patience Tristan teased her about that killed her daughter. How could he joke about her flaw—her fatal flaw—and still want to be with her?

  “You know I had two miscarriages between you and Danny.”

  Jenna nodded. “Those weren’t anyone’s fault. Miscarriages happen.”

  “Easy for someone else to say. It’s not easy to believe for the mother who miscarried. She’ll spend months, if not the rest of her life, wondering what if. What if it was the drink I had before I knew I was pregnant? What if making love to my husband caused me to hemorrhage? Was it something I ate? It’s never-ending unless we end it. End the second-guessing. End the doubt.”