by Natasha Boyd
I watched Jack swallow and blink. The late afternoon cast a golden hue through our open blinds.
“I’ve always gone deep into the characters I play,” he said, his voice rough. “Trying to really get into their skin. Find something within myself that identifies with them.” His eyes cut to mine briefly. “This character, playing the role of my father, is by far the darkest I’ve ever had to go. And he was my own father. I’m of him. Borne of him.”
“No, Jack.” It burst out of me before I could stop it. My arm around his abdomen tensed and squeezed him. I knew where he was going. “You don’t have any of him in you.”
He flung my arm off him and sat up, making me gasp. “That’s just it. I found it. I identified with him. I looked inside myself and didn’t have to look too far because he’s my Goddamned father. I share his DNA.”
“You are not him.” I sat up too. I knew I was reacting strongly, I should just let him talk, but I couldn’t help myself. I needed him to understand. “You are nothing like him. I’ve read the script. You wrote it, sure, but you are not him. I know you. You are no where near him. Not even on the same planet. In fact, as much as I adore Charlotte, your mother may have lied about who fathered you. Because there is no way you share any characteristics with that man,” I finished, out of breath, my chest heaving. “Not one.”
Jack stared at me.
Then his eyes dropped.
“No, Jack.” I shook my head.
“Yes,” he said quietly and looked back at me. His eyes were sad and pained. “I’m one hundred percent sure that a part of me is really that evil. When I was on set, and I had to dig deep to find the motivation of what it would take in me to inspire that level of violence, I thought about you. I thought about how I felt about you and what I might do if you decided to leave me. Or have my child and then take him or her away from me. If you wouldn’t stay and listen to me, if everything you did seemed like you were laughing at me, taunting me.”
“And?” I said quietly. Disbelieving.
“Isn’t that enough?”
“No, I’m still not getting it. So what if you had to draw on those feelings of possession? So what? I feel possessive over you. I struggle with it all the time. The difference is you wouldn’t kill me, Jack.”
“I don’t think I would, no.”
I blew out a breath. “You wouldn’t.”
“But I can’t be sure.”
“Are you listening to yourself?”
“Yes, and this is why I didn’t share it with you. It sounds stupid when I say it out loud.”
“Because you’re worried you might try and kill me?”
“Because if I said it out loud, yes the thought would be stupid. But in my head it’s a very, very real fear. It’s in my mind all the time that I could be capable of doing something truly horrific. It sounds ridiculous, I know. I just ... I know I’ve had temper issues. Impulse control issues. God, I once punched your brother’s best friend when I saw you in his arms.”
“Jack, you didn’t hurt me. And you didn’t have murder on your mind.”
“See, and you’re making excuses for my violence. And maybe once we were married and we had a child, or children, I would get crazy. Maybe I have an illness that just hasn’t materialized yet. I don’t know what getting married would do to me. To us.”
“Make you happy, I hope,” I suggested, my voice betraying my incredulity at this conversation.
Jack looked away, leaning his elbows on his knees and slumping over. “For all I know, his psychosis is genetic. What if it just hasn’t happened yet? What if I’m—”
“Stop, Jack.” I scooted over and swung my legs off the bed next to him so we sat hip to hip. I curled my arm around his back. “I’m so sorry you feel this way. I do think it’s an irrational thought, but I don’t think you’re stupid for having it. I know you, Jack. I know you would never, ever hurt me.”
“Maybe not.”
“Definitely not,” I assured him, desperately sad he felt so flawed right now. “I know it.”
“I don’t.”
“I do.” I sighed and slipped my arm around his broad back. I hugged myself to his side, resting my head on his shoulder. “Being married won’t change the man I love, and adore, and trust, above all else.”
Jack sat quietly for several long moments, then took a deep breath. “I can’t believe I’m saying this ... because I’ve wanted and waited for you for so long ... but what if the reason we work so well is that we’re not married?”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I struggled to find my breath.
“I always thought I wanted the security and the certainty of being with you forever,” he whispered, staring out the window. “I wanted you to belong to me. Wear my ring. Be there always. But that’s possession, not love. I want to possess you. And what if that ruins us? What if my security now rests on knowing that you don’t have to be with me, but that you choose to? And a part of me wonders ... maybe you’ve put us off because you felt this way too?”
He turned to face me with eyes so raw and full of pain my own eyes filled instantly in response.
“Oh my God, no, Jack,” I whispered. “I choose you every day, every moment. I’d choose you even if you stopped loving me. I’d choose you forever even if I ... if I,” my voice broke, “even if I didn’t have you, couldn’t have you, didn’t have to be with you. I’d still choose you even if you didn’t choose me anymore.”
He closed his green eyes and scrubbed a strong hand down his face.
“Jack?”
“I’m sorry.” He stood and then leaned down and kissed my forehead. “Love you.”
I grabbed his hand. “Don’t go. Please. Please stay and talk to me.”
“I can’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“I need to go clear my head.” He grabbed his phone and earphones off the dresser and walked out the door.
I folded my arms around my stomach as I heard his footsteps jogging down the stairs.
Seven
I felt like a zombie the next morning as I headed to meet Jazz and Nicole, the bride-to-be, at the Butler Rooming House. After our awful conversation last night, where Jack had admitted he was having seconds thoughts about getting married, we’d somehow made it through dinner with Devon and Monica. My earlier bout of nausea had managed to provide me with an excuse for why I was so wooden throughout the meal. I’d tossed and turned all night, finally settling when Jack had curled his body around mine. We needed to talk, I knew that. But the next few days didn’t offer much hope of it. Staying at Devon’s didn’t really feel like the right place or private enough to really talk it all out. And I was helping Jazz with the wedding, we had appointments scheduled back-to-back it seemed. Add in the fact we were apparently having a surprise party for my birthday, an event I’d never felt less excited for with the current situation between Jack and me, and I knew the discussion wouldn’t happen any time soon.
After a night thinking it through, what had shocked me more than anything was that I hadn’t seen it coming. I hadn’t seen how much worry and pain Jack was in. Why hadn’t I gone to England to be there while he was filming the same way I’d been there for him every night when he was writing the damned thing? He’d made it sound like he’d be working almost around the clock and he’d hardly see me. He’d said my being there would just make him feel bad and distract him because he’d be worried about me. He’d been so confident. So sure. I’d had two big commissions to work on, so I’d just gone along with it.
Who would have thought that seemingly innocuous decision would now be potentially spelling our relationship’s doom? I walked into the kitchen in a haze—past Jazz and Nicole who were sitting at the kitchen table with folders spread out around them. Whatever they’d been chatting about, it was only when they fell silent I realized I had to pull myself together or risk being a downer to their excitement all day. I clearly looked as zombified as I felt.
I forced a smile. “Gotta get some caff
eine. Then I’ll be alive.”
“Morning,” Jazz called, peering at me over a photo book she was flipping through. Her tone said she wasn’t buying my excuse. “What about shells?” she directed at Nicole. “If they’re done right, they don’t have to be kitschy. Oyster shells for example.”
“I do love the bleached shell look. Do we have enough time to make that happen though?”
I watched the dark liquid stream in a narrow torrent into the coffee cup. I’d have loved shells at my wedding. Sea glass and shells. Bleached oyster shells and white clam shells. I’d been making strings of them like I used in some of my chandeliers. I’d thought to make a bunch of non-electrical lanterns to hang up in trees as part of an exclusive summer collection for next year, or my wedding, whichever came first. My stomach pinched.
The oven next to me beeped.
“I was warming up some quinoa muffins to have with ginger-honey butter,” Jazz said as she came up next to me, holding a linen napkin-lined basket, and pulled open the oven door.
I’d forgotten to eat breakfast, and it was making me feel ill.
“You okay?” she whispered.
“Not really.”
“I forgave you, remember?”
“Thank God, you did. I was an idiot. Sorry, again.”
She raised her eyebrows at me questioningly after she’d taken the warm muffins out and closed the oven.
I glanced over at Nicole who was placing two pictures side by side and cocking her head with a happy smile.
“Later,” I mouthed to Jazz.
We headed back to the table, and I decimated five muffins slathered with the sweet honeyed butter. Nicole stared longingly at each one I ate.
“Sorry.” I shrugged with a teasing grin pulled out with effort. “It’s not like I’m going to have to fit into a wedding dress anytime soon. Lucky me.”
Jazz looked at me speculatively.
Nicole laughed. “As soon as this wedding is over, I’m going to order the biggest, greasiest, burger with fries ever, and eat the entire thing.”
“Sounds like a plan,” said Jazz. “So you’ve had your final dress fitting?”
“Yep. Check it out.” Nicole picked up her phone and scrolled through her photos before showing us a dressing room picture she’d taken of herself in the mirror. Her dress was lovely—off the shoulder with a fitted bodice and a gently flaring skirt that was edged along the bottom with a white fur trim.
“Wow,” I said. “Fur?”
Jazz kicked my foot under the table.
“Well, it’s a winter wedding. Ish,” amended Nicole. “I always wanted white fur. Sort of like a snow queen slash Narnia feel. Not real fur of course. And I have a matching white fur stole that will pin around my shoulders.”
“It’s beautiful,” I said and shot Jazz a glare while Nicole wasn’t looking. It actually was beautiful. Something I’d never have thought of.
“I always loved Queen Jadis in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.”
“You did?” My eyes widened. “She kidnapped Edmund and kept Narnia in perpetual winter. I thought everyone hated her.”
“She was lonely and probably had a shitty childhood.” Nicole laughed. “She always seemed misunderstood to me.”
“Hmm. True. I think I like your take of her.” I just wasn’t sure shells and fur went together thematically. “How about feathers instead of shells?” I suggested. “Maybe white mixed with the odd quail or pheasant feather for contrast. They’d go well with white roses.” I warmed to my topic. “It’s hunting season in the Lowcountry. All the old plantations start to have quail and pheasant shoots during this time of year, it would be appropriate. And it would go with your fur.”
Jazz and Nicole glanced at each other then back at me.
“I love it!” said Nicole. “Is it too late to order them? This sounds amazing.”
“I guess,” said Jazz. “I don’t see why not. Provided we can find a supplier in time. But it will be all hands on deck. The roses will still fit perfectly. Keri Ann, will you be able to help spell out your vision to the florist?” Jazz asked.
Might as well keep my mind occupied from my Jack problems by really throwing myself into someone else’s wedding. “Sure,” I said.
We finished outlining the details of what we’d need and where we might get it.
Jazz glanced at her watch. “Okay, we’re due to the cake tasting at eleven.”
“Shoot,” I said, rubbing my belly. “I forgot. I should have saved room.”
Jazz snorted. “The way you plowed through those muffins, no one here was going to stop you. You’d have bitten one of our fingers off.”
“Probably,” I admitted.
My phone buzzed.
Jack: Hey, you left this morning before we talked. You okay?
Sighing, I typed back: Not sure I can text you back an answer that would satisfy right now. Are YOU okay? I don’t know how I feel. Sick, mostly. And sad for you. For us. When do we get to talk about this properly?
Three dots came up to show Jack was typing. They disappeared a few times. Then finally: I know. I don’t know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have burdened you with this.
The five muffins felt like I’d eaten cement.
“Is that okay?” Nicole asked and I realized she was talking to me.
“Sorry, I was texting with Jack. Is what okay?”
Nicole’s angelic face was marred with concern. Jazz had left the table to clean up breakfast.
“Is it okay for you to devote so much time to this? You must have other things going on. I mean, Keri Ann Butler helping with my wedding. I feel like it’s a dream.”
I shrugged and smiled politely. “Jack’s mother and stepfather are coming for Thanksgiving, the same week as your wedding. Other than that, I’m available.” I wasn’t part of my birthday plan, I had no current commissions, and so unless I was making strings of not-for-my-wedding shells, then nothing. I had nothing going on. “I’d love to spend the next few weeks helping you pull this together.”
“All right then,” said Jazz. “Let’s go eat cake.”
The day flew by so fast I hardly had time to think. By the end of it, we’d nailed down the cake flavor—amaretto cream, along with hand-made truffles from the Chocolate Tree in Beaufort, just up the coast. We’d ordered the bushels of oysters for the oyster roast on the beach, which was scheduled for the night before the wedding. And we’d narrowed down the menu for the reception. Nicole got more and more nervous with every decision she made. She’d turned her phone off to avoid her mother, but I could tell she was having second thoughts about cutting her mother out of the plans. She didn’t seem concerned about not including her fiancé though.
Jazz’s cell rang mid afternoon while we were piling back in her car to head back to the inn. “Yes, ma’am,” she answered the person on the line. She gave Nicole a pointed look. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. If you’ll just have a seat in the living room and help yourself to a drink from the library bar, I’m on my way to get you checked in.” She paused while listening and mouthed, “Your mother arrived,” to Nicole. “Yes, ma’am. Yes, she’s with me. Okay, see you soon.”
Jazz pulled the phone from her ear and pressed the red circle. “I need to hire some help,” she muttered. Her face was flushed. “She sounds delightful,” she said to Nicole and pointed the car toward home. “Lovely language too. Is this a mafia wedding I’m involved in?”
Nicole snorted with laughter, then grimaced. “Sorry. She grew up in New Jersey, married into Manhattan money. My late daddy used to say she never quite lost the chip on her shoulder. Nor the Jersey from her language.”
“I didn’t realize,” I said. “So your father’s not in the picture?”
“Died when I was fourteen. Shot,” Nicole said stoically.
Holy shit.
“And no,” she went on, “while it’s not a mafia wedding, it was a mob hit that killed my dad. Apparently, he was standing in the way of the financing on a construction project
.”
“Jesus,” said Jazz.
I reached out and squeezed Nicole’s shoulder from my spot in the back seat. “I’m sorry,” I said because what in the world did you say to that?
“Well,” Jazz said and caught my eye in the rearview mirror. “All three of us are practically orphans. I knew there was a reason we all got along.”
Nicole didn’t say anything but I saw her shoulders relax.
“And we’ll tell your mom we haven’t made any decisions because we were waiting for her. Tomorrow I’ll steer her in the direction of what we’ve already picked.”
“You’d do that?” Nicole snapped her head in Jazz’s direction.
“Why the heck not?” Jazz shrugged. “She’s paying for this wedding, I assume.”
Nicole laughed softly. “Yes.”
“Well, then,” said Jazz definitively. “We have to make sure everything seems like her idea, even while we know it’s all yours.”
“You’re amazing,” she said to Jazz. “Thank you. It seems childish, but sometimes it’s the only way to deal with her.”