I Don’t Regret You
Copyright © 2017 by Jodie Larson
Cover Design by Murphy Rae at Indie Solutions by Murphy Rae
www.murphyrae.net
Interior Design by Champagne Formats
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Editor: Ellie McLove
www.lovenbooks.com
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incident are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
The salad bowl between my feet rocks back and forth as we drive down the road. It’s the last picnic of the summer, getting ready for the change in seasons. Mike’s company puts on this annual party for their employees as a thank you for their extended hours during the busy months. The kids enjoy it because they get to play fun games with their friends while eating junk food all day long.
Me? It’ll be a typical day spent with people who don’t interact with me or go out of their way to make me feel welcome. You’d think after all these years it wouldn’t be this way, but like every other small town, if you didn’t grow up here you weren’t part of the clique and therefore are an outsider.
It doesn’t help that Mike treats me the same way. Who knows, maybe today will be different.
“Mom, did you pack my water gun?” Jacob asks.
I turn to look at him in the back seat. “No, sweetie. But I brought water balloons instead.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “Those are lame.”
“I’ll take his,” Cassie says.
“No way. They’re mine.”
And so the fight begins. It’s what happens when you have kids that are so close in age; Jacob being ten and Cassie just turning nine. Fifteen months separates my two little darlings, though if you look at them, you’d swear they were twins. Same brown hair, same green eyes. Only Jacob got his father’s nose and mouth.
“That’s enough you two,” Mike pipes in. “None of that crap today. You best behave or there’ll be hell to pay when we get home.”
My heart sinks. I hate it when he talks to the kids like that. Seeing the hurt and disappointment on their faces kills me inside. Mike used to be fun when the kids were younger. Somewhere along the line, he changed. I can’t pinpoint the exact time, but his patience plummeted and his anger skyrocketed. Then came the drinking.
Please let today be a good day.
It’s the same mantra I chant every time we go out in public. If I can make it through today with minimal chaos and drama, everything will be fine.
We pull into the gravel parking lot with the rest of the cars. Jacob and Cassie shoot out of the truck as fast as they can, yelling where they’ll be over their shoulders as they wave to their friends who are already playing games. Mike takes off with the cooler to his buddies, leaving me to carry the chairs, salad bowl, and my oversized bag with everything we need in it.
Three trips later, I find a quiet spot on the edge of everyone else, listening to their conversations since no one has bothered to engage with me. Tammy Sanders is going on and on about her kitchen remodel while Kristie Mundy is giving her pointers on staining her cabinets to save money.
I sit with my hands folded in my lap, trying hard not to pull the paperback out of my bag. If Mike sees me with my nose in a book, he’ll give me a warning look–something filled with disgust and the promise of a fight when we get home–and then I’ll have to hear about it for the rest of the night. As much as I’d love to do something, it’s not worth the headache.
Mike’s company hired out for the main dishes, which was nice. At least this way, we know it won’t be five different versions of spaghetti hot dish serving as the only option for an entree. The catering van pulls up, Lakeside Grill painted in bold lettering against the stark white. It’s one of the only restaurants in town to accommodate functions like this. And they’re the best.
Several guys pile out of the van, each touting chafers filled with the most delicious smelling meats imaginable. Something barbecue or spicy. Either way, my mouth waters with each gust of wind blowing my way.
I recognize the owner, Henry Monroe, as he makes several trips to the tables while simultaneously instructing his guys on how to set things up. He’s wearing his signature baseball cap pulled low on his brow, hiding his eyes. I’m not used to seeing him around town unless it’s in the halls at the kids’ school for an event or one of the monthly PTA meetings. He’s a nice guy and one of the only people in this town who actually talks to me.
Once it appears the food is set up and ready, I call the kids over and make our way to the buffet. Despite their complaints, I make sure their meal includes at least one vegetable as I generously pile a little bit of everything else on their plates. When all the kids have gone through the line, the adults–now several drinks into the day–begin lining up. I walk with Mike, who’s still ignoring me while laughing with his work buddies.
I pick up a plate and start loading some pulled pork onto a bun.
“Aren’t you watching your calories? You sure you need all that?” Mike says, eyeing my plate. Several of the wives around us start snickering as I put the tongs back in the tray.
“It’ll be fine.” More snickers come from the women on the other side of the table while I try to hide my burning cheeks by keeping my gaze on the food.
“Quit mumbling. God, that annoys the shit out of me.” Mike continues to stack ribs on his plate while laughing at a comment from Joe, one of the supervisors.
“This is quite the spread,” Joe says.
“Yeah. I better eat now because there’s no way I’m getting food like this at home.”
Joe looks over at me. “Don’t you cook like this for him?”
Mike laughs. “Yeah right. If she tried, it’d be burnt or inedible. Let’s just say I didn’t marry her for her cooking abilities. More for her ravenous appetite for the other kind of meat.”
Heat crawls up my neck as everyone around us starts laughing. Did he seriously just say that? I fight the urge to drop my plate and run away. It doesn’t fail. Whenever he’s in public, Mike always finds a way to embarrass me or make little jabs at my expense.
I make room for someone to switch out the chafer and am surprised when I c
onnect my gaze with Henry’s. His cool blue eyes give me brief comfort as a frown pulls his lips down.
“You okay, Jocelyn?” he whispers.
I nod, biting my lip to keep from opening my mouth. Once it’s in the air, it becomes real. And I’m not ready to admit how weak I’ve become.
“Everything looks great, Henry,” Jolene says with a bat of her eyelashes.
“Yeah, Hank, ‘bout time I get some real cooking.” Mike laughs and slaps his shoulder.
Henry doesn’t engage, just walks away. It takes me by surprise, having someone show me an ounce of compassion, though short lived as the wives around me start chattering on about their prize-winning meals or how happy their husbands are at home.
With my appetite gone, I push the food around my plate and watch the kids happily play with their friends while Mike continues to talk loudly about my shortcomings.
How did it get to this point? Where did my happy path take a turn for the worse? Choking back a tear, I look up and let the sunlight warm my face. Just breathe.
I let my gaze drift to Henry once again. With a smile, he tips his hat at me. For a second, I pretend someone cares about me.
“Better make sure you take an extra long walk tomorrow to burn off those calories on your plate. You know how I feel about the extra weight you’ve gained,” Mike says as he passes to refill his plate.
That’s what he cares about, appearances. Perfect kids, perfect wife…perfect life.
I stand and toss my plate into the trash. I hate wasting food but I know the alternative is me deflecting Mike’s comments and the snide remarks of the other wives. Through it all, I smile through the pain because if they don’t see how they affect me, they don’t win. Only they are. Every day I lose another piece of me. I need to figure out how to salvage what’s left or there will be no more pieces to give.
“Mom! My permission slip isn’t in my bag! Mrs. Castille said if we don’t turn it in today, we can’t go on the field trip tomorrow.”
I sigh. “Cassie, I thought I asked you to make sure everything was in your bag before we left.”
Her crestfallen face hits me hard and I quickly glance over my shoulder to make the second U-turn of the morning. A car horn blares, earning me yet another middle finger. Just another day in the Wentworth household. At least we were only a few blocks from school this time. Ten minutes ago, I was parked at the drop-off site when Jacob realized he didn’t have his gym shoes.
It’s the same thing, just a different day. These routines are becoming the norm, even though I’ve tried my best to make it the opposite. Missing homework assignments, lack of gym clothes, lunches still left on the counter. It’s a wonder I still know my own name most of the time.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m back at the front of the school, jumping out the door and waiting for them on the sidewalk.
“Get off me! Mom! He’s touching me again.”
Jacob scowls and hops out of the car. “Was not. She was blocking the way out.”
“That’s enough. You’re both out and it’s over with.” Plastering on my best smile, I kiss their heads and run a hand down their arms. “Have a good day at school.”
They shove each other as they race up the stairs, the tardy bell ringing in warning. Tens of kids barrel by me, all shouting their love to their parents standing at the cars behind me. It just now dawns on me that neither of mine said they loved me. Just rolled their eyes and continued bickering. I sigh. I know they love me and that’s what counts, right?
I climb back into the car and glance at the clock. Shit! I’m going to be late for work. Again. Every day I’m always five minutes late. The annoyed glare of my boss is starting to become too much of a constant. I’m just waiting for the day he calls me into his office to have ‘the talk’. I can see it all playing out now. Tears and uncontrollable sobbing as he tosses my ass onto the sidewalk. For the most part, he’s been patient. But patience only goes so far. Sooner or later, it’ll run out.
Brenda taps her watch as I jog into the office.
“I know, I know. Had to make two trips back home this morning.”
She shakes her head and laughs. “Girl, how can you live like this day after day?”
Plopping down on my chair, I grab my headset and boot up the computer. “Most days it’s not this bad. Besides, there was one day last week where I was actually ten minutes early.”
Brenda rolls her eyes. “One day in the whole month isn’t enough for a pat on the back. Mr. Davenport has been watching you like crazy. You don’t want to burn this bridge. I know this job is important to you.”
It’s more than important. It’s my family’s lifeblood. I got lucky when I fell into this job, especially since I had just found out I was pregnant with Jacob. Being a newlywed and pregnant within two months of the wedding, it was a lot to take on. Not to mention that Mike didn’t have health insurance and the thought of how we’d pay for the hospital bills made me sick every night. Literally. On a routine visit, the receptionist overheard a phone conversation with my mom regarding how we were going to make ends meet and told me of an opening in their billing and claims department. It didn’t take long for me to fill out the application and get hired. Mr. Davenport was impressed with my people skills and ability to juggle multiple tasks, especially for a twenty-one-year-old girl with no college degree.
Eleven years later, I’m still here, only barely. The smiles and way-to-go’s from Mr. Davenport are few and far in between. At one point, I was the highest producer of claims paid. Now, with most everything being automated, I’m basically here to answer customer complaints and adjust bills accordingly.
“Bren?”
“Yeah, Joss?”
It’s not right of me to unload my troubles on her. She’s been my only friend in the office and I can’t afford to alienate myself anymore. If she stops talking to me, I’ll just be the loser in the break room who sits alone and talks to herself.
“Never mind,” I say dejectedly. She shrugs and takes a call.
A light blinks on my phone and I press the button to send the incoming call to my headset.
“Good morning, Community Health Center. This is Jocelyn. How may I help you?”
“You’ve got some nerve sending me a bill like this!” a woman screams on the other end. I pull the headset back a little, but it’s too late. The damage has been done. Perfect. The first phone call of the day matches exactly how my morning has gone so far. Shitty.
When noon rolls around, I take my feeble salad from the fridge in the break room and find an empty chair by the window. We ran out of salad dressing again, so I just squirted some lemon juice I found in hopes it’ll be a decent replacement. I take a bite. No, not quite the same as French dressing. It’s nowhere near a good substitute, especially when you’ve had your heart set on something else. Then again, that’s the story of my life.
I’m halfway through one of the gossip magazines when my phone rings next to me.
“Hey, Mike.”
Loud squealing roars in the background, most likely a chainsaw or some other sort of equipment. “Hey. Just wanted to let you know my truck shit the bed this morning. Sounds like the fuel pump again.”
I drop the fork and rub my forehead. “I thought we just fixed that.”
Mike grunts. “Yeah, well, we had to cut costs and found a cheap replacement part at the junkyard. Now we need a new one.”
“How much this time?”
He yells something to a coworker. “I don’t know. A couple hundred.”
Money we don’t have. Perfect. “Okay, well, let’s talk to Toby and see if he can do it again.”
“Fuck that. I’m taking it to Pete. He’ll do a better job.”
I place my head in my hand and hunch over the table. “Can he do it cheaper?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. Look, I gotta get back to work. Just wanted to let you know about the truck and remind you that I’ve got league tonight.”
“What? I thought it was your night off. Remem
ber it’s Cassie’s school play tonight? She’s been so excited about it.”
Mike yells something else. “The guys need me. Tommy can’t play, which leaves me. Have to go.”
I sigh. “Okay. I’ll let her know something came up. Again.”
“Don’t take that pissy attitude with me. I work hard and I deserve to relax however I want.” His anger is palpable over the phone.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. I’ll let her know you couldn’t get out of it. She’ll understand.”
“Whatever.” A car door thuds and an engine roars to life. “Gotta go. Don’t wait up for me. Probably going out after.” He hangs up before I have the chance to respond. I set the phone down and stab at my salad again, although my appetite is lost now.
His priorities and attitude shouldn’t surprise me one bit, yet somewhere deep inside I wish we meant more to him than what we do. In the beginning, Mike was very attentive and loving, doting on me hand and foot while we were dating and after we got married. When we found out we were pregnant with Jacob, he did everything for me, including painting my toenails when I couldn’t reach them anymore. Somewhere down the line, things changed. He changed. It was a slow removal from our lives. As the kids grew older, he grew more distant, less interested in what needed to be done or what the kids were involved in. After a while, it was normal for me to appear alone at school functions, be the one to take them to church or attend family gatherings without him. It was like I was a single mom with a live-in roommate who wanted to have sex with me every once in a while.
“Jocelyn,” a deep voice says at the break room entrance.
I startle upright, quickly picking up my mess on the table. “Sorry, Mr. Davenport. I was just getting back to work.”
Tossing out my trash, I slink past him, but he says my name again, slowing my steps and forcing me to turn around.
“You’re not in trouble, don’t worry.” I breathe a sigh of relief. “I wanted to let you know that we’re opening up the weekend to some overtime. Claims have been coming in faster than we can process and for some reason, the system is kicking most of them out. Which means each one needs manual processing. Can you work Saturday for a few hours?”
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