“Hey, come over to Aunt Rosalie’s tomorrow for lunch, won’t you?” Cole places a hand on Jake’s shoulder, probably so he can’t escape. “Bring your dad if you want. Alexis and Bailey too. You know she’d be glad to have you.”
“I just can’t…Alexis has her parents and everything…”
“We understand,” Camdyn insists, wrapping her arm through Cole’s. “Don’t be a stranger, though.”
I don’t even care what kind of ridiculous Santa wrapping paper is in my hand—I simply grab the closest thing with the intention of walking toward the front. My attempt at a polite goodbye is probably less than stellar, and in any other circumstance I would never grab Jake by the arm and drag him anywhere, but he seems incapable of proper movement while we’re in the presence of the people who are supposedly his friends.
He doesn’t wait with me at the register. Instead, he marches himself right back out to the truck and revs the engine, like he might abandon me inside the place. For a second I’m actually worried that he will, because he’s Jake and that would be a very Jake-like thing to do. When I finish paying the ridiculous five dollars for the wrapping paper, though, he’s still sitting there, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel like he’s typing a book in there.
“Your friends seem nice,” I say as I step into the truck. He puts the truck in reverse and backs out of his parking space.
“Yep.”
“You didn’t seem especially happy to see them.”
He waits to answer me as he looks down the street to make sure there’s no oncoming traffic. “Didn’t expect to see anyone I knew, that’s all.”
I guess I can understand him reacting like that after seeing someone he knows…if he’s got a felony arrest warrant outstanding or something. Maybe that’s why he followed me out of town?
It’s a preposterous thought, and I don’t consider it anymore as we drive back to my parents’ house, complete silence in the cab of the truck with the exception of the Christmas music. “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” seems an inopportune selection, but he doesn’t move a muscle to change it, so either it doesn’t bother him or he’s got too much on his mind. The way his jaw keeps flexing, I’d go with the latter.
Breathing a sigh of relief, I grab the handle on the door as we pull into the driveway. Ridding myself of Jake immediately is the ideal choice, and then not seeing him until the day he takes us home.
Maybe I can convince Dad to take us home. Put Jake out of his misery.
“Do you mind if I come in and use the restroom?” Jake asks. “I’ve still got a bit of a drive.”
No. “Sure.”
Ugh, how do I reconcile having a chip on my shoulder with the fact that the man drove us all the way down here? It’s proving to be quite a conundrum.
He follows me into the living room, and I flip on the light as he heads into the hallway. While he shuts the door and closes himself inside, I put my coat on the peg, withdrawing the drug store receipt from the pocket and crumpling it in my hand. As though erasing the evidence can erase the whole night.
The clicking noise alerts me to his exit of the bathroom, and when I turn and see the agitation evident in his body posture, my heart immediately catches.
“Jake,” I begin, watching as he stops to turn his head toward me. “What was that back there? Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“Trouble?”
“Don’t try to tell me you weren’t acting a little strange.”
His eyes narrow as he shakes his head almost imperceptibly. “Mind your own business.”
His tone causes my breath to catch in my throat. Sarcastic needling I’m accustomed to, but open antagonism is new. I don’t like it, and I really don’t enjoy the fact that it worries me even more.
“Mind my own business? If you want to be in Bailey’s life, then your actions are my business.”
“You’re dead wrong about that,” he says, turning fully toward me as though he’s preparing himself for a fight. “Last I checked, it took two people to get us into this situation. You can act holier than thou all you want, but I know all about you. Your reputation precedes you.”
“Oh, that’s cute, you talking about my reputation. Give me a break.”
“Because you’re so snowy white, are you? You didn’t look so innocent the night I met you. And why do you think I came over to you in the first place? ‘There’s your ticket,’ my buddy told me. ‘Heaven Jennings. She’s always up for a good time.’ Talk about a sick joke.”
“Heaven…” I blurt, understanding slowly sliding over my subconscious. Lifting my hands, I place them atop one another over my mouth so he can’t see the sick shock registering on my face. “You thought I was Heather.”
The entire area of my abdomen seems to constrict and tie itself in knots, and if I wasn’t so blindsided by the realization, I might be sick. Of course he thought I was Heather. For that split second in time, I thought I was Heather. I acted like Heather and paraded around like Heather, and I got what was coming to Heather.
“Who the heck is Heather?”
Who is Heather? The one who never has consequences, even though she drowns herself in red.
“My sister. The female version of you.”
Even Jake—flirty Jake who would take any woman who looked his way—he didn’t want you. He only wanted Heather.
That was it, wasn’t it? When he realized he really had Alexis, he wasn’t interested. I know I should feel disgusted and angry, but part of me can’t see any further than the little crack in my heart. How could I have traded my future to someone who thought I was Heather?
He paces toward the far side of the room, lifting a hand to the back of his neck. “I guess the joke was on me. This sure hasn’t been heaven.”
His slightly smug, arrogant countenance pushes past that little crack and causes me to teeter on the verge of furious as he paces around my living room as though he owns the place. Somehow, though, the recesses of my mind are only longing to lash out at Heather for convincing me to be like her.
Nearly trembling, I fold my arms across my chest as I watch him cross the room yet again. “You’re seriously complaining about me? As though I’m the one who has the terrible habits, taking our daughter around and doing God knows what with God knows who.” My thoughts go back to the story Bailey told me about Jake—the one that cemented my decision to leave in the first place. “When Bailey came back that day telling me about Cam…”
He stops walking, those blue eyes drilling into me, and suddenly everything makes sense.
“You’ve been with your friend’s wife.” The words come out in a hushed rush as I shake my head.
He crosses the room, coming within a foot of me before he squeezes his fist into a solid ball and grips it at his waist. “If you were a man, I would hit you for less.”
“That’s what all that was about at the drug store, wasn’t it? You’ve been with your friend’s wife. Does he know?”
“I haven’t touched her, and I don’t intend to, so shut up.”
I don’t even see Jake anymore. Instead, I see the male version of Heather, telling me I’m boring, to be quiet, that I never have any fun. Telling me that he’s better than me.
“Must be the only woman in the county you haven’t touched,” I mutter before I can stop myself.
He widens his stance and sticks his finger out so that he’s almost touching my chest, eyes blazing. “You have a lot of nerve considering the way we met. Why do you think I argued the fact that I was Bailey’s dad? No telling how many guys you—”
“None, because you’re the only guy I’ve ever…”
The words die on my lips, yet hang in the air as though they refuse to die in the atmosphere. We simply stand here staring at each other, both simmering, neither one knowing how to follow that statement. Part of me hopes he’ll just turn away and walk out the door, but he doesn’t. He pins me with those dirt-tinged blue eyes, and I almost wish he’d try to touch me. I’d love to punch him, just o
nce.
“So that was the first time you…” He follows that unfinished statement with a coarse laugh, rolling his eyes.
“Did you follow us to get away from that woman? Tell me the truth. You don’t care about Bailey at all.”
He backs away from me, placing his hands behind his head like he’s preparing to be searched. It occurs to me that I’m holding my breath, so I force myself to exhale.
“Yes, I care about Bailey.” He sounds more exhausted than insincere. “I care about Bailey, okay? I try really hard to want to be part of her life, but it’s just…”
Dread fills me as I wait for him to complete his thought.
“What?”
“You.” He directs his gaze at me once more, and instead of anger, I see something entirely new. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to be hated?” Grabbing the door knob, he twists it and jerks the door wide enough that I feel the chill of the outside air. “I do, and it’s getting really old.”
He begins to pull the door closed, but before he can walk out into the night, I drop my head. Swallowing past the hesitation that has risen in my throat, I shove my hair behind my ear.
“I don’t hate you, Jake. I hate myself.”
Chapter Sixteen
Jake
Merry Christmas.
That’s the only phrase running through my mind as I close the front door of the Jennings place, feeling the ache as sharply as if she stabbed me in the back.
I can’t even walk to my truck. Wouldn’t know what to do once I got there. Am I supposed to go home and sit with my dad, ringing in the holiday with a glass of eggnog and a shot of whiskey? Not interested in the least.
So I park myself on the porch swing and sit here until my nose starts to sting. My fingers are ice cold, too, and I’m considering getting up simply for the warmth of the truck when the front door creaks open. I choose not to look, just in case she’s got anything else to throw at me.
But apparently she doesn’t. Instead, she hands me a pair of wool gloves and sits down beside me, wrapping an afghan over her shoulders. It looks like something my granny would have draped across her sofa back in the day.
“Sorry,” I whisper, stretching one glove over my fingers. The meaning of my sorry is lost in that little word, though. For losing my temper with her, sure, but also for everything else. For seeing me at my worst. For taking advantage of her at her worst.
“Me too.” She relaxes her back against the swing, gazing out into the dark night. “You didn’t force me to do anything. The truth is, I was prepared to do whatever I had to that night.”
Meeting her eye is impossible, because after that conversation in the house, I feel flat sick about everything. It had been easy to deal with Alexis when I thought…well, certain things about her. But now that I know that she’s not who I thought, it makes me an even bigger jerk.
“Cody Hewitt,” she continues, ignoring the fact that I’m uncomfortable. “He was the guy I went to the party to meet. I thought I was in love with him. I mean, I was. Or am, or was. Not so sure of anything anymore. But he left me there and took off with another girl. Do you know him?”
“No, sorry.” It feels like there’s something else I should say, but it’s too hard to think up any other words right now.
“Yeah, well, maybe it’s not such a bad thing. Had it been Cody, and this had happened, what if he didn’t want me? That would have been pretty brutal, if I was in love with the guy.” She looks at me, which I can see from the corner of my eye, but I don’t meet her gaze. “I guess I shouldn’t be so crass. Obviously you have feelings too.”
Do I? Not the right kind, it seems.
“And I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions about your friend Cam. When Bailey came home talking about being in her bed and wearing her clothes, I naturally assumed the worst.”
So that’s where that came from.
“My dad broke his leg.”
“Oh. That stinks.”
“No, I mean he had a tree fall on his leg that day, and then he tried to cut the tree that fell on him with his chainsaw. When I found him he was covered in blood, and I panicked. Camdyn kept Bailey while I took him to the hospital, that’s all.”
“Why didn’t you just call my parents?”
“Because your family hates me. They trashed me all over town, before Bailey was born. At least I thought so, until yesterday. I’m having a hard time figuring them out.”
“It wasn’t them,” she tells me, drawing her knees up and hugging them against her chest. “Some people from the church. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. Feel free to tell me to stop.”
Something about that statement gives me the courage to look at her. Really see her, from her deep brown eyes to the tiny scar she has on her left cheek, and all I see is Bailey. Everything beautiful about Bailey comes from Alexis. Someday this will be the face of my daughter.
“My dad tried to kill himself.” Her eyes widen as she returns my gaze. “I came home from work and found him there at the table. After watching what they did to him at the hospital, I came home and drank all the whiskey I could find. That was the night I met you.”
“Why?” She looks nothing but innocent as she continues to stare at me. “I shouldn’t ask that, I apologize.”
“He’d just found out my mom was arrested. She and her boyfriend killed a man. Well, she didn’t do the killing, but she helped with the planning. And something just…” I drag my gaze out to my truck, taking a deep breath. “He’s not really good at handling things. When she left, he started drinking and he hasn’t stopped.”
“When did she leave?”
“Twenty some-odd years ago. I don’t know why I’m unloading this on you. Nobody knows about my mom. ‘She lives in Alabama,’ I always say. Which is technically true, but it’s not of her own will.” I start to rub my hand across my cheek, but realizing I have the gloves on, I cross my arms tightly. “So, this guy you were looking for, you been in contact with him since then?”
“No, because then there was Bailey, and deep inside I know he’s all wrong. Lesson learned a little too late.” She smiles as she looks into the distance, and somehow I know the smile’s not for me. “The thing is, I do have some good memories. Mostly from math class, and some others. We were friends, the two of us. Good friends. I’m a math teacher, did I ever tell you that?”
The rapid fire randomness of her words makes me chuckle. “No, I didn’t know.”
“High school algebra. Mr. Alberts passed away, in the faculty lounge as it turned out. That’s why they needed a new teacher in the middle of the year like that.”
I can’t help but smile, and she nudges me with her elbow.
“There’s nothing funny about that,” she complains.
“No, I was just thinking about having you as a math teacher. I don’t know how those poor guys in your class pay attention to what they’re doing.”
“You can’t do that,” she tells me, twisting on the swing bench so she’s facing me, her arm propped on the back and her head resting against it. “I’m immune to your flirting.”
“I so wasn’t flirting.”
“You flirt all the time, with everyone.”
“Talking is not flirting, Alex. And just because I happen to make an observation about your looks doesn’t mean I’m coming onto you. It’s just an observation.”
“I don’t like that.”
“What?”
“Being called Alex.”
“I can tell. I don’t like being told I’m flirting.”
“But you are.”
“Then I’ll just keep calling you Alex, whether you like it or not.”
“Whatever,” she states with a heavy sigh. Her obvious annoyance is slightly funny, but I don’t allow myself to smile and give it away. “Are you going to sit out here all night?”
“Don’t know. I haven’t given it a lot of thought.”
“Are you staying with your dad?”
“I feel like I’m playing tw
enty questions.” It seems easier to deflect than be genuine, mainly because I’m still feeling a little raw from our exchange of words inside. I thought for sure she was going to punch me this time. And I probably deserved it.
“You don’t have to answer,” she says, shifting to put her feet back on the ground.
“I stayed at a hotel in Jackson last night. I went to see my dad, but I didn’t want to stay there. Just too weird, you know?”
“Why is it weird?” She settles back against the swing like she changed her mind about getting up, sweeping her eyes over to me. She has expressive eyes. Part of me thinks she could converse without even moving her lips.
“Moved out after he… The night we…” For whatever reason I can’t form a complete thought that makes sense, so I clear my throat and try again. “I couldn’t take care of him anymore. I’d been doing it for so long, and I just realized that he had to want to take care of himself. So I moved out and haven’t stayed there since. He seems okay. Not exactly okay, but well enough for Dad. He’s never really okay.”
She shivers a little, and I slide off my gloves to hand them back to her.
“Sorry I’ve kept you out here,” I tell her. “You should go inside.”
Accepting the gloves, she stands and I feel the porch swing shift beneath me with the loss of her weight. Rising, I move toward the steps and glance out at my pickup while she opens the front door.
“You coming in?”
The words surprise me, so I turn to see if she meant them. She’s not smiling, but those eyes aren’t telling me to get lost. They’re telling me she’s the type to take in strays.
In this house, with these people, I probably am a little like a feral cat.
“Why not?” I accompany my words with a shrug and follow her back into the living room, shedding my coat and placing it over the back of a recliner. She drapes the afghan over the back of the couch, just like my granny would have. Totally called that one.
“Hot cocoa?”
She doesn’t wait for me to answer before she walks into the kitchen, so I take the opportunity to step over to the fireplace mantle and look at the family photos. Bailey’s face is everywhere, of course, but there are a couple other photos of the four-member family pre-Bailey. The first one looks pretty dated, with the two little girls dressed in matching blue dresses and with black ribbons tying their hair away from their faces. They look mostly the same, with the exception of the fact that the shorter one seems like she thinks she has somewhere better to be.
Curiouser (Girls of Wonder Lane Book 3) Page 14