by Leger, Lori
“Hey, Jack.”
“I need some help.”
“Anything,” Carrie whispered.
“Where can I buy furniture on a Sunday?” Her quiet chuckle reached him.
“And here I thought you’d be suicidal.”
“I would be if I had to go home to that tile covered mausoleum.”
“I’m assuming you need a warehouse type that has everything you want in stock.”
“Un huh. Preferably with same-day delivery.”
“If you’re willing to pay, they will.”
“I’m willing.”
“Are you looking for a particular style of furniture?”
“Hell, I don’t know,” he growled.
“Just go to that place on Highway 90 down the street from the office. I know they’re open on Sundays. They have a huge selection of high quality furniture and dozens of displays set up. Walk around those displays until you find pieces you like. Tell them you want same-day delivery and set-up.”
“Thanks, Carr, I knew you could help me out.”
Jackson drove to the place. He stepped inside, got the immediate attention of a pretty, long-legged brunette.
She sidled up next to him. “Is there something I can help you with today?” she purred.
Jackson ignored the blatant “I’m available” signals the woman projected. He was used to ignoring women, having a wife like Chloe. If he’d shown the slightest bit of interest she’d have had his balls for breakfast, and the recipient either fired or embarrassed beyond belief. Jackson addressed her in a business-like manner. “Do you work on commission?”
She nodded. “Why, yes I do.”
“That’s good, because I’ll be paying in full for a house full of furniture and I need guaranteed delivery and set up today. I’m willing to pay whatever it cost, since it’s Sunday.” He faced her fully. “Now, you tell me. Can you help me, or not?”
She lifted one finger and raised her phone to her ear. “Why don’t you start looking around while I secure the delivery men? My name is Brenda and I’ll be with you in one minute.”
Jackson didn’t know a thing about decorating, but he knew what he liked. As a result, he’d taken Carrie’s practical approach and checked out each display. If he found one that looked tasteful but comfortable, he delighted Brenda with four simple words. “I’ll take it all.” All had included tables, end tables, lamps, and any accessories used for display purposes. It took one hour and a sizeable amount from his checking account, but he didn’t care. Jackson walked out of the furniture warehouse with Brenda’s card tucked inside his pocket and a promise for delivery by four p.m. Rather than going home to wait, he drove to his office and worked until nearly four.
By seven o’clock that evening, the deliverymen were gone and Jackson was testing out his new king size bed. It was massive, in rich, dark woods; masculine, without being overbearing, and long enough to fit all 6’4” of him.
He walked into his living room and surveyed his new furniture appreciatively. The sofa was of fine grained, soft as silk, Italian leather, distressed and slightly worn in all the right places, giving it a broken-in appearance. He stretched himself out on it, and again, appreciated the fact that it was long enough to accommodate the entire length of him. He also purchased two matching leather club chairs and an oversized chaise lounge chair, upholstered in a russet textured fabric.
The shopping trip had been worth every penny spent. After a decade of living in this house with Chloe’s horrible choices in furnishings, he was finally comfortable in his own home.
He showered and dropped onto his comfy couch to watch some sports. His phone rang, he checked the screen and answered. “Hey Carrie, how is she?”
“Released and home. The doctor came in right after you left. Apparently, you made enough of an impression on her that she rushed to do your bidding. Must be that fantastically fit body of yours and those big blue eyes. I swear she kept looking for you the entire time she was in the room with us.”
“Your ass…So how is she?”
“Better now that she’s with her girls. You were right, it made all the difference.”
“Have they been told?”
“Yes, I got her settled at home then brought the girls to her.”
Jackson heard her pause and squeezed his eyes shut. Knowing how Toby felt about his daughters, it must have been horrendous. He didn’t press her.
“Those poor babies,” she said, sobbing quietly into the phone. “Mackenzie will be seven soon and she understands. Lexie is only four, almost five. I’m not sure if she realizes how…permanent this is.”
“Believe me, if she doesn’t understand everything right now, she will soon. That’s the age I was when I lost both my parents.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Toby’s girls…” he murmured. “Man, I’d give anything to have him alive and well.” He heard Carrie sniff and pause before she answered.
“I know you would. He thought the world of you, you know. He was always trying to get Giselle to forgive you.”
“No chance of that, now, is there?” he said dejectedly.
“I’m going to have a talk with her about that.”
“Don’t upset her, Carrie. She’s been through enough.”
“So have you. I won’t let her hold that against you.”
He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “God, I’m tired, Carrie.”
“Get some sleep, Jackson.”
He considered whether or not to let her in on Chloe’s secret. Finally he spoke, his voice coming out in a tortured whisper. “She was pregnant, Carrie. Chloe was pregnant. I found a letter from her doctor. And then…” he swallowed the disgust he felt for his dead wife. “She had an appointment for an abortion yesterday in Beaumont.”
“I don’t understand. If she was on the pill…”
“She took two rounds of antibiotics last month. It must have weakened the effectiveness of the pills,” he explained.
“I’m sorry, Jackson. I know how badly you wanted a child.”
There was an extended pause before Jackson began to speak again. “The thing is, I thought she was bi-polar all these years…manic depressive…chemically unbalanced…call it what you will, but I thought she couldn’t help the way she acted, you know? She was adamant about not taking any medication as long as there was a chance she could get pregnant.” He stood and began pacing with the phone.
“This may sound crazy to everyone else, but I thought if she could make that sacrifice for us, I was obligated to stay with her. I kept thinking if we could just have a child, she could get the treatment she needed and be normal.” He burst into hysterical laughter. “Now, I find out it was all an act.”
“What the hell are you talking about? What act?”
He thought about the letter tucked inside his wallet. “It was all an act, Carrie. She explained it all in her letter.”
“I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but I’d kinda like to read that letter.”
“Maybe one day,” he said. “Not now, though. There are things in it that are…too…personal.”
“I’m sorry, Jackson. I know you have your reasons, so I won’t ask again. I uh…” She took a deep breath. “I called to tell you about the funeral arrangements.” She gave him the time and location of the funeral home in Kenton.
“She won’t want me there.”.
“I think you should be there.”
“I don’t want to upset her.”
“You need to go. She’ll hold it against you.”
He closed his eyes and sighed. “She may hold it against me if I do.” He heard her sigh in frustration. “All right, I’ll go.”
“I knew you’d see reason. Now get some damn rest.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” he said, with a snort.
“Don’t make me go over there, smart a—”
“—Good night, Carrie.” He disconnected and dropped the phone.
Jackson was laid back on his new couch, trying to concentrate on a ball gam
e, when he heard the knock on his door. Suspecting it was his uncle, he rolled his aching body off the couch and limped over to open the door to let him inside. He stood tall, and nodded at Bill. “I knew she wouldn’t let up on me that easily.” He turned back toward the couch.
“Who?”
“You know who…Carrie.” Jackson resumed his seat in front of the ballgame. “She asked you to check up on me, didn’t she?”
Bill shrugged and pulled a cold, six-pack of long neck beers from a bag. He held one out to Jackson and put the rest in his fridge.
Jackson twisted the cap open and took a long swig of the ice cold brew. “That’s good,” he said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.
Bill stood staring at the results of Jackson’s furniture shopping spree. “Damn, you’ve been busy, haven’t you, Son?”
Jackson nodded, keeping his eyes on the television screen.
“What brought this on?”
“Don’t try to act like Carrie hasn’t told you all about it. I know her better than that,” Jackson huffed.
“All right, I won’t. So, you erased all traces of Chloe.”
“That was the plan,” Jackson said, lifting his beer again.
“Well, I can’t say as I blame you. The place looks a lot better than before. I don’t know how you lived in this place.”
“I didn’t. I only existed here, but not anymore.”
“It seems like you should be grieving a little,” Bill said.
“I am grieving, just not over her. Never again over her.”
Bill sat in a club chair and sighed in appreciation. “Nice chair. I know what you overheard at the hospital.”
“Never doubted it,” Jackson snapped. “Carrie would never pass up an opportunity to discuss me with you.”
Bill leaned forward in his chair. “I’m going to say this one time. Carrie cares about you as much as I do, so maybe you could show some appreciation. I raised you better than that.”
Jackson sighed and swung his long legs over the edge of the soft leather into a seating position. He stood slowly and faced his uncle. “You did, and I do appreciate both of you. But, I’m hurting as much over losing Toby as a friend as I am about anything else. I keep thinking I’m going to call him and see what he thinks about this, but I can’t. It’s hard to accept.” He grabbed the back of his head with one hand. “And if I’m hurting this bad,” he said, his voice hitching, “I just keep thinking how hard it’s going to be on Giselle and the girls.”
“Are you going to the funeral home tomorrow morning?”
He gave his uncle a look that asked if he was serious. “If I don’t, Carrie will send over the National freaking Guard.”
Bill chuckled and agreed. “You mind if I go with you?”
Jackson watched him, curiously. “You don’t know them.”
“I’d like to go as a show of respect. I know how you felt about Toby,” Bill replied.
Jackson remained silent, but nodded his head in agreement.
Giselle made funeral arrangements in a fog of shock. A single thought rolled through her mind like her computer screen’s marquee setting—this can’t be happening. She faced the first morning of the wake, surrounded by a tight circle of friends; Carrie and her three daughters. With their steadfast love and support, she got through her first viewing without falling apart. Her girls joining her proved to be a completely different experience.
Her daughters stared at their daddy—sleeping until he saw them again—wearing curious looks on their faces. Her youngest daughter, in true Lex fashion, spoke first.
“Won’t we see daddy awake again?”
Big sister Mackenzie threw her a piece of wisdom. “Not until we see him again in heaven, Lex.” She turned to her sister. “It’s okay, though. Remember? Mama said we can miss him, but we’ll see him again one day. A long, long time from now.”
Giselle watched her youngest child’s mouth twist in contemplation, waited for the comment that was sure to raise a few eyebrows.
“I don’t think I could do that now, Mac.” Lexie gave her glossy curls a shake. “Mama says I haven’t learned to keep still yet.”
Giselle smiled, pulled her daughter close for a one armed hug as a rustle of low snickers passed through the group. “Oh baby girl. I hope you never do.”
“Jee-zus! Who is that?”
“Which one?”
“Either. Both.”
A third woman’s voice joined the conversation. “Lawd, that’s two of the finest looking men I have ever seen.”
Carrie heard the increasing buzz of interest from several women in the gathering. She turned, knowing instinctively who she’d see. Sure enough, there stood Jackson and Bill Broussard. Jackson looked like a male model, handsome and sexy in his tailored black Ralph Lauren suit, with a dove gray shirt and dark gray silk tie. Bill looked equally handsome in a dark brown western cut suit, also tailored, and wearing a pair of immaculately clean high quality western boots.
Jackson had the slight advantage in height by maybe a half-inch difference. Both men had dark brown hair and blue eyes with straight noses and clean shaven, angular jaws. Both carried themselves well on broad shoulders with lean, muscular torsos, tapering down to narrow hips. At fifty-seven, Bill Broussard was handsome and healthy, foretelling of Jackson’s odds of keeping his good looks and health for many years to come. They were the picture of rugged masculinity, resonating in sex appeal and quiet reserve.
She smiled, knowing for a fact that neither of them had the slightest idea how appealing they were to the opposite sex. She walked over and gave Jackson a hug. “I’m glad you’re here.” Then she turned to his uncle. “Bill, you look absolutely scrumptious,” she said, walking into the man’s big bear hug. “Honestly, you two boys have every woman in this room drooling.”
“Your ass,” Jackson murmured. “You look nice, though.”
“She sure does,” Bill commented, gracing her with a smile. “Where’s old Sam? Is he ready to give you up, yet?”
Sam Langley walked up to the trio. He was an inch shorter than Bill, but just as broad shouldered and formidable of a man. He placed a possessive arm around Carrie’s waist. “It’s not up for discussion, Bill. Go find your own wife, this one’s mine.”
Carrie laughed and turned in to her husband’s embrace. “It’s no use, Bill. Sam has me spoiled beyond belief for any other man.”
Bill gave Carrie a wink. “If he ever stops, let me know.”
The three men shook hands.
“It’s good to see you two.” Sam gave his throat a gruff clearing. “I wish it were under different circumstances.”
Jackson nodded before turning to Carrie. “How’d it go this morning?”
“Our three girls were here with her this morning, and I think that helped. They all had to go to work. They’ll be back this afternoon. Are you ready?”
“Shouldn’t we find out first if Giselle wants me here?”
Carrie placed a comforting hand on his arm. “Don’t worry, she’s expecting you.”
They walked into the viewing area and stopped near the front. Giselle stood to one side of the casket, speaking with an older couple. They left her and she turned, gave him a weak smile.
Jackson approached her. “Giselle.”
Giselle wiped her palms on her dress, seeming unsure of what to tell him. “I’m glad you came, Jackson.”
“Are you okay with me being here? I don’t want to upset you.”
She bit her lower lip and nodded, sending a glance Carrie’s direction. “Carrie told me you overheard what I said yesterday. I’m sorry, Jackson. I honestly didn’t mean that.”
He nodded. “Thank you. How are you, physically, I mean?” He reached out to pull her hair back from her forehead. “You got a good sized gash.”
“The head is fine, but my ribs hurts. I’m taped up and the pain killer takes the edge off.” She held up a braced right hand. “Guess I won’t be going back to work anytime soon.”
“Nobody e
xpects you to. Take all the time you need.”
“How about you? No broken bones?”
He shrugged it off. “Banged up knee and a few bruises.”
Giselle touched his arm. “I’m sorry about Chloe, Jackson. If you told me, I was too out of it to remember.”
“Not as sorry as I am about Toby. He was one of the best men I knew, and a damn good friend to me. I know for a fact, how much he loved his girls. All three of his girls.”
Giselle blinked several times. For a moment, Carrie thought she’d crack. Instead, she wiped her eyes and smiled.
“Thank you, I appreciate that.” She looked over at Bill and smiled. “I know you’re his uncle, but you must have been his dad’s twin, because y’all look so much alike. I’m Giselle Granger.”
Bill shook her hand. “I’m Bill Broussard, ma’am. No, Jackson’s dad, Jamison, was two years older. I’m sorry for your loss. Jackson always spoke highly of Toby. How are your girls?”
“I think we’re in shock. It’s difficult because there’s no one but Carrie to help until I’m back to full speed. My girls are trying to be on their best behavior, but they’re both so active.”
Carrie grinned at the mention of Toby and Giselle’s daughters. “If you haven’t met them yet, you’re both in for a treat. Ah, speaking of which …”
Jackson’s breath caught at the sight of the two girls running to their mother. Both stunning in their own ways. The photos he’d seen of them didn’t do them justice.
Giselle turned them one by one. “Girls, I’d like you to meet some people. This is Mr. Jackson Broussard.”
“I remember him, mama,” the younger of the two girls said, beaming at Jackson. “He was in that picture on our frij-rator until daddy took it down because you drew on it. He’s the tall man that works with you, except …” She scrunched up her face. “I thought his name was Satan.”
“Lexie!” Giselle whispered harshly, covering the child’s mouth with her good hand, while the others attempted to smother their laughter.
Jackson chuckled. “It’s okay, Giselle.” He squatted low so that he was eye level with the tiny version of her mother, down to the curly brown hair and green eyes specked with gold. “Lexie, it’s true that your mom called me that sometimes, but I’m hoping that if I promise to be really nice to her, she won’t be mad at me anymore. Maybe if you just call me Jackson, your mom would too.” He glanced up at Giselle.