by Tina Gayle
She gulped in a quick breath and air screamed back into her lungs. The residual scent of his citrusy cologne flowed in too and prompted her out-of-control hormones to form images of him: lying in bed, on top of her, his chest nestled against hers, his lips a breath away from…
Oh, my, a year without sex and I’m losing it.
Craig, why didn’t you divorce me before you died?
Jen gathered her strength and followed Hagan through the house. The easy flow of his long limbs showed incredible grace for a big man. So tempting, yet, she couldn’t pursue him. Not now, not with everyone watching her, they expected her to act like a grieving widow. If she didn’t, they’d forever brand her as an unloving wife.
She hated the farce, but she had no choice. No one knew her marriage had turned into a sham long before Craig died.
A few minutes later, she walked outside and breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, with the showing done, she could return Hagan to his office. She locked the front door and stored the key in the lockbox. Spinning on her heels, she faced Hagan.
At the end of the porch, one foot already positioned on the first step with a hand out to assist her, he waited. “So, Jen, since we’re done for today, why don’t we meet tomorrow night for dinner?”
Jen edged backward and her butt hit the closed door. The urge to run away from his undeniable magnetism, and the problems he’d cause, sent her mind into a tail spin.
What in the hell should I do now?
****
“You have one saved message. To listen...” The computer-recorded voice echoed through the phone’s receiver as Jen stared at an empty spot on the corner of her desk in her mind she saw her husband’s picture. Forcing her hand to move, she pressed the required number.
“Hey, honey, we just arrived.” The comforting sound of Craig’s voice rang in her ear. Memories flashed: The dimple beside her husband’s mouth when he smiled, the soft touch of his lips, the teasing taste of his kisses. The wall she’d managed to build around her emotions in the last four months shattered. Hot tears fell, raining relentlessly onto her cheeks.
“And the weather here in Seattle sucks. It’ll probably take us forever to get to our meeting which should have started an hour ago.” After a slight pause as if someone had caught his attention, he continued, “Sorry, gotta go. Jack needs help with the rental car agent, and Bob and Eric are retrieving our luggage. I’ll try to call you later. Love ya, bye.”
“The call that never came,” Jen whispered and wearily dropped her head onto her hands. Again, the monotone voice offered her options for the message. She hit the button to stop the irritating sound.
Not even a second passed before a different noise broke the silence. At the base of her phone, a red light flashed in rhythm with the squawking ring.
Gathering her emotions back into a tight knot, she punched the appropriate line. “Moorehead Real Estate. Jennifer Larson speaking. How may I help you?”
“Hey, Jen, are you still coming tonight?” Brie Sullivan’s southern accent reopened Jen’s thoughts to the pain of the last few months.
A million excuses sped through her mind. She didn’t want to continue meeting with the executive wives of the company where her husband had worked, nor did she like dealing with their grief. “I shouldn’t. I have offers pending on several homes.”
“Come on, Jen, you’ve worked late every night this week. Surely, you can take a night off to visit friends.” Brie forced compliance with a stab to the heart. “The kids are expecting you, and I’ve already picked up George from your house. He’s dog tired.” Her friend giggled at the pun.
George, her lovable fifty-pound blond Lab, loved to play and must miss his evening runs with Craig. Their lives had changed so much, yet in the boring way of existing, remained the same. The papers scattered across her desktop, teased her with the idea of staying late and finishing a few more tiresome tasks.
She weighed her options: spend the evening grieving for her dead husband, or dig through paperwork?
The heavy scent of Old Spice blew into her office and a stout figure disappeared around the curve in the corridor. Did she really want to deal with her boss and his constant demands for her to list more properties, sell more homes?
Brie’s plea interrupted. “Please, Jen. I can’t face Marianne and Sylvia without you.”
Jen retrieved her pen and tightened her fingers around it. “All right, but we need a change of the topics for our meeting. I’m tired of remembering the past.”
“Great. Then maybe y’all can help me figure out what I should do about my parents.” Brie barely finished when a loud crash sounded through the receiver.
“Oh, shit, I’ve got to go. I’ll see you at seven.” Brie rushed through her goodbyes and hung up before Jen could ask about the problem.
“They’re probably pressuring Brie to move to Florida again.” Jen spoke to the empty office and then glanced at the clock. Six thirty-two.
If she had any hope of changing into her favorite pair of jeans, she’d better leave. Opening the bottom desk drawer to retrieve her purse, she caught a fingernail on a torn piece of rough cardboard and glanced at an upside down picture frame.
Her mind froze. How long ago had she placed Craig’s picture in the drawer? If she wanted to move on, shouldn’t she take the photograph home and pack it away with everything else?
She shoved her bag out of the way and lifted the wooden frame. Craig’s smiling face swam before her eyes.
Her best friend and college sweetheart...Craig, where did our love go wrong? Good and bad memories changed sorrow into anger.
How could she ever find happiness if she continued to live in the past?
“It’s about damn time I found out.”
She tightened her grip on the picture then threw it across the room where the frame broke with a satisfying crash of broken glass and splintering wood. She grabbed her purse and marched for the door. One, two, three enraged steps later, she hit an emotional wall and her gaze fell to Craig’s picture lying on the carpeted floor.
His warm smile shot an arrow through her heart. Tears blurred her vision and she scrambled by the broken glass to retrieve the scarred photograph.
After carefully tucking it into her purse, she stomped to the door.
She had to get on with her life, but she couldn’t forget where she’d been.
****
“So what’s the issue with your parents?” Jen followed Brie into her living room. Like most parents, they didn’t know when to back off. They had complained about every move Brie made since Eric’s death, criticizing Marianne’s suggestion for a financial advisor for his life insurance money, and Sylvia’s sudden need for all of them to join a gym.
“The usual. They want me to move back to Florida so I can be near them.” Brie collapsed into one of the tan recliners, sitting on the edge of carpet leading from the living room into the breakfast area. She shoved her bangs out of her baby-blue eyes.
Jen sank to the floral sofa, her mind racing with how to help Brie. Without Eric acting as a buffer, her parents constantly badgered their daughter with unreasonable demands.
Back off people, tickled Jen’s vocal cords and she bit her lip to keep the words at bay. Didn’t her mother advise her numerous times to keep her opinion to herself? But Brie didn’t need this, not on top of the grief she suffered at losing Eric. Hell, between worrying about the kids and adjusting to handling everything alone, she barely made it through a day without calling Jen in tears.
How could Brie’s parents be so clueless about their daughter’s struggles?
Jen laid a hand on George’s head and stroked his soft, blond coat. The soothing caress helped ease some of her anxiety about Brie’s problem and the evening ahead. Luckily, he understood her pensive mood and had stayed close since the moment she’d arrived.
“It might not be...”
“Georrrrrgeee,” Allison’s young voice echoed from upstairs.
George lifted his head from Jen’s
lap. Tail wagging, he stood ready to adhere to her command. His deep brown eyes begged for permission to race to the young girl’s side.
“I swear that girl has the two-second bath down pat.” Brie slid to the edge of her seat. Long blond hair framed her face, and her exhausted expression showed the trials of dealing with two active children.
The doorbell ringing drove Brie to her feet.
Tiny footsteps pattered on the stairs.
“Woof,” George barked and danced around the corner of the couch, adding to the mayhem of the moment.
Happy to have an excuse to delay her meeting with the other members of the executive wives club, Jen shove to her feet. “Why don’t you get the door, and I’ll herd the kids back to their rooms?”
An element of relief washed across Brie’s face before she smiled. “Thanks, but don’t worry about putting them to bed. They just need to play quietly for awhile.”
“All right.” Jen approached the staircase, smiling at the homey picture the siblings made standing on the landing. Allison, with her gray eyes wide and her wet brown hair dripping on her faded cotton gown, had her hand on her younger brother’s arm as if holding him back from bolting down the stairs. Ethan, also in his pajamas, appeared wide-eyed and eager for a chance to join his mother at the front door.
George, as if he understood her words to Brie, bounded for the stairs and leaped over the first few steps.
Jen followed. “Okay, kids, your mom says it’s back to...”
George greeted Ethan with exuberance, covering the boy’s face with slobbery kisses. Ethan wrapped his plump little arms around the dog’s neck, dropped to his knees, and ducked his blond head to avoid the tickling abuse. A joyous giggle echoed in the stairwell.
Sunshine broke through Jen’s weariness and she smiled. George, so much like Ethan in coloring and loving personalities, the two were kindred spirits.
Her dog, always willing to share his love with everyone, crowded closer to Allison. She grabbed his collar to hold him at bay and fell back against the wall. “George, I had a bath.”
The indignant tone didn’t stifle George’s zeal, but shattered Jen’s enjoyment of the light-hearted exchange. She’d never have the perfect Norman Rockwell family, not with Craig, not with anyone. Yet, not having a baby with Craig was probably the best thing she could’ve done considering her current circumstances. Being a single mother would have been no picnic.
Ethan’s small hands closed around her leg.
Jen helped him to his feet and shoved her depressing thoughts aside. “Come on, guys, back upstairs. Your mom wants you to play quietly in your rooms for a while.”
She herded the group up the steps. “You don’t have to go to sleep, just keep the noise level to a low rumble.”
At the top of the stairs, George led the way through the door on the left while Allison stopped in the hallway. “I don’t see why we can’t play downstairs. It’s not like you guys are going to say anything we haven’t heard before.”
Following George into Ethan’s room, Jen paused near the doorway to keep from treading on the plastic army men scattered across the floor. She swiveled on her heels to answer Allison. “Oh, but we are,” and she dropped her voice to a whisper. “The secret society of the executive wives’ club is plotting to take over the world.”
Ethan’s eyes widened with wonder. “Really?”
“No, silly, she doesn’t want to tell us they’re talking about Daddy.” Allison’s shoulders sagged and she stomped into her room on the opposite side of the hall in a disheartened huff.
Unsure how to handle the young girl’s sarcasm, Jen ushered Ethan farther into his room, decorated in G.I. Joe paraphernalia. Army fatigue green curtains covered the window, and the bed’s cotton comforter displayed soldiers fighting for victory.
Jen studied the toys facing off on the floor. So many times while visiting Craig at his office, she’d run into Eric. Each time, he had recounted his son’s army battles with pride and amazement. Love had sparked in Eric’s eyes and while she enjoyed the tales, she’d never understood, until now, how much the man had truly loved his son.
Tears gathered. She swallowed back the heartache and forced excitement into her tone. “Wow, you have an incredible number of military men here. Are you in the midst of a battle?”
Ethan puffed out his chest. “Someone has to fight for justice in the world, and I’m the chosen one.”
Jen dropped to her knees, grabbed his hands and kissed each with a loud smack. “My hero! How can we ever repay you for saving us?”
“Ain’t nothing.” Ethan tugged his hands free. He held his shoulders back in an erect stance for a moment, then his face fell and he threw himself into her arms. “I miss Daddy.”
The admission tore a hole through Jen’s heart. He’d never know how much his father adored him. The loss of the special bond between father and son plunged Jen into a dark void. Pain constricted her lungs and she couldn’t breathe.
She gathered Ethan closer. His small body snuggled tight against hers eased the restrictive bands squeezing against her chest. His clean little boy’s scent drew tears and a crack formed in her armor. She wasn’t alone. The other members of the executive team had families who were grieving as well. She now realized the importance of their get-togethers: by helping each other, they would all move forward—a snail’s pace for some.
George nudged her, his nose wedging deeper into her armpit. Jen wiggled away from the abuse and released Ethan.
Innocent hazel eyes met hers. She forced a smile and shored up her courage. “Me, too, but he’d expect us to continue the fight.”
Ethan nodded and wiped away the tears on Jen’s face with his sleeve. “Be a brave soldier.”
Renewed by his simple honesty, Jen smiled and decided she needed to get her life back on track. Jostling George out of the way, she rolled to her feet. “You’re right. Now, let’s march onto victory.”
****
Jen’s feet lagged on the bottom step. She rubbed her sweaty palms on the stair’s railing. I can do this. I can tell them I need to start seeing other men.
Fortified by her conviction, Jen entered the large area and immediately caught sight of Marianne and Sylvia, sitting together on one of the sofas, deep in conversation. Not willing to interrupt and happy to have a few more minutes to herself, Jen automatically assessed the value of the house in today’s market. The living room, which led seamlessly into the breakfast nook and kitchen, had no walls between the two, creating a perfect area for entertaining.
Brie furthered enhanced the appeal of the sitting area by arranging two full-length sofas and two recliners in a semi-circle in front of the fireplace. Gas logs shimmered with red-and-blue flames, adding a cozy glow to the over-sized space. The picture windows along the exterior wall added depth and drew her gaze to the snow-covered cornfields, glowing eerily from the light of a fingernail moon. The farm butting against Brie’s backyard would also add value to the house because she didn’t have noisy neighbors behind her home.
The beige carpet in the living room met rich, radiant wood. The honey-brown color lined the floor of the breakfast nook and kitchen. The oak cabinets were a little lighter and additional warmth to the area. Only the toy box tucked away by the patio door hinted at the other uses for the large space.
“Hey, Jen, you want a drink?” Brie strolled around the bar separating the two areas, tray in hand. In a pair of faded jeans and a bright yellow sweatshirt, her small form and casual appearance made her appear no older than a teenager. Tiger slippers added to the illusion.
Jen’s taste buds tingled with the desire for something that could soften the frazzled edges of her day. Two fingers of whiskey, neat; unacceptable with the other ladies. She stroked George’s head to keep him near and stepped around the end of the floral couch to perch on the armrest. “Sure. What’s the drink of choice tonight?”
Brie set the tray on the coffee table in front of Marianne and Sylvia. “Tea. With the snow we’ve been ha
ving this week, I figured I’d serve something hot.”
“Wonderful idea.” Marianne shifted to the edge of the couch. A squint formed between her brows and she leaned in to read the labels on the small packages of the various teas. “I’m a huge fan of Earl Gray.”
Why doesn’t she just get reading glasses? Jen inwardly groaned and knew it would never happen. Marianne didn’t like the idea of getting older.
“They’re in the pile somewhere. Can you also pour while I get the sandwiches?” Brie, the perpetual hostess, smiled and returned to the open-area kitchen, leaving Marianne to handle her assigned task.
“Brie, you’re a killer to my waistline.” Sylvia scooted forward. “Tea would have been more than enough. You didn’t need to fix sandwiches too.”
Marianne poured hot water into a cup and offered the mug to Jen. “Here you go. Now you won’t have to wait on us.”
“Thanks.” Jen grabbed her favorite flavor of tea and dropped it into her cup, before settling into the tan couch opposite the two women. The difference between Marianne and Sylvia struck her anew.
Each an executive’s wife, they presented very different pictures of what a successful man might want in a woman. Marianne, petite with a classic style, wore a long fashionable skirt and a coordinating top. At a formal dinner or at home in the kitchen with kids, she could handle any situation. Sylvia, on the other hand, was a tall woman who could have been a model in her youth, but now she looked like an Amazon warrior with an excess of a hundred pounds to lose. She dressed professionally—in a pair of black dress pants and a long, bright-red sweater that fell to her hips. Both had over twenty years invested in their marriages.
They had lost more than a mate; they had lost a companion of twenty plus years and the union of solving problems together. Now, they faced the problems of tomorrow alone. She couldn’t say the same about her marriage to Craig. Yes, they had managed to stay together. But was it because they had been too lazy to get a divorce? Or had both of them been unwilling to admit failure?