Jesus, the woman was more of a bitch than I’d thought, and I already thought she was a raving asshole the way she spoke to Tuesday with such venom.
“Which reminds me, I need to talk to my grandmother about her house.”
“What’s The Manor?”
I’d heard her mom mention it right before she vowed to take Tuesday down.
“The Manor is my grandmother’s house. More than a house, really. When my Gran told Pop about the house of her dreams, he got it for her, tenfold. She wanted a beautiful wraparound porch; she got a three-story home with one on each level. She wanted a place where she could have a family holiday meal and dinner parties, he made sure she had a ballroom. She wanted a place she could sit and quietly read a book or work on sewing, he made sure she had an entire wing that was just hers. It’s an honest to God southern mansion. My grandfather was brilliant with money and he purchased it for a good price, she owns it outright and the nine acres surrounding it. And, unlike my mother, Gran appreciated everything my grandfather gave her. He loved to spoil her, and there was nothing else on this earth she loved more than to spoil him right back.”
Over the next thirty minutes, Tuesday went on to tell me about the big windows in the front room and the huge weeping willows and magnolias that surrounded the house. With extreme reverence, she told me how her grandmother had taught her to bake in that kitchen and how to sew. Tuesday smiled when she explained how her grandmother would play music and they’d dance in the ballroom with Tuesday dressed up in Patty’s furs and silk. She also told stories about her grandfather watching grandmother and granddaughter twirling around the house and how happy he’d been. He’d take her outside and walk her around the property telling her stories about all the adventures he and Patty had gone on.
“I loved being there more than any other place. It’s not just a house to me, it holds all of my best memories.” She stopped and took a breath before she admitted. “It breaks my heart thinking of strangers living there. I know that’s selfish, but I always imagined walking my children through the orchard one day. Dancing with them in the ballroom. Cooking with them and Gran in the kitchen. I understand why Gran wants to move. The house is too much for her. I get it, but it still hurts.”
“Sweetness, that’s not selfish. That’s beautiful. My parents still live in the house I was raised in, I couldn’t imagine them ever leaving it. All my childhood memories are wrapped up in that house. All the little things that mean everything.”
Hearing her talk about her grandparents, the way she spoke with such fondness, made me fall a little more in love with her. It said a lot about her, the adoration she had for them. It was more than how a grandchild loved her grandparents, it was pure, and she’d made it obvious how much family meant to her.
“I need to ask Gran what my mom meant. Gladys Knowls on the warpath isn’t pretty. She brings so much ugliness with her, it takes months for it to wear off.”
“I’m sorry, Sweetness.”
“I’m used to it. She is the way she is, and my dad is how he is. Thankfully, they now live far enough away I don’t see them very often. There isn’t much that can tear my mother away from her perfect life living in paradise.”
So much made sense now. A few days ago, I’d thought my only battle was the ghost of Travis, and what he’d left behind. Now I knew better. Trust was only a small part of what I’d have to win from her. The damage her parents had done was far more lasting.
“Thank you for sharing all that with me.” I kissed the top of her head. “How about I make us some dinner?”
She was silent for a beat, before she answered, “I’d like that.”
Hell, yes. Progress.
22
Tuesday
Yesterday was eye opening.
From my talk with Mercy, to the note that was left, Nolan Clark showing up, Jackson sitting and listening to me talk about my childhood, and, last, the fact that I shared in the first place.
Jackson cooked and while he did, he told me some stories about growing up. Jason had already told me that Jackson had declared he was going to be a firefighter by the age of five, what he didn’t tell me was Jackson was obsessed with all things fire: from accelerants and investigations to suppression and prevention.
Throughout our conversation, I couldn’t figure out what he loved more, firefighting or his family. He spoke about both with fervor. I knew he loved his cousins, Quinn had been his best friend since forever, which I could totally see; Jason’s younger sister was a blast. He and his brother Nick were extremely close despite the age difference. He was so happy to be an uncle times two, since Meadow and Nick had adopted twins.
However, he spoke about flashover and thermal decomposition with just as much passion. Autoignition temperature, hot smoke, flammable gases, and backdrafts shouldn’t have been exciting topics, but hearing him talk about them, while gesturing with his hands and using different kitchen utensils as props, I was enthralled.
He loved his job, that much was obvious. But I think it was more than that. Though he’d never admit it, it was that every day he got to help someone. I was slowly learning who Jackson Clark was and about his deep need to protect.
Jackson had no problem wading into my situation. Not with the flowers and letters and not with my mom. He just dove straight in, and, even though he’d been threatened, he hadn’t backed away. As a matter of fact, he’d double downed. He proved that to me last night after dinner when we were watching TV. He hadn’t asked anymore about Travis or my mom, but he did ask about how I got into modeling. Shockingly, I’d opened up about that, too.
Sitting on my couch with a movie playing in the background I told him how much I’d liked the work in the beginning, but the more my mom had pushed, the less I’d wanted to do it. However, by the time she’d become a complete nightmare I was tangled up in contracts and couldn’t stop. I could feel the air in the room changing when I explained why I’d had to fire my mom. It was nearing close to combustible from one of those flashovers or rollovers he’d explained earlier when I told him the amount of money my mother had made off me during the years she’d managed my career.
There had been a time I’d felt like I owed her something. Whether it was out of duty or guilt, I allowed her to draw a paycheck. I hadn’t known she was strong-arming my account and taking more money on the side. When that came to light it was the last straw.
Now we were both in my kitchen drinking coffee the morning after conversation and confessions of the soul. I should add, Jackson had stayed the night. He’d explained that it was because while Brady had finished installing cameras, how many I didn’t know, the alarm equipment still needed to be ordered. He did offer to sleep on the couch, that would’ve been the smart thing. But I hadn’t felt like playing it safe, so I’d invited him to sleep in my bed. This morning when I’d woken up, cuddled to his side, I understood what a monumental fuck-up it had been.
He was warm and hard in all the right places. I felt safe. Not physically—emotionally. I was free to be me, and Jackson would still be there in the morning. One of the other things he’d explained was why he’d disappeared after I’d told him about Travis. I didn’t want to be relieved he hadn’t run a mile after hearing there were nude photos of me out there in the world, but I was.
Each time I felt like retreating, both last night and this morning, I’d remember the last part of what Mercy had said to me: do you want to be happy?
I wanted to be happy. I just wasn’t sure I had it in me. But I wanted to try. I’d been lying to myself for so long about all the reasons why I never went on a third date. I’d convinced myself it was the truth. In reality, I didn’t care if a man wore flip-flops, though I totally did if we were going to a nice dinner, but it wasn’t a deal breaker. Neither was a man having knuckle hair, though the nose picker was legitimate, and I’d argue that to the grave. I’d been unfairly judgmental over the years to protect myself and I didn’t like what that said about me, though I wasn’t sure how to change i
t.
“Are you ready to go see Patty?” Jackson asked, shoving the last piece of toast in his mouth.
“Yeah.”
Jackson was leaning one hip on the counter, ankles crossed, his feet bare. The pose was intimate, just as all the conversations we’d had over the last eighteen hours or so we’d spent together.
“Thanks for all your help and for staying here,” I told him.
His bright smile flashed, and I was taken aback by how content he looked.
“No need to thank me, Sweetness. I got to hold you in my arms all night. Believe me, I should be thanking you.”
That was sweet. I wished I was able to express to him how much I liked hearing him say that.
“And thank you for taking me to—”
He pushed off the counter, instantly was in my space, and a beat later his hands were on the sides of my neck, his thumbs grazing the apple of my cheeks.
“You don’t need to thank me for anything,” he said, his brown eyes sparkling.
The longer I stared into them, the more lost I became and the more I thought about how they’d looked the night he’d demanded I kiss him before he took me. Then I remembered the last two times he was in my bed and nothing had happened. One of those times I was sobbing in his arms, so that time didn’t count. But last night, we lay in bed and talked, and he hadn’t tried anything. Nothing. He hadn’t even tried to round first base. All he’d done was hold me close and kiss the top of my head.
Had he changed his mind? Was he no longer interested in me that way? I couldn’t blame him. I had put some effort into making him want to stay away from me, however weak my objections, I’d told him I didn’t want a friends with benefits relationship.
“Don’t,” he growled.
“Don’t what?” His rumbly voice pulled me from my mental freak-out.
“Whatever you’re thinking, stop. Please, Sweetness, do not shut me out again.”
“What?”
I didn’t know what he was talking about.
“I see you closing down. Don’t do it. Please stay here with me.”
“I wasn’t . . . I mean, I didn’t . . .” Shit, was that what I was doing? Shutting him out. “I didn’t realize that’s what I was doing.”
He dropped his forehead to mine and whispered, “Please just give me another twenty-four hours. Don’t close down on me.”
“Okay, Jackson.”
“Okay.”
His reply came out in a relieved rush of air.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
“What were you thinking about?” he asked, lifting his head but not going far.
I pinched my lips together and tried to come up with something other than the embarrassing truth. “Well, hell, the way your cheeks are burning up, this oughta be good.”
“No, no, it’s not good. I wasn’t thinking about anything,” I lied.
“Sweetness . . .” He chortled.
He wasn’t going to let this go and maybe it was best to simply ask than wonder.
“Why didn’t you make a move last night?”
“Come again?” Jackson jerked back.
“You didn’t even kiss me. I mean, we’ve slept together before, and you’ve done other stuff. Is it because you’re not interested?”
“Fuck, no.” The vehemence in his tone made me feel a little better, but now he looked pissed. “I’m not an asshole, Tuesday.”
“I know you’re not. That’s not what I meant. God, I’m screwing this up. I was just wondering if you’d changed your mind.”
“I have,” he affirmed.
My heart sank. I’d pushed too far.
“Oh.”
I tried to pull myself together and not let my disappointment show. Of course, he would be done with me. Who wanted to continue to deal with a wishy-washy twit?
“Sweetness, I am not interested in a booty call. I didn’t want it in the first place, but you had my hands tied, and I felt like the only way for me to get close was to agree. That isn’t what I want for us and that’s not where I’m gonna let us go. Last night when you were in my arms, opening up to me, I had to fight taking things further. The only thing I want more than getting back inside of you is having you trust me. So when I say I’ve changed my mind, what I mean is I want it all.”
Holy shit.
“I want to be crystal clear. When I say all, I mean, all of you. The friendship, the commitment, the sex, the conversation, the intimacy, along with you knowing I’d never break your confidence. I know it will take time. I know it’s going to be hard. I know you’re gonna push back, get scared, and want to run. I’m good with all of that. I will fight for it and, Sweetness, I get that, too. Travis may’ve fucked you over, but every insecurity you have started way before him. So, fair warning, I’m not going to let you quit because someone broke your heart. I’m not going to let you hide because your mom is a raving bitch and has never shown you any kindness. But, mostly, I’m going to show you how a real man is supposed to treat a woman. Because I’d bet, other than you seeing how your grandfather was with your grandmother, you’ve never experienced it. Never had a man honor you the way he should have.” I was heaving in air trying not to let it show I was going to hyperventilate at any moment. “Ready or not, Tuesday, I’m playing for keeps. Buckle up, baby, it’s about to get bumpy.”
I couldn’t get words out through the crush of emotions flooding me. He was right. Everything he’d said was spot on. He saw through all my bullshit. Saw past what Travis had done, to the heart of every bad decision I’d made. I’d spent so much of my life wanting to be seen and loved that I’d chosen poorly. I’d fucked up, and that was mine to own. I was responsible for myself and my actions and just because my dad hadn’t stood up for me and my mom hadn’t shown me love didn’t make my poor judgment any less mine.
I’d learned the hard way. But I’d learned. And through those lessons I knew Jackson was different. So different I was afraid of him for new reasons.
But I’d never know unless I tried. Never know if I could truly be happy unless I let go and let him in.
I wanted to be happy, and since I couldn’t talk because I was choking back tears, I nodded my acceptance.
“Good,” he whispered.
Now there was a new question hanging in the air, would I be able to make him happy?
23
Jackson
“Jackson! How lovely to see you again.” Patty beamed as I walked into her room with Tuesday by my side.
This was not my first time in Autumn Lakes Nursing Home, but it was the first time I’d paid attention to the décor. The first time I was in the building, I was more concerned with a small fire in the arts and crafts room. My attention had not been on the well-appointed lobby nor had I noticed the numerous clusters of comfortable chairs positioned around the large space. One side of the entryway had a hallway that led to the activity rooms, including a gym. The other side had a corridor that led to the occupants’ private rooms.
When we’d stepped into Patty’s room, I hadn’t been expecting soft gray walls and furnishings that looked like they belonged in a residential bedroom. Even the paintings on the walls looked like they didn’t belong in a nursing home. I could see why Tuesday’s grandmother enjoyed the facility. Other than the nurses and other staff roaming around nothing indicated nursing care. It was clean and well kept.
“Nice to see you, too, Mrs. Knowls.”
“Patty,” she corrected.
The older woman took us in, and her soft face broke into a wide smile. Tuesday, on the other hand, was not smiling. She was nervous and looked like she’d been forced to eat a lemon, or a dozen.
On the way over we’d talked more about Tuesday’s parents. The more she told me, the more I understood her worry about Gladys showing up. It seemed Tuesday’s mother had a flair for drama, and had no issue spreading it far and wide. At least in private. She’d also explained that her mom was big on appearances and thought the Knowls name should be held in high regard.
“Tuesday, dear, you’re going to give yourself wrinkles with that scowl.”
“How’s your day been, Gran?” Tuesday asked, ignoring her grandmother’s comment.
Patty didn’t miss a beat. “By your sour puss look, I’d say better than yours.”
I lost the battle and a chuckle slipped out, and Tuesday’s eyes cut to me. “What’s so funny?”
“You are, Sweetness.”
“There’s nothing funny,” she hissed.
“Right.”
Patty’s laugh cut through Tuesday’s snit, and when the old woman snorted, Tuesday finally smiled. It seemed she got her pretty laugh, complete with the cute snort, from her grandmother. I looked to Patty, sitting in a wheelchair, and really took her in for the first time. She was all sunny disposition and smiles.
Nothing but love and warmth shone in her eyes. Patty Knowls was a woman who’d had a good life. And from the stories Tuesday had told, she’d known love, lots of it. She’d had a husband who’d adored her. He’d given her so much during their marriage that even after his death Patty was still feeling it. I liked that for her. I liked how she’d had so much it spilled over and she’d given it to Tuesday.
“Listen, Gran, I hate to bring this up, but my mother called me last night and well . . .”
Patty’s smile faded, her eyes slowly drifted closed, and when they reopened, she looked thoughtful.
“She threw a fit,” she surmised.
“You could say that. She mentioned the house.”
The thoughtful look was wiped clean off Patty’s face, and in its place was anger. “The house?”
“Yes. She said she heard you were moving and said—”
“That damn son of mine. He could never keep his cotton-pickin’ mouth quiet. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I wanted it to be a surprise. I told George that. I didn’t want it spoken about until the paperwork was finished.”
Claiming Tuesday: The Next Generation Page 14