by Linda Seed
29
It was true, Jake was tired of waiting. But that didn’t mean he’d had to act like an ass.
The morning after his confrontation with Breanna, he poured himself a cup of coffee in his kitchen and took inventory of the many and varied ways in which he’d been a total fool.
Telling her the truth about what he wanted and how he felt wasn’t one of them; that part he’d gotten right. Going out with someone he wasn’t interested in just to prove something to himself made the list, though. So did putting on a show with her to force Breanna into some kind of action.
He wished he could undo it, but he couldn’t.
“Asshole,” he muttered to himself under his breath as he sat at his kitchen table and swallowed those first, bitter sips.
Sam was whining to go outside, so Jake got up, opened the front door, and stood just inside the threshold while the dog went out, found a promising clump of grass, and peed. Both relieved and grateful, Sam came back in, and Jake got back to his wallowing.
He probably didn’t deserve for Breanna to commit to him after the way he’d acted. She’d be well within reason to congratulate herself on avoiding a relationship with a man who had the maturity of a middle-schooler.
He hoped like hell she wouldn’t do that, though. Eight hours since he’d made his pronouncement and he already missed her with an ache that felt like his heart was being pulled from his chest.
He hadn’t been entirely sure that he loved Breanna until he’d heard the words coming out of his own mouth the night before. But as he’d said it, he’d known that it was true. He knew it even more surely this morning, with the possibility that he’d ruined everything hanging over his head.
Sam came over to where Jake was sitting and laid his enormous head on Jake’s thigh. The dog let out a huge, wet sigh, his eyes sad.
Did he miss her, too, or was this just Sam feeling sympathetic and trying to comfort him? Either way, Jake appreciated the solidarity. He rubbed Sam’s head with his hand.
“I know, boy. I know.”
Feeling sorry for himself wasn’t going to help anything, but it was the weekend, and Jake didn’t have anything else planned.
“Ah … fuck,” he said to the dog.
* * *
Breanna decided that the best thing to do was to avoid the whole thing.
Actually, it would be wrong to say she decided it. Because her lack of action was about not deciding. Not committing. Not taking a stand one way or another on her relationship with Jake and where she did or did not want it to go.
She knew what her heart wanted. But when you were a single mother, you had to think of what was practical and what was right. You couldn’t just think about your own selfish yearnings. You couldn’t just think about your heart.
Hadn’t her heart wanted her to die along with Brian back when she’d gotten the news? Hadn’t everything inside her screamed for her to crawl under her covers and weep, shutting out the world until the very planets stopped spinning?
But she hadn’t done that then, and she couldn’t follow something as capricious as her feelings now. If widowhood had taught her anything, it was that sometimes you had to put your feelings aside and do what was best for those around you.
And what was best for her sons was stability. Yes, she was moving them to a new home, and that was proving to be rough on Michael in particular. How could she add to that upheaval by bringing a man into their lives? It was enough that they would be adjusting to new rooms and new routines. How could she also ask them to adjust to what they would surely see as her trying to replace their father?
She couldn’t do it. But she also couldn’t imagine saying goodbye to Jake.
Someone on the outside looking in would have said Breanna used work as an avoidance tactic. She would have said she was just getting on with her life. Either way, she’d somehow agreed to prepare twelve pies for the community’s Memorial Day picnic at Shamel Park.
It had seemed like a simple enough thing at the time: just a little cooking to help her neighbors celebrate the beginning of summer.
But now, a few days before the picnic, surrounded in the kitchen by the ingredients for pound upon pound of pie filling, she began to question her own sanity. Surely only a psychotic break would have prompted her to sign up for this.
Today was Friday, and she hadn’t talked to Jake since their confrontation a week before. She’d filled the days since then packing for the move, preparing for the pie extravaganza, and generally obsessing over any domestic task she could invent rather than obsessing about Jake.
There was still a little work to do on the house, but Breanna hadn’t been taking the boys over there. They’d been asking why, and she hadn’t known what to tell them.
Now, as she stood at the kitchen cleaning and cutting strawberries for the pies, Michael, who had just gotten home from school, was badgering her for answers.
“But why can’t I go? Jake’s going to be finished with the whole house before we even get to do anything else.” Michael’s face held the petulant expression he used when he felt he was being treated unfairly. Which was most of the time.
“There will be plenty for you to do,” Breanna said mildly. “We’ll have to haul our things over there and unpack, and there’s all of the new furniture to choose.”
“Oh, boy. Unpacking. I can hardly wait,” Michael said dryly.
“Well, good,” Breanna said, intentionally ignoring the sarcasm. “Then you’ll have something to look forward to.”
“And you won’t even tell me why I can’t go,” Michael persisted. “That’s not fair. If you’re punishing me for something, I should at least know what it is.”
“I’m not punishing you.”
“Then why can’t I go?”
Breanna, exhausted from lying awake at night and from her son’s relentless arguing, set down her knife, let her shoulders fall, and sighed.
“Michael, you can’t go because I said so.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“Well, it’s all the reason you’re going to get. Now, if you keep standing here, I’m going to make you cut strawberries. So either grab a knife or go find something to do.” Breanna rarely lost her temper with her kids, but an edge was creeping into her voice that said she was about to. Michael must have recognized that, because he gave her one last glare and then left the kitchen. If the room hadn’t had a swinging door, he’d have slammed it.
As Michael went out, Sandra came in. She gave the boy a curious glance and then focused on Breanna.
“Well, what burr’s gotten under that boy’s saddle this time?”
Breanna let out a very Sandra-like grunt. “He wants to go to the Moonstone Beach house to work with Jake, and I said no.”
“And I’ll bet he wants an explanation, and you aren’t giving one,” Sandra said.
“Exactly.”
“Hmph. If it was me, I’d let him go on over there and hammer some nails for a while, work out some of that attitude of his.”
“Well, it’s not you,” Breanna said shortly.
Sandra considered her daughter. “Thank the good lord for small favors.”
* * *
There wasn’t much left to do on the Moonstone Beach house. It had been four long months of renovations, but Jake was almost ready to put the finishing touches on this job and call it done.
And not a minute too soon.
Since things had gone to hell with Breanna, it was more than a little awkward to continue working with her. But she’d kept her distance since things had imploded, and that helped him to focus on the task he’d been hired to do.
It wasn’t just her that he would miss. He was also going to miss the house.
Jake walked through each room surveying all that he’d accomplished. The kitchen, which had been cramped and dark before, was now big, bright, and efficient. The front room had more windows, fresh drywall, and a new fireplace. The bathrooms had been gutted and redesigned, with shiny new fixtures and gleam
ing tile. The guesthouse had been expanded and modernized while keeping the house’s historic feel. Everywhere, hardwood floors gleamed and natural light streamed in, creating a warm and welcoming feel.
Jake was pretty damned pleased with himself.
He’d sent his crew home yesterday, since they’d finished everything he couldn’t easily do himself. Now, with the morning sun streaming in through the windows—many of which Jake had installed—he walked through each room with satisfaction.
Outside, the house maintained the same classic farmhouse look it had been built with back in the 1920s. It was big and solid, sky blue with white trim. Inside, it was all sunshine and warm wood, with walls the color of fresh butter.
He imagined Breanna and the boys living here, going about their lives in this space that Jake had made for them. And thinking about it made a hard ache pull at his chest.
He’d begun to hope that maybe he might have a part in that life. Now, the idea that he wouldn’t stung almost as badly as his divorce had. When had Breanna come to mean more to him than his ex had? How had she gotten that kind of power over him? How had he let that happen without even noticing?
No point obsessing over it. No point worrying it like a loose tooth. He still had work to do.
There was nothing left but a few details. He was attending to one of them—screwing in the wall plates for the electric switches and outlets—when he heard footsteps coming in the front door, which was standing open.
On his knees in front of a low outlet, he turned and saw Michael standing just inside the front door, looking somewhere between pissed-off and sheepish.
“Michael. I didn’t expect you today.” He got up, walked over, and moved to shake the boy’s hand. Jake had always thought that a good handshake went a long way toward making a boy feel like a man.
Michael kept his hands stuffed in his jeans pockets, ignoring Jake’s, which was still extended to him.
Okay, pissed-off, then.
“Something on your mind?” Jake said.
“What did you do to my mom?”
Jake had to admire the kid’s spunk, putting it right out there like that. Coming to him like this took guts. He deserved a straight answer, but Jake didn’t know how much Breanna had told him—or intended to.
Jake retrieved his hand, which had still been awkwardly extended.
“What exactly do you think I did?” he asked.
“That’s not an answer.”
“No, it’s not.” Jake had a couple of choices here. He could decide that his erstwhile romance with Breanna was none of Michael’s business and send him on his way with some happy bullshit about protecting Breanna’s privacy. Or he could be straight with the kid and show him the respect Jake had come to feel for him over the past months.
He opted for the latter.
“Come and sit down,” he said, leading Michael out to the front porch. Jake sat on the top step and motioned for the kid to sit next to him. When they were settled, he laid it out as simply as he could.
“I don’t know whether your mother told you we were seeing each other.”
“She didn’t tell me, but I knew. Everybody knew.” His eyes were guarded, maybe hostile. Probably just hurt.
“Yeah, well … She doesn’t want the same things I do. So, it looks like it’s not going to work out between us.” He hated like hell just saying the words. Part of him felt that if he didn’t say it, it might not be true.
“Like what?” Michael said. “What do you want that she doesn’t?”
Jake rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “Hell, kid. Just … everything. A relationship. Maybe even marriage eventually. More kids. The whole bit.”
“And she doesn’t want that? Why not?”
“You’d have to ask her.”
“Jake …”
“Look. I’m not sure I understand it myself,” Jake said. “She says she’s not ready. But I don’t know what that means. Maybe it just means she doesn’t love me.”
“But you love her.” It wasn’t a question.
“I do, yeah. But it’s gotta go both ways, or it’s not gonna work.” Jake shot a glance at the kid out of the corner of his eye. “Are you even supposed to be here?”
“No. She wouldn’t bring me, so I rode my bike.”
“Does she know you’re here?”
The boy’s silence was all the answer Jake needed.
“Michael, you’re going to get me in trouble with your mom.” Though, now that he thought about it, what difference did it make at this point? “You got a cell phone?”
Michael nodded.
“Call her and tell you where you are so she won’t worry. Then you can help me with these wall plates.”
* * *
Jake and Michael worked side by side, fitting the plates over the outlets and wall switches and screwing them in place. As they worked, they talked about life, divorce, death, and the struggles of adolescence.
“My mom always acts like she doesn’t need anything. Like she doesn’t need to meet anybody new, or get married again, or anything like that. But she’s always sad. She doesn’t think we know she’s sad, but, God, we’re not stupid.”
“No, I can see that you’re not,” Jake agreed.
“And what about us?” he said. “She thinks we’ll curl up and die or something if she gets married again. I know I’m supposed to hate the idea of having a stepdad, but sometimes I think it might be kind of cool.”
“You do?” Jake stopped what he was doing and looked at Michael, who was intently screwing a plate into the wall.
The kid shrugged. “I mean, I don’t know. Maybe. But how will any of us know if we don’t try it?”
“Getting married again isn’t something your mom can just try. Once it’s done, it’s done. Mostly.” He thought of his own divorce, and how nothing was ever as simple as being done. Not really.
“Yeah, I know.” The shrug again. “But you’ve got to take chances sometimes, right? You can’t always do what’s safe. What does she want, to be stuck taking care of us kids and my grandpa and my uncles for the rest of her life?”
“I don’t think she thinks of it that way,” Jake said. “As being stuck, I mean.”
Michael finished with the wall plate, grabbed another one out of a bag Jake had left on the floor, and went to work on the next one. “It’s like she doesn’t want to be happy.”
“Or maybe she just doesn’t know how to be,” Jake said.
“I guess.”
Jake thought about how it must feel to be raised by a perpetually unhappy mother—and what a difference it would make if she were truly happy for once in her boys’ lives.
“You should tell her what you think,” Jake said. “What you told me. I mean, why not? What do you have to lose?”
Michael shrugged. But Jake could tell he was thinking about it.
They were in the kitchen working on the plates above the countertops when Jake heard a knock on the front doorframe. Sam rushed past them to investigate, a massive black blur.
“Michael? Are you here?” Breanna called into the big, empty house.
“Tell her,” Jake said.
30
When Breanna realized that Michael had left without telling her, she’d been furious. At first she’d assumed that he was out on the ranch. While it was uncharacteristic of him to volunteer to work with his uncles, he sometimes liked to walk to the creek and sit in the grass amid the buzzing insects, throwing rocks into the water and thinking his unknowable thoughts.
But then he’d called to tell her he had gone to the Moonstone Beach house on his own, despite her having told him clearly that she didn’t want him to go. She’d started running through a list of possible punishments in her head before she’d even left the house to go get him.
No phone, she thought. No computer. No TV or video games. And if that wasn’t enough, he could be at the mercy of his uncles for a week, mucking out stables and shoveling cow shit from the barn.
Jake must have
read her expression accurately, because as soon as he saw her, he started trying to placate her on Michael’s behalf.
“Look, don’t be too hard on him,” Jake said. “He was just—”
“Michael, get in the car,” Breanna said, cutting Jake off.
“Mom, we just got done with the—”
“Get in the car.”
However difficult Michael had been of late, he clearly knew when not to push his luck. Sulking, he went out the front door and headed toward the car, which was parked on Moonstone Beach Drive.
“You might want to cut him some slack,” Jake said when Michael was out of earshot. “I think he came over here to try to kick my ass.”
Whatever Breanna had expected to hear, it hadn’t been that. “He … what?”
“The kid came storming in here asking what I did to his mom. He was trying to defend you, which took balls, if you ask me. It was him trying to be a man, trying to protect someone he loves. If you try to lecture or punish or badger that out of him, then you’re not only doing him a disservice, you’re disrespecting your own accomplishments as a parent. And that would be a damned shame.”
Breanna let that sink in a little.
“That was quite a speech,” she said after a while.
“Yeah, well.” He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “I’d been planning it since ten minutes after he got here.”
Breanna told herself to take a breath and consider what Jake was telling her. While she was doing that, it occurred to her that the house was done—or very nearly so.
“Oh, my God,” she said, looking around in wonder. “The house …”
“I was gonna call you later today and let you know. It’s move-in ready. What do you think?”
“You weren’t even scheduled to finish until next week.”
“Yeah, well … sexual frustration can really boost a guy’s productivity.” He grinned ruefully. “Not that I’d write a self-help book recommending it.”