Don't Mess With Jess

by Megan McCoy

  Jess’ heart skipped a beat, thinking of Sam waking up and no one being in the house for him because someone got fed up and walked out. Babies could be hard and he’d be here all alone all day with a stranger and suddenly that bothered her a lot more than it did a week ago. The little guy had her heart.

  “I will think on it,” she said. Would she? Could she rent out her house? “When I go for my interview next week, I want to spend the night at my house. I’m a little homesick, Mac.” Why did she have to blink back tears? Was she really thinking of leaving her house, her friends, her life, for a year?

  Mac looked a little panicked. “How long will you be gone?”

  “Twenty-four hours-ish?” she said. “Okay, how about I take Sam with me, get one of my friends to watch him while I interview and then he can stay with me at the house overnight?” Suddenly this seemed like a wonderful idea. She could leave here with Sam Tuesday morning for her interview late Tuesday afternoon. She knew Marnie would be glad to watch him while she interviewed, she grew up with Carly, too and had a toddler, and then she could go home for a day. Or maybe two. Sleep in her own bed. Be in her own kitchen. Be home. The wave of homesickness swept over her again, and she blinked back more tears. “I think that is a good solution. We don’t have to plan our future this afternoon. Just see how my interview and the nanny interviews go and decide next week?”

  She looked up at him, hopefully. Surely, he would see the sense in this idea. There were two more nanny interviews this week, then the weekend for second interviews with Mac, then her interview, and who knew what could happen.

  He frowned. “Let me think on it.”

  “Well, unless you plan to take a day off to watch him, I’m thinking it’s the best plan.”

  “If I have a couple good interviews, maybe they can use that day you are gone for a trial?” he said, slowly.

  “Well, we can decide Monday, okay?” she asked. “Do you have plans for the weekend other than your interview or interviews maybe on Saturday?”

  Mac shook his head. “I just want a laid-back weekend at home, taking care of Sam and counting your receipts.”

  Jess smiled at him. “Then I better get to shopping so I have a few more for you, shouldn’t I?”

  Mac groaned. “What more can you possibly get? He already has so much stuff and face it, he really doesn’t do much of anything right now.”

  “And you meant to say, ‘thank you for taking such good care of Sam’, I’m quite certain, right?”

  “What did babies do before credit cards?” Mac asked.

  “Wouldn’t know,” Jessie smiled at him. He really was a pushover. Mostly. Sometimes.

  Mac looked at his watch again. Almost six. She was supposed to have been home a couple hours ago with Sam. Where was she? She’d texted at noon and said she was leaving her house. Then, absolutely nothing since. Her interview had been yesterday and he hadn’t asked much about it, but assumed they would talk about it when she got back here. Had she had car trouble? He should have gotten the online service’s number on her car, if she even had one. Making a mental note to make sure she both had one and he had access to it as soon as she got back, he paced the floor. She wasn’t answering her phone, but never did when she was driving. He knew that about her. Maybe Sam had gotten sick, or, he told himself, probably what happened was that they got a late start and then he got fussy and she had to pull over to feed and change him. That was rational. Well, she could at least call if she was pulled over feeding the baby somewhere. Maybe her phone is dead. His mind raced but he methodically started making tuna casserole, one of his comfort foods his mom used to make. Easy enough, but gave his hands something to do while he waited for Jess to walk in the door with his son.

  He’d heard from the lawyer today that they had found a relative of Sam’s. A cousin who lived a few states away and he had a meeting tomorrow to figure out what to do. He wanted all the t’s crossed and i’s dotted and for Sam to be his legally. But right now, he just needed Sam physically. Hold his little weight in his arms, see his smile, laugh at his cute nose grabs and smell his head. Where was Jess with his boy?

  He dumped macaroni into boiling salted water and set the timer for seven minutes while he opened a couple cans of tuna fish and drained them. Punching in Jess’ number again, he waited for it to go to voicemail, then said, “Jess, where are you? Where is Sam? Call me.” He refused to let his mind go to a place where she might have taken off with Sam. If so, she’d have over a twenty-four-hour head start. She had no job, he knew she loved Sam, but she wasn’t crazy. He wasn’t keeping her from Sam. She also knew he had custody of Sam and she’d get caught. Jess was smart, she wouldn’t risk that. She’d be walking in the door anytime now. Two hours late was nothing. He had never been this worried in his entire life before. He’d always been able to handle anything in his life. There had been nothing to worry about. He didn’t really think about Sam’s dad in Afghanistan, he didn’t know him very well and had been assured he would be fine. He didn’t worry about Carly. Women gave birth all the time, and who knew there was a thing about post birth stroke? He hadn’t. So he hadn’t worried about it. His dad had passed unexpectedly on the golf course, and well, there was no reason to worry about his mother. That disease did its own thing and would take its course and all he could do was throw money at it and make sure she had the best care available.

  But he was simply worried sick. He had never felt this feeling before. He hated it. Between finding this stranger cousin of Sam’s who could perhaps ruin his life, and Jess not being home with his kid… he punched redial again. “Jess, I’m going to call the cops in one hour. If I can hold off that long.”

  He drained the macaroni and added the tuna cans, then poured some milk, added butter and cut off a huge hunk from a block of what seemed to pass for cheese but he didn’t really think it was. However, it was how his mom made tuna casserole and he wanted it right now. It seemed the only thing that could soothe his anxiety other than holding Sam. Stirring it up, he went out to the freezer and found peas. Coming back in, he shook some garlic salt on the mixture, noting from some faraway place that his hands were shaking, and then added the frozen peas and gave another stir. Turning the burner down, he looked at the clock again. Only 6:30. If she wasn’t here by seven, he was calling the police to check roads and see if there had been any accidents. If he hadn’t heard anything by eight, he was driving to her house. See, he had a plan. He was a planner. So far in his life, it had worked out for him but now he had other people to watch out for, other than just himself.

  Setting the timer on the stove for fifteen minutes, he called Jess again. “Jess, you should have been back a couple hours ago. I’m worried about you.”

  With nothing else to do, he walked up to Sam’s room. Despite the pink—the dusty rose—wall, it seemed like a fun and cheerful little boy’s room. There were decorations on the wall, including bright blue letters spelling out Sam hanging on the wall. A bookshelf full of hard back and soft cloth books, toy shelves that seemed crammed to capacity. Sam’s dressers were full of clothes and diapers in different sizes. The changing table was clean and well stocked. The mini fridge he’d installed thinking it was a good idea for bottles, but Jess told him would have to go when Sam got older. He didn’t know why but Jess told him that and he believed her. He believed her. He believed in her. Where was she?

  Going into his bedroom, Mac grabbed his keys from the dresser and decided he was going out looking for her. She was over three hours late now and he couldn’t deal. Trying to think rationally, he decided to call the cops first and see if there were any reported accidents and then he’d go. Is that what people did? Could you even report someone missing after three hours?

  Sticking his keys in his pocket, he heard the stove timer beeping and headed down to turn it off.

  Taking a deep breath, he took the tuna casserole off the burner to cool. Had he ever been this scared in his life? He didn’t think so.

  Taking his phone, he hit 9 1 an
d then heard the door open. He’d unlocked it earlier so she wouldn’t have to fight with the lock while bringing in Sam and his stuff. He caught his breath trying not to hope while rushing to the front of the house. Jess and Sam. Mac had to fight not falling to his knees in relief. They were home. She hadn’t run away with Sam. They hadn’t been in a wreck. They were home. He stalked to her and grabbed the car seat from her hand, noting her startled look. “You are home.” He stated the obvious. “I’m putting Sam to bed and you better have a good explanation for being hours late.” He took the baby in his car seat and headed upstairs.

  Jess looked at the clock. Crap, she was later than she’d realized. She’d gotten a slow start, then stopped a few times to feed and change Sam and once just because there was a very pretty park she wanted to walk through and think. Then she had to get gas, and noticed her phone had died. She couldn’t find the charger that she knew she had in her car, which was annoying. One thing she hadn’t thought of was Mac worrying, however.

  “You are home early from work,” she said, as cheerily as she could when he came back in from putting the baby to bed. “I thought you’d still be there.”

  “It’s after seven,” he said. As if that meant anything.

  “You worked until after ten three days last week,” she pointed out. Seriously, what was wrong with him? He seemed overly upset for her being a little later than he thought she’d be.

  “Sam seems fine,” he said while they walked in the kitchen.

  “Of course he’s fine. What’s wrong with you?” She put her hands on her hips and glared at him.

  “I’m trying real hard not to blister your ass, that’s what’s wrong with me.” He walked over to the kitchen tool caddy and picked up a wooden spoon and Jess instinctively covered her bottom with her hands. “But I’m failing.”

  “What!” Well, that probably came out a little more belligerently than it should have.

  “Did you have car trouble?”

  Somehow, she was thinking this wasn’t going to end well for her rear end. She took a step backwards, heart hammering. “Mac,” she started.

  “That is a yes or no question.”

  What was the question? Oh, car trouble. “No, but.”

  He waved the spoon in her direction. “Is your phone broken?”

  “It’s dead,” she said. Whew.

  “Whose fault is that?”

  “Fault?”

  “Who took my son out on a four-hour drive with a dead phone?”

  “Mac!” She watched as he pulled one of the chairs away from the table and put it in the middle of the floor. “Mac, seriously, what are you doing?”

  “Figure it out.” He took two steps toward her and grabbed her arm.

  Should she resist? He outweighed her, was stronger than she was and “Ow!” Her belly hit his legs and her hands scrambled to find the floor. The soft cotton shorts she’d put on earlier wouldn’t be much barrier. “Mac! No!” She felt them being jerked down as the spoon smacked her panty covered bottom.

  “Do. You. Know. How. Worried. I. Was?” The spoon hit with every word and her brain froze trying to take in the experience.

  “No! I didn’t!” she practically shouted. Dang, that hurt! She did not like the spoon at all.

  “Three hours past when I expected you!” He did a flurry of smacks and she put her hand back to stop him.

  “Not there! That hurts! Ow! Ouch! Mac!” Somehow, he had hold of her hand and she felt more vulnerable than she ever had in her life. She had no control over anything right now and she didn’t like this feeling at all. “Mac! Stop it!”

  “Should have thought of that when you let your phone die.” He smacked her in one spot repeatedly so hard it was a blessed relief when he started to work on her other butt cheek. “I had no clue if you were taking off with Sam or were in a ditch or…”

  “Mac, no! No! Ow, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, okay?”

  “No. It is not okay.”

  Kicking her legs up to try and knock his hand away, she let out a sob. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think!”

  “Well, you will next time, won’t you?” He laid into her again and though it didn’t seem possible, it hurt more than the last ones.

  “Mac, no more, please, please, I’m done, I’m done!” The last word she couldn’t help but wail out. In return, he smacked both her thighs three times each making her scream out in pain. Then he pulled her off his lap and put her on her feet, where her shorts promptly fell to her ankles. Grabbing both her hands, he stood her right in front of him while she tried not to wiggle and shimmy to help the burn in her bottom.

  “If I ever don’t know where you and my son are again, you are going to think this was as easy as walking across the room, do you understand me?”

  Sniffling, Jess nodded. “Yes, Mac, I understand, I do. Don’t spank me anymore, please.”

  In response, he pulled her onto his lap where the harshness of his denim jeans made her bottom hurt even worse. Why she wanted comfort from the man who caused the pain made no sense, but she did and cuddled into his arms, and started sobbing on his shoulder. Weirdly, having her shorts down at her ankles made things seem much worse.

  “I’m sorry, Mac. I didn’t think. I would never take your son from you.” Would she though, she thought guiltily. She would, actually, but that didn’t seem a thing she should say right now. It had been so, just right, having Sam at her house. It felt as if he had always been there, and she could think of nothing more she wanted than having Sam living there full time with her, rather than here in this sterile house with a parent gone all the time. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed into his shoulder feeling all kinds of guilt and sadness. Oh, and her butt hurt.

  He patted her. “You remember this spanking next time you let your phone die or are hours late with my boy.”

  Jess took the smart option and just nodded and snaked her arms around his neck. “I will, I will,” she said into his shoulder. Why had she ever thought spankings were fun and sexy? They weren’t. They were painful and humiliating. She did not like them one little bit. “That hurt,” she whimpered.

  “So did waiting around for three hours worrying about you and Sam,” he said. “I hope neither of us have to repeat that.”

  Shaking her head, she said, “I’m sorry. I really didn’t think you’d be home to care.”

  Lifting her chin with his finger, he made her look into his eyes and said, “I care whether I’m here or not. I care at the office. I care when I’m running errands. I care when I’m sleeping.”

  Jessie tried to stop her mind from flashing to the Dr. Seuss book she’d read to Sam earlier. That didn’t work so well. “How about on a train or in a tree?”

  “What? Why would I be in a tree?”

  She couldn’t help but giggle, “A box? With a fox?”

  “Jess, do I need to blister some sense into you?” He looked at her with his serious face and she tried not to giggle again, despite her sore bottom and her shorts she was trying to desperately but discreetly not let fall off her ankles.

  “No, thanks, I’ve been well blistered already,” she said. “I’m really sorry, Mac. I honestly wasn’t thinking you’d worry. I know better now.”

  “Good. Now, tell me about your interview.”

  “May I please pull up my shorts first, sir?” she asked as politely as she could muster.

  “Nope. I haven’t decided if I need to follow up and give you a few more,” he said.

  “Mac! No, please!”

  “I was kidding, pull them up.”

  She got off his lap and tried not to feel mortified while she pulled them up. Dang, her butt hurt. Why was she wishing to be back on his lap now? Not over it! On it. But she took another couple steps back and winced as she sat at the island. Looking over at the monitor, she saw Sam sleeping with his little arms over his head. Glad she didn’t wake him up with her crying, and maybe shrieking, she looked at Mac.

  “My interview went okay. I have another one next week and should get an
offer then,” she said, sniffling a little and trying to choke back the lump in her throat. How was she going to leave Sam? If it hurt this much to leave him now, how much would it hurt if she took Mac’s offer and stayed a year? She loved that little boy with all her heart. Having him at her house only cemented that love. That was where he belonged, not here in this sterile gray that was not the new-white house raised by nannies. He needed to be with her. She worked decent hours, and had a huge support system in her town. Marnie loved having him and he could grow up with her little boy. He could go to the same school she and Carly had gone to, and even have some of the same teachers. He could play on the soccer team and she could coach, take lessons in the same pool she and Carly had, play in the same parks. It would be like going home for him whether he knew it or not. Here, he could never grow up hearing, “Sam Evans! I knew your mom/ know your family!” That would happen in Macintyre.

  “Is it your dream job?” he asked, handing her a glass of water that she gratefully sipped.

  “My dream job? I don’t know what my dream job is,” she said. “I like teaching. I loved what I did, but there are no openings for second or third grade anywhere close to my house. I’d like to get my degree to have more options.” Yes, she would but. Yeah. But. There were so many big huge buts. Shifting on her butt, she winced a little wondering why she wasn’t mad at Mac for spanking her. Things seemed even better between them, right now. Strange but true. He seemed less tense than he had been the last few days, and she felt, well, she didn’t know how she felt. Her entire life was in turmoil right now, and all she really wanted to be was back home, but with Sam. It had taken everything she had to leave earlier today and come back here.

  “Want some tuna casserole?” He pulled two bowls from the cabinet and dished them both a bowl. “Mom’s recipe but I didn’t have any crackers for the top.”

  She stuck her fork in the steamy cheesy bowl and remembered all the times she and Carly had sat in his mom’s kitchen and eaten this before soccer games and after a school dance. “Your mom loved this,” she said. “You make it almost as good. Just think, one day before too long, Sam will be the third generation eating it.”