by T. K. Leigh
“How tragic.” The reporter shakes her head. “But it says a lot about your character for agreeing to deal with that.”
“I loved her. But it just wasn’t enough.”
“So is it your belief that Ms. Bennett made up the story about Mr. Jaskulski assaulting her?”
“I know she did. She’d gotten caught and needed to lie her way out of it.”
“Gotten caught?”
He nods. “A member of my church saw Londyn leaving a…clinic. After I confronted her, she admitted that she did, in fact, terminate a pregnancy. Told me the last thing she wanted was to carry my child. I should have known something was amiss when she kept putting off changing her last name officially.”
I tighten my grip on Londyn when her body trembles even more violently. It takes everything I have to keep myself from putting my fist through the television. But that won’t solve anything. I just can’t wrap my head around why a national news network would invite this guy to be on their morning talk show and take his version of events as gospel. Simply because he’s supposedly a man of faith he should be believed over Londyn?
“An affair is usually the death knell in many relationships, but I was willing to work through it. Willing to work on being a better husband. But she didn’t seem interested in that. One night, as I worked on my sermon for the following week, she left. Didn’t even leave a note. In the years that followed, I tried reaching out to her countless times, but every attempt went unanswered.”
“Then it must have been a shock to learn she shot Mr. Jaskulski a few weeks ago.”
“That may just be the understatement of the year.” He chuckles, flashing a charismatic smile that’s no more real than the Loch Ness Monster. “And while I want to believe my wife, I see the damage my reluctance to come forward has done. A man could have lost his life because of her lies, her disconnection from reality. She needs to be held responsible for her actions, not be allowed to throw around some baseless accusation of assault. She’s gotten away with her lies long enough.”
“I can’t tell you how much we appreciate you taking the time to talk to us and our viewers today. And for giving us some insight into who exactly Londyn Bennett is. I can only imagine the strength it took for you to reopen these old wounds.”
“As difficult as it has been to come to terms with this, to finally speak out, I needed to. I’d never forgive myself if she walked free to do something like this again. To ruin another man’s life.”
The host offers Sawyer a warm smile, reaching out and squeezing his hand before turning her attention back toward the camera. “Next up,” she begins, her voice bright and chipper, “a woman who decided to say yes for an entire year. Stay tuned to see what she learned about herself and society.”
Pointing the remote at the screen, I turn it off, neither one of us speaking for several seconds. Up until now, it’s been a he-said/she-said scenario that could go either way. With the public outcry and benefit of the #MeToo movement supporting Londyn, Sophia has been optimistic things had turned the corner in our favor. I fear Sawyer’s interview may have far-reaching ramifications.
“He’s going to testify against me,” she murmurs.
I spin her so she’s facing me. “You don’t know that.”
“You heard him when I served him with the divorce papers,” she counters. “He said I’d regret it. This was his plan all along.”
I pinch my lips into a tight line, not wanting to tell her I had the same thought. “This is just one interview on a morning talk show. Not exactly 60 Minutes.”
“But it’s out there. People don’t care about the truth these days. Only what improves ratings. And that…” She points to the screen. “That just boosted their ratings big time.”
I smooth my hands down her arms. “He’s pissed he lost. I’ve known guys like Sawyer my entire life. All they care about is the win, not the people they hurt along the way.”
“And he’s going to win, Wes. How can I compete with all the lies he just spouted? I can’t.”
I grab her chin, forcing her eyes to mine. “You don’t have to. Like you said, they’re just lies.”
“But no one will see that,” she counters. “That man is a fucking pastor.”
I smirk, trying to lighten the mood. “Definitely not two words I ever thought I’d hear in the same sentence.”
Her demeanor momentarily cracks before her expression hardens once more. “He holds a great deal of influence and credibility. This isn’t he-said/she-said anymore. It’s my word against the world. At some point…” She trails off as she pushes away, wrapping her arms around her stomach. “It’s like the Naked Truth and the Lie.”
I approach, brows scrunched. “The what?”
“An allegory my father would talk about in his sermons.”
“What’s it about?”
“It tells the story about the Truth and the Lie. The Truth is initially suspicious of everything the Lie says. But every time the Lie speaks, the Truth confirms what he says is true. Eventually, the Lie convinces the Truth to go for a swim, so they both disrobe. Once the Truth is naked, the Lie steals her clothes. The Truth goes after him, but when she reaches the nearby village, all the townspeople look away, unable to stomach the sight of the Naked Truth. Ashamed, she hides away for all eternity as the Lie parades around as the Truth.”
She blows out a long breath. “I fear my truth will suffer the same fate. That people will be disgusted by it and instead believe the lie parading around as the truth.”
I do my best to keep my emotions in check, although it’s becoming increasingly difficult. I wish there were something I could do to make this hurt less. Wish I could do something to make her forget. Wish there were someplace we could go where our troubles would disappear, even if for just a minute.
“Go shower and pack a bag,” I say with authority.
She snaps her gaze toward mine. “Pack a bag?”
“Yes. We’re getting away.”
“I can’t leave the state. It’s a condition of my bail.”
“And we won’t. But we’re getting out of the city.”
“What about work? And your meetings?”
I shrug, playing down the stress filling me at the prospect of blowing off yet another meeting. But Londyn needs me more.
“My team can handle it. It’ll be fine.” I pull her into my embrace. “Being with you right now is more important.”
“I’m fine, Wes. I—”
“I won’t be going into the office today no matter what you say. So you can either come away with me for the weekend or not. But I’d prefer if you do.”
She pouts, feigning irritation. “You can be quite frustrating at times.”
“And stubborn.” I wink. “Don’t forget stubborn.”
“Fine.” She huffs. “I’ll go shower. But whatever tricks you have up your sleeve better be worth you ditching work.”
I bury my head in her neck. “You will always be worth it.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Londyn
“Where are we going?” I ask as Wes pulls the Range Rover off a familiar exit, driving roads I can probably navigate blindfolded after traveling this same route countless times over the past several months.
Reaching across the center console, he squeezes my hand, his eyes momentarily locking with mine. “Home.”
Sighing, I rest my head back against my seat, a weight lifting off me. I didn’t think a house could fill me with so much serenity, but it does.
“Home,” I repeat, closing my eyes, keeping my hand enclosed in his.
And that’s precisely where it stays as my surroundings transition from the densely populated region of Atlanta and its suburbs to the more rural area of Gampy and Meemaw’s lake house.
When Wes pulls down the familiar dirt drive after an hour, I can’t stop the smile that lights up my face. Zeus can’t contain his excitement, either, tail wagging and mouth panting as he tries to weasel his way into the front seat from where he’s bee
n resting in the back.
The instant we round the bend and Gampy and Meemaw’s house comes into view, peace washes over me, all the troubles weighing me down evaporating. Now I understand why Wes and Julia wanted this house back so badly. There’s something about it, a sort of magic it holds.
Here, our troubles disappear.
Here, nothing else matters.
Here, we can be free.
Coming to a stop, Wes puts the car in park, then jumps out, making his way around to the passenger side to open my door. I don’t even have a foot on the ground before Zeus leaps out and makes a beeline toward the front porch, happily sniffing all the familiar smells.
I inhale a deep breath of the fresh air, the sun shining through scattered clouds.
“I love this smell,” I murmur, allowing everything about this place to fill me with the strength I need right now.
When I sense a warmth beside me, I glance toward Wes, his gaze focused on me.
He brushes a few tendrils of hair out of my face, his touch thrilling me. “Reminds me of us.”
“Not your childhood?”
While the scent around here reminds me of us, too, my memories don’t go nearly as far back as Wes’ do.
“No.” He cups my cheeks. “Not anymore. That’s how deeply you’ve burrowed your way into my soul, Londyn. Despite having spent the past thirty-six years of my life without you, the second you stepped out of your car to help with the insulation and drywall, wearing a tank top and a pair of cut-off shorts that should be illegal, I knew that no matter what happened, you’d leave a permanent mark on this place.” He grabs my hand and places it over his chest. “And here, too, Lo. You will always be here. No matter what.”
With slow motions, his lips descend on mine, covering and consuming them. His kiss is unhurried, languid, as if we have all the time in the world. As if this is the first of many kisses he’ll bestow on me over our lifetime. As if our kisses aren’t numbered.
“I never could have imagined you if I tried,” I murmur once our kiss comes to an end.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He winks.
Placing a hand to my lower back, he leads me toward the porch, the lantern over the door like a beacon, welcoming us home after too long away. Exactly as I imagined it would when I designed this house. At that time, I didn’t picture myself still here. But as Wes unlocks the front door and we step inside, memories of renovating this house with him playing in front of me like a home movie, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
“Welcome home, Londyn,” Wes murmurs into my ear.
I turn around, draping my arms over his shoulders. Standing on my tiptoes, I brush my lips against his. “Welcome home, Weston.”
“Come on.” He leads me down the hallway, through the kitchen, and out onto the screened-in back porch. Opening the screen door, he hooks it against the porch railing, a detail I insisted on so I could still do my favorite thing. Sit on the top step with Wes at my side.
Zeus darts between us and out into the meadow, barking and chasing away a few birds.
“Silly dog,” Wes comments as he helps me sit, then brushes a kiss to my temple. “Be right back.”
I watch as he disappears into the house before shifting my eyes back out over the property. A couple hundred feet to the left is the large lake where Gampy taught Wes to swim. Mature trees offer shade on hot, summer days, but now, in the dead of winter, their branches are devoid of most of their leaves. Around the other side of the lake is the horse paddock and stables that Wes turned into a state-of-the-art workshop for me. I grow giddy with excitement over the idea of spending a few hours in there this weekend. But I grow even more giddy over the idea of just spending time with Wes here. To go back to our roots. To forget for a minute.
A warmth across my shoulders pulls me out of my thoughts. I look to my left as Wes wraps a blanket around me, then holds out a beer.
It transports me to the first day I helped him install the insulation and drywall. After a hard day’s work, I sat in this precise spot as Wes approached, handing me a bottle. Who knew that one beer would change everything?
“Figured you could use one today, even if it’s only a little past noon.”
I laugh under my breath. “I certainly could.”
He lowers himself beside me, and I grab one side of the blanket, wrapping it around him, as well, before resting my head on his shoulder.
“So many memories of this place,” he murmurs absentmindedly.
I take a sip of my beer, then set it beside me, snuggling into Wes. “Tell me another story about your grandparents.”
He peers into the distance with a contemplative expression. “Gampy could be a bit…hard-headed.”
“Must run in the family,” I remark, playfully nudging him.
“I suppose. I just like to think he had strong beliefs, which he absolutely did. When he made up his mind, there was no convincing him otherwise. Which was difficult when he got into an argument. On the other hand, Meemaw was always this compassionate, sympathetic individual. They both were, but Meemaw wasn’t all that stubborn. And she had no problem admitting when she was wrong.”
He furrows his brows, as if trying to pull a memory back to the surface. “I remember this heated argument Gampy and Dad got into one time when he dropped me off here for a weekend. I’m not even sure what caused it, but I think it was about money or something because I distinctly recall my dad kept mentioning a penny.”
“They were arguing over a penny?”
He shrugs. “I was probably only eight at the time. It was right before Julia came to us, if I remember correctly. Anyway, Dad left angry. Gampy stormed through the house angry. Everyone was just…angry. Except for Meemaw. Gampy always said she was the sun to his rain. That she helped him see things more clearly. Eventually, she talked some sense into him, then made him call my dad to apologize. Of course, he grumbled about it, but still, no one could tell Meemaw no.”
“I imagine not.”
“So, after having a few glasses of scotch, he called my dad. And do you want to know what Gampy’s apology sounded like?”
“What’s that?” I lean closer, consumed by this story. Or maybe I just love the sound of Wes’ voice as he reminisces about his childhood.
He takes a long pull from his beer, then wipes the residue from his lips. He clears his throat. “‘James,’” he begins, doing what I assume to be his best Gampy impression, the Southern twang even more pronounced, “‘it’s Connie. You know that place I told you to go? Well, if you haven’t gone yet, don’t go.’”
I burst out laughing, the sound echoing against the nature surrounding us, causing a flock of birds in a nearby tree to take flight. “I assume your gampy told your father to go to hell.”
Wes nods through his own chuckles. “You assume correctly. So there you have it. A stubborn man’s apology. Over the years, it became a running gag amongst all of us, including Julia, even though she wasn’t around when it happened. Any time Julia and I would argue about something and then apologize, we’d do so in Gampy’s way first before apologizing for real.”
“He sounds like he was quite the character.”
“He certainly was.”
“I don’t have any memories like that of my dad,” I murmur.
Wes doesn’t say anything, just leans down to kiss my forehead, squeezing me tightly.
“It’s like he did everything to avoid me after my mother died.”
“It couldn’t have been easy on him.”
“No. Especially considering the older I got, the more I resembled my mother. If you look at photos of us when we’re around the same age, you probably wouldn’t be able to tell us apart. Everyone always called me her mini-me, and I truly was. I was 100 percent my mother’s daughter. Straight down to my stubbornness.” I shake my head, worrying my bottom lip. “Is it horrible that I still find myself angry with my father, even though I can see he’s trying to make amends?”
“It’s going to take more
than just a few weeks to build back everything that was lost between you two. Things like that don’t happen overnight. You can’t just flip a switch and forgive him. Forgiveness happens in increments, not all at once. At least that’s my experience.”
I nod. “I think it’s just some of the guilt ingrained in me from a lifetime of being a pastor’s daughter.”
“That’s your problem, Lo.”
I tilt my head. “What is?”
“You need to stop thinking of yourself as a pastor’s daughter. Or a pastor’s ex-wife. Stop basing your identity on somebody else’s. You’re not just a pastor’s daughter. You are so much more than that. You probably never felt that way growing up. And after seeing the way Sawyer treats you, I am absolutely certain he made you feel even more insignificant.”
He grips my face, so much power and control emanating from his fingertips. But at the same time, also love and devotion.
“You are an incredible woman,” he continues. “You are a survivor. A warrior. A fucking goddess. You’ve been dealt more shit than most people can even wrap their heads around, but every time, instead of allowing it to consume you, you walked through the goddamn flames with a look on your face that said ‘That’s all you got?’ So don’t allow yourself to feel guilty for needing time to forgive your father. You make the rules now. This is your life. No one else’s.”
I swallow hard, the dedication and zeal in his statement moving me in a way I didn’t think words alone ever could. “I like the sound of that,” I say through the thickness in my throat. Then I touch my lips to his. “But when this is all over, I’d like for it to be our life. Together. As one.”
His muscles relax as he presses his lips more firmly against mine, coaxing my mouth open. He breathes into me, his tongue tangling with mine in a way that makes me feel as if he’s giving me life. And that’s what he’s done from the beginning. Gave me life. Brought me back from the empty existence I’d been living. Reminded me what it’s like to live. To laugh. To love.
Ending the kiss, his eyes bore into mine. “As much as I love the sound of that, it will still be your life. Even when you have my last name — and god, Lo, I am dying for you to have my last name — I still want you to live your own life. And I’ll still live mine. But we’ll live them together. Kind of like…ski tracks.”