Breaking Josephine (6 page)

“Jo, what’s
wrong?” Macy asked as she gently touched my shoulder.

I wiped my cheeks
and eyes. “Nothing, it’s just, I, I should have told you Macy,” I said as I
turned to face her, “I don’t have the money to pay for a dress, especially not
from a place like this.” I looked at her and gave her my best please-don’t-be-mad
smile.

“Oh, don’t be
silly! That’s what you’re crying about?” Macy hugged me and kept talking, her
hand patting my back gently, “You aren’t paying for the dress! I’m not paying
for mine either. My mom is!” She let me go and smiled as I wiped my eyes, looking
completely confused.

“What? I don’t
understand,” I said.

 “I told her,”
Macy began, as she sighed and rolled her eyes as she thought about her mother,
“that I wasn’t going to her ridiculous social this year, but she insisted. So I
said I wouldn’t go unless she paid for my dress and yours too so I’d have some
company while at the party. She knows you don’t enjoy these things and wouldn’t
go unless I convinced you.” Macy looked at me and smiled, “I thought taking you
out here to try on a dressing room full of dresses might work, but obviously I
was wrong.”

“Macy,” I
answered, “I still don’t understand. You’ve been talking about how William is
going to be there and you want to impress him. That doesn’t sound like you had
no intention of going. I don’t believe you.” Macy seemed sincere, but I still
had reservations and thought maybe she’d come up with the whole story on the
fly.

 “No, I’m
telling you the truth Jo,’ Macy said, crossing her arms in front of her and
almost stamping her foot. “I seriously planned on skipping it since I thought William
was going to be out of town. I didn’t find out he was going until after I spoke
with my mom, but by then my mom already agreed to let us get whatever we
wanted. I planned on surprising you by buying a dress you liked. I didn’t
realize you’d get so upset and start crying!”

Macy laughed and
put her arms around me, giving me a big cheer-up hug. The idea of her mother
buying my dress didn’t sit well with me, but I knew it would only register as a
small purchase to Macy’s family, not the enormous one it would be to me. Macy
let me go and I turned back toward the mirror to look at the dress again. It
truly was beautiful and I felt beautiful in it. I gave Macy a huge smile and
decided to accept her generosity.

“I will definitely
have to thank your mom!” I said, giving Macy another hug and laughing.

After I changed
back into my regular clothes, I sat on the couch outside the dressing rooms and
watched Macy try on dress, after dress, after dress. With her tiny model-like figure,
and long blonde hair, she looked good in just about everything. She finally
settled on a delicate, pale pink, silk dress with an empire waist and button-up
back. We hung the dresses in the back seat of Macy’s car and drove back to
Cannon Beach, laughing and chatting the whole way. Macy told me story after
story of Portland high society and their ridiculous gaffes and antics at
previous Memorial Day socials after having too much champagne on a summer night
on the coast. She dropped me off at home, and I fell asleep on the couch, too
tired to even make myself dinner.

I worked double shifts again the next several days since Sam had
graciously given me the weekend off for the social. Macy had also invited me to
go with her to the Seaside Inn’s spa for a “social prep day” as she called it. Originally
I balked at her request, but when she told me her mom made the reservation but
needed to back out to prep for the party, I agreed to go so Macy would have
company. And since her family owned the Inn, paying for the day at the spa
wasn’t an issue. It was Friday afternoon, and with my shift over, I headed home
to relax and get some rest before the spa and social the next day. As I walked
up to the house, Eileen waved at me from her rocking chair on the front porch
and motioned for me to come sit down. I climbed up the porch steps and sat down
in the empty chair.
She offered me a glass of iced tea and we rocked in our chairs together,
enjoying the afternoon breeze.

“So, my dear, what
have you been up to these days?” Eileen asked, her gravelly voice worn rough
with age.

“Work, mostly,” I
answered. “Macy’s mom is hosting her Memorial Day social tomorrow, so I’ve been
working double shifts so I could take Saturday and Sunday off.”

“Oh, the Daugherty
family social. I remember attending my fair share of those,” Eileen said as she
sipped her tea.

“You’ve been to
one of their parties?” I asked, trying to hide my surprise.

“Oh yes, not as an
invited guest, mind you,” she said. “I was little Declan Hartley’s nanny you
know. So I accompanied the Hartleys to all the parties in the summer months. The
Daughertys always knew how to throw a party.”

Dex’s nanny? I
knew Dex said Eileen took care of him, but I assumed as an occasional
babysitter, like Donna had been for me, not a nanny. “So you knew the Hartleys
well, I take it?” I asked, trying to sound innocently curious.

“Oh, as well as
anyone I suppose,” Eileen answered. “They were a very private family. Mr.
Hartley rarely stayed out here in Cannon Beach. Hartley Industries is headquartered
in Portland and it kept him away for most of the summer. And Miss Evangeline
was a devoted mother to little Declan, but …” she trailed off, lost in thought.
“Let’s just say she did not look to me as a confidant in her personal affairs.”

“Did you know Dex
has come back into town?” I asked.

“Has he?” she
responded. “Well I wouldn’t know much about Dex anymore. After Miss Evangeline
died, Mr. Hartley took Dex back to Portland and I didn’t see them as much. And
after his father died, we lost contact. I’ve heard he’s grown up into quite a
handsome man, though. Looks just like his father I’ve been told. But the boy
always did—he had the same blue eyes, same dark hair, same commanding
presence even as a child. He really looked nothing like his mother with her
fine features and sensibility. Anyway, my dear, what makes you ask about the
Hartleys?” she asked, turning to look at me.

“Oh, no reason,” I
answered. “I just ran into Dex Hartley earlier this week at Jack’s and you
mentioning them made me think of him.” I tried to sound completely
uninterested, but my mind raced. If the Hartleys always attended the
Daughtery’s parties before, would Dex attend this year without his family? The
chance that I could see him again made my knees tremble and stomach quiver. And
I desperately wanted to know more about him. “What was Dex like as a child?” I
asked, hoping Eileen would reminisce with me some more.

“Oh, he was a
lovely boy,” she answered. “Quiet and introspective, but rugged and resilient
at the same time. Even though the summers here are not all that warm,
especially on the ocean, Dex loved nothing more than to be on the beach,
playing in the sand and the waves, even as a small boy. He would cry and pout
whenever it was time to go in. If he could have slept outside, I think he would
have,” she said, laughing as she remembered years ago. “When he got older, I
remember he was crushed when summer was over and he would have to go back to
boarding school in the fall.”

“He went to
boarding school?” I asked, a bit shocked. I knew kids from wealthy families
went to boarding school, like Macy’s mom had done, but it still surprised me
since I couldn’t imagine my mom voluntarily sending me away for an entire
school year. The thought of being sent away by my own mother to live at school
far away was incomprehensible to me, and having lost my mom, I wanted nothing
more than a few more years of my childhood with her.

“Oh, yes, Declan’s
father insisted his son receive a top-rate education and thought boarding
school was the logical choice. I got the impression Evangeline disagreed, but
then I was only the nanny, so I was not a part of those family decisions.” Eileen
closed her eyes and leaned back in her rocking chair. I could tell she was lost
in her thoughts about the past and I took the opportunity to depart. I needed
to clear my head and get control of my own racing mind. I thanked Eileen for
the tea and went around to my apartment to change for a run.

As I unlocked my door and sat down at the kitchen table to take
off my shoes, I couldn’t stop thinking about Dex. I closed my eyes and saw his
face, his eyes, and his body. His strong, muscular hands, his determined, smooth
jaw that just begged to be touched. And his eyes. Oh, his blue eyes that lit
you on fire and opened up parts of yourself you’d prefer to keep hidden. If I
imagined long enough, I could see him standing in front of me in all his
masculine glory, just waiting for me to touch him. I opened my eyes and sighed
as I felt a longing that before Dex, I hadn’t really ever felt before. None of
my previous love interests, the few there were, had ever done anything for
me—I dated them more because I felt I should than because I was truly
taken with them. But Dex, oh God, I could think about him all day. I sat at my
kitchen table, daydreaming about Dex until my legs grew stiff with inactivity
and I chastised myself for wasting time on an impossible fantasy.

A good long run
would tire me out and get my mind off Dex, I thought to myself.
I pulled on my workout staples
of sports bra, long-sleeve shirt, and running capris, pulled my hair up into a
high ponytail and headed out to clear my head. I walked out from around the
back of the house and used the front steps to stretch.

“Have a safe run,
Jo,” Eileen called from her seat on the porch.

“I will, thank
you, Eileen,” I responded with a warm smile, as I finished my stretch and
turned toward the street. Even though our conversation had sparked my curiosity
and thoughts I couldn’t quite control, Eileen still had a way of making me feel
warm and at ease. Maybe her grandmotherly way of making sure I took care of
myself, or just her age, made me fond of her. Regardless, I silently thanked
her for giving me an exceptional deal on the rent and being a wonderful
landlady.

I took off toward
Mable’s and the coast, figuring I needed at least four or five miles today to
tire me out and get my mind off of Dex Hartley. As I ran, I found myself
thinking of my mom and the day I found out she died.

I was twelve, and
we had just gotten back from our Cannon Beach vacation. Still riding the giddy
high of seeing the ocean for the first time, I didn’t mind when my mom told me
she had to leave me the following weekend with my babysitter Donna, an older
woman who helped my mom look after me when she needed to work extra shifts at
the restaurant. I remember her giving me a sideways hug, squeezing me next to
her as she opened her car door.

“I’ll only be gone
overnight, Josephine. I’ll be back before you know it.” Her eyes shone in the
morning sun as she looked at me—the last time I’d ever see my mom. “I
love you, honey,” she said, smiling.

“I love you too,
mom,” I responded as I stepped back from the car.

“Listen to Donna,
okay, sweetie?” my mom called out. “And be good while I’m gone. When I get
back, we can celebrate and I’ll tell you all about my trip.” She shut the door,
started the car, and drove away in to the crisp morning air and out of my life.

Donna got the
knock on the door the next morning. She woke me out of bed and said, “Jo,
honey, wake up, there’s been an accident.” I wiped the sleep from my eyes, not
understanding my life had forever changed in the night.

Donna escorted me
downstairs to meet a police officer and a social worker who told me my mom had
died in a car accident just out of town. They asked me a few questions, but I
didn’t know anything about why she left or where she went. I was just a kid,
and all my mom told me was that she was interviewing for a new job out of town.
I didn’t even know where she was headed.

Everything that
happened after that is only a blurry memory. I remember crying, hysterically,
with great sobs raking my body, when the social worker told me I needed to pack
my things and go with her. I didn’t understand what was happening at the time
or why. I’m sure she tried to explain, but when your world falls out from under
you as a twelve-year-old kid, not much a grown up tells you matters. I spent a
few nights in a halfway-type house with runaways and juvenile delinquents and
then the same social worker escorted me to the Overton Home for Girls, the
orphanage I’d live in until I turned eighteen. Although I was eligible to be
adopted, not many families wanted a twelve-year-old girl who was sullen,
obstinate, and a bit of a troublemaker. And in all honesty, I didn’t want them
either. I wanted to be alone in my grief, pining for my mother and the life I
should have had.

As I was thinking
of my mother, a deluge of giant rain drops as big as dimes pelted my face. I
looked up and realized a summer rainstorm had arrived while I was running in a
daze of memories and grief. I looked around, and discovered that I had inattentively
run toward the beach and was at the edge of town at the start of the state
park. I squinted as raindrops hit my eyelashes and I ran toward the entrance of
the park to gain shelter under a bank of nearby pine trees.

I rounded the
corner of the trail and nearly collided head-on with Dex Hartley himself. I
managed to put my hands up just in time to brace myself with his muscled chest,
keeping from knocking us both over. He grabbed me at the same time, his
assertive hands firmly gripping my hips as he steadied us both.