Jessie Belle: The Women of Merryton - Book One (12 page)

I
grinned and looked out my window. I wasn’t used to Blake being so open and I
wasn’t quite sure how to react. I’m pretty sure I liked it. I was only afraid
it wouldn’t last.

We
were silent the remainder of the twenty-minute drive, but at least it wasn’t
the uncomfortable kind, or worse, the silent treatment.

I
loved the lake and it looked beautiful at night with the large, gorgeous homes
that were lit up around it. The moon added to the ambience as it shined almost
full and reflected against the ripples of the lake.

The
Newels’ outdoor security lights were on, but other than that, the house was
dark. Even in the dark you could tell it was a magnificent home. It was a
large, two-story log cabin, with a walk-out basement. Their backyard faced the
lake and they had their own private loading dock. Mason Newel had been an
investment broker and had done quite well for himself. Mason and Roberta Newel
were friends of my parents, and on a few occasions I had been invited to some
of the over-the-top parties they threw in the summertime. Blake had been
invited as well, but he and large groups of people didn’t mix. Really, he and
people didn’t mix, usually. He could do well with one-on-one situations, but people
really weren’t his thing. I, on the other hand, loved people, at least mostly.

We
walked around to the backdoor entrance where Blake let us in. Blake flipped on
the light switch to reveal probably the best man cave in Merryton: theater-size
television, billiards, darts, a bar - you get the picture. I wouldn’t have been
surprised if they had smoking jackets hanging in the closet.

“Nice,”
I commented as we walked through the room to the stairs.

Blake
shrugged.

“It’s
a little different than your workshop.”

He
looked back at me from the step above and smiled.

“A
smile?” I grinned.

He
didn’t say anything other than to reach for my hand and lead me through the
darkened home to the master bath. I did love the feel of his hand. There was
something comforting about it.

When
we reached our destination he released me and illuminated the room with a flip
of a switch.

I
was immediately overwhelmed by the sight before me. If I could pick any
bathroom in the world, this would be the bathroom. I placed my hand across my
heart. “Did you do this?”

“Yeah,”
he said like it was no big deal.

“It’s
beautiful. You’re amazing.”

He
shrugged it off.

I
reached for his hand. “Really, you are.”

He
squeezed my hand once. “Thanks. I just need to finish applying the finish to two
of the cabinet doors and then we can go.”

“Can
I take a peek around?”

“Of
course.”

I
let go of his hand and immediately went for the walk-in shower. I had always
wanted one with the rain shower feature, exactly like what was before my eyes.
It was done in the most beautiful slate grey tile, and you could walk through
on either end, as there were no doors. There was also a custom-made bench
inside.

“Do
I dare even ask why this bench in here is so large?” I called out to Blake. My
voice echoed in the large shower. I was in love.

He
actually chuckled. “Believe me, I didn’t ask when they gave me the
specifications for it.”

I
peeked around the shower. “A smile and a laugh all in one night?”

“So
you like it?” he asked.

“I
love it.” I looked at the sunken round tub for two—or maybe even three—right
next to the shower, with rounded steps leading up to it. “Everything is
perfect.”

Blake
was carefully situating a cabinet door with a beautiful pine stain as he
prepared to add a layer of finish to it. “What would you think about doing
something like this in our bathroom?” he asked almost offhandedly, as he was
paying attention to his task at hand.

“Are
you serious? I thought you said bathrooms like these were impractical and
unnecessary.” When we designed our home I had wanted a larger shower for two
and a sunken tub for the both of us as well, but Blake was more of a jump in
and jump out kind of guy; I had never even seen him take a bath. I had tried
jumping in the shower with him on occasion, but he seemed almost annoyed at my
presence since he had to maneuver around me. Don’t get me wrong—we had a
beautiful bathroom. The tile work alone that Blake had done in our shower was a
work of art. The stand-alone tub for one stood nicely on a raised wooden platform,
giving it an artistic feel, but neither were couple-friendly.

“I
was thinking we could knock the wall out to my closet and use that space to add
a new rain shower, and I could replace our tub with something similar to this.
Since your closet faces the outside wall I could expand it out and we could
share the space.”

“That’s
a lot of work.”

“I
wouldn’t be able to start on it until late fall.”

Late
fall
,
I thought.
Would we still be together?
I knew in his mind that was the
only option, and it wasn’t that I didn’t want that too, I just wasn’t sure what
this summer would bring. We had a huge change coming our way and we were
already on unstable ground. Before I said something I would probably regret, I
remembered something wise Abby had said to me earlier. She said I shouldn’t
worry about the finish line. That I should focus on making the here and now
work and let the future take care of itself. I loved that girl.

I
took a deep breath. “I would love a bathroom like this if you think you could
manage the time. I’ll split the cost with you.” I hated adding that last part.
I more than hated that we didn’t share finances.

“Don’t
worry about the cost, I have it covered.”

Part
of me wanted to squeal. I took out my phone and snapped some pictures so I
could show Abby and Cheyenne and so I could look at it from time to time. I
held my stomach and realized I felt something I hadn’t in a long while:
anticipation. I also felt something else—hungry. My stomach growled in the
silence.

“Are
you hungry?” Blake asked.

“How
could you tell?”

“You
should have told me you hadn’t eaten.”

I
forgot in the weirdness of him asking me to come with him. “It’s no big deal,
I’ll eat when we get home.”

He
carefully laid his brush across the can of finish and retrieved a small cooler
from under the table he was working on. “I have some apples and carrots you
could snack on.”

“Thanks,”
I said as I took the cooler. I peered inside and grabbed a Fuji apple. I sat on
the middle step leading up to the tub and took a large bite of the juicy red
apple. I watched my husband with his steady hand as he applied perfectly even
strokes of finish on the cabinet door. It was his art.

“So,
Abby and Cheyenne suggested that we start to tell people about Madeline before
she arrives. I think that it’s a good course of action. What do you think?”

He
briefly looked at me between strokes. I wasn’t sure how to read him. “I’ve been
thinking about that, too.”

“The
cat may be out of the bag already, depending on who you’re working with to get
her into summer school.”

“I
don’t think so. I’m working directly with the principal. He kind of owes me.”

“Owes
you?”

“He
decided he could knock out a wall in his house himself. Let’s just say he
knocked out a structural beam.”

“Ouch.
I’m surprised Camille didn’t kill Stan for that.”

“I
think she was about to. That’s why he owes me.”

I
shook my head. Stan Johnson was the kindest of men. He was extremely book-smart,
but lacked common sense. That might be why he did so well with junior high
students.

“I’m
sure my mom would be happy to spread the word. She’s been dying to tell someone
the news.”

“Your
mom is probably the best way to go.”

“I’ll
let you tell her. She’ll be thrilled.”

He
shook his head and grinned.

I
took another large bite and savored the taste. It was delicious, but it was
only going to tide me over for so long. I finished the apple in no time flat as
Blake worked away.

“You
know, Abby asked me something else tonight.”

“What’s
that?” Blake asked absentmindedly.

“She
asked why we’ve stayed together.”

He
slowly looked up at me. “And how did you answer her?”

“I
told her you have some mad domestic skills.” I grinned wickedly.

He
smirked in return.

“But,
seriously. Why have you stayed with me?”

“You
know how I feel about you,” he said quickly and almost defensively.

“I
do know. But why do you love me?”

“Jessica.”
He waved his free hand.

“You
don’t know?”

“Of
course I do. It’s just hard to put into words.”

“Try.”

He
set his brush down and looked at me sternly, but I could tell he wasn’t upset.
“Now I know why I’ve never brought you to a job site.”

I
rolled my eyes at him. “Do you want me to go somewhere else?”

“No.”
He paused and thought for a moment.

I
hummed the
Jeopardy
think music to his amusement and annoyance. I could
tell he didn’t know whether he should smile or smirk at me. “Bzzz. Your thirty
seconds are up.”

“Jessica,
I love you because you’ve never tried to change me.”

I
leaned back against the steps, taken aback by that answer. “Hmm…”

“What?”

“It’s
not what I expected.”

“What
did you expect?”

“I
don’t know, maybe that you loved my body or my winning personality,” I teased.

“I
love those things, too. But, I appreciate that we’ve always been equal. Like if
I said, I’m thinking of buying a motorcycle, you wouldn’t get bent out of shape
or tell me I couldn’t. You’d ask what kind.”

“So
what kind of motorcycle are you looking at buying?”

“A
Harley,” he said with a smile.

“Nice.”

“See?”

“Blake,
what if we need some things to change?”

“Jessica,
I know things need to change. I know I need to make some changes. I just
appreciate the fact that you let me come to that determination on my own. That
you’ve never nagged me.”

“I
need to make some changes, too,” I said quietly.

“As
long as we do it together, that’s all that matters to me.”

That
was probably one of the best nights we’d had in forever. I couldn’t remember
the last time we had talked so easily and freely with each other. There was
even some laughter. I had forgotten how much I loved to hear him laugh.

It
was a good thing we had that night at the Newels’. It was the glue that held
our marriage together in the coming days. The Merryton grapevine was on fire,
and Jessie Belle’s was busier than ever. I felt like I was in one of those
freak-show carnivals and everyone had to come in to see for themselves the
bearded lady, or in my case, the jilted woman. I got tired of telling people it
was before we were married and while we weren’t dating that Madeline came to
be. Let’s just say having to talk about that painful memory day after day was
wearing some on our relationship.

I
was trying my best not to let the actions and words of others spill over into
our home life, but it wasn’t easy. I felt like suddenly my life had become this
open book, and everyone was flipping through page after page and even tearing
some as they went. I knew most people were only concerned and wanted to make
sure I was okay, but there were some like Veronica and Landon Riley that wanted
to gloat, or at least revel in our problems.

Not
that Madeline was a problem, it was her imminent arrival and the timing of all
of this. I was trying my hardest not to look at Blake’s daughter as an issue.
This wasn’t her fault and she had enough to deal with. She didn’t need a wicked
stepmother to top it off. She needed friggin’ Maria von Trapp and I was
hell-bent to make sure that’s what she got when she arrived, even if it killed
me.

And,
believe
me, I felt like each day after the news broke I was slowly dying a little piece
at a time, especially with people like the Rileys, who are so miserable that
they love company on the misery train. Sure, most people in our fair town would
scoff at that remark, but I know the truth. The Rileys’ marriage was on
quicksand.

I
wasn’t sure why they ever married in the first place, other than what the
rumors have said. When we were all in high school together Landon wanted
nothing to do with her, or at least so I thought. Apparently they had their fun
fooling around on the side while Landon and I were dating. No wonder she and
Kathryn hated me in high school. She was Landon’s dirty little secret. She
hated me so much that she was caught trying to change the prom queen ballots
from my name to hers. She was suspended and wasn’t allowed to walk at
graduation. After graduation she moved away with her family. I thought it was
the last I’d see of Veronica, until she showed back up about ten years ago. I
guess Landon had made his way through all the other single women in town and
his parents were ready for him to settle down and take over the family
insurance agency. But the way Cheyenne heard it was that Landon wasn’t ready to
settle down and Veronica was desperate, so they struck a deal: he could keep up
his philandering and she got … well, I’m not quite sure. I’ve heard she had
money troubles, but who knows? All I knew was it was a match made in purgatory.

And
I was wishing purgatory would swallow them up. The “First Family of Merryton”
as they liked to think of themselves, came waltzing into my café Friday evening
just as I was about ready to leave. Blake and I had both been trying to get
home at a decent time and eat together. It was one of the changes we decided we
needed to make. It had already been a rough few days with all the hullabaloo
surrounding Madeline, and this was the icing on the cake.

I
had just finished posting my flyer to the bulletin board announcing my annual
t-shirt design contest and in they came. Each year I accepted entries from the
local high school students, and the winner received a cash prize and the honor
of us wearing their design on our shirts for a year. It was something I looked
forward to every year. Each design went up on the large bulletin board and
everyone that came in could vote for their favorite. 

I
tried to sneak away, but Veronica literally grabbed me by the arm. “Oh, poor
Jessie, we just heard the news.”

Yeah,
right. Everyone had known by noon on Tuesday. I guarantee it, because my mom had
told the women’s group at church at eleven-thirty that day.

Veronica
pulled me to the table where Landon and Landon, Jr. sat. Landon gave me that
sleazy “how you doin?’” look. But their sweet son shyly waved at me. I couldn’t
help but smile at him and pray he would find a good psychologist when he grew
up. He was going to need it after being raised in the insane asylum.

“I
can’t believe Blake cheated on you and now he’s leaving you for the other
woman.”

I
yanked my arm away. “Not that it is any of your business, but Blake did not
cheat on me and we are as committed to each other as ever.” So maybe I
exaggerated a little.

She
didn’t let my remark deter her. “I heard he went to Utah to see her.”

“If
I were you, I would check your sources. Have a nice weekend.”

“Oh,
we will,” she responded venomously.

I
turned to leave, but not quickly enough. Landon, like the slime he was, grabbed
my hand as I walked by him. Just as quickly, I yanked it away.

“He
never deserved you,” he said, low and creepy.

I
didn’t even bother to reply. I continued my escape, but not fast enough. I
heard Veronica loudly say for all those around, “My heart breaks for her. I
can’t imagine my husband fathering a child with someone else just because I
couldn’t. What kind of man does such a thing?”

Don’t
rise
,
I told myself.
Keep on walking
. She wanted the reaction. I forced myself
not to give it to her.

To
say I was in a bad mood when I got home was an understatement. I had tried hard
all week to be pleasant at home. I knew Blake was dealing with worse, being
accused every day of being unfaithful. And even if they weren’t accusing him of
that, some people felt like they needed to be offended on my behalf, like how
dare he have a child after all that we had been through? That made me feel
guilty because I had some of those same thoughts and feelings. I was trying my
hardest not to, but it was difficult. It was so difficult I had made an
appointment to see my therapist and she had squeezed me in yesterday.

We
talked about the grieving process and how I was dealing with two different
cycles of it. I was in the anger stage for both. She said this was good
progress, better than denial, at least. She told me not to be afraid of anger,
only to deal with it properly, like writing in my journal or being completely
honest with my husband about my feelings, but not in an accusatory way. That
was kind of hard. Every night Blake would ask how my day was and every night I
wanted to say, “thanks to you, it sucked,” but I had refrained.

Blake
wasn’t home when I arrived, which was probably a good thing. I needed to get my
anger under control before I saw him. I took a few moments to write out my
feelings about the situation in my journal, then took some deep cleansing
breaths, ate some dark chocolate, and called it good, or at least good enough.

I
set up on the couch and did something I knew I would enjoy. I loaded the
pictures I had taken on my little tizzy-inducing excursion onto my laptop and
began to edit them. I had this idea that maybe I would get some of them printed
in black and white and I could hang them up in my café.

Was
there anything more beautiful than the Colorado landscape?
I thought to myself as I scrolled through each picture. It was the perfect
distraction from my crappy day. By the time Blake got home an hour later I was
in a decent mood.

He
came in through the mud room. I watched him covertly as he made his way
upstairs without saying anything, but then it was like he suddenly remembered
something, turned, and made his way toward me on the couch. He kissed the top
of my head once. It was still somewhat forced. This wasn’t natural for him, but
I had told him I liked it when we greeted each other whether coming or going.
And my therapist had suggested that we make touching each other an everyday
thing, even if it was only to hold hands. She said there were levels of
intimacy, and we were in the burying stage and needed to get to the resurfacing
stage, or at least I did. She suggested I take little steps in working our way
back to both physical and emotional intimacy.

“I’m
going to take a shower.”

“Did
you have a good day?”

“I’m
glad I’m home,” is all he would say. I took that as a no.

I
decided not to mention the Rileys. They weren’t worth the wasted energy,
anyway.

I
got up off the couch and threw together a bleu cheese and steak salad. I used
the marinated steak we had from the previous night’s dinner. I was easing Blake
into flavorful food. He had liked the steak, but ate a plain baked potato with
it. It just seemed so wrong. To make up for it I added cheese and bacon bits to
mine.

I
kept the dressing and the cheese off of Blake’s salad, but instead loaded his
with lots of cherry tomatoes. I had to admire his dedication to eating healthy,
not enough to be as rigid as him, but it was commendable.

Blake
was down in no time and shirtless. I watched him walk into the laundry room and
thought maybe I was resurfacing. I was definitely feeling something. Have I
ever mentioned what a fine specimen my husband was physically? Eating well and
being physically active had definitely paid off for him. And I guess for me,
too. Except I wasn’t fully reaping the benefits of it. If only I felt as good
about my own body. That was going to be the topic of discussion for next week’s
therapy session.

I
was disappointed when Blake came out of the laundry room fully dressed. He
still looked great with his dark, wet hair showing the natural wave it had and
the barely there beard, it had gone perfectly with his sculpted chest with
precisely the right amount of hair on it. There was a time when I would have
acted on the feelings I was having, but for some reason I couldn’t. I wanted
to—I really did—but I was afraid on more than one level. I was afraid he would
reject me, though I knew that was just insecurity talking, but I was more
afraid that he wouldn’t and I wouldn’t be able to follow through. Baby steps, I
reminded myself. I also remembered that Dr. Ames said sex had more to do with
emotional intimacy than physical, so I focused on that.

“Dinner’s
ready,” I called out.

He
smiled tiredly from the great room. Our house was entirely open on the lower
level and I loved it. I had wanted to be able to see every space from the
kitchen. I thought it would be good, you know, for … little ones. I stopped
that thought. It wasn’t going to help to dwell on something I would never have.

I
took both plates and walked them to the table. He met me there and we sat down
together. He was at the head of the table with me by his side.

“Thanks,”
he said.

“You’re
welcome. Is everything okay?”

“It’s
been a long week.”

I
placed my hand on top of his. It was dry and somewhat rough. “Do you want to
talk about it?”

“No.”

“I
didn’t want to know anyway,” I teased before I turned back to my food.

“Hey,”
he said, before leaning in and grabbing my face and pressing his lips against
mine. At first it was gentle, but when I didn’t pull away his hands made their
way through my hair and the pressure intensified. My lips melded into his as I
reached up and ran my hand across his scratchy cheek. I let it rest there as we
both paused. Neither of us seemed to want to move away, but we were both unsure
if we should proceed. I gave in to the moment and my lips parted. He took the
invitation and for a brief moment I felt like part of him, I remembered how
much I missed being kissed by him. But the moment ended with Madeline’s ring
tone.

We
both sat back and stared at each other briefly. He looked torn, but with the
next ring he picked up the phone.

As
he talked to his daughter, I picked up my plate and moved to the couch. I don’t
know why, but I felt strange watching him talk to her, and even listening in
was difficult for me. He talked to her differently than anyone else. There was
a gentle tone to his voice when he spoke to her. It was sweet, but very odd for
me.

He
asked how school was and I could tell he wasn’t thrilled with her response, but
he said something like, “We’ll work on that during the summer.” He asked how
her mom was and if she needed anything and if she had received the iPad he sent
her.

Wow!
He was really getting into the dad thing, or at least the spoiling part. I
tried not to let it bother me. I felt like he had this whole new life that
didn’t involve me. I decided for my mental health to take my dinner and my
laptop to my room, though my appetite was now shot. I felt like I was on a
roller coaster. One minute I was feeling all warm and fluttery about my husband
and then the next moment I was ready to run to my dad’s or a hotel, or at least
have my dad meet me somewhere. I didn’t need my mom telling me to go home.

I
sat on my bed and picked around at my dinner for a few minutes before I gave
up. I took up my laptop instead and picked out a few favorite shots to play
with in my photo editor. As my application opened, so did my door.