Jessie Belle: The Women of Merryton - Book One (2 page)

The
screen door to the patio screeched in the stillness as I made my way into my
parents’ home. The closed-in patio that my husband had built was tidy, but
lifeless. I was surprised. It was such a beautiful day I thought for sure one
or both of my parents would be out enjoying the warm early evening hours. I was
relieved in a way. I had hoped to avoid my dad for the time being. He already
didn’t like his only son-in-law, and this wasn’t going to sit well with him. My
mom, on the other hand, seemed to get him and she quietly loved him.

“Mom,”
I called as I walked in the back door to the kitchen. No answer. “Mom,” I cried
out almost desperately, like I was a child instead of thirty-six years old. I
walked through the kitchen and made my way to the living room. There I saw
something I never wanted to see and it reminded me why I should have called or
at least knocked. The trail of clothing leading up the stairs conjured
disturbing images in my mind. I knew my parents were crazy about each other,
but I didn’t need the visual reminder. I decided even in my desperate state I
should leave. I had made it to the front door when I heard my mom say, “Honey,
what are you doing here?”

I
was afraid to turn around, so I stared at the lovely door made of wood and
stained glass. “Nothing, Mom. I’ll call you later.”

“Are
you crying?”

“No,”
I cried.

“Jessie
Belle, what’s wrong?”

I
could hear her hastily picking up the strewn about clothing and tossing them
into the laundry room. I figured it was safe for me to turn around. Surely my
mom would be fully clothed, right? I slowly turned to find my mom in a dressing
gown, her gray hair a mess. She started to give me a slow, knowing grin, but my
tears begged for a hug so that’s what she did instead.

She
pulled me to her and wrapped me in her skinny little arms and I sobbed like a
baby. I never outgrew her, so my head rested on her shoulder.

She
patted my back. “I know it’s the sixteenth—it’s been nine months since the baby
passed. I should have checked on you.”

“Mom,
it’s not that.” Even though I had thought about it - during lunch I had already
been to his grave, but I did that most every day. I knew it was probably
unhealthy, but it was a reminder that he existed, if only for a brief moment.

She
pulled me to the couch and I rested my head in her lap as if I were still a
little girl.

“Honey,
tell The Mother what’s wrong.”

I
just about smiled through my sobbing. She always referred to herself in third
person like she was this magnanimous being. I suppose she was, at least in my
world.

I
almost asked if my father was home, but I knew the answer to that already. I
was still trying not to think about it.

She
stroked my hair and hummed some silly tune. She was patient and didn’t push me.
She knew me well and knew it wouldn’t do any good. Unfortunately, my dad joined
us before I could compose myself and speak properly. I loved my dad. He was the
best father around, but he was blinded when it came to Blake. Blake was never
good enough for me and could never do anything right in my father’s sight. I
had to hand it to Blake, he tried—or at least he used to. You can only try so
much before it gets really old and tiresome.

I
don’t know why I felt like I needed to protect Blake from my dad at that moment,
since I could honestly say I felt hatred toward him. Maybe it was a good sign.
The past nine months, all I had felt was indifference about practically
everything. I almost felt relieved I could feel emotion, especially toward my
husband.

My
overprotective father knelt in front of us in a panic and began to look me over
like he was giving me a physical. Old habits die hard for retired doctors,
especially my dad, who hadn’t been fully ready to retire. But my mom had been
ready, and that was enough for him. They made marriage and love look so easy.

“Davis,
leave her alone,” my mom scolded him.

My
dad’s strong hand rested on my forehead like he was checking for a fever.
“What’s wrong my Belle?”

I
looked into my dad’s kind brown eyes through my blurry tear-filled ones. I
swallowed hard through my shuddering. “Blake’s a … fa … father.”

My
dad didn’t even wait for an explanation. He jumped up like a bomb had gone off
and let out a string of vile words.

“Watch
your mouth, Davis Ryan,” my mother warned.

He
softened as he looked toward my mother and me on the couch, but he wasn’t done.
“He’s cheated on our daughter, Gloria, and you expect me to be calm?”

I
slowly sat up and wiped my cheeks. “He didn’t cheat on me.” At least not
technically, even if it felt like it. How do you sleep with someone when you
claim to be in love with someone else? Not only that, it was out of character
for Blake. He wasn’t impulsive. He never did things on a whim.

My
dad sat on the other side of me. Each of my parents took one of my hands.

“Tell
us what happened, honey,” my mom said as she eyed my dad to keep him quiet.

I
breathed in deeply and let it out slowly. I only shuddered and sniffled some. I
managed to tell them all I knew, which wasn’t a lot.

My
parents had all sorts of questions, like how old was she and what was her name
and what did she look like. I had no idea except for the age part. I assumed
she was twelve and would be thirteen later in the year. I knew a thing or two
about calculating due dates. I’d had more due dates than I liked to think
about. They were each empty dread-filled days, and reminders of unfulfilled
dreams.

My
mom squeezed my hand tight, “Well honey, you better go home and work it out
with your hubby.”

I
knew she would say that. The day I got married she told me not to run home when
problems arose. She said the only way to fix them was to stay home and work
them out with Blake. Her mother had told her the same thing on her wedding day
and she said it was the best advice she’d ever received. The day I got married,
I never imagined a reason I would ever need to come home, but it didn’t take me
long to figure out why my mom gave me that particular piece of advice.

I
leaned on my dad. “Please, don’t make me go home.”

My
dad wrapped me up in his arms. “Of course you can stay.”

“Davis,
this is between her and Blake. Staying here will only make it worse.”

“Please,”
I begged.

My
mom didn’t say anything in return, other than to get up and start dinner.
Sometimes silence speaks more than words.

I
hated being the reason my parents were on opposing sides, but I couldn’t go
home. The thought that Blake had a child that wasn’t mine killed me. My
greatest wish and desire was to have a family with him and no matter what we
did or how much we tried, that would never happen. And now for him to possibly
have that without me, it was more than I could bear at the moment.

I
snuggled closer to my dad and closed my eyes, willing the pain and hurt to go
away, but it wasn’t working. I thought about how many times well-meaning people
have said to me, “God will never give you more than you can handle.” Once upon
a time I believed that, but not after this last year. I had tried to stay
positive the past ten years after multiple miscarriages and dozens of negative
pregnancy tests, but last year pushed me overboard. I finally thought we were
going to be parents. Even Blake, who always acted cautiously, was excited.
Every night he would lay with his hand on my abdomen as it steadily grew. We
had never made it past the first trimester, but this time I was barely out of
my second trimester and everything looked perfect. Perfect baby boy with a
strong, steady heartbeat.

On
July sixteenth, that all came to a crashing halt. My water broke early and
Blake rushed me to the hospital. As scared as we were, I knew it could still be
okay, until I suffered the silence of the fetal heart monitor. Then, in a cruel
turn, I had to struggle through labor knowing there would be no cry at the end,
no joy, only gut-wrenching emptiness. Just when we thought it couldn’t get
worse as we held our lifeless baby to us, my body added insult to injury. My
life flashed before me as I was rushed into emergency surgery. To save my life
I was given a hysterectomy.

People
say it doesn’t do any good to ask why or second-guess, but that’s all I’ve done
this past year. And now I wondered if there is a God at all, and if there is,
why me? Haven’t I suffered enough? I suppose it makes me selfish to wish the
girl weren’t Blake’s. Jealously and pain filled me, and all I could do was soak
my dad’s shirt.

I
couldn’t eat. I opted for a hot bath and curled up in my old bed in one of my
mom’s nightgowns. Not that it really mattered, but I appreciated that my mom
didn’t dress like a woman of her age. She had a great sense of style and her
black satin nightgown proved it.

An
hour or so after dinner my mom came in and sat on my bed. She stroked my
forehead gently. “You’re too thin,” she lamented.

I
didn’t respond. I knew I was. I had lost my appetite along with everything
else.

“Blake
called me. He’s worried about you. Honey, you know I love you, but you can’t
keep going on like this. You need to go home. It’s the only way this is going
to get better.”

I
closed my eyes and they stung from the ever-present tears. “Mom, what if it doesn’t
get better?”

She
wiped the tears gently off my cheeks. “Life is full of bumps and bruises and
you’ve had more than your fair share; but honey, this I know: it will get
better. It will take some time and lots of effort, but don’t give up,” she
pleaded.

Giving
up sounded so enticing. I didn’t know if I had it in me to try anymore. Not
that I had been trying. I had merely been functioning. You know, one foot in
front of the other and all of that garbage that sounds great on paper, but
doesn’t really translate into real life.

I
don’t know how long after my mom left that I lay there in the dark and
stillness of the night before drifting off to sleep, but it didn’t feel like it
was long before I was awoken by an intruder. I guess I shouldn’t consider him
an intruder since we normally shared a bed, but he scared the living daylights
out of me. I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming, but I felt the lightest of kisses
on my neck and suddenly felt warm and secure, wrapped up in arms that were once
familiar to me. When I realized I wasn’t dreaming I startled and tried to get
away from the stranger in my bed.

“Jessica,
relax,” I heard a familiar voice say low and deep.

I
held my chest and erratically beating heart. “What are you doing here? How did
you get in here?”

He
pulled me closer against him. I could feel his warm breath against my hair. “I
missed you in our bed and your mom let me in.”

Of
course my mother did
, I thought to myself silently. “I don’t
know why. It’s not like you ever touch me anymore.”

He
stiffened. “It’s not like you’ve been very inviting.”

I
pulled away from him.

He
gently pulled me back. “I’m sorry, that came out wrong. What I meant was, I
didn’t think you wanted me to touch you.”

I
did, but I didn’t, if that made sense. I knew I had been unfair to him the past
nine months, but he had shut himself off, too. He was never a very expressive
man, at least not verbally and sometimes not even physically, but I hadn’t been
very sure where I stood with him as of late. We weren’t ones to argue and
bicker; it was worse, we held everything inside.

“Jess,
I’m sorry,” he whispered softly in my ear.

“Is
she the reason you broke up with me?”

“No.
Are you ever going to get over that?”

I
knew I should and I wasn’t even sure why it still bothered me after all these
years. Blake wasn’t the kind of man that had wandering eyes. And until today I
never even worried about him being unfaithful to me. Even when he spent more
hours working than at home, it never crossed my mind.

“I
love you,” he responded to my silence.

He
hadn’t said those three big words in so long. Tears pooled in my eyes and
trickled down my already water-logged cheeks. “Do you really?”

He
nuzzled his face into my neck. “Yes. Do you love me?” he asked hesitantly.

“I
don’t know,” I answered honestly.

I
could feel him tense. “Do you want a divorce?”

“Do
you?” I asked instead of answering. Never once had we mentioned divorce. We had
promised each other we would never toss that word around or use it to hurt the
other person when angry.

“No,
but I don’t want to go on like we have been,” he responded.

“Me
either, but I don’t know if we can fix us, and I don’t know if I can deal with
the fact that you have a child.”

“We
don’t know that she’s mine.”

“But
she could be, and you slept with
Sabrina,
of all people.”

He
released me and lay back on the pillow next to me with his hands behind his
head staring at the ceiling. “Jessica, you knew when we got married I’d made
different choices than you. I wish I could say that you were the only woman
I’ve ever been with, but I can’t. I made a mistake with Sabrina. But Jess, if
Madeline really is mine, I don’t want to do this without you.”