Jessie Belle: The Women of Merryton - Book One (6 page)

He
ran his hands through his curtained golden-blonde hair that was darkening and
had some gray mixed in. I think he was a few years older than Blake. “How are
you, Jessie?”

I
wondered if he knew. I would have been highly surprised if Blake had mentioned
Madeline to him. That wasn’t Blake’s style at all. He was a very private
person, which made living in Merryton difficult for him. Privacy was like an
extinct animal around here.

“I’m
trying,” I responded.

He
gave a knowing nod and grin. “It’s better than the alternative,” he replied.

“I
suppose so. How’s Emmy?”

His
demeanor instantly changed to that of a concerned father. His brows furrowed
and his brown eyes darkened. “She’s doing … as good as can be expected.”

“Anything
I can do?” I wasn’t sure why I asked. I was a complete wreck and didn’t seem
capable at the moment, but it sounded like the old me and I missed me.

“I
was thinking about joining your baseball team this summer. Shane mentioned you
had a couple spots you needed to fill. The thing is, I would need someone to
watch Emmy during some of the games and maybe even during the practices.”

“I
would love to.” I had been worried we wouldn’t get enough guys together this
year to form a team. I had been sponsoring a team for the city’s adult summer
league for the past four years. Shane, Abby’s husband, was the team captain. A
couple of our regulars couldn’t play and we’d been scrambling to find willing
and able bodies. We were determined to take down Riley Insurance. The last two
years we had met them in the championship only to lose. Landon Riley was going
to have his over-inflated ego knocked down a few notches this year.

“That
would be great, thank you,” he responded.

“No.
Thank you. You play well, right?”

He
chuckled some. “I know my way around a ball field.”

“Perfect.”
I smiled and then stood up. I was still hungry and didn’t want people to start
talking. More and more I was beginning to believe the rumors about Easton and
his wife were true, and I had a feeling that their marriage was probably in
more trouble than mine. I didn’t need to add any more rumors to the mill. “I’ll
see you later.”

“Hey,”
he called after I had turned around, “Do you think you could talk Blake into
being the second guy?”

I
shook my head sullenly. “No.” I turned back around before he could respond. I
had wanted Blake to play every year. I thought it would be fun. And it was fun.
I loved spending some of my summer at the ballpark with my friends, but I
wanted Blake to be part of it. I wanted him to be with me at team parties and I
wouldn’t mind seeing him in baseball pants. I knew he would do them justice.
But every year he had declined, citing it was his busiest time of year. I had
no plans to ask him this year.

On
that dismal note, I said hi to a few more regulars and then made my way to the
kitchen. There I found my staff busy as bees. Aaron was overseeing it all and
he looked surprised to see me.

“How’s
it going?” Aaron asked.

“It’s
going.” I smiled. “I was just coming back to say hi and perhaps whip up a
smoothie. I also wanted to talk to you about my ideas for a new fall lineup.”

He
looked pleased that I wanted to include him.

I
knew I should let him do what I hired him to do. Letting go was hard,
especially when it seemed like there was nothing else to hold on to.

I
spent the rest of the afternoon with Aaron discussing my graham treats and
ideas. He added his own ideas—individualized cheesecakes with graham cracker
crusts. We already served triple-chocolate mousse pies that way and they were a
big seller. I liked the addition, plus my mom had a killer recipe I could steal
and perhaps put my own spin on. I still needed to work on both the graham
cookie and the cannoli shell recipes.

On
my way home from work, I stopped by City Market and picked up some additional
ingredients for my experiments. I planned on making a mess in my kitchen
tonight. I had nothing better going on, except maybe reruns of
NCIS
. I
had a tiny crush on Mark Harmon. He had aged to perfection. Michael Weatherly
wasn’t half bad, either.

I
walked into my empty house and, after pulling up season three of
NCIS
and hitting play, I immediately went to work. Even though I wouldn’t be
watching it, the sound was comforting. I hated always feeling like I was alone
at home.

I
started out by making a cookie using graham flour, but it was too soft and
there was no way it would stand up to the dark chocolate. I called my mom to
get her take and she suggested adding oatmeal to the next batch to firm it up
some. While it did add some firmness I didn’t like the texture or the taste.

I
pondered on what to try next and ate dinner, drooling over Mark Harmon a bit.
It was then I was struck with genius. I got up immediately and ran several
sleeves of store bought graham crackers through my food processor. I omitted
the chocolate chunks and substituted the graham cracker crumbs for flour in my
world-famous chocolate chip cookie recipe. Okay, it wasn’t world famous, but it
was a highly sought-after commodity in Merryton.

I
waited impatiently for the first batch to bake and cool. I had to say I was
pleased with the texture, consistency, and taste when it came time for taste
testing. I’d just have to see how it held up to the chocolate coating.

While
I melted dark chocolate over my double boiler, my husband walked in. I looked
at the clock on my stove—it was barely after nine, another long day for him. Sometimes
I wondered how he found the stamina, or if he just didn’t want to be at home,
so he used work as a good excuse to stay away.

He
didn’t say anything, but I heard him trudge up the stairs to the guest bedroom
and then heard the water from the guest bathroom shower. I tried not to let it
bother me. We hadn’t exactly left things on a good note that morning. I wasn’t
even sure that was possible. Our lives were about to change in a major way, and
I don’t think either of us knew if our unstable marriage was going to be able
to withstand it.

My
mom had reassured me that it could, but we had to make the choice to save it
and fortify it. She had tried to convince me that perhaps Madeline was a
blessing in disguise. I had a hard time swallowing that. Regardless, she
reminded me that no matter my feelings for Blake at the moment, there was
probably a very confused and frightened girl living in Salt Lake City. I had
not stopped to think about that. I felt terrible for only being so worried
about how this affected me. I had forgotten this girl had a mother facing an
uphill battle with cancer. It was a sobering thought.

I
heard Blake make his way back down while I was dipping cookies. He still didn’t
say anything, but I could hear him draw near. He came close, and I felt the
smallest of kisses on the base of my neck. I shivered at the touch. I had
missed small gestures like that.

“Hi,”
he said from behind me. 

“Hi.”

“What
are you doing?” he asked.

“Experimenting.”
I would have loved to ask if he wanted to try a cookie, but he was not into
dessert of any kind. I sometimes still wondered how we ended up together. He
should have married someone like Easton’s ex-wife. She was a clinical
nutritionist.

He
didn’t respond other than to walk to the commercial-size refrigerator and take
a peek inside.

“I
made some vegetable beef soup, if you’re interested.”

“Sounds
good,” he said, to my surprise.

He
rarely ate anything I prepared, which was disappointing to me. Before I ever
got married or met Blake I thought for sure the one thing I would do well as a
wife was cooking and baking. I did both well, but it wasn’t Blake’s cup of tea.

I
moved over so Blake could use the burner next to me. He refused to microwave
anything.

While
I continued dipping, he stirred his dinner. We didn’t say anything to one
another for a couple of minutes, but I could feel him staring at me.

“What?”
I finally said as I dipped my last cookie.

“I
talked to Easton today.”

I
looked over to him. “So did I.”

“He
mentioned that. He also mentioned you need an extra player for your team.”

“We
do. I hope we find someone quick or we won’t be able to register this year,” I
said as I carefully walked my dipped cookies over to the refrigerator to aid in
the hardening process.

“Why
didn’t you ask me?”

I
narrowed my eyes at him. “A girl gets tired of rejection.”

“I’ve
never rejected you, Jessica.”

That
was a matter of opinion
. I slid my cookies into the fridge.
“So what are you getting at?” I asked into the refrigerator.

He
came behind me and closed the refrigerator door. I turned and backed up against
the cool stainless steel and he leaned his shoulder against it and close to me.
I caught my breath as I looked up at him. I had forgotten how sexy he was. His
gray eyes almost looked like charcoal burning as they drifted over me. For a
brief moment I remembered why I fell in love with him. He affected me like no
one ever had, like no one but him could.

“Jessica,”
he said barely above a whisper, “I wish you would ask me.”

That
was his way. He wouldn’t volunteer. He wanted it to be my choice—no, I think he
needed it to be my choice.

“What
about work?” I managed to say. He was literally taking my breath away.

“I’ll
figure it out.”

“There
will be practices, and when the season starts sometimes we play twice a week.”

He
looked at me as if to say, “And?”

I
thought for a moment more and stared into those eyes of his. He leaned in a little
bit closer. I could smell the mint on his breath and I was tempted to taste it.
It had been far too long. “Blake, would you—”

“Yes,”
he said before I could finish. And before I could give into temptation he
pushed off the refrigerator and went back to stirring his dinner.

I
almost reached into the freezer and grabbed a few ice cubes. There was some
definite heat in the kitchen and it wasn’t coming from the stove.

Well,
it was a girl . . . a twelve-year-old girl. I knew it was true before the
paternity test came back, but it still didn’t prepare me for the actual
confirmation. I was going through all the stages of grief, but I kept getting
stuck on the first one, denial. I figured it was better than anger or
depression. Not as good as acceptance, I know, but it was a really large pill
to swallow.

My
friendship with
Cheyenne and Abby was once again the rock
I clung to on my shaky ground. Blake received the results on May first, and on
the second I found myself being whisked away to Denver for some shopping and
pampering. I think Cheyenne’s words were, “You look like crap. Your clothes are
hanging off you and we’re tired of seeing you in drab colors.” She said it with
love, but it was true. I used to pride myself on my fashion sense and style.

“So
how does Blake feel about it?” Abby asked as we headed down to the big city;
well, it was big for us.

I
briefly glanced her way since I was driving. Abby owned a minivan and Cheyenne
drove a Camaro. We wanted to be comfortable, but not look like, well, you know,
minivan owners. I had never wanted to own a minivan, and we always teased Abby
about hers, but she was very proud of her honor-roll-bumper-sticker ride.

“I
think he has mixed emotions about it. I can tell he’s excited about it— well,
as excited as he gets—but he’s nervous. Nervous about having a child and
nervous about what it will do to our marriage.”

“Are
things getting any better?” Abby followed up.

I
shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know. I feel like we are so uncomfortable with
each other right now. It’s like we are trying to be extra cautious not to rock
the boat, but I feel like maybe we should get wet and see what happens.”

“It
seems like he’s at least trying, joining the team and all this year,” Abby
replied. She always looked for the silver lining. “And Shane says he’s a great
player.”

“Who
cares how well he plays?” Cheyenne chimed in from the back. “The question is
how good does he look in the uniform?”

I
scowled at her from the rearview mirror. “You better not be checking out my
husband.”

“See?
You do still love him,” Cheyenne mocked.

That
was to be determined; but regardless, I didn’t want other women scoping him
out.

“Are
you still going to wear that ridiculous shirt to the games?” Abby asked
Cheyenne.

“Uh,
yeah.”

Cheyenne
proudly wore her “official baseball butt inspector” shirt to every game.

Abby
and I both laughed at her. Sometimes I wished I had her zeal for life, or at
least her “I don’t care what other people think of me” attitude.

“So,
when are you going to meet this girl?” Cheyenne asked.

“I
don’t know. Blake hasn’t said much since he found out yesterday. I think he’s
afraid I may jump ship if he says too much or pushes it.”

“Are
you heading overboard?” Cheyenne asked, skipping pretenses.

I
thought for a moment while my best friends looked between each other. They were
talking about me with their eyes. “Right now I’m trying to fix me, but that
doesn’t mean I don’t want to work on my marriage. I’m just lost,” I sighed
pathetically.

Cheyenne
reached up and patted my head and Abby touched my shoulder.

“You
didn’t go anywhere. The fact that you’re not curled up in the fetal position is
amazing after everything you’ve been through. Give yourself some credit, huh?”
Cheyenne declared.

Abby
rubbed my arm some more. “You’re awesome.”

“Thanks,
ladies,” I sniffled. “I don’t know what I would ever do without you.”

“Good
thing we’re sticking around,” Cheyenne said. Then she went back to being her
real self. “Enough of this sappy crap, let’s get to the mall and see if Jessie
still has a body under all the clothing she’s been hiding under. No wonder your
marriage is having issues. Blake would probably like to see a little skin from
time to time.”

We
all laughed, but it was probably true. In my defense, I had been pregnant
several times on and off over the last ten years. My body had been through the
ringer. The fact it had any shape at all was a miracle.

We
hit the mall with a vengeance. I got a complete new wardrobe, from bras and
panties all the way to casual and dress outfits. And, of course, an array of
shoes. My debit card was on fire.

At
the last store of the day I came out of the dressing room in a peachy-pink
strapless dress that was summery and flirty, definitely different from what I
normally wore lately, which was a good thing. I needed a new look. I looked in
the three-way mirror, and for the first time in a long time, I felt pretty.

“Well,
dang, girl! You do have a body, and it’s kind of hot!” Cheyenne exclaimed.

I
rolled my eyes at her.

“It’s
true,” Abby said.

“You
ladies are such good liars.”

Cheyenne
stood behind me and looked at me through the mirror. “Look at yourself. You’re
gorgeous. I wish you could see that. You used to know that, Miss Prom and
Homecoming Queen.”

I
sighed. “That was a long time ago.” Back when I thought my life would be
perfect forever.

“Yeah,
it was, but you’re even more beautiful now,” Cheyenne responded.

I
wiped at my watery eyes. “You guys are the best.”

“Yes,
we are,” they said in unison.

We
walked out, loaded down with an assortment of bags and boxes.

“Will
Blake care that you spent all this money?” Abby asked worriedly.

“No.
Blake has his money and I have mine.”

“Wow.
That’s nice. Shane counts every penny and keeps us on a tight budget. I thought
marrying a doctor would have more financial perks, but he’s a freak about
saving money.”

“You
should tell Shane where to go,” Cheyenne counseled. “You stay at home and raise
his kids. You should get to spend as much money as you want.”

Abby
and I both rolled our eyes at her. Cheyenne didn’t share well and she didn’t
have a clue about budgeting or running a household, or being married, for that
matter. I was surprised she had kept her salon afloat. I think she had a
manager that she listened to and that took care of the money end of the
business.

I
thought about what Abby said about Shane. I guess there were some perks about
keeping our finances separate, but I did wish we shared more, or at least had a
joint account. I know it sounds dumb, but when we were first married I wanted
checks that had Blake and Jessica Summers printed on them.

“Let’s
go to dinner, my treat,” I offered.

They
didn’t hesitate to take me up on my offer.

We
stuffed ourselves with bacon cheeseburgers and curly fries, both things I never
ate at home. Blake didn’t care what I ate, but he was just so healthy it made
me feel uncomfortable indulging in real food around him. So, for good measure,
I washed it down with a strawberry milkshake. Once again my stomach said,
Hold
on there, missy, you can’t throw food like that at me after barely eating for
months.
It probably wasn’t the best decision, but it tasted really good
going down. Besides, I had been hitting the gym. Cheyenne was right—Rob, the
new Zumba instructor, was amazing. He could probably make you lose two pounds
in his hour-long class, if that’s what you were looking to do.

Merryton
was an hour from Denver and we rolled back into town around eight. It was the
best day I’d had in a very long time. It also gave me incentive to clean out my
closet and finally give away all of my maternity clothes. I don’t know why I
was hanging on to them. I knew I would never have a reason to wear them again,
but it was hard to let go.

Carter’s
room was still untouched. I never went in there, but it was the sweetest baby
boy nursery ever. It had a vintage old west feel with a worn red color on the
walls and faded blue as an accent. Blake had even made a cradle that rocked. He
surprised me with it the day we found out we were having a boy. I’d had no idea
he had been working on it. Sometimes he was so thoughtful.

The
cradle, crib, and all the other baby furniture sat empty and untouched in the
room nearest ours.

I
could visit Carter’s grave, but going in his room was something I couldn’t
bring myself to do. Maybe because of all the time I had spent in there before
he died. I used to sit on the rocking chair in his room and read or rest,
thinking about how excited I was to meet our little angel. But that time never
came. I knew someday I would have to deal with that room, but I wasn’t even
close to ready to tackle it.

Instead
I tackled my closet and organized it. Blake was busy in his shop when I got
home, so it was good to have something to do. It made me feel less lonely in
our big house that was meant for more than just one or two people. I boxed up
almost everything I’d had previously hanging up and replaced it with my purchases
from that day. I had to say, it was much more inviting and bright in there now.
I hadn’t meant to get into such a rut, but boy had I dug myself in deep.

As
I ran my hands across my completely revamped wardrobe, I was startled by my
name being called.

“Jessica.”

I
placed my hand over my pounding heart and turned to find my husband standing at
the door of the walk-in closet in his jeans and t-shirt covered in the usual
amount of dust and dirt. I found it quite attractive.

“You
scared me.”

“Sorry,
I wanted to talk to you.”

“What
about?”

He
rubbed the back of his neck and then ran his fingers through his thick, dark
hair. I had missed doing that myself. It was funny, the things I found myself
missing lately—things that I had forgotten I enjoyed.

“I’m
going to fly to Salt Lake City tomorrow,” he blurted out.

I
steadied myself by gripping onto the bar closest me. “Oh.”

“I
would have invited you to come, but I know how you feel about flying and this
is going to be a quick day trip.”

I
nodded my head and reminded myself to remain calm and collected and not cry. Of
course he was anxious to meet her. My head completely understood that, but my
heart ached. And I didn’t do planes if I could avoid it. Flying for me was a
major deal. It involved Valium and time to psych myself up for it. Driving
there on such short notice was out of the question; it was nine hours, one way.
Not that I was sure I would go even if he was driving.

He
quickly and abruptly changed the subject. “It looks like you’ve been busy,” he
said as he looked at all the boxes.

“Spring
cleaning, I guess,” I said in response.

“What
are you going to do with all of the boxes?”

“I
was planning on taking them to Goodwill.”

“I’ll
take care of it.”

“You
don’t need to.”

He
stepped closer and then even closer. He reached out and touched my hair ever so
lightly as he stared into my on-the-verge-of-crying eyes. “I know I don’t need
to, but I want to.”

“Thanks,”
I replied quietly.

“It
will be okay,” he said, almost as if it were a question. “It will be okay,” he
repeated, this time as a statement. He then took my face in his rough,
calloused hands and leaned in and kissed me hard once on the lips. His lips
lingered as they pressed against mine. It had been too long since we had shown
each other such affection and the emotion of it all sent tears trickling down
my cheeks and onto his hands.

“Jess,”
he whispered against my lips.

“I’m
scared,” I admitted to him.

“Me,
too.” And with that he kissed me once more and left me standing in my closet, feeling
too many emotions.

As
I crawled into bed that night after midnight, I pondered my life and marriage.
I wondered if we could weather this storm, or any storm, for that matter. I
almost forgot what smooth sailing felt like. Was there such a thing? Our
marriage had always seemed to have difficulties, even from the beginning. Sure,
we were in love with each other, but moving to Merryton was a sacrifice for
Blake. It wasn’t his first choice, but Jessie Belle’s was going to be mine, and
even as a young girl I had dreamed of running it when I got older.

I
knew it was difficult for Blake—it meant him giving up a well-paying job with
one of the top construction companies in Utah and starting over. I did offer to
move to Utah. I had even talked it over with my mom, but Blake insisted this
was where we would put down roots. His dad had left him and his mom when he was
a teenager, and his mom passed away in his early twenties. Blake had a
half-brother somewhere out there, but we never saw him or Blake’s dad. I think
Blake liked the idea of having family nearby, although my dad had been anything
but a loving father-in-law. But my mom and Blake had a good relationship,
probably a better one than I currently had with him.