by Judy Angelo
So that was it. The problem was not with her, it was with Jake. Because of his feelings of guilt he’d decided that he should suffer all the days of his life.
Which made things even worse for Sam. Competing with the ghost of his late wife was one thing but trying to convince a guilt-ridden man that he deserved happiness was a horse of a different color. You can’t save a man who doesn’t want to be saved. Jake’s healing could not come from her. He would have to find that will within himself.
Until then, as far as winning his love was concerned, Sam now knew that she didn’t have the chance of an ice cube in hell.
CHAPTER SIX
“So how’s my girl doing?” Alvin trudged into the office in his muddy work boots without wiping his feet. As usual. At Meg’s sharp look he dropped his toolkit and backed out. “Alright, alright,” he muttered as he went back down the steps. “Sheesh.”
Meg looked across at Sam sitting at the computer and laughed. “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”
When Alvin tramped back into the office his boots were wet but sparkling clean, obviously freshly washed. He must have gone round back and turned the hose on them. Sam grinned at her Dad. Smart man. Much easier than sitting on the step, cleaning off mud.
“So how’s my girl?” he asked again and walked over to give her a peck on the forehead. “You’ve been so busy with your decorating gigs I haven’t seen much of you around the office lately.”
“I know, Dad,” she said, her tone apologetic. “But things have eased off a bit now.”
“Well, I’m glad to have you back,” he said with a wide grin. “I missed my plumbing partner. Didn’t we, Meg?” He walked over and kissed his wife on the cheek.
“Sam’s not my plumbing partner and of course we miss her,” she said and swatted at him. “Now leave me alone. Don’t you see I’m trying to get these invoices done?”
He lifted his eyebrows to Sam and gave her a crooked smile. “That’s my wife for you, all love and kisses.” Then he grabbed his lunch kit and headed for the kitchen in the back.
As soon as he was out of earshot Meg dropped her stack of invoices onto the desk and turned her sharp eyes on Sam. “Your dad made a good point,” she said as she tapped her pen on the desk. That was what she always did when she was thinking. “For the last few weeks you’ve been so focused on your decorating jobs we’ve hardly seen you. Now all of a sudden you have the time to spend four days out of a week with us?” Meg cocked her head to one side. “This is the first time Alvin has come in early enough to catch you in the office but I’ve been here all week. With you. What gives?”
“Oh, nothing.” Sam shrugged, trying to look casual.
“Don’t give me that,” Meg said with a snort. “You’ve been moping around all week like you just lost your best friend.” Then she frowned. “One of your friends didn’t die, did they?”
“No, nothing like that,” Sam said quickly before Meg reached over and grabbed her in an unsolicited bear hug. “I guess I’ve just been in…low spirits, that’s all.” As soon as the words were out, Sam realized her mistake. She’d given Meg the perfect opening to play mother hen.
And her stepmother did not hesitate to take the opportunity she’d been handed on a platter. “Oh, sweetie, what’s the matter?” With her stout arm she pushed the invoices to one side and the ledger paper to the other, clearing her desk as if preparing for a consultation with a client. The woman should have taken up psychology as a profession, the way she loved to listen to people’s woes and give advice. “Tell Meg all about it,” she crooned.
Sam sighed but she only shook her head. She wished she could share her dilemma with someone but she hadn’t told a soul, not even her mother, and she was not about to spill her guts to Meg. That was one sure way for a full and detailed report to get back to her father.
“So are you going to tell me or not?” Meg’s mouth was set in the beginning of a pout. She hated to be denied some juicy tidbit of information.
“Not.” Sam was not about to entertain her.
“Fine,” she said and settled back in her chair to stare over at Sam. She crossed her arms then gave a smug smile. “You don’t need to say a thing. I know exactly what your problem is.”
“Oh, really.” Sam rolled her eyes. Meg didn’t know a thing about her private life. She swiveled her chair and turned back to the computer screen. She might as well finish up her research on color palettes and then get out of there before her dad came back to the front office. He’d been known to gang up with Meg to try to influence her to do things against her will. Like talk. Well, not this time.
“It’s that man, isn’t it? That Jake McKoy fellow.”
Sam froze, her fingers hovering over the keyboard, then she turned to Meg. “How…” she bit her lip. She didn’t want to say anything to tip Meg off. Her stepmother could easily have guessed it had something to do with Jake. She’d known Sam had been out there several times for the decorating job but how had she known his name? She hadn’t written his full name on the work order, only J. McKoy. And then she remembered – his check. His signature had looked like chicken scratch but his name had been printed at the top, big and bold. Meg must have read his name from that.
Then Sam relaxed. What was she so uptight about? There was no way Meg could connect Jake to McKoy, the world renowned author. There was absolutely nothing to worry about.
Meg chuckled. “How, she asked. How did I know that your long face was because of him?” She tapped her temple with her finger. “Meg knows these things, Sam. You’re looking at a woman with a lot of experience in the world. And that’s how I know what your real problem is.” She paused as if to create suspense. Then, beaming with confidence, she said, “You really like the guy but he can’t make up his mind who he likes more – you or his dead wife.”
Sam almost fell out of her chair. How in the world had Meg guessed all that?
“Oh, don’t look so stricken.” Meg waved a hand at her. “It’s all over town that this eligible bachelor is living all by his lonesome self with a face so pale and drawn it can only mean he's grieving. He’s been into town a couple of times, the bank and such the like, and the old gossips say he never smiles.”
Well, so much for keeping things secret. Jake would be disappointed to know he was already the topic of conversation in town and those old girls were experts at digging up information. The FBI had nothing on them.
The only consolation was that they had no idea who he really was. Or did they? “What else did they say about him?” Sam narrowed her gaze as she watched Meg, trying to see if she was hiding anything.
Her stepmother shrugged. “That’s pretty much it. Just that he looks like he’s alone, it looks like he’s grieving, and he must be a widower. Oh, and one other thing.”
Sam’s heart jerked and she held her breath. That other thing – was that Jake’s greatest secret?
“They said they're working on a list of girls they're thinking of trotting out to introduce to him. They’re thinking of throwing some kind of barbecue at the park and inviting him.” Meg wagged a finger at Sam. “So if you have any designs on the man you’d better move fast, honey, 'cause if these old biddies have their way you’ll soon be in for a lot of competition. Get crackin’.”
Sam expelled her breath and Meg must have sensed her sadness because she rolled her chair forward and touched her hand. “I know, I know,” she whispered. “He’s resisting and it’s driving you crazy.”
Sam frowned. Had Meg been studying mind reading or something?
“I know people, Sam, and men? They're my specialty.” Meg patted her arm. “When a man is grieving it’s the hardest thing for him to talk about how he’s feeling. He’s got to be tough all the time.”
Sam nodded slowly. Meg was making sense. So far.
“The problem is, it makes things worse for him. With all that sadness bottled up inside he can’t heal. He can’t move on. I bet he hasn’t even said goodbye to his wife.”
“Said
goodbye?” Sam was frowning again. Now this was where Meg’s line of reasoning began to break down. The man must have gone to his own wife’s funeral. Wouldn’t that have been enough of a goodbye?
“Sam, trust me on this,” Meg said. “If he’s still grieving that means he hasn’t really said goodbye. He may have been there when she was laid to rest but he never let go. Not really. There’s something holding him back. Isn’t there, Sam? You can tell me.”
“Why…yes, there is.”
Meg put up her hands. “I knew it. He feels guilty. Nine times out of ten that’s the reason they can’t let go. But let me tell you something,” she leaned forward as if sharing a dark secret, “if that man is ever going to love again he will have to say goodbye. And since he probably doesn’t know that, it’s going to fall on you to tell him.”
“But…how do you know all this?” Sam stared at her, confused. Meg had spoken as if she’d been right there in Jake’s house, observing him and taking notes. This was all so weird.
"Well, you haven’t denied anything I’ve said so far, have you?” When Sam didn’t answer Meg chuckled. “A lot of it was just speculation but I was right, wasn’t I?”
Sam could only nod.
“Okay, so now you know what you have to do. Talk to him and after that I don’t want to see you with a long face around here. You’ve done enough moping to last all year.” With that, Meg got up and gave her a quick hug. “Now let me go check on your father. It’s way too quiet in that kitchen.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “He probably fell asleep.”
Meg responded with a grunt. “You know him well.”
When she was gone Sam stared at the computer screen. She was giving serious thought to Meg’s suggestion.
The problem was, that conversation would require a whole lot of courage.
******
Jake was back in Long Island and it was all because of Samantha Fox.
He’d been surprised when, after several days of silence, she’d called him on the phone. He’d been more surprised when she brought up the subject of his wife. And then she’d floored him with the most bizarre suggestion he’d ever heard. According to Sam he needed to say a proper goodbye to Jessica. Only then would he be able to heal. Most important, though, he was to ask Jessica’s forgiveness. And that was why he was here.
Jake climbed the grassy bank to the little knoll where Jessica’s grave lay. His heart heavy, he approached the little mound then stood looking down at the headstone with the angel, its arms spread wide as if to welcome him. “Jessica Layne McKoy” the headstone read, “1974 – 2009. Loving daughter, wife and friend. May you rest in peace.”
Rest in peace. Were there any words sadder than those? His heart breaking, Jake swallowed hard, fighting to keep his emotions in check. He lowered his head and sank to his knees in the grass.
“Jessica,” he said, his voice mere whisper. “Jessica.” That was as far as he got.
His heart swell inside him and he felt like it would burst from his chest. It was such agony, kneeling there at her feet, knowing that she was lying beneath the ground – but it was not her. Not really. The real Jessica, the one he’d known and loved, the true essence of who she’d been, had departed three years ago.
Since the funeral Jake had been back to Jessica’s grave three times but this trip was hardest of all. Each time before he’d told her he loved her but now he couldn’t speak. There was a lump in his throat, choking him as he fought hard for control.
But it was no use. He slumped forward, his forehead pressed into the grass, and for the first time since the funeral the tears came.
Jake dug his fingers into the grass, his shoulders heaving as he gave way to the waves of grief that washed over him. Jessica, dear sweet Jessica was gone forever, and no amount of self-torture or denial would bring her back. It had finally sunken in. He had to say goodbye.
“Jessica.” His voice was a broken whisper. “I'm sorry. So sorry. Please…forgive me.”
The ache in his heart burst and spread through his body and he moaned in pain that was almost physical. But then a gentle breeze came floating over his back like a soft caress, somehow soothing his tortured soul. Dared he think it was a sign? Could he be forgiven? For a long time Jake stayed there, as still as stone, his thoughts going back to the wonderful times he’d shared with Jessica. Those years he’d had with her were a gift he would cherish as long as he had breath.
“Thank you,” he whispered, “for all the love you gave me. I will never forget you.”
Later, much later, as he walked back down the hill and toward the cemetery gate he drew in a deep, cleansing breath. He now knew what he had to do. There was only one way he could make things right in his soul. The thought had come to him as he bowed there on his knees.
Now he had a plan - and a purpose - and he was ready to move.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Not the moping again.” Meg stepped into the office and slammed the door behind her. “What a rain. It felt like God was up there throwing down buckets of water.” She shook out her umbrella and leaned it in the corner then unbuttoned her raincoat and shrugged it off. She hung it on the coat rack then turned to Sam. “So what are you doing here so early in the morning? It’s not even eight o’clock yet.”
“I had some charts I wanted to print off before I hit the road.”
“And I bet you haven’t done it yet.” Meg patted her bun and paused to give her an accusing look.
“What? Printed the charts?”
“No, silly.” Meg waved a hand as if in exasperation. “Called the guy. Remember our talk?”
“I remember,” Sam said quietly. “And I did call him.”
Meg’s eyebrows shot up. “You did? How did it go?”
“I’m…not sure.” Sam began stacking papers, trying to look busy. She didn’t want Meg to see how nervous she was. “We spoke on the phone and he seemed to understand what I was trying to say but then…it’s been a week. I haven’t heard from him since.” She lifted her eyes from the papers and looked at Meg. “Do you think I should call again?”
“Of course you should, child. As long as your conversation ended on a friendly note there’s no reason not to.”
Sam pulled at a lock of hair that had slipped out of her scrunchie. “I don’t want him to think I’m stalking.”
“That’s not stalking, that’s being proactive. Listen,” Meg gave her a conspiratorial look,” “men don’t know what they want half the time. You have to prod them along. If I had waited for your father to make up his mind on his own do you think we’d be married today?” She gave her trademark snort. “I’d probably still be waiting for him to pop the question.”
Sam sighed. “Okay, I’ll call. But it’s only to check that he’s okay, not because I’m fishing for a date or anything like that.”
“Of course not, dear. I totally believe you.” Meg’s wide grin said she’d formed her own conclusions.
Well, whatever Meg thought, that was her problem. She’d call but definitely not from here. Her stepmom knew too much already.
And that was how Sam ended up making the call from her cell phone that afternoon while sitting in her car in the local park in the shade of a copse of trees. As the gentle breeze blew through the car window she dialed Jake's number.
“Hello.” It was more of a moan than a greeting.
Sam frowned. “Jake? Is that you?”
Another moan then a hoarse whisper. “Not so loud. Please.”
Sam’s heart lurched. “What’s the matter?” Luckily she remembered to whisper her urgent question. “You sound terrible.”
“Migraine,” he whispered then groaned. “Since yesterday.”
“Oh, my God.” Sam felt her heart flutter. Jake was in pain and he was all alone. “I’m coming over. Just leave the front door open for me.”
“Okay,” he said with a sigh then hung up.
At the speed at which Sam drove that morning she got to Jake’s house in under fifteen minutes. S
he didn’t bother to ring the doorbell but just turned the knob. Good. He’d left it open like she’d asked. She left her boots at the front door and climbed the stairs to the master bedroom. The door was ajar. “Jake?” she said softly, understanding how sensitive he would be to loud noises. She pushed the door open wider and stuck her head in. The curtains were drawn and all she could see in the dimly lit room was a blanket-covered mound in the middle of the king-size bed.
“Jake,” she whispered again as she padded over to the bed. He didn’t even budge.
Gingerly, Sam sat on the bed beside him and rested a gentle hand on what must have been his shoulder. This time she said nothing but stroked slightly so he would know she was there.
Only then did he stir. He gave a groan from deep under the covers and slowly pulled the blanket from over his head. He struggled to open his eyes and then he was squinting up at her. She gasped. Jake’s eyes were bloodshot and puffy, his forehead wrinkled in pain, and he looked like he hadn’t shaved in days.
“Oh, Jake,” she whispered, her heart weeping at the sight, “you poor thing.” She rested her palm on his forehead and he sighed and closed his eyes.
What did it matter that she was little more than a stranger to him? What did it matter that he’d been running away from her since the day they’d met? Right now he needed her and she was going to be there for him – whether he liked it or not.
“Just relax,” she said softly. “I’m here now. You’re going to be alright.”
He didn’t answer but just lay there with his eyes closed, his breathing shallow, perspiration beading his upper lip.
Sam slid off the bed and headed for the bathroom where she grabbed a face towel off the rack and held it under the faucet. She wrung out most of the water then headed back to the bed where she folded the towel into a narrow strip and laid it over Jake’s forehead and eyes.
“Aah.” He let out a long sigh of relief and she could see his body relax back into the pillow.
