by Bella Grant
“Okay then,” Anabelle brooded. “And we’ve taken care of Dad like you said.”
“She told you to take care of me?” I heard Jarrod ask in the background and I groaned. That was supposed to be a conversation between us, not for their father to hear.
“I’ve got to go, kids,” I told them. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Wait, Daddy wants to talk back to you,” Isabelle stated.
Before I could pretend I didn’t hear and hang up, Jarrod was already back on the line. “So you told the kids to take care of me,” he drawled.
“Uh…well, you sometimes work too much.”
“I took the week off to stay with them,” he responded.
“Oh,” I said in surprise. “You didn’t have to do that. Mrs. Philpott said she would keep an eye on them for you.”
“If you’re not here for them, then I should be.”
“Okay,” I said, remembering how he’d been so distanced from the children a month ago. “I have to go now,” I informed him. My mother watched me from the hospital bed and the conversation was becoming a little too stilted. She was already questioning if everything was going well with my marriage, although I insisted it was a business arrangement.
“I’ll let you go then.”
“Bye, Jarrod.”
I hung up and took a deep breath before returning to my mother’s bedside, reclaiming the chair that I’d been sitting in while talking to her before Jarrod’s phone call.
“Everything okay?” she asked me, her eyes full of curiosity.
“Yes, they are managing fine without me,” I answered. “You look a little wan. How is the pain?”
“We’re not talking about me, child,” Mom returned with a serious expression. “I want to know about you and how you’re holding up.”
I stared down at my hands, plucking at the bed linen. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Okay, I’ll say it for you then. You’ve fallen in love with that man and his children.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I tried to laugh off her supposition. “This is a business marriage.”
“It started out that way,” she agreed. “But I can see it has become much more for you. You should see the way your eyes light up when you talk about him and the kids. There’s no doubt in my mind that you love them.”
At her words, I could no longer pretend. I covered my face with my hands in frustration and despair. “I don’t know what to do about it. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“It’s not necessarily a bad thing,” she tried to assure me.
“It is!” I cried. “There can never be anything between Jarrod and me. This marriage is fake, but I feel like we’re duping the kids. Things changed on our honeymoon and…and it’s hard being around him when I can’t tell him how I truly feel.”
“How do you know he doesn’t feel the same?”
I shook my head. “He can’t. He still wants this marriage to end after ten years.”
“Then you have ten years for him to fall in love with you.”
“I’m not going to hope for something that might not happen. I’ll forget about him and focus on the kids.”
Her doctor walked in to do another check-up, and I was grateful for the interruption. The doctor had noted a slight concern in the surgery as my mother’s blood pressure had dropped significantly during the procedure.
She was sleepy, so when the doctor left, I decided to go home and give her time to rest. She squeezed my hand and told me to remember Jarrod and the kids needed me as much as I needed them. I drove back to the house with that thought in mind. Our contract was based solely on what the kids needed from me, and Jarrod and I should have never become a part of that. I needed to find a way to eliminate him from the picture and focus on the girls. What did it matter if he loved me or not?
But it mattered. It mattered so much. I was dreaming foolishly about how life would be different for all of us if our marriage became genuine. I did have misgivings about sometimes feeling that we were duping the kids to believe the lie we had created for their benefit. Would they grow to resent us if they found out?
At the house, I was bored as I ate dinner alone. I missed Ana’s and Isa’s giggling, missed having them around me, and having something to do. My life would be empty without them if I were to end our contract. I was tempted to and stay as far away from Jarrod as possible, but I couldn’t do that to the girls. I also loved them and wanted to be a part of their lives. I wanted to watch them grow up into young ladies, to realize their dreams. I wanted to be there when they had their first boyfriends and first heartbreaks. I wanted to snap pictures on their prom night, to be there to send them off to college.
That night as I lay in bed, I reflected on Jarrod hiding his marriage from Pearl. He had told me he didn’t tell anyone, but I knew he had hidden it from her specifically, which to me was a dead giveaway they were involved in more than merely a business relationship. Why else would he have felt the need to remove his wedding ring when he was at work? When I’d seen him without his ring, I’d felt betrayed, but he wasn’t mine for me to feel he had betrayed me. A few minutes of sex on a private beach on a romantic night did not entitle me to feel betrayal. Even though he was technically my husband.
I had a fitful night in bed, thinking long and hard. If not for the kids, I would have quit, but that way of thinking didn’t even make sense because without them, this arrangement wouldn’t have existed. When I eventually succumbed to sleep, the new day had started.
The ringing of the telephone woke me. My eyes were gritty from lack of sleep, and I groaned and buried my head in the pillow, wishing the annoying ringing away. I sighed in contentment when the phone rang off and I almost fell asleep again before it sounded once more. I grappled for the phone on the bedside table and pressed the answer button without looking at the screen.
“Hell0,” I barked into the phone, my voice muffled from the pillow my face was pressed into.
“Is this Laurel Snow?” an unfamiliar feminine voice asked.
“Yes, this is she. Who am I speaking to?”
“This is Nurse Edwards from the St. Joseph’s Memorial Hospital,” the woman answered. “How soon can you get to the hospital?”
“Umm,” I struggled out of my sleep and sat up in bed. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Is something wrong with my mother?”
“We’d rather speak to you in person. Ms. Snow,” the nurse insisted. “How soon can you come in?”
“I probably need half an hour to get there,” I responded, scrambling out of bed. “Can you at least tell me if she’s okay? Her blood pressure hasn’t dropped again, has it? I know Dr. Peters said that was a concern the last time he checked on her.”
“Dr. Peters will explain everything once you are here,” Nurse Edwards replied.
Frustrated by the lack of a response, I hung up and ran to the bathroom to take a quick shower. The bypass grafting surgery performed on my mother was supposed to have helped reduce the risks involved with her coronary heart disease. I had thought of it as a magical fix, that once she had the procedure she would recuperate and get well, but I was learning the healing process took time.
After I showered and dressed, I grabbed my car keys and drove quickly to the hospital. I was pulled over by a police officer, who only let me off without writing me a speeding ticket because I explained I was in a hurry to get to the hospital. He left a warning about speeding, and I slowed down, wishing there was no speed limit to obey even though I knew its purpose was for my safety.
At the hospital, I found a parking spot and hastened into the building, stopped at the front desk, and explained that I had been called in. Nurse Edwards was working at the front desk and led me to an office where she knocked, explaining nothing to me.
“Come in.” I heard Dr. Peter’s voice from inside the room.
Nurse Edwards pushed the door open and motioned for me to step inside. “Dr. Peters, Ms. Snow is here,” she explained, and the doctor lo
oked up from a file on his desk. He was a tall man who looked to be in his late forties but with a head full of white hair, surprising at such a young age.
“Thanks, Nurse Edwards,” he stated, and when the nurse left, waved me over to have a seat. “Ms. Snow, have a seat.”
“Thank you,” I said nervously and sat, clutching my bag in my lap. “Is there something wrong, Dr. Peters? The nurse wouldn’t say. The surgery didn’t help? If she needs another, it doesn’t matter. We’ll pay for it.”
“I’m so sorry, Miss. Snow, but your mother suffered a heart attack last night,” he stated heavily.
“No. No way!” I exclaimed in shock. “How... how bad was it?”
“I’m afraid it’s not good news,” he hesitated and then added, “your mother passed away last night, Miss. Snow. I’m terribly sorry.”
“That’s not possibly. No. No, you must be mistaken,” I cried as I stood up. “I saw her last night. I was there when you checked on her. She was fine, she was recuperating. You were there. She was doing fine!”
“And that’s true,” he explained calmly. “But five to ten percent of patients who undergo a surgery like your mother have a heart attack either at the time of the operation or shortly after. It’s unfortunate this happened to your mother, but we tried everything we could to save her.”
Before he finished speaking, the tears were streaming down my face. I placed a hand over my mouth to cover the sob that tore from me. My heart felt like it was eating itself from the inside. My mother couldn’t be dead. She just couldn’t. She was the only one I had. What would I do without her?
Chapter 22
Jarrod
I grabbed my phone, debating whether to call Laurel. Maybe I was overdoing it. I had called her so often in the few days she had been gone. She must sense my calls weren’t about the girls, but I missed her being around. I missed hearing her talking and playing with them. They missed her too. Although they were more receptive towards me, they were a little more restrained than when Laurel was around. They needed her. I needed her.
Now that the truth was out, I felt like scum for trying to hide our marriage by removing my wedding band. Even if our wedding was only on paper, I had gone so far as to insist we share the same bedroom. And I was the one who wanted more, while she seemed content to fulfill her duties as a mother only, and not as a wife as well.
Laurel confused me. I wasn’t looking for love and attachment. Neither was I looking for commitment, and she wasn’t either. She went to bed at night as though it didn’t even bother her being in the same bed as me. If only I could get the last night of Jamaica off my mind. Each time I remembered, I wanted her again.
The phone in my hand lit up a second before the vibration began. Laurel. I had to school myself into not answering the phone on the first ring. I couldn’t decide what it was about this woman that gave her a hold on me. Was it the way she handled my kids? Or the way she handled me? She wasn’t afraid to disagree with me or rope me into activities with them. She was a natural born caregiver.
“Good mor—”
I didn’t get to greet her properly as loud sobbing and babbling cut me off from the other end of the line. She was incoherent as she gasped for breath, trying to talk while crying. I couldn’t make out a word.
“Laurel,” I said, trying to get her attention. “Laurel, honey, I can’t understand what you’re saying.” She was freaking me out the way she was carrying on. I couldn’t tell if she was hurt or what had gone wrong.
Blubbering followed more blubbering before she dragged in a deep breath. “It’s my mother—she’s gone.”
“Gone?” I asked in confusion. “Gone where? Isn’t she at the hospital?”
“Oh, God, Jarrod, she died!” she cried, the sobs starting again. “Mom d-d-died this mo-mo-morning.”
“What?” I exclaimed in shock. “What happened? I thought she was recuperating well.”
“So-so did I.” That set her off into another wailing that broke my heart. And she was alone. But she didn’t have to be.
“Where are you now?” I asked her. “Is there anyone with you?”
“At the house,” she responded. “I’m alone.”
“Can you give me the address?”
“You-you don’t have to come,” she hiccupped.
“I’m coming, so give me the address already.” I retrieved the pen on my desk and scribbled down the address she gave me in Taylor.
“Don’t bring the kids,” she pleaded with me. “I don’t want them to see me this way. It may trigger a response over losing their mother.”
“Okay, I’ll come alone,” I assured her. “I’ll get Mrs. Philpott to look after them.”
“Bu-but we can’t both leave them,” she argued, sniffling.
I was touched that she worried about the twins when she was going through her own grief. No wonder I had feelings for this woman. She was selfless.
“They’ll be fine,” I told her. “Right now, you need me.”
When she didn’t contradict my statement, I knew she really needed a friend. After assuring her once more that I’d be there in a few hours, I informed Mrs. Philpott that I’d be away and asked if she could stay with the girls for a few days. She affirmed she would.
Explaining to the children that I had to go away for a couple days to check on Laurel was a bit difficult.
“Why can’t we come with you?” Anabelle asked, her face sad and disappointed.
“I need some time to talk to Laurel,” I answered, squeezing her shoulder gently. “She’s not feeling too well right now and needs a friend.”
“But we’re her friends too,” Anabelle pointed out logically. “We should go with you. We miss Laurel.”
“I know you do, but she’ll be home soon.” On second thought, I planted a kiss on their foreheads. “Be good girls for Mrs. Philpott, okay? Laurel and I will call you before you go to bed tonight.”
I packed an overnight bag quickly and decided to drive myself to Taylor. On the way, I called Laurel several times, but she wouldn’t answer. I burned rubber getting there, fretting and cursing that she had to go through this now. I had never heard her speak about any other relative or even a friend. Only her mom. And to lose her… Well, she wasn’t much different from me now. No family as far as I could see, no siblings, no friends. I was a loner, and Laurel and my daughters were the closest I’d been with people since the death of my parents and brother.
I found the house with little difficulty, identifying the modest one-story structure as the right place by Laurel’s car parked at the front on the lawn. I pulled up beside hers and clambered up the steps to the porch. I knocked on the door since there wasn’t a doorbell, shuffling from side to side. When there was no answer, I tried the knob and the door was unlocked. I pushed it open.
“Laurel,” I called, loud enough to be heard but not to frighten her.
I followed the sound of sniffling to the living room where she sat on the floor, her back pressed against the sofa. She had an album on her lap and flipped through it slowly. Her complexion was pasty, and her slumped shoulders spoke of defeat.
Without a word, I approached her. She didn’t look up, even when I lowered myself to sit on the floor next to her. Words weren’t necessary. Sometimes, words made it worse. I remembered that from losing my own family in one blow. She needed to grieve and have someone with her. I didn’t have anyone to rescue me from myself then, which was one of the reasons I’d turned to the twins’ mother even though she had been slowly self-destructing too.
I wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and she turned into me. She threw her arms around my neck and buried her face in my chest, crying hard. I let her and didn’t count the minutes impatiently. I waited for her to express herself in a natural healing process. Soon, she was exhausted and leaned heavily against me, sniffling. I reached for the tissue on the center table and handed it to her to mop up her face and wipe away her tears.
“How are the kids?” was the first thing she asked.<
br />
I sighed. “They’re fine, Laurel. More importantly, how are you?”
She gulped loudly. “I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like it’s a shock. Like she’s not really gone, just somewhere about, but then it sinks in and it’s so hard.”
“I know. I know it hurts like hell losing the people you care about.”
“How did you handle it?” she asked. “I don’t know how I’m going to handle this. She was my only family after my dad died. She wasn’t just my mother. She was my friend. We were very close.”
I held her face between my hands and lifted her head so she could look at me. “That’s where you’re wrong, Laurel,” I contradicted her. “You do have family. You have us. Me. Ana. Isa.”
Tears pooled in her eyes again and her bottom lip trembled. “Thank you,” she said and turned her head slightly so she could kiss my palm.
The heat of her kiss traveled from my palm and settled in my groin. That kiss was the closest we’d been to sharing intimacy since our honeymoon. I tried to ignore my state of arousal at a time like this, when she was grieving, but she closed the gap between us and kissed me.
Her kiss was soft, a whisper of breath against my lips, before hers claimed mine. She rubbed the plumpness of hers over mine softly, as though she was noting the differences. Her tongue peeked out, and with a groan, I sucked it into my mouth. The tone of the kiss changed to desperate and needy as she slung one leg over me and straddled me on the floor. I could taste the saltiness of her tears on her lips as I deepened the kiss, running my hands over her back and cupping her bottom through the shorts. Her mouth was a cavern of sweetness that drugged my senses with a sugar rush that left me craving more.
But I had to stop her. I wanted to do nothing more than to pull her clothes from her body and sink my cock into her. I wanted to watch her face contort with pleasure as I thrust my thickness into her tightness. But not like this. Not after she had expressed her desire that she and I not be involved in a sexual relationship. I would be taking advantage of her in her weakness.
