by Janice Lynn
“Goodbye,” he whispered, marveling at just how much he wanted to stay but knowing he’d stayed in Warrenville longer than he should have already.
It was past time for him to move on to his next adventure. So why was it so hard?
* * *
Taylor refused to just go through the motions of life. She’d been there, done that with Neil, and during the aftermath of their marriage and subsequent divorce. Had gone through those motions during her childhood with the parents she’d never been able to please, so she’d faded into the background instead. She’d existed without really living. She wouldn’t go back.
Not now that she’d gotten a glimpse of what life truly could be.
What she was determined it would be.
She went out dancing. She went to the lake with friends. She found an art class, got access to a kiln, and started a piece, but had started over several times because she’d known it wasn’t right, that what she was uncovering wasn’t what was really hidden in the clay. She’d even white-water rafted with a group from work. She lived, took chances, was the first to volunteer to try something new. Some she enjoyed, some not so much. Either way, she was discovering what she liked and disliked. It was a good life.
She missed Jack and found herself wishing he was there to share her adventures, to share everything. Oh, how she missed his easy smile and twinkly eyes. Earlier that day, restless, she’d driven out to the farm Jack had rented. A “SOLD” sign had been placed at the end of the drive. Her heart broke a little at the knowledge she’d never sit on the front porch again, or fish in the pond, or make love to Jack in the big antique bed with its hand-stitched quilt.
But life went on without Jack Morgan.
Perhaps not as brightly or as sweet an adventure, but life was good.
If she’d learned nothing else, she’d learned she had control over her attitude and the direction of her life. She refused to let it be bad.
The piece of clay she’d been working on again earlier, however, was a different story. That was bad. In the corner of her bedroom, the box into which she’d packed her supplies called to her as surely as if someone were locked inside and pleaded for her to rescue them.
Unable to resist the siren call any longer, she flipped on the lamp and began carrying her supplies into the living/dining room combo. Within minutes she had a protective plastic cover spread over the small dining-room table and her fingers were covered in clay. Immediately, the wet earth soothed something deep in her soul and she began to pinch away bits of clay, molding and shaping, using her fingers, using picks and wooden sticks to free whatever, whoever was trapped inside the clay.
Herself, she thought. Jack had been right when he’d interpreted the piece she’d given to Amy. It was always her that emerged from the clay.
When she’d originally realized that was what kept happening, Taylor had wondered if her art was much like putting together puzzle pieces of herself, slowly letting who she was come into view, slowly getting back to a whole.
As her hands worked, a smile lifted her cheeks.
She truly felt whole.
Was that why she’d been so hesitant to let Jack in? Because she worried that, much like what she was doing with her clay, he’d slowly pinch away the pieces she’d worked so carefully to put back together? Did she worry he’d bend her and mold her into something different than the woman she was destined to be?
Being with him had felt so good, so liberating, it was difficult for her to imagine him stifling her the way Neil had done. But she’d been blind to Neil’s true nature until after they’d married, until she’d experienced his cruelty in bed and life first-hand.
Her hand slipped, and she took off a bigger piece of clay than she’d intended.
Letting out a frustrated huff, she painstakingly added the clay back and worked until it was impossible to tell that anything had ever been missing.
Minutes became an hour. An hour became hours. Night became morning.
She sat. She stood. She moved around the table, leaned forward, stepped back, working on different angles as she slowly chipped away at the clay. Her neck ached and was stiff from how long she’d been working, but she wasn’t tired. Her creativity energized her, pushing her forward, refusing to let her leave the table as she worked on intricate details that were taking shape.
When she was finished, she stepped back and eyed the piece.
She wasn’t very good, doubted she ever would be even if a new instructor had told her she was a gifted, natural-born sculptor, but what she saw awed her more than a little.
And revealed a lot about where her head was.
Or more specifically her heart.
* * *
“Wow, Tay.”
At Amy’s exclamation, Taylor prised her eyes open, realizing she’d crashed on the living-room sofa, and peered up at where her friend was glancing back and forth between the table and where Taylor lay.
“That,” her friend continued, “is amazing and you look like death on a cracker.”
Stretching her stiff body, she wiggled into a sitting position. “It’s a piece of clay and, thanks, you look great this morning, too.”
“Right and the Mona Lisa is just a painting.”
“Did you just compare my work to the Mona Lisa? Wow.” Taylor glanced toward what she’d spent most of the night working on. It needed to be bisqued, painted, and glazed still, but pride swelled in her chest as she stared at the piece. She smiled at her best friend. “It’s not nearly that spectacular, but it’s the best I’ve ever done by far, so thank you.”
“It’s amazing.” Amy plopped down on the sofa next to her and stared at the piece. “If I could make something like that, you’d better believe I’d give it to Greg.”
She didn’t bother pretending that she didn’t know what her friend meant. She knew. Just as Amy knew. As always, she’d made a piece of herself—but for the first time a part of someone else had emerged from her clay.
She walked over to the table, stared at the piece. It was abstract, but there was no denying the heart overflowing from the hands that held it.
Jack’s hands.
Her heart.
Because Jack held her heart.
“Jack is a traveling man with all his worldly belongings fitting in a Jeep. I don’t think he’d want to lug this thing around in Jessica.”
She thought back to the day she’d gotten sick, the day he’d left, to his words as he’d stood by her bed. She’d pretended to be asleep because she hadn’t trusted herself to say another word. She’d needed him to leave before she forgot how he had a wandering soul and how hard she’d worked for her independence and begged him to stay.
Not just until her illness passed, but for forever.
He’d cared for her. She knew he cared. Had she asked him, he might have stayed. But how could she bind him that way when the very essence of him was freedom?
“He’s in Chattanooga, you know.”
No, she hadn’t known. She’d not heard from Jack since he’d left her room that night. Neither had she reached out to him. There had been nothing else to say. She was living the life she wanted, the life she’d worked hard for, and so was he.
Her fingers itched to run over the hands holding her heart. Jack’s hands.
Things were as they should be.
Are they? Are they really?
“Just for two days,” Amy continued. “He’s working a tough-guy competition. Greg is driving down to see him tomorrow and take in some of the action. You should call.”
Jack was in Tennessee. An hour from her. Oh, Jack. Just knowing he was near made the air in her chest feel thick, making breathing difficult.
“He knows where I am if he wants to see me.”
Her comment to Amy echoed through her head, causing similar words to replay. Words she’d replayed hundreds of times over the
past two months.
If she ever needed him, she knew how to get in touch with him.
What if she’d needed him before he’d left? Still needed him? What if she always needed him? What then?
Nothing had changed. Jack was a free spirit. She wouldn’t be the one to attempt to shackle him.
She was a woman who had fought hard to win her independence, to find her voice, to find herself, and she wasn’t willing to give it up.
“What about you?” Amy asked. “You know where he is. Do you want to see him? Does he know you want to see him?”
She wanted Jack to be happy, not trapped in a white picket fence world with her.
Who says you have to live in a white picket fence world? Or that you even want to?
She’d been raised to think that was what she wanted, needed, but hadn’t she learned to think for herself long ago? Hadn’t she put aside others’ expectations to discover what her own expectations from life were?
Her gaze cut to Amy’s. “Who says I even want to live in a white picket fence world? To live a normal nine-to-five life?”
“Huh?” Amy clearly hadn’t followed her thought process.
Excitement building within her, she leaned over and kissed her roommate’s cheek. “I love you, Amy, but you may be roommate-less again soon.”
Amy’s eyes widened. “What?”
Taylor hugged Amy, then pointed at the piece of art. “I need to tell him about that. I need him to know what I know.”
Amy grinned. “You’re headed to Chattanooga, aren’t you? Wait for me! I’m going with you.”
* * *
Eyeing the man sitting across from him, Jack took a sip of beer, then leaned back in his chair. He and Duffy had gone to a bar and grill along the riverfront within walking distance of the medical tent they were working the next couple of days.
The men and women competing were typically in tip-top shape, but in the process of pursuing their best times often dehydrated and injured themselves.
One of Jack’s main jobs was to make sure someone was safe to go back out after an injury or collapse. These people had been training for months, years, and most would work through an injury, even if dangerous, if allowed to.
They finished off their drinks and headed back toward where competition “headquarters” had been set up.
As they were walking, a woman caught his eye, making him think of Taylor. Not that she was ever far from his mind, but these days any platinum blonde had her popping into his head.
Only this one had his pulse pounding.
If he didn’t know better, he’d swear the woman was Taylor.
Then he noticed the familiar woman with her.
Taylor was in Chattanooga and Amy was with her.
“Hey, isn’t that...?” Duffy asked, sounding surprised, but not quite as authentically as he should have. Duffy must have known they were in town.
“Looks like it.” He braced himself for however Taylor responded to seeing him. Had she known there was a possibility she’d bump into him here? Greg knew he was here and would have mentioned the competition to Amy. Maybe they’d all decided to drive down to check out the event. Or was Amy playing matchmaker again? Had she messaged Duffy to find them and was throwing him and Taylor together?
Taylor spotted him, looked uncertain for the briefest of seconds, then flashed a big smile on her pretty face.
A big, genuine smile. A smile that lit up his world and had every nerve cell straining to get near her. She stopped walking, her mouth dropping open.
“You cut your hair!” she pointed out unnecessarily.
He reached up, ran his palm over his bare neck. “Why are you here?”
Probably not the best intro to seeing her after two months had passed, but it’s what popped out of his mouth.
“Good to see you, too,” she replied, turning to Duffy and giving him a smile of his own. “Duffy, how are you?”
Duffy hugged Taylor, then Amy. Taylor gave Amy a look and, taking her cue, Amy locked her arm with Duffy’s. “Let’s go for a walk, my friend. We need to catch up since I missed out on seeing you at Rockin’ Tyme.”
Duffy didn’t hesitate, just abandoned Jack with Taylor. Yeah, his friend had known Amy and Taylor were there.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Taylor reminded Jack once they were alone.
No, he hadn’t. He glanced around them, wanting to be somewhere other than where they were. They could walk to the bridge, go to the park, but with the competition there would likely still be too many people around.
“Let’s walk down to the riverbank,” he suggested. There might possibly still be people around, but it would be less crowded at least.
Glancing toward the Tennessee River, Taylor nodded. “Okay, if that’s what you want.”
* * *
Taylor had rehearsed what she’d say to Jack a thousand times in her head on the drive to Chattanooga. Now that she was with him, had set eyes on him, she could barely string two words together.
Maybe his haircut and being clean-shaven had thrown her. She’d never seen him without his hair being long. He looked amazing, but she missed his tousled, I don’t care look.
He wore his khaki shorts and a T-shirt—one of his Rockin’ Tyme shirts, which made her smile. The shirt seemed fitting for her arrival and what she wanted to tell him. She’d acknowledged that she’d torn free of her chrysalis and emerged a different woman after her divorce. But she hadn’t found her wings until Rockin’ Tyme.
Until Jack.
He’d encouraged her to spread those wings and take flight, teaching her to trust in herself and soar. His voice hadn’t overridden hers but had instead encouraged her, lifted her. No matter what happened, no matter what he said, she would be fine, would continue to fly.
She’d just fly higher with him beside her.
“You here for the tough-guy competition tomorrow?”
She laughed at the absolute absurdity of her competing in the event. “I’m not near tough enough for that. You?”
He grinned. “Working medical.”
“What’s next for you, Jack?”
He hesitated to answer and she wondered if he’d tell her to mind her own business, that he didn’t want her to know his schedule or showing up where he was.
“I’ve a little time off coming up, then I’m headed to Las Vegas for a few weeks.”
“I’ve never been to Las Vegas.” Yeah, that had been wistfulness in her voice.
His brow arched.
“I’ve not been to a lot of places,” she continued. “But I plan to change that.”
He stared at her and she didn’t blame him. She wasn’t making a lot of sense.
“I’m quitting my job, Jack.” Which probably didn’t make sense to him either. He didn’t know that she’d saved every spare dime over the past year, had quite a nice little nest egg, and if she lived tight, could get by for quite some time.
Concern twisted his face. “What? What happened?”
“You happened.”
His brows drew together as he visibly tried to make sense of what she was saying.
“Warrenville will always be special,” she continued. “But I want to see the world, to travel and not define myself by where I live or work.”
Had she not been watching him so closely she might have missed the flash of disappointment that appeared on his face before he said, “I’m happy for you, Taylor.”
That flash of disappointment nearly did her in. She didn’t understand why he’d be disappointed, but she pressed onward. This was too important to lose her voice, her nerve now.
“What I want is for you to be happy for us, Jack.”
“Us?”
Here went everything.
“You told me if I ever needed you, that I knew where to find you. Well, I’ve found you
, Jack, so it’s time for you to tell me exactly what you meant by your comment.”
* * *
They’d stopped walking along the riverfront and had gone halfway down the bank between the walkway and the water.
In the moonlight and glow from the riverfront buildings Jack studied Taylor’s face, how her eyes sparkled, how her chin lifted in defiance of anyone who stood in her way.
She was beautiful.
And not saying things he was prepared to hear.
“If you need me, I’ll be there. You know that.”
“That’s what I thought you meant. What I hoped you meant,” she corrected, then met his gaze head on. “I need you, Jack.”
When words failed him, she continued. “I want to travel with you, Jack. To see the world with you.”
Was that what she’d meant?
Jack took a deep breath. “That may be a problem.”
Taylor’s face fell. “I... What kind of problem?”
A wry grin tugged at his lips. “I’ve recently made changes to my schedule and won’t be traveling nearly as much in the future.”
Uncertainty darkened her face. “What?”
“You once asked me if I ever thought of some place as home.” He smiled at the memory, at his recent realization. “I never had, but now, when Warrenville comes into my head, I get nostalgic.” He shrugged one shoulder. “You might say homesick.”
Her mouth opened. “Oh.”
Studying her, he said words he’d once not ever expected to say. “I’m coming home, Taylor.”
Eyes big, full of emotion, she asked, “When?”
“As soon as this competition is over.”
“You’ll be in Warrenville until you leave for Las Vegas?”
“Yes.” Telling her he was coming back to her felt good, felt liberating. “And I’ll be back as soon as Las Vegas is over.”
She swallowed. “You’re moving back to Warrenville? But...”
“Is my moving back a problem for you?”
“No, but...”
He might feel good, but Taylor looked torn as she said, “But, Jack, you’ll be miserable.”
