by R.S. Grey
“When will you get back?”
“Sometime after dinner.”
I should not be depressed by this, but I am.
“Are you going to start Christine-ing me?”
“Never,” he says, squeezing my hand. “I’ll bring you back a souvenir.”
Now we’re talking. I perk up immediately.
Then, he throws a cherry on top. “And maybe the day after, you and I can go out on a real date, just the two of us.”
“Really? I don’t know…Edith makes a great third wheel, like when she talked about her bunions on the way home? I would have never brought that up on a first date, but I liked the sincerity.”
He laughs at my stupid joke, which means he’s definitely into me.
When we reach the shack, he turns me to face him and hooks his hands around my waist. His fingers barely dip past the hem of my jeans as he squeezes and tugs me toward him.
“So this is good night?”
I tilt my head back to look up at him. His head is framed by stars. Out here, you can see millions of them.
“Or?” I ask, like a shameless flirt.
“Or I could kiss you?”
He’s bending down before he’s even finished the question and the last word is whispered against my lips right before his mouth presses to mine. My insides liquefy. My arms link around his neck, partly because I want to keep him right where he is, and partly because he’s so tall, I sort of have to hoist myself up to reach his lips without straining my neck.
Just like against the front door and in his office, our kisses go straight from zero to sixty. If a scientist stuck an old-fashioned thermometer between us, the mercury would blast straight out of the top.
His hand skims along the side of my breast and my brain says, Yes! Let’s do this, big boy! but he pulls back and presses his forehead to mine.
“It’s just that my meeting is really, really early tomorrow morning, and I have to be on point.”
“That’s okay, we can have sex really quickly.”
He laughs. “I want us to go slow. After everything you’ve been through, I want to be careful.”
“I’m not fragile.” I pinch my forearm to prove my point. “Look, see? That didn’t even hurt.”
He soothes the patch of slightly red skin with his hand. I swoon.
“You could come with me tomorrow?” he continues, obviously noticing how sad I am that he’s leaving.
I smile. “You go. Make all the deals, shake a bunch of hands, sign contracts, kiss babies. I’ll be here, holding down the fort with Edith.”
He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath (like he’s gathering every ounce of resolve inside of him), and then he steps back and releases me.
“So then I’ll see you when I get back?” he asks. “It could be pretty late.”
“I’ll stay up.”
He seems happy about that, stealing one last kiss before he turns back for the farmhouse.
I watch him walk away and a very clear thought flashes in my head like a neon sign. I try to ignore it and it starts glowing even brighter, as if someone flipped a switch to max brightness. I bat the thought away and my brain says, Nice try, then adds exclamation marks. In the end, I have no choice but to acknowledge the intensely blazing thought:
I AM FALLING IN LOVE WITH JACK MCNIGHT!!!!!!!!!
If you’re curious, one day is made up of 24 hours, which is 1,440 minutes, or 84,000 seconds. 86,000 seconds feels like too long to go without Jack. Sure, technically, I went twenty-eight years without him, but now I’m counting seconds. So far, he’s only been gone for 10,800 of them; I have a lot more seconds to live through before he walks through that front door again. Fortunately, life sees fit to make those seconds as interesting as possible.
While I’m scrubbing the upstairs bathroom, an unfamiliar black SUV pulls up on the gravel drive. It catches my attention for two reasons: it’s fancier than any car I’ve seen at Blue Stone Ranch, and it doesn’t park over near the farm trucks. It pulls up right in front of the house. I push to stand and peer out of the bathroom window just in time to see the driver’s side door open and a tall, well-dressed man step out.
My husband, Andrew, has finally decided to come to Texas.
I had a feeling this day would come. I knew he would eventually track me down and show his face. Andrew has built up a large ego in recent years, and I imagine me leaving in the middle of the night was quite a blow to it. He’s either here to demand I come home or to seek some kind of retribution. Either way, he’ll want some kind of apology from me. He loved nothing more than when I groveled at his feet, begging for his forgiveness and love.
I hate the woman he turned me into, and I refuse to revert back to that outdated facsimile of myself—the subordinate housewife, the woman who took his verbal abuse for years without saying a word. I’ve changed.
He’s staring up at the farmhouse with his hands on his hips, a look of disgust contorting his classically handsome face. He spits in the dirt. I move away from the window and whip my rubber gloves off.
I’m surprised; I thought I’d be more nervous than I am. I feel the exact opposite: calm and resolute. I walk out of that bathroom and down the stairs without a moment’s hesitation. I feel like if I unbuttoned my shirt, I’d find a spandex superhero uniform.
I might not have invited him to come, but I’m glad he’s here. I’m glad, because it dawns on me that he probably still thinks I’m the same old Meredith, ready to tremble at the mere sight of him. For the first time in our marriage, he doesn’t know who he’s messing with.
When I make it downstairs, I call out for Edith, but I don’t get a reply. I guess she must have gone into town. Good. I head for the front door. Andrew’s still standing on the gravel drive, apparently waiting for me to make an appearance.
I wonder how different this meeting would be if Jack was here. I doubt he’d let me face Andrew on my own, but that’s exactly what I’m doing. I’m facing my demon all by myself.
It feels better than I imagined it would, similar to how it felt to leave him that night.
The screen door slams behind me as I step outside.
“Morning, Andrew,” I say with an insincere smile.
His piercing gaze snaps to me and I see rage there like I’ve never seen before. I bet he’s pissed he had to come all the way out here to talk to me. He hates wasting time; busy, important men like him never have enough of it.
“Nice of you to make the trip. For a while, I didn’t think you’d bother. How was your flight?” I asked.
My voice is a sugar-dipped cone with whipped cream and a cherry on top.
“Cut the shit, Meredith.”
My smile holds steady. “Manners, Andrew. Remember, you’re in the south now. But, if you’d like to cut to the chase, I have some bad news: I’m not going back to California with you.”
He sneers at the suggestion. “You honestly think I still want you? Look at yourself. Jesus.”
He’s talking about my work clothes, my t-shirt and jean shorts. My hair, which he only ever saw styled and perfect, is in a high ponytail with an abundance of flyaways. I don’t think he’s seen my face without a pound of makeup in a few years.
“Well, you traveled an awfully long way just to tell me I look like shit, though I do recall you always had a flair for the dramatic. What is it that you came to hear? That you ruined my life?”
He laughs acerbically. “Ruined your life?! Ruin—” He shakes his head and pivots on his foot, turning away and wiping his mouth before he jerks back around and points a finger straight at me. “I gave you more than you fucking deserved. You think you’re the only pretty thing worth something? You’re a dime a fucking dozen.”
His words roll off me like I’m wearing insult-repellant gear. “I’ve heard this all before, Andrew. Nothing left in your little bag of tricks?”
Something in him snaps at that. “What did you just say to me?”
My voice is louder when I continue, “You’ve said that s
ame exact thing a million times.” I wave my hand in continuous circles. “I’m ‘a dime a dozen’. Well gather up your dimes, sweetie, and go collect your dozens, because I’m done giving a shit about what you think of me.”
I think he’s going to lose his mind. I’ve never talked to him like this, but he’s more cunning than that. He collects himself so quickly that for the first time all day, a shiver of fear runs down my spine.
“That’s good.” He smirks. “You’ve got a little backbone now, huh? You think you can leave me and make a new life for yourself? Your sister tells me you’re the housekeeper for the guy who lives here. You like cleaning toilets? Mopping floors? If I’d known you liked to be on your knees that much, I wouldn’t have paid all that money to have a maid.”
It’s strange to me that I ever found him attractive. Looking at him now, his sharp bone structure seems too severe—cruel, even.
“Are you whoring yourself out to him too?”
His words hit too close for comfort, but I force a bored expression.
“You almost sound jealous.”
He snorts and angles his head back to the black SUV. I didn’t see her before, but there’s a pretty blonde perched on the front seat watching our exchange. I wonder if she’s one of the girls he slept with during our marriage or if she’s new. Either way, I feel bad for her. Piece of advice for ya: get out while you still can.
Whatever motive inclined him to send those flowers and apologetic note is dead and buried. Her presence is confirmation that Andrew isn’t here to drag me back home with him—that, and the manila envelope clutched in his right hand.
“What’s in the envelope? More love letters?”
“Divorce papers.” He says it like it’s supposed to wound me, so I’m careful not to appear too gleeful. I don’t want him knowing how badly I want out of this marriage. “I figured you’d stay here for a few weeks and then come crawling home, but these weeks without you have been nice. I realized how glad I was to be rid of you. You really were a boring fuck there at the end. I’d like to try my hand with someone who’s a little more appreciative of the life I give them.”
I assume he means the mail-order blonde in the SUV.
“Did you come all the way here just so you could tell me you’re glad to be done with me? You could have just mailed the papers.”
“I was curious to see your new life.” He nods toward the farmhouse. “You think this new guy will want you after he finds out what an ungrateful cunt you are?” He must see me wince because he laughs. “Don’t tell me you have feelings for him?”
His laughter takes a turn for the sinister, and I want to say something, want to tell him to go to hell, but my words die on my lips.
“Jesus Christ, Meredith. You’re pathetic.”
I reach my hand out and speak, but my voice is barely above a whisper. “Give me the papers and leave.”
He holds them against his chest, taunting me. “You should be on your knees thanking me. Do you even realize what I did? I couldn’t wait to be rid of you, so I called in a few favors. If you sign these and get them to my lawyer by Monday, he’ll be able to expedite the process.”
“How long?”
“Four weeks.”
In California, it’s supposed to take six months.
I wonder what kind of strings he had to pull to get rid of me that quickly, but honestly, I don’t care. I’m so excited I want to rip the envelope out of his hands. I won’t though. I don’t want to get that close to him.
“I need to have a lawyer look over everything.”
He smirks. “If you think you’ll be able to squeeze another cent out of me, you’re wrong. We were only married for five years. My lawyer confirmed that you have no leg to stand on. You left me. It looks bad, don’t you think? I’m the doting husband who’s been reaching out to your sister and sending you flowers while you can’t even bother to call me back. In fact, everyone we know has been lovingly referring to you as the gold-digging disappearing act. It has a nice ring to it.”
Just then, his attention cuts behind me as the screen door is thrown open. I glance back to see Edith step out onto the front porch with a shotgun resting by her side.
“There a problem out here?”
“Who the fuck are you?” Andrew snaps. “I’m having a conversation with my wife.”
Edith narrows her eyes and glances thoughtfully into the distance. “Now, see, that’s not how we greet people here in Cedar Creek. Would you like to try that again?”
The door to the SUV opens and the blonde steps out. “Andrew! C’mon, this is stupid. Let’s go.”
“Get back in the car!” he snaps.
I glance to Edith and shake my head. She doesn’t drop the shotgun, though I don’t think she plans on using it. With Edith, though, you never really know.
“I’ll have my lawyer look at the papers and then I’ll sign,” I tell Andrew. “After that, you leave me the hell alone.”
He tosses the envelope in the gravel at his feet and dust puffs up around it.
Even in the end, he couldn’t act like a decent human being. It’s a shame. If he’d just walked over and handed the envelope to me nicely, maybe Edith wouldn’t have cocked the shotgun and fired.
A few pellets ping off a trashcan in the distance and Andrew cowers, hands covering his head.
“Are you fucking insane?!”
Edith reloads the shotgun. “Senility is exceedingly common at my age.”
His girlfriend slams the car door and cowers behind the dash.
Andrew jerks up, eyes blazing. “I’m calling the cops!”
Edith pumps the shotgun. “Good. I’ve got the number for the station if you need it. Petey’ll probably answer. You let him know Edith McKnight’s the one ’bout to fill your sorry ass full of birdshot.”
He curses under his breath and runs for the SUV like he’s concerned she’s going to open fire again. I’m not 100% sure she won’t.
He puts the SUV in reverse and hightails it down the gravel drive. I have no doubt he was serious about calling the cops.
“Think you’ll get in trouble?” I ask, slightly worried.
Edith levels me with a bored stare. “Welcome to Texas, darlin’.”
28
Jack
I’m having lunch in San Antonio with the heads of the grocery chain on Monday afternoon when I get a call from Cedar Creek’s sheriff. I excuse myself and walk outside before answering.
“Pete, what’s going on?”
“Jack, hey. I don’t want to worry you, but I have an Andrew Wilchester down here at the police station wanting to press charges against Edith, spoutin’ off about attempted murder.”
It takes a second for the name to click, but when it does, I see red.
“Wait, wait—say that again. Andrew Wilchester is there now? In Cedar Creek?”
“Got him right outside in the waiting room. Won’t leave until I issue a warrant for Edith’s arrest. From the looks of it, he’s chewing out one of my deputies at this very moment. Better him than me.”
“What’s Edith got to do with anything? Did something happen at the farmhouse?”
“Sounds like it, though I haven’t been able to get the full story from him. He’s real worked up, rambling on and on about how his lawyers are going to take Blue Stone for all it’s worth after locking Edith away. I think he really expects me to march down there and put your grandma in handcuffs. Can you imagine? I think she’d have me cuffed before I got within ten feet of her.”
He’s not making any sense. Why would Edith need handcuffs?
“Pete, start from the beginning. What happened?”
“Andrew showed up wanting to talk to one of your employees—Meredith? Claimed he had some business with her. Apparently Edith didn’t like the look of him, because she may have, well, fired at him with a shotgun.”
Of course she did.
“Did anyone get hurt? How’s Meredith? And Edith?”
“Everyone’s fine, which is wh
y I’m not too worried about this guy causing trouble. I do have an obligation to investigate, so I had Martinez go down to the ranch to take statements. The way this Wilchester guy kept going on, I half figured Edith would blast on him too, but there she was rockin’ on the porch, inviting him inside for some sweet tea and homemade cookies. He’s still over there, gettin’ fat.”
“Good. Keep him there, please, until I get back into town.”
“Should I be worried about this guy?”
“I don’t know, but if Andrew’s that worked up, I don’t want him going back by the house. I’d rather have you keep an eye on him until he settles down.”
“I can’t hold him here, but I can stall him.”
“I can probably make it to the station in an hour at the most.”
“You don’t think it’s a better idea for you to head back to Blue Stone?”
“I just need five minutes with him.”
He lowers his voice. “Now listen, I don’t consider Edith to be a threat to public safety, and besides, she was defending her own property, but if you hit him inside the station, we’ll have to book you.”
“Then tell him to wait outside the station.”
“Jack,” he warns, but I’m already heading back inside to excuse myself from the rest of lunch.
That drive back to Cedar Creek is a blessing and a curse—a blessing because it gives me time to cool down from my initial rage that Andrew had the audacity to show up on my property unannounced, a curse because that calmness doesn’t last long. I have time to rebuild my anger a dozen times over, right up until I whip my truck into a parking spot at the police station beside a fancy black SUV.
When I walk inside, Andrew’s still there, pacing in the waiting room like a caged animal. He’s shouting about the “damn hillbilly police force wasting his time” and I don’t hesitate. I don’t think of the consequences. I think of the night Meredith drunkenly opened up to me about the abuse she sustained over the years, the twisted manipulated hold this sick fuck had over her, and I march right up to him and sock him square in the face.
