by Inez Kelley
“Fuck you, Frannie.”
The force of the door slam rattled the windows and shook the lampshades. Frannie didn’t jump. Her soul was too busy screaming. Shoulders slumped in defeat, she heard the screeching peal of his tires as he gunned the motor. He was gone. It was over.
Stiffly, she walked straight to the bathroom and threw up.
Chapter Eleven
“I was born when she kissed me.
I died when she left me.
I lived a few weeks while she loved me.”
—Dixon Steele in In A Lonely Place
“Screw Bedford Falls, screw George Bailey and screw Zuzu’s petals.”
Jinx saluted the TV with his Irish coffee—light on the coffee, heavy on the Irish. Sitting in the same seat for hours, he’d stared unseeing at the mindless flashing pictures. The Boys, awake only minutes, had wandered in and flipped to the holiday classic. From the floor, Derek, still sleep tousled and groggy, peered at him with a bemused look.
“And a Merry Christmas to you, too. Feeling a little humbuggish, Uncle Jay?”
Matthew kicked him with a warning expression and shook his head. Great, I’m being pitied by a bunch of teenagers in their pajamas. How fucking pathetic.
Grit and exhaustion made his eyes itch and he rubbed them fiercely. He wondered if having a real drink before nine in the morning after you’ve had your heart torn out was considered bad etiquette. Somehow he doubted Emily Post ever discussed that particular situation. However, he was pretty sure being drunk would ruin Christmas morning for everyone.
In the kitchen, his mother and sister were whispering and he knew he was the topic of conversation. When he’d come home last night, they’d been waiting up for him, eagerly awaiting his announcement. His mother, God love her, had taken one look at him and sent everyone to bed so he wouldn’t have to deal with pity on top of heartbreak.
The silence had been almost too much to bear. The night stretched too long and his mind filled with images of Frannie—Frannie laughing in her kitchen, Frannie snuggled in his bed, Frannie naked in the bath. A hole existed where his heart used to be. He’d finally given up on sleep and sat staring at infomercials all night long. Frannie had said fate was a twisted little shit and damned if she wasn’t right. The bastard had showed him Happily Ever After twice and both times snatched it out from under his nose.
A smooth, cold bump on the hand covering his eyes made him look up. Alex, still unshaven and hair all askew, handed him a straight shot of whiskey. Understanding shone in the young man’s eyes and Jinx bit the inside of his jaw. Merry Fucking Christmas.
Tossing back the liquor, he grimaced. Screw Emily Post, too.
{
She hadn’t cried. She was strong. This was for the best. She would make it.
After vomiting until she dry heaved, Frannie had washed her face, cleaned up the torn wrapping paper and sat on the couch. The diamond ring winked at her and she shoved it under the tree skirt with her foot. She wasn’t ready to touch it yet. The bed seemed too far to travel and she was too drained to move, so she lay on the sofa. Still dressed, she slipped into a dreamless, numb sleep.
Sunlight brought no reprieve from her gloom. Dry eyes blinked against the harsh winter light that woke her. Steve and Tracey would be there any time so she started brunch. Still in last night’s clothes, she was on automatic. Whipping eggs and making pancakes, she kept her mind blank. Every time her thoughts slid to coal black eyes, she yanked them back, berated herself and moved along. She could do this.
She was perfectly fine until Steve and Tracey came up her walkway holding hands. The simple gesture of love was her undoing. Dropping Tracey’s hand, Steve ran up the steps and caught her just as she collapsed in harsh racking tears.
She cried in the hallway.
She cried into the living room.
She cried through her story.
She cried through a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.
She cried through a hot toddy.
She cried.
And then she cried some more.
“Want me to go beat him up for you?” Steve’s lighthearted question made her cry through her half-laugh.
“No. I’m the one who hurt him. He didn’t hurt me.”
“You made sure of that.” Tracey’s low comment was barely audible. She was sitting on the floor, cross-legged, staring into the antique doll’s face. Her black hair was spiky and wild, like a rabid porcupine. The chunky sweater and tight leather pants gave her a whimsical biker-meets-Junior-League look. But her eyes, those older-than-Methuselah eyes, were cold.
Frannie wiped her runny nose. “What are you talking about?”
Ice blue eyes snapped to Steve with a measuring look. He must have given her some unreadable sign because she turned her gaze on Frannie. “You just piss me off, that’s all. Loverboy worshipped the ground you walked on and you tossed him aside. For what? Because of some screwed-up message your asshole ex-husband pounded into your head? You’re better than that, Frannie. Loverboy loves you despite the fact you were a crabby bitch to him most of the time. All this sanctimonious crap about how it was for his own good’s a copout. You’re scared shitless. You want a guarantee of a happy ending. Well, maybe Happily Ever After is asking too much of any one man. Maybe you have to settle for Happy Enough For Now.”
Shocked and wounded, Frannie felt her lips curl into an ugly grimace. “You don’t understand. When he leaves—”
“What if he doesn’t? What if you have ten happy years with him before it ends? What if he gets hit by a bus before he walks out on you? I understand about fear, but damn it, Frannie, face it head-on, don’t run from it before it happens.”
“Tracey, I can’t be his Cinderella. It’d be a lie. I can’t stand to have him look at me and think, ‘What in the hell did I ever see in her?’”
Carefully Tracey picked up the doll and held it out to Frannie. “He saw his destiny. Even if you don’t believe it, he did.”
Unable to breathe, Frannie blew her nose and let Tracey’s words circle her brain. Jinx had believed he loved her. He believed it with his entire being. That was why her words had hurt so much. He believed. But could she?
Seated at her feet, Steve ran his hand over her bent knee. Silent support shone in his eyes. “Tracey’s right, Fran. You know you love Jinx. He says he loves you. All you have to do is decide to believe him.”
If she allowed herself to believe in Jinx’s love, she opened the door to so many things—love, happiness, marriage. But also to rejection, pain and emptiness. That step seemed so scary.
Deep in her agonized thoughts, Frannie barely noticed when Tracey and Steve headed for the kitchen. The muted sounds of the microwave, low conversation and the scrape of cutlery didn’t penetrate her mind. Stuck in a loop of memories, she clutched her chest and curled into the couch. Tears were beyond her now. She had no more. Now all she had was an empty ache. Phantom pain. She sighed. A wound that hurts because it’s missing.
A set of knees drew her gaze. Steve squatted down beside her and stroked her hair. Warm and large, his hands brought a sudden flash of Jinx stroking her hair last night and her eyes filled again. I miss him so much. Wordlessly, Steve picked up the doll and laid it on the pillow beside her head.
“Cinderella risked getting into a coach made out of a pumpkin, in a dress made out of air and only had one dance with Prince Charming. But it paid off.”
The smooth porcelain face that stared back at her was her own, stuck in a permanent pout. It held her attention as Steve slipped away. She was going to end up just like that doll. Lifeless but intact, with a few battle scars to show she was once loved. The thought sent fear racing through her veins. Reaching out, she hugged the doll close. Could she lie well enough to pull off a temporary fairytale?
Scents of coffee, bacon and potatoes assaulted her nose. She shuffled into the kitchen, still clutching the doll. Her friends’ eyes jerked to hers and she drew a shaky breath.
“I want hi
m. For as long as he wants me, I want the fairytale. If he’ll take me back, that is. Somehow, I have to convince him I do love him. Some of the things I said last night… I hurt him.”
Steve plopped his plate down with a thunk before taking her in his arms. “He’ll take you back. Or I will beat him up.”
The humorous remark was what she needed and she snorted into his shoulder. Tracey grabbed her hands and dragged her to a chair. Whipping around the kitchen like a Tasmanian devil, she poured coffee, slapped food on a plate and shoved it at Frannie.
“Eat, you look like shit. Then tell me what you have planned. If you really busted his balls, you have some major crawling to do.”
Mouth full of cold toast and lukewarm coffee, she froze. Her decision was so new she hadn’t thought of anything else.
Correctly reading the bewilderment on Frannie’s face, Tracey rolled her eyes. “You have to really show him you mean business. Dramatically. The man gave you a unicorn and you rejected him. That alone deserves some humiliation on your part.”
Mind racing, Frannie nibbled more cold toast. One wacky idea popped into her head and she pushed it away. It came back. Even though she shied away from it, it stomped its foot, demanding she pay attention. Jinx deserved to see her crawl. Sighing in defeat, she accepted it.
“I’m going to give him his Cinderella.”
Interest sparked in Tracey’s eyes. Frannie explained and with each word the sparkle grew until she was hopping in her chair. With a squeal, she bounded to the phone to make some quick arrangements with friends.
Quieter, more solid, Steve sat beside her and squeezed her hand. Steady support flowed from his skin to hers. “It’ll work out. He does love you. I really believe that.”
“I don’t.” Swallowing her fear before it erupted again, Frannie straightened her shoulders. “I don’t believe it. I still think he’s deluding himself and will wake up one day. But I love him and that might be enough. And if not, well, I’ll just have to deal with whatever happens.”
“How are you going to make Jinx think you believe him?” he asked.
“She’ll fake it,” Tracey announced, flouncing to her side. “Women fake it all the time. Men are clueless. Now, go shower. I have to run home and get some stuff but I’ll be right back.”
Hope built in her chest. Frannie was halfway up her stairs when she heard Steve’s question.
“You fake it?”
{
He went through the motions. Christmas morning seemed like a never-ending cycle of fake smiles, forced laughter and yawning despair. Although he loved his family, he wanted them to leave. Wanted nothing more than to be alone to cave in to the searing pain eating his gut. The adults tried to hide pitying looks but he saw them. The teens were less aware but still treated him the same as they did after September 11—cautious, careful, fearful of upsetting him, as if he was teetering on the edge of insanity.
Smart kids.
When the last gift had been opened, he escaped to his bedroom. The dark soothed his burning eyes but did little for his dying heart. The bed stretched for miles, empty without Frannie. Arm across his eyes, he tried to forget.
“Honey, are you okay?”
No, I’m not. I’m a walking dead man.
Biting his lip against the sharp retort, he nodded. “Yeah, Mom, I’ll be all right.”
The mattress dipped as she sat beside him. For one brief panicky moment, Jinx felt his hold on everything quiver. He wanted to bury his head in his mother’s lap and bawl like a kindergartner with a scraped knee. But it would do no good. No amount of magic mommy kisses, Band-Aids and popsicles would bring Frannie back. Broken hearts only bled on the inside. In the knowing way mothers have, she didn’t say anything. She just rubbed his arm, kissed his forehead and then left the room, closing the door with a soft bump.
Punching the pillow, Jinx rolled onto his side. The unique scent that was Frannie in the throes of passion assaulted him. Heady and intoxicating, the sexual fragrance seeped deep in his brain. His body reacted even as his heart screamed. The smell triggered the memory of her in his bed after McGee’s party. He thought something special had happened that night. He’d really thought she let him into her soul.
He thought she’d say “yes”.
Pain he could handle, he’d proven that before. God, Becca’s death had nearly killed him. But Frannie…Frannie was worse. She had the power to change things and didn’t. She was too afraid. Afraid of what? He couldn’t figure it out. What the hell had screwed her up so bad that she couldn’t trust herself enough to trust him? According to Steve her ex hadn’t hit her. He’d cheated but how could that scare her? There had to be a reason for Frannie pushing him away.
His heart skipped a beat.
Unless Frannie really didn’t love him.
No. He refused to believe that. She did. And it pissed him off that she couldn’t admit it.
Hot and blinding fury rushed through him. Jumping up, he yanked the blankets, the sheets and the pillows from the bed. With a grunt, he pitched everything into the bathroom and slammed the door. His body shook like a dog passing razor blades and he fought the urge to punch a hole in the wall. A few cleansing breaths and he was able to turn away from the door. Unfortunately he knew from experience that heartbreak is harder to repair than drywall.
He drifted into an uneasy sleep on a bare mattress.
{
“Tracey, this is the most hideous dress I have ever seen. Dear Gawd, it has mutton sleeves. Where on earth did you find it?”
“My neighbor’s sister had to wear it as a bridesmaid a couple years ago. Kinda freaky retro, isn’t it?”
“Tracey! It’s powder blue organza with rhinestone accents. It looks like a cotton candy factory exploded!”
“Yeah, it’s perfect.”
“Don’t move, Frannie. I just about have the pins finished.”
“Your neighbor’s sister wears a double-D cup, doesn’t she?”
“Oh, quit moaning. At least she didn’t have lice.”
“Ouch. These are too tight, Tracey. What size shoe do you wear, a five?
“They’re a seven. Suck it up, buttercup. Clear jellies are the closest thing to glass slippers I could find. It is Christmas Day, ya know.”
“Good Gawd, I think a tiara’s overkill, Trace.”
“Hey, if you are going to crawl, you gotta crawl in style. Hand me a bobby pin.”
“I have to wear a coat, Tracey. It’s ten degrees outside.”
“Cinderella didn’t wear a parka, toots.
“Cinderella was a cartoon! She didn’t freeze and turn blue!”
“Look at it this way. Your skin will match your dress.”
“Okay, Frannie. Steve’s got the car—er, pumpkin warmed up. Time to go to the ball.”
“Wait. In my bedroom. In the brown suitcase. There are sneakers. I need one.”
“Geez, give a woman a tiara and she turns in to a bossy-assed queen.”
“Tracey, don’t push me. I’m swaddled in pinned organza, my feet are pinched, I’m about to make a mammoth fool of myself and you won’t even let me have my coat. If I snap, it won’t be pretty.”
“No, but you could get off on an insanity plea.”
{
The fragrance of Christmas dinner wafted in the air. Normally Jinx loved his mother’s holiday meals but the thought of food turned his stomach. Matthew had tried to draw him into a video game but it held no appeal. Rachel tried to get him to drink some florally hot tea and his dad kept squeezing his arm as he passed by.
Pity sucks.
Only Mike seemed to understand what he felt. His brother had pulled him outside in the freezing cold and told him to go for a run. Escaping the house sounded like a good idea at the time so he went. At first, he just jogged, slow, easy, barely breaking a sweat. But before he knew it, he was running full tilt to nowhere, legs burning, arms pumping, sneakers skimming icy patches, not caring if he fell. Perspiration streamed down his chest and back, chilling him thro
ugh his sweatshirt as an internal volcano of misery churned. Sweat stung his eyes, blinding him, but he didn’t care.
Whether he was chasing demons or running from them, he didn’t know. But he pushed harder, seeking the blind numbness of exhaustion. He wanted the adrenalin and endorphins to push Frannie out of his heart. He left familiar territory and ran into the outlying area. The sun peaked and started to slip into decline and still he ran. Faster. Furious. Suffering. Pain shot through his legs and he eked out one last burst of speed, propelling himself across an empty school lot. The forlorn building sat silently, waiting for the laugh of happy children. He aimed his path directly at it. Brick bit into his skin as he collapsed, shoulder against the wall.
The wall seemed so solid, so immovable. It pissed him off. Brick walls. Screw brick walls, every single one of them, especially the one Frannie had built around her heart. Focusing every bit of leftover frustration at the stone, he screamed a primal wordless tone. He banged and kicked the bricks, leaving flakes and scrapes of skin behind. The pain was minor compared to his anguish so he continued until one last microspasm of energy erupted with a soft sob.
The brick wall stood firm.
Harsh breath sent billows of mist upward as he slid to the frozen ground. Head on his crossed arms, knees shaking with fatigue and sudden cold, he gulped great freezing breaths. It hadn’t worked. His heart might be beating furiously but it still felt. It still ached. The crunch of snow pulled his attention up. Mike stood a few feet away, hands tucked inside his coat pockets. The look on his lined face wasn’t pity. It was commiseration.
“You were hard to follow. Come on.” He motioned with his head. “I brought the car. Figured you wouldn’t want to walk all the way back home.”
