The Choices I've Made
Page 17
Unfortunately, my ankle still hadn’t healed, a consequence of my inability to follow directions from an overbearing albeit hot doctor, so literally every damn step I took was a constant reminder of him.
But I refused to see someone about it.
Particularly since the only doctor in town was the same man I was currently trying to avoid.
Life had been so much easier a few weeks ago.
But happier?
I wasn’t so sure.
What I was sure of was my dwindling supply of produce. I’d had a full house over the last few days, and I’d depleted nearly every fruit and veggie I had, fresh and otherwise.
This meant only one thing—a trip to Terri’s.
Jake’s next-door neighbor.
I let out a sigh, grabbing my purse from my dresser. Taking one last look in the mirror, I tucked my light-blonde hair behind my face, noticing a faint tan across the bridge of my nose and brow from weeding the garden earlier that day. I had to admit, it wasn’t half bad. The gray shorts and flowy top hugged my curves but not too tight. The floral shirt gave the slightest hint of cleavage without appearing too revealing.
My sister had dragged me out into town to one of the few places with clothes that didn’t have the words Ocracoke or Outer Banks written all over them and talked me into several new things. Although I’d stomped my feet and pouted, demanding we had completely opposite style preferences, I was actually enjoying what she’d picked out.
For once, glancing in the mirror, I didn’t look like a rushed maniac in three-year-old flip-flops and a messy topknot. I’d never taken stock in my appearance, always believing it was what you put out, what you did in this world, that truly mattered.
But I’d never thought about how my appearance affected that.
Before my guests arrived, sure, I’d clean up a little, but did I represent my business well enough? Surely, when Millie went in to visit clients, she was polished to a high-gloss shine, and her company expected no less.
So, why was I selling myself short?
My business deserved more.
Hell, I deserved more.
Feeling a new sense of purpose, I headed out the door, ready for anything.
Even if it meant running into a hot doctor along the way.
My newfound confidence died a little when I drove past the dull blue house. Since Jake had left, the once-vivid hue had faded into something sad and tragic.
It perfectly summed up the Jameson family.
Pulling into the gravel driveway, I turned to the right, giving the green car that was already parked there room to back out.
Terri was a busy woman.
I waited in my car, playing a game of solitaire, while she finished up with her client—a local restaurant owner who was avid over supporting local businesses. Terri’s small supply couldn’t keep up with his business but it was the thought that counted. She repaid him with frequent visits to his restaurant with, of course, plenty of suggestions regarding his recipes.
Once they were through, I gave a quick wave as he pulled away, and I headed for the door.
“Please tell me he didn’t take all the good stuff,” I said, placing my purse by the front door.
She closed the screen door behind me, leaving the heavy wooden one open to let in the spring breeze. It felt heavenly—something I’d miss when summer rolled around.
“Nah,” she muttered, leading me through the front foyer and toward the kitchen. “He just likes to come over and charm me, I think. He never buys more than a bag of corn most weeks.”
“Maybe he thinks you’re cute,” I said with a wink, laughing.
“Oh, hush yourself. That man is young enough to be my son!”
“He is not,” I replied. “He’s older than my daddy, which makes him nearly the same age as you!”
“Ah, well, what would he want an old broad like me for?” she said, making herself busy. She’d already pulled out two tall glasses and an ice-cold pitcher of sweet tea.
She never asked if you wanted some. She just served, and you were expected to drink it and the forty-seven cups of sugar she’d dumped in there.
“What do you mean, old broad? And what’s wrong? You look tired.” It was something I’d noticed since the moment she opened the door. It was subtle, a hand at her waist, as if she were covering a pain, bags under her eyes where there weren’t any before.
For once, she looked her age.
“Just a bit under the weather.”
Just a bit?
“Leave it to you to downplay everything. Do me a favor and visit Jake at the clinic. He’s there full-time now.”
She let out a laugh, still holding on to her side as she sat down in the seat next to me. We each took long sips of our tea, and I tried not to die from sugar shock.
“You and I both know that boy is not here full-time. He checked out a long time ago.”
My heart tightened. “I know,” I replied. “Has he been around?” I asked, my attention turning toward the house next to hers.
“No,” she answered. “Not since that first day I found him in the garden. I thought he was with you. Something happen?”
I bit my lip. “Let’s just say, we decided it wasn’t a good idea.”
A snicker fell from the old woman’s lips. “Was that before or after you rattled the bedposts?”
“What?” My eyes widened in shock.
“Oh, please. Do you think I’m dumb, young lady? Do you know how many times I saw you two making out in the back of his pickup when you were supposed to be studying at the school or running errands for your mama?”
My checks reddened.
“You’ve had it bad for each other for as long as anyone can remember. It was just a matter of time before you landed back in the sack like two horny teenagers again.”
“You’re quite the spy, Miss Terri,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief.
“I might be old, but I’m sharp as a tack. Always have been. That’s why I’m so disappointed in you for giving yourself to that boy after all he’s done.”
“I didn’t,” I said, protesting.
Her hand left her side, reaching out for mine. “He’s not going to stay, Molly. You know that, don’t you?”
I nodded sadly.
“Do you? Because I see you nodding your head, but I know you don’t believe it in your heart. I can see it in your eyes. You truly believe, somewhere deep inside, you can change his mind. But the thing is, that boy is broken. And, until he figures out a way to fix himself, ain’t no one gonna be enough. Not even you. Are you ready to chase after him? All the way to Chicago?”
I didn’t say much after that, the weight of her words settling around me like boulders.
Was she right?
Did I really think he was going to stay? That, somehow, in the eleventh hour, he’d change his mind, show up at my doorstep, and declare his everlasting love for me?
A single tear fell down my cheek as she bagged up a few of my usual things.
I did.
Dear God, I truly did.
She bid me good-bye, saving the usual banter for another time. She knew I’d seen the light, and it would take time to process.
Unfortunately, processing time would have to wait.
Because, the moment I stepped out of Terri’s, I came face-to-face with Jake.
“JAKE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING here?” Molly asked, her hands full of leafy greens and bright-colored fruit.
She was still on the porch, her long legs in perfect view, as I stood below her in the clothes I’d worn to the clinic—a collared shirt and a pair of jeans. I’d given up on business wear around the second day when the old ladies from my parents’ church kept pinching my cheeks, telling me how cute I looked.
“Came to see Terri,” I said before taking a deep breath. “That’s a lie. I was driving by my dad’s house. I’ve been doing it every day since I got here. But I never stop. I just drive past like a creepy stalker. Or a coward. Take your pick.”
> “You’re not a coward,” she said, stepping down to my level. She looked different today. It was a good different once again. Her hair was down, something I hadn’t seen in a while. The sun-bleached sections brought out the blue in her eyes, even in the dim light of the fading sunset.
“I feel like it. It’s just a house, Mols. Just two-by-fours, nails, and a bunch of old paint. Why is this so hard?”
“You and I know it’s more than that, Jake. Maybe you’re not ready.”
I snorted, taking several of the canvas bags off her hands. She didn’t object.
“You should tell that to my back. After sleeping in my dad’s office for the last few nights, I’m ready to check in to a hotel like a tourist.”
She laughed. “You’d never live that one down.”
I nodded. “I know. That is why I’m here. Or at least, it’s why I was driving by, doing my creepy-stalker thing again. And then I saw your car, and I found myself stopping.”
“You two had better get off my porch if you’re gonna keep staring at each other like that! Otherwise, I’ll get out the hose!” Terri hollered from her front door.
We both turned to see her giving us an appraising gaze, which we knew meant she wasn’t kidding. At least about the hose part. We scooted across the driveway and toward our cars.
Suddenly, Molly turned around, holding the two bags she had left. “Let me make you dinner.”
“What?” I said.
“You need to get in that house, Jake. You can’t keep avoiding it, and you can’t sleep in your dad’s office forever. We’ll address the fact that you still refer to it as your dad’s place later, but for now, I’m going to go into that house and make dinner. You can either follow me or drive around a couple more times.”
She walked a few paces, leaving me shocked and stunned, before turning around again. Holding out her free hand in front of me, she sheepishly said, “Key, please.”
I swallowed deeply, unsure if I was ready for this. Digging down into my pocket, my fingers gripped the cold steel of the house key and presented it to her.
“Thank you. Oh, and when you finally decide to come inside, bring those bags with you, will you? I’d like to make a tart.”
I looked down at the bags I had with several different fruits inside, and suddenly, the dread of what I was about to attempt lightened a little.
Nothing could be that bad when a tart was involved, right?
It took me a good fifteen minutes to reach the threshold of the old place. Sweat dripped down my forehead, and my hands shook. I was a fucking disaster. I seriously contemplated whether I was having a mental breakdown as I thought back to my psych rotation all those years ago in my residency.
Nope, probably not. Just stress.
Serious stress brought on by a crazy, hot blonde who was currently humming to herself in my parents’ kitchen as she casually caramelized onions and sautéed garlic.
I wasn’t sure what I was going to do to her first.
Kiss her or kill her.
Probably neither, as I’d most likely be hurling my guts in the pink powder room down the hall once I finally got up the balls to enter.
“Gonna really need those peaches soon, Jakey,” she crooned, like this was the most normal thing in her day. Like badgering me into this place was common practice.
“I know what you’re doing, Mols. I’m not dumb.”
She ignored me and continued humming.
“Anyone tell you that you’re a horrible singer?” I hollered loud enough that Terri next door could probably hear.
“Anyone ever tell you that you’re not very nice when you get scared?”
“I’m not scared.”
“Mmhmm,” she said, her voice getting closer. “You look pretty damn scared. Are you sweating?”
“It’s hot out here,” I lied.
“Take my hand,” she instructed, holding it out in front of me.
I did as I had been told, placing my large hand in hers. It felt warm and safe, like the sunset on your face after a long day.
“Tell me something good, Jake. A memory. Not the bad stuff you’re trying to push deep down inside, but the good ones. I know you have plenty. Pick one.”
“I can’t do this,” I said, my deep voice cracking, as I pulled away.
Her fierce grip tightened. “You can. You will,” she encouraged. “It’s just one memory, Jake.”
Every fiber of my being was telling me to run. Every memory in my head was anything but cheerful.
The day I had come home to an empty house, only to run outside and find Terri rushing to find me, was the only time I’d seen that old woman cry, apologizing for having to deliver the news of my mother’s death since my father was too torn up to do so himself.
The years of slow, torturous neglect. My father had never been a sloppy drunk. Never an abusive father or husband. He’d never made a scene in public and always stayed sober enough for work. He’d played the part so well and for so long, he deserved an award.
My father had covered his addiction well. But we had known.
My mother, Terri…and me. We all had known.
“I can see it in your eyes, Jake. Those are not happy memories you’re drumming up.” She squeezed my hand harder. “Come on, try. For me.” A sweet smile spread across her face. “Dinner will burn if you don’t.”
I took a deep breath, nodding, as I gathered what little strength I had left. With one hand wrapped around Molly like a lifeline and the other braced against the doorframe, I willed myself back.
Back to a time I’d soon rather forget because to do otherwise hurt so bad, I could barely stand it.
“Milkshakes,” I finally said.
“What?” She laughed, her hand still firmly in mine.
I rubbed my thumb over hers, clinging to the connection.
“I’m going to need a little more detail.”
“When I was younger—well, honestly, ever since I can remember—my mom, like most Cokers around here, and I would have to make frequent trips up the coast for things we couldn’t get here.”
“Naturally. It isn’t exactly normal—how we live around here. Keep talking.”
“Well, those were our days—just mom and me. We’d hop the early morning ferry and drive up to Nags Head to one of the few big department stores, and every time, she’d take me out for lunch. But not any kind of lunch.”
“Fast food,” we both said in unison.
Shaking my head, I looked up at her with a wide grin. “Seems silly now,” I said. “I hardly touch the stuff. But, for that ten-year-old boy stuck on an island that didn’t even have a grocery store, let alone a McDonald’s, it was like going to Disneyland for me.”
Her smile warmed, our eye contact never wavering.
“Look down,” she whispered.
My gaze shifted, and my breath caught. While I’d been going on about long drives up the coast and fast food, I’d stepped over the threshold.
Without even noticing it.
“See? That wasn’t too hard, was it?” she said. “Now, take off those dirty shoes and help me in the kitchen, will you?”
I watched her walk away, the warmth of her touch still radiating in my fingertips.
She’d done it.
Maybe home wasn’t so bad after all.
“Worried about things burning, huh?” I said the moment we walked into the kitchen, noticing immediately that she’d shut off all the burners on the stove.
“Do you think I’m stupid? I didn’t know how long it’d take to get you in here. I wasn’t about to ruin a perfectly good dinner—or worse, cause a fire over you.”
“Thanks,” I grumbled, taking a seat at the old wooden table where I used to eat my Rice Krispies. The familiar click, click, click of the gas stove sounded as she relit the burners and continued her relentless dinner preparations.
“Why are you doing this? Going to all this trouble? Sitting next to me at my father’s funeral?” I asked, taking my time to look around.
And one solitary photo of my mother and me.
My eyes squeezed shut as I turned away.
“Because that’s what friends do for each other,” she said quietly.
My eyes opened back up, focusing on her. She swayed back and forth, bringing her sautéed onions and garlic back to life, and then she began the process of chopping vegetables.
“Is that what we are now? Friends?”
Her knife stopped, and she turned. “I hope so. I mean, if we can’t be anything else, Jake, we can at least be there for each other now.”
I nodded, unable to find any fault in her logic.
Except that I didn’t want to be just friends with Molly.
I never had.
Even in elementary school, when flirting had consisted of chasing girls around the playground, I’d always found myself getting jealous when other boys picked on her, knowing they had secret crushes on her as well.
Molly had always been mine.
“Friends,” I finally said, not knowing what else to say. “I guess we’ll give it a go.”
She didn’t seem convinced, and neither did I, but we carried on. After a few minutes of catching my breath after my terrifying battle with the front door, I rose from my place at the table and decided to help.
“What can I do?” I asked, not really understanding what she was doing, but hating the idea of sitting around while she waited on me.
“Well, I’m making a simple pasta,” she explained. “It’s all I could come up with based on what I had from Terri and what little was left in your dad’s kitchen.”
An audible pause was felt.
“Anyway,” she carried on, “if you could continue chopping the tomatoes, I’ll get started on the pasta.”
“Sure.” I did my best to dice several homegrown tomatoes just like Molly had. “So, I take it, you don’t use tomato sauce from a can?” I could feel her eyes on me as she watched.