Jenna looked down at her wrist for a split second and glanced at her tattoo. The back wheels of the car shifted against the ice, and the car slid a bit, but Jenna gained control of the car again. Her heart sped up.
"Damn tattoo."
She didn't know if she would keep the tattoo or get it covered up, or maybe she would get rid of it. It was a reminder of Darren, but maybe as time went on, she could imagine that it was just a heart, and everybody has a heart, right? Everyone deserves love, and if she could imagine that's what her tattoo represented, the simplicity of love, then maybe it could stay.
She took one final turn and there it was, Carina's. Her heart began to quicken again, but for different reasons. She was nervous, and excited and scared. She was hoping for wonderful things.
She was hoping for Clay.
Jenna pulled into Carina's, parked the car and got out. There were four cars in the small lot. None of them belonged to Clay.
"Please, please, please," she said to no one in particular.
At the front door, she took a deep breath. Then she opened it and even though the smells of fresh bread and pies filled the air, it did not calm her queasy stomach.
A hostess greeted her at the front, looking fresh-faced and expectant and so young. Behind her, she saw Carina in a wheel chair, with her leg propped up. Jenna smiled at her, sure she wouldn't remember her.
"How many?" the hostess asked.
"Oh, I'm here for… I'm looking for Clay."
Carina rolled the wheelchair over to her. "Jenna, right?"
She was surprised she had remembered her. "Yes, how are you? You broke your leg?"
"Yep, slipped and fell on some damn ice. You looking for Clay?" Carina asked. "Or did you come for lunch this time?"
Jenna looked around the small restaurant. She didn't want to be rude and say no, so she said, "I needed to talk to Clay first, actually."
"He's out back. Do you want to wait? I can have someone get you some tea? I think he went to grab some ice in the freezer," Carina offered.
"Oh, that's okay, I'll come back later." Jenna smiled and turned to go.
Outside, she exhaled. Jenna willed her heart to slow down. "Be calm, be calm," she said aloud. But she knew she wasn't going to leave without finding Clay.
To her right, around the back of Carina's she saw what looked like a shed and imagined that must be where they kept the freezer. She rushed toward the shed and saw the door was open a few inches. She took a breath and yanked the heavy door open wide. The shed smelled like freshly fallen snow mixed with something a bit stale, but also it smelled of crushed blackberries. It was dark inside and she had to blink a few times for her eyes to adjust from the sunlight outside, but then she saw him. He was leaning into a large industrial freezer, his back to her, reaching down to grab something.
"I'll be right in!" he said. "Go back, it's freezing out here."
She exhaled, heart pounding.
"Clay?"
She could see that he tensed up, but he didn't move.
And she didn't move. Because him not moving was a signal that she couldn't read. Was he mad that she was here? It felt like forever. Waiting. She was cold, and her heart was pulsing in her ears and all she wanted to do was go to him and have him hold her but she couldn't make another move. It was almost like a stand-off. The waiting… waiting to see what would happen next.
Finally he lowered the bag of ice he had been holding and turned to look at her.
"How'd you know I was here?"
"The bartender, Patrick, he told me."
"So you know?"
"Know what?"
"Why I'm here?"
"You're helping Carina because she broke her leg."
He moved toward Jenna now, slowly, his eyes focused completely on her, and it was as if nothing else in the world mattered. Yes, she had lost her mother and grieved the loss every day, and yes, she had been dealing with a life-threatening disease. She and her sister had had the shock of their lives, something that could have torn them apart if their relationship wasn't as strong as it was. Jenna had been through so much in such a short time, but right now, none of that mattered.
All of that was swept away because of the moment that was about to happen.
Clay stepped closer to her now, and was inches away from her. It was so cold in the shed that their breath clung to the air like tiny ice clouds. He was so close to her she could see the green specks in his hazel eyes.
He repeated his question, "You do know why I'm here?"
"Carina. She broke her leg."
"I'm helping my mother because she broke her leg."
And then Clay was touching her, holding onto her shoulders gently, as if this bit of new information might cause her to react unfavorably.
Jenna's eyes grew wide and she swallowed hard.
"Your mother?"
"When I met you, I thought you were everything. I felt it that night we met at Klippy's. I couldn't stand the thought of you being with Darren. I did my best to be a friend, because I thought that's what you wanted. If I could only be your friend, then I would take that. I've only taken one other girl to meet my mom, and she ended up… well, that didn't matter. I wanted my mom to meet you, but you were still unsure about everything, and I didn't want you to be pressured by me asking you to meet my mom."
He paused. "She adored you by the way."
Jenna's smile spread wide across her face. "So that's how you know so much about the café, and how you know all the trails and about the frozen blueberries, and everything about the property? It's all your family's place?"
Clay nodded. "Carina's Café is my mom's place, and someday it will be mine."
Clay tightened his arms around Jenna and she placed her hands on top of his shoulders. When they exhaled, their breath made clouds of air, and the closer he moved his face to hers, the clouds turned warm and disappeared.
"You're really here," he said. "You came here for me?"
The pounding in her ears had lessened, but her heart still thumped fast.
"I'm here," she said, and then, "If you want me here?"
"Yes."
"Yes?" she asked.
"Absolutely yes. I want you here," he said.
Clay placed his cold hands on either side of her cheeks, and her heart slowed to a steady pace. As he looked into her eyes, she thought about what had transpired. She had lost her mother, who had given her so much – a sister she might have never had whom she loved with an indescribable fierceness. And Courtney – because of Helena's unselfishness – had been given the greatest gift of all – life and a family. And now, here Jenna was, with the man she loved, who obviously was a devoted loving son to his own mother. What gifts all their mothers had bestowed upon them. How lucky were they all to know that what had been left to them by their mothers was the gift to love immensely and to share that love.
Jenna smiled.
Clay took one hand away from her cheek and placed it on the back of her neck. He kissed her softly, and then pulled away slowly.
"Come on inside," Clay said, pulling her tightly to him. "I want to properly introduce you to my mom. She's going to love you just as much as I do."
The End
Before The Beginning
An Excerpt
Coming Summer 2013
“However far away, I will always love you.”
Love Song – The Cure
1988
What Marnie Remembers
Don’t go any lower, don’t go any lower. Oh my God, that feels so good, don’t go any lower.
“Stop.”
“Why?”
“Because, it feels too good.”
He looked up at her and smiled. A smile that took her breath away, and scared her all at the same time.
“Plus, I don’t even know your name.” She thought it started with a J.
“I told you. It’s Joe. And you’re Marnie.”
October 2004
The whole process irritated the hell out of Marnie.
The microwave timer had buzzed, frozen pancakes warmed and ready.
“You’re going to be late for the bus!” she yelled as she searched the meat drawer for ham.
“Why don’t I do this the night before?” Marnie muttered into the fridge. She almost expected it to answer. She found meat, made sandwiches, and moved to the pantry to get syrup for the pancakes.
The lid was sticky.
She could hear the boys arguing about who got to play Xbox first when they got home from school. They were going to be late. Again. And the lid was covered in syrup. Again.
“Dammit, boys! Get down here. NOW!”
They were still arguing as they bounded down the stairs and Marnie knew Jeremy had taken his forefinger and thumb and whacked his younger brother on the head because Trey yelped, “I’m telling!”
“No tattling,” Marnie threatened. “Or there’ll be no soccer after school.”
“Good. I hate soccer practice,” Jeremy said.
“Me too,” Trey agreed with his older brother.
Marnie shook her head. There was no winning here. She was losing the battle that was good parenting, and she didn’t know how she was going to make it through. High school – hell, junior high school – was still eons away.
The rumble of the bus wheels turning onto the street signaled panic in the boys’ eyes.
“The bus!” Trey screamed.
“Grab a granola bar, your lunches and backpacks, and RUN!”
No matter what chaos each morning brought, Jeremy and Trey were endearing still, her little boys, taking the time to kiss her, and to tell her they loved her. Every morning, no matter what, they still managed to love her. If only that were enough. If only.
As Trey buried his head into Marnie for a hug, she inhaled the little boy smell of him. Oh God, how she wished they didn’t have to grow up, didn’t have to become big boys. Big ones – well, big eight-year-olds like Jeremy – were already showing signs of pulling away, of needing her less and less. Of asking for fewer cuddles, and practically no more bedtime stories, wanting rather to stay up late to watch basketball with dad when he was home. At least six-year-old Trey could still be babied. He and Marnie would snuggle at night and they would make up stories about worms named Pinkster and Swirmy, who lived in huts in their backyard, and ate muddy cakes filled with flies.
Marnie sighed. “I love you boys. Have a good day.” She touched her belly.
“Love you too, mom. Bye!” And the door banged behind them. Her double tornado out the door. She could still hear them screaming down the drive, Trey shouting for Jeremy to wait up for him, always, always chasing after his older brother.
Marnie opened the microwave and took out the mini pancakes the boys hadn’t had time to eat. She grabbed the syrup bottle again, forgetting it was sticky.
“Dammit,” she said to no one, because no one was home. It was Tuesday, and Stuart was gone. It just felt better to swear out loud.
She pulled a paper towel off the roll and noticed it had a Fourth of July stars-and-stripes pattern on it. Summer seemed like forever ago. She didn’t want to remember summer. She didn’t want to think of fireworks and pool parties, barbeques and sparklers. And her boys, their tanned little bodies, their goggled faces, swimming until they were so tired they would collapse into their beds with no coaxing. She didn’t want to think about parades and fresh lemonade, neighborhood get-togethers, of weekend trips to her parent’s lake house, all the things they had missed out on. She didn’t want to think about what she should be doing now.
Marnie turned the faucet on cold, saturated the paper towel, and rubbed the top of the syrup bottle as best as she could to clean it off. Then she doused the pancakes and ate every last one of them, popping them quickly into her mouth until they were gone; until the anxiety settled in the pit of her stomach and she felt like she could begin her day.
As she ate, she ran a mental list through her head: the dry-cleaners, a gift for a friend whose birthday she had forgotten, the grocery store. And she would have to stop by the post office to mail that package that had been sitting on the foyer table for over a week now. The one Stuart had asked her to mail.
When he got home last Thursday and spotted it still there, he had sighed. “I didn’t have time today,” she said. “Tomorrow,” she promised. “I’ll get to it tomorrow.”
“I’m home now. I can mail it tomorrow,” he had said, but he hadn’t gotten around to doing it either.
The phone rang, Marnie wiped her sticky fingers on another paper towel, and checked Caller ID. It was Collette. She hadn’t talked to Collette since last week so she settled back down into her seat, ready for Collette’s usual pep talk. Marnie was desperate for one today.
“Hey you,” Marnie answered.
“Mar, hon. He’s back in town.”
Marnie felt the food she had just devoured rise in a lump to her throat.
July 1988
What Marnie really remembered about that night, the night she met him, was bad choice of underwear. She wasn’t looking to meet anyone, didn’t consider she might be taking off her Zena jean shorts and tank top; didn’t think a guy would be pulling her bra straps from her shoulders to feel the firm flesh of her breasts, to pinch her nipples until they tightened.
The underwear. The one thing – the only thing – that held her back. Because she didn’t know if her underwear were sexy enough for a guy to peel from her hips, to slide down her thighs, to toss to the floor.
“I can’t.”
“Why?” He nuzzled into her neck, licking her there, and she melted, smelling beer and cologne. They were both buzzed. She shivered, in the dimly lit room, on a bed with a guy she hardly knew. She didn’t know how far it would go, how far he would try to go, how far she would let him go.
She wouldn’t go any further. Only because she was probably wearing her Hanes yellow cotton panties. Instead of giving him an answer, she felt for his face, and kissed him again, biting his lower lip and pulling his hands back up to where they had been. That was feeling pretty incredible anyway, and he was a great kisser.
He hadn’t asked again, and for that, he won some major points. She liked him.
The party was loud. She remembered Phil Collins’ song, Take Me Home blaring on a tape deck, and him whispering, “I’d like to take you home.”
She lifted her hips, and although he kept on his shorts, she could feel him through the denim. He felt big. Really big. Marnie liked knowing he was so turned on. And Marnie knew if she stopped him right now, he’d probably call. And that’s what she wanted.
“Stop,” she breathed heavily into his ear, and nipped at his lobe. “We gotta stop.”
“Why?”
“We just do. You’re turning me on too much.”
There, she said it. Other times, with other guys, she said it just to be a flirt. This time she said it because she meant it. And she really, really didn’t want him to see her yellow cotton undies. They’d have to wait. Plus, she wasn’t quite sure about his name. She thought it started with a J.
He rolled off her, frustrated, she could tell, but then he sighed, leaned onto his elbow, hooked his leg over hers, and played with the strands of her hair. This gesture felt more intimate than the kissing and grinding. He exhaled, then looked at her.
“Your eyes are pretty.”
“Oh, come on,” Marnie laughed. “What kind of crap line is that? They’re brown.”
“No they’re not. They’re chocolaty.” He stared some more. Kept staring.
Marnie stared back. Like a game. She decided she wasn’t going to say anything, just wanted to stare into his hazel eyes.
Finally, “Don’t you want to know my name?” he asked.
“Do you want to know mine?”
“I think I’m interested in that, yes.” He continued to twirl the piece of her hair. “And a lot more. Later. Okay?”
“Marnie. Marnie’s my name.”
“Marnie. That’s different.”
“Y
ep.”
“I never knew a Marnie before. That short for something?”
“Actually, long. For Mar.” She touched his shoulder, just to feel that he was there and real. His skin was warm. And tan.
“Mar. I like that. I’m Joe. Short for Joseph.”
She giggled. “Nice to meet you, Joe.”
He smiled back at her, and then settled his head down on the pillow. They were on the bed of one of his friends, she guessed, because he had led her into the room after the party started dying down, after the game of “Have You Ever” ended with him asking her, “Have you ever seen the bedroom here?” Marnie hadn’t even known whose house it was; she just knew Collette had a friend who knew the kid who was having the party, and that maybe there would be some cute guys there. Collette had definitely been right.
“Give me your number?” he asked, still playing with her hair, tickling her neck with his fingers. It made her tingle, and she thought of her damned underwear again, wishing they had been different. Maybe.
She rattled off the number and when he said he needed to write it down, Marnie replied, “You want to call me, you’ll remember it.”
“Tell it to me one more time. Slower.”
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my best girlfriends ever when it comes to writing: Tricia Garner aka Swishy and Jess Riley. Without you two, I would be under the covers crying my heart out more days than you can imagine. You both have talked me off the writing ledge more than you will ever know.
And to my beta readers, thank you for taking the time to read What She Left Us and for offering great suggestions and support to me: Audra, Carol, Colbey, Coleen, Kate, Kimberley and Logan.
Thanks to the amazing Sarah Hansen at okaycreations.com for creating the book cover for What She Left Us. It is exactly what I had hoped for.
Thank you also to the Booking with Manic readers and to my Facebook friends who have asked me when I will have a book out. Without your encouragement, I would never have done this. Thanks also to those who read The Cell Phone Lot and took the time to write a review and ask for more books by me. It's you who also encouraged me to keep writing.
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