The Superstitious Romance

by Anastasia Alexander

  “Will that be okay with you, Miss Britain?”

  Ms. not Miss, Camille thought. Why couldn’t the boy get it straight? “Of course you can come with us.”

  A throat cleared behind them, stopping Camille dead in her tracks. “Ms. Britain, could I have a word with you?” The feminine lilt of Maggie’s voice was unmistakable.

  Darlene instantly answered Maggie’s question, “My mom’s busy right now. We have to—”

  Camille put her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “It’s all right. I can spare a second to hear what she has to say.” She handed her keys to Darlene. “Warm up the car for me, will you?”

  Darlene hesitated, giving her mom a stare that plainly asked, What are you doing? Camille nodded her to go on. Reluctantly, Darlene left, with Austin alongside her.

  Camille turned her eyes on Maggie and stared, waiting.

  Maggie fiddled with her hair before saying, “You know, Camille—you don’t mind if I call you Camille, do you?” Without waiting for a response, she continued, “Jackson tells me that you were recently divorced. I don’t know what happened, but if it was because of another woman, you’d know how I’m feeling right now.”

  “But you and Jackson are already divorced.” Camille felt slow and stupid.

  “Well, yes, but we both still have feelings for each other. Our relationship is fragile, and now with you on the scene our hopes of getting back together are shattering. Even Jackson feels this way. He told me that when you are around he gets all confused and doesn’t know what he thinks about me.”

  Maggie wiped at her eyes with a tissue. “But you should know that even if things don’t work out, Jackson told me he would never remarry. Sorry to have to tell you that. Jackson’s never been one to do unpleasant chores.”

  With that, Maggie turned on her sexy high heels and walked back into Jackson’s room. Camille stood in the hall. Despite her feelings toward Maggie, she did have a point. Though the two of them were divorced, Jackson did seem to still have a thing for Maggie, and that meant Camille had been acting like the other woman. Who’d ever thought she’d do that? Was that what being lonely had driven her to?

  She would stay away from Jackson. If Jackson really wanted to get back with the annoying Maggie, she wasn’t about to stand in the way of his dream.

  * * *

  The Giorgio scent filtered into Jackson’s nose, drugging his senses. The aroma had always made him feel liquid with emotion and attraction. It sure beat skunk. The warmth of Maggie’s lips pressed against his cheek. Maggie had returned to him with more feeling than he’d ever dreamed.

  Then Camille spoke from the couch where she was sitting. In his drugged state, he didn’t hear what she said, but it couldn’t have had a more startling effect than if she’d poured a tub of ice water on his head. Betrayal and hurt oozed beneath her words. He knew that tone. He’d used the same tone when Maggie stood at their front door, bags packed.

  Maggie started to nestle into his neck. This caught his attention. His grasp tightened on Maggie’s shoulders as he pushed her away. “Maggie, please,” he whispered as he scanned the empty room. “Where did everyone go?”

  “What does it matter?” Maggie asked, stroking his cheek. “I’ve missed you. I’m glad they had enough sense to disappear, allowing us time alone.” She bent to kiss him.

  He held out his hand. “Stop.”

  “What?”

  “I want to know where everyone is.”

  Her green eyes searched the room. “Camille and her daughter left. They said they had other plans.” She hesitated before adding, “Oh, I forgot something in the car. I’ll be right back.”

  While Jackson waited, he thought back to the morning when Camille had walked past his extended hand for the keys and said she could drive herself. So different from Maggie, who always insisted on being chauffeured. He had to admit he liked to be the driver. It felt natural.

  He drifted until Maggie returned. With a loving smile, she sat on the corner of his bed, straightening her short skirt and crossing her legs. Jackson sensed her actions were calculating. He wished he wasn’t so drugged up so he could understand what she wanted. “Maggie, why are you here?”

  “I missed you, of course.” She squeezed his good leg.

  “You want more money. That’s what it always is. I bet you only drove clear to Idaho so you could go shopping.”

  She stared at him before tucking her hands neatly on her lap. In a soft, stressed whisper, she said, “Did not.”

  “You left me.” His lips pressed together. His leg throbbed, the jabs making him weary. “And now you have the guts to ask for money.”

  “Leaving was a mistake. A horrible one. I want you back, honey.” She touched his forearm.

  He pulled his arm away.

  “Well?” she said.

  “That’s a hard one,” Jackson choked out. His emotions seemed to be crashing down a waterfall. He had planned on fighting for her, on gluing back their marriage and their family.

  “What’s so tough?” She scooted closer. “You love me. We should be together.”

  “But do you love me?”

  “I already told you I do, silly.” She playfully hit him in the arm.

  “Really?”

  “Why do you question me?”

  “Why did you leave?” Jackson shot back.

  “I got restless.”

  “And what’s going to stop you from getting restless again?” He wanted to ask about the man she’d obviously been carrying on with. How could he be sure that was over?

  “I still want my freedom.” Maggie sighed. “I figured we could work out an arrangement.”

  “Did you?”

  “I know you want us to get back together. Austin assures me that you do. Is he wrong?” She patted his arm. “I want to be with you too. Believe me. And since you’ve shown a willingness to let me explore my creativity, why shouldn’t we remarry? We could be happy. And it’ll make our son happy. What do you think?”

  “There’s . . . nothing to say,” Jackson said.

  “Not a yes or a no or a let’s-think-about-it?” She batted her long eyelashes.

  “No . . . nothing.”

  “I need to know, Jackson.”

  “Look, I’ve had a very long couple of days. I’m tired, I hurt, I’m drugged up—I can’t even think straight right now, much less make any decisions.” His thoughts went to Camille, and he couldn’t help but wish it was her he was talking to instead of Maggie. She seemed to understand the pain.

  “You need time. I respect that. Let’s get you some clothes and bust this joint.”

  “He’s not going anywhere for several days,” said the nurse who stood at the door. “And I’m going to have to ask you to leave now. He needs rest.”

  “Very well.” Maggie leaned over and kissed Jackson on the cheek and whispered softly, “I love you.” With that she stood, bestowed on him her dynamite smile, and left.

  * * *

  The next morning Darlene sat by Camille on one of the queen beds in their hotel room. “Yes?” Camille yawned. She’d somehow managed to calm herself last night enough to concentrate on her coursework, working so late that she fell asleep without having to think about Jackson and Maggie. She still didn’t know what she was going to do. She longed to get away from Idaho and Island Park, but she didn’t want to return home.

  “Are you all right?” Darlene asked.

  Sitting up, she said, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I’m waking you up. What’s wrong with this picture?”

  Camille laughed. “I stayed up late working.” She pointed to her books on the floor.

  “Um,” Darlene said. “I’m sorry about Jackson.”

  “What’s there to be sorry about?”

  “I know you were beginning to like him.”

  “It never would’ve worked. He’s too controlling. An unpredictable cowboy. Do you remember how he freaked when I wanted to drive?”

  Darlene smiled. “The Fourth of J
uly. His son’s the same way.”

  “They’ll take generations to evolve. If it’s at all possible.”

  “Sad,” Darlene said, making a long face.

  “Hey, don’t get depressed.”

  “I’m not. Just thinking.”

  “What about?” Camille asked.

  “Is it possible for men and women to co-exist and not cause each other pain?”

  “You think men experience pain?” she asked her daughter, remembering the cynical smile Adam had given her before slamming the door in her face. His heart seemed incased in iron.

  “Dad does,” Darlene whispered.

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Why did you say it?”

  “He’s a nervous wreck. All I hear is how hard it is to live alone. I told him I’m single and don’t find it difficult. He said, ‘It’s different after you’ve been married.’”

  “He’s getting married,” Camille said softly.

  “This was before. You know, I haven’t seen him since he started dating that woman. He’s suddenly too busy for me.”

  “If he was so miserable being alone, why did he leave?”

  “Mom!”

  “I’m serious. We could’ve worked out our problems. I would’ve tried anything.” Tears welled in her eyes, blurring Darlene’s face. “Am I that bad that he’d rather be miserable than stay with me?”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Yeah, right. Look, Darlene, I know you’re trying to be nice, but please don’t say any more.”

  “Mom, you’re a wonderful person. Dad just—”

  “Please, no more. I have a headache. Would you mind getting me an aspirin? Make it three.”

  “That’s too many.”

  “This headache really hurts.”

  “I’ll get you two pills. No more.”

  “Darlene!”

  “I’m getting them.” She dug in her suitcase, snatched a glass off the television, filled it with water, and handed her mom two aspirins.

  After swallowing the pills, Camille chuckled. “You’re a stubborn one too.”

  “It’s in the genes.” Darlene knelt by her suitcase to pack away her stuff. “Do you think Austin’s okay? You didn’t even wait to see if anyone was at his friend’s house when we dropped him off there yesterday.”

  “I didn’t?” Camille was stunned. “Oh, well, he’s an adult after all and has his head on straight—mostly.”

  “You’re saying that because he’s going to college.”

  “And he’s ambitious.”

  “Okay, okay,” Darlene said, “enough about how wonderful he is.”

  Camille slipped into jeans and a cotton shirt. “Let’s grab breakfast.”

  After eating, they drove around, soaking up the feel of the town. It seemed like any other city, with chain grocery stores, gas stations, and a mall. The snow had melted, leaving everything a muggy gray, which matched the feeling in Camille’s heart. When they finally made it back to the hotel, Darlene decided to go jogging, and Camille went back to work.

  * * *

  Sleep was nonexistent for Jackson until he begged the night nurse for sleeping pills. Between the excruciating pain and his women dilemma, he’d gotten little rest. The Giorgio perfume lingered in the room, luring his thoughts to Maggie. Her lips were delicately curved, and she always wore thick pink or red lipstick. Her last three words remained imprinted in his memory. I love you. Once he had dreamed of hearing exactly that, but the elation he’d expected was nonexistent. He remained empty, like a football pass that had fallen short. Images of Camille’s natural beauty crowded his mind. He pictured her sporty haircut and knowing eyes. She’d driven down from Island Park to see how he was. Of course, so had Maggie. Well, for that or shopping, he thought with a grimace.

  One problem was the mixed messages Camille sent. She had coldly, without even a flinch of remorse or doubt, said she was not interested in him. Now when competition arrived on the scene, here she was. Was she being petty, only wanting something because another person wanted it? Of course, she hadn’t put up much of a fight when Maggie had thrown herself at him. She’d simply left. Another important fact when it came to Camille was her fascination with superstition. That odd trait was neither normal nor healthy. Perhaps her husband had divorced her for good reasons. These thoughts twisted around inside him until he concluded he should give the whole thing up. He was much better off roaming the mountain. Life was a lot simpler without women and their guessing games.

  Finally, the drugs did their job and sleep overcame him. He didn’t feel rested when a nurse woke him some time later to take his vitals. “Dr. Roberts likes to do rounds at six in the morning when it’s his day off,” the middle-aged woman explained to the intern at her side. “He almost always shows up right on the button and is ornery if everything’s not already finished.”

  “One of those king types, huh?”

  “Not as bad as others,” the nurse answered. “After you record the patient’s vital information, check his water bottle. Don’t want him dehydrating.” They continued to talk as they walked down the hall, their voices growing more muted with each step.

  Coldness enveloped Jackson. What were they trying to do, freeze him? He reached for the blankets that had fallen off during the night. Not being able to bend his right leg posed a problem. He struggled to grasp the fugitive blanket but couldn’t. He lifted his good leg straight in the air, bringing with it a corner of the blanket. From there he pulled the blanket to his shoulders. The sheet remained entangled somewhere at the bottom of the bed. For the next fifteen minutes he lay in the bed, irritated he couldn’t do one simple thing—fix the sheet—and that he had to use a bedpan. A door opened, flooding the darkness in the room.

  “How we doing?” Dr. Roberts asked as he read the chart. He wore jeans and a red Polo shirt.

  “What’cha gonna do for your day off?” Jackson asked, remembering that the doctor had mentioned that tomorrow was his day off.

  “Ride horses up Taylor Mountain.”

  “Isn’t it a little cold?”

  “Not for the true horse lover.”

  “Sounds like my kind of outing,” Jackson said. “I can’t wait to go skiing this year. The weather people predict lots of snow. By the way, when am I going to be up and at ’em?”

  The doctor put down the chart. He lifted Jackson’s ankle and asked him to rotate it. “You won’t be doing any sports for about a year and a half to two years. Can you move your toes?”

  Jackson wiggled them. “What?”

  “Your leg has taken a major blow, but it looks like you have most of the mobility back.”

  “Not all?”

  “’Fraid not.” The doctor flipped through papers on the chart. “Your temperature, blood pressure, and neuro-circulatory status are good, but you’re losing a little more blood than normal. That’s nothing to worry about. I’ll have the nurses change the dressing. Are you ready for food?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll make a note and you’ll be on the sign-up sheet for a delicious breakfast.”

  “That bad, huh?” Jackson asked.

  “Let’s just say most of the patients rely on family or friends.”

  “Great,” Jackson mumbled, wondering who would help him. “What time’s breakfast?”

  “Between eight and nine. About ten o’clock, physical therapy will drop by and we’ll get you on crutches and teach you transfers. It’ll be painful at first. Your muscles don’t want to work. But I’m sure you’ll do fine. Are you having any other problems?”

  “Can I get rid of this IV?”

  “Sorry, you get to keep it for the next couple of days until your vital signs stabilize, then we’ll put on a heparin lock. That’s a little tube, and you won’t have to deal with all the lines.”

  “Are you sure about sports?” Jackson asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Would that include hiking?”

  “You can only do
lower-level hiking on flat or shallow trails. It’s kinda rough, I know. I busted my leg playing basketball probably fifteen years ago.”

  “How’d it happen?”

  “I twisted it going for a layup, and this big two-hundred-and-fifty-pound guy landed on top of my knee.” The doctor moved toward the doorway. “Is that all I can do for you?”

  Jackson nodded, hoping for sleep before breakfast. Breakfast arrived at eight twenty: a tray holding cold cereal, milk, orange juice, a blueberry muffin, and one slice of bacon. He ate it all, wondering if he’d starve. His normal breakfast consisted of three times more food, and he vowed that the first friend or family member to walk through his door would go on a food run. Of course, if it was Maggie, she would probably send Austin for the food. She’d never go herself.

  Why did he find Maggie so attractive? She was beautiful, yes, but she was also unfaithful and selfish. Not to mention that she constantly picked at him. Camille had that superstition problem, but she seemed to like him as he was. Wasn’t that love? Accepting someone with all their faults? He finished mopping up the crumbs on his tray. It seemed obvious that he’d been a fool with Maggie.

  The thought had barely finished when Austin waltzed in.

  “Hi,” Jackson said.

  “How you feeling?”

  “I’m pretty drugged up, so I’m not doing too bad. Hungry, though.”

  “That’s why I brought you two McDonald’s Big Breakfasts. An order of pancakes and a mess of sausage with egg and biscuit.”

  “That’s my man! How did you know?”

  “Remember when I got my appendix out?” Austin paused. “What did the doctor say?”

  “They’re going to get me on crutches later today.”

  “Good news. I stayed over at the Smiths’ house last night.”

  “What’s happening with them?”

  “Mrs. Smith dyed her hair purple and it looks funny. Besides that, nothing really.”

  “Where’s your mom?”

  “Don’t know. Last I saw her, she and you were mushing each other.” Austin smiled.

  “I guess that’s true.” Jackson knew he should say something about that, but he didn’t want to wipe the smile from his son’s face. “Is Rusty being taken care of?”

  “I dropped her off at the Westguards before headin’ here.” Austin picked at the napkin on top of Jackson’s plate. “Have you seen Miss Britain?”