She seldom went to the shop now, except to answer questions for Astrid. But now Astrid knew fairly well how everything worked, and Katsuko was a great help. She was staying on at Lady J. And Jessie just didn’t want to be there anymore. Workmen were busy changing the sign, and cards were being sent to all their customers announcing the small change in the name. It still hurt, but Jessica told herself that all changes did, perhaps especially those for the better. She wouldn’t regret it once she left town. But then what would she do? Yes, paint … but for how long? She wasn’t ready to become another Grandma Moses. But something would turn up … something better. Geoffrey? Maybe he was the answer.
Jessica stopped in at the shop for the last time on a Friday afternoon. She was leaving two days later, on Sunday. She had put away all the small treasures she didn’t want to share with her new tenants. And photographs of Ian. She had unearthed so much as she’d packed. Everything hurt now. It seemed as though every moment were filled with painful reminders of the past.
She slid the car into the driveway behind Astrid’s car and walked quietly into the shop. It already looked different. Astrid had added a few things, and a lovely painting in what was now her office. It was all Astrid’s now. And the money from the sale was all Jessie’s. It was funny how little that meant to her now. Nine months before, seven months, six … she would have begged for one-tenth of that money … and now … it didn’t matter. The bills were paid, Ian was gone, and what did she need? Nothing. She didn’t know what to do with the money, and she didn’t really care. It hadn’t dawned on her yet that she had made a great deal of money selling the shop. Later she would be pleased, but not yet. And she still felt as though she had sold her only child. To a good friend, but still … she had abandoned the only thing she had ever nurtured and helped to grow.
“Mail for you, madam.” Astrid handed it to her with a smile. She looked happy these days, and even younger than she had when Jessie had met her. It was difficult to believe that she had just had a birthday and turned forty-three. And in July, Jessie would be thirty-two. Time was moving. Quickly.
“Thanks.” Jessie slid the letters into a pocket. She could look at them later. “Well, I’m all packed and ready to go.”
“And already homesick.” Astrid had guessed. She took her out to lunch and they drank too much white wine, but Jessie felt better. It helped. She went home in a much better mood.
She opened the windows and sat in a patch of sunlight on the floor, looking around the living room she had sat in so often with Ian. She could see him sprawled out on the couch, listening to her talk about the shop, or telling her about something brilliant he’d said in a new chapter. That was what was missing—that excitement of sharing the things they loved doing. Of laughing and being two kids on a warm sunny day, or a cold winter afternoon while he lit the fire. A man like Geoffrey would spoil her, and take her to the best restaurants and hotels all over the world, but he wouldn’t take a splinter out of her heel, or scratch her back just right where it itched … he wouldn’t burp over a beer watching a horror movie in bed, or look like a boy when he woke up in the morning. He would look very handsome, and smell of the cologne he had worn to dinner that time … and he hadn’t been there when Jake had died … or her parents … but Ian had. You couldn’t replace that. Maybe you shouldn’t even try.
She wondered as she stared out at the bay, and remembered the letters Astrid had handed her before lunch. She went back to them now, digging into her jacket pocket … she hoped … she didn’t … and she did … and there was … a letter from Ian. Her eyes swept quickly across the lines. He had gotten her note about the car.
… I write these to myself now, wondering only for a moment if you read them. And then suddenly, a few quick nervous lines from you, but you kept the car. That’s all that mattered. I wanted you to have that more than you can know, Jess. Thanks for keeping it.
I assume that you don’t open my letters … I know you. Rip, snap, gone.
She smiled at the image. And he was, of course, right.
But I seem to need to write them anyway, like whistling in the dark, or talking to myself. Who do you talk to now, Jessie? Who holds your hand? Who makes you laugh? Or holds you when you cry? You look such a mess when you cry, and God, how I miss that. I imagine you now, driving the new Morgan, and that note the other day … it sounded like something you’d write to your grandmother’s best friend. “Thank you, dear Mr. Clarke, for the perfectly lovely car. I needed one just that color to go with my best skirt and my favorite gloves and hat.” Darling, I love you. I only hope that you’ll be happier now. With whomever, whenever. You have a right to that. And I know you must need someone. Or do you have a right to that? My heart aches so at the thought, yet I can’t see myself stamping my feet and raising hell. How could I possibly say anything after all this? Nothing except good luck … and I love you.
It does make me sad that now that the book has sold, and I have sat back and taken a look at my life, you’re not here to enjoy the changes. I’ve grown up here. It’s a tough school to learn in, but I’ve learned a lot about you, and myself. It isn’t enough just to make money, Jessie. And I don’t give a damn who pays the bills. I want to pay them, but I don’t think I’d get an ulcer anymore every time you signed a check. Life is so much fuller and simpler than that, or it can be. In an odd way, my life is full now, yet so empty without you. Darling, impossible Jessie, I still love you. Go away, leave my mind, let me go in peace, or come back. Oh God, how I wish you’d do that. But you won’t. I understand. I’m not angry. I only wonder if it would have been different if I hadn’t walked out that day, leaving you there with the phone in your hand. I still see your face on that day … but no, it’s not all because of that one stinking day. We’re both paying for old, old sins now—because I still believe that we are both suffering this loss. Or are you free of it now? Maybe you don’t care anymore. I can’t tell you the empty feeling that gives me, but that’s what will happen in time, I suppose. Neither of us will give a damn. Not something I look forward to. A lot of good years “from dust to dust.” Gone. And I still see you and see you and see you. I touch your hair and smile into your eyes. Perhaps you can feel that now—my smile into your eyes as you go your own way. Go in peace, Jessie dearest, and watch out for lizards and ants. They won’t bite you, I promise, but the neighbors might call the cops when you scream. Just keep the hair spray handy, and take it easy on yourself. Always, Ian.
She laughed through her tears as she read it … lizards and ants. The two things she had always feared most. Other than loneliness. But she had lived with that now, so maybe she could even get used to lizards and ants … but to life without Ian? That would be so much harder. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed the sound of his voice until she read the letter. It was there. His words, his tone, his laughter, his hand rumpling her hair as he talked. The look he gave her that made her feel safe.
Without thinking, she got to her feet and went to the desk. There was still some paper there. She reached for a pen and wrote to him, telling him that she had sold the shop, and about the house near Aunt Bethanie’s ranch. She described the house down to its tiniest detail as he had taught her to do when she had thought she wanted to write. She didn’t have a knack for it, but she had learned how to write careful descriptions so that her reader could see all that she did. She wanted him to see the fading Victorian in all its possible splendor, now nestled in weeds. She was going to clean it up and make it pretty. That would keep her busy for a while. She gave him the address and mentioned that she had rented the house, but to a pleasant couple without children or pets. They’d keep it in good shape, and she was sure to tell him that the studio was locked. His file cabinets were safe. And she would try to stay safe from lizards and ants. It all flowed into the letter. It was like writing to a long-lost best friend. He had always been that. She put a stamp on the envelope and walked out to the mailbox on the corner, slipped it in, and then noticed Astrid driving home. She
waved, and Astrid drove into the block and stopped at the corner.
“What are you up to tonight, Jessie? Want to have dinner?”
“You mean you’re not busy for a change, Mrs. Bonner? I’m stunned.” Jessica laughed, feeling happier than she had in ages. She was actually looking forward to leaving. For the past weeks, she had almost wondered if she’d done the wrong thing. It was all so brutal, so final. But now she knew that she’d been right, and she was glad. She felt relieved, and as though she had just touched base with her soul. Ian still lived there. In her soul. Even now. Jessica tried to pry her thoughts from Ian as she smiled at Astrid.
“No, smartass, I’m not busy. And I have a wild craving for spaghetti. How’s the packing going?”
“All done. And spaghetti sounds great.”
They dined in the noise and chaos of Vanessi’s, and moved on to a sidewalk café for cappuccino after that. They watched the tourists beginning to appear, the first wave of the summer, and the air was surprisingly warm.
“Well, love, how do you feel? Scared, miserable, or glad?”
“About leaving? All three. It’s a little bit like leaving home forever …” Like leaving Ian—again. Packing up their private treasures and odds and ends had revived so many feelings. Feelings that were better left buried now. She would not unpack those boxes again, and she had separated her things from Ian’s. It would be very easy now, if they ever sold the house. Their worldly goods were no longer in one heap.
“Well, that house of yours will keep you busy. Mother says it’s a mess.”
“It is. But it won’t be for long.” Jessica looked proud as she said the words. She already loved the place. It was like a new friend.
“I’ll try to get down to see it before we go away in July.”
“I’d love that.” Jessica smiled, feeling lighthearted and happy. A burden she couldn’t quite identify had been lifted from her shoulders. She had felt its absence all evening. It was like no longer having a toothache or a cramp that she had lived with for months, not really aware of it yet subtly crippled by its presence.
“Jessica, you look happy now. You know, I felt terribly guilty for a while, for taking the shop away from you. I was afraid you’d hate me for it.” Astrid looked young and unsure as she looked into Jessie’s face. But Jessica only smiled and shook her blond mane.
“No. You don’t need to worry about that.” She patted her friend’s hand. “You didn’t take it away from me, Astrid. I sold it to you. I had to. To you, or to someone else, even if it hurt a little. And better to you. I’m glad it’s yours now. I had outgrown it, I guess. I’ve changed a lot.”
Astrid nodded assent. “I know you have. I hope it all works out.”
“Yeah, me too.” Her smile was almost rueful, and the two women finished their coffee. They were like two soldiers who have weathered the war together and now have nothing left to talk about except to make occasional guesses about the peace. Would it work? Jessie hoped so. Astrid wondered. They had both come a long way in the past months. And Astrid knew she had what she wanted now. Jessica wasn’t yet quite as sure.
“Any news of Geoffrey this week, Jessie?”
“Yes. He called and said he’d come up to the country to see me next week.” He had been sensitive enough to know she needed to be left alone in the city.
“That’ll do you good.”
Jessica nodded, but she didn’t say more.
The doorbell rang at nine-fifteen the next morning. Her bags were packed and Jessica was washing the breakfast dishes for the last time, keeping one eye on the view. She wanted to remember it all, hang on for one last hour, and then leave. Quickly. She felt almost the way she had the morning she had left for college, old times packed away in mothballs and a new life ahead. She planned to come back, at least that was what she said, but would she? She wasn’t really sure. She had the odd sensation that she was leaving for longer than a summer. Maybe forever.
The bell rang again and she dried her hands on her jeans and ran to the front door, throwing her hair back from her face, barefoot, her shirt buttoned but not quite far enough. She looked precisely the way she did when Ian loved her best. Pure Jessie.
“Who is it?” She stood beside the front door with a small smile on her face. She knew it was probably Astrid or Katsuko. One last good-bye. But this time she would laugh, not cry as they all had at the shop.
“It’s Inspector Houghton.” Everything inside her turned to stone. With trembling hands, she unbolted the door and opened it. The party mood was suddenly gone, and for the first time in months, there was terror in her eyes again. It was amazing how quickly it could all come flooding back. Months of slowly rebuilding the foundations, and in as long as it took to ring a doorbell her life was a shambles again. Or that was how she felt.
“Yes?” Her eyes looked like greenish-gray slate and her face was set like a mask.
“Good morning. I … uh … this isn’t an official call exactly. I … I found your husband’s pants in the property room the other day and I thought I’d drop them off and see how you were doing.”
“I see. Thank you.” He handed her a brown bag with an awkward smile. Jessie did not return the smile.
“Going on a trip?” His eyes glanced over the bags and boxes in the hall, and she looked over her shoulder and then quickly back into his eyes. Bastard. What right did he have to be there now? Jessica nodded in answer to his question and looked down at her feet. It was a good time to end the war, to hold out a hand in peace, to go quietly. But she couldn’t. He made her want to scream again, to pummel him, to scratch his face. She couldn’t bear the sight of him. Terror and hatred swept over her like a tidal wave and she had the sudden urge to slither down the wall and crumple into a heap and cry. She felt as though she had been swept up in a hurricane and then cast aside by her own emotions. She looked up at him suddenly, with open pain in her eyes.
“Why did you come here today?” There was the look of a child who does not understand in her face, and he looked away and down at his hands.
“I thought you’d want your husband’s …” His voice trailed off and his face grew hard. Coming to see her had been a dumb thing to do, and now he was sure of it. But he had just had that feeling for days now. Of wanting to see her. “Your husband’s pants were just lying around the property room. I thought …”
“Why? Why did you think? Is he liable to be coming home and needing them in the immediate future? Or aren’t they wearing denims in prison anymore? I’m a little out of touch. I haven’t been up there in a while.” She instantly regretted the words. His eyes showed interest and warmed again slightly.
“Oh?”
“I’ve been busy.” She looked away.
“Problems?” Vulture. And then she found his eyes again.
“Do you really give a damn?” She wouldn’t let go of his eyes. She wanted to scratch them out.
“Maybe I do give a damn. Maybe … I’m sorry. You know, I always felt sorry for you through the whole case. You seemed to believe in him so much. You were wrong, though. You know that now, don’t you?” She hated the tone of his voice.
“No. I wasn’t wrong.”
“The jury said you were.” He looked so smug, the bastard, so sure of “the system.” So sure of everything, including Ian’s guilt. She wanted to hit him. The urge was almost overpowering now.
“The jury didn’t make me wrong, Inspector Houghton.” She held tightly to the brown bag he had given her and clenched her fists.
“Are you … are you free now, Mrs. Clarke?”
“Does that mean, have I left my husband?” He nodded and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his coat pocket. “Why?”
“Curious.” Horny.
“Is that why you came back here? Out of curiosity? To see if I’d left my husband? Would that make you happy?” She was boiling now. “And why didn’t you bring this to the shop?” She held out the brown bag with Ian’s pants in it.
“I did. I was there yesterday. Th
ey told me that you don’t work there anymore. True?” She nodded.
“I don’t. So now what?” She looked him in the eye again and suddenly almost a year of fear vanished. He could try to do anything he wanted and she’d kill him. With pleasure. It was a relief to confront him. She looked at him again and six months of pain passed from her eyes to his. It was a naked vision he saw there, of a human being badly scarred, and he took a long drag on his cigarette and looked away.
“What time are you leaving on your trip? Have you got time for lunch?” Oh, Jesus. It was almost laughable, except that it still made her want to cry.
She shook her head slowly, looking down, and then slowly she looked up again as tears filled her eyes and slid down her cheeks. It was over now. The last of the anger and the horror and the terror and the pain slid slowly down her cheeks; the trial and the jury and the verdict and the arrest and Inspector Houghton all melted into silent tears, pouring slowly down her face. He couldn’t bear to look at her. It was much worse than a slap in the face. He was sorry he had come. Very sorry.
She took a deep breath, but she did nothing about the tears. She needed them to wash all the filth away. “I’m leaving this town to get away from a nightmare, Inspector. Not to celebrate it. Why would we possibly want to have lunch together? To talk about old times? To reminisce about the trial? To talk about my husband? To …” A sob caught in her throat and she leaned against the wall with her eyes closed, the paper bag still clutched in her hand. It was all rushing in on her again. He had brought it all back in a brown paper bag. She put a hand to her forehead, squeezed her eyes tightly shut, took a slow breath, and then opened her eyes again. He was gone. She heard the door to his car slam shut at that precise moment, and a moment later the green sedan pulled away. Inspector Houghton never looked back. She closed the front door slowly and sat down in the living room.
Now and Forever Page 37
