The Future She Left Behind

by Marin Thomas

  Until Katelyn had shown up in town, Jackson had been able to ignore his loneliness and the fact that his best friend was a seventy-year-old minister. He hadn’t experienced anything close to an intimate relationship after Katelyn had broken up with him. Booze had been his mistress and on too many nights he’d crawled into bed with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. When the loneliness had grown unbearable, he’d settled for one-night stands or weekend flings with bar bunnies.

  Jackson meandered through the crowd toward Katelyn, admiring her aqua sundress, which ended above the knees, the silky material swirling around her legs when she moved. He imagined moving his hands up her legs, beneath her skirt. . . . She turned toward him and their gazes clashed. Her smile widened, propelling him forward.

  “I’m glad you came.” She squeezed his fingers.

  “Guess I’ll take this to my store so it doesn’t accidentally get ruined,” Gifford said.

  “See you, Gary.” Katelyn’s eyes never left Jackson’s face.

  He led her across the street, where it was less crowded, and they sat on the curb. Katelyn folded the hem of the dress around her knees.

  “You look beautiful,” he whispered in her ear.

  “Thank you.” Her cheeks turned pink, reminding him of how shy she’d acted when they’d first dated. “Guess who won the chili cook-off.”

  “Who?” he asked.

  “Vern. I think the judges were terrified of Shirley.”

  “Speaking of your mother-in-law”—he nodded to the tent where Shirley and Vern sat—“she doesn’t look happy to see you with me.”

  “Shirley’s upset because I took off my wedding band.” Katelyn set her left hand on his thigh. The ring was gone.

  His fingers entwined with hers.

  “I’ve been ready to move on for a while,” she said. “I just didn’t know it.”

  Jackson wished she hadn’t sounded so confident. He should leave well enough alone, but he couldn’t. And he didn’t want to. “Would you like to watch the fireworks from my apartment?”

  Her brown eyes warmed, the gold specks glowing. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  He stood, then tugged her to her feet. If he’d believed kissing Katelyn had been a bad idea, then making love was going from bad to worse. “Do you need to tell your mother you’re leaving?” Because once he had her in his bed, he wasn’t letting her out of it until morning.

  She laughed. “I hope I’ve outgrown my curfew.”

  Hand in hand, they walked away from the park and straight into the consequences that lay ahead.

  • • •

  Katelyn smiled at the sound of Jackson snoring. He slept on his back, his mouth half-open with one arm resting on his chest, the other across his forehead—not how she’d imagined them waking after a night in bed together. She’d envisioned him holding her, her leg resting between his thighs, her hand over his heart. Then again, their lovemaking hadn’t played out as she’d expected, either.

  The first time, Jackson had been careful with her—as if he’d feared one wrong move would send her running down the fire escape. His hands had played over her body with such gentleness that she struggled not to cry. And the look on his face after they’d made love almost broke her heart—it was as if he’d expected her to leave his bed and walk out the door.

  She’d put his mind to rest when she’d initiated the second round of lovemaking, and by the time they’d crossed the finish line, the sheets were tangled at their feet and the pillows had fallen to the floor. They hadn’t even heard the fireworks outside, because the ones going off in the bedroom had been louder. Afterward they’d showered, returned to bed and eaten Froot Loops out of the box while they watched a Netflix movie that she couldn’t recall the name of or how it had ended, because Jackson’s kisses and caresses had distracted her.

  She had no idea why he’d decided to invite her into his bed, and rather than risk a morning-after apology or listen to his reasons why they shouldn’t repeat last night, she padded quietly over to the chair and slipped on her panties and sundress. Sandals in hand, she tiptoed from the room.

  At the apartment door she paused to take one last look around. Jackson’s home was depressing—a dreary brown love seat and matching chair sat on the gray linoleum floor. The particleboard coffee table was barren, save for a single Route 66 drink coaster. A bookcase filled with car-repair manuals rested in the corner with a lone picture frame on top. She crept closer and examined the strip of black-and-white photo-booth pictures she and Jackson had taken at the carnival in Odessa the summer before she’d left for college.

  He looked happy, but her smile wasn’t as bright. Her stomach churned now and not from hunger. She could deny it all she wanted, but her mother had been right—a tiny part of Katelyn had always known she wouldn’t return to Little Springs once she’d left. Her gaze swung to the bedroom door. Was history repeating itself? Had last night been about making another memory before she left again?

  She stepped outside, put on her sandals and descended the fire escape. The sun was inching over the horizon and with luck she’d sneak home without being seen by anyone.

  Fat chance. Ginny sat on the porch of Mama’s Kitchen, peeling apples for her pies. When Katelyn came around the corner of the garage, Ginny raised her cup of morning joe and saluted her. Katelyn waved and continued on her way. She had four hours to catch a catnap before she began her shift at the grocery store.

  As she cut across the parking lot of the strip mall, a car horn honked. Why was Walter arriving at work this early? He pulled alongside her and lowered the passenger-side window.

  “You don’t start work until ten,” he said.

  “I know that.” What a moron. Didn’t he notice that she wore the same outfit he’d seen her in at the park yesterday? She continued walking.

  “Then what are you—”

  She stopped and he hit the brakes. She leaned through the open window. “Don’t ask me where I’ve been, Walter.”

  He glanced in the rearview mirror. “So it’s like that between you and Jackson now?”

  “I’ll see you at ten.” She climbed the hill to her mother’s house and found Birdie waiting on the front porch.

  “What are you doing up this early?” Katelyn joined her on the steps.

  “I thought it was time I used the front porch.”

  Yeah, right. “Go ahead and say it.”

  “Say what?”

  “That I’m making a mistake with Jackson.”

  “Are you?”

  “I don’t know, but”—she smiled—“I’m not making a mistake taking it one day at a time.” Which was a big deal for Katelyn, because she’d always made decisions based on how her actions would reflect on her husband, their marriage or their kids. She hadn’t anticipated how liberating it would feel to do what was best for her.

  Birdie quirked an eyebrow. “Actually I was about to say you look satisfied.”

  Oh, man, was she ever.

  “After that early-morning stroll along Main Street, it won’t be long before the whole town knows you’re satisfied.”

  • • •

  “You’re better-looking than my son. I’ll give you that.”

  Jackson’s hand froze in the process of turning a bolt on the sedan he was working beneath. He glanced sideways and discovered a pair of shiny black flats staring him in the face.

  “Are you going to hide under there or come out and speak to me?”

  He’d rather hide, but Vern would give him an earful if he was rude to Vern’s lady friend. Jackson pushed the creeper out from beneath the car, then climbed to his feet. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Pratt?” He doubted Katelyn had told anyone they’d slept together, so he assumed someone had seen her leaving his apartment.

  “I’m not pleased that my daughter-in-law has decided not to reconcile with my son.” She lifted her chin. “But
I still know what’s best for Katelyn.”

  He tugged the rag from his back pocket and wiped the grease off his fingers. “And you’re here to tell me that I’m not best for her.”

  “That’s right, young man. Katelyn can do better”—her eyes traveled around the garage—“than a mechanic.”

  “You’re right.” No one needed to remind him that he had nothing to offer Katelyn.

  “She’s become accustomed to the finer things in life.”

  Jackson couldn’t compete with Don’s success, and he didn’t care to. “Katelyn’s a grown woman, Mrs. Pratt. She can be with whom she wants.”

  “She’s built a life for herself in St. Louis.”

  The old lady was getting worked up over things that might not happen. “I have no expectations of Katelyn.” And he hoped she didn’t have any of him. “My life is right here in Little Springs. I’m not leaving.”

  “As long as we understand each other.”

  “Shirley?” Katelyn walked through the open bay door. “What are you doing here?”

  Jackson soaked in the sight of Katelyn, and he didn’t care if Shirley Pratt caught his gaze roaming over her daughter-in-law’s figure. He hadn’t spoken to Katelyn since she’d snuck out of his bed the morning after the Fourth of July celebration two days ago. He’d had forty-eight hours to wonder if she regretted their lovemaking. Forty-eight hours of berating himself for breaking his vow not to cross the line with her.

  “I stopped by to ask how much an oil change costs,” Shirley said.

  Jackson let her get away with the lie.

  “I had the oil changed in the Mercedes right before we left St. Louis,” Katelyn said.

  “I guess I forgot.”

  Vern entered the garage, his face lighting up when he saw Shirley. “I’ve been looking for you.” He glanced at Katelyn. “You mind if I take your mother-in-law out to lunch?”

  “Not at all,” Katelyn said.

  “My pickup’s down the block.” Vern pointed over his shoulder.

  Shirley pulled the keys from her purse and dropped them into Vern’s hand. “We’ll take the Mercedes. It’s more comfortable.”

  “You drove here?” Katelyn gaped.

  “I parked behind the garage.”

  Vern jiggled the keys. “Let’s go, then.”

  “Tell Birdie I won’t be able to make it to her band rehearsal this afternoon.” Shirley grasped Vern’s arm and the couple walked off.

  Jackson’s eyes skimmed over Katelyn twice before returning to rest on her face. He was forty-one years old. He should have morning-after protocol down pat by now.

  “That’s weird.” Katelyn frowned. “Shirley hasn’t driven her car in over two years.”

  “You said she’s growing absentminded. Maybe she forgot she didn’t like driving.” Katelyn’s smile appeared genuine and the tension in Jackson’s shoulders eased.

  “I’m happy she found a new chauffeur.” Katelyn pointed to the vehicle in the bay. “Are you busy?”

  He braced himself for a the-other-night-was-a-mistake speech. “I can take a break.”

  She held up the sketch in her hand. It was the picture Gifford had won in the silent auction. “I figured out what’s missing in this drawing. I was going to ask if you wanted to go down to the tracks with me.”

  If he’d known she’d act as if nothing had happened between them, he wouldn’t have consumed half a bottle of heartburn medication since they’d slept together. “Sure. I can take a break.”

  “While you close up, I’ll buy sandwiches from Mama’s Kitchen and meet you at your pickup in fifteen minutes.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Katelyn let out a quiet breath when she and Jackson arrived at the tracks. The five-minute ride to their private hideaway and the short walk along the path through the trees had been made in silence. She handed him the bag containing the salsa turkey sandwiches. “I’ll be right back.”

  She crept closer to the tracks, stopping at the spot where she’d made the sketch. “This is the view I want.” She drew an X in the dirt with the toe of her sandal.

  “Aren’t you going to eat first?” Jackson sat on the ground in front of their tree. She joined him, then took the sandwich and bottle of water he held out to her.

  “Thanks.” They ate while they talked about the weather and the latest gossip at the Buy & Bag; then she squished her wrapper into a ball. “My mother-in-law didn’t stop at the garage to ask about an oil change, did she?”

  He shook his head.

  “I think Shirley’s going to need more time before she accepts that Don and I aren’t reconciling.”

  “She warned me away from you.”

  Katelyn laughed. “I may have to ask the lawyer to add her name beneath Don’s before I sign the divorce settlement.”

  “About the other night. I—”

  “It’s coming.” She scrambled to her feet and returned to the spot she’d marked when they’d first arrived.

  “Don’t you want your sketch pad?”

  She shook her head, staring into the distance at the beacon of light heading her way. When the locomotive drew closer, she shut her eyes and concentrated on the tremors in the ground beneath her feet. The tiny pulses of energy traveled up her calves, along her thighs and into her stomach, where they spread through her chest until her entire body quivered with energy.

  The whistle blew and she jumped inside her skin but kept her eyes closed. Her heart pumped in rhythm with the steel wheels clanking against the rails. Years ago she’d stood by these tracks and envisioned herself jumping into an empty boxcar as the train sped by. She’d imagined the faraway places she’d see. The strangers she’d meet.

  Her heart banged against her rib cage as the locomotive blew past her. She imagined herself catapulting into the empty boxcar and being whisked off to a solitary place inside herself.

  As the freight cars thundered past, blowing her hair around her head, the scent of coal and hot iron filled her lungs. After the final car passed, her snarled hair settled onto her shoulders. The noise of the chugging wheels grew faint and the ground settled. She opened her eyes and found Jackson smiling at her.

  “What was all that about?” he asked.

  She returned to his side. “That was about this.” She set the sketch on the ground, then took her charcoal pencil out of her pocket and went to work. She’d asked Gary if she could tweak her picture, and he hadn’t objected. “It won’t bother me if you talk.”

  “I’d rather watch you draw.”

  He was watching her, not the pencil moving across the paper. She didn’t mind. Her creative side had always felt safe in his presence.

  “I never loved Don the way a woman should love the man she marries.” It was easy to bare her soul when she focused on her art.

  “Why did you stay with him?”

  “Guilt. And for the kids’ sake.” The pencil froze against the paper and she stared into space. “And I grew accustomed to his paycheck. The big house. Vacations. New cars.” She worked on shading the inside of the boxcar.

  “You aren’t the first woman who’s wanted better and you won’t be the last.”

  “I wanted the perfect life.” She set the pencil aside and looked Jackson in the eye. “And the need for perfection carried over to my artwork. I lost confidence in myself, so I made up excuses for not drawing.”

  “Because you felt guilty for marrying Don for the wrong reasons, you punished yourself and stayed with him.”

  She opened her mouth to deny the charge, but the words jammed up in her throat. “When my father-in-law passed away and Shirley moved in with us, I tried harder to ignore my unhappiness. I focused on the kids and their school activities, college visits and proms. But the hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach never went away.” She pressed her hand against her midriff. “It took Don filing for d
ivorce to make me see the truth.”

  “Are you more content now that you’re focusing on your art again?”

  “I’m happier than I expected to be. The parts of me that have been dormant for so long are slowly coming back to life and I feel more energized than ever.”

  “Where do you go from here?” he asked.

  “I don’t want to map out my future again. I want to learn to be content with not knowing where the road I’m traveling will take me.”

  He eagle-eyed her sketch. “The boxcar looks like a living, breathing entity now.”

  “Exactly.” She ran her fingertip across his lips. He had the most beautiful mouth, but she’d never tell him, because it would embarrass him. Instead, she said, “You’re amazing.”

  “After the other night, I’ve been waiting for you to tell me that.” He grinned, and she punched his arm playfully.

  “You’ve always gotten my art.” And he’d always gotten her.

  He tugged on a strand of her hair. “Maybe we’re rushing things.”

  “You think so?”

  “You’re not officially divorced.”

  “True.” As much as she’d enjoyed rekindling the flame with Jackson, she wasn’t ready to make a commitment to anyone but herself. The fact that he understood proved how well he knew her.

  He cupped her cheek and stared into her eyes. “For now we’ll settle for being friends.”

  “Friends with benefits or just friends?” She quirked an eyebrow.

  “Just friends.” He motioned to the sketch. “Grab your stuff, and I’ll take you home.”

  • • •

  “What’s going on between you and Jackson?” Abby waltzed into the break room Saturday afternoon at the Buy & Bag. Katelyn was seated at the table, her feet up on a chair, sketch pad in her lap.

  “Nothing. Why?”

  “Dad said Jackson skipped his AA meeting yesterday and stayed awake until all hours of the night working on a car.”

  A week had passed since she and Jackson had visited the railroad tracks and decided to remain friends without benefits. They’d seen each other once—when she’d walked out of the grocery store, his pickup had zoomed past on the street. She thought he might give her a lift home, but he’d only waved.