by Remy Rose
Yet here I sit, trying to figure out what I’m going to say to her that would make any sense after I basically brushed her off at New Moon last night. Probably best to just start out simple—like telling her I was thinking we could go out sometime.
It’s starting to get dark. I can see the silhouette of her cat in the living room window, like he’s watching me in my truck. I never thought of myself as a cat person, but I’ve missed that little dude.
I’m contemplating whether or not to let myself inside since I know her security code when two bright headlights pop into my sideview mirror. My heart starts to hammer, a steady, escalating beat just shy of panic. Jesus. Was this the right move?
Too late now. The headlights behind me make me squint as I step out of my pickup holding the sleeve of flowers. As the lights dim and shut off, I can see the vehicle is a silver BMW—not Callaway’s car, unless maybe she got a new one.
The driver’s side door opens. A guy gets out and starts walking toward me. Decent-looking, about 5’10”, neatly-combed brown hair. Wearing an expensive-looking, long coat and dress shoes.
And carrying a huge bouquet of red roses.
His expression is a mixture of suspicious and pissed. My fingers clench around the stems of the flowers as he flicks his eyes over me. His upper lip starts to curl, but I can see in his eyes that he’s uneasy. Most likely because of my size. I’m glad he’s on edge. I am, too, but I’m not about to show it. Already, I can’t stand him...he’s giving off the pompous prick vibe like it’s his cologne.
The roses. That’s what’s getting me the most. I’m starting to realize that showing up here was one of the worst ideas I’ve ever had.
He speaks first. “Who are you?”
“Jack Decker.”
“How do you know Madeline?”
Nosy bastard. If you want to know the truth, buddy, I know her inside and out—literally. I know her mouth, her hands, her breasts, the sweet folds between her legs. I know the freckles on her nose and the little mole on her belly, just above her navel. And she knows me the same way. “I’m her carpenter. Decker Renovation.”
He nods, his face relaxing a bit, but his eyes are still glittering and hard. “I didn’t realize carpenters brought flowers to their clients.”
I arrange my lips in a big grin. I’m not going to let this prick, whoever he thinks he is, get the best of me. “They don’t, usually. But Madeline’s special.”
“I’m well aware of that.”
And then I know, even without him saying anything, who he is.
He confirms it. “I was married to her.” He steps his feet apart on the tar, widening his stance a little like he’s ready to take me on. “We’ve been in frequent contact lately. In fact, she invited me over tonight.”
Invited him?
“Madeline and I have a lot to talk about. I’m looking forward to spending more and more time with her.”
The bunch of flowers feels like a dead weight in my hand—similar to how my heart feels in my chest. I’ve heard enough.
I won’t give this asshole the satisfaction of a response. I turn around and get into my truck, tossing the flowers on the floor in front of the passenger seat. Her ex has left me enough room to back out. My blood is sizzling in my veins. The only reason I don’t go screeching out of the driveway is because I don’t want him to know what his words did to me. Anger, pain, humiliation—they’re all banging around inside of me, climbing one over the other till I feel like I’m going to explode. I’ve got a death grip on the steering wheel, and my fingers don’t loosen up till I’m off Newbury Neck. Fucking idiot, thinking I should just show up at her house. Everything about this night feels wrong—especially the possibility that the dirt-bag ex-husband will end up with her.
But I can’t control that. I need to look at what I can control. Like viewing this as a sign that I should just let this go for good. Meaning permanently, instead of this waffling back and forth I’ve been doing.
I know one thing that will help me get that done.
I reach for my phone on the seat next to me, glance down to thumb through my contacts and make a call.
“Jackson.” My father sounds surprised to hear from me.
“Hello, Dad. I’ve made up my mind about the Concord position. If your offer’s still open...” I swallow hard, the words like pieces of cold metal in my mouth.
“...I’ll take it.”
Chapter 34 ~ Madeline
October 16
The roses are the first thing I notice; his smile, the second. Both are cringe-worthy because of their assumption. I’m already pissed off, not only because he’s here, but because he let himself into the house. Note to self: change the security code. I have to give myself a little pep talk, stay focused on the grand prize of my ex-husband fading into oblivion. Just a few unpleasant moments—like being under the dentist’s drill—and then the cavity that’s caused me so much aggravation will be gone.
“You look beautiful.” His gaze crisscrosses over me.
I feel his eyes like little barbs poking into my skin. I set my Sea Bag on the kitchen table, looking around for Murphy, who is nowhere to be seen. He never liked Paul. Smart cat.
“Still bringing work home with you?” Paul nods toward the bag. “You were always dedicated.”
Unlike how you were as a husband. “What is it you wanted to talk to me about?”
“We were a good team, weren’t we, Linnie? In the business, but also as husband and wife.”
I am not in the mood for a walk down memory lane. Not when it had some significant potholes, like oh, say, all those times he was screwing one of our clients. “I’d appreciate it if you’d get to the point.”
He blinks, like he’s surprised at my tone. “Can we go in the living room and sit down?”
“All right. Fine.”
Hesitating, he looks down at the bouquet in his hands. Under different circumstances, I might have gotten the Waterford vase out of the top cupboard, filled it with water and displayed the flowers on the center of my kitchen table. But this is my ex-husband, and both he and the roses are unwanted. I have no desire to keep either one.
Paul lays the flowers on the kitchen counter and walks into the living room. I wait until he takes a seat on the couch, and I sit on the floral armchair across from him, kicking off my pumps and tucking my feet underneath me.
He stares down at the carpet, flicks a piece of lint off his pants. “I guess I’ll just come right out and say it.” A pause, and then a slow lift of his head, his face etched with determination. “I’m still in love with you.”
I’d prepared myself that he might say something like this, while marveling that now, after all this time, he could have the audacity to think I’d want to hear these words from a mouth that kissed someone else while that mouth was married to my mouth. Right after we had split up, when I was feeling very broken myself, I would have taken him back. But I put the pieces of me back together to the point where I felt whole enough to risk falling apart again—with someone else. Someone who made me feel things I didn’t know I could. Someone who was worth the pain of losing.
And even if there had been no one else...there would not be Paul.
“I made a terrible mistake,” he continues. “I realize it, now. I’ve changed my mind. I want you back.” He exhales slowly. “I want us back.”
I don’t want to look at him. I don’t want to be sitting here, doing this. I cast my gaze around the room, as though I might find inspiration for the right things to say in the beige drapes, the fireplace, the oak corner tables.
“Paul...you need to listen to me. You’re not the only one who’s gone through some changes. I’m a different person now. I don’t see you the same way. You may have decided you want me back, but I’ve decided the opposite. I don’t want you.”
The pleading intensity in his eyes fades into pain. I have to think this is what he saw in my eyes when he told me he wanted a divorce.
“Madeline. I believe we can save this, salvage what
we had...”
“There is nothing to save, Paul. It’s over.”
His lips bunch up as if he’s tasted something sour. “It’s because of your handyman, isn’t it?”
I’m stopped cold, as if someone threw a glass of ice water in my face. The vibe in the room goes from tepid to turbulent. So much for being prepared for what he had to say. I never could have anticipated this. How the hell would he know about Jack? I struggle to keep my composure. “What are you talking about?”
He’s practically spitting the words at me. “Christ, Linnie...I would have thought you’d have higher standards than that.”
“It is none of your business who I choose to date.” A disturbing thought seizes me. “Are you—my God, Paul, have you been stalking me?”
“Jesus Christ. Give me a little credit, will you? Reaching out to you by phone...yes. Hiding in your rhododendrons and peeking in the window? No.” He narrows his eyes at me, his face darkening. “Did you invite him over on purpose? Knowing I’d run into him?”
“Invite him...” My stomach lurches. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. “Jack was here?”
“He was. You weren’t expecting him?”
“No.” My voice is brittle, like it might break. Like I might break. Jack was here. And then I zero in on the was here. He must have left because of Paul. “Did you tell him who you were?”
“Yes.”
“What did you say to him?” It is a small miracle that I’m able to verbally edit what THE FUCK did you say to him? but somehow, I do.
“You sound concerned, Madeline.” He looks at me, unblinking. He seems to be enjoying my stress, and fresh loathing for him sets my blood ablaze.
“Tell me what happened, or this conversation is over.”
A sigh of annoyance. “I told your handyman the truth—we’d been in frequent contact, you invited me over, and that I was looking forward to spending more time with you.”
The very implication that he and I are on the path to some sort of reconciliation makes me shudder. I can only imagine what Jack felt, hearing this, and I have no doubt Paul laced his words with confidence, arrogance. Add to that the bouquet of romantic red roses. Oh my God. Jack.
I have to call him. But first—I need to get rid of my ex-husband. For good.
“Paul,” I say, unwrapping each word as delicately as though they were eggs. “You need to hear me. Really hear me. Our relationship was over the moment you decided to sleep with someone else.”
“You wanted me back. You said so.” There is a growing desperation in his tone, because he knows no matter what he says, I am not going to care.
Just like he didn’t care when I begged him not to leave me.
“I am not out to hurt you, Paul. Truly, I’m not. But even if your feelings for me have returned—and I honestly think it’s more about you being lost than being in love—you need to find a way to let them go. To let me go. Please. If you cared about me at all, please, just do that for me.”
Unwanted tears spring to my eyes. God damn, I don’t want to cry in front of my ex, but I just want him to leave my house, my life. All I can think of is getting to Jack.
Paul stands up slowly. He raises his gaze to meet mine, and I am startled to see that I am not the only one whose eyes are brimming. Something passes between us, then: a rush of memories from when we both loved and liked each other, spiraling into the realization that we’d both walked far, far away from that place and would never find our way back.
“Okay,” he says dully. “Okay, Linnie. You have my word. I can give you that much.”
I wait until Paul has backed out of my driveway, and then I rush into the kitchen to get my phone. Murphy appears, slinking around my legs and purring as though he knows what has happened and approves. My fingers feel thick, clumsy—I’m shaking as I scroll through my contacts and make the call.
One ring. Two. Three. He answers. His voice is low, flat. Defeated. Oh, Jack! Once you hear what I have to say, it will be all right. It will!
“Hi,” I say, already breathless with eagerness. “I’m so glad I reached you.”
“Yeah? Why?”
“Because I had to make sure you understood.”
“You don’t have to explain anything, Madeline. I understand.”
“No, I don’t think you do. Listen, Jack, I know you saw my ex tonight. I agreed to let him come over, but only so I could make it clear that I wanted him to stay out of my life.”
“I was under the impression he was out of your life.”
Ughh. Shit. I never actually shared with Jack how Paul kept contacting me. But in my defense, it wasn’t like Jack and I were in a typical relationship.
“He was. He is. After he and his girlfriend broke up, he started texting and calling me. He was relentless. But that’s over now.” There is silence. “Jack?”
“Yeah.”
“You came over to my house.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He makes a deep, tired sigh—like it’s coming from the very core of him, where he’s been carrying it. A sigh that has weight.
“You wanted to see me.” I say it because he doesn’t. Words, like sighs, have weight.
“I wanted...I wanted to tell you goodbye.”
I sink down into a kitchen chair. Murphy springs up into my lap, rubbing his head on my arm. “Goodbye?”
“My father’s opening a store in Concord, New Hampshire. He’s asked me to run it. I said yes.”
“But—”
“I know you and I aren’t together, but I just thought I should...I don’t know. Guess I felt like I should say goodbye, since I’m moving.” His voice sharpens. “It’s probably better this way, over the phone. Easier.”
I pet and pet Murphy, running my hand up his striped tail as he arches his back. He doesn’t seem to notice the teardrops falling into his fur. I manage to form words and speak them. “You’re on better terms with your dad, then.”
“Yeah—we’ve got a ways to go, but things are definitely better.”
“I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks. Callaway—”
My heart clutches, flutters, at this mention of my name. “Yes?”
“I want to wish you the best. You’re a great person—a really great person—and you deserve to be happy.”
These are things you say to someone you don’t plan on seeing again. I can’t listen anymore, don’t want to hear him say goodbye. I choke out thank you and end the call just before the flood of tears, thinking my sobs will frighten Murphy off my lap.
He stays.
Chapter 35 ~ Jack
November 1
Since I made my decision to move to Concord, things have fallen into place unbelievably well. Owen and Dayna were looking for a bigger place now that they’ve got a baby on the way, and they decided to rent my house—furnished, so I don’t need to go through the hassle of moving anything except me and my personal stuff. I’ll miss this place, and the lake, but I’ve got to suck it up and leave it behind.
Along with other things.
My father seems much more relaxed, now that he knows I’ll be heading up the company once he retires. We’ve been talking more—mostly about the business, with him asking me for input, but also doing some father and son type of things, like going to the Pats game at Foxborough last weekend, watching from the New England Home Supply box. James was there, too, and even though we’re not what I’d called friendly yet, things are better between us. He seems genuinely sorry and anxious for us to get along like we used to. He offered to help me move in to my new place—a two-bedroom condo with a vaulted ceiling and lots of glass overlooking the ninth hole of the golf course in Canterbury. Definitely want to work on my golf game this spring—be good for me to have something that requires a lot of concentration. And I’m in the best shape I’ve ever been: working out a lot, not eating much.
So like I said—everything’s falling into place, and I’m anticipating the hollow space in my gut will fill in on
ce I get out of state. Other than finishing up with my last two clients, I haven’t done much except grab a beer with Owen, chat on the phone with Drew to catch him up on everything and visit Ed each week at his new place, which I’m on my way to do right now. He doesn’t know I’m coming—thought I’d surprise him and bring him some spicy lunch from this Thai place he mentioned when he was complaining about the food at the retirement home being bland—in his words, “totally lacking in imagination and flavor.” The aroma from the take-out bag smells good. I’m hoping that might jump start my appetite.
When I visited Ed last weekend, I told him about my plans. I thought he’d be pleased to hear I was mending fences with my father and brother, but he fixed those pale gray eyes on me and asked if there might be other fences that needed fixing. Before I could stop myself, I let it slip about my last phone call with Callaway.
What are you waiting for, Mr. Decker?
Sir?
Seems to me you’ve been squandering a lot of precious time. You may not be able to verbalize it, but the look on your face is telling the story. I’d hate to see you skip what could be one of the most important chapters in your life.
I’m afraid it’s a little late for that, Ed.
Better to realize something late than spend the rest of your life wishing you had the time back. If I could snap these arthritic fingers for emphasis, I would. Time is fleeting, Jack. If she’s worth it, act. Don’t wait.
I started to get antsy, and I wasn’t sure if it was me feeling like I should do something, or just the fact that Ed King was making me feel uncomfortable as hell, as he tends to do at times. Luckily, the activities director came in at that second to discuss an upcoming trip to the Blue Hill art gallery, so I was let off the hook.
I expect it’ll be more of the same from him today—little nudges, a poke here and there. I know he’s got my best interests at heart. I also know that one of two things will happen: I’ll eventually either become de-sensitized to his prodding, or I’ll get worked up to the point of spontaneous combustion. I’d be okay with that—anything to get rid of this gnawing in my gut.
