Jessie Belle: The Women of Merryton - Book One

by Peel, Jennifer

  I had always been fascinated with canyons. I had always been impressed with what Mother Nature could design and with the amazing power of water. Water was an enigma to me. It was the giver of life and sometimes death; so necessary, but so destructive.

  I got several great shots of nature, including terrific ones of a bald eagle and even a black bear. I was in my car for the bear sighting, thankfully. I had never seen one in the wild. It both frightened and excited me.

  I headed into Montrose to gas up and get a very large Dr. Pepper before I drove the four hours back to Merryton. I liked Montrose—it reminded me of Merryton in both size and beauty. It, too, was in a valley and graced by mountains. Even better, no one knew me there.

  By the time I pulled into Merryton it was dark, but that didn’t stop me from making my way to the cemetery. It only seemed right. I could consider myself a mother, right? I always grappled with that thought.

  In the late evening hours I sat at my son’s grave and thought back to the previous Mother’s Day. It was a much happier occasion. We had barely started to be able to feel him kick on the outside. He packed quite the punch. When Blake and I were home together he was never far, and his hand could frequently be found against my bare abdomen. Neither of us tired of feeling Carter move inside me. I could still remember how it felt, and I ached for it.

  I drove home slowly to an empty house. I had no idea where Blake would be at ten at night on a Sunday, but I was tired and didn’t put much thought into it. That is, I didn’t put much thought into it until he came crashing through our bedroom door a half-hour later. I knew he was upset from the onset—his eyes were ablaze—but I didn’t know why.

  In just a few long strides he was by my side. He dropped to his knees and laid his head on my midsection and wrapped his arms around me. He was shaking.

  Without thinking I reached out and stroked his hair. “Blake, tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Jessica, where the hell have you been?”

  “I spent the day driving and taking pictures.”

  “Why didn’t you answer your phone? I’ve been sick with worry. And so is everyone else now.” He clung to me even tighter.

  “I’m sorry. I turned my phone off, but there was no need to worry. I needed to be by myself.”

  “Next time tell someone. Your parents and Cheyenne and Abby are beside themselves. I was about ready to call the police.”

  “Okay. I honestly didn’t think you would notice.”

  His phone rang. He immediately sat up and answered it. “She’s here,” he said. “She’s fine. She was out taking pictures. I’ll have her call you in the morning,” he said before he hung up. He looked up at me and I saw a mixture of fear and anger in his eyes.

  I bit my lip nervously. “I really didn’t mean to worry anyone.”

  “That was your dad. You need to call your parents in the morning.”

  I nodded.

  “Don’t ever do that to me again,” he scolded me like a parent of a child that had just run out in front of a car. He turned quickly and walked out, quietly shutting the door behind him.

  I sat up all the way in bed, stunned. I had no idea my innocent act of taking a day to get away would cause such a stir. It added to my ever-increasing guilt. I felt like I couldn’t get anything right lately, at least not any of the most important things. I got out of bed and retrieved my cell phone. Within the seconds it took for it to come back on I was inundated with the beeping and buzzing that let me know I had a plethora of texts and voicemails. They were mostly from Blake.

  I began to listen to the voice messages. They started off with the annoyance of just wondering where I was, but as time went on they became desperate pleas for me to call him. He wasn’t only worried something had happened to me, he was worried that I had left him. Every message was a plea for me to either be safe or for me to come home. The emotion in his voice was gut-wrenching. The last, “I love you,” tore at my heart.

  Interspersed between his calls were calls from my parents and best friends. They, too, were frantic.

  I quickly sent texts to Cheyenne and Abby. I’m sure Blake had called them and told them I was fine, but I wanted to apologize. I would call both them and my parents in the morning. It was much too late now, and I needed to talk to Blake. I had no idea he would react in such a way. I should have left a note or gone out to the shop this morning and told him, but I let my hurt and pride get in the way.

  I slowly crept out of my room and into the darkened great room. I was planning to head upstairs to where Blake now slept, but I noticed a dark silhouette sitting on the couch leaning forward with his face in his hands.

  I felt lower than dust.

  I carefully approached him. He remained still and didn’t acknowledge my presence.

  I sat in front of him on the shaggy area rug. For a moment I didn’t say anything. I kept waiting for him to look up. I wanted him to see in my eyes how truly sorry I was when I verbally apologized to him. “Blake,” I whispered.

  He barely raised his head, but at least our eyes met.

  In the dim light I could see the telltale mark of red eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

  He didn’t respond to my apology.

  I knew sorry was inadequate for what I had unknowingly put him through. “I wouldn’t leave you without telling you first.”

  He straightened up some. Now I had to look up at him. “Are you going to leave me?” he asked.

  “I’ve been thinking maybe I should go stay with my parents. It’s not fair to bring Madeline here with the way things are between us. With the way I am,” I added quietly, embarrassed.

  “What do you mean ‘the way you are’?”

  “I’m a mess, Blake. I’m not good for anybody right now, especially you.” I let the tears fall down my cheek as I watched him process my words.

  His eyes never left mine, but I knew he was lost in his thoughts as he paused to speak. “Jess, we can work this out. Leaving isn’t the answer.”

  “You sound like my mother.”

  “She’s a smart woman.”

  “What if she’s wrong? What if we’re wrong? Things are only getting worse between us.”

  He slid down the couch and joined me on the floor. “All I know is for the last several hours I felt the weight of the world come crashing down around me. Losing you isn’t an option for me.”

  “Blake, I’m so lost, I can’t even find myself right now.”

  Almost hesitantly he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me onto his lap. I couldn’t remember the last we were this close. At first I was stiff, but as he rubbed my back I curled up into him and sobbed against his flannel shirt that smelled like musk.

  I don’t know how long we sat there on the floor against the couch not saying a word; it seemed like at least an hour. The only muffled sounds came from me against Blake’s chest. His shirt was now soaked. I wondered if I would ever run out of tears.

  Once the sobbing stopped and just the intermittent tears remained, Blake asked out of the blue, “Remember the first day we met?”

  I smiled at the thought. I nodded my head against his chest. Speaking required too much energy at that moment.

  “I don’t know if I ever told you, but I had been watching you for days as you ate your lunch and read your book out by the lake. Every day I looked forward to you taking off that hideous beret they made you wear and watching your hair fall down. And watching you make all sorts of faces while you read your book.”

  I smiled again, thinking about the ridiculous uniform I had to wear and my time spent out by that glorious lake, and because I hadn’t been making faces at my book. The faces came because I was listening to him. He was a perfectionist, and the guys on his crew were definitely not living up to his expectations. They had constructed a gazebo that sat on the lake just off the pier. It looked perfect to me, but Blake found every flaw. He was particularly miffed about the paint job. I had been watching him scrape paint and touch up the others’ mistakes, among other thin
gs.

  “Even from a distance,” he continued, “I knew beyond being beautiful, there was something about you. You possessed this self-assurance that I was even more attracted to. And then came the day when I was paying more attention to you than the task before me and I sliced my hand with the paint scraper. You came to my aid without a second thought. The blood didn’t even bother you. You took command of the situation by cleaning it and applying pressure, even if it was with my favorite shirt.”

  “I asked you first if it was okay,” I said in my defense.

  “Yes, you did.”

  I could hear the smile in his voice.

  “Then with that same confidence you let me know how much you disapproved of my first-aid skills.”

  I shook my head. “Super glue isn’t meant for human skin.”

  “I suppose not, but you still helped me apply it.”

  “Only because you refused to go to urgent care and I didn’t want you getting super glue inside the wound.”

  “I appreciated that. But then, just like that, you walked away and, like an idiot, I watched you go. I kept telling myself to call after you, or hell, even get your name, but I didn’t. I let you walk away. I stood there, beating myself up about it, but I still didn’t act. I tried going back to work, but I couldn’t get you off my mind. I told myself if by any chance you came back, I wouldn’t let you slip away without at least asking you what your name was and what your plans were for the rest of your life. And then you came back bearing bandages and antibiotic spray.”

  “But you only asked me to dinner.” Which is what I had hoped for when I came back.

  “I decided that was less threatening.”

  “Good thinking.”

  “Tonight, I felt the same way. I decided if you came back, I wouldn’t let you slip away. Just tell me what you want.”

  “That’s the problem. I can’t have what I want. What I want died, literally. And I feel like part of me died right along with him.”

  He held me closer. “I feel the same way. But Jess, I still see that confidant, self-assured woman when I look at you. And I know if anyone can come through this, it’s you. And we still have each other.”

  “What if I can’t? What if we can’t?”

  “That’s not an option for me.”

  “We both know after everything we’ve been through we can’t choose the outcome.”

  “Maybe not, but twice now in the last year I thought I had lost you, and I can’t bear it.”

  It was the most I’d heard him say in forever, and I realized how much I had missed those rare occasions when he opened up to me. I sank into him further and he held me until I felt like I was a part of him.

  “Are you sure you want me around your daughter like this? When we are so unsure of our own relationship?”

  “Jessica, I can’t think of anyone else I would want around Madeline. So we have some things to work out. What parents don’t? Please, just talk to me before you leave like you did today.”

  I wasn’t sure about how to feel about him calling us parents, but I didn’t contradict him. “I am sorry that I worried you, but you do realize that you’re not the easiest person to talk to, right?”

  “What do you mean? I always listen to you.”

  “Maybe you listen, but you hardly ever respond.”

  “I thought women wanted men to listen and not try to solve their problems.”

  I laughed softly into his still damp shirt. “Blake, you don’t have to solve my problems. Just acknowledge them and maybe hold me and tell me it will be okay, even if it won’t be. Or I would even take chocolate as a consolation prize.”

  “I could probably handle that.”

  “And maybe try not to spring any other news on me for the time being.”

  “Hmm …” he replied.

  I braced myself and tried to sit up, but he gently pushed me back toward him and lied. “It will be okay.”

  “Please don’t tell me you have any other children running around.”

  “No,” he said, sounding like he was scraping a wire brush against his skin. “We need to talk about where Madeline is going to stay while she’s here.”

  “We can convert the office upstairs into a bedroom,” I said quickly.

  He paused and took several deep breaths. I knew I wasn’t going to like his response.

  “I need the office. And, Jess … it’s time.”

  I knew what he meant and my head knew he was right, but my heart was not on board.

  “Carter’s room—”

  I don’t know if I had ever heard him say Carter’s name since the day we lost him. “Move back into our room, and she can have the guest room.” I interrupted.

  “I’m not moving back into our room until you’re ready to share our bed, in every way.” He waited to see if that would be the case.

  I felt guilty not inviting him back, but I wanted it to be in the right way. I wanted to feel like myself again. I wanted to feel for him like a wife should. These past few weeks without him there I had felt less rejected. For months I had been lying in bed every night wondering why he didn’t touch me anymore, or why I couldn’t make myself touch him. The time apart had brought me some relief in that way.

  “Besides, the baby’s room is where I want her.” I could not only hear the finality in his words, but also the hurt that I wasn’t welcoming him back into our bed.

  Part of me really wanted to, but I meant what I said: I was a mess. I looked at my own body as broken.

  “Blake,” I pleaded with my voice. I wasn’t ready for this.

  He kissed the top of my head. “Jessica, we have to move on. Please.”

  I nodded my head against his chest. I knew he was right, but it was killing me.

  When I crawled into bed it was almost three in the morning. Blake didn’t seem to want to let go of me, and for the first time in a long time I took refuge in his arms. We might have stayed like that until morning, but as Blake pointed out, he wasn’t twenty anymore and though I was small in comparison to him, sitting on the hardwood floor holding me couldn’t have been all that comfortable. Even when things were right between us he was never one to hold me all night, even in the comfort of our king-size bed. He typically liked his space when sleeping, except for those few short, wonderful months when we thought we would be parents.

  When we first were married, I was kind of hurt that he didn’t want stay wrapped up together all night. I thought that’s what married couples did. I mean come on, every movie and television show portray happy couples waking up every morning in the arms of the person they had gone to bed with. It was a serious letdown when Blake told me he couldn’t sleep if he was holding me. What could I say to that? I wouldn’t deny him his sleep, but honestly I never slept as well as when I was wrapped up against him.

  It was one of those idealistic things I had to let go of.

  Sleep did not come quickly as I lay there thinking about how I was going to save myself and my marriage, and about the impending arrival of Madeline. I still wasn’t sure that my staying was the best idea. I figured the poor girl was going through enough at the moment with her mom. Did she really need a crazy stepmom? But I couldn’t say no to Blake. I owed it to him to at least try.

  Speaking of trying, I sat up and pulled out my journal from the nightstand next to my bed. I had tried the counseling route after Carter died, but quit going because I only felt worse. I was looking for a quick fix, and Dr. Ames wasn’t giving it to me. She had suggested that I get a journal and write every maddening, unfair, horrible, selfish, and even hurtful feeling I had in it. She wanted me to write about every detail of Carter’s pregnancy and birth, and even his death. But I never could. Because putting it all on paper made it too real for me, and I couldn’t deal with more real. After a few sessions I thanked her for her time and never went back; it was probably not my best decision.

  I supposed that I could at least write about how I felt about Madeline and the fact that my husband was a father wi
thout me being the mother. That reality was hitting me hard, and I knew for everyone’s sake I needed to deal with it.

  I touched the paper several times with my pen before I could write anything, and even when I managed to write, only a few words came: My life wasn’t supposed to turn out this way.

  I stared at those words for the longest time, and then suddenly this rush of words flooded my mind and I wrote and wrote and wrote some more. I wrote for an hour straight, until my eyes were so blurry from tears I couldn’t see anymore. What about that? Dr. Ames knew what she was talking about. For a brief moment I felt this rush of relief and release. It was nowhere close to feeling whole, but there was this small glimmer of hope creeping in that I hadn’t felt in quite a long while.

  I placed the journal back in the nightstand and nestled into my bed, holding onto a pillow for comfort.

  I was awakened at six by Blake kissing my forehead. I opened my eyes slowly to find him hovering over me, dressed and ready for the day. He was a workhorse. I had always admired that quality, even if at times I thought it interfered with us. “Is everything all right?” I asked.

  “Just came in to say goodbye.”

  How very unusual. We had let that simple gesture go by the wayside too long ago. “Goodbye,” I yawned.

  He almost smiled, which was saying something for him. “I’ll see you tonight,” he said, like he was making sure.

  “You’re going to baseball practice, right?”

  He nodded.

  “Maybe I’ll stop by and see how our newest team members are shaping up.” I had been meaning to, but hadn’t yet. I figured staying away from Blake in public was a good thing because that way no one could tell we were having more issues. I didn’t want to erase the good PR we had pulled off at the café several days ago.

  “I’ll see you there,” he said as he walked away.

  I tried going back to sleep but couldn’t, so I threw off the covers and started my day.

  It’s never good when you need Dr. Pepper at seven in the morning, but like Blake, I wasn’t getting any younger and two hours of sleep was not nearly enough; caffeine was my only hope for surviving the day.