Natural Attraction

by Marisa Carroll

  “We didn’t fight at all, actually.” Jessie waffled, scrutinizing a series of eight-by-ten color prints strung on a wire line over the marble counter. “What do you think of these?”

  Marta closed the door firmly behind her, shutting out any distractions that might have saved Jessie an explanation. “Mark must have spent a great deal of time with the girls that week. He’s in every shot, isn’t he?” Marta made the observation pointedly, returning to the attack with her next breath. “I want to know what upset you so badly that night, Jess.”

  “Damn, these prints do have a green cast.” Jessie cocked her head, pretending to study the prints as she sorted through her jumbled thoughts for an answer that would silence her mother’s probing. “Can’t you see it?”

  “They look fine to me.”

  “Well, it’s there nonetheless,” Jessie mumbled in desperation as Marta’s snare tightened. “I’d better reduce the magenta filtration on the filter pack. I’d love to be able to afford an enlarger that would do it automatically.”

  “You could do it at the magazine as you have before. Mark understands why you like to choose your shots from completed prints instead of negatives or slides. He thinks it’s a good idea. Why do you think he invested in all that expensive new equipment when he took over Meanderings?” Marta’s voice was gently chiding. “Nothing ever happens easily for you, does it, Jessie, honey? Is it because you’re trying too hard to make everything come out right in the end?”

  “No.” Jessie was emphatic. “I’ve learned to lighten up considerably. At least I thought I had.” Her tone was a mixture of croaking laughter and hidden tears. “I just can’t face Mark yet.”

  “I suppose it would be awkward meeting the man when you’ve refused to accept his calls and messages for the past two days.”

  Blinking hard, Jessie adjusted another negative under the secondhand print enlarger she’d scrimped and saved for. With the speed of thought her mind converted the complementary colors and orange wash of the negative into a fuzzy, out-of-focus image of Nell whirling in glee, the bright starfish clutched in her hand, a streak of gaiety against a bleak background. “I can’t talk to him now, Mom. I don’t know what to say to you or Mark. I need time to figure out exactly what I’m going to do.”

  “That’s logical. Couldn’t you tell him that and put the poor man out of his misery?” Marta perched one ample hip against the counter as she studied a print of the twins with Mark rekindling the banked campfire while early-morning mist swirled in ragged streamers around them. “What happened, Jess?” Marta’s concern was evident.

  “I’m so mixed up. I’ve made a mess of everything,” Jessie said truthfully. “Mark asked me to marry him,” she concluded with a sniff. No need to say anything about the precious hours they’d spent in each other’s arms.

  “And you ran away?” Marta squawked. “Jess, that’s fabulous! I mean that he asked you to marry him.”

  “I thought it was fabulous at first. But everything’s happened so fast. I guess I can’t handle whirlwind romances as well as you.” Jessie tried a lopsided smile but it slipped off her lips. When she spoke again her voice was hard with repressed sadness. “It won’t work for us, Mom.”

  “Won’t work? Jessie…” Marta halted abruptly, clearing her throat. Her next words were quiet, more subdued. “Jessie, did you say no because of me?” The only illumination in the windowless pantry came from a red safelight above the bleach bath that stabilized the prints against further exposure to light. It distorted even Marta’s soft, familiar features, but there was no mistaking the pain in her words. “Because I’ve gone and fallen in love like a silly old fool? Because I’m deserting you and the girls?”

  “Stop talking like that, Mom. We’ll miss you terribly, but you’re only going to be as far away as the telephone.” Jessie put every ounce of conviction she could muster into her words. She would miss her mother terribly but not enough to jeopardize her chances of happiness with Hi.

  “I’ll stay if you need me,” Marta promised with quiet certainty.

  “We’ll be fine. And I’ll work things out with Mark. I’ll find the words to tell him somehow.” Marta settled stubbornly on a stool in the corner, her back to the floor-to-ceiling painted pine cabinets that had been one of the house’s chief selling points when Carl and Jessie bought the rambling old Victorian.

  “Work what out, Jessie? If I know what the problem is, maybe I can offer a solution. Aren’t you sure of your own feelings?”

  “I’m sure I’m falling in love with Mark Elliot,” Jessie said with simple conviction. “I’m also sure it would be a terrible mistake to marry him. That’s why I sneaked off.”

  Marta snorted with disdain at that convoluted reasoning. Jessie was in love. Whether her stubborn daughter realized that she’d be miserable without Mark in her life was another problem. “It can’t be because of the girls.” She let the inflection of her voice rise a fraction, making the statement just less than an outright question. All the response she got was another watery sniff and a negative shake of Jessie’s head. “I didn’t think so. Look at him in those pictures. I’ll bet everything I own he’d be a wonderful father.”

  Jessie sniffed louder, giving up any attempt to appear as if she weren’t crying. “That’s just it. He wants to be a father. He asked me to marry him and to give him a child of our own.”

  “A baby!” Marta sounded as taken aback as Jessie had been that night in Mark’s arms. “You’re too old for babies,” she blurted with a lamentable lack of tact.

  “I know that,” Jessie responded, slightly miffed despite her own similar conviction. Marta didn’t need to sound so shocked. But wasn’t it exactly the tone of voice Jessie had used when her mother told her she was having an affair with Hi? “I’m not quite thirty-six. These days that’s not so old. I could have another baby. I’m not afraid physically, if that’s what you’re driving at. Lots of women have babies at my age.”

  “I’m aware of that,” Marta said with a shake of her short salt-and-pepper curls. “I did myself. But I also didn’t have three teenagers already. It’s just such a surprise. If anyone could bring it off, you could. It might be nice to have a little one around the house again,” she concluded thoughtfully.

  “I still have the cradle and the high chair,” Jessie said softly, pulled to memories of the babies she’d held in her arms and nourished at her breasts. Perhaps she had been too hasty that night. Mark’s baby—the thought was compelling.

  “Of course it wouldn’t be fair to have just one more child.” Marta had decided to play devil’s advocate.

  “What do you mean?” Jessie questioned sharply, sensing a trap. Her brain was already overruling her heart; all of her reasons for not wanting another baby came rushing back with renewed strength, clamoring for recognition and agreement with her logic.

  “A child shouldn’t grow up alone. The twins will be going off to college in less than two years. Nell will be in high school and then away on her own, too. I’ve never believed in an only child myself. You’d owe it to the new baby to give him a brother or sister. No child should be raised alone.”

  “Two babies?” Jessie dropped her head into her hands, panic fluttering in her middle. “Two pregnancies, two infancies with colic and baby shots and ten more years of pediatricians…nursery school…Mom, I can’t do it.”

  “Then you’ll have to tell Mark so. Don’t you think he’ll understand, honey? He’s a great guy. He loves you, I’m sure he does. He’ll understand,” she repeated for emphasis. With Jessie’s next words, Marta’s carefully constructed argument blew up in her face.

  “I don’t think so.” Jessie’s voice sounded scratchy with pain and she felt as lost and forlorn as dead leaves skittering before a cold November wind. She saw the pain of Mark’s rejection in her mind’s eye. “I don’t think he’ll understand or forgive me. Because telling him the truth will kill his dreams.”

  JESSIE’S LIFE WAS DOMESTIC CHAOS.

  Mark was familiar wi
th chaos in its more dangerous forms—the directed furor of a guerrilla attack, the controlled mayhem of huge construction sites—but the prospect that greeted him at the bottom of Jessie’s basement stairs was something else entirely. It was as if a Norman Rockwell illustration for the Saturday Evening Post has suddenly gone awry.

  No attempt had been made to conceal the utilitarian function of the big old low-ceilinged room. An electrician’s trouble light spotlighted the gathering of the Meyer clan just to the left of the stairs.

  The twins and Nell were perched on the bottom step as they watched their mother’s head disappear into the depths of an old chest-type freezer. Jessie’s pleated plaid flannel skirt in muted tones of brown and orange rode high on her thighs. She was still dressed for work. High heels accented the long sweep of her legs. Mark’s breath caught in his chest. How he wanted to reach out and smooth his hands over the soft curve of her bottom. Or he would have wanted to, he corrected mentally, if he hadn’t been so damn mad at the woman.

  Marta fluttered into his line of sight, holding the lamp cord for a short, balding man to poke a screwdriver haphazardly into the innards of the freezer. Jessie straightened abruptly with a sack of frozen food in her hand. She cursed quietly and effectively, but the oaths didn’t carry a sting, censored as they were for her avidly listening teen audience.

  “Nell, get this stuff upstairs.” Jessie raised her voice to carry over Marta’s and her companion’s murmured consultation behind the freezer. “Ann, Lyn, don’t just sit there. Do something. Take this steak to the Petersens’ and beg for freezer room.” She whirled around. Mark watched as the color drained from her face, leaving it barely brighter than the long-sleeved, ivory silk blouse she was wearing. “Mark!” His name echoed across the room.

  “Problems?” He was proud of the ordinary, everyday tone of his voice. He didn’t feel ordinary. His hands were sweaty and his heart was beating hard against his ribs. Why had she run from him? She loved him; she had told him so, had proved it with her body’s response to his. What had he done wrong?

  Mark grinned down at the twins staring up at him from the steps. For the first time his smile failed to captivate a Meyer woman. The girls stared sharply back, aware of the tension emanating from their mother’s taut form.

  “Hello, Mark,” they responded politely.

  “We’d better go do what Mom said.” Ann nudged her twin.

  “Mark, it’s good to see you.” Marta sailed into the breach as Mark moved to allow the twins to pass him on the stairs. “I’d like you to meet my fiancé, Hiram Parker. Hi, this is Mark Elliot, the owner of Meanderings.”

  Jessie had confided in her mother. The slightly guarded look in Marta’s eyes, the studiously noncommittal set of her mouth told him so.

  “Nice to meet you,” Hi Parker boomed. He rose from the floor with some difficulty. The two men shook hands. Mark’s tall, imposing figure dwarfed Hi. “Nell came down for ice cream a few minutes ago and found this old girl on the fritz.”

  “Lucky Nell’s got such a sweet tooth. Nothing’s melted but the ice cream and the strawberries. The girls will make quick work of those.” Marta smiled with comical gravity.

  “Can’t seem to find the problem,” Hi said.

  “Let me take a look at it,” Mark offered. Hi backed off obligingly.

  “No, let’s just get it unloaded. I’ll call the repairman first thing in the morning.” Jessie’s voice was shrill with strain. She was close to the end of her rope. She had no more idea of how to explain her behavior to Mark than she had when she left the loft.

  “It’s no trouble, Jessie. We have plenty of time,” Mark said.

  Jessie resisted the urge to rub her hands together in dismay. She couldn’t resist the inclination to meet his sparkling-blue gaze. A ripple of apprehension coursed the length of her spine. He was angry, and deep in those cobalt-reflecting depths she sensed his pain.

  “We didn’t have anything special planned tonight,” Mark added.

  Jessie shot her mother a beseeching look, willing her to contradict Mark’s mendacious statement. Marta studiously ignored her offspring. Jessie gritted her teeth.

  “How did you find us down here?” Marta asked conversationally.

  “I followed the commotion.”

  Marta laughed. There was no way she could stay angry at the man who’d saved Nell’s life. Jessie felt her base of support crumble.

  “Everything looks okay back here. What about the plug?”

  “Checked first thing,” Hi answered smugly.

  “And the socket?”

  “The socket?” Marta glanced at her beloved with a hint of disapproval.

  “It can’t be the socket. I just had this basement rewired three years ago,” Jessie snapped.

  “Never hurts to double-check,” Hi said equably. He unplugged the trouble light, handing the plug to Mark, who was by then on the floor behind the freezer. He inserted the plug. Nothing happened. Hi snorted, reaching for the end of the extension cord so Mark could plug the freezer into it. The faithful old motor hummed to life.

  “That does it. Good work, my boy.”

  “You’d have found it yourself in a minute or two.” Mark extricated himself from his cramped position, brushing the dust off his pant leg.

  “Ready to go, Jess?” She looked as if she were going to take off on him again. Mark tried to school the anger and irritation out of his voice.

  “The electrician,” Jessie began lamely. “That plug is dangerous.”

  “It’s only a loose wire, I suspect, Jess,” Hi said. “I’ll look at it later. Your mother will show me where the fuse box is. I’ll be careful. Don’t want to get electrocuted before we tie the knot.” Only Marta managed a genuine chuckle at his joke.

  “You two run along. I didn’t know you had a date tonight,” Marta said archly. She eyed her daughter sharply.

  “It must have slipped her mind,” Mark inserted quickly.

  “Let’s go, Jess.”

  “The girls will help reload the freezer. No need for you to stick around. Run along, you two.” Marta waved as she turned to lead Hi off into the gloomy basement to locate the fuse box.

  “I’d rather not go with you, Mark,” Jessie began as Mark took her arm.

  “You don’t have much choice.” He led her toward the stairs. “I want to know why you ran out on me. I’ve waited four days. I’m out of patience.”

  The twins were making strawberry milkshakes out of the melted ice cream. The kitchen was a mess. Jessie wished Mark could have seen it at its cheery, country-style best, not with a day’s worth of dirty dishes and after-school snacks littering counter and tabletop.

  “Will you be gone long, Mom?” Nell’s small gamine face was serious as she spooned softened black-cherry ice cream into her mouth.

  “No, I won’t. Do your homework before you watch TV.” School had started the day before and Nell still wasn’t reconciled to her loss of freedom.

  “I hate refrozen ice cream.” She smiled up at Mark.

  “Me, too.” Mark didn’t try not to grin. She was such a cute kid. She could have been his—another piece in the jigsaw puzzle of his most secret dreams become reality. He’d love Jessie’s daughter as much as he would love the babies she’d give him.

  Mark ushered Jessie into his car with scant ceremony. “I’m not going to argue with you here. We’re going someplace where we can talk without interruption.”

  Jessie didn’t answer, just stared sightlessly out the window as residential streets gave way to rural roads. “Where are we going?”

  “A place I know.” He swung the car off the highway down a rutted, pine-bordered lane. At the end of it the skeletal remains of an abandoned farmhouse stood outlined starkly against the purpling sky. It was mute testimony that New England’s rocky soil and unforgiving climate had claimed other people’s dreams as well as her own. Jessie shivered at the unhappy comparison.

  “Look, the trees out here are beginning to turn,” she ventured. “Summer�
��s gone. Winter might come early this year.” It had certainly taken up residence in her heart, regardless of the date on the calendar.

  “Quit stalling.” Mark’s hands were tight on the steering wheel, his voice rough and uncompromising. His knuckles showed white against the dark interior of the car. “Start talking, Jess.”

  “I am talking.” She attempted to lighten the heavy atmosphere inside the vehicle. Mark only pinned her with an unnerving stare.

  He was aware he wasn’t going about this the right way. He was frightening her. But the pain inside him wouldn’t submit to reason. He hurt, and it was Jessie’s fault. She’d shattered fragile dreams that he’d protected in the depths of his soul for over half his life.

  “It isn’t easy for me to begin,” Jessie continued in a small voice. “Could we take a walk around the farm? Or is it posted for trespassing?” she inquired as an afterthought.

  “It isn’t posted.” He opened the door. Jessie did the same, too restless to sit still any longer. Her mind churned ceaselessly with opening gambits to explain her behavior.

  They scrambled up the rocky rise to the house, silent, side by side but separated by several feet. It might as well have been several miles as far as Jessie was concerned. She plunked down on a lopsided porch step. Mark leaned his shoulder gingerly against a surprisingly sturdy railing.

  “What happened that night at my place, Jess? I’ve racked my brains for what I said or did to hurt you so badly you’d run away from me while I slept.” Mark dropped onto the balls of his feet, bringing his face level with Jessie’s guarded features. “I love you, Jess.” He took her face in his hands, but his kiss was harsh, possessive, fueled by the raw pain and hurt pride that had festered in him for four long, puzzling days.