Milestones

by Hensley, Alta

  Fifteen minutes later, she returned to her car with three bags of groceries and a cup of coffee. She continued down the road another ten miles. The lake gleamed to her right, and she turned onto the dirt road of their property just as the sun got low over the ridge beyond the water.

  The front porch light was on. She had notified the lake patrol she would be here for a few days, and it appeared they had taken it upon themselves to turn on the lights and open up the house for her. The closest house was three miles to the north, so she was always in the habit of letting the patrol know she was here—if she was here alone. And she always seemed to be here alone, even when Jack was with her.

  Kate grabbed her overnight bag and the groceries and went inside. The wood beamed and paneled ceilings, the wood walls and the huge stone fireplace enveloped her in warmth and memories. The house still smelled of woodsmoke from her last visit a month ago. Wood was stacked next to the fireplace, and three good-sized logs sat inside, waiting to be lit. She got the fire going and poured herself two fingers of Jack Daniels Tennessee Honey Whiskey, then took it and herself out to the porch and watched the sun set over the lake.

  Kate looked around the property they had purchased together six years ago, when things were better between them. She thought a place like this would make him want to spend more time with her. Instead, he brought clients up to fish. She loved it up here; he couldn’t care less. One of the things she insisted on in the divorce was this house and property. According to the amended documents she signed in Cliff Haskell’s presence, Jack had no argument with that. She fumed all the more.

  Kate lay in the hospital, drifting in and out of consciousness. She recalled doctors coming and going, and her mother’s soft, lilting voice. But she remembered most of all the commanding voice of the man who saved her.

  “Shot…random act of violence… witnesses… grazing wound…lucky…infection… stay still… Honey, you need to stay in that bed, now. Do you-oo-oo-oo…h-e-a-r-m-e-e-e-e-e…”

  He wasn’t around on the day she was discharged.

  It had been an interesting beginning to a love affair she thought would last a lifetime. She should have known then, but how could she? She was twenty. He, twenty-six. And she was in love.

  Almost ten years, wasted.

  She finished her whiskey and set the glass down on the table next to her. The sun was down over the mountain now, a purple haze sitting quietly atop the dark water. She stood and almost bumped into him.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” he drawled. “Long time, no see.”

  Chapter 2

  She squealed, and instinct caused her to slap at him. He caught her wrists after the second blow to his torso. He had a formidable silhouette. At six-foot-two, and over 200 pounds, Jack Barrington was always larger than life. He was a man who could suck the air out of a room, and she didn’t look at that as a bad thing, necessarily. At one time, he could melt her like butter with just a look. He wore the look now.

  “Christ, Jack! What are you doing here?”

  “We need to talk, Kate.”

  She laughed, and it was the kind devoid of humor. “We do, huh? About what, exactly?” She pulled out of his grip and went inside. He followed. “We have nothing to talk about, but that shouldn’t be news to you, since it’s been this way for many years.” She grabbed her purse and her overnight bag.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, hands on hips, brows knitted together.

  “Anyplace you’re not. There’s food in the fridge. Enjoy.” She fished her keys out of her purse and bumped past him out the door. She tossed her bags into the front seat of the Lexus, pressed the ignition button, and… nothing. Jack leaned against the large red maple and smirked.

  She threw the car door open and got out. She was going to remain calm. Jack Barrington would not get to her. Not this time. The car was all electronics and new fangled materials she had no knowledge of. All she knew was that she was supposed to step on the brake and press a button, and the car would start as long as she had the little leather encased key fob in the car. She had that. So, why didn’t it work?

  “Whatever you did, undo it,” she said with a dead calm she did not feel.

  “No. We’re going to spend some time together, Kate. We’re going to work this out.”

  She closed the car door and leaned against it. She folded her arms, to ward off the late fall chill, and to make sure she didn’t lunge at him and scratch his eyes out. Giving him the benefit of a full-blown tantrum was not in her best interest, but dear God, how she wanted to kick his teeth in. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

  “That isn’t what I want. I’d like to leave if you’re going to stay here. If not, I’d like you to leave.”

  “Not happening.”

  Kate threw the keys at him, the idea of keeping her temper in check all but gone. With tears of frustration sitting in her eyes and fighting to escape, she dashed past him and into the house. She would not give in. He would not have his way in this, too. It was done. They were over. Finis.

  Jack smiled to himself and followed her up the steps of the porch: happy she had resigned herself to the inevitable, not happy that he would sport a bruise where the keys clipped his collarbone. His Kate was stubborn, feisty, and like a house on fire when her temper got the better of her. He loved it. He loved her. He was busy gloating to himself while watching the way her ass swayed in those jeans, when she slipped inside, slammed the door in his face and then locked it. He chuckled to himself.

  “Didn’t see that coming,” he mumbled. He banged on the door. “Kate. Open up.”

  “Go to hell.”

  “Kathryn, open this door right now.”

  “No. Go away.”

  He banged twice. “Open the door.”

  “I was here first.”

  Jack smiled. This was going to be interesting. Very interesting.

  “Kathryn Elizabeth Barrington, you open this door right now, or so help me, when I get hold of you… and I will get hold of you…”

  Kate paced on the other side of the door. What the hell was he doing here? she thought. She didn’t need this. Not now. Not ever.

  “Don’t you dare stand out there… in the cold… and threaten me. I came here to get away from you, and that’s what I intend to do. Stay and freeze your ass off… whatever. Goodnight.” She turned off the porch light, then the living room light, and stormed into the bedroom. She undressed completely, slipped on a pair of warm flannel pajama bottoms and a loose t-shirt, and crawled into bed with her book. In the five minutes it took her to do that, she did not hear a sound coming from outside, but the moment she got comfortable, the banging resumed.

  “I advise you to open this door, young lady, and I advise you to do it now. You’ve had time to think it through, and I won’t ask again.”

  “Oh, won’t you?” she said to the dimly lit room. Still, her heart pounded as she tried to concentrate on the words that seemed to float out of focus across the pages of her trashy romance novel. Her future ex-husband sounded mad. Furthermore, he sounded determined. It was a sound, a tone, she hadn’t heard from him in years. In their early days, Jack’s commanding presence, his intelligence, and the hubris surrounding his ideas of what was best for her actually got her to stay in college, become more responsible with money, and look after herself, especially after the accident. In short, the man forced her to get her shit together.

  It had been a fucking turn-on.

  Her heart raced as she listened for sounds of him leaving—or digging in for the night. And then it dawned on her that it might not have been the patrol who opened up the house, and that perhaps Jack had arrived before she had. The man, after all, had a key to the house, too. Did she really want to force his hand, make him break down the door, or at least bust through the chain on the door, only to have that be the thing they fought about all night, or would it be best to let him in, make him sleep in the guest room, and then hear him out in the light of a new day?

  “Ov
er my decomposing body,” she hissed to the room.

  ****

  She is under water. She looks up, and all she can see is the dark, murky water. She knows she will die before she breaks the surface.

  Or, sometimes she is lost. The scent of pine is thick in the air. It is cold. Her arms and legs hurt, but she does not know why. She hears his voice, but he never finds her—no matter how much she screams.

  She awoke to the sound of blue jays nattering in the trees outside her bedroom window. She smelled coffee and wondered how that could be—

  Unless...

  The dream still lay heavy against her chest. It was a recurring dream, since she had decided to file for divorce. The dream summed up the story of their life together.

  She did smell coffee. She got up, slid her feet into her sheep-skin slippers and trotted out to the living room. She stopped dead in her tracks.

  “Good morning.” He leaned against the kitchen counter, his arms folded over his chest, an arrogant look in his eye. Blankets and pillows were folded and stacked on the couch in the living room. He wore faded jeans and a black waffle-weave Henley. The way he stood caused the front of his jeans to bulge provocatively, and she found her gaze wandering from the bulge to his strong thighs, and back again. She finally forced her eyes to meet his.

  “You’re like a bad penny, Jack: always turning up.” Kate came up along side him and reached into the cupboard for a cup, then poured coffee for herself. The smell of the coffee competed with the smell of him, and as always, the musky scent of him won out. “How did you get in, by the way?”

  “Key. Nothing complicated.” He sighed, knowing his close proximity invaded her space, and not caring a damn that she felt uncomfortable. “You’re one stubborn woman, Kathryn. We’re going to work on that, too, while I’m here.”

  “Uh-huh. Finish your coffee and get out.”

  Jack tossed his head back and laughed.

  Kate dipped a finger in her hot coffee and, despite the pain it caused, flicked the warm liquid in his face. “Keep laughing, and you’ll be wearing this coffee.” She walked past him over to the kitchen table.

  “That would be your third mistake,” he said, following her. He sat.

  “My third,” she smirked. “What were my first two, out of curiosity?”

  “Not letting me in the house last night, and this divorce.”

  “Let it go, please.”

  “Nope. I said we’re going to talk, and we are going to talk.”

  She sighed and looked down at the old wood table she found at a local flea market when they first bought the house. In a previous life, it had been the front door to the tiny church of an old mission that had been destroyed in a fire. The door, mahogany and hand-carved, had remained unscarred. She saw it as an omen. The eight chairs, six of which were currently around the table, were a mish-mash of different styles and colors, found in various places, all having meaning to her. Jack hated the unmatched style. Kate loved the old, lived-in feel it gave the kitchen.

  “Then get to it. The sooner you say your piece, the sooner you’re out.”

  “You assume too much, lady,” he said, his voice low.

  Kate caught his eyes and held them. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I’ve told you already. Listening is something else we’ll work on.”

  She gestured with her hands for him to commence with his speech, or whatever he had planned.

  “I do not want this divorce, and I want to fix it.”

  “And what about what I want?”

  “You’re angry right now. I’d like to have a rational discussion with you about why I think we can make this work, but you’re not making it easy.”

  “Easy? You want easy? Oh, well, why didn’t you say so? I’m nothing, if not easy. So, let me make this… easy. I owe you that much, don’t I?” She sipped her coffee and regarded him over the rising steam. “I was wrong, it was all me, I couldn’t have been a worse choice for you. This divorce? It’s all my fault. Had I been a better wife, paid more attention to you, listened more, we wouldn’t be in this mess. I hope in time you will find it in your heart to forgive me.” She stood and put her cup in the sink. “Now, get the fuck out of my house. And leave your key. This is my house now.” She strode past him, heading for the bedroom, but he caught her arm. Kate lifted her eyes to meet his. Normally a stunning clear, golden brown-amber, they were now black with rage.

  “First, if I ever hear you say fuck again, I’ll put you across my knee and spank you so hard you’ll forget your own name.” He held her eyes hostage, the silence that punctuated his words almost worse than the words themselves. “Do you understand me?”

  Kate’s upper body shuddered and then went ice cold, while warmth circulated down below her waist. Jack had never spoken like this before. She knew he did not like her to swear, and he was especially intolerant of her occasional use of the F-word. But, over the years those things seemed to become less important to him, until she said and did the very things he admonished her for now. She stood before him, flushed, mortified, and furious all at once. Her body betrayed her mind and won by a mile.

  “Do-you-under-stand-me?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, her response automatic and out of her mouth before she could think of something a bit more clever to say. By the look on his face, clever would have been unwise.

  “Second, we are going to have a mature conversation about our future, so there will be no more sarcasm. Got it?”

  Kate simply nodded.

  “Third, there’ll be no more walking away from me, especially while I am talking to you. I’ll grant you the same respect. Clear?”

  Her mouth tightened into a thin line, and as she was about to speak, his pupils dilated and he said, “I want a yes or a no to this one, Kate. Nothing more. Am-I-clear?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  He loosened his grip on her arm. “Thank you,” he whispered back, and then one corner of his mouth turned up. It was not arrogance. It was not hubris. It was not the gloating smile of man who’d just won a round with a stubborn woman. It was a genuine smile of relief. “Now, please sit down.” With a gentle hand on her lower back, he guided her to the large worn leather club chair in front of the fireplace. He left her and returned with a fresh cup of coffee. Jack sat on the hearth of the fireplace and took her hand in his.

  “Katie,” he began. “I’ve made a mistake.”

  She glanced at him sideways and the chuckle escaped before she could stop it. “Ya think?”

  Kate was famous for her sarcastic wit. Jack never appreciated that particular trait, and he was especially unappreciative now. He offered her the same look that the threat of a spanking accompanied a few minutes ago. She pled forgiveness with her eyes, and hoped he noticed, because it was all she would give him.

  “Kathryn,” he said, looking down at her hand in his. “I love you, and I never stopped. And it’s clear that while I open my veins on one side, you’re going to take pleasure opening them on the other.” He stared at his hands. “I’ve never known you to be cruel.”

  “I’m hurting.” Those words, that confession, caused tears to spring to her eyes.

  “I know. And I’m sorry. I want to fix it. Will you let me?”

  “I don’t think I can. I don’t think I care to.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  Kate looked off into the expanse of the house… anywhere but in the whirlpool of his eyes, where she could, and would, get sucked in again.

  “Will you let me try? Will you let me try to fix it?”

  She shook her head as she dashed tears from her cheeks. “Why? Why now?”

  “Because we were good once, weren’t we?”

  “That’s a hard sell, Jack.” Bruce Randolph took a long pull on his beer.

  “Yeah, but it was worth the gamble.”

  “You didn’t win!”

  “Yeah, but I made my point.” The group of men sitting around the beaten table laughed at that. Jack glan
ced up and over the heads of fellow lawyers, and noticed the woman glaring at him, pool stick in her hand, defiance and loss of patience in her eyes. And once she had his attention, she turned with a smile and resumed her game of pool.

  “Huh,” muttered Jack, blushing.

  “Yeah?” said David Cash, following his friend’s gaze.

  “Uh-huh. I think I know her.”

  “Lucky you,” Cash said, swigging the last of his beer and waving the waitress over.

  “Not sure about that.” Jack ordered another beer and pointed the woman out to the waitress. “And get her whatever she’s having.”

  “She’s having water,” the waitress said.

  He laughed. “Okay. Bring her some more.” Jack excused himself and walked over to the game in progress.

  “Who’s winning?” he asked the other girl—the blonde—purposely ignoring the one he already knew.

  “You, as soon as you get a little smarter,” the girl told him.

  Jack looked at the woman with the auburn hair, with the turquoise eyes rimmed in green, eyes he would never forget. “Hey, Red, how ‘bout I take a crack after you win?”

  “At my friend, there, or me.”

  “Oh, I think you already know the answer to that.”

  After Jack beat her badly in the first game, the girl with the auburn hair racked the balls and said, “Again.”

  “Demanding, aren’t you?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And when I win again, what do I get?”

  “Me.”

  “What makes you think I want you?”

  “I heard somewhere that when you save something, it’s yours forever.”

  The words touched him. Maybe it was because he believed them, too.

  “So, you remember,” Jack Barrington said.

  “Yeah,” Kathryn Bates answered. “I remember.”