“Time is relative,” he’d told me when I’d sat across from him in an office made to look like a cozy den where you’d feel safe unloading all of your feelings. “Yes, it’s important to mourn the loss of a relationship and not move on for the wrong reasons, but there is no set acceptable time to wait. For some it might be a few months, for others a few years, and still others… never. You loved your wife a great deal, so finding yourself single now is going to be overwhelming. Just learn to listen to yourself, and don’t let guilt tell you you’re wrong.”
He’d told me this after I’d already slept with two different women, first Jasmine who was a surgical nurse at another clinic in Seattle, a one-night stand where I’d left her apartment as soon as it was over and felt sick for being so weak. The other was a woman I’d met at a support group my therapist had sent me to, a group meant to help those of us who suddenly found ourselves single. Her name was Hayley, and I’d taken her out to dinner three or four times before we slept together. I thought she was just trying to heal her pain the way I was, but she made it clear she wanted a relationship with me, and I couldn’t imagine it because it still felt like a betrayal to Marjorie even though all of that was over.
I’d run like hell after telling Hayley how sorry I was, and I think I’ve spent the last nine months punishing myself for hurting her, for having slept with her for all the wrong reasons.
If Natalie had never come to this cabin, I’d stay sitting here on the edge of my bed. I’d think of Marjorie and then of everything I’d ever done wrong. No doubt I’d have at least half a dozen beers and not head back downstairs until nearly noon.
But Natalie did come.
She’s here and has made dinner, the not so bad smells of which have wafted through the house. I’d be an impolite asshole not to at least attempt to eat with her, so, with a heavy sigh, I take one last look at my wedding photo, pick it up and put it in the top drawer of my dresser, then head down.
“Oh, hey! It’s just now ready,” she says as I enter the kitchen. She pours some sauce over a bowl of pasta and vegetables. “Salad is already on the table.” She tilts her head toward the small dinette, already set with plates, silverware, glasses of water and a bottle of beer next to one of the settings.
A smile tugs at my lips. It’s been a long while since a woman cooked for me. “You didn’t have to go to all of this trouble.”
“No trouble. Just go and sit. I’ll bring this over.”
Doing as I’m told, I take a seat in front of the setting where the beer is and gladly pop the cap and swallow a big mouthful. It tastes better on account of me not having had one all day, considering alcohol and table saws don’t mix so well.
“I hope this is good,” Natalie says, carrying the bowl of pasta over and setting it on the table, steam still rising from it. “I’m not much of a cook, but I can do the basics.” She sits down across from me, takes the napkin next to her plate and spreads it over her lap.
“Actually, it looks great. Here, hand me your plate.”
Her eyes fill with an inner glow as she hands the plate over, and I scoop a generous helping onto it before handing it back to her. Then I load my own plate up, after which she makes sure I’ve added some salad and a nice thick chunk of bread.
“I’ve never really had to cook for anyone before I came to Meadow Brook.” She lifts a pasta filled fork to her mouth, takes a bite and then shrugs like it isn’t half bad.
I’ve already got a mouthful, and I’m not complaining. It might not be the best meal I’ve ever had in my life, but it’s pretty damn good considering Natalie made it when she didn’t have to, when she could have just avoided me and the potential weirdness between us.
“You’ve got no complaints from me,” I tell her, then take another drink of my beer. “You learn to cook when you were away at college?”
She nods. “I have to admit I mostly ate out, but I made some friends who lived off campus and liked to cook. They taught me, but they liked giving me a hard time about having to learn how to boil water. I earned the nickname Princess pretty quick.”
“Princess, huh?” She looks like one, sure enough, with the kind of beauty I suppose little girls who read fairy tales aspire to grow into.
“I tried to prove them wrong, but I had to learn everything from scratch. I mostly just Googled things, but sometimes it was just easier to ask for help. You know, I was under the impression you had to turn the power off when you changed a light bulb to keep from getting electrocuted, and I was kind of shocked when one of my friends busted out laughing and told me how untrue that was.”
I stifle a laugh. “Well, there are times when you need to cut the power, but that’s definitely not one of them.”
“Yeah, that’s what Abe said.”
“Abe?”
“Oh, just a friend from college.” She waves her empty fork before setting it at the edge of her plate. “We were studying in my dorm when the light bulb in my lamp went out, and I told him we’d have to go find maintenance to turn the power out. He gave me the funniest look.”
If I’m being honest, the he part of the story actually makes me slightly jealous, but that’s thankfully quelled by my laughter, brought on by her unabashed expression. She’s the kind of girl that can admit she’s not perfect, that she makes mistakes, and then can laugh about it.
So much like Marjorie.
All it takes is a thought, and I’m drawn right back into that strange, empty feeling I have without my wife. I only realize my laughter has stopped when Natalie says my name, “Jack?” Her voice is etched in concern.
“Yeah?” I must have zoned out, something I’d done so many times at work that I’d lost count. Needless to say, my wandering mind had affected my bedside manner, and Lincoln and Louisa were relieved, if not downright grateful, when I told them I was taking a sabbatical.
“Just making sure my cooking wasn’t slowly killing you,” Natalie jokes.
“No… of course not. Like I said, it’s great.”
There are only so many times you can tell someone how good their cooking is, but I’m sure I exceed that number while trying to avoid the topic of why I’d actually zoned out. Sure, there’s a sense of ease I feel around Natalie, but that’s accompanied by trepidation and worry, along with a sort of guilt for my enjoyment in being around her when I haven’t enjoyed that kind of closeness with anyone since Marjorie.
She goes along with my lame topic of discussion and asks me if I’m much of a cook, other than being able to prepare fish over an open flame.
“Marjorie did most of that.” Damn if I can take my mind away from her. “She was good at it, liked to try new things, sometimes elaborate and sometimes simple. She always kept me guessing.”
I half expect Natalie to give me an annoyed look at bringing up the woman who is no longer my wife. Over the dinners I’d had with Hayley, I’d mentioned Marjorie plenty of times, and I’d always gotten a scowl from her. Not that I could really blame her once I realized she’d been looking for more than I was, that she didn’t want to be my therapist any more than I wanted to be hers.
“I really liked Marjorie,” Natalie says, not shying away from discussing my wife. “You guys were such an amazing couple. It’s kind of hard to believe…” She stops herself and sighs. I think she’s not going to say anything else, but then she smiles and says, “Do you remember that big work party at my parents house? It was like three summers ago before I went to college.”
All I have to do is close my eyes for half a second to recall it. My wife had looked beautiful that day, but looking back, so had Natalie. “Yeah, I do,” I say.
“Marjorie made sure to talk to me, to make me feel like I wasn’t just some stupid teenage kid. After Cynthia kind of blew her off, she told me how she thought it would be really weird to have people working in your house, like a housekeeper or a cook, you know? She was just so down to earth, like it was so refreshing, especially considering the kind of lifestyle my family had.”
What do
I say to that? She’s right. Marjorie was perfect in so many ways, and the memory makes me both happy and incredibly sad.
“She always liked you too,” I tell Natalie, specific memories of that day now returning to me. “We’d both had to do the whole schmoozing thing of course—that’s expected at something like that—but I seem to recall her saying she really liked talking to you. She might have mentioned she wasn’t sure that Michael kid deserved you.”
Natalie’s eyes widen, and I wonder if I’ve just stuffed my foot into my mouth, but what I’d said was true. Marjorie had not been overly fond of Michael, had even alluded to whisperings of his infidelity, though she couldn’t be sure—she was never one for rumors. She seemed to think Natalie deserved someone more honest, and I couldn’t say I disagreed.
“Look, I didn’t mean to bring him up.” I pile another forkful of pasta into my gullet to keep from saying anything else stupid.
“I’m glad you did. It makes me like Marjorie even more. At least she could see through Michael’s bullshit.”
I make sure to swallow my food before chuckling. “She did have a pretty good bullshit meter.”
Our conversation flows mostly without hiccups after that, and the ease with which I’m able to talk to Natalie becomes more and more apparent. Of course that ease comes with plenty of questions about what the hell I’m doing or how I should actually be feeling about this. All I really know is that if Natalie hadn’t shown up at this cabin, I’d be sitting here alone, drinking. I’m not even sure I’d have had the interest in heading into town earlier like I did today and buying tools and supplies to start on the back porch.
“Let me help you clean up,” I insist after she tells me she’s got it, that she doesn’t mind doing the dishes since I’m letting her stay here for free.
She doesn’t resist, though there seems to be something just on the tip of her tongue. I’m about to ask her what it is when she says, “I’ll think of a way to let my parents know I’m okay.”
I’d decided after I’d mentioned it earlier that I wouldn’t bring it up again for a few days, but she’s beaten me to it.
“I’m sure you will. They really are worried. I could hear that in your dad’s voice when he called the other night.”
She looks at me like she doubts something about that statement, and it bums me out to know Lincoln’s relationship with his daughter probably isn’t a very good one.
“I think they’re more worried about how all of this looks, you know, what they had to tell all of their business associates about why I walked out on my own wedding.” Then she laughs and rolls her eyes. “God, everything is so phony up there, and I’m glad to be away from it.”
She’s probably right about the phoniness. It comes along with the business Lincoln and I are in, even if we’d also been responsible for truly life-changing surgeries. Still, it’s often the more superficial procedures that pay the bills, that manage to get you return customers. Being brought up around all of that, you couldn’t really blame Natalie if she’d bought into it. But she hasn’t. She’s one of the most real people I’ve seen in a very long time.
“I’ll keep your secret until you’re ready to tell them. I won’t pressure you if you’re worried about that.”
She puts the plate she’d just washed into the drying rack, then takes my hand and holds it.
Just the touch of her skin makes it hurt to swallow, makes my throat go dry and me go hard. Thank god her eyes are on mine and not on my waist.
“Thank you,” she says, and then she lets go, both of her hands going back into the soapy water and leaving me pretty much breathless.
I want to take her hand and pull her to me, but I resist.
And it almost kills me.
Chapter Ten
NATALIE
As seems to be the pattern, there’s no sign of Jack or his truck once I’ve gotten up and readied myself for another day of work. But unlike yesterday, I’m glad to find that he’s left me a note.
Natalie,
Thanks again for dinner last night. Was nice to have a home cooked meal. I’ll be out most of the morning, but I’ll see you when you get back. I got an answering machine for the house phone and hooked it up this morning, so feel free to leave a message on it if you want me to pick something up for dinner. I still don’t trust the cell service to always work out here. See you soon.
Jack
There’s no way I can keep from smiling after reading that. It sounds like he’s actually looking forward to seeing me later. Perhaps we’ve gotten past the awkwardness of what happened the other night, and I think it might actually allow us to be friends. Sure, there’s still that part of me that gets light headed just thinking of Jack without a shirt on or his body pressing up against mine at the kitchen sink, but I’m incredibly grateful to accept the friendship he’s offering while also being able to trust that he’ll allow me to reach out to my parents in my own time.
With the house quiet and no sign of Blue, I leave about twenty minutes early so that I can stop by the diner. Melissa had texted me last night to ask if I could come by early to discuss something about her mother along with a promise that she’d make me breakfast herself. And considering I still haven’t quite mastered how to make oatmeal, I’m not going to pass it up.
“I don’t know what you’re doing,” Melissa tells me after I’ve arrived at the diner and am sitting at the same booth I’d chosen my first full day in town. Setting a delicious plate of food in front of me, she adds, “but it’s working miracles. I’ve never seen my mom so happy, at least not since my father died.”
“Really?” I pop a strawberry in my mouth, not thinking I’d done anything for Barbara so out of the ordinary. I’d done my best to be as patient with her as I’d been with the residents at the nursing home I’d volunteered at.
“Yes, really. There was something about you when you came in here looking for a job, something I trusted. And I’m sure glad I listened to that voice in my head that said to give you a chance.”
“You sure the voice wasn’t just clouded by you being so tired?” I should just thank her and accept her very authentic compliment, but I don’t seem to be able to do it.
She laughs. “Might have been, but glad I listened to it anyway. What have you got planned for her today?”
The truth is that I hadn’t given it a great deal of thought. My mind has been pretty occupied by Jack lately. “I figured I’d just see what she was feeling up to today. Would I be allowed to take her somewhere? It might be nice to get some puzzles and crosswords to replace the word searches.”
Melissa’s smile fades a bit. “That could be tough. If there weren’t so many stairs, I’d say yes, but I’m so afraid she’ll fall and break a hip. You know, I was planning to go to the store after work, so I could pick some up. What kind would be good?”
I hate to have Melissa do anything extra considering her already full days, but I’m sure she’d just argue with me if I told her I could just as easily do it on my way home this afternoon. So, I let her know she should pick out puzzles and crosswords geared toward older children. “Your mom might get a little annoyed with feeling like she’s being treated like a child, but I’d rather have her feeling that than frustrated and angry when she can’t work out the harder ones.”
Melissa’s lips part, and her eyes widen. “Wow, you just know so much! You’ve got some real experience, huh?”
“I’m hoping to be an occupational therapist one day,” I admit to her now that I feel as though I’ve surpassed her expectations. “I’ll have plenty more to learn. I still have to get my bachelor’s and then get into one of the master’s programs, but I’ve managed to pick up a few things here and there.”
“You’ll be an absolute natural at it.”
“What are you going on about over here?” It’s Camille who has made her way over to the table, a waft of perfume following in her wake. And her question for her mother sounds more accusatory than curious.
“I’m just than
king Natalie for all she’s done for your grandmother. If you were around more, you might have noticed the change yourself.”
Camille makes a cutting sound, and her eyes go all glassy. “As if you guys want me around.” Then she looks down at my plate, taps her finger on the tabletop and wrinkles her nose. “What the hell is that? We’re serving fruit plates and roasted potatoes now?”
Melissa sucks in a breath, then holds it in, like she really wants to say something awful to her daughter but is trying her best not to.
“Your mom mentioned wanting to, uh… experiment with some new menu items, and I offered to be her guinea pig.” I’m hoping to stave off an argument between mother and daughter.
Camille steadies her gaze at me, then crosses her arms over her chest. “Oh, yeah? Like that’s going to go over really well here.”
“Last I checked, this was my diner,” Melissa answers, slipping out of the booth and looking Camille head on. “If I want to update the menu, then I’d say that’s my business.”
The waving hand of a middle-aged guy standing by the register catches all of our attention, but especially Melissa’s.
“It’ll be a minute,” Camille tells the customer with impatience before turning her full attention back to her mother. “It might be your diner, but—”
“We’ll talk about this later,” Melissa says, putting on a smile and walking over to the gray-haired man whose smile broadens once he has her full attention.
“What the hell is her damage?” While Camille asks the question aloud, I don’t think she’s actually looking for an answer from me.
I’m hoping she’ll just turn around and get back to her waitressing duties so I can enjoy the breakfast she’s so critical of. Instead, much to my chagrin, she slides into the seat across from me.
The Light Before Us Page 11
