by Munn, Vella
She hadn’t known she was going to admit that but seeing and talking to her husband had turned her around. Stripped her down. Not sure how or if she’d get through this, she walked over to the door and grasped the knob. However instead of going outside, she made herself stay in the same room as Jes. Face him.
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
“My dad.”
He angled toward her. The distance between them seemed like miles. His jeans no longer clung to his legs, but she remembered what his taut thigh muscles looked like.
Remembered the nights when he wore nothing and they didn’t need words—words she longed for now.
“What about him?” Jes asked.
That’s right. Look at me. Mess with my mind. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “That’s the problem. His color isn’t good and when we talk, sometimes he sounds out of breath. I try to get him and Mom to tell me what’s going on, but they don’t.”
“Why do you think that is?”
Jes had asked the right question at the right time—just as he’d done with his sister. “He hates admitting he’s mortal. I sure part of it is he doesn’t want me pointing out that he’s paying for all those years of smoking before he kicked the habit.”
“Would you?”
“No, because it wouldn’t change anything.”
“He doesn’t want his only child—who, despite his reluctance to admit it, isn’t a child any more—to point out the obvious.”
“You’re right. He wants me to still be his little girl. I hadn’t thought of it quite like that. You crawled inside Mackenzie’s mind. I need to figure out how to do the same with my folks only...”
She felt him everywhere on her body, curled her fingers until her nails dug into her palms to keep from touching him.
“Only what?”
She couldn’t go on looking at him, not and push past the barriers that stood between herself and honesty. Not if she was going to leave Jes with as much of the truth about herself as she was capable of.
“You know my parents. To them showing emotion is a sign of weakness.”
He slid his hands over her shoulders. “They keep their emotions under wraps.”
“Like you do,” she blurted.
He shot her a warning look. “Are we talking about them or us?”
“This conversation is about my parents.” So confusing. Everything swirling like a Montana blizzard.
“I’m thinking about the day we told them we’d gotten married,” he said. “They sat next to each other on their leather couch. Their heads bobbed up and down and their expressions were neutral. I couldn’t tell what they were thinking.”
“Neither could I.” She struggled not to sag against Jes’s chest. “I should be able to read their moods, but they’ve never made it easy. I...”
He let go of one shoulder long enough to open the door. Mountain air rushed into the cabin. “Don’t quit on me now,” he said. “What were you going to say?”
Jes wanted more from her. And this might be the only time she could give him that.
“I’ve spent so much time trying to figure them out. I sometimes wonder if they don’t show depth of emotion because it’s not part of their makeup. If Dad thinks about his mortality, he has never admitted it. Maybe he’s a fatalist; Mom, too. She—you’d think she’d tell her only child what she’s thinking, but she doesn’t. Not the important stuff.”
“You’ve tried.”
His warm breath slipped over her scalp. Not judging or questioning her actions, she placed her hands on his waist. They’d done this countless times before they’d fallen apart, held on, touched. Sent silent messages from one body to the other.
Not said enough.
“So many times,” she said, “starting long before you and I met.”
“That’s what you told me.”
He was right. She had expressed her frustration to Jes. “Mom’s reaction has always been to give me a noncommittal smile and a change of subject. Like you’ve done several times today.” Looking for the courage to say what she believed she needed to, she took a deep breath and filled her lungs with clean air. “I, ah, after you and I got married, I asked Mom if she had a preference for grandsons or granddaughters.”
“You did?”
“Yes.” Jes and she had agreed to delay having children until they were financially secure but she’d still looked at babies with longing. Maternal instinct was hard-wired in her. “Mom said she hadn’t given it much thought.”
“That’s—do you believe her?”
“Yes,” she reluctantly admitted. “The sad thing is I wasn’t surprised by her response.”
She waited for him to say something, and when he didn’t, she realized he wanted her to continue.
It would have to be today or never.
“They were proud of my academic accomplishments, but if they ever hugged me after an award ceremony I don’t remember. I—when I was little, I believed a monster was living in my closet.”
“A green one with rotten teeth who came out after you’d fallen asleep. You wanted to sleep with your dolls so it couldn’t get them.”
“You remember.”
“Of course. You told me that your folks insisted you put your dolls back in the boxes they came in.” His hold on her shoulder increased, and his chest rose and fell. “I’ll never understand why they dealt with your fear the way they did.”
“They wanted to toughen me up so I’d be ready for the real world.”
“That’s a lousy way of doing it. They didn’t have the ability to tap into their only child’s emotions and needs. They did a great job of teaching you responsibility and encouraging your intellect, but there’s more to being a parent. There’s love.”
“They love—”
“Not the right way.”
How can you say that? However, she didn’t voice what crowded inside her because Jes was right. Even before she’d started observing his relationship with family, she’d known something was missing from hers.
That was why she’d wanted so much from him, more than he could give.
He heaved a deep breath. “I don’t want to hurt you. That’s the last thing I want. Your folks did the best job they were capable of.”
“I know.”
“I’ve wanted to say that for a long time but didn’t want to hurt you.”
“I wish you had.”
“Looking back, so do I.”
Just when she believed he was going to kiss her, he let go, stepped outside, and sat on the stoop. Despite the potential for more emotional turmoil, she joined him. The cement under her bottom was warm but hard, making her wish they were in the lawn chairs or back in the lake.
Lake Serene with its ageless, patient ways. Its ability to listen.
“What are you thinking?”
“About some things I said after you left.”
“Oh.”
“They were pretty ugly.”
“For us they were.” She started shaking.
“I called you a coward.”
“Yes.” She could barely bring herself to speak. The first phone call with Jes had been a disaster that had left her in tears and sick to her stomach. After so much silence between them, she hadn’t known what to say.
“I challenged you to meet me face-to-face and explain why you were willing to throw our marriage away.”
He wasn’t looking at her, not that she wanted him to. She wasn’t sure how the day had taken this turn but maybe it needed to. That a year of built-up emotions on both sides needed freedom.
“I didn’t see it like that,” she admitted.
“Your note said you were lonely and tired. That I needed a wife who could share you with your lover. My lover,” he muttered. “The business.”
“It seduced you, consumed you, became your reason for getting up every day.”
“Not seduced. Owned. Became my master.”
He’d never told her that. Most of the time when they talked about Si
lent Wheels, they assured themselves and each other that it would succeed. She’d seen the worry in Jes’s eyes, the same concern that stared back at her from the mirror, but doubt never entered their conversations. How dishonest they’d been.
“I didn’t accept your challenge for a face-to-face meeting,” she said, “because I wasn’t strong enough at first. I had so much going on. I had to move in with my aunt, find a job to pay the bills while I figured out the photography thing. And—and because even though I’d justified my decision to leave to myself—I felt guilty.”
“Guilty?”
“For not being honest.” A great deal was building up inside her. She wasn’t sure what the ramifications would be but couldn’t stop. “For hiding behind that stupid note.”
“It wasn’t stupid.”
“I wanted to write more but couldn’t come up with the right words.” It was late afternoon with lengthening shadows making it difficult to tell where land ended and lake began. That was her.
“Looking back, I’m glad we didn’t see each other for what, a month?” he said. “The timing couldn’t have been worse for me.”
“Why?”
He picked up a pine needle that had fallen on the step and started rolling it between his fingers. “Do I sound selfish? I probably do. At least as soon as I’d read your note, I called. However, the conversation didn’t last long.”
“No, it didn’t and there was a lot of silence.” Her head was pounding and she wished there was another pine needle within reach so she’d have something to do. “You said the discussion wasn’t over. Then you didn’t call.”
“Neither did you.”
“I kept telling myself I was going to...”
He stopped worrying the pine needle and gave the land his full attention. At least she thought he was. “Shyla, something happened at work shortly before you left.”
“Something was always happening.”
“Believe me, I know. This was a big one. I had no choice but to try to deal with it. There—there wasn’t much of me left for us. That about killed me.”
Touch him.
No, don’t.
“What are you talking about?”
“Do you remember Andy and Raymond?”
“Yes. You figured Raymond did a lot of drinking.” Now that they weren’t talking about those guilt-filled days after the separation, she relaxed a little. “Sober, he was one of your best workers. He had an instinct about machines and how to keep them running.”
“Things had gotten pretty tense between Andy and him. I didn’t know about it until after.”
“Until after what?”
“Their fight. They got into it at work. I tried to get between them. They were both bleeding and Andy had several broken ribs.”
“That’s crazy. How did it turn out?” Why didn’t I know?
“Someone called nine-one-one. They were both arrested and charged. When I saw Andy at the jail, he told me his wife had been cheating on him with Raymond.”
Wasn’t Andy the first person Jes had hired? Thank goodness Jes hadn’t been hurt.
“The police interviewed me and the others who’d seen the fight,” Jes continued. “Raymond and Andy’s lawyers convinced them to plead guilty of assault. They wound up spending six months behind bars. I had to replace them.”
“So—at the same time your wife walked out on you, you were short two of your best workers.”
“Yes. The fight happened three days before...”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” She wasn’t angry, just sad.
“It wasn’t your problem.” He put down the pine needle and started rubbing his thighs. “Besides, I knew how you felt about that.”
“About what?”
“You were tired of every conversation being about Silent Wheels.” He took an unsteady breath. “I saw it in your eyes and body language. I just didn’t realize how fed up you’d become until you packed your clothes and locked the door behind you.”
Packed your clothes and locked the door behind you. “Did you talk to Raymond?” Asking that was easier than asking for forgiveness. The separation couldn’t have come at a worse time for him.
“Yeah. He called. I figured he was trying to work up the courage to ask me to bail him out. By then—by then you’d left and I didn’t want anything to do with either man.”
“Because you were pissed at them?”
“No,” he muttered. “Because I was trying to replace them. Because you’d used up all my emotion. I had nothing left.”
Oh my god. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“How could I?”
“You could have tried.”
“Like you did?”
His question was like a fist to her heart, but he was right. She’d bottled up too much for too long. “We’re talking today,” she managed. “I just wish we could have done this before...”
The man she’d once adored and still cared about stared at Mount Lynx.
“I miss him,” he whispered. “Every time I see a mountain, I think about when Dad and I climbed them.”
Oh, Jes. “I wish I’d known him. He was a wonderful man.”
Instead of pointing out that all she had was what little the boy he’d once been had told her, he nodded.
“So many memories,” he muttered. “I didn’t expect them to hit me today.”
He’d again changed the subject, but it was all right. Jes was talking, and she was listening. Giving him her full attention. Maybe truly getting to know him. Being here with him. Sensing deep emotion in him.
“This is the perfect setting for that to happen. Jes, you never told me much about what you loved about your father.”
“Yes, I did.”
She shook her head. “You pulled out maps of places the two of you hiked. You showed me the kind of camping gear you used.” She spread her hand over his thigh in an attempt to stop his fingers’ restless movement. “We shared a laugh over the time your dad and you cremated marshmallows instead of roasting them, but I don’t know what you talked about when it was just the two of you in the wilderness.”
When his breath snagged, she fought the need to look to see if there were tears in his eyes. Jes made her think of a wild animal. He might come close enough for her to touch, but he might bolt. If he did, they would have lost a great deal.
“What made him special?” She prompted.
“Everything,” he muttered. “So much.”
Oh, Jes. “You and your dad had something I never did. I want—maybe I need to...”
“Maybe you do.” He covered her hand. “I’m sorry but it’s always been easier to keep the memories locked in.”
The breeze caressed her throat. “I understand but did that help you heal from the loss?”
He turned so the breeze reached his face. “Maybe not.”
“More than maybe.”
“There was one time—you know I played little league baseball.”
“Yes.”
“I was pretty good. Dad coached me for years. Do you want to hear this?”
With all my heart. “Yes.”
“One time—I’d made all-stars. If we won this game we’d be in the state finals. Bottom of the last inning. I came to bat with the score tied and a runner on third. I’d been hitting the cover off the ball, but I struck out that day. The other team won in extra innings.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, well. No one said anything. The players turned in their uniforms and equipment. My whole family was there, but Dad asked a parent if she’d take my mother and sisters home. By the time they left, everyone else was gone. Dad placed the car in the middle of the parking lot and told me to get behind the wheel.”
Keep going. Please let the words flow. “How old were you?”
“Thirteen.”
Less than two years before his dad died.
“That night he gave me my first driving lesson. In the empty gravel parking lot. After we got out of the car, we walked onto the playing f
ield. I was trying so hard not to cry. He told me to never be ashamed of tears. That they’re proof a person feels.”
“That’s beautiful.”
He closed his eyes. “I couldn’t have asked for a better role model. My father didn’t care who won the game. His ego wasn’t wrapped up in his son’s performance. My feelings were what mattered to him.” His breath snagged. “That’s the kind of conversations we had. What I miss.”
“Oh, Jes.”
“He was so honest with me. He told me what it was like watching me and my sisters being born, the happy tears he shed. That he wished he had a job he enjoyed more, but he needed to put food on the table. He hoped it wouldn’t be like that for me, that I’d have a career I enjoyed as much as I did climbing over rocks with him.” When he opened his eyes, they glittered. “I still miss him.”
“Of course you do.” Her hold on his thigh increased. She hadn’t known this man before today. There’d been glimpses of him in the way he talked about becoming a father but maybe she hadn’t encouraged him enough.
Maybe her upbringing had emotionally crippled her.
“Every time I walked into the factory, I’d hear Dad’s words about doing what I loved. Looking back, I wish he hadn’t said that.”
“Why not?”
He sighed. “Because building a successful business was much harder than I knew it would be. Because I couldn’t foresee the sacrifices I’d have to make. I think in some respects Silent Wheels was more for him than me.”
“I never—”
“I’m not sorry he instilled commitment in me. It’s just that dream and reality turned out to be very different.”
“Maybe it would have been different if he’d still been around when you were trying to decide whether to go for Silent Wheels. The two of you could have examined the pros and cons in ways you and I didn’t.”
“He would have volunteered and I would have accepted the offer, his wisdom.” A rustling sound had him looking at the top of a nearby tree where a large bird had just landed. “That’s part of what Mackenzie and I talked about. How much we missed him. She said—with him gone, what did her grades or who she hung out with matter?”
Your words are tearing me apart. Revealing the real you to me. “But you wouldn’t, couldn’t, let her go on thinking that,” she said despite her building tears. “What did you say?”
