I did. I cried more tears on that swing than I did during the last year and a half of our marriage. I let down all my walls, all my barriers…I let it all spill out on Danny.
Pressed against his warm chest, I felt the hard ridges of muscle under his t-shirt. They were familiar—he was familiar—and safe. I felt so incredibly safe in his arms…safe and loved. After all these years, I still felt it. His body still emanated that same heat towards me that it had when we were teenagers in love.
I stiffened at that thought. Love. We weren’t in love anymore. Our love story had ended. Danny must have felt the shift in my body because he let me go and stepped back.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, turning away from him and wiping the wetness from my cheeks.
“You don’t ever have to be sorry with me, Jess.”
“Don’t I, though?” I asked, glancing at him over my shoulder. I pushed him away at a time when we’d both been grieving, essentially. Maybe we hadn’t lost a child, exactly, but we’d lost hope...and opportunity and normalcy.
He took a step towards me. “Never,” he said with such finality that I couldn’t argue.
He’d been like that in the end…firm and confident in his love for me. He truly believed we could weather whatever storm was sent our way. On this playground years ago, I’d believed that, too. I wish I’d remained that confident. I wish I’d trusted in him. I wish I hadn’t been so stuck in my own head—my own misery—that I could have let him in.
Maybe things would have ended up differently.
Maybe…
“I didn’t know you were planning to come back to Oak River,” he said after a few quiet moments.
Honestly, how would he have known? It’s not like we’d spoken recently, or at all. Our divorce was handled through lawyers. I went through my lawyer anyway, I didn’t know if Danny was an active participant. I was not present, mentally or physically.
“Me neither,” I admitted, crossing my arms over my chest and running my hands up and down my arms. I wasn’t cold, but I felt as though I needed to hold myself together. “It just sort of happened…the opportunity to buy Mr. Smith’s practice.”
“Yeah…same here. Coach Murray called me and told me he was retiring.”
Maybe it was fate intervening. Maybe the world was giving us a second chance.
I had worked part-time filing at Mr. Smith’s office throughout high school, it was where my interest in law was born. I loved the idea of law and order. And Danny had always idolized his high school football coach. He aspired to be just like him. And there we both were…following directly in our mentors’ footsteps.
“It’s funny how things work out,” Danny added, seeming to follow my train of thought.
Was it? Was it funny that we ended up back in Oak River at the same time? Was it a coincidence? Or was it more than that?
“Look,” Danny continued, “I don’t want to upset you. I’ll keep my distance from you, Jessie. If that’s what you want. It’s just so damn hard.” He looked up at the overcast sky. “I swear…when you’re around, I can feel it. I was driving by here and something told me to stop. It’s like I’m drawn to you—only to you—and you pull me right in. I still love you as much today as I did ten years ago.”
I gasped, closing my damp eyes, surprised there were any tears left to leak out. He still loved me.
Why did you leave? I wanted to ask him that, but it wasn’t fair. He hadn’t wanted to leave. I’d forced his hand. I practically pushed him out the door.
“I’m sorry…I said I didn’t want to upset you, but I did anyway.” He sounded regretful, and I bet if I turned around, I’d see the same shadows in his eyes I’d seen there three years ago. I just couldn’t face him, though.
I felt him approach me, the heat of his chest mere inches from my back, and my body came alive yet again.
“I’m here, Jessie. Whenever you’re ready…I’m here.” I felt a quick whisper of a touch on the back of my head, in my hair. Was it his lips?
I listened to his footsteps as he walked away, fading until there was silence in the park, save for the occasional bird chirping. I stood there, staring into the nothingness of the surrounding woods, thinking about when it all began to fall apart.
“I have good news and bad news,” Dr. Rowland said as he took a seat across the antique desk. His pale, paper thin skin stretched lazily across his face; I could have sworn he was older than time. But he was the most experienced reproductive endocrinologist around, and we wanted the best.
“Good news first,” Danny said from the antique patterned wingback chair beside me, squeezing my hand in a gesture of solidarity. I looked over at my husband of three years and took in his hopeful, yet terrified expression. It probably mirrored my own.
We’d come to this appointment with so much optimism, so much hope for our future family. You see, this wasn’t supposed to happen to us. We were supposed to get married, spend some time just being us—Danny and Jessica Thompson—and then get pregnant. We’d both come from large families and wanted our own small brood. We were just supposed to ditch the condoms, and then it would happen.
But it didn’t happen.
Not after one cycle, or two. Not after six, or twelve. Not after I’d started charting my basal body temperature, eagerly anticipating that spike that would indicate I was ovulating. I used the ovulation predictor kits, too. All signs pointed in the right direction, but nothing ever stuck. Countless dollars spent on early result pregnancy tests, just to see a single pink line in the window every damn time.
Something was wrong.
Part of me prayed the something wrong was me. I didn’t want Danny to have to carry that guilt, but I knew I could. Women were built strong to deal with emotional stressors, at least that’s what I believed. Danny wanted a baby so badly, and he was so sensitive. I didn’t think he could handle being the problem…the cause of all the disappointment we’ve felt over the past year. I knew he wouldn’t have wanted to let me down—to be the “cause” of our agony.
In retrospect, I should have given him more credit.
“Well, the good news is that your sperm are excellent. Your count and mobility are actually off the charts.”
Danny smiled at the doctor, momentarily pleased by the compliment about his little swimmers. Then his smile turned to a frown as he quickly glanced at me. I wasn’t really sure what he saw when his brown eyes locked with mine, but I imagine it wasn’t good.
“It’s going to be all right, baby,” he assured me, squeezing my hand again.
His assurance made me angry because, in that moment, how the hell did he know? The doctor hadn’t even gotten to the bad news yet, but it was obviously about me.
I was the bad news.
And as it turned out…I was the one who couldn’t handle it. That was the beginning of the end.
- 13 -
“The walls are done,” Michael told me Monday afternoon. He and Dean had spent the morning at my house patching and filling the holes in the walls.
I’d been surprised to find them there when I went to visit Mr. Smith at the practice. They’d told me that since they owned the company, their crews worked the various projects, and they popped in where needed to provide supervision and assistance. That allowed them to take on my home themselves immediately, and I wasn’t going to complain about that. I just hoped none of their crews were suffering in the meantime.
“You’re going to want to wait about twenty-four hours before you start priming the walls,” Mikey added. “Give the putty time to dry.”
I nodded, looking around the space. The patched walls already made the house look better.
“We’re pulling up the carpets now,” Michael said. “Then we’ll work on the ceilings. In fact, you’ll want to prime and paint those, too, once we’re finished.”
“What can I do to help?” I asked, wanting to do something, even though I had no business doing anything of the construction variety. I also didn’t have the time.
“Nothing; we got this, Jess.” Dean assured me as he passed by with some carpet scraps in his gloved hands.
“There’s a catalog there on the counter,” Michael lifted his chin towards the kitchen. “It has different kinds of flooring…carpet, wood, and veneer. Take your pick.”
Now that was right up my alley. I wandered into the kitchen and picked up the catalog. The pages were filled with different colors of wood, carpets, tiles, and linoleum. Looking around the cottage, I decided wood floors would be the way to go. I liked the idea of dark wood in the bedroom to go with the whiskey colored walls. Maybe a lighter wood for living area. Definitely tile for the bathroom and kitchen.
I spent another hour or so browsing and marking the catalog with my notes, then I checked my watch. I had five minutes until I was due to meet Mr. Smith in the office.
“I’m heading next door if you guys need me,” I called as I slipped out the front door. They had finished pulling up the carpet and were busy taking down the doors. I was surprised at how quickly they were getting everything done, but it was a small place and most of the damage was aesthetic. I guessed it helped that they didn’t have any furniture to work around, and literally everything was being renovated, so they didn’t need to worry about damaging anything.
Hearing a vehicle approach, I looked towards the road. Mr. Smith pulled into the small gravel lot in front of the office and parked in the unmarked space beside my car. I’d briefly seen Mrs. Smith to pick up the key to the cottage the morning Mom and I checked it out, but Mr. Smith hadn’t been home.
“Jessica,” he said in his deep baritone as he got out of the car. “Dear girl, look at you!”
I smiled as I stepped into his open arms. “It’s good to see you, Mr. Smith.”
“None of that. Call me George,” he held me out at arm’s length. “We’re peers now.” I knew he meant it in the professional sense, but I still had to tamp down a giggle at the thought of a seventy-year-old man being my peer.
Mr. Smith looked good for his age. He was short and a little thick around the middle, but he still had a full head of thick, white hair and his eyes danced with youth. He’d always had an energy about him, despite his age, and I was glad to see that hadn’t changed.
“I’ll try,” I said, following him up the brick steps to the small porch.
“Would you like to do the honors?” he asked, holding out the key.
“No, you go ahead,” I waved him off. I never was one to make a big fuss out of stuff like that. Plus, I’d have plenty of time to celebrate my new office and job in the coming months when I was able to make the place my own. Right now it was still Mr. Smith’s. For a few more days.
He unlocked the door and stepped inside, flipping the switch for the lights as he went. It had been so long since I’d been inside the practice, but it looked the same as I remembered. Four leather chairs sat in the small waiting room, and on the other side of a glass partition was the reception desk. Mrs. Smith had graced that desk for as long as I could remember.
I’ll have to hire a secretary, I thought to myself.
Mr. Smith—err, George, that was going to be difficult—led me back to his office, which would soon be my office. I knew from our last conversation that he had a few cases he wanted to close up himself but would be handing the rest of them over to me.
“This cabinet back here,” George patted the top of the black metal filing cabinet in the corner behind his desk, “contains all the active cases. Mostly property stuff, some family law, estates…” he trailed off. I could tell this was hard on him—leaving his life’s work behind.
“I promise I will take good care of all your clients,” I assured him, placing my hand on his forearm.
“I know you will. I know you will. The few cases I’m hanging onto are estates undergoing some modifications. Once those are complete, they’ll go in this cabinet over here.” He walked over to another black filing cabinet, neatly labeled “ESTATES.” “Archives are in the file room,” he gestured towards the closed door across the hall.
I nodded, taking it all in. Owning my own practice was going to be overwhelming…in a good way, of course. It hadn’t completely sunk in yet that this was all mine, but I couldn’t wait to get started and work on something other than employment contracts, which had been my job at the corporate firm in the city. I’d be happy if I never had to review another contract in my life.
“Occasionally I’ll get contracts from some of the local businesses. Just basic review stuff,” he added, bursting my contract-free bubble. “I have complete faith in you, Jessica.”
It had been so long since I had felt pride towards myself, especially coming from another person, but I did in that moment. I hadn’t had too much to be proud of lately. If I was being honest, I hadn’t had much to be proud of since I graduated law school. That was my last major accomplishment after graduating high school, college, and then marrying my high school sweetheart. It all went downhill from there.
“Thank you,” I finally said. “I can’t wait to get started.”
“Not much that’s pressing aside from the Miller/Bostick property dispute.”
“What’s going on there?” I recalled the big Miller farm just outside the town limits near the rec fields, but the Bostick name was new to me.
“The Bosticks own the land adjacent to the Millers, what used to be Chester Cameron’s place.”
“The Camerons moved?” They were one of the founding families of Oak River. That news surprised me.
“Chester Cameron passed away two years ago, a year after his wife, Betsy. The kids weren’t interested in the land and sold the place to Gerald Bostick. Big city guy who retired and wanted to turn the Cameron farm into a vineyard.”
“Is the land right for that kind of crop?”
“Nope,” George chuckled. “But he tries like hell every year.”
I laughed with him. “So what’s the dispute?”
George sat in the big leather chair behind the desk and sighed. Taking his lead, I sat at one of the guest chairs in front of his desk—my desk. It was still hard to believe this was my practice, especially with Mr. Smith here. He had such a commanding presence; I hoped the people in town would have the same faith in me as they had in him.
“Bostick has a big compost heap in the back corner of the property. Miller says the land the heap is on belongs to him. Neither party has been able to find paperwork or property maps that confirm or deny either claim.”
I wanted to roll my eyes. Both farms had to be hundreds of acres, and they were arguing over what probably amounted to no more than a couple hundred square feet. But that was small town life. I wasn’t in the “big city” anymore, and thank goodness for that. I had wanted the slow pace and low crime rate of Oak River. Speaking of crime…
“Any criminal cases?”
George raised his eyebrow. “In Oak River?”
I laughed. “Just thought I’d ask.”
“I think I’ve had maybe a handful of DUI cases over the years, but that’s about it. Not too much of that kind of thing happens in Oak River, and if it does, the public defender’s office in Smithfield usually takes it on since it’s free.” Smithfield was the county seat, holding the courts and the headquarters for law enforcement. It was where the local community college was, the train station, and shopping malls. Larger than our small town, Smithfield was still a small town itself.
Honestly, I was looking forward to the slow pace. Contract law wasn’t all that urgent, but everyone in the city had been in a rush and seemed to wait until the last minute to get things done. I was always given tasks that were due the following day, and I didn’t like constantly operating in emergency mode. Correction: I had enjoyed all the busy work when I needed to get away from my own thoughts, but once I started to find myself again, I found that it wasn’t all it had been cracked up to be.
“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll hang out here today while the guys are working in the house and review some of the open cases.”
“You don’t have to ask my permission, Jessica. The place is yours.”
Leaning back in my seat, I took another look around and sighed contentedly. Feeling that big swell of pride again, I smiled…it was mine. I could get used to feeling this good.
- 14 -
“Knock, knock.” Michael’s voice startled me. I lifted my gaze from the case file spread out on my desk and was surprised to see the sun had set outside the large bay window in the office.
“Gosh, I completely lost track of time,” I said, stretching my arms above my head. My back cracked, and I made a mental note to find a chiropractor.
“I figured. We just finished cleaning up inside,” he said, gesturing to the house. “The cabinets have all been sanded, too.”
My eyes widened at that. “Already? You guys did all that today?”
“It’s a small cottage, Jess,” he smirked. “Your kitchen isn’t much more than a galley. You’ve got like six cabinets.”
“There’s more than six cabinets in there,” I said, defending my little home.
“Fine, seven.”
I laughed, doing a count in my head. There were about ten cabinets total in the kitchen. “Is there a special kind of paint I should get for them?”
“I think it would look best with a light stain rather than paint, but you can do whatever you’d like. It would be great if you could get the painting done before we put in the flooring. We’ll finish up the ceilings tomorrow, so I’d suggest painting on Wednesday.”
“I think a stain sounds nice.” I could go purchase the paint tomorrow morning and be ready to go Wednesday morning. “Would you be able to meet me at the hardware store to look at the stains?” It didn’t matter how detailed his instructions were, I’d likely still purchase the wrong stuff. I was not Ms. Home Improvement…Danny had always handled that kind of thing around the house.
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