Jenna
Envy: the desire to have for oneself
something possessed by another.
On her quest to make a romantic dinner, Jenna stopped at the store on her way home and bought food. While she was there, she paused by the magazines and glanced at the covers.
“How to Get a Bikini Body.”
“Beat Those Cravings.”
Judging from the covers, she wasn’t the only one with a problem.
She glanced over her shoulder to check no one was looking and dropped two magazines into her basket.
“Jenna? Jenna! I thought it was you.”
Jenna turned the magazines over. “Hi, Sylvia.”
She’d been at school with Sylvia, but their lives had diverged. Jenna had gone off to college and Sylvia had stayed on island and proceeded to pop out children as if she was on a personal mission to increase the number of year-rounders. Personally Jenna was relieved when the summer people left. The roads were clearer, the beaches were empty and you didn’t have to stand in line for ages at the bakery.
She put field greens, tomatoes and bell peppers into her basket. “How are the children?” Why had she asked that question? The Dentons had six kids. She could potentially be here for hours.
She only half listened as Sylvia talked about the stress of ferrying the children to and from piano lessons, swimming lessons, art class and football.
I’d like that type of stress, Jenna thought.
Sylvia was still talking. “And poor Kaley was in hospital with her asthma again. Your mom was so kind. Visited every day. She’s great with the kids. And she loves babies. Isn’t it about time you and Greg started a family?” The way Sylvia said it suggested that producing babies was something Jenna might have forgotten to do in the day-to-day pressure of living their lives.
Jenna fingered an overripe tomato, wondering whether the pleasure of pulping it against Sylvia’s perfect white shirt would outweigh the inevitable fallout.
Probably not.
She dropped the tomato into her basket and made a vague comment about being busy.
“I must get home.” She grabbed a bottle of wine. She probably shouldn’t be drinking, but she wasn’t pregnant, so why not? Greg wanted her to relax, didn’t he? She’d rather drink wine than go to yoga, and after her earlier encounter with her mother she needed it.
“My Alice loves those stories you read to them, Adventures with My Sister. Could you tell me the author? Is it a series? I’m going to buy those books for her birthday. Her favorite is the story about them freeing the lobsters.”
“They’re not published,” Jenna said. “I make them up. I used to tell stories to my niece when she was little and somehow I carried on doing it with my class.”
“No way! Really? Well you should be writing books, not teaching. Where do you get all those wonderful ideas? You must have quite the imagination.”
“Thank you.”
That and a colorful childhood to draw on for inspiration.
“If you wrote those stories down, the whole class would buy them, that’s for sure.”
Write the stories down.
Why hadn’t she ever thought of that?
Author: a person who composes a book, article or other written work.
“By the way—” Sylvia’s tone was casual “—I was driving through Edgartown half an hour ago and I happened to see a pickup truck parked outside your mother’s house. Guess who was driving it? Scott Rhodes.” She lowered her voice, as if the mere mention of that name might be enough to get her arrested. “He looked as bad and dangerous as ever. I swear the man never smiles. What is his problem? I didn’t know he knew your mom.”
She hadn’t known that either. Thoughts of a new life as an author flew from her head.
What was he doing calling on her mother? And if Sylvia had seen him half an hour ago then that meant Jenna must have missed him by minutes.
Scott Rhodes?
She remembered the summer she’d first seen him. He’d been stripped to the waist and across the powerful bulk of his shoulders she’d seen the unmistakable mark of a tattoo. That tattoo had fascinated her. Her mother wouldn’t even allow her to have her ears pierced.
Scott didn’t seem to care what other people thought and that, to Jenna, had been the coolest thing of all.
She was aware that she cared far too much. She was a people pleaser, but in a small island community that ran on goodwill, she didn’t know how to be any other way.
Scott Rhodes, on the other hand, answered to no one but himself and she envied that. Even looking at him made her feel as if she was doing something she shouldn’t, as if by stepping into his space you made a statement about yourself and who you were. Danger by association. She expected to feel her mother’s hand close over her shoulder any moment.
Not that she’d been that interested. She was in love with Greg. Greg, who she knew so well he almost seemed like an extension of her. Greg, who smiled almost all the time.
Scott Rhodes rarely smiled. It was as if he and life were on opposing sides.
She’d been studying his muscles and deeply tanned chest with rapt attention when he glanced up and caught her looking. There was no smile, no wink, no suggestive gaze. Nothing. His face was inscrutable.
Scott worked at the boatyard and did the occasional carpentry job for people. He slept on his boat, anchored offshore, as if ready to sail away at a moment’s notice.
Why would Scott Rhodes be visiting her mother?
Hi, Mom, I hear you had the devil on your doorstep...
Aware that Sylvia was waiting for a response, Jenna shrugged. “My mother knows everyone. And she still plays a role in the yachting community. Scott knows boats.”
Sylvia nodded. “That’s probably it.” It was obvious that she didn’t think that was the reason at all, and neither did Jenna.
It nagged at her as she drove the short distance home, enjoying the last of the weak daylight.
The cottage she shared with Greg between Chilmark and the fishing village of Menemsha had a view of the sea from the upstairs windows and a little garden that frothed with blooms in the summer months.
It was, in her opinion, the perfect place to raise a family.
Of course, she didn’t have a family to raise.
Maybe they ought to get a dog.
She pushed that thought aside, along with all the questions she had about Scott Rhodes, and parked her car.
In the summer this part of the island teemed with tourists, but in the winter months you were more likely to see eiders congregating near the jetties, riding the current and sheltering behind fishing boats. The sky was cold and threatening and the wind managed to find any gaps in clothing.
She loved the place whatever the season, whether she was wrapped up in layers in the winter, or eating a warm lobster roll on the beach in the summer watching the sun go down.
Today there was no sun.
Jenna fumbled her way into the house, grateful for the warmth.
She lit the wood-burning stove in the living room, unpacked the shopping and made a casserole. Beef was Greg’s favorite, but she’d read somewhere that red meat reduced fertility, so she used chicken.
While the casserole simmered in the oven, she chopped vegetables.
Then she tidied the cottage, took a shower and changed into a wool dress she’d bought to wear at Christmas two years before. It had looked good on her then. Now, it clung in places it wasn’t supposed to cling. She picked up one of the magazines she’d bought and stared gloomily at the slim, toned blonde dressed in leggings and a crop top.
“You are so airbrushed.” She flung the magazine to one side and picked up the other one.
This one recommended a diet of raw food interspersed with long periods of fasting.
“If I fast, I faint.” What she really needed was the Comfort Eater’s Diet. Or the Stressed While Trying for a Baby Diet.
In the meantime she needed to order control underwear.
She stuffed both magazines under the sofa and noticed the notepad on the coffee table that Greg had been using to make a shopping list.
Maybe she should write down some of her stories. Why not?
She tore out a clean page and sketched two little girls with a goat, but the goat ended up looking like a pig.
She tapped its bloated stomach. “What you need is a bikini diet.”
Throwing down the pen, she slid the paper under the sofa along with the magazines. Maybe she’d think about it another time. Or maybe her stories were better told round a campfire than written down.
Her dress felt uncomfortably tight, so she walked to the bedroom to choose something else.
She pulled on her favorite pair of stretchy jeans and a sweater Greg had bought for her birthday. It was a pretty shade of blue, shot through with silvery thread, and it fell soft and loose to the top of her thighs, concealing all evidence of her dietary transgressions.
She was checking the casserole when she heard the sound of his key in the door.
“Something smells good.” Greg walked into the house and dropped his keys on the table. “How’s my green-eyed mermaid?”
He’d called her that since the summer she turned eight years old when she’d barely left the sea.
“Mermaids don’t have curly hair and freckles.” She smiled as he came up behind her and kissed her on the neck.
“You shouldn’t stereotype mermaids. You look gorgeous. Is that sweater new?”
“You bought it for me.”
“I have great taste. How was your mother? Are you in need of therapy?” He slid his arms round her and she sucked in her stomach to make herself thinner. She liked the fact that he kissed her before he even hung up his coat. Andrea was right—she was lucky to have Greg. So why didn’t that feel like enough?
What was wrong with her?
“I decided on the sort of therapy you can pour into a glass. It was that or chocolate chip ice cream.”
“That’s what I call a dilemma.” Greg let go of her and hung up his coat. “Walk me through your decision-making process.”
“Wine is made from grapes and grapes are fruit, which makes it one of your five a day. So it’s healthy.” She handed him a glass of wine. “And if I’m not pregnant, I might as well drink. How was your day?”
“If I tell you my day was good are you going to snatch this glass from my hand?”
She grinned. “No, because by the time I’ve finished whining you’re going to need it.”
“Wine for whine. Sounds like a reasonable deal.” Greg took a mouthful of wine. “I’m braced. Hit me with it. What was today’s gem?”
“Nothing new. She reminded me about the painting incident and held me personally responsible for her gray hair.”
“Her gray hair makes her look distinguished. She should be thanking you.”
“She praised you, of course.” She lifted her glass in a mock toast. “You, Greg Sullivan, are the all-conquering hero. A gladiator among men. A knight in shining armor. I was lucky you were there to save me from my wicked ways.”
“She said that?”
“Not in so many words, but she was thinking it.”
Greg put the wine down. “Did you tell her you were feeling down about the whole baby thing?”
“No. Our conversations are an exchange of facts.”
His gaze was steady. “You’re unhappy. That’s a fact.”
“Not those sorts of facts. Everyone else seems able to talk to my mother, but not me.”
Why did it matter? She had Greg. Greg had always been easy to talk to. When people talked about marriage as something that had to be “worked at” she didn’t understand what they meant. She and Greg just were. They fitted like hand in glove or foot in shoe. They didn’t need to work at anything.
They ate dinner at the table in their cozy kitchen while the winter wind lashed at the house and rattled the windows. After they’d finished the meal and cleared up, they curled up on the sofa.
Jenna topped up Greg’s wineglass and he raised an eyebrow.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“I’m a wild child, remember? I’m living down to my reputation.” She slid off her shoes, curled her legs under her and moved closer, pressing her body against the solid strength of his.
Unlike her, his body hadn’t changed much in the past decade. Greg believed exercise helped control mood and set an example to the community by spending time in the gym and running on the beach. As a result his body was as good as it had been at eighteen.
She thought about what Andrea had said earlier.
Would her marriage to Greg be different if they’d had other relationships? “Do you ever wish you’d sowed your wild oats?”
“Excuse me?” He shifted so he could look at her. “You want me to become a farmer?”
She laughed and took another sip of wine. “You’re not a morning person. You’d be a terrible farmer.”
“So why the ‘wild oats’ question?”
“No reason. Ignore me. Let’s go to bed.”
He looked at her quizzically. “It’s not the right time of the month for you to get pregnant, is it?”
She felt a flash of guilt, and that guilt was intensified by the knowledge that she’d done those calculations, too. “It’s not the right time for me to get pregnant, but that’s not the only reason to have sex.”
“Isn’t it?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Only that lately that seems to be the only reason you ever want to climb between the sheets with me.” He put his wineglass down and then took her face in his hands and kissed her.
Greg had been the only guy she’d ever kissed if you didn’t count that one session behind the bike sheds with Will Jones, which she didn’t because that had been part of a dare. Sex had changed over time. Being with him didn’t give her the same dizzying thrill she’d had when they’d first gotten together—Take that, Mom. Saint Greg and I had sex before we were married—but in many ways it was better. Familiar. Intimate.
As he deepened the kiss, his other arm came round her waist. She shifted closer to him and felt something hard dig into her hip. “Is that your phone?”
“No, it’s my giant penis and the reason you married me.” He nuzzled her neck but she shoved him away and put her glass down on the table next to his.
“Wait! Greg—why is it in your pocket?”
“My penis?”
“Your phone!”
He sighed. “Because that’s where I always carry my phone. Where else would it be?”
“Anywhere else! You’re supposed to be keeping your testicles cool and your phone out of your pocket. We agreed.”
Greg swore under his breath and released her. “This is crazy, Jenna. You’re obsessed.”
“I’m focused. Focused is good. Focused gets things done.”
“Getting pregnant is all you think about. When was the last time we talked about something not sex or baby related? And I don’t count talking about your mother.”
“Over dinner.” She smiled triumphantly. “We talked about decorating the upstairs bedroom.”
“Because you want to turn it into a nursery, even though you’re not pregnant.”
Oops. “Last week we had a long conversation about politics.”
“And the impact it might have on any children we have.”
That was true.
“It’s possible I might be a little overfocused on pregnancy. It’s what happens when you really want something you can’t have. Like being on a diet. If you can’t eat a chocolate brownie, all you think about is eating the chocolate brownie. You dream about brownies. Brownies become your life. You’re a psychologist. You’re supposed to know this!”
Greg breathed out slowly. “Honey, if you could just—”
“Do not tell me to relax, Greg. And don’t call me ‘honey’ in that tone. It drives me batshit crazy.”
“I know, but Jenna you really do need to relax. If something is taking over your mind, then the answer is to focus on other things. The way to forget the brownie is to think about something else.”
“Cupcakes?”
His expression was both amused and exasperated. “One of my clients is opening a new yoga studio in Oak Bluffs. Maybe you should go. You might find it calming.”
“I might find it annoying.” She thought about the girl in the magazine. “It will be full of serene people with perfect figures who are all in control of their lives. I’d have to kill them, and that wouldn’t be calming for anyone.”
Greg retrieved his wine. “Okay, no yoga. Tai chi? Kickboxing? Book group?”
“My mother runs the book group, and given that the last book I searched for was How Not to Kill Your Mother, I don’t think I’d be welcomed as a member.”
“Go to a different book group. Start your own. Do something. Anything to take your mind off babies.”
“You’re saying you don’t want babies?”
“I’m not saying that.” He finished his wine. “I do want babies, but I don’t think all this angst is going to help.”
She remembered the way he’d looked when she’d glanced out of the window. Thoroughly despondent.
She was about to ask him how he felt about the whole thing when her phone rang.
She ignored it.
Of course Greg wanted babies. Didn’t he?
He glanced from her to the phone. “Aren’t you going to answer that?”
“This conversation is more important than my phone.” Her phone stopped ringing but started again a moment later and Greg reached down to pick it up.
“It’s Lauren.”
Jenna stared at him stupidly. “What?”
“Your sister.” He thrust the phone at her. “We can wish Ed a happy birthday.”
Why did she have the feeling he was relieved their conversation had been interrupted?
“But isn’t it the middle of the night in London?”
“It was obviously a great party.” He rose to his feet and walked toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
He smiled. A normal Greg type of smile. “To pack. If you’re going to talk to your sister, it means I have time to take a six-month sabbatical. Your conversations aren’t exactly brief.”
“We’re not that bad.”
“No, you’re right. A two-week vacation should cover it. In the meantime I’ll make us coffee.” Greg walked to the kitchen and Jenna watched him go.
Everything was going to be okay. Of course it was.
She was married to Greg, and Greg knew how to handle every situation.
Who needed yoga when they were married to their very own therapist?
Picking up her wineglass and stretching her legs out on the sofa, she settled in to have a long chat with her sister. It was true that one call last month had reached the two-hour mark, but she and Lauren lived thousands of miles apart! What did he expect? And she was pleased Lauren had called. She’d be able to tell her about the pregnancy test. “Hi, Lauren. Happy birthday to Ed! How was the party? I was going to call you tomorrow. Did our gift arrive?” Because she was expecting everything to be perfect, it took her a couple of minutes to absorb what her sister was saying. “What? Lauren, I can hardly hear you—are you crying?” She sat up suddenly, spilling her wine over her jeans. “Say that again!”
By the time Jenna ended the call she was in shock.
Her hand was shaking so badly she almost dropped her phone.
Greg walked back into the room and put two mugs of coffee on the table. “Did you lose the signal or something?”
“No.”
“Then why so quick? I was going to speak to Ed.”
“You can’t.” Her lips felt strange, as if they didn’t want to move. “Ed is—” She broke off and he looked at her.
“Ed is what?”
Jenna felt shaky and strange. Her eyes filled. “He’s dead. Today was his fortieth birthday. He was found at his desk by one of the cleaners. They think it must have been his heart. My poor sister.” She remembered the agony in her sister’s voice and didn’t even try to hold back the tears. How would Lauren live without Ed? What would she do? “I have to go to her.” She felt her sister’s loss as keenly as if it were her own.
Looking shaken, Greg took the glass from her hand and tugged her to her feet. “I’ll call the airline while you pack.”
Her brain was moving in slow motion. “We can’t—I can’t—” She couldn’t think straight. “There’s school, and—”
“I’ll call them. I’ve got this.”
“What about the money? We already decided we couldn’t afford to go away in the summer.”
“We’ll figure it out. Some things are more important than money.”
She didn’t argue. There was no way she wasn’t going to be with her sister.
Only hours before she’d been envying Lauren, and now her life was shattered.
It was unbelievable. Unfair.
And to think she’d been about to off-load her own problems.
Jenna sleepwalked to the bedroom and pulled out her suitcase. Without thinking about what she was packing, she stuffed random clothes into it. All she could think about was her sister, her big sister, who had always been there for her through thick and thin.
There was nothing her sister didn’t know about her.
Not a single thing.
“It’s all booked.” Greg appeared in the doorway, his phone in one hand and his credit card in the other. “Take sweaters. And a coat. It’s cold in England. And an umbrella, because it will probably be raining. And don’t forget to charge your phone so I can call you.”
“What? Oh yes.” She pushed some thick socks into the case and paused, helpless and more than a little scared. She felt inadequate. “What do I do, Greg? What is the right thing to say to someone who has lost a husband? I wish you were coming with me.”
But they both knew he couldn’t. He had people counting on him, and no one who could cover for him.
“I’ll call you every night. And you can text me. I promise not to give my phone to Pamela.”
It seemed like a lifetime ago that they’d laughed at that.
Jenna glanced round her bedroom and tried to work out what she’d forgotten. Lauren would have made a list. She probably had a list already on her laptop entitled “for emergency travel.” Everything would be checked off. Red ticks for the outward journey, blue ticks for the return journey.
Jenna didn’t have a list to tick.
She was the disorganized one. Lauren was the perfect one.
Except that her perfect sister’s perfect life was no longer perfect.