CHAPTER EIGHT
Jackie
The local Aldi brought me joy when it first opened—close, well-stocked and convenient, it made grocery shopping so much easier. And there couldn’t have been a time at which I appreciated it more. If I had to drive across town for groceries, I don’t know what I’d do. Getting stuck in traffic with a baby would be unpleasant, to say the least. And more so for them than for me, I reckoned, which wouldn’t be fair.
I looked down into the stroller as I pushed it around the corner into the baking aisle. The little face that lay there, asleep and peaceful against the child-size pillow, took my breath away.
My daughter.
Even though she had been born just over a month ago, I still couldn’t believe it. She had come into my life in early Autumn, a reminder of that late winter night all those months before. But the way I felt wasn’t about that. I adored her for who she was. My daughter.
She already had a personality of her own, I thought as I turned down the end of the aisle and looked for the baby food. She was quiet and tranquil most of the time, waking me only when she needed something or when she just wanted cuddles. She was very cuddly, my daughter.
Stella. My star. I smiled down at her as she opened her eyes and looked up at me. She often did that, as if she wanted to make sure I was still there. I said her name.
“Hello, Stella. I’m still here.”
The words reassured her, I thought. She closed her sleepy eyes again and settled down. Her eyes were gray—an uncertain gray that could go brown, or blue, or green. Or stay as it was. My eyes were green too, after all.
I studied her face as I stood in the queue. I looked for the similarities to Scott. There were some—the high, squarish forehead, the jawbone, the little nose. Her eyes seemed to be mine—larger and wide—though I couldn’t be sure yet, of course. I wondered if they would be blue, like his.
Come on, Jackie, I told myself firmly. You should forget him. He wasn’t interested in us.
I pushed the stroller out of the grocery store and onto the sidewalk. The rear wheel didn’t stick like it usually did, which was a good thing. My groceries in two large bags slung over my shoulder, I walked on out to the car. I parked the stroller carefully by the side of the car, opened the trunk and hauled the groceries round with a grunt, packing them into the trunk of the car.
As I usually did, I made myself angry to get some strength. I grunted with effort as I swung the bags of groceries about, thinking of how angry some of the myopic teachers at the school made me, how impatient I felt with the funding restrictions, how much I wanted to slap Scott. How could he do this to me? Just walk out without caring? Leave us like this?
Stella must have heard me groaning as my back bent, because she made a little fretful noise. I sighed.
“It’s okay, honey. Lullaby bay-by…” I sang in a wavering monotone. I have never been a good singer. Luckily, my own toneless attempts seemed to soothe my baby rather more than anything else did. She was just over a month old now, and slept less than I ever thought a human being could do.
“Thank Heaven for maternity leave.”
I sighed and, feeling weary and exhausted, slammed the trunk and went over to lift Stella out of the stroller and into the carry cot. At that moment, just as I bent over the stroller, the car went past.
A BMW i8.
A white one.
I wouldn’t normally notice cars at a time like this, except for the fact that you don’t see BMW i8’s often. Not in my neighborhood, especially. And this one was white, and sleek, and going past just fast enough for me to think it was driven by someone who really liked the acceleration that it offered.
I stared after it, leaning on the handle of the stroller in shock. It couldn’t possibly be.
I hadn’t thought I was capable of feeling shock. After the birth I had been too half-asleep for any strong emotions, pretty much, except the slow fire of anger I stoked inside myself to keep myself going sometimes. And the intense, heart-twisting love I felt for Stella.
But I was shocked.
After the initial surprise, my first reaction was anger. The cheek! How dare he come here? How dare he just drive past, so uncaring? It’s like what he did—just drove his way into my life, used me and drove out again. User!
I was stoking the anger, using it to force aside all other feelings. The wonder and hopefulness. The sorrow and the overwhelming fact that I missed him. That I wished I could hear from him. See him. Know we meant something to him and share my joy and Stella with him.
“Damn Scott.”
I spat it angrily and reached for the stroller. I had lifted Stella out and laid her down in the cot. Now all I had to do was fold up the damn stroller and pack it into the back of the car. As second-hand strollers will do, the thing had a mind of its own and it inevitably refused to budge when I needed it to fold up quickly.
I was on my knees, fiddling with the pin that held the legs of the thing and swearing under my breath when I heard the car door slam. Someone had parked on the sidewalk just beyond the parking bays. I looked across, about to shout an angry retort at the person for parking in a non-parking zone. I looked up.
Tall and dark haired, wearing an impeccable suit of a navy so dark it was almost black, with his blue eyes alight with emotion, chiseled face firm, was the man I thought I’d never see again.
My throat felt as if someone had poured cement into it. It was blocked so much I could barely draw breath, barely swallow; barely make words.
“Scott.”
“Jackie?” He was smiling so incredulously at me that I would have laughed except for how touched I felt.
“Yes,” I said through my poor, bruised throat. “It’s me.”
My heart was thumping in my chest as if I was about to collapse, my breath was shaky and my hands trembled. I looked into his eyes, and he looked into mine, their blue depths alive and warm and shining with emotion.
Then, almost as soon as I saw the feelings flower in his face, it changed. A shutter came down. He went stiff.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have…um…just appeared like this.”
“Scott?” I frowned. What had made him change so suddenly? What was his problem? Had I done something? Offended him? I sighed.
I pulled the pin out that held the legs of the stroller together, folded it flat and packed it into the back of the car. He was still standing behind me. I didn’t hear him move.
When he still hadn’t moved and the stroller was all packed, I smoothed my hands down my skirts and turned to face him.
“Scott,” I said.
He looked at me with those blue eyes all frosted and if I hadn’t known better—if I hadn’t known that he was a cold-hearted player with no real emotions—I could have sworn there were tears there.
“Jackie,” he said in a strained voice. Then he looked at his hands. “I’m sorry,” he said, coughing abruptly. “I shouldn’t have come. I see that now. I was just…never mind. Forget I came here.”
That was too much. I felt nine months of rage and pain and sadness well up and crash through all the barriers I had built against them.
“Scott,” I said under my breath, quietly and vehemently. “You bastard.”