Jack

I call Cord’s phone again, letting it ring and ring some more until the familiar mechanical voice tells me to leave a message after the beep. I’ve been calling since last night when he didn’t turn up to pick me up, and I haven’t stopped calling every hour on the hour.

I haven’t slept a wink all night, worry and real fear making my eyes pop open every time they slammed shut. When I call again for the third time in as many minutes and the call gets dropped it’s as if my heart stops beating. Cord doesn’t ever drop my calls. Heck, it hardly rings before he answers it.

I frown down at the phone when the call ends abruptly and look up at the microwave where the time blinks at me accusingly. Seven thirty-four in the morning and I’ve called him-I check my log–twenty-six times not including this call because it was a dead call that he ended.

By eight I feel as if I’m ready to climb out of my skin, so I shower and slip on my shorts and a pink tee that reads “balls and boobs sag, don’t discriminate.”

I still don’t quite get the shirt but Dee bought it for me so I wear it, plus it makes my boobs look great.

Pulling on a pair of rubber flip-flops I grab my bag and keys, determined to talk to Cord or at least ascertain that he is safe and uninjured or lying dead somewhere in a ditch.

Which should be damn near close the way I’m feeling right now. The car is baking hot, even at this time of the morning so I roll the window down, push my sunglasses onto my nose and disregard the speed limit to get some air into the car.

I’m almost chirpy enough to rap along with Jesse J and her “Price Tag” by the time I pull into his driveway, his midnight blue truck letting me know that thank God, at least he wasn’t in an accident.

I’m pissed all over again though when I knock and get no answer. I stand there knocking and ringing the bell for a good five minutes before it becomes apparent that he’s either not here or ignoring me.

I don’t want to think that he’s blowing me off, not after the way things have been going so great. It’s just not possible. But the sight of his truck parked in the driveway has me going around back.

What I see when I get through the fence and make my way around to the pool area makes me stop dead in my tracks and just freeze. It’s like those horror movie moments where the stupid blonde sees a dead body and just stops, gearing up for a blood curdling “you’re gonna get your ass killed quicker” scream.

I should look away, turn, do anything but just stand and watch as Cord rolls over and almost falls off the lounger, the blonde lying beside him moaning and turning to cuddle on her stomach.

She’s wearing almost nothing, just a bra and one of those whorish G-strings I can’t wear because my ass looks too huge in them. I’m jealous instantly, and then I feel a shard of pain pierce me followed by a slow restart of my mind.

Unfortunately, I still haven’t moved, not by an inch and it’s then that Cord cracks an eye open and looks right at me. At first, I don’t even think he recognizes me but soon that blank, just woke up stare turns to horror, and I watch as he looks at the girl, looks back at me and scrambles to his feet, stumbling as he gets vertical.

My heart is not hurting. It’s way past that feeling and well into agony territory. I can barely breathe while I watch him grab his shirt to cover up his unbuttoned jeans, but I drag in a hard lungful of air when he comes closer, reaching out to touch me.

“No,” I hiss, my eyes going from him to her and back to him again.

Looking hurts but I want to see this, really see everything, so I will know in future that taking risks isn’t worth it. I just got schooled, completely defeated, and I know it so I should take a mental snapshot so I won’t ever forget.

Cord flinches when I step back, spitting out a curse when he tries to take my arm again.

“Jack, this isn’t–”

“What it looks like?” I ask, my throat tight and making the words come out a deep pant of sound. “What is it then?”

He swallows and cringes some more, and I realize that he’s hungover and my voice is a little more than a bark. I’m yelling, angry, and making another spectacle of myself. Just like–

“It isn’t…I didn’t sleep with her.”

He looks frantic, guilty as hell and afraid as I take another step back, my mind forcing my body to move despite the pain I feel. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to stand here and be in yet another situation where one of the infamous Brady girls loses her shit and throws a baptismal so hard it busts a church roof.

For once, just once, I think I can pull back the pain and not be who everyone thinks I am. Yeah, I’m sarcastic and fun and I have a raging temper. It’s all in good fun.

But I’m also just human, just a girl, standing in front of a fucking boy watching him scramble to cover up what is blatantly obvious.

“Jack.”

He steps after me, making me turn to fast walk through the gate and into the front when I’m almost desperate to get to my car. My breath is coming in shallow pants, the kind that only happens when it’s hard to breathe and crying isn’t just an option, it’s happening.

I don’t want to cry now, not now. I’ve cried enough and hurt enough, and all I want is to go home, hunker down, and be by myself where the only person who talks is me.

“Jack!”

“Don’t,” I hiss when I slide into the driver’s seat only to have him grab the door to stop me. “Don’t you even dare touch me, Cord Nixon. I trusted you. I wanted…”

I stop, grinding my teeth together so hard it hurts because the choked sound of my voice is just a step away from a sob.

Cord flinches, letting go of the door but steps right up to my open window, his hands gripping the door tight enough I hear one of his knuckles pop.

“It’s not what it looks like, Jack. I swear to God. Please, please just come inside and let me explain,” he begs, the desperation in his eyes so strong I almost cave.

I hate seeing him hurt. I hate it so much that I spent hours in the tub, drinking a bottle of wine and “getting my head on right.” I thought and thought and thought and pushed myself so hard that I finally got to cry, really cry about what happened with Felix.

It wasn’t the angry, I hate you crying I did with my sisters, and it wasn’t about me being humiliated. It was about knowing that someone I loved had purposely hurt me and that I did hurt.

I hurt for what I lost giving a part of me to him, and I hurt for the betrayal Melinda dealt me. And then I cried because it wasn’t easy letting it all go but I had to because I want to keep Cord, love him and to do that completely I had to know that I do trust him and that he deserves to know it.

I should have told him about the pregnancy scare and shared my fears of marriage–no, that’s not true. I am not afraid of marriage, I want it. I’m just terrified of walking down the aisle again.

That’s what I was going to tell him last night and ask him if we could compromise. I’d do a wedding but only with a handful of people. Him, me, and maybe one or two of my sisters and his friends.

That was my aha! Light bulb moment.

Talk about irony and getting screwed, I think, starting the car with a decisiveness I don’t feel. A huge part of me wants to go inside and listen to what he has to say. A bigger part hopes that it will wipe away the ugliness in my head.

The sane part that’s been crushed under his boot heel of love knows that nothing constructive can come of me being anywhere near him right now. I’d cry, hit him and yell unforgivable things at him.

That’s the part I go with, shaking my head as my throat thickens before putting the car in reverse and pulling out.

The last image I have of him is seeing him crouch in the driveway as if everything inside him has deflated. I kinda get it, I feel airless too right now.

 

*****

 

Kim hands me another brownie, trying to coax me to eat it but I put it on the side table where the other one still sits untouched and stare out into the yard instead.

It’s six in the morning on a Monday, and I’m on the back porch in my shorts and a tee, still kicking it but smelling…a little too ripe for comfort. It’s been two days since I walked into Cord’s place and saw him sleeping next to some barely dressed floozy.

The drive home is still a blur and the hours after that aren’t any better. I came home, I know that and I stayed in the bathtub until one of my sisters came in and sprayed me wet like a dog.

Bay. That bitch.

I’ve been out here ever since, and after my clothes dried and the other two showed up, I had an epiphany, the kind my family hates. I decided that talking isn’t something I want to do.

I don’t want anyone getting pissed at Cord, so I haven’t said a word but to tell them it didn’t work out. I cried a little too, but I don’t care. I really don’t.

It felt good. It also scared Bay senseless because that mask of hers cracked and she took off out of here like I was holding a gun on her. Kim stayed though so here we are on the porch, me smelling…and Kim’s been trying to get me to eat a knock-off version of my favorite brownie.

I wish I could eat because the smell of Dee’s version is phenomenal, as is the little biscuit chips I can see floating around in that peanut chocolaty goodness.

If anything could make me eat it would be those so I guess I must be pretty bad off if the sight of them just makes my gut ache and revolt at the thought of eating.

“Please, just…say something!” Kim rails, grabbing my shoulders to shake me.

“Go home Kimmy, I’m on vacation,” I say in a dead voice.

I’ve never felt this way before so I’m as confused as I am melancholy. Everything hurts and yet I feel numb. Sometime during the course of last night, while I watched a raccoon try to get through the lid of my super impenetrable garbage can, I think I shut everything down because it hurt. Too much.

Way too much for me to keep feeling it.

“Jack, honey, please just talk to me. You’re scaring me.”

“I’m fine, Kim. I just need a vacation.”

“Bullshit. The last time that toe wart took you on vacation you spent two days organizing the bed and breakfast you stayed at. Nita is still calling me to tell me how well your system works and what a lift she had in revenue because of it. You don’t rest. You pretend to do it while you plot ways to organize other people’s lives.”

I would laugh at that because–I smugly dust off my shoulder with an inner smile–I do rock that way. Not today. Today I feel bone weary, and all I want to do is just sit here until I can sleep.

I just want to sleep and forget and wake up not feeling, anything.

Is that too goddamn much to ask?

“I don’t want to talk, Kim! I don’t want to go over the whole thing with a fine-toothed comb and dissect every single word and intention. Okay? Jesus, we broke up. It’s done. We’ll move on,” I mutter, groaning when I hear a ruckus coming from inside and look up to see mama stomp out the back door. Followed by my big, cuddly teddy bear, daddy.

She looks me up and down, sniffs and then shocks me blind when she pulls me into her arms and actually starts crying.

“Oh, baby, you look the way poor Luanne did when she left Jimbo for three days. She stank too. And we found a mouse in her hair,” she says, her voice choked up while I myself want to laugh.

I look up to see Kim’s mouth wobble and daddy’s eyes sparkle before he gently nudges mama out of the way and opens his arms. I’m there in a beat, clinging to him as the familiar smell of hops and mama’s lotion assails my nose.

It’s comfort of the highest degree, and I giggle a little when I lean into his neck and smell it stronger there. Daddy loves having mama’s smell on him. Uncle Jimbo once told him mama was training him like a mutt, using her scent and some other things I have scrubbed from my mind.

It’s a smell I associate with home and love and safety. It’s all daddy and right now, I need him.

“Tell your da what happened then, lass. Do I need to kill anyone and hide them in the vats?” he murmurs into my hair.

I shake my head no, staying silent and mama and Kim huff before going inside to leave us alone.

“Jackie girl, da loves you but, lass, you smell worse than George’s little bastards. Go have a clean-up do, and then you come out here and tell your old da what ails you.”

“I don’t–”

“For me Jackie! My eyes are fair burning from the funk. You clean up, ma will make you a good spot of coffee and her bacon, and then we’ll talk. It’s me or her, lass,” he says softly, giving me a squeeze and a gentle kiss on my forehead before setting me back.

I shudder trying to think of mama being the comfort in this situation and decide I’d rather not risk having her go into a mental breakdown trying to access any other emotion but anger and scorn.

“I’ll go shower.”

“Good lass,” he says, grinning when I shiver and walk inside, ignoring the two idiots at the stove arguing about what tasted better in eggs, cayenne or regular pepper.

Swear to God one of these days I’m going to walk into a crime scene where a homicide occurred. A double. Dee will have mamas shotgun pellets embedded in her chest, and mama will have Dee’s rolling pin sticking out of her head.

Shaking my head I just let it go, ignoring my instinct to go over and mediate. I leave them there, sharp implements abounding and go upstairs to shower, wincing at the color of the water sloshing at my feet after I wash my hair.

It takes longer than usual because I have to shave my legs and the bush that’s appeared under my pits, and I take some extra leeway to lotion my body and dry my hair.

By the time I get back downstairs, dressed in jeans and a loose off the shoulder, purple shirt, I do feel better. At least less cruddy. I walk out onto the porch avoiding the battle stations in the kitchen and join daddy.

“Okay then lass, tell your da. What has you so blue?”

I snort, rolling my eyes because it’s not even semi-possible that they don’t already know. I had a pap smear four months ago and daddy bought me a gold chain as a “sorry I didn’t make you a boy” gift.

It was clear, just in case you were wondering. No polyps and other gross growths for me.

“I broke up with Cord.”

Daddy scoffs, rolling his eyes and tosses his shoulder-length grey red hair over his shoulder in a move I’ve seen Kim do. Oh, to be so masculine the man can do girlie shit and not feel threatened.

“Pull the other one love and then kiss the Blarney stone.”

“Fine! We broke up,” I mumble, giving mama the gimlet eye when she comes out to give us breakfast and coffee and hovers to eavesdrop.

“If God wanted walls to have ears he’d have made it so, Mama. Take to stepping.”

“Little bastard,” she mutters, slamming into the kitchen to yell at Dee.

Daddy just grins and looks after her with complete adoration.

“How did this breaking up occur? And don’t give me some bullshit story! I already got what I needed from the boy, it’s your turn now.”

Uh oh, he’s got his hard voice on, and I know I won’t come out of this lightly if I lie. Problem is I don’t want to read about Cord in the newspaper with homicide officers calling for leads.

“Daddy–”

“Tell me, lass. Can’t fix nothing unless I know where it’s broke,” he says softly, chucking my chin when I sniff and my lip trembles.

“I…he wasn’t answering his phone and you know how he is. He hardly ever lets me have a minute to myself without calling. So I went on over there and…” I stop, taking a deep breath, the image of that perfect ass flashing in my mind.

If I was a lesser person, I’d track her down and ask her how she gets her ass so tight. I want one too.

“He was hungover.”

“Men are bears when they’re hungover, lass–”

“Yeah, but he wasn’t a bear, daddy. He had some floozy lying next to him, her perfect ass out in the wind, his jean button undone.”

Daddy flinches but I note he doesn’t seem surprised and his words from earlier come to haunt me. He already spoke to the boy.

“Daddy! What did you do?” I breathe, choking on my bacon when he hangs his head guiltily.

“Don’t yell at your old da, Jack, my heart can’t stand it.”

“Oh, don’t you try to use the ‘I’m so soft and lovable’ bullshit with me. What did you do?” I grate, my heart pounding clear through my chest.

“I just went to talk, Jack,” he says in a high-pitched voice that I am sure has mama’s dog senses on high alert.

Guilty. He only uses that voice when he’s guilty.

“Oh, Dad, please tell me you didn’t.”

“I only hit him twice, Jack! Just twice to loosen his tongue up some. Don’t hate your loving da, lass, I did it because I love you and I knew it were bad when Bay showed up at the house and it looked like one of her eyes might cry,” he defends.

I stifle a laugh and my curiosity.

“Did you get a photo of that? Please tell me you got evidence of Bay owning a heart!”

What? I can’t help it. That would be like them finding those dinosaur bones, a momentous discovery of humanity like proportions.

Daddy grins, shrugging and shows me his phone where Bay looks…pained. It’s so beautiful I can hardly breathe.

“She came over, looking like she wanted to weep she did and told me you and Cord were on the outs. She was so upset, Jack, I knew you’d have to be faring worse. So I went over. Just to talk.”

“Dadddddy.”

“The man looked like he’d been drug through hell, lass. It was pathetically sad. He told me what happened and I have to admit when I heard the words ‘other woman’ I hit before he could fully explain the situation. He didn’t even put up a fight, just took it without a word, as if he wanted a beating,” Daddy says, looking pained and sad. “That man is broken over the mistake he made.”

“Mistake! He slept with another woman,” I hiss, my anger bubbling again and making the numbness disappear.

“He didn’t though!” daddy rushes out, looking merry because the old ass led me here, quite cleverly I might add.

Jesus, do those Irish lasses have manipulation curdling their breast milk or what? It’s taught from the cradle there.

“Explain. I swear to God though, Dad, if you’re going to justify his actions–”

“No justifying, lass. He confessed that he was angry and he fully intended to sleep with that woman. He couldn’t though. Came time for it but the poor man was so beset with heartache he ended up crying on her shoulder and drinking with those idiot friends of his. They were all in the house still, slept over and every one of them swore nothing happened. Cord passed out by the pool and Hennie didn’t want to leave him out there all by himself.”

“Hennie? You’re on a first name basis with the woman?” I gasp, feeling betrayed and a little happy too.

Maybe daddy can ask her how she got her ass so perfect.

“She’s a nice lass! She stayed out there to make sure he didn’t do something foolish like swim when he was blotto.”

“The G-string?” I ask through gritted teeth.

“Was on account of she lost her pants somewhere along the bar route. Her friends got her slit-eyed and decided to play a prank on her. That’s how Cord and the boys found her, passed out drunk on a bench on Main street,” he explains, laughing when my eyes widen because…

That’s happened to me. Only it was granny panties on Lexington, and my own sisters did it to me. Don’t fucking judge me, we went bar hopping on washing day. I didn’t have anything sexier that wasn’t crusty.

“Fine but that still doesn’t absolve him. You just told me he was going to sleep with her! Why? And what the hell did he have to be pissed about?” I ask, chewing my bacon like a feral animal to stop from cursing any more than I already have.

Now daddy’s face goes hard and I swallow, knowing his eyes are on me.

“You’ve been a bad lass, Jacobie. You’re in a loving relationship with a man who plotted and planned to nab you, and he’s giving you all this love and patient understanding and what do you do lass? You have a pregnancy scare and tell your sister.”

Shit! I hate it when the tables are turned and there are too many witnesses for me to deny anything.

“Kim narked me?”

“No, Jack. Cord went over to your place to surprise you, and he heard you talking to Kimmy. What’s this I hear about my Jack refusing to marry a man she loves?”

“Daddy–”

“No, Jackie. Don’t give me that little girl face and the trembling lip. I’m very disappointed in you girl. I never thought I raised a coward, Jacobie. Kim is mean, Dee is homicidal and Bay…” he shudders while getting an adoring look on his face. “You’ve always been the smart one who owns her emotions and spits in the eye of anyone who tries to deny you what you want. And I hear you’re refusing a future with that man because you’re afraid?”

He sounds so disappointed I want to punch someone. Mostly Cord for telling him in the first place. I do however feel like shit because if Cord heard what I said to Kim then he probably thinks I won’t give him that future, and in some convoluted way I now get why he went off the rails.

Dammit.

I don’t like being wrong. At all. And even more, I hate not knowing how to fix this.

“I, it’s…I know I will marry him, I mean would have…shit. I was going to tell him that the night he got shitfaced and ignored my calls. I thought long and hard daddy and it came to me. I’m not afraid of commitment and marrying Cord, I just can’t do the big bells and whistles wedding,” I confess.

I expect him to hug me and say something nice to make me feel better. What I get are a snort and narrowed eyes.

“Too damn bad! Tomorrow is your wedding day girl. You get your head on straight and show up at that church, and I’ll make sure the man is there.”

“Daddy–”

“It’s time for you to prove your mettle Jack and what better way to do it than to show up, walk down the aisle and take another gamble, this time with a man you can trust in,” he says softly.

I gulp, every nerve in me going tense and find myself nodding even though what I want to do is run. Far.

What he’s saying is simple. I hurt Cord by being a commitment phobic bitch who was taking another man’s flaws out on him. I owe it to Cord to make this big, dramatic production out of things. If I want him back.

If not, I can walk and lose him forever but if I do this, take the risk, put on the dress and walk to him, there’s a chance I could win the battle of a lifetime.

“What if he doesn’t even want me anymore?” I ask. “I screwed things up pretty badly,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.

Daddy pats my leg and smiles when mama leans out the window and pecks my cheek.

“You’ll never know until you get there baby. Now, I still got my wedding dress–”

“No!” I yell, jumping to my feet and hollering for Kim.

I’ve seen photos of that disaster and no way, no how will I get hitched in something that looks that bad. It has puffed sleeves! That shit went out in the sixties along with hairspray and beef in a can.

Kim comes busting out onto the porch, her orange heels making my eyes pop and bleed.

“What? Who’s hurt? Why didn’t anyone call me for a fight?”

“I need a dress, asshole! I’m getting married tomorrow.”