Chapter Eleven

 

That was probably one of the best nights we’d had in forever. I couldn’t remember the last time we had talked so easily and freely with each other. There was even some laughter. I had forgotten how much I loved to hear him laugh.

It was a good thing we had that night at the Newels’. It was the glue that held our marriage together in the coming days. The Merryton grapevine was on fire, and Jessie Belle’s was busier than ever. I felt like I was in one of those freak-show carnivals and everyone had to come in to see for themselves the bearded lady, or in my case, the jilted woman. I got tired of telling people it was before we were married and while we weren’t dating that Madeline came to be. Let’s just say having to talk about that painful memory day after day was wearing some on our relationship.

I was trying my best not to let the actions and words of others spill over into our home life, but it wasn’t easy. I felt like suddenly my life had become this open book, and everyone was flipping through page after page and even tearing some as they went. I knew most people were only concerned and wanted to make sure I was okay, but there were some like Veronica and Landon Riley that wanted to gloat, or at least revel in our problems.

Not that Madeline was a problem, it was her imminent arrival and the timing of all of this. I was trying my hardest not to look at Blake’s daughter as an issue. This wasn’t her fault and she had enough to deal with. She didn’t need a wicked stepmother to top it off. She needed friggin’ Maria von Trapp, and I was hell-bent to make sure that’s what she got when she arrived, even if it killed me.

And, believe me, I felt like each day after the news broke I was slowly dying a little piece at a time, especially with people like the Rileys, who are so miserable that they love company on the misery train. Sure, most people in our fair town would scoff at that remark, but I know the truth. The Rileys’ marriage was on quicksand.

I wasn’t sure why they ever married in the first place, other than what the rumors have said. When we were all in high school together, Landon wanted nothing to do with her, or at least so I thought. Apparently they had their fun fooling around on the side while Landon and I were dating. No wonder she and Kathryn hated me in high school. She was Landon’s dirty little secret. She hated me so much that she was caught trying to change the prom queen ballots from my name to hers. She was suspended and wasn’t allowed to walk at graduation. After graduation she moved away with her family. I thought it was the last I’d see of Veronica, until she showed back up about ten years ago. I guess Landon had made his way through all the other single women in town and his parents were ready for him to settle down and take over the family insurance agency. But the way Cheyenne heard it was that Landon wasn’t ready to settle down and Veronica was desperate, so they struck a deal: he could keep up his philandering and she got … well, I’m not quite sure. I’ve heard she had money troubles, but who knows? All I knew was it was a match made in purgatory.

And I was wishing purgatory would swallow them up. The “First Family of Merryton” as they liked to think of themselves, came waltzing into my café Friday evening just as I was about ready to leave. Blake and I had both been trying to get home at a decent time and eat together. It was one of the changes we decided we needed to make. It had already been a rough few days with all the hullabaloo surrounding Madeline, and this was the icing on the cake.

I had just finished posting my flyer to the bulletin board announcing my annual t-shirt design contest and in they came. Each year I accepted entries from the local high school students, and the winner received a cash prize and the honor of us wearing their design on our shirts for a year. It was something I looked forward to. Each design went up on the large bulletin board and everyone that came in could vote for their favorite. 

I tried to sneak away, but Veronica literally grabbed me by the arm. “Oh, poor Jessie, we just heard the news.”

Yeah, right. Everyone had known by noon on Tuesday. I guarantee it, because my mom had told the women’s group at church at eleven-thirty that day.

Veronica pulled me to the table where Landon and Landon, Jr. sat. Landon gave me that sleazy “how you doin?’” look. But their sweet son shyly waved at me. I couldn’t help but smile at him and pray he would find a good psychologist when he grew up. He was going to need it after being raised in the insane asylum.

“I can’t believe Blake cheated on you and now he’s leaving you for the other woman.”

I yanked my arm away. “Not that it is any of your business, but Blake did not cheat on me and we are as committed to each other as ever.” So maybe I exaggerated a little.

She didn’t let my remark deter her. “I heard he went to Utah to see her.”

“If I were you, I would check your sources. Have a nice weekend.”

“Oh, we will,” she responded venomously.

I turned to leave, but not quickly enough. Landon, like the slime he was, grabbed my hand as I walked by him. Just as quickly, I yanked it away.

“He never deserved you,” he said, low and creepy.

I didn’t even bother to reply. I continued my escape, but not fast enough. I heard Veronica loudly say for all those around, “My heart breaks for her. I can’t imagine my husband fathering a child with someone else just because I couldn’t. What kind of man does such a thing?”

Don’t rise, I told myself. Keep on walking. She wanted the reaction. I forced myself not to give it to her.

To say I was in a bad mood when I got home was an understatement. I had tried hard all week to be pleasant at home. I knew Blake was dealing with worse, being accused every day of being unfaithful. And even if they weren’t accusing him of that, some people felt like they needed to be offended on my behalf, like how dare he have a child after all that we had been through? That made me feel guilty because I had some of those same thoughts and feelings. I was trying my hardest not to, but it was difficult. It was so difficult I had made an appointment to see my therapist and she had squeezed me in yesterday.

We talked about the grieving process and how I was dealing with two different cycles of it. I was in the anger stage for both. She said this was good progress, better than denial, at least. She told me not to be afraid of anger, only to deal with it properly, like writing in my journal or being completely honest with my husband about my feelings, but not in an accusatory way. That was kind of hard. Every night Blake would ask how my day was and every night I wanted to say, “thanks to you, it sucked,” but I had refrained.

Blake wasn’t home when I arrived, which was probably a good thing. I needed to get my anger under control before I saw him. I took a few moments to write out my feelings about the situation in my journal, then took some deep cleansing breaths, ate some dark chocolate, and called it good, or at least good enough.

I set up on the couch and did something I knew I would enjoy. I loaded the pictures I had taken on my little tizzy-inducing excursion onto my laptop and began to edit them. I had this idea that maybe I would get some of them printed in black and white and I could hang them up in my café.

Was there anything more beautiful than the Colorado landscape? I thought to myself as I scrolled through each picture. It was the perfect distraction from my crappy day. By the time Blake got home an hour later I was in a decent mood.

He came in through the mud room. I watched him covertly as he made his way upstairs without saying anything, but then it was like he suddenly remembered something, turned, and made his way toward me on the couch. He kissed the top of my head once. It was still somewhat forced. This wasn’t natural for him, but I had told him I liked it when we greeted each other whether coming or going. And my therapist had suggested that we make touching each other an everyday thing, even if it was only to hold hands. She said there were levels of intimacy, and we were in the burying stage and needed to get to the resurfacing stage, or at least I did. She suggested I take little steps in working our way back to both physical and emotional intimacy.

“I’m going to take a shower.”

“Did you have a good day?”

“I’m glad I’m home,” is all he would say. I took that as a no.

I decided not to mention the Rileys. They weren’t worth the wasted energy, anyway.

I got up off the couch and threw together a bleu cheese and steak salad. I used the marinated steak we had from the previous night’s dinner. I was easing Blake into flavorful food. He had liked the steak, but ate a plain baked potato with it. It just seemed so wrong. To make up for it I added cheese and bacon bits to mine.

I kept the dressing and the cheese off Blake’s salad, but instead loaded his with lots of cherry tomatoes. I had to admire his dedication to eating healthy, not enough to be as rigid as him, but it was commendable.

Blake was down in no time and shirtless. I watched him walk into the laundry room and thought maybe I was resurfacing. I was definitely feeling something. Have I ever mentioned what a fine specimen my husband was physically? Eating well and being physically active had definitely paid off for him. And I guess for me, too. Except I wasn’t fully reaping the benefits of it. If only I felt as good about my own body. That was going to be the topic of discussion for next week’s therapy session.

I was disappointed when Blake came out of the laundry room fully dressed. He still looked great with his dark, wet hair showing the natural wave it had and the barely there beard, it had gone perfectly with his sculpted chest with precisely the right amount of hair on it. There was a time when I would have acted on the feelings I was having, but for some reason I couldn’t. I wanted to—I really did—but I was afraid on more than one level. I was afraid he would reject me, though I knew that was just insecurity talking, but I was more afraid that he wouldn’t and I wouldn’t be able to follow through. Baby steps, I reminded myself. I also remembered that Dr. Ames said sex had more to do with emotional intimacy than physical, so I focused on that.

“Dinner’s ready,” I called out.

He smiled tiredly from the great room. Our house was entirely open on the lower level and I loved it. I had wanted to be able to see every space from the kitchen. I thought it would be good, you know, for … little ones. I stopped that thought. It wasn’t going to help to dwell on something I would never have.

I took both plates and walked them to the table. He met me there and we sat down together. He was at the head of the table with me by his side.

“Thanks,” he said.

“You’re welcome. Is everything okay?”

“It’s been a long week.”

I placed my hand on top of his. It was dry and somewhat rough. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“I didn’t want to know anyway,” I teased before I turned back to my food.

“Hey,” he said, before leaning in and grabbing my face and pressing his lips against mine. At first it was gentle, but when I didn’t pull away his hands made their way through my hair and the pressure intensified. My lips melded into his as I reached up and ran my hand across his scratchy cheek. I let it rest there as we both paused. Neither of us seemed to want to move away, but we were both unsure if we should proceed. I gave in to the moment and my lips parted. He took the invitation and for a brief moment I felt like part of him, I remembered how much I missed being kissed by him. But the moment ended with Madeline’s ring tone.

We both sat back and stared at each other briefly. He looked torn, but with the next ring he picked up the phone.

As he talked to his daughter, I picked up my plate and moved to the couch. I don’t know why, but I felt strange watching him talk to her, and even listening in was difficult for me. He talked to her differently than anyone else. There was a gentle tone to his voice when he spoke to her. It was sweet, but very odd for me.

He asked how school was and I could tell he wasn’t thrilled with her response, but he said something like, “We’ll work on that during the summer.” He asked how her mom was and if she needed anything and if she had received the iPad he sent her.

Wow! He was really getting into the dad thing, or at least the spoiling part. I tried not to let it bother me. I felt like he had this whole new life that didn’t involve me. I decided for my mental health to take my dinner and my laptop to my room, though my appetite was now shot. I felt like I was on a roller coaster. One minute I was feeling all warm and fluttery about my husband and then the next moment I was ready to run to my dad’s or a hotel, or at least have my dad meet me somewhere. I didn’t need my mom telling me to go home.

I sat on my bed and picked around at my dinner for a few minutes before I gave up. I took up my laptop instead and picked out a few favorite shots to play with in my photo editor. As my application opened, so did my door.

“Sorry about that,” he said.

“No problem,” I said without looking up at him. I was going to cry if I did and I had been really good about not crying throughout this week.

“Jessica.”

“Yes,” I said into my laptop screen.

He didn’t answer. Instead he joined me and sat on the edge of my bed. I responded by pulling my legs up and closer to myself. It wasn’t very conducive for working on my laptop, but I was going into protective mode.

“Jess—”

“What?”

“Please look at me.”

“No.” That sounded so childish. Couldn’t he tell I wanted to be alone?

He took my laptop out of my scrunched up lap and moved it away from me as he scooted closer.

“I was using that.”

He ran his finger alongside my cheek gently. “Jess, I’m sorry. Please, talk to me.”

I closed my eyes and could feel the sting of hot tears just waiting to be released. I remembered Dr. Ames’ words—don’t be afraid to tell him how you really feel. I opened my eyes and the tears took that as their invitation to fall down my cheeks.

Blake’s eyes narrowed in concern as he watched the tears slowly glide down my cheeks.

“I feel like you have this whole other life now that I will never have any part of.”

He inched closer and wrapped me up in his arms. My head fell against his shoulder and I bathed it with my tears.

“You are my life and I want to share everything with you, especially Madeline,” he whispered in my ear. “She’s excited to meet you and I want you to come with me to pick her up.”

I pulled away and looked at him in disbelief.

“Please come with me.”

I brought my hands up and rubbed my face. “What if I’m a horrible stepmother? Or what if she doesn’t like me? Or what if I don’t like her?”

He grinned and took my face back in his hands. “I don’t see any of that happening.”

I shook my head, or at least I tried to within the constraints of his hands.

“I love you. We are going to make this work.”

“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

“Will you come with me?”

I smiled. “I’ll think about it.”

He kissed me once before releasing my face. “What are you working on in here?”

I retrieved my laptop and showed him the pictures I had taken. “I was thinking of getting some of them framed and putting them up at the café.”

He turned the laptop more toward him and scrolled down the pictures, stopping on my favorite one. “How close did you get to that bear?” he practically scolded me.

“I was in the car. I used my telephoto lens to get that shot.”

“Oh,” he said, relieved.

“You know, I’m pretty good at taking care of myself.”

“Yes you are, but let me take care of framing your pictures for you.”

“Do you have time?”

“I’ll make time for you.”

“I like the sound of that.”