Chapter Three

 

Sleep was very hard to come by after that. By six in the morning I gave up. I figured I would quietly sneak out of my parents’ home. It had been a long time since I had snuck out of my parents’ house, but just like the last time I had attempted it, I was caught.

“Young lady,” my mom said.

I grabbed my heart. “Sheesh, Mom.” I flipped on the kitchen light. “What are you doing sitting at the table in the dark?”

She patted the seat nearest her, inviting me to sit down next to her.

I immediately complied.

My mother had her long hair braided to the side. She looked like she belonged in a Centrum commercial; she was beautiful.

She took my hands in hers. “Jessie Belle, I love you, honey, but don’t come running home again, no matter what your father says. You stay home and work it out.”

This was another reason I had wanted to sneak out of the house. I knew I had created some discord between my parents and I felt bad about that. My dad was ready to hire a divorce lawyer on my behalf and had been spouting off how I should have married Landon Riley, my old high school boyfriend, who was now the mayor and owner of one of the two insurance agencies in town. Blake and I used the other agent. My dad was dead wrong. Landon had a wandering eye and it frequently wandered over me. Let’s just say neither my husband nor I appreciated it. But Landon was a schmoozer and he had my dad fooled.

“Some things can’t be worked out.”

“Oh, honey, there’s nothing in your marriage that can’t be worked out. There’s no doubt it’s going to hurt like the dickens and you’ll want to throw in the towel a time or two, but joy always comes after sorrow. And if ever two people deserved joy, it’s you two.”

“I don’t even know if I love him anymore.”

She squeezed my hands. “You do. Trust me. You’re just going to have to discover it again. I’m here if you need to talk or if you need a shoulder to cry on, but Blake is the one you really need to talk to, and I have a feeling he wouldn’t mind sharing his shoulder with you, too.”

“Mom, what if this girl really is his?”

“Then I guess you’re going to learn how to be a fantastic stepmother.” Without so much as another word she got up and left me sitting there speechless.

I sat stunned for a moment after she left. Leave it to my mother to be rational. I’m sure one day I would appreciate it, but not today. I crept out the back door and headed home via the long way. First I stopped at the cemetery in the early light of day.

I wound my way up the hill that overlooked Merryton to the prettiest little cemetery. It was more expensive than the one in town, but I wanted our Carter to be buried there. Most people that have premature babies like ours cremate their babies, but I couldn’t bear the thought, so Blake handcrafted a small coffin according to the burial ordinances our town had set in place. It was a beautiful pine box engraved with all of our names. We didn’t hold a formal funeral service—it was just us, my parents, and a few close friends. I barely remembered the day. I felt like I was in a haze, like my mind was protecting itself against the harshness of my reality.

Blake and I had nothing to offer each other that day and days after the funeral. We were each so consumed with grief. Blake turned to his work like always, and I turned to my best friends, Abby and Cheyenne, and to my café.

I pulled around the little road that circled the cemetery and stopped near Carter’s grave. I grabbed my sweater and wrapped it around me. Mornings were still quite cool in April. I walked slowly toward the small gravestone, thinking as I went. I looked around at all the newly budded trees and flowers. I was happy to see them. It made being there less depressing. I knelt down in front of his grave on the grass, still wet from the dew of the night. I could feel water seep through my jeans and soak my skin, but I didn’t care.

I didn’t pray anymore when I came. I figured why bother, they had all gone unanswered. I knelt there and thought as I looked at the inscribed name: Carter Nicholas Summers. Nicholas was Blake’s middle name. There was no birth date or death date. I wasn’t sure what to put since he had been stillborn. Besides his name, all it said was “Son of Blake and Jessica Summers.”

Seeing our names together reminded me how far we had drifted apart. I wasn’t sure what to do about it. And considering Blake’s possible impending fatherhood, I was even more confused. As I sat thinking, it occurred to me that perhaps I should start with me first. Maybe if I could love myself again, I could love Blake, too. The lingering question was if I could love him and his child, if she ended up being his.

I hadn’t even stopped to think of all the nuisances of him having a child. In the back of my mind I hoped it wasn’t true. I suppose there would be a paternity test. I mean, Sabrina could have made all this up. And why had she waited all these years to tell him if she thought that was the case? But I knew I had to prepare for the possibility and what that could possibly mean for us.

Regardless, I needed to work on myself, with or without Blake. I figured it was the first step. I looked down again at the cold, carved headstone and I tried to remember things about me, things I liked to do and liked about myself. I decided eating was going back on the list first. I ate, but only barely, and I loved food. It was my job to love food. It was time for me to get back into the kitchen and begin creating again. Our menu needed more than a new design; it needed some new food options.

I looked down at my tired, worn-out body and decided I should probably get back to the gym. The exercise would be good for my state of mind, too. Endorphins definitely couldn’t hurt. I knew I had more things that needed to be added to the list, but at least I had a starting place.

I lightly ran my fingers across his headstone before I stood up. The sun was now over the horizon and I could barely feel its warmth. I took a deep breath and tried to fish for some courage to go home and face my husband. The scary part was I didn’t know how this would all end or how I even wanted it to end. I only wanted it to be better.

I pulled into our large, detached, three-car garage and Blake’s truck wasn’t there. I wasn’t surprised he was gone early even though it was Saturday, but I was relieved. I was sure he was working on some job or other. We never really talked about our professions anymore. He ran his company and I ran mine. We even kept separate bank accounts. That was his choosing, not mine. We had worked it out so that he paid half the bills and I paid the other half. He had taken the most expensive half. It was an odd arrangement to be sure, and one I wasn’t comfortable with at first. I wasn’t sure I was comfortable with it now, I just didn’t think about it much anymore.

I got out of the Tahoe that I paid for all on my own and walked toward our house. Our beautiful, white house with black shutters that Blake had helped construct. It was the one thing we had done together. We spent months with an architect going over designs until we got it just the way we wanted it. The two-story home sat on two beautiful acres lined with aspen and pine trees. In addition, there was a shop where Blake could be found most of the time he was home. He got his shop and I got my gourmet kitchen with all the bells and whistles. The house was the only thing we owned together.

Together, I thought as I walked in the side door that led to the mud room. We hadn’t done much together as of late. I guess if I really thought about it, as a couple we really hadn’t done much together our whole marriage. It was a depressing thought, so I left it alone for the time being.

I headed straight for the kitchen and searched for food. I hadn’t been great about keeping a stocked pantry. I owned a café, so if I wanted food I had more than enough access to it. At home there wasn’t much need to cook—Blake made his own breakfast and he always packed a lunch and was rarely home for dinner. Besides, we differed on food preferences. Blake had been on a major health kick for quite a while, and me … not so much. I tried to eat healthy, but I was a pastry chef by trade.

I found some Froot Loops next to a box of whole grain something or other. It didn’t look appetizing, whatever it was. I went with the Froot Loops, the breakfast of champions. As I ate, I decided I should probably go grocery shopping if I was going to put real eating back on my list of things to change. First up though, was a long, hot shower and maybe a nap. The lack of sleep from the night before was catching up to me.

I showered and wrapped myself up in my comfy, white robe and curled up on my bed, only to be disturbed by the house phone going off. We should get rid of that thing, I decided. I wasn’t sure why we still had it; we rarely used it. Then I remembered why. We thought when we had children it would be a good idea to have a landline, just in case.

On that depressing note, “Hello.”

“Spill your guts,” were the first words out of Cheyenne’s mouth.

“Good morning to you, too.”

“Yeah, yeah, good morning. So tell me what’s up with you and Blake?”

I lay back on my bed and sighed. Surely she didn’t know about Madeline. This town had an amazing grapevine, but surely not that good. I knew Blake would never talk to anyone and my parents wouldn’t either. I feigned innocence. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. It’s all over town how Blake came into your office with flowers, but left in a fury and you followed, crying.”

I went out the back door. Who saw me? This town really was too much.

“I’ve been trying to call you all night and this morning.”

“Sorry, I turned off my cell phone.”

“But you still haven’t told me what’s going on.”

“Cheyenne,” I sighed, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“That’s getting old, my friend.”

“I know.”

“Are you all right?”

“Honestly, no.”

“Are you and Blake on the rocks?”

I thought about that and what I should say. “Maybe.”

“Let’s have a girl’s night. I’ll call Abby.”

“Cheyenne, I’m tired—”

“At least think about it,” she cut me off.

“Okay.”

“You know we love you, right?”

“I know.”

And I did know. Abby and Cheyenne were the best friends a girl could ask for. I got in more trouble with them than anyone. My mom called us “trouble buddies” growing up. We hadn’t gotten in much trouble lately. Abby was settled and married to Dr. Shane Parker with three kids: Connor, twelve; Avery, ten; and my middle namesake, Isabelle, was four. I loved those kiddos. Cheyenne was anything but settled. She had a new man for every season. She loved playing the field and made no apologies about it.

I slept for a couple of hours before I got ready for the day. While I was getting ready, I noticed half the items on the bathroom counter were missing. At first I thought maybe Blake had wiped off the countertop and forgotten to replace his toiletries, but I searched below his sink and it was hollow. Then I looked up and noticed his bathrobe wasn’t hanging near the shower, either. I walked over to his walk-in closet that was situated right outside our bathroom and found most of his clothes were missing.

I sat on my bed, stunned. I thought he said he wanted to work it out and that he needed me. I wasn’t ready to call it quits yet. I came home so we could at least try. I pulled out my phone and punched in his number.

He picked up on the first ring. “Jessica.”

I skipped the pleasantries. “You moved out and you weren’t even going to tell me?”

“Will you calm down? I didn’t move out.”

“Then where are all of your things?”

“I moved into the guest bedroom.”

“Why?”

He paused and took a deep breath. “I figured we each needed some space and to start over.”

“All we’ve given each other is space.”

“Yeah, we’re good at that, aren’t we?”

“So, what are you saying?”

“Jessica, all I know is that if you don’t trust me or love me anymore, it means I’ve messed up somewhere along the way. I don’t know how to fix that other than starting over.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. I’m trying to figure it out.”

I guess we were both trying to figure out our lives. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

“You can count on that.”