All Who Dream (Letting Go) (11 page)

Jackson was the first to speak, “You have a
natural stage presence, Miss Flores.”

Walt signaled and turned onto the highway.

I straightened my blouse. “I didn’t know you
were coming tonight. I figured I was on my own.”

Jackson turned to me, arching an eyebrow.
“Is that what you prefer—to be on your own?”

The question took me by surprise. “No, I…I
like people.”

“You just don’t like men?” Jackson asked,
one side of his mouth lifting into a lopsided grin.

I tucked my hair behind my ear. “I never
said that.”

He chuckled. “We say so many things without
ever using words.”

My throat went dry. “I would have to agree
with that, I suppose.”

His smile dipped as the car went silent.

“Is it true what you said tonight? You
haven’t dated since Cody was a baby?” Jackson asked.

My stomach tightened. Jackson didn’t usually
ask personal questions. He didn’t usually ask many questions to me at all,
actually. “Yes, that’s true.”

Jackson’s gaze roamed my face and then the
car lurched to a stop, jerking our bodies forward as the squeal of tires and
horns erupted all around us. I gasped, clutching the seat in front of me as
Jackson’s hands reached for me.

Walt apologized profusely, claiming a driver
had just cut across two lanes of traffic, which had nearly caused an accident
in the lane to our left. Jackson looked me over, the concern in his eyes nearly
doubling my already increased heart rate. He gently pushed the hair from my
face, and tucked it once again behind my ear.

“Are you alright?” He asked softly.

No.
“Yes,” I rasped.

As Walt started to pull the car into traffic
again, Jackson’s hand was slow to move off my shoulder.

Leaning back against the seat in an effort
to calm my frazzled nerves, I glanced at him.
“Thank you for
coming tonight.”

His eyes captured me once again. “You’re
welcome, Angela.”

And in that moment, I wondered about the
words he hadn’t spoken, the ones trapped in his gaze, his voice, and in his
posture. Because sitting beside me now, was not a man full of image-driven
mysteries, but a man who felt deeper and understood more than I ever dared to
realize.

I hear it like a whisper, calling out my
name

Singing ever softly, to quiet down my shame

It beckons me to come, to leave the old
behind

To choose the narrow path, not stumble like
the blind

This pull is always constant, never has it strayed

Even death’s dark shadow, cannot force it to
the grave

Something stirs within me, a lonely
desperate plea

Begging truth to show me, how I might be
free

I answer it in secret, fear choking me so
tight

I pray that I can choose, the way I know is
right

The promise I hear back, is the opposite of
blame

It’s a hope that surges through me, to all
that still remains

(
Three years into marriage)

The night was calm, much unlike the war that
raged within me. Once I spoke the words there would be no going back. The plan
would be set in motion. There were no brakes that could stop this choice once
it was decided
..

Sometimes, even when you know the right
thing to do, doubt still creeps in, twisting and turning until it’s voice is
stronger, louder, and bolder than the truth ever was.

That was my whole life story: one time had
turned into two, which had turned into ten, which had turned into normal. My
normal was wandering around in a maze of lies, and there was no way out. My
escape was only a mirage in the distance; no substance to cling to, no shelter
to hide under, no truth to be found.

 
But
everything was different now. Two words had changed me forever.

I had to find the strength.

I had to find the girl inside that used to
hope in something more…

I stood at his apartment door and took a
deep breath. He opened it on the second knock; his face ashen with concern when
he saw me. I never sought him out anymore. I never asked for his help. And now
I was here, standing in front of him.

He waited for me to speak.

“I’m ready,” I said.

With a stiff nod, he closed his eyes
briefly, as if in a prayer. His consent was the assurance I needed. I relaxed
as he pulled me into a hug. He’d always been my safe place—the only one I’d
ever known.
 

“When can we leave?” Briggs braced my arms
with his hands as he pushed me away from his
chest .

“I need a week. I have some paperwork to
file, and I need to put some cash away.”

He exhaled hard.

“Okay. One week.
Not a
second longer.”

I nodded in agreement. It would be hard for
him to wait, but I couldn’t afford to be hasty. There was too much at stake
now. His eyes narrowed as he searched my face for the missing piece, for the
link between the truth and the lies, for the reason behind my newfound courage.

It had been so long since I had cried, but
the tears fell anyway, undeterred.

“I’m pregnant.”

I’d lost count of how many restaurants we
had been to, but there were many. I never thought I’d tire of gourmet food. But
I was wrong.

So very, very wrong.

I longed for a snack-dinner; the kind made
of crackers, cheese, apple slices and summer sausage, or even a nice, home-cooked,
breakfast-for-dinner option. After seventeen days of being in New York, I was
over
the romanticism of eating out. The
one interesting development was that Jackson had been accompanying us for
dinner more and more, and when he showed up, he always pulled my chair out for
me and took a seat at my right.

I liked this new routine more than I cared
to let myself believe.

What amount of work must he be delegating to
others in order to spend so much time with Cody and me? I dared not ask the
question aloud. If there was one thing I tended to do often with Jackson, it
was sticking my nose where it didn’t belong.

We sat now with the men Jackson referred to
as “the borings”. In reality, they were six older gentlemen who were current
shareholders in the company, as well as board members. The seventh member,
whose name I didn’t hear, was not present. Jackson seemed more than okay with
that fact. Along with the six of them, sat Peter (for the sake of Cody) and
four other clients and editors. I knew none of them, as they were not on the
family tour
. I wasn’t quite sure why we’d
been invited, but I never questioned dinner plans anymore.

We looked at our menus. Thai was the pick of
the night—not my pick, but I smiled and went along with the flow. I was
not
a spice-fan. To be honest, I was the
biggest baby about hot food, and as such, I usually avoided anything that
resembled noodle dishes from the orient, but Jackson insisted I let him choose
one for me. I gave him the honor and asked the waitress for an extra glass of
ice water.

Jackson laughed at my dramatics—although I
wasn’t that big on drama. I was simply a realist. I knew I would drink every
last drop of cool moisture.

We sat at the far end of the table while
several men debated over current stock-trading. Peter and Cody were still
talking about the latest in sports, and
Pippy
was on
a date. She had been swooning over a boy named Caleb for the past week. He had
finally asked her out—today. Jackson had given her a hard time about skipping
out on such an
important dinner
, but
I saw him smile as soon as she skipped away, happy to have the night off.
 

 
“So
what do you think?” Jackson asked me as I leaned over the steamy plate of
noodles covered in spicy peanut sauce.

“Pretty good.”
I pasted
on a smile.

He smirked. “You are a terrible liar.”

“No, it is. Thank you. Good pick.” I twirled
up a forkful and forced it down. Five seconds later, hot, steaming coals burned
their way back up through my esophagus. I gulped water.

 
“You
don’t have to finish it, Angie,” he said.

Something in the way he said my name made me
smile.

I was wearing one of my new dresses, a navy
one that
Pippy
had selected. But even in stylish
attire, I felt like an impostor next to this man in his expensive suit.
Everything about Jackson seemed affluent, including his attitude in life. What
I had first seen as cocky arrogance, I now envied. He was confident, collected,
and self-assured—always. There was no second-guessing, no indecisiveness, and
no uncertainty lurking under the surface.

He just was. Jackson.

“I will eat every last bite.” I lifted my
chin.

The corners of his eyes crinkled. “I’ll bet
you five hundred dollars you won’t.”

He chuckled as my eyes rounded in shock.

“I don’t-”

“If you win, you get five hundred cash, but
if I win, I get to order your next five meals for you,” he clarified with a
lop-sided grin.

I bit my bottom lip, thinking the
proposition over as my stomach churned.
“Deal.”

He smiled that crooked, sinister smile of
his and echoed, “Deal.”

I
didn’t speak on the car ride home. My stomach hurt way too bad for talking—no,
instead, I held my head high and waved goodbye to Jackson and Peter,
five
one-hundred-dollar bills in my hand.
Cody pressed the elevator buttons, and my stomach heaved, but I bravely battled
the nausea down. On the way up, I closed my eyes and leaned my head back
against the wall.

As soon as I was through the door of my
bedroom, I tore off the skin-tight dress and slipped into my yoga pants, hoping
the elastic waist would bring some comfort—even if just placebo comfort.

Cody was laying on his bed reading, so I
made my way to the couch with my little black journal and applied all my
will-power to calming the storm that thundered inside my belly.

I opened the journal and flipped through the
pages, landing on an entry I’d forgotten.

I had only been sitting on the couch for five
minutes when the first horrendous cramp gripped my body. The wicked vice of
pain was like the onslaught of labor; only a sweet newborn baby wasn’t going to
be the grand finale of this ordeal. Before I could utter a word to Cody, I was
running to the bathroom, Thai food revolting in my gut, ready to reveal itself
a second time.

And it
did.

The
violent attack had a mind of its own, forcing me into slavery with the
porcelain bowl.

 
“Mom?
Mom, are you
alright?”

I could
hardly turn my head to see Cody standing in the bathroom that linked to my tiny
bedroom.

 
“I’m sick, Code.”

 
“What do I need to do?” he asked.

My hands
shook as a cold sweat broke out all over my body.

 
“Call
Pippy
…cancel
tomorrow’s plans.”

 
“Okay. I’ll get your phone.”

He was
gone, and a second later I heard him talking faintly in the other room. Then
another round of porcelain worship came for me. Cody returned to the bathroom
and draped a cold, wet washrag on the back of my neck the way I always did for
him.

 
“Thanks,” I rasped.

 
“Do you think dinner made you sick?”

Just the
thought of Thai noodles drew a graphic answer from my stomach.

Five-hundred dollars was not worth this.

 
“I’ll be okay, Cody. You should go to bed…”

I didn’t
want him to see me like this. It was bad enough for me to have to deal with illness,
but there was nothing more that he could do for me.

 
“Okay…are you sure, Mom?”

I nodded.

I lay on
the cool, tile floor, drifting in and out of consciousness, waiting for the
nausea to wear off so I could go to bed. Then I heard something: a voice? My
ears perked up, but a second later, I decided I must be delusional.

I had no
reference for time, just endless cycles of puke and sleep.

As I
closed my eyes I heard the voice again, this time clearer…closer…here.

“You look
awful.”

I snapped
my head up.
Too fast.
I gripped my skull with both
hands as a sharp pain splintered my brain. Peeking with only one eye, my
living, breathing,
nightmare
stood on display before
me. I squeezed my eyes shut. I had to be hallucinating.
Please, God, let me be hallucinating.
But someone nudged my foot as
he knelt beside me.

I squinted
up again.

Yep. This was it: my most humiliating life
moment to date.

“Why are
you here? Who let you in?” I groaned, unmoving.

“Because you look like death.
And your
son, who else?”
Jackson said.

“How
did—why did—”

Speaking
hurt too much. I couldn’t ask questions. I didn’t care about the answers anyway.
I was too sick to worry about anything other than
not
vomiting on Jackson Ross. That was pretty much my only priority
at the moment.

“
Pippy
called me. She was worried, but she’s still out with
what’s-his-face.”

 
“Caleb.”

He
laughed. “Of course, you remember that.”

He picked
up the washrag that had fallen on the floor next to me and ran cool water over
it, then wrung it out in the sink and handed it to me. Then he sat down.
On the bathroom floor.
Across from me.
Me
! Throw-up girl!

I closed
my eyes. “Thanks, but you should leave.”

 
“You should stick to being nice. Bossy doesn’t
become you.”

I shook
my head, trying to sit up, slowly. He reached toward me, but I waved him off. I
wouldn’t let him touch me. I should be quarantined, not assisted by a handsome,
rich CEO.

And then
I noticed what he was wearing.

It was
the first time I’d seen Jackson in anything other than a suit. He was dressed
in jeans and a black t-shirt.
And, my
word, does he look good.
I shut my eyes, suddenly hyper-aware of how
not-good
I looked.

 
“So, I think Thai food can be eliminated from
our food options in the future,” he said.

 
“
Urgh
…can you not
mention food for a while, please.”

 
“Sure. Do you need some water?”

 
“I should probably wait a bit, but I think the
worst has finally passed.”

 
“Good. Do you want to move to your bed?”

I looked
at him and shook my head. There was only so much humiliation a girl could take
in a single evening.

He leaned
his back against the wall and crossed his ankles. “Okay…so we’ll just sit here
then.”

 
“Okay.” I said, resting against the tub. “Is
Cody in bed?”

 
“Yes. He was reading when I knocked on the
door. He told me you were in here, but that you had sent him to bed ‘
cause
you didn’t want him to see you sick.”

Smart kid.

 
“That’s true,” I said.

He gave
me a look I couldn’t quite identify and sighed deeply. “I had food poisoning
once. I’ll never look at eggs benedict the same way again.”