In a Moon Smile (13 page)

They went back downstairs to the kitchen and Becca stared out the window as Chesney poured fresh lemonade in tumblers. “Let’s rest on the porch swing,” she said. “Grab a sweater. It’s cool outside.” They watched the sun set behind the trees and listened to bull frogs croaking around the pond. Chesney hoped that Becca could one day fall in love with all that she loved. But even if that never happened, Chesney knew she was staying. No matter what she faced, she would not also fail here.

“Do you miss him?” Becca asked finally.

“Sometimes. But not as much as I did a few months ago. In fact, I'll be so busy with my projects here...” her voice trailed off. She wasn't sure she wanted to complete the thought aloud, that perhaps busying herself with home repairs would somehow repair her heart. Maybe it was possible to paint enough walls and sand enough hardwood to forget how Jack betrayed her. Maybe it was possible to heal from that kind of betrayal. And walk away from a failed relationship with some semblance of dignity intact. Maybe she would crawl through this mess and discover some skills she hadn’t yet acquired. Maybe she would grow a back bone, learn how to stand up for herself and how to stop bowing to everyone else’s demands.

“He called my office last week,” Becca said. “He called twice the day before.”

“Are we talking about Jack?” Chesney looked at Becca for a long moment. “Because if we are, you already know that it's over,” Chesney said firmly. “We were not meant to be together.”

“When you left, Chez, you know Jack was devastated,” Becca said.

“The affair was just a symptom of many other issues between us,” Chesney said. “I've been a lot more honest with myself about it. I've had enough time to realize what was wrong. And the truth is that a lot was wrong between Jack and me. He wanted a fat bank account. I wanted a loving marriage. He wanted a penthouse apartment. I wanted a country house. He wanted extravagant trips abroad. I wanted a baby. The list is endless.”

Becca hugged her knees. “I know there were problems in the relationship,” she said. “You know that Jack was never one of my favorite people anyway. But Chesney, people end relationships every day. And not very many of those people, no matter how distraught they might be, trade in a beautifully established life for…”

Chesney dropped her eyes. She wanted to reassure Becca that she was still quite sane. But she also felt angry with Becca for not trusting her decisions. She wanted to be respected for taking the steps to care for her own needs, even if Becca didn’t understand. 

“Why are you doing this? Why are you making such a drastic move?” Becca asked. “Tell me the truth.” She cupped her face in her hands, ready to hear Chesney say something that made sense to her.

“I told you the truth,” Chesney sighed. “I planned a trip back to Indiana, only to visit my grandmother's grave and drive by this old place again. But when I saw it, my heart got warm in my chest. I love this house. I love the grounds around it. I know it needs a lot of work. But I don't care. I know what it can be.”

“And you think it's healthy to move here and become a hermit?”

“I'm a writer,” Chesney reminded. “You know I'm something of a recluse. I'll just be a hermit here instead of in the ninth floor apartment in Chicago.”

Jack’s face flashed across Chesney’s mind. She saw him standing in the foyer of his apartment. He wanted to schedule another dinner party with business partners. She wanted nothing more than to be left alone, to write in her pajamas. So many times, she surrendered her own wishes to please Jack. So many times, she went to bed angry or resentful, or both. So much of the time, she allowed her own dreams to suffer so Jack would be happy. It was no wonder really, that Jack found himself caught up in an affair with Belinda. She was everything Chesney was not, from her designer suits and sexy pumps to her love for good wines, four-star restaurants and hostile corporate takeovers.

“What are you thinking about?” Becca asked.

Chesney shook her head to clear the painful realizations. She muttered “Nothing,” and turned her attention to the dusky view of tiger lilies peeking through the weeds by the budding tulip poplar trees.

“I want you to be happy,” Becca softly squeezed Chesney’s hand.

“I know you do,” Chesney nodded.

“Even though I’ve acted like a total bitch since I arrived, I will stop now. And even though I loathe it, I promise to help you paint.”

“I could use an extra hand,” Chesney smiled. “Thanks, Bec.”

“What about these broken windows?” Becca asked as they walked back inside. And what about the porch that's falling off the front of the house?”

“I'm hiring a handyman,” Chesney said as they made their way to the kitchen to make tuna salad sandwiches.

“What about your furniture?” Becca asked as she slathered the tuna on rye.

“It will be delivered Monday or Tuesday,” Chesney said. “But I didn't keep much. I want to buy different things.”

“I couldn't believe you left that beautiful living room suite,” Becca said as she grabbed a few chips from a nearly empty bag on the counter.

“I want some antiques,” Chesney said. “I also want a very feminine bed, maybe an old feather bed, something deliciously feminine. But until then...” she pointed toward a bed roll in the corner of the entry. “I snuggle in every night in that sleeping bag,” she said. “I used it during my travels through Europe when I was in college, remember?”

Becca was so quiet, staring off in space. Chesney looked at her and said, “Don’t worry. I'll be fine.”

“Promise?” Becca asked.

“Don't worry,” Chesney said again. “I can do this. I want to do this. My house and I will rebuild our lives. When we're finished, we will both be beautiful and complete.” She paused and smiled. “Well, that’s the plan. We’ll see if it works out that way.”

Two days later, Chesney and Becca ordered breakfast at Cathy’s Café, Bean Blossom’s only restaurant. Becca went crazy for the plate filled with steaming hot gravy and fluffy, fresh biscuits. She ate the rest of Chesney’s fried potatoes and asked for a piece of fresh chocolate pie.

“I’m not eating it right now,” Becca said as Chesney rolled her eyes. “I’m taking it with me. I plan to stop and rest after a while. And when I do, I will very likely stick my entire face in the meringue of this incredible pie.”

As they returned to Chesney’s dilapidated house on the hill, Becca patted her non-existent stomach and declared that it was a good thing she didn’t also reside in Bean Blossom or she would weigh three hundred pounds. As they stepped inside the house, Chesney smiled at the fireplace mantel, graced with two empty wine bottles, drank during late-night talks. Early this morning, Becca had taken a walk down the lane and returned with three daisies which were now stuck in one of the wine bottles.

As she watched Becca stuff her clothes into the pricey leather luggage, Chesney felt more than sad. Sharing this house and land, all the flowers and especially the memories had been so important to her. And now it was over. Becca was driving north today to another world.

“I'll miss you so much,” Becca said as she squeezed Chesney’s shoulders.

“I'll miss you, too.” Chesney blinked away tears as she followed her dearest friend outside to the sun-drenched porch. She leaned over the porch railing and smiled, hoping the tears wouldn’t spill down her face.

“Is this about your Grandma Grace?” Becca asked as she opened the Jeep door.

Chesney shook her head. “Bec, I already told you. This is about me.”

“Don't you think you might be a little bit afraid to stay out here alone?” Becca asked. “No streetlights. No security guards. No doormen.”

“I'll be fine,” Chesney said with a laugh. “I’m in heaven.”

“Get yourself a bed soon,” Becca said. “Get me a bed too, while you’re shopping. My back is killing me from sleeping on that wood floor. Next time I visit, I think I at least deserve an air mattress, Chez.”

Chesney waved as Becca climbed into the Jeep and disappeared down the lane. Then she went back inside, allowing the screen door to slam shut, just to hear it echo through the emptiness. From room to room, she walked, dreaming about colors and rugs, plants, art. The silence was comforting, but a little unnerving, too. Of course, Chesney would never admit to Becca that sometimes she already felt so alone that her chest ached. And sometimes she felt so overwhelmed and lost that she just had to close her eyes and do some deep breathing to avoid a full-blown anxiety attack. Tomorrow, she would venture into town to buy paint. Then she would devote the weekend to painting the office so her desk and computer would be accessible. After that, maybe she would decorate a bedroom for herself. Maybe she would buy pink sheets for the fluffy new bed she planned to buy. Maybe pink curtains would hang against pink walls. This was her home. All pink if that's what she decided. And no one could take it away or tell her what to do in it. This was her very own home.

When her cell phone rang, Chesney’s obsession with decorating abruptly ended. For a moment, she could not recall where she placed the phone. It was in the alcove under the stairs which would someday become a library, near the wall where she planned to place a floor-to-ceiling bookcase. She answered quickly, and the sound of Jack's voice caused her to sit down on the bare, dirty floor, feeling irritated and exhausted.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Busy,” Chesney said, pretending to be lighthearted. “Moving is a big job, you know.”

“I wasn't sure your cell phone would work out there in the country,” Jack said. “But I guess you haven't had time to get telephone service.”

Actually, a land line installation was scheduled for Monday. But she said nothing. She didn't want Jack to know the number for the land line. And she mentally kicked herself for not looking first at the cell phone screen before answering the call. As if he could read her mind, Jack mentioned the phone. “In a week or so, I'll call information, just to check whether your service is installed,” he said. “I assume there will be no other ‘Chesney Grace Blake’ listed in Bean Blossom, Indiana, just like there is no other woman like you for me.”

Chesney rolled her eyes. Manipulation seemed to drip through the telephone wires. She wanted to confront Jack about the blatant ploy, but instead she said nothing.

I am, after all, most comfortable with my role as a doormat. No matter how much I wish to change that role, it doesn’t come easily.

“Do you mind that I'm calling?” Jack asked.

“I'm wondering why you felt the need to call,” Chesney said carefully. She imagined that Jack was standing near the marble breakfast bar in his kitchen with his tie tossed over his left shoulder. He would remove his suit coat and throw it across a dining room chair while cradling the phone against his shoulder with his clean shaven cheek. As he wandered through the apartment, he would remove his watch and cuff links and leave them next to the coffee maker on the kitchen counter.

“I wanted to make sure you're alright,” he said.

“I'm fine.”

“So you really did buy your Grandmother Grace's house in the country.”

“Yes.”

“I can't really see you liking that lifestyle,” he said.

You don't know what I like or don't like, you big Jack ass.

Chesney held her tongue. Doormats never stick up for themselves.

“I miss you,” Jack said. “I'd like to see you, Chesney.”

“We are not together anymore,” she reminded. “There's a reason why we no longer see each other, Jack.”

“I'm not dating Belinda anymore,” he said flatly.

“I'm sorry it didn't work out for you,” Chesney said crisply.

“Is that a sarcastic tone in your voice?” Jack asked. “Maybe some jealousy?”

“No,” she said, eye roll following. “I mean that. I'm sorry for you. I want you to be happy. By all indications, it appeared that you could be happy with a woman like Belinda.”

“I want to be happy with you.”

“I need to hang up now, Jack,” Chesney said. “I'm very busy.”

“May I visit you sometime?” he asked. “I think I would enjoy a long weekend in the country. Remember when you and I drove out to the cemetery near Bean Blossom that afternoon a year ago on our way to Florida? We stopped to visit your grandmother’s grave. We weren’t there very long, but what a nice break from the city. Remember that? Maybe I could plan a trip soon...just to say hello.”

“I'm not sure that's a good idea,” she said.

“But it's possible?” he pressed.

“We'll see,” she said. “Good-bye.” Chesney hung up and sank back against the dusty wall. Her heart pounded. She was disgusted by her lack of assertiveness. Why didn't she tell Jack he was not welcome here? During their relationship, she spent most of her time allowing Jack the giant ass to control her damn life. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she grow a backbone and tell Jack to stay out of her life? Chesney wished she had the nerve to tell that self-absorbed narcissist how she really felt. She wished that she could scream at him and tell him how he hurt her in so many ways. But those words got lost somewhere. She had plenty of examples of times when other people's needs meant more than her own. There was no one to blame but herself.

“Here I am, a successful novelist, with a spine like a noodle,” Chesney hissed. “Oh my gosh, I make myself sick. It’s disgusting. I’m weak and foolish. No wonder so many people seem to take their turn, wiping their feet on my stupid forehead.”