Jessie Belle: The Women of Merryton - Book One (10 page)

He
held me closer. “I feel the same way. But Jess, I still see that confidant,
self-assured woman when I look at you. And I know if anyone can come through
this, it’s you. And we still have each other.”

“What
if I can’t? What if we can’t?”

“That’s
not an option for me.”

“We
both know after everything we’ve been through we can’t choose the outcome.”

“Maybe
not, but twice now in the last year I thought I had lost you, and I can’t bear
it.”

It
was the most I’d heard him say in forever, and I realized how much I had missed
those rare occasions when he opened up to me. I sank into him further and he
held me until I felt like I was a part of him.

“Are
you sure you want me around your daughter like this? When we are so unsure of
our own relationship?”

“Jessica,
I can’t think of anyone else I would want around Madeline. So we have some
things to work out. What parents don’t? Please, just talk to me before you
leave like you did today.”

I
wasn’t sure about how to feel about him calling us parents, but I didn’t
contradict him. “I am sorry that I worried you, but you do realize that you’re
not the easiest person to talk to, right?”

“What
do you mean? I always listen to you.”

“Maybe
you listen, but you hardly ever respond.”

“I
thought women wanted men to listen and not try to solve their problems.”

I
laughed softly into his still damp shirt. “Blake, you don’t have to solve my
problems. Just acknowledge them and maybe hold me and tell me it will be okay,
even if it won’t be. Or I would even take chocolate as a consolation prize.”

“I
could probably handle that.”

“And
maybe try not to spring any other news on me for the time being.”

“Hmm
…” he replied.

I
braced myself and tried to sit up, but he gently pushed me back toward him and
lied. “It will be okay.”

“Please
don’t tell me you have any other children running around.”

“No,”
he said, sounding like he was scraping a wire brush against his skin. “We need
to talk about where Madeline is going to stay while she’s here.”

“We
can convert the office upstairs into a bedroom,” I said quickly.

He
paused and took several deep breaths. I knew I wasn’t going to like his
response.

“I
need the office. And, Jess … it’s time.”

I
knew what he meant and my head knew he was right, but my heart was not on
board.

“Carter’s
room—”

I
don’t know if I had ever heard him say Carter’s name since the day we lost him.
“Move back into our room, and she can have the guest room.” I interrupted.

“I’m
not moving back into our room until you’re ready to share our bed, in every
way.” He waited to see if that would be the case.

I
felt guilty not inviting him back, but I wanted it to be in the right way. I
wanted to feel like myself again. I wanted to feel for him like a wife should.
These past few weeks without him there I had felt less rejected. For months I
had been lying in bed every night wondering why he didn’t touch me anymore, or
why I couldn’t make myself touch him. The time apart had brought me some relief
in that way.

“Besides,
the baby’s room is where I want her.” I could not only hear the finality in his
words, but also the hurt that I wasn’t welcoming him back into our bed.

Part
of me really wanted to, but I meant what I said: I was a mess. I looked at my
own body as broken.

“Blake,”
I pleaded with my voice. I wasn’t ready for this.

He
kissed the top of my head. “Jessica, we have to move on. Please.”

I
nodded my head against his chest. I knew he was right, but it was killing me.

When
I crawled into bed it was almost three in the morning. Blake didn’t seem to
want to let go of me, and for the first time in a long time I took refuge in
his arms. We might have stayed like that until morning, but as Blake pointed
out, he wasn’t twenty anymore and though I was small in comparison to him,
sitting on the hardwood floor holding me couldn’t have been all that
comfortable. Even when things were right between us he was never one to hold me
all night, even in the comfort of our king-size bed. He typically liked his
space when sleeping, except for those few short, wonderful months when we
thought we would be parents.

When
we first were married, I was kind of hurt that he didn’t want stay wrapped up
together all night. I thought that’s what married couples did. I mean come on,
every movie and television show portray happy couples waking up every morning
in the arms of the person they had gone to bed with. It was a serious letdown
when Blake told me he couldn’t sleep if he was holding me. What could I say to
that? I wouldn’t deny him his sleep, but honestly I never slept as well as when
I was wrapped up against him.

It
was one of those idealistic things I had to let go of.

Sleep
did not come quickly as I lay there thinking about how I was going to save
myself and my marriage, and about the impending arrival of Madeline. I still
wasn’t sure that my staying was the best idea. I figured the poor girl was
going through enough at the moment with her mom. Did she really need a crazy
stepmom? But I couldn’t say no to Blake. I owed it to him to at least try.

Speaking
of trying, I sat up and pulled out my journal from the nightstand next to my
bed. I had tried the counseling route after Carter died, but quit going because
I only felt worse. I was looking for a quick fix, and Dr. Ames wasn’t giving it
to me. She had suggested that I get a journal and write every maddening,
unfair, horrible, selfish, and even hurtful feeling I had in it. She wanted me
to write about every detail of Carter’s pregnancy and birth, and even his
death. But I never could. Because putting it all on paper made it too real for me,
and I couldn’t deal with more real. After a few sessions I thanked her for her
time and never went back; it was probably not my best decision.

I
supposed that I could at least write about how I felt about Madeline and the
fact that my husband was a father without me being the mother. That reality was
hitting me hard, and I knew for everyone’s sake I needed to deal with it.

I
touched the paper several times with my pen before I could write anything, and
even when I managed to write, only a few words came:
My life wasn’t supposed
to turn out this way
.

I
stared at those words for the longest time, and then suddenly this rush of
words flooded my mind and I wrote and wrote and wrote some more. I wrote for an
hour straight, until my eyes were so blurry from tears I couldn’t see anymore. What
about that? Dr. Ames knew what she was talking about. For a brief moment I felt
this rush of relief and release. It was nowhere close to feeling whole, but
there was this small glimmer of hope creeping in that I hadn’t felt in quite a
long while.

I
placed the journal back in the nightstand and nestled into my bed, holding onto
a pillow for comfort.

I
was awakened at six by Blake kissing my forehead. I opened my eyes slowly to
find him hovering over me, dressed and ready for the day. He was a workhorse. I
had always admired that quality, even if at times I thought it interfered with
us. “Is everything all right?” I asked.

“Just
came in to say goodbye.”

How
very unusual
. We had let that simple gesture go by the
wayside too long ago. “Goodbye,” I yawned.

He
almost smiled, which was saying something for him. “I’ll see you tonight,” he
said, like he was making sure.

“You’re
going to baseball practice, right?”

He
nodded.

“Maybe
I’ll stop by and see how our newest team members are shaping up.” I had been
meaning to, but hadn’t yet. I figured staying away from Blake in public was a
good thing because that way no one could tell we were having more issues. I
didn’t want to erase the good PR we had pulled off at the café several days
ago.

“I’ll
see you there,” he said as he walked away.

I
tried going back to sleep but couldn’t, so I threw off the covers and started
my day.

It’s
never good when you need Dr. Pepper at seven in the morning, but like Blake, I
wasn’t getting any younger and two hours of sleep was not nearly enough;
caffeine was my only hope for surviving the day.

I
walked into Jessie Belle’s through the front door. I had been forcing myself to
be out among people no matter how crappy I felt. I walked in full of smiles,
but I was still given knowing looks. I had forgotten that I had skipped church,
on Mother’s Day no less.

My
little ladies group waved me over almost as soon as I came in. They looked
eager as I approached. Fran pulled over a nearby chair for me to sit in.

I
took it and smiled at them curiously. I had never been invited to sit with
them.

They
all looked at me expectantly, but it was Doris who handed me a large gift bag.

Even
more curious, I reached for the bag. “What’s this ladies?”

“Open
it,” Ingrid encouraged gently.

“Okay.”
I smiled. I removed the massive amount of cream-colored tissue paper that
looked nice against the craft paper bag. I peered in and my emotions
immediately got the best of me. Through my faucet of tears I pulled out a
beautiful patchwork quilt. The whites, blues, and patterned blocks melded
beautifully together. I held it to me. “What is this for?”

“We
wanted you to know you’re loved,” Gerri said. The rest of the ladies nodded
their heads in agreement.

“Thank
you. It’s gorgeous, and the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever received.”

Fran
took it from me and opened it up. “See this pocket.” She pointed to it. “You
can put something from your baby in it, so when you wrap it around you it will
be like you’re getting a hug straight from heaven.”

The
tears poured more heavily. I had several napkins pushed my way and I took the
lot of them. Carter was perhaps the only reason I hung on to hope that there
was a God, because surely if there was a heaven, Carter would be there. I
wanted to believe he was in heaven watching over us, that his soul lived on
somewhere.

I
stood up and held the blanket to me. “You ladies order whatever you want. On
the house. Thank you. You have no idea what this means to me.”

They
all smiled through their own tears.

I
walked back to my office through the stares of several onlookers. I didn’t need
to explain my tears. I’m sure the ladies would explain for me after I exited. I
had no doubt I would be talked about, but this time I didn’t mind.

I
sat at my desk with the blanket in hand. I looked over all the tiny details,
like the intricate stitching. It even smelled heavenly, like a baby. I don’t
know how they managed that, but the scent was intoxicating.

In
the midst of my love fest for the quilt, my mother barged in without knocking
or pretense.

“Young
lady—” she growled, but she stopped when she noticed the tears and that I was
wrapped up in a quilt at work.

“Yes?”
I replied innocently.

She
neared with a bewildered look in her eye. “What are you doing?”

“Isn’t
this the most beautiful quilt?” I asked instead of answering.

“Yes,
but what are you doing with it?”

“The
little craft group made it for me.”

“How
lovely.”

“It
really is.”

My
mom reached out and touched the soft fabric. “Beautiful detail,” she remarked.

I
nodded.

Her
face went from soft and sweet to stern in a second flat. “What were you
thinking yesterday?” I guess the niceties were over.

“I’m
sorry. I had no idea it would cause such an uproar.”

“Uproar?
Honey, your husband was beside himself. He was in such a state even your dad
was nice to him.”

I
felt my eyes widen at that particular piece of news.

“The
only time I’ve ever seen him like that was last year when you were rushed into
surgery and he thought they might not be able to save your life.”

“Mom,
I’m sorry. I don’t know what else I can say. I needed some time to myself.
Blake and I hadn’t been speaking to each other. I honestly thought he wouldn’t
notice.”

“Believe
me, he noticed. He was ready to call the police, search and rescue, you name
it. Had your dad not calmed him down he may have done just that. But then it
hit him that maybe you had left him. Are you planning on leaving your husband?”

Well,
if I had been, I would have changed my mind. I’d never seen her look so disappointed
in me. I didn’t know if she had ever looked at me like that. “No,” I said
simply. I was a little miffed to be scolded like a child.

I
saw her visibly relax.

“But
Mom, you need to prepare yourself that we may not have the happy ending you and
Dad have. We may not survive this. And if that happens I need to know that you
will still love me.”