Jessie Belle: The Women of Merryton - Book One (4 page)

After
a day of grocery shopping and being gawked at, I made it back home. I had made
the mistake of going into Jessie Belle’s to get my laptop and to check on
things. This town loved a juicy piece of news, and apparently we gave them a
taste yesterday. I could only imagine how abuzz this town was going to be if
Blake really ended up being the father to Sabrina’s daughter. We may have to
move.

At
least our little blow-up made people quit looking at my abdomen. Cheyenne and
Abby told me I was paranoid, but I swore when people greeted me they always
looked at my abdomen first, like there was something to see. I almost lifted up
my shirt on occasion to say, “See there’s nothing there, but a flat, empty, no
man’s land.” All I had to show for all my pregnancies were two small stretch
marks left by my son. Even they were barely noticeable now.

By
the time I got home it was dinnertime. Blake still wasn’t home, so I decided to
make a meal for one. I didn’t have much of an appetite, but I needed to start
somewhere, and linguine and salad were the jumping off point.

As
I ate by myself at our large farmhouse-style table I wrote out some ideas for
new menu items. While shopping I had noticed a display for s’mores. It got me
thinking about a gourmet, homemade version. If I could pull off a good recipe,
I could have it ready to go for the fall menu. I was thinking of two homemade
graham cookies, dipped on one side with dark chocolate and a roasted
marshmallow in between them, and maybe some toasted coconut. I wasn’t sure about
the coconut; I would have to see how it went. First though, I was going to have
to come up with a graham cookie recipe.

I
had to admit, I felt a little excited to be experimenting in the kitchen again.
It even opened up my mind to a whole line of graham-style treats. By the time I
had finished eating, I had several pages of ideas written down.

I
didn’t feel well after eating dinner and cleaning up. I think my stomach wasn’t
sure what to do with real nourishment, so I took to the couch and pulled up
The
Sound of Music
. It was my all-time favorite. My mom and I used to watch
musicals together frequently when I was growing up. Maria was just singing
about larks learning to pray when my front door opened. I expected to see
Blake, but realized he never used the front door. Instead it was my meddlesome
best friends.

“Oh,
crap, she has the musicals going. This must be bad,” Cheyenne said as soon as
they walked in.

Sweet
Abby smiled and shook her head.

I
lay back on the couch and rolled my eyes.

They
both came around and unceremoniously moved me, placing me between them. I felt
squished, but loved.

“Hello,
ladies.”

They
both laughed at me.

I
hit pause on the television.

“So
spill,” Cheyenne said.

I
didn’t even know where to begin. I had more issues than Vogue magazine. I drew
my knees into myself and leaned on Cheyenne. Abby leaned on me, sandwiching me
in between the two.

“Your
hair smells nice,” Abby commented.

I
snickered some. “It’s that new shampoo Cheyenne got in at her salon.”

“Yadda,
yadda, yadda,” Cheyenne interrupted. “We can talk about hair later. We came
here to find out what’s going on with our best friend and why she spent the
night at her parents’ house. And most importantly what happened after her
husband sneaked into said parents’ house?”

“How
did you know all that?”

“Honey,
I run the most successful salon in this town. I know everything.”

“That’s
disturbing,” I said.

She
laughed. “Well, if I were more villainous I could probably make some good money
blackmailing people.”

“Cheyenne,
you wouldn’t,” Abby said, I think more to reassure herself than anything.

Cheyenne
rolled her gorgeous blue eyes. She was the Barbie doll best friend, complete
with perfect body and blonde hair.

“So
did you and Blake have some hot make-up session at your parents’ house or
what?” Cheyenne asked.

“Or
what,” I answered.

“That’s
disappointing,” Abby said to my and Cheyenne’s surprise.

We
both laughed at her.

“What?
I’m a desperate housewife and I could do with a steamy story.”

“I’m
sorry to disappoint you.” I smiled. No matter how miserable I was, these women
could always make me smile. I felt like we were back in high school and kissing
and telling. Unfortunately, there was no kissing involved. Not that I would tell,
even if there were.

“So
why are you wrapped up in a blanket and watching musicals on a Saturday night?”
Cheyenne asked again.

“My
marriage is in trouble,” I sighed.

“Tell
us something we don’t know,” Cheyenne said.

“Has
is it been that obvious?”

“Well,
let’s see. You’re never seen together and you never talk about him anymore,
you’ve had to deal with more crap than most couples, and until tonight we
haven’t seen you smile in months.”

I
leaned in more to Cheyenne and buried my face into her shoulder and cried. Both
she and Abby started stroking my hair.

“This
cut really does look good on you,” Cheyenne said to lighten the mood.

“You’re
a genius.”

“I
know,” she responded seriously.

“Are
you and Blake getting a divorce?” Abby asked.

“He
doesn’t want one, but he moved into the guest bedroom.”

“Why?”
Abby asked concerned.

“He
said we needed to start over and he needed to earn my trust back, so he’s
trying to give me my space.”

“How
do you feel about it?” Cheyenne asked.

“I
don’t know. It’s not like we were really sharing a bedroom, anyway.”

“No
wonder you guys aren’t happy. Maybe you should sneak into his room tonight.”

“You,
Cheyenne, have a one track mind.”

“You
guys better get back on the track,” Abby contributed.

“Ladies,
I appreciate your concern about my love life, but ever since—you know—I just
don’t feel like a real woman. Does that sound crazy?”

“A
uterus doesn’t make you a real woman. Heck, what I wouldn’t do sometimes not to
have a period every month,” Cheyenne said in her brash style.

“I’ll
trade you.”

“Oh,
honey, I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m thankful for my uterus. Is that
better?”

“What
you said didn’t bother me. I get it. I just wanted a baby more than anything
and now I can never have one,” I sobbed.

My
best friends squeezed me tight. “We know, honey,” Abby said. “We wanted that
for you, too.”

“What
about adoption or surrogacy?” Cheyenne asked.

I
shook my head against them. “Blake won’t. He says it’s too risky and he can’t
take losing another baby. He’s done.”

“That’s
understandable,” Abby said.

It
was, but it still hurt, especially now under the possible circumstances.

I
sat up and wiped my eyes while my concerned friends looked on. I’ve never seen
them look so worried.

“Can
I tell you guys something?”

“Of
course,” they sang in unison.

“It
can’t leave this house. Understood?”

They
both nodded their heads.

“Blake
got a phone call yesterday from a one night stand he had after we broke up, and
she’s claiming Blake is the father of her daughter.”

“No!”
Cheyenne gasped.

Abby
didn’t say anything, but her wide green eyes said it all.

“It’s
true. Do you remember my old roommate, Sabrina?”

“She
was awful,” Abby said.

“Yeah,
well, apparently not too appalling.” She was a bombshell, I’m not going to lie.
And boy, did she know how to work it. I just never thought it would work on
Blake. I knew she thought he was attractive. I would take a guess most women
did. He had only gotten more attractive since he turned forty. Why did men get
more attractive as they aged? It almost seemed unfair. I even liked the gray
strands that were interwoven in his thick, dark hair.

“What
happened?” Cheyenne asked.

“I
don’t want to know. All I know is that she’s sick with cancer and she called
Blake out of the blue.”

“Do
you think it’s true?” Abby asked.

“I
suppose it could be. Blake admitted to sleeping with her.”

“What
are you going to do if it is?” Abby asked.

I
shrugged my shoulders. I wasn’t sure of anything at that moment.

“Well,
I’ll tell you what I’m going to do, the next time I see Blake. I’m going to—”

“What’s
that?” my husband asked Cheyenne.

We
all turned around. I hadn’t heard him come in. There he stood in his dirty and
dusty jeans, t-shirt, and work boots. He looked worn.

That
didn’t stop Cheyenne. She stood up and faced him. “Take care of Jessie, or
you’ll find out. Let’s just say you won’t be able to father any more children.”

Blake
looked at me unhappily.

I
made no apologies. I needed my friends more than ever.

Abby
stood up and looked between my husband and me. “We should be going now,
Cheyenne.”

Cheyenne
reached down and hugged me one more time. “Just say the word,” she whispered in
my ear.

I
shook my head at her.

Abby
hugged me, too. Then they rushed out my door, but not before Cheyenne gave my
husband her look of deepest loathing.

My
husband still continued to stare at me, unfazed by Cheyenne’s behavior.

I
ran my fingers through my hair nervously. “Hi.”

“Hi,”
he said back.

“How
was your day?”

“Long.
I’m going to jump in the shower.”

I
reminded myself love wasn’t only a noun, it was a verb, too. “Do you want me to
warm up some dinner? I made linguine.”

“No,
I’ll make something for myself.”

“Okay.”
I turned back around.

“Jessica.”

I
turned back toward him.

“Thank
you for offering. How was your day?”

“I’ve
had worse.”

He
frowned and walked away.

I
turned back toward the television and hit play.
Take me away, Julie Andrews
,
I thought. As I watched I realized that Captain von Trapp reminded me of Blake.
Very handsome and authoritative—he didn’t say much, but when he spoke you
listened. He was strong, but when the moment was right he would let you in, and
they were moments you would never forget. I was probably nothing like Maria von
Trapp, other than I had basically been celibate like a nun for the last several
months. I did wonder if I could be a good stepmother like her. I was still
trying not to think of that possibility.

I
was asleep on the couch by the time Blake joined me with a plate of baked chicken
and vegetables in hand. He sat on the opposite end of the couch and it woke me
up.

“Sorry
I woke you.”

I
sat up some. “It’s okay, I should probably go to bed.” I looked at his plate
full of bland food. I didn’t know how he ate food so plain.

He
noticed my staring. “What?” he asked.

“Does
it bother you that we don’t have anything in common?”

He
set down his glass of ice water and lemon on the side table. “I’m not following
you.”

“It’s
just … we are so opposite one another.”

His
brows furrowed. “Opposites attract.”

“Studies
show that’s not really true.”

“Well,
in our case it is.” He turned back to his dinner.

I
watched him eat as the credits for the movie rolled on the screen.

He
took a few bites and looked back over my way. “Does it bother you?”

“It
worries me. I feel like we live completely separate lives.”

He
set his plate down and turned more toward me. “Then let’s change that. What do
you want to do together?”

This
was good progress for us. Normally he would dismiss such a comment. I scooted
closer. “I want to get back to the gym. Maybe you could teach me how to play
racquetball.” That was something I knew he enjoyed and something I thought I
could get into.

“Hmm…”

I
shook my head in confusion. I thought that would be a no-brainer.

“I’ll
pay for you to get lessons and then when you’re ready we can play together.”

I
arched my eyebrow in complete annoyance. “Never mind. I’ll go back to Zumba and
kick-boxing.” I threw off the afghan my dearly departed nana had crocheted me
and made a beeline for our bedroom—I mean my bedroom.