The Best of Times: A Dicken's Inn Novel (30 page)

Chas took care of the usual business and left Polly in charge while she went to church. The snow had stopped, but it was still very cloudy. As she sat through the meeting, she realized she was tired of being there alone, and she missed Jackson desperately, but she focused her mind on prayer, especially gratitude that she was anticipating his arrival for Christmas as opposed to trying to cope with his death, or having to wonder if was dead or alive. It could be
so
much worse, and she needed to keep perspective.

Chas came home from church, trying to hold on to the peace she’d felt there. Polly reported that all guests had checked out, and no one was coming in the rest of the week. The maids would come the following morning to clean the four rooms that had been used. Chas had known that, but the report was part of the routine.

“I know you know this too,” Polly said, “but I’m having dinner with friends. Why don’t you come with me? You shouldn’t be alone; not today.”

“No, thank you, Polly. I
want
to be alone. I’ll be all right.”

Polly tried to protest again, but Chas escorted her to her car, noting that the clouds were growing heavier. She wondered when they would let loose again. How could she not think of a year ago today when a horrible storm had escorted Jackson Leeds into her life? She went inside and went into the kitchen where she opened cupboards and the refrigerator multiple times and stared. But nothing inspired her to actually work up enough appetite to motivate her to cook. She ended up just sitting in Granny’s chair, wondering what would become of her now. Jackson was coming for Christmas, but that felt so far away. And that didn’t necessarily mean that he would want to marry her. Or maybe he would want to, but he might still feel like he needed time to make that decision.

When the silence began to eat at her, she grabbed the remote and pushed the buttons, wondering how many times she would watch the same movie that Granny had been in the middle of when she’d died. She nearly threw the remote at the TV screen when it quickly came to the scene where young Martin came home. Then she could have sworn she’d heard something in the house. She pushed Pause and stood up to go and see if someone was at the door. As she came into the hall, she lost her breath and felt light-headed. She had to reach out a hand to take hold of the doorjamb to steady herself. Jackson really had just come through the back door. Unaware of her presence, he set a bag at his feet and hung up his coat and scarf. Taking in his appearance she had more questions than answers, but she couldn’t speak at all.

He took two steps away from the door, then stopped abruptly when he saw her, and he became as frozen as she felt. He looked good, she thought. At this distance she never would have known that anything was any different than it had been the last time he was here. It was a miracle! He stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans and said, “I don’t have a reservation, but I heard there’s always room at the inn.”

Chas still couldn’t speak, but she had no trouble closing the space between them and wrapping him in her arms. He returned her embrace, and she relished the strength she felt in him. She started to cry and realized he was doing the same. He buried his face in her hair and murmured her name over and over. She put her hands on his face and took a long look at him.

“Oh, you look good!” she said, noting that the physical evidence of his ordeal was minimal. He had a little scar on his cheekbone and one next to his lip. Beyond that he almost looked the same.

“Yeah,” he said, “remarkable, isn’t it. Even the scars aren’t as visible as I thought they would be.” He touched her face as well, wiping her tears with his thumbs. “You look just the same, just as I’ve imagined you all this time.” He kissed her and laughed softly.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said and kissed him again. “It’s really you.” She took a step back and took both his hands into hers. “But what are you doing here?”

“That’s a long story,” he said and scooped her into his arms, walking toward the parlor. “I think we’d better sit down.”

Chas let out a startled laugh, then said, “Apparently you’ve gotten your strength back.”

“Apparently,” he said and sat down, easing her beside him with her legs over his lap. “You see,” he said without any more urging from her, “they told me I’d achieved a big breakthrough, that I was doing well, but I felt depressed, and I had trouble figuring out what to do about it. I went shopping . . . for a card. And then I was sitting in my apartment after I’d gotten the card ready to mail, but I couldn’t find a stamp. And that’s when I looked around and wondered what I was doing there . . . when I could be here. So, I just decided to forego the stamp and bring it myself.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a card in a lavender envelope.

“Ooh,” she said, taking it from him. “Can I open it now?”

“Oh, you have to. It’s a card that must be opened today, which added to my incentive, because mail doesn’t get delivered on Sundays. The only way I could be sure you’d open it today was to bring it myself.”

Chas pulled the card out of the envelope, so filled with happiness that she wondered how she could hold it all in. On the front, in various fonts and colors, there was a list of events and dates, with the heading at the top,
Important Dates in History
. On the list was the day man had stepped onto the moon, the days the world wars had ended, the day the Berlin wall had come down, the day the smallpox vaccine had been discovered, and the day the Declaration of Independence had been signed. Inside was printed,
And most of all, the day I met you.
He’d written in parentheses,
The Sunday before Thanksgiving.
And printed below that it simply said,
Happy Anniversary.

“Wow,” she said, wiping her tears. “How long did you have to look to find that one?”

“A long time.” He chuckled. It was so good to hear him laugh, to have him here, to see him looking so much better. She hugged him tightly.

“It’s perfect. Thank you! And thank you for bringing it yourself. That was very thoughtful!”

“Purely selfish,” he said.

“Is that any indication of how we feel about each other?” she asked. “If it feels selfish to you and so good for me, it must be good, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I agree completely.”

“When did your flight come in?”

“I didn’t fly.”

She leaned back a little to check his expression. “You drove?”

“I did.”

“When did you leave?”

“Three days ago. I made a few stops so I could get my rest. And I did some shopping.”

“So you just . . . got in your car . . . and came?”

“There was a little more to it than that. First I had to officially submit my resignation.” Chas put a hand over her mouth, not wanting to interrupt, but feeling stunned to realize what that meant—or at least what she hoped it meant. “I packed up my clothes and what little I own that has any personal value. If it didn’t fit in the SUV, I left it behind. Veese is going to oversee selling the place,
and
the stuff. I’m not going back.”

Chas wrapped her arms around his neck and cried for a few minutes before he facetiously said, “If you’re that upset about it, I
could
go back, or—”

“You
know
I want you here,” she said and kissed him.

“I’m sure glad, because I’m a man without a job and without a home.”

“And you think you can just show up here without calling and I’ll give you both?”

“You will, won’t you?”

“You’re taking a lot on faith . . . Jackson Tobias Leeds.”

“You taught me that,” he said and kissed her again. Following a kiss that changed her life, Chas looked into his eyes and hit him in the shoulder.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“For not calling to tell me you were coming.”

“And spoil the moment of that look on your face? Never! It was worth it.”

“Worth getting hit?”

“Yes,” he said and kissed her again. “After what I’ve been through, getting hit by you is nothing.” She checked his expression carefully. “What?” he asked.

“You can talk about it . . . just like that?”

“No, not just like that. I’ve been through weeks of intense therapy to be able to make a joke about it.”

“We need to talk about it,” she said, and felt him bristle.

“No, we do not need to talk about it. I have talked about it thoroughly with trained professionals who are not personally involved. If I need to talk about it anymore, I will talk to them. There are some things I will never tell you.”

“Why not?” she sounded hurt.

“Because I’m not going to pollute your mind with it. It’s over and done, and I’m grateful. Enough said.”

“I understand what you’re saying . . . at least I think I do. But . . . do we just pretend it didn’t happen?”

“Not at all. We just don’t need to discuss the details. I have no problem telling you or anybody else the bare facts.”

“Which are?” she asked as if she were testing him.

“I was kidnapped by drug-dealing terrorists in a third-world country and held hostage for nearly a month. They treated me very badly, and it took weeks in a hospital and even more weeks of therapy to recover. But I survived and I’m grateful. Other men have been through worse and have gone on to lead normal and productive lives. I intend to do the same.”

Chas shook her head and touched his face. “It was so terrible.”

He laughed. “It was pretty bad.”

“Then why are you laughing?”

“Because it’s so good to see you.” She saw moisture glisten in his eyes. “I was really afraid I never would again.”

Chas hugged him once more, understanding his fear completely. “It’s good to see you, too.” She tightened her embrace and admitted, “I don’t ever want you to leave again.”

“I was hoping you’d say that, because I wanted a good reason to give you your Christmas present early.”

She looked at him but kept her arms around his neck. “This is
really
early.”

“Okay, so call it a pre-Christmas anniversary gift. Call it whatever you like.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a little box that he flipped open with his thumb, as if he’d practiced it several times. “Just say yes.”

Chas let go of him so she could take the box and touch its contents. It was the only way she could be completely certain that it really was a diamond ring. Then she made eye contact with him just before he said, “I’m not running away from anything this time, Chas. I’m not hiding or pretending or lost in any kind of temporary fantasy. I’ve come home. There’s nothing in this world that has any value to me if I can’t be with you. I’ve served my country and I’ve done my part. I’m putting that life behind me, and I want you to be my wife. I only wish I had asked you months ago and we could have just skipped the adventures of the last few months. Although, I’ve had to wonder if I’m just stubborn enough that I needed torture and starvation to realize what a fool I was being. Forgive me, and say yes. Say it now because I can’t stand the suspense.”

“Yes,” she said and kissed him. “Yes, yes.” She kissed him again. She laughed and cried as he took the ring out of the box and slid it onto her finger, where it fit perfectly.

“How did you know what size?” she asked.

“Granny told me,” he said. She looked surprised. He just laughed and added, “Well, I just knew. What other possibility is there?”

“It sounds perfectly logical to me.”

He kissed her again and said, “Now that we’re engaged, can we make a sandwich or something? Once I got to Montana I couldn’t bring myself to stop anywhere. I’m starving.”

Chas laughed and came to her feet. “I’m starving too. I was too depressed to eat.”

While they were working in the kitchen together to prepare a simple meal, Chas kept looking at the ring on her hand, and the man at her side, trying to convince herself that this was real. While she was considering the fact that she couldn’t take in any more happiness, he said, “I have a favor to ask.”

“Go for it,” she said.

“Could we invite my family here for Thanksgiving?”

“Oh, that would be wonderful!” she said and laughed.

“I talked to Mom just a while ago and told her I was on my way here. She’s waiting to hear whether or not you said yes, by the way. I should call her. She said that she and Melinda would just be having dinner there. Melinda’s son Brian might be there, but he could come too, right?”

“Of course.”

“Sasha and her family will be with the in-laws this year, and Melinda was saying that it was going to be too quiet. What do you think?”

“I think it’s perfect,” she said.

“Good.” He stopped what he was doing and turned her to face him, taking both her hands into his. “And then they would be here for the wedding.”

“What wedding?”

“Ours, of course. How about Friday? The day after Thanksgiving is a great day to get married, don’t you think?”

“You’re serious.”

He chuckled but said, “Of course I’m serious. What do we have to do but make a few phone calls? I bet I could talk Charlotte into making us a cake. What else do we need that we can’t take care of before Friday?”

Chas laughed and threw her arms around him. “Nothing,” she said. “It’s perfect.”

He tightened his embrace and lifted her feet off the floor. Again she felt the evidence of his strength, and his love, and she felt utterly and perfectly happy.

They made plans over a quiet dinner, then Polly came home. She squealed with excitement when she saw Jackson. She hugged him and told him how happy she was that he’d survived—and that he was there. Then Chas showed her the ring, and she squealed even louder. When they told her they were getting married Friday, she nearly hyperventilated.

Later, after Jackson had put some of his things into the Dombey, he and Chas snuggled on the couch while they watched
David Copperfield
. Chas had never felt such perfect contentment, such sublime hope. She’d long ago come to believe in miracles, but now she could never dispute it. These were truly the best of times.

CHAPTER 18

Chas woke up Monday morning feeling as if the previous day had been a dream. A glorious and marvelous dream. Then she felt the ring on her left hand and knew it had been real. She prepared for the day with extra vigor and felt such pleasure and gratitude to be making breakfast for Jackson that she had trouble controlling her emotion. Just knowing he was in the house, and that the waiting was over, she realized that the proverbial glass wasn’t just half full; it was overflowing.

Chas chatted with Polly when she came to the kitchen for a quick breakfast, then Polly went to the office, and Chas heard the once-familiar sounds of Jackson coming in the back door after his morning run. She heard him go up the stairs and knew he’d be down for breakfast in about twenty minutes. She went over a few things in the office with Polly, and she was back in the dining room when he arrived.

“Good morning,” they both said at the same time, and exchanged a smile and a kiss.

“How did you sleep?” she asked.

“Great,” Jackson said, keeping to himself that his measurement of a great night was getting through it without any bad dreams. Wondering why there was a subtle awkwardness between them, he poured himself a cup of coffee and attempted to make small talk. “The bed is every bit as comfortable as I’d remembered. But then, anything beyond cold concrete is great.” He heard her gasp and wished he hadn’t said it. He couldn’t even make casual conversation without bringing up things he didn’t want to talk about. But when it was still so prominent on his mind, it was difficult to not let it slip into his words. “Sorry,” he added.

“Don’t apologize for being honest with me,” she said.

He turned to look at her and leaned against the sideboard while he took a sip of coffee. “I told you I didn’t want you to have to deal with those images, and I meant it. Sometimes it just . . . slips out.”

“I understand your concern,” she said, “but I don’t want you to feel like you have to be on guard with me. If something slips out, let it slip. We’ll deal with it.”

“Okay,” he said, and they made eye contact, but it still felt awkward. “What?” he asked when she just stared at him.

“You really had to sleep on cold concrete?”

“Yes.”

“The entire time?”

“Yes,” he said again and bit his tongue to keep from adding a snide comment about how little they’d actually allowed him to sleep. “Can we change the subject now?”

“Sorry,” she said. “It’s so good to have you here.”

“It’s good to be here,” he said and glanced at her hand. “And it’s good to see that ring on your finger, especially since I know I put it there.”

“Yes,” she said and laughed softly, “it’s marvelous, isn’t it.” She cleared her throat and hurried into the kitchen. “Sit down. Breakfast is ready.”

While they shared a meal in a way that had once been common and comfortable, Jackson had trouble believing he was really here. But he hated the way that difficult memories regularly intruded upon his happiness. It was as if he couldn’t fully appreciate the miracle of being alive and reunited with Chas unless he recalled the horrors that had taken place since he had first come here and fallen in love with this incredible woman. He forced the ugly memories away, but they hovered uncomfortably close while he shared breakfast with his fiancée, and they lingered during the day as he and Chas made calls and ran errands to arrange everything for the wedding. Chas called Bishop Wegg at the bank where he worked to be certain he could perform the ceremony, which she considered the most important thing. Once he assured her that he would be thrilled to do so, the rest was easy to put into place. That evening, Charlotte and her children came over for supper. With Polly there as usual, they all discussed the upcoming event, and it seemed that everything was under control. Jackson kept watching Chas as if through a haze, hoping that he’d made the right decision on her behalf. He couldn’t help wondering whether bringing his problems into her life was good thing. Still, he felt so perfectly happy at the thought of their upcoming marriage, and there was no disputing that Chas was equally happy. How could he not want that?

When the day came to a close, Jackson kissed Chas good night at the foot of the stairs, loving the memories of previous kisses and his hopes for the future. He read in his room until he fell asleep blanketed by the comfort of his surroundings. His next awareness was coming out of a nightmare that had replayed in detail the most horrific events of his life. Heart pounding and wet with sweat, he told himself that everything was all right. But he still felt panicked, as if one part of himself wasn’t willing to believe what the other part was telling him. He could hear his own strained breathing as he pressed his hands over the bed where he was laying in an effort to convince himself of his present surroundings. But even that wasn’t enough. He groped for the lamp on the bedside table, needing light to assure himself that he wasn’t hallucinating. In his desperation, he almost knocked the lamp over and barely managed to steady it while he found the switch and turned it on. The evidence of his surroundings bathed him with relief, but he sat on the edge of the bed for several minutes before his heart and his breathing started to slow down. He consciously went through every mental exercise he’d been taught to counteract these episodes, but such things always made more sense in theory than in their actual application.

An hour after he’d turned on the light, the sun was coming up and his hands were still shaking. He didn’t have the strength to go running or the motivation to take a shower, but the room suddenly felt like it was closing in on him. He splashed cold water on his face and wiped it dry before he got dressed and went down the stairs. He wandered around quietly, and finally ended up in the dining room, appalled to realize that his hands were still shaking. And with the evidence of how bad off he really was, he began to doubt the course he was taking. He wanted Chas to show up to help him keep perspective, yet he hoped to avoid her indefinitely. He felt scared out of his mind. When he heard her in the hall and saw her come into the room, his heart rate increased again, and the shaking worsened.

Chas opened the drapes in the dining room and turned around to see Jackson sitting at one of the little tables, as if he’d been there a long time. His presence startled her.

“Sorry,” he said.

“How long have you been up?”

“A long time,” he said, knowing he needed to be honest.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, sitting down across from him.

“Nightmares,” he said, avoiding her gaze.

Chas considered his body language as much as what he’d said. “Does this happen often?” she asked.

“Yes,” he admitted, then said what he knew he needed to say. “Since we’re getting married, I assume we’ll be sleeping in the same bed.”

“That’s the way it usually works.”

“Then you should know that I don’t sleep very well. Everything is worse at night. Sometimes I’m scared of the dark.”

“We’ll leave the light on.”

“Sometimes I wake up and don’t know where I am, and I have a panic attack.”

“Maybe if you don’t wake up alone it won’t be so bad,” she suggested.

“Maybe,” he said and finally looked at her. “Maybe not. Maybe you’re being way too optimistic because you don’t know what you’re dealing with. Maybe we’re moving too fast. Maybe you should reconsider.”

Jackson expected her to be taken aback by the suggestion and stammer over what she might say in response. But without missing a beat she said with conviction, “Maybe you should have more faith in me and remember that when I told you I loved you no matter what, I meant it. For better or worse. That’s the way it works, isn’t it? I told you that I prayed about this. I know God wants me to marry you.”

“But you got that answer a long time ago,” he countered.

“I’ve kept praying all along, Jackson. Do you think I’m naive enough to think that what happened to you is just going to magically go away? I
saw
you in that hospital bed. I may not know all the details, but I can put pieces together. You don’t call me
Detective
for nothing. I’ve spent hours studying parasites and PTSD and . . .” Her voice broke, and she swallowed hard to keep from getting emotional.

“Then maybe you could explain this,” he said and lifted his hands to show her how they were trembling.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“No!” he said, setting his hands flat on the table. “Obviously I’m not okay.”

“Is it the nightmares or the prospect of marriage that’s making you shake?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Has this happened before?”

“Yes, and I assume it will calm down as it has before. But it’s still evidence of something I don’t think either of us is prepared to handle under the circumstances.”

“But you said you were doing better.”

“I
am
doing better, Chas. But better is relative. And I wonder if I’m jumping the gun a little to be thinking I should get married this week.”

“Listen to me,” she said, putting her hands over his. “I have some idea of what we’re dealing with, but the operative word here is
we.
Me, you, and God—because I
know
you and I are supposed to be together.”

“How can you
know,
Chas?”

“How did you know Granny was with you in that prison?” she asked, and he could only look at the floor. “I just know,” she added.

“Okay, so
you
know. But
I
don’t know. I don’t get answers the way you do.”

“Or maybe you’re getting them and you just don’t know how to recognize them.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Would you be critical of me for not being a good FBI agent? Would you think I should be critical of myself?”

“Of course not.”

“It’s only been a year since you’ve even stopped to consider whether or not you believe in God. You don’t have as much practice as I do. God knows that, and so do I. You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. And it’s not been so many weeks since you survived something that most people could never imagine, let alone live through. So give yourself a break and let me help you through this.”

Jackson sighed and shook his head. “It’s what I want, Chas. I want to be here with you, and I know it’s what you want, too. But maybe that’s not enough.”

“I
know
it’s right,” she insisted. “But neither one of us should be naive enough to believe that such knowledge means the road is going to be easy. It’s about commitment, and trust, and respect. We have to trust each other enough to work through whatever comes up, and the commitment has to be stronger than the challenges.”

Jackson sighed again, not knowing what to say. Chas stood up and took his hand, leading him to the parlor where they sat on the couch and faced each other. “Talk to me,” she said. “You don’t have to tell me details, but I need to understand what you’re feeling.”

Jackson took hold of her hand and played with her ring. He noted that his shaking had almost stopped. “I thought I was a lot tougher than this. I’ve been trained for stuff like this. And even though they tell you that all the training in the world can’t really prepare you for the reality, you think you can handle it. I started praying for death the first hour. After a week I couldn’t believe that the human body was capable of enduring so much and
not
dying. I became angry with God for keeping me alive. Now I’m grateful that He did, but it’s not black and white.”

Jackson saw tears on her face. “What is this?”

“When I think of how you suffered, I . . . I . . .”

“That’s why you mustn’t think about it.”

“How can I not? Sometimes I think my imagination is worse than whatever you might tell me. When I was told that they didn’t know where you were, my mind went wild with possibilities. Now I know that some of them were true, and it’s just so . . . horrible.”

“Yes, it is,” he said gently. “That’s why my feelings are complicated. Sometimes I’m still angry, and I wonder if it would have been better if I hadn’t survived.”

“I don’t know how you can sit there and hold my hand and wish that you were dead. Do you have any idea what that would have done to me?”

He looked her in the eye. “I’m not unsympathetic to your grief, Chas. But there are things worse than death. I don’t want what haunts me to haunt you, too. You say that you know this is right. I’m not sure that
I
know. Maybe I should have thought things through a little more before I showed up here with a ring.”

“And maybe you need to trust the decision you made when you were thinking clearly, as opposed to doubting it when you’re overwhelmed with the memories of what you’ve suffered.” He was thoughtfully silent until Chas asked, “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that I could really use a drink.”

“No, you don’t need a drink. You’ve come this far without it. You don’t need to take up drinking again now.” He said nothing, and she added, “You
have
come this far without it, haven’t you?”

“I haven’t had a drop since the day I told you I would stop drinking, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t been tempting.”

“All the more reason for you to be living here with me, as opposed to somewhere else by yourself. You need me.”

“I won’t dispute that.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Whether or not I should be a burden to you.”

“I think you’re blowing this all out of proportion. You think I can’t handle some nightmares and panic attacks?”

“I don’t know, can you?”

“Try me,” she said, then kissed him before he could argue any further. He took her face into his hands to prolong the kiss. Then she whispered, close to his lips, “You need me. I need you. This is right. Now, why don’t we have some breakfast. We need to drive to Butte to buy something for you to wear to our wedding.” She was going to be wearing her grandmother’s dress; but she needed a veil, and Jackson needed the perfect suit.

Keeping hold of her face, he asked, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Trust me.”