Page 37

TYLER

SHE SPOKE THEwords so quietly, I almost didn’t hear her. But as I looked back, I could see her hands tremble as she lifted them to cross over her chest and clutch her arms. What did she mean by ‘wrecked?’ Did she mean he broke her heart? That was a pretty strong word for an ordinary break up. Had he cheated on her? Or . . . shit, could he have hurt her? Jen’s behavior suddenly started to make more sense as an awful scenario formed in my head. I recalled how she watched me at the hospital when I treated a domestic abuse case. I suspected then, but I didn’t want to believe I could be right.

I swallowed hard and retraced my steps. “Jen?” I placed my hands over hers. They were so cold despite standing in the sun.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you back to the house.” Still holding her hand, I gently pulled her toward the house. Her hand remained limp in mine as she followed me like a lost puppy with its tail tucked between its legs, scared to obey but resigned to its fate. Once inside the house, I guided her to a couch in the living room and tucked a soft blanket around her. She was still shivering as she pulled her feet underneath her and pulled the blanket tighter. She watched me warily as I walked over to a marble table that had a bar built into the back. I pulled out my bottle of Macallan scotch and poured her a finger’s worth. Returning to her, I squatted at her side and handed her the crystal tumbler. She looked surprised, but worked a hand out of the blanket and accepted it. I nodded in encouragement. “I know it’s not your usual drink, sweetheart, but it will feel good going down. It will warm you up from the inside. Trust me. Just sip it slowly.”

I watched as she took a small sip, chuckling softly as she made a face and shuddered, but secretly pleased she was willing to do what I suggested. Baby steps. She lifted the glass once again and took another small sip. She took a deep breath, blew it out, and looked at me. “Thank you.”

Satisfied that she was relaxing, I smiled and said, “I’m going to grab a shirt. I’ll be right back, and then you can tell me about Mark if you still want to.” She stared hard at the glass in her hand as if she was debating her options, but she nodded. I stood and hurried up the stairs. I didn’t want to leave her any longer than I had to, but I couldn’t sit there half naked either. The kiss we had shared suddenly felt like hours ago, but in reality it had only been minutes. Although distracted by the turn of events, my body still could feel the pressure of her lips and the impression of her curves. I grabbed the shirt I threw on my bed before my swim. My board shorts had mostly dried, so I left them on and hurried back to her. I couldn’t stop the relief I felt when I found her exactly where I’d left her. She was rubbing her thumb over the patterns of cut glass in the tumbler I’d given her. She appeared to be lost in thought until she heard me enter the room.

She looked up and smiled shyly. “Still here,” she said. “You already had plenty of coffee.” She tried to laugh as she said it, but I could hear the quaver in her voice. I sat down on the couch facing her.

I sat close, but not touching, hoping to communicate I was ready to listen, but not to push her. “Do you want to tell me more about this guy?”

“No, but I need to so maybe you’ll understand. Or maybe not. Hell, most of the time I don’t understand . . .” She broke off speaking and unwrapped the blanket from around her body, perhaps illustrating that she was ready to open up something important about herself.

“Tell me, Jen. Anything and everything, or nothing at all.” I placed my hand on her knee and smiled in encouragement. “Whatever you feel up to. I’m not going anywhere.” It was a promise I knew I could keep. My job had given me countless experience to deal with critical and life-altering issues, but this was different because it was somebody I knew and cared about. Still, I managed to draw on that skill, to put on a blank face and settled in to listen.

She stared at my hand on her knee and seemed to make a decision. She drew in a deep breath and leaned back against the arm of the couch. “Growing up in my house was a lot like growing up with the Cleavers on the old showLeave it to Beaver. My mom doesn’t work, but she’s an amazing housekeeper. She can sew, cook, fix a toilet, manage a budget . . . you name it, she can do it. She’s kind of petite and soft spoken but make no mistake; she’s the one who runs the household. My mom was always teaching me little things and sharing what life was like for her growing up on a farm. I guess that’s where she learned all her domestic skills. I loved listening to her stories and constantly followed her around the kitchen, mimicking her actions until I was old enough for her to teach me how to cook. We had great conversations while I learned to sauté, caramelize, make sauces . . .”

“You definitely have some mad cooking skills,” I commented, more to myself than to her, but she heard me.

She smiled shyly. “Thank you.”

I propped my elbow on the back of the couch and rested my head on my hand. I had never heard Jen talk about her childhood or family, and I was fascinated to hear about this part of her. Talking about her fond memories seemed to help her relax. She leaned forward a bit and almost unconsciously drew random patterns on my hand that still covered her knee.

“But as much as I love my mom, I was a daddy’s girl. He adored my mom and me, but while my mom shared life skills with me, Daddy was the one to kid around with. He loved magic and jokes and was always trying to entertain my mom and me with new material. I loved being his princess as he called me. Every day, without fail, no matter what kind of day he had at work, he tried to leave it behind and focus on his family once he came home. I always greeted him at the door where he would whisk me up into his arms and piggyback me to the kitchen to find my mom who was usually busy preparing dinner. I was an only child, and this stayed as our routine until I was well into my teens.” She paused and gave a small laugh, looking lost in her memories. I silently waited until she continued. “By then, I was more active doing homework or involved in something at school, but my dad’s eyes always lit up when he saw either of ‘his girls.’ I thought the sun rose and set in him. And he taught me how a man should treat a woman. I knew I was luckier than several of my friends whose parents were divorced. It was always my dream to have the same kind of marriage as my parents. I even used to wish for it whenever I saw a shooting star. They made it seem so easy, and I guess I thought that as long as I knew how to take care of my man, he’d treat me the way my dad treated my mom.”

She flushed as she glanced at me out of the corner of her eye, as if embarrassed by her admission. It just confirmed what I already knew; Jen loved to take care of other people.

“My dad worked in advertising, designing magazine campaigns. He was good at it, and he was often assigned as a mentor to either students or interns, or even new employees. One day, my dad brought home a new intern from his work. His name was Mark.” Her shoulders hunched forward, and her voice lowered in both volume and pitch. I had to lean forward to hear her clearly.

“That wasn’t uncommon because he liked to build a good relationship with them. If they had a really busy day, he’d occasionally bring them around for a home cooked meal. I’d never been interested in anyone he’d brought home before, but this time there was this almost magnetic attraction. When Mark asked if he could see me again, I said yes. It wasn’t long before we were dating exclusively. He was so much like my father, always holding my hand, always giving me gentle kisses. He never pressured me and always complimented me and told me I was the perfect girlfriend. My parents liked Mark, but they were worried we were moving too fast. I was in college, and they wanted me to finish my degree and establish myself a bit before settling down permanently. But as Mark and I talked about a future together and the number of kids we wanted to have, I just fell even more in love with him. He wanted to go into commercial advertising because he thought he could make more money which would allow him to be a good provider so I could be a stay-at-home mom. It was good enough for my mom and dad, and it sounded blissful to me. The only difference was I wanted lots of kids.”

I didn’t dare interrupt; I was slowly being let into the secret dreams of Jennifer Mitchell.

She began to play with the fringe on the edge of the blanket. I took her hand that was slowly unraveling a section of yarn, entwined those fingers with mine and brought them up for a kiss. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Whatever it is, I’m right here.” She blinked at me almost as if she’d forgotten I was there, so lost in her thoughts. She gripped my hand tightly.

“One night after a romantic dinner, he proposed and it felt like all my dreams were coming together. I didn’t even bat an eye when he encouraged me to drop out of college so we could get started on a family. After all, he was going to provide for me, so I didn’t need to have a degree to get a job since I wouldn’t be working.”

It was hard to keep my expression neutral. I wanted her to tell me she’d told Mark to take a hike, but if she had done that, then I was sure we wouldn’t be sitting here in some type of pseudo-confessional.

“My parents were furious with me and encouraged me to take a step back, or at least have a long engagement. Mark found out and told me he’d talk to them and reassure them. He said they had just forgotten how it felt to be young and so in love. I trusted him and became caught up in making wedding plans. I thought everything was wonderful until we had an argument about the wedding date. He wanted it quick and simple. I wanted the fairytale. He accused me of being influenced by Kayla and my mom. He suggested that maybe I shouldn’t spend so much time with them since I had forgotten it washiswedding and not theirs. I hated the argument, and I felt bad that he felt left out of the planning. So, I agreed to the earlier wedding date. In turn, he said he felt bad about leaving me to handle everything and said he would help me. I loved that he wanted it to be the two of us picking out all the details. He showed me the pictures of flowers and invitations that he wanted. I was excited I’d found a man who cared about wedding details, so I agreed to pretty much everything he wanted. He was happy, so I was happy.”

She paused and took another sip of the scotch. She closed her eyes as if she didn’t want to see my reaction to whatever she was about to say.

“I spent less and less time with my family and friends, even Kayla. She tried to tell me she thought Mark was too controlling, but I disagreed. I argued that he just loved me and wanted to spend time with me and was trying to make my life easier. I thought she was jealous because she didn’t have a boyfriend. My parents grew to dislike Mark, and a lifetime of closeness started to disintegrate. When I said I was moving in with Mark, they didn’t talk to me for a week. But Mark was thrilled to have my undivided attention. He treated me like a queen, replacing my clothes with more expensive ones and buying me pieces of jewelry. He said I didn’t need to ever return to my parent’s house because it was his job to provide for me. I laughed and told him he didn’t have to, but he said what I wore reflected on him, and his feelings should be my first priority. ”Her words started to pour faster from her mouth. “Everything I did, I wanted to please him the same way he pleased me. Kayla called me one morning, and I realized it had been almost a month since I’d last seen her. I felt terrible. She asked me to have lunch with her, so of course, I agreed. I hadn’t realized just how much I missed her, and we ended up spending the entire afternoon together. When I got home, Mark was already there, fuming because I hadn’t answered the phone when he called during the afternoon. He got in my face and demanded to know where I’d been. When I told him I’d spent the afternoon with Kayla, he said I should have been home making his dinner. What if he’d brought someone home like my dad used to do? I should be ready for that.Thatwas my place, not out and about doing something that made me late coming home.”

She glanced up at me. “You can imagine I didn’t like that. I knew it was wrong.”

“I hope you told him that.”

She clutched even harder at my hand. “I did. I told him that I loved doing those things for him, but my purpose wasn’t to wait on him hand and foot, and I was entitled to spend time with my friends on occasion, too.”

“Good for you.”

“Yeah, it felt good to say it. What didn’t feel good was what came next,” she whispered, closing her eyes.