How sad was it that a piece of furniture could instigate a total breakdown? But, truthfully, it was Jack, breaking down all thewalls I’d put up to protect myself. From Danny’s criticism and indifference, from people’s opinion of me, from the failure of my marriage. The bricks laid carefully to prevent new hurt from ever getting in and the old hurt from ever getting out.
This supposed bad boy with a motorcycle and a bad attitude. I hadn’t realized I’d needed to protect myself from his sweetness, his thoughtfulness.
Maybe I didn’t have to. Maybe I could just accept it. Maybe?—
“If I did something wrong or overstepped,” he murmured suddenly, in between my broken cries. “If I touched a nerve?—”
I pulled back quickly so I could see his face. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Jack. I love the cabinet. Love that you made it for me. It’s amazing and kind and thoughtful and perfect. And the sad truth is that I’m out of practice. I don’t quite know how to handle someone doing something like that for me.”
Face solemn, Jack cupped my cheeks and ran his thumbs beneath my eyes to wipe away the dampness clinging to my skin. “You deserve good things. You’re worthy of someone making a fuss over you, wanting to take care of you, to see you happy.”
I tried to smile but felt my eyes fill once more. I knew he was right. It was a topic I’d discussed with my therapist over and over again—feeling deserving of love. But it was one thing to talk about the hypothetical and another thing entirely when you had someone standing in front of you, actually doing the work.
Jack hugged me again, his strong forearms crossing over my lower back, and I let myself relax into the embrace.
And later that night, when we were in bed, I finally stopped lying to myself.
As Jack’s hands and lips dragged over my skin, when there was only heat between us, I stopped trying to hold it all in. I acknowledged the truth—the one that had been swirling around inside me for a while now.
I was in love with Jack.
I worried that he could hear it in the wild beat of my heart. See it in my tender gaze. Feel it with every reverent press of my lips.
For all the ways I’d been trying to protect my heart, I couldn’t do it by lying to myself anymore.
nineteen
BONNIE
Danny’s mother died two weeks before Christmas.
The visitation was scheduled for this evening at Wheeler Funeral Home downtown, and the funeral would be tomorrow at the cemetery out near Miller Creek. All the preparations had been made ahead of time by Diane herself.
Her health had declined pretty rapidly in the last month. She’d been sleeping more and more during my visits, and I knew from Eldridge that Diane had been in quite a bit of pain.
Death was never easy, but sometimes it was a mercy.
That knowledge didn’t stop me from grieving her—crying over her loss and wishing things could have been different.
I arrived in the parlor of the funeral home alone. Jack was working, but I hadn’t mentioned the death of my former mother-in-law to him. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe because I’d never managed to explain my visits to a dying woman over the last few months. It felt messy. Like I was still clinging to my past life in favor of my new one. But I’d loved Diane. She wasn’t just Danny’s mom. She’d been a big part of my life, too. I couldn’tjust stop loving her, like flipping a switch, especially when she hadn’t done anything wrong.
I didn’t owe Danny anything, and I wasn’t attending the funeral for him. I was doing it for a woman who’d been like a second mother to me. And the grieving husband she was leaving behind.
Part of me worried about how Jack would interpret my dedication to my former in-laws, how he might read into my presence here tonight. Like it had been one more thing on a long list that I was unable to say no to.
I knew how Jack felt about the way I tried to keep the peace and make other people happy. I figured he’d look at me with knowing disappointment. However, it was wrong of me to project those reactions onto him. I wasn’t married to Danny anymore—the person who’d actually made passive-aggressive jibes about my time and energy outside the home. I shouldn’t be punishing Jack for mistakes my ex-husband had made.
I’d talk to Jack tonight and tell him about Diane. I’d explain myself because it was the right thing to do, not because I needed to justify my decisions.
The sickly sweet scent of flowers was nearly overwhelming, as was the crowd of people gathered to pay their respects at the small funeral home.
Diane had been a teacher in the community. Her influence was one of the reasons I’d become an educator. There were sure to be lots of her former students and coworkers from over the years, not to mention longtime neighbors and friends. Her passing would hit a lot of people hard.
I said hello to a few folks I recognized as I moved through the space. A television was looping a slideshow of photographs, andI stopped to watch. My already heavy heart squeezed with every grainy image that went by.
There she and Eldridge were in sepia tones, sitting in the back of an old Ford truck. They looked like teenagers. Then another snapshot from their wedding day, big smiles on both their faces. I watched as the little family welcomed their daughters and finally Danny. Then it was a myriad of memories from birthdays and holidays set to music, many with my own face staring back at me.
There was one photo I’d never seen before, though. It was taken in Diane’s kitchen. She and I were in the middle of canning strawberry jam. We weren’t even looking at the camera, just quietly working side by side. Familiarity born of time and tradition. I could hear her voice telling me the secret was to add a teaspoon of butter to the jam while it cooked, right at the end.
