Page 7 of Echoes of a Southern Song

Chapter Three

Jinnie

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I WAKE WITH A START, my brain instantly awake while my body struggles to match it. I reach over and grab my phone. It’s a quarter after two in the afternoon. I only slept an hour, but my brain’s already racing, picking at every frayed thread from this morning.

I thought a nap would help, but I think it only left me feeling worse. The nap apparently gave my brain more time to stew and conjure up new worries. Before I lay down, I texted Jack to thank him for taking me to the lawyer’s office. I knew he wanted more, but I couldn’t give it to him. Not yet. He told me he talked to his brother and things weren’t great.

He didn’t elaborate and I didn’t ask. We were both dealing with some shit and neither of us knew how to talk about it. But my brain sure knew how to spin a single sentence into tragedy.

Jack’s family needs him.

Jack surrounded by women at the bar who actually look at him like he’s something precious.

Sam taking what little I have.

Jack walking away from me.

I sit up too fast, the room tilting slightly. Max meows from the foot of the bed, letting me know he doesn’t appreciate my sudden movement.

“Sorry,” I murmur, scratching behind his ears.

He purrs, but it does nothing to quiet the thoughts tumbling through my head.

What if Jack realizes how much he misses his family? His brothers clearly care about him, even if his dad’s being difficult. I know he says he hates the farm life, but it’s a living. From what little I know about farming; it’s a decent living. He has a stable home back there.

And even if he doesn’t go home, he’s not going to stick around here forever. There’s no way a guy like him stays. He’s talented. Really talented. I know I’m not the only one who thinks he’s the sexiest damn thing on this earth. The way women flock to him after his sets, all batting eyelashes and lingering touches. He’s always polite, always steps back, but...

I shake my head, pressing my palms to my eyes.

Stop.

This is just stress talking. The lawyer. Sam. The impending court battle. It all feels like too much. I don’t do stress. Not really. My life, up until my stupid quickie marriage to Sam, had been very calm. My parents were easy-going and that passed on to me. They were both very Zen. They didn’t believe in worrying.

“Worrying doesn’t fix anything,” my mom always says. “It just robs you of the present.”

But now, with Sam lurking in the shadows and Jack caught in his own storm, it feels like worry is all I have left. I slide out of bed and pad to the kitchen, Max trailing behind me like a shadow. The fridge offers little comfort. A single, sad-looking apple is the sum total of the offerings. I grab the apple and take a bite, chewing slowly as I lean against the counter.

My eyes drift to the legal paperwork stacked on my tiny dining table. The envelope from Langley’s office stares back at me. It’s haunting me. If I do the divorce, everyone is going to know about my hasty decision. It’s humiliating. People are going to look at me and think I’m some silly girl who makes impulsive decisions. That’s all I will be known for. And my one really bad choice is also going to reflect on my parents. I don’t want them to wear the stain of my bad decision.

I glance out the window toward the main house. Mom and Dad will be having their late lunch about now. I promised I would come by since it’s my day off.

“All right, Max, behave yourself. If you tear anything up, I promise you I will put that leash on you and walk your big butt up to Mom and Dad’s. You’ll suffer the humiliation of being the cat on a leash.”

He looks at me, silently daring me. We both know I’ll never do it. Mostly because I’m pretty sure I’ll be the one who suffers the most. I grab my sunglasses and walk out.

The walk across the property usually calms me. I love the earthy smell and the scent of pines. Normally, the smell of Dad’s herb garden floats on the breeze. I can’t smell it today. All I smell is the aftermath of my bad decision.

I walk into the house without knocking. I never do.

Mom’s at the kitchen table when I walk in, her hands busy with what looks like a half-woven basket. Her face lights up when she sees me.

“Jinnie! Perfect timing.” She holds up her project. “Look what I’m learning!”

The basket’s lopsided, reeds sticking out at odd angles. I force a smile. “Looks great, Mom.”

Dad appears from the pantry, arms laden with jars of honey. “And look at this batch! The lavender fields really came through this year.”