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Chapter Twenty
Lena
Reluctantly, I agreed to go down to the main house. I figured being around people might be good for me. God knows I’d been deprived of that privilege long enough. The only people I ever got to see were the clerks at the grocery store, or occasionally the mailman if I happened to be outside during the mail delivery, but he never left his truck, and only waved from his seat if he happened to notice me.
Jackson helped me down the long stairway leading from the cottage to the house. Once inside, he helped make me comfortable on the large, buttery soft, brown-leather sofa positioned between two dark wooden tables, each sporting the most intricately carved wooden lamps. Across from the couch stood a tan and light brown stone fireplace sizzling with the scent of burning pine. The two-inch thick slats on the brown shutters of the windows allowed just the right amount of sun in to warm my arms. There was a painting of roaring ocean waves breaking against the side of a steep mountain cliff on the wall behind my head, positioned a few inches above the sofa. Another picture with scenes of pastoral fields hung above an antique-looking cabinet with two doors made of metal slates framed with wood casings. Each door had a series of tiny nail holes, making some sort of intricate design. As I looked closer, I realized there was a date etched in the middle of the design: 1861. Jackson must have noticed me staring at the large, beautiful piece of furniture.
“It’s an antique pie safe. It belonged to my mom’s grandmother. That’s where they stored their pies to keep them fresh and safe from critters and bugs. The design on the doors is from the Freemasons’ society, the fraternal, religious organization dating back several centuries. The compass, the square and the trowel are supposed to represent a moral lesson or something. I’m guessing maybe it was something my great grandfather was involved in. To me, it’s nothing more than a nice piece of furniture. Since I don’t bake many pies, it’s where I keep my music sheets and some other odds and ends that I have no idea where to put.”
He smiled, and I smiled back. I’d heard of the freemasons, though I didn’t know much about them. I was grateful for the history lesson, as brief as it was. “Maybe I could bake you one someday as a thank you.”
“You have a deal,” he said with raised eyebrows. I settled back against the sofa and studied the rest of the room. On the opposite wall hung photographs of people, most likely Jackson’s parents and his aunt and uncle, among other relatives. Some very old-timey photos that might have been images of the great grandfather he’d mentioned. A few pictures of Brodie and Jackson were mixed in. It seemed strange to me that guys their age would have so many family pictures on the wall. Maybe it was something left from their aunt and uncle since this had been their house. My question was answered almost as if Jackson had read my mind.
“The family display of pictures belonged to my aunt. Brodie didn’t have the heart to remove them since those are all the people she loved. He said it gave the place a personality and some history. Underneath the macho exterior, my little brother does have a bit of a soft side, though don’t tell him I said that.”
“No worries,” I said. Other than the family pictures, the whole room screamed of masculinity. Glancing through the doorway, I spied the corner of a pool table. This was a house begging for excitement and perfect for social entertaining. I wondered if they did much of that.
Jackson retreated to the kitchen, and I heard the refrigerator open, along with the sounds of him placing things on the counter. I felt so helpless and wished I had the strength to give him a hand. My side still ached too much to stand for more than a few minutes.
As I rested on the sofa, I considered this man bent on rescuing me. What made him tick? Jackson was a strong name. He was incredibly handsome. I loved the way his hair fell to the bottom of his neck. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, and the dark stubble made him look a little older. His lips were thick and tender-looking. And God, he smelled delicious, something that had caught my senses more than once. I wished I had met him under different circumstances, and I suddenly wished I looked and felt better. How could I be attracted to a man so soon after another had mistreated me?
He came back in carrying a tray with two glasses of milk, a couple of sandwiches and two cups of coffee on it. I had a ton of questions I wanted to ask him and couldn’t help myself as the first one poured out of my mouth as though it couldn’t wait to ruin our perfect relationship.
“Jackson, have you ever been married?”
He turned, his face showing surprise at the question. “No.”
“Girlfriend?”
“No. Not at the moment.” He chuckled softly. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, you’re a handsome guy. I would think girls would be knocking down your door to have you on their arm. Plus, I wanted to make sure I wasn’t intruding on anyone. If you did have a girlfriend, I’d hate to have her think the worst.”
“Well, any girlfriend of mine would have to accept the part of me that likes to protect the innocent.”
I thought about that and wondered if he would indeed be helping me if he did have a girlfriend. In some way or another, I bet he would.
“Protecting the innocent and rescuing the wounded is what I do, remember?”
“Yeah. I remember. Jackson …” I hesitated; so many thoughts were running rampant in my head, and I didn’t want him to think I was prying. “You said you graduated from college and then went on to become a cop, then a private investigator.” I wanted to be delicate here because he seemed so much younger than someone who could have achieved so much already in life. “I mean, you don’t look old enough to have done all that.”
Jackson set the coffee and sandwiches down on the table in front of the sofa and laughed. “Thanks for that. If you wanted to know how old I was, you could have just asked.”
“Sorry. I’m not used to being so open with anyone. Okay, then, how old are you?”
“I’ll be twenty-seven in a couple of months.” When I simply stared at him and frowned, he added, “I graduated high school at sixteen and went directly into Berkeley. I did my four years in pre-law but always kept music as a minor, so I continued another two years to pursue that. I guess you might say I was an over-achiever back then.” He sat down on the sofa beside me and handed me a plate with a sandwich on it.
Without looking at me, he asked, “Uh ... how long were you married to him?”
“Almost six months ... It was stupid to marry him. I only knew him for a few weeks. He was a bit over-protective but never did anything that made me think he would hurt me until after we were married. Aside from that night after dancing with Weezer, which, at the time, I’d figured I’d deserved, that first couple of weeks was okay, at least until the episode when he hit me during dinner. Everything was wonderful.” I took a bite of the sandwich, chewed, and swallowed, “Mmmm … turkey. It’s funny, you know, I never thought of myself as weak, but now, I don’t know what I am. I planned to leave him after the first time. I needed to find a way out, but it seemed to get harder and harder as time progressed. He kept tabs on everything I did and everywhere I went. Escape seemed impossible.”
“You don’t have to be weak to be manipulated. It seems to me he was the feeble one. It takes a weak man to threaten and hurt the ones he is supposed to love and protect. You, sweetheart, were brave and strong. Brave to endure, and strong to get out.”
