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“Oh, they would love that.” It’s heartbreaking to see the longing in Jenna’s eyes to accept what John’s extending. I wonder if her ex has any idea how low her self-esteem is because of the crap he pulled. And if he does (which is likely) the respect I don’t have for him lowers even more. “I’ll definitely keep that in mind.”
Mm-hmm. That’s a lie. What she really meant wasI wish I could, but I won’t.It bothers me so much I’m tempted to set up a boat ride and tell her to show up at a certain time without giving her a choice. Does this sound creepy? Possibly, but at a certain point Jen has to start living her life again.Withouther ex’s words influencing her decisions. As far as I’m concerned, the only one who should influence what we do is God. Anybody else can take their opinions and shove them where the sun doesn’t shine.
John and I exchange a few more minutes of small talk, and then he heads out. I rest my hands on my belt as a I shift my focus to Jenna. “Let me guess. You’ve decided to bail on the project?”
She laughs, her smile crinkling the corners of her blue eyes, and even though I didn’t approve anything of the sort, I feel a strong urge to reach out and simply touch her cheek. Feel her soft skin against my fingertips. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this kind of pull towards a woman that I’m a little shocked. I resist it because I can’t allow myself to toy with her emotions if I don’t intend to back them up, but it’s not easy. It’s like last week on the porch of Marie’s house when that moment charged between us.
Had thunder not rumbled when it did and therefore snapped me out of it, I might’ve leaned forward and brushed my lips over hers. I might’ve pulled her flush with my body and cradled her head in my hand as I proved just how deserving she is of a man who loves her fiercely. I might’ve been tempted to cup her jaw in my hand, to stroke my thumb over her skin as I pressed my forehead to hers, my heartbeat undoubtedly pounding in the rainy air.
I might’ve been tempted to admit to falling in love.
“I’ll be honest, I almost did last week.” She bites her lip as she peers up at me. Is shetryingto drive me crazy? Why doesn’t my phone ring now? All of a sudden, my men just have everything under control when they couldn’t handle a traffic stop on their own thirty minutes ago? I’m not going to lie; it bothers me. “But no, I don’t want to back out. If nothing else, I’m too interested in seeing how the house turns out.”
“Yeah, well, that makes two of us,” I admit. “I’m not really looking forward to cleaning everything out, though. We’re going to need some diffusers or something going to help clear the air. Marie used to smoke like a feen.”
“I have some incense we could burn.” She shrugs, slipping her hands into the pockets of her dress. “It might or might not help, but we can’t really lose anything by trying it.”
“I have nothing against it.”
“So…” She twists her lips to the side and glances down at the ground for a moment before her gaze tentatively meets mine. “Do you think Mazzy will still help? I mean, I know what John said, but still. What if she doesn’t come when we meet next time?”
“To be honest, I can’t force her to come. Would I like to see her continue to help? Absolutely. But there’s nothing legally binding her to help us, like court ordered community service for such and such reason. Only time will tell. I’ll drive by her house later or have someone else do it, just to check it out, but that’s about all I can do for now.”
She opens her mouth to say something, but thedingof an incoming text stops her. It’s still not my phone—did it die or something?—but one glance at Jenna’s face makes warning bells blare in my head. Where she was just smiling and maybe a little bit shy, she’s now pale and I can read a blend of fear and anger in her eyes.
“Jen?” I gently grasp her arm and guide her to a chair, now acting on a protective instinct I can’t prevent. Once she’s seated—still staring at her phone screen—I let go of her arm and squat in front of her. I allow my hand to rest lightly on her knee as I tap her hand gently. “Who texted you?”
Jenna meets my gaze as she swallows. “Pete.”
Chapter Twelve
Jenna
Mommy, do you think Daddy loves me?”
Ella’s question, innocent as it is, makes me freeze halfway between sitting on the edge of her Disney princesses comforter and standing. I instantly wonder how on earth she could possibly know her father texted me this morning. And then I realize that she doesn’t know. It’s just an inquiry from a little girl who shouldn’t have to question whether or not her father loves her.
I wonder if Joanna would magically appear in my house if I did attempt to call Pete and wring his neck. Honestly, I don’t think I care about it at this point. Joanna can try and take my phone and hold it captive, but she should know better than to underestimate a woman who’s had ten hours—actually, no, make that three years—to come up with what she wants to say to a man who hasn’t seen his kids for two years now. In my mind it sounds something likeblankety-blank-blank-blank, but no guarantees on how it would really come out.
Though my thoughts are far from calm regarding my ex-husband, I’m able to calmly lower onto my daughter’s bed and brush her dark curls away from her face. This isn’t the first time she’s asked me a question like this, but I still find myself warring between these responses: tell heryes, of course he does,orI really don’t know, but I love you more than words can say.The latter is technically not a lie, considering the only words I’ve heard from Pete since our divorce areno, I don’t want to see the kids.Even that’s generous, because it’s usually justNo.
So, you can see where his text this morning that saidWhen can I see the kids?made all kinds of colorful comebacks pop up in my mind.
But because I’m not the kind of parent to turn my children against their other parent, I go with the former. “Of course, he does, sweetheart. Where did this come from?”
Ella’s lips twist to the side as she looks up at me from under her dark lashes. “Well, I guess I don’t know. I kinda don’t remember him that much anymore.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” I scoot onto her bed so my back is pressed against the headboard and pull my daughter to me. Ella immediately accepts the affection by nestling into my side, her tiny arms wrapping around me in an embrace I will never take for granted. “I know. And I’m sorry about that. I…”
I what?What is there to say? I’m not about to unload on my nearly five-year-old daughter all the reasons we even have to have this conversation in the first place. Not even because she won’t comprehend most of it, but because this is not what my daughter should have to think about at her age. She should be telling me about what she wants for her birthday that is literally only a month away. She should be asking me to read her another bedtime story about a prince and a princess who live happily ever after in the kingdom of pick-an-exotic-word-ia.
“Office Seth would be a good daddy.” Again, her words—now drowsy with sleepiness—shock me. “I remember him. He always makes me happy.”
I swallow and close my eyes, wishing God would give me some kind of response. Because on my own, I don’t have one. She’s right. Seth would make an excellent daddy. I know he doesn’t think so, but believe me, kids are some of the best judges of character there are.
“I’m sure he would, but right now, my Princess Ella needs to go to sleep so she can wake up in the morning.” I’m not sure if that’s a good answer to her statement or not, but I don’t think I can talk about Seth right now without breaking down. I won’t be able to shake the feel of his rough but warm palm on my arm from earlier; I won’t be able to unsee the look he gave me when he lowered down in front of me, his hand on my leg, searching my eyes for answers I was scared to provide. Nothing beyond that happened because he got a call about an accident outside of town he had to go to, but those two things alone nearly pushed my waterworks button. “Maybe we can have some yummy muffins for breakfast if you go night-night.”
Food is 100% the way to Ella’s heart—oh, who am I kidding? Mine too—because she scoots back under the covers faster than I can blink. I try to keep the amusement from my face as I tuck her in, making sure she’s properly cocooned. If I don’t do it just right, she always tells me she’s “uncomfy.”
