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“Thanks,” I say.
He still studies me. “When you talk to him, let him know we miss him and would love to see him.”
“Okay,” I say, unsure. Jackson has never mentioned the Williamses, and so I’m not sure why they look so sad that they can’t talk to Jackson, why they’re analyzing me like I broke some code.
I honestly don’t know how it happened. Loving Jackson happened slowly, that I didn’t know I was in it until I was. It happened over days of dog walks, conversations over sandwiches and cookies, New Year’s. How I’ve gotten to know the core of him, and he’s gotten to know the core of me. How last night was so special and culminating. It put all my fears to rest.
Now, this man looks at me like Jackson has more secrets that I don’t know. Maybe I’ll never know him fully. There’s dark crevices and spots I may not be able to reach right away. I’m willing to dig.
“Marla, there you are,” Pastor Williams says. A woman in her early sixties walks toward us, her hair in a silver bob, wearing a gray cardigan over a floral top. She floats with elegance. There’s something familiar about her that I can’t place. The pastor wraps his arm around his wife and turns her to me.
“Marla, this is Shiloh, Earl’s granddaughter. She’s befriended Jackson Finch.”
Without warning, she grabs me for a hug, tight and unforgiving. I sense she needs this, so I reciprocate, my arms circling her back. When she pulls back, she looks at me.
“It’s so good to meet you. We’ve heard a lot about you,” Marla says, her hands still on my arms.
“What is going on?” My tired brain can’t sort this information.
“Jackson was our son-in-law,” Marla says. “Amy was our daughter.”
The world collapses in on me. I try for a big smile as I let Marla hold my hands. Words are escaping me right now. I’m not sure how to navigate this, what should I say?
Nothing feels right.
I’m sorry for your loss.I’m not replacing your daughter. I never want him to forget her. I respect her so much, and I tried to stay away so long. I’m not sure Jackson will ever love me the same way he loved your daughter, and I’m okay with that.
“Has he mentioned her?” she asks. Her lips press in a line, and I see water pooling in her eyes.
“He has. She sounds like she was a very special woman.”
“That’s good,” Marla says. “That’s really good.”
I take her hand in mine because this woman deserves comfort. Jackson wasn’t the only one who lost Amy.
Pastor Williams walks to his wife’s side. “We’ve been trying to reach him since he moved back. We would love to have him over for dinner. Catch up. You are welcome too.”
I feel vulnerable under their gaze. They can tell we’re involved, that it’s more than friendship, I know it. That I’m the first woman he’s been with since her.
“I’ll tell him. Hopefully, you can have that dinner.” It doesn’t feel appropriate to insert myself into their reunion, when they could very well discuss a woman who overshadowed his whole life, while I occupy a small sliver.
“Thank you,” Marla says, holding my hands. “Honestly. Jackson feels like a piece of her, in some strange way. We would love to see him. Maybe you can mention it to him?”
“I will do my best.” This woman hugs me again, and I smile, crossing my arms across me.
Papa puts his own arm around me, pulling me away. “Rob and Marla, it was so nice to chat. We must find our seats!” He shuffles, hanging onto me, holding his blended coffee in the other hand. He smiles until he’s out of sight from the pastor and his wife.
“I worried this would happen,” he says.
“Why does everyone assume I have some magical power over him?” I whisper. I stay out of gossip, but that doesn’t mean I’m not the subject of it.
“You do, girlie,” Papa says. We walk into the worship room and find comfy, red chairs in an empty row. He pats my knee as I sit down. “Jackson barely left the house prior to meeting you. He’s smiling, laughing. People have seen him around town. With Rob and Marla, that’s one of the hurdles he hasn’t jumped over. They have tried several times to reach out to him, but he doesn’t take their calls. It really hurts them. They pray for him all the time.”
Why doesn’t he talk to them? I remember a couple times we were out, and he would scan each place before we went in, determining if there was someone there he didn’t want to see. Has he been avoiding them the whole time? I sip my coffee as I think.
Papa greets several church members and glows when he introduces me to them, and all I can think about Jackson avoiding Amy’s sweet parents. Why would he avoid them?
“I have to go to the bathroom,” I tell my grandfather five minutes before the service starts.
