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Caught at another red light, he whipped around in his seat to face his old man. “Oh yeah? That’s worse than being too blinded by love or lust or whatever the hell happened to you with my mother to see you were chasing after someone who didn’t want you? Who never wanted me? Are you so bitter that you want to see me make the same stupid, bullheaded mistake you made?” His hands shook with rage. “Claire told me she’d be all right on her own. I’ve already lived through the fallout of holding on to someone who doesn’t want me. I don’t need to do it again.”
His father sighed, looking every bit like the exhausted cancer patient he was. “At one time, your mother did love me. We loved each other. But I got caught up in building Absolute Security, took her for granted. I felt her slipping away little by little. It started with her reading the paper at dinner instead of asking me how my day went. Then before I knew it, she was sleeping in your room, claiming she worried about how much you were coughing at night.” Pausing, he glanced out the window. “I could have stopped it from going so wrong, but instead I ignored the ugly mess of our marriage. So did she, with the help of Jack Daniel’s. And then by the time she walked away from us, it was too late to save even your relationship with her.”
A heavy silence fell. Jake tried to process his old man’s revelation that opened so many long-buried scars.
His father closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. When he opened his eyes, tears glistened, making their blue depths sparkle. “What happened between your mother and I, well, I’m sorry for it. But you can’t let the mistakes she and I made dictate how you live your life.”
“I’m not.” Jake returned his gaze to the road and he crossed the intersection.
“So I’ll ask you again—do you love her?”
Clenching his jaw, Jake glared at the road, refusing to acknowledge his dad’s question. She didn’t want him. Fine. He’d be damned if he tried to force himself into her life where, as her brother had rightly pointed out, he didn’t belong. He pulled into the old man’s driveway and turned off the engine.
“So that’s it? You’ll just walk away with your tail tucked between your legs?”
An angry heat sizzled though his body. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Damn straight you are. You’re giving up.” His father slung open the door and got out. “If you love her, you fight for her. And if you aren’t man enough to do that, then I sure did a piss-poor job of raising you.” He slammed the door and stomped to the house.
Claire sank back into her pillows, her bedroom curtains shut tight, blocking out the midday sun. The pair of pain relievers she’d swallowed would soon dull the ache of her quickly healing bruised ribs so she could drift off into another unsatisfying nap.
Surrounded by a box of tissues, her silver cordless phone, the remote control, her cellphone and an empty carton of chocolate-brownie-chunk ice cream, she stared at the flickering images from a procedural cop show playing on the small television next to her dresser. It was the fifth episode she’d watched of an all-day marathon. She couldn’t remember a single moment of the earlier episodes. The heartbroken funk swamping her had rendered the show white noise.
Swiping at the dark stain dotting her yellow tank top, she decided it must be from last night’s ice cream snack. Or had it been the hot chocolate from the previous morning? Who knew? She’d been wearing the same top and black yoga pants for three days. What did it matter what she wore? It wasn’t as if she were going to work.
Rubbing salt into her wounds, she grabbed the week-and-a-half-old local paper from the nightstand. A huge full-color photo on the front page showed flames shooting from Harvest’s roof while firefighters sprayed it with water. The headline above it read, Arson Destroys Restaurant in Historic Building.
In a flash of anger, she crumpled the paper and hurled it across the gloomy room.
There was no more Harvest for her to go to and forget her shredded heart. Nope, she was only going from her bed to the bathroom to the fridge. Burrowing deeper beneath the blankets, she closed her eyes, hoping for a dream that didn’t involve watching Jake walk away.
She’d called him at his office the day after he’d left. His father’s hospitalization had been a cautionary move for a respiratory infection. They’d released him the morning after Jake arrived in Denver.
He’d made a vague promise to call again soon and hurried off the phone. It was over. The certainty of it washed over her like a tidal wave, its undertow pulling her out into a sea of misery.
Still, she waited by the phone, willing it to ring. It had. Her mom, brothers and Beth had checked in on her on a regular basis. They’d rung her doorbell and pushed their way inside, but she’d shooed them away, secretly expecting Jake to call. But he never did.
A few greasy strands of unwashed hair snuck out of her ponytail and tickled her cheek. Annoyed, she tucked the strands behind an ear as her heavy eyelids slid closed. Maybe she should take a shower. She would, as soon as she woke up.
Before she even had a chance to settle into a REM state, bright light burst into the room.
“Clarabell Anne Layton, I have had quite enough of this. I hereby declare your pity party officially over. Get out of bed and into the kitchen. I’ve got a non-chocolate, non-ice cream lunch waiting for you.” Her mom, Glenda, stood in front of the window, having yanked up the blinds. A motherly look of exhausted patience clear on her face as she walked across the hardwood floor and to the bedroom door.
Claire flipped the pillow over her head. “Mom, let me be.”
“You have five minutes to get your butt into the kitchen or else I’m sending your father in here to watch the game. He forgot his hearing aid at home, so the TV will be blaring loud enough to rattle your teeth, but if you’d rather stay in here, so be it.” Her footsteps tapped out the door. “Your time starts now.”
Claire groaned into the mattress. Her mom would send her dad in, no doubt with a bag of plain potato chips. He’d mumble at the television and elbow her to watch an instant replay.
“I have homemade macaroni and cheese baked with breadcrumbs on top,” her mom hollered from the kitchen.
Stomach growling, Claire sat up and swung the covers off. Candy wrappers that had been laying on top of the blanket flew across the room. Her ice cream spoon clattered on the floor. Yeah. It was time to get out of bed.
In the kitchen, Onion dogged Glenda’s feet as she took the glass casserole dish from the oven, pivoted and lowered her heavy load onto a trivet on the island. Th
e dog’s fat, pink tongue lolled from the side of his mouth as he sniffed the melted cheese aroma hanging in the air. There was no mistaking the greedy hope shining from his eyes. Good luck. Her mom was notoriously stingy when it came to feeding people food to dogs.
Glenda spooned some steaming macaroni and cheese into a white bowl. “Well, go get a fork. It’s always better when the cheese is still melty.”
