Chapter 24
June 3, 1936
The swelling in my eye has gone down, my vision is back to normal, and my headache has finally subsided. I have not seen Papa since that dreadful night, and honestly, I am okay with that. I do not think my head can handle another blow.
Belle dropped off a letter with my dinner. She hid it under my plate so there was no chance Papa would see it.
“Jo founds that boy under the oak waiting for yous.”
I whipped my head up to meet her gaze. Samuel. Still here. Waiting.
“Jo tolds him what happened. He also gave the boy some food and some clean socks,” Belle whispered.
I couldn’t help the joy that tugged my lips into a smile, and then the fear that overwhelmed me for the trouble Jo and Belle could get into. Two people I love most in this world, more family than my own papa, risked their jobs…for me.
I gripped Belle’s leathered hand. “Please thank Jo. I know the trouble he could get into,” I whispered back.
She squeezed back. “Okay, Angel. That boy was so upset he was ready to breaks in the house. But Jo tolds him to calm down, and that it was best if he left yous alone and hopped on the next train out of town.” Belle released her hand and crossed her arms, staring down at me still as she kept her voice to a whisper. “Yous know yous could cause that boy his death.”
A tear slid from my eye as I nodded. I needed to tell Samuel to leave, run away from here, from me, from the dangers of my Papa. In my heart, I knew it was right, but in my heart, I also knew it was unfair. Why me? Why was it not okay for me to have love?
“He’s not gonna leave though,” Belle cut into my thoughts. “Your boy tolds Jo he would wait for yous, until yous healed and could come see him.”
Relief spread through my chest like running water. But while I was thrilled Samuel wasn’t leaving, I still worried. My selfishness prevented the statement you should go from leaving my lips. When I was with him, everything seemed right.
I unfolded the dirty piece of paper with trembling fingers. His beautiful handwriting stared back at me. From his penmanship, I could tell he hadn’t always been poor.
His letter was full of sadness yet humorous, for he feared I didn’t like him after our kiss.
I was certain you have not come to see me because you thought I was a bad kisser, he wrote.
How silly? The thought of our hands entwined, lying under the sky together and our brief but wonderful kisses were the only things that got me through my time in bed. I wished I could hop the train with him and go to New York then Paris. Lila was leaving me, and I didn’t think I could bear to stay in the house after she was gone…
Momma stares back at me from the picture on my nightstand, her smile like a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day. I have her almond shaped eyes, chin, and nose. Despite what Papa says, I choose to believe I look more like her than him.
I miss her so much.
Momma was such a sweet woman, and Papa controlled his drink when she was alive. She would have loved Samuel, despite the fact he is poor. She saw goodness in everyone, and I strive to be like her daily, even trying to find redeemable qualities in Papa when he acts as if he hates me so.
And although I have not known Samuel long, I know I love him. Unlike Papa, he has made it hard not to.
****
John sucked in a deep breath and ignored the pressure mounting in his chest. No matter what, he had a job to do, and he couldn’t stop in the middle of it. He had his children and his portfolio to think about…not his broken heart.
Several cars lined the newly laid gravel drive of the manor. Despite yesterday’s scene, the people of Bakersville were still on the job, either to see a project complete, or to catch up on the latest gossip, he wasn’t sure which. Probably a little of both. Still, he wanted to yell and call them all traitors for showing up, for picking her over him, the city slicker over their local home-grown boy.
At least, that’s what it felt like.
But, at the same time, he was thankful they were there. Rosalyn deserved the chance at new life, and despite his broken heart, and as much as he wanted to hate Lesley, he couldn’t. Damn it, if he didn’t still love her and needed to see her project complete…for her.
He searched the drive for the little black ant of a sports car. Nowhere to be seen. Some of the pressure lifted. If he meant anything to her then hopefully, she’d come to her senses and sent her ex packing.
Big if.
He gripped his hand, missing the steel from his toolbox, feeling naked without it. Not bothering to knock, he pushed through the front door of the house. To his surprise, the sheetrock appeared completed, under the supervision of Lesley’s father no doubt. The job looked good, and thankfully, he could move forward with the renovations.
The thought of possibly never meeting Frasier again stung. He liked the man, and his uncle seemed fond of him also. He was sad to lose a potential good friend.
People meandered around the house, eating muffins and drinking coffee. Their Sunday best clothes had been changed for T-shirts and overalls. Many waited on him to give the orders, but he hadn’t come with a plan of action. All he had thought about for the past fifteen hours was the way Peter pulled Lesley in for their kiss…and how she hadn’t pushed back. Not soon enough, at least. He’d seen her knee the guy in the groin through his rearview mirror…about thirty seconds too late.
Shame she just didn’t do that to begin with. All of this could have been resolved a lot sooner. He let out a deep breath and stared around the house. Racking his brain about what project needed to start next, the sound of footsteps made him turn his head.
Lesley walked out from her bedroom. Her tan legs donned those cutoffs he loved, and her bright pink tank top made her skin appear more tanned, her hair blonder, and her frame stronger. She stopped when she saw him and worked her bottom lip between her teeth.
He stifled the instinct to run to her and wrap her in a sweeping hug, while at the same time, he wanted to avoid her. However, both feats would be next to impossible. Temptation to leave almost took over. He ran yesterday; he wouldn’t run again. Instead, he held her gaze and moved toward her. She did the same. She wasn’t paying attention…
“Watch out.”
She tripped over the toolbox in the middle of the floor.
His hands were on her before she had a chance to touch the ground. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” She squeezed his arms. “I’m fine. Thank you.”
Once she was upright, he pulled his hands back to his sides, fighting the primal urges he felt when he held her. The tension between them compressed his chest, almost as if he was suffocating. How could he do this job with her if she picked Peter over him?
He couldn’t. He’d never quit in the middle of a job before, but he would have no choice but to abandon this one.
Lesley wanted to wrap her arms around John, pull him closer, but she couldn’t. He was hard, impenetrable.
The man she loved—gone. In his place was the mask of a suffering man. His eyes were bloodshot, his face unshaven, and his mouth sat ruler-straight. He could have been chiseled from stone. Just like the first day she’d met him.
She was losing him, and it was all her fault.
“John, please.” Lesley touched his arm, but he pulled away and stalked toward the sitting room. Not wanting to cause a scene, she silently followed, forcing a smile at the people she passed.
“John,” she repeated, her voice low.
They needed to talk, to figure this out. She needed time and him to give it to her. Her heart, her mind, nothing made sense but one thing. She loved him, but still…was she ready?
“I need you to understand, I didn’t expect Peter to show up yesterday.”
Finally, he turned toward her, but took a step back, placing more distance between them. “Where is he now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you send him away?”
“Not exactly.” Her voice shook as she ran a hand over the back of her neck.
“Then we have nothing more to say.”
He grabbed a paint can from the corner of the room and shook it with so much force, she worried it would fly out of his hand and straight through the new window he had emplaced.
“You have to give me a little time. I need to sort this out.”
“He cheated on you, Lesley. Nothing to sort out.” He popped the top off with a screwdriver and grabbed a wooden stir stick, avoiding eye contact.
“I understand, but it’s not that easy. We were together for years.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because, John, please.” She knelt beside him. “I need you to understand.”
“It doesn’t matter whether I understand or not. I’m just your contractor.”
His words hit her hard. While she asked him to give her time, it was obvious he needed time himself. She stood and backed away. “No. You’re not. Please,” she repeated. A tear formed in her eye. “John, just listen.”
He opened his mouth but an incessant honking outside cut off his words. “What the hell is that?” he asked when the noise stopped.
A brand new, navy sporty thing sat in front of the house, Peter behind the wheel.
Why is his timing so shitty?
“Awesome,” John mumbled as he pushed his gaze to the ceiling, the tension around his eyes causing wrinkles.
“Please. Just let me take care of this. I’ll be right back. Just wait a second.” Lesley pushed through the crew—most of them gawking at the show going on outside—to get to her front door.
Behind her, she heard John call. “This way everybody. We’re painting today. Come grab a roller.”
Thankful for the distraction, she met Peter by the ostentatious vehicle. “Peter, what the hell is this?”
“Your new car.”
She crossed her arms. “My what?”
“After our talk last night, and you told me you sold your car, you didn’t really think I’d let your only source of transportation be a bicycle, did you?”
“That’s not your decision to make,” she ground out.
“Sure it is. In my heart, you’re still my wife, and besides, today would be our eleventh anniversary.”
Anniversary? She thought about the date. Peter was right, and she’d completely forgotten.
He reached for her hand. “Happy anniversary, sweetheart.”
She pulled out of his grasp. “Ex-wife, Peter. We don’t have an anniversary anymore.”
“For now. That can change as soon as you say the word.”
“We talked about this last night. I thought you had your closure.” She was gaining hers for the second time; he obviously still needed to get his and fast.
John charged down the front steps. “I have to leave. Emma needs to do some work at the bakery, and I don’t have anyone to watch the children. She’ll be by later when she gets a chance.”
“Wait, John. Please?”
He didn’t stop.
He was running. If he really needed help with the children, Milton could watch Rachel and Matthew, or John could even bring them to the house. He knew she loved the kids…or was this his way of saying he didn’t want her around his children anymore?
“Failing on the job, contractor,” Peter chided.
“Peter, stop. Now,” Lesley hissed. “You have no place in this conversation.”
“Those are nice wheels you got there.” John pointed to the flashy car sitting in the drive before he loaded into his truck.
“It’s not mine. It’s for my wife.” Peter winked at her.
“No. Peter, shut up. Now.” If she could just get two words in, two minutes with John—alone—to straighten all of this up then he could tell Peter to take a hike himself if he wanted.
The truck door slammed.
“John, wait,” she called, her voice muffled by the sound of his engine.
No. This was not happening again. Not two days in a row.
She waved her arms high and called his name again. “John.”
But he didn’t see her. His head was turned as he backed the truck out of the drive and drove off, not giving her another glance.
Damn it.
She turned, hands on her hips. “You bastard. I’m not your wife, and this is not my car.”
“All could be again if you want it to be.”
“No.” She reared back and kicked the tire. “Ow, damn it.” Her toe throbbed as she hopped.
“Are you okay?” He scooted closer and reached out to steady her.
“I’m fine, and don’t touch me.” She pulled her hand away from his. “I don’t want you here, and I don’t want any of this. The only anniversary I want to remember between us is the day we signed the dotted line for our divorce. Just leave. You’ve really made a mess of everything.”
No, I’ve really made a mess of everything.
“Angel, babe, you don’t mean that.” He tried to pull her close again.
She grounded her foot and shoved back. “Angel is the name of my cat, not a pet name you can suddenly give me, and I am not your babe. And yes, yes I do mean that.”
“Everything okay out here?” Linda hollered from the front porch. She had a roller in her hand and a pair of baggy overalls on.
“Everything’s fine, Linda. Peter here was just leaving.”
“’Bout damn time,” the former librarian retorted.
Peter shot a hard stare toward the woman as he pulled his sunglasses from his jacket pocket. “I see you still need some more time to think. I’ll be at the hotel again today. I’ll be in touch.” He placed the glasses over his eyes, jammed his legs in the small, blue road racer, and drove off.
“Agh!” Lesley screamed to the sky.
“Let me guess.” Linda took her time as she sauntered down the steps and toward her. “You’re torn between your past and your future?”
“No, I wasn’t. Not until Peter showed up. Then all these feelings resurfaced. Our divorce was so awful and sudden, and I was quick to draw up the papers.”
“And a part of you wonders if you made a mistake by getting a divorce. He’s got money and power, seems apologetic, and he can give you financial security.”
“A part of me did wonder that, yes.”
“But you don’t anymore?” Linda raised an eyebrow. “You’ve made your decision?”
“I knew it from the beginning. Peter never loved me in our ten years together like John has in the past few weeks. I love John, but even still, I wonder if we will work.”
“So, then why were you being such an idiot? Is it the money?”
At least she would never have to guess what this woman thought. “It’s not the money or the love.”
“No?” Linda slung the paint roller over her shoulder. “What is it then?”
“The kids, partially, living in his dead wife’s shadow is another…” How could she compete with someone that isn’t even alive? How could anyone?
“What else?”
“Independence. I came here to be on my own for a change. To see if I could survive without a man.”
“Can’t you be independent with a man by your side?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her hand and slumped her shoulders. Thirty years old and she couldn’t answer a simple question. “I never have before.”
“Well, there’s a first time for everything.”
Linda slapped her on the back, and Lesley winced from the pain yet understood the underlying meaning of the smack. It wasn’t friendly camaraderie.
She straightened, and avoided rubbing her shoulder. She could take a slap from this old lady. Hell, she should’ve smacked herself.
“Maybe so, but not only would I have a husband, but also two children underfoot. And a few nights ago, I got a real example of what being a stepmother would be like.” She thought about Matthew with his little shoulders slumped, his head down, and eyes filled with tears. She’d never wanted to cause either of John’s children such pain.
“Oh yeah, and what’s your take on the parenting life?”
Her take. For lack of a better word, she said the first thing that popped in her mind. “Hard.”
“Hard, huh?” The older lady rocked on her heels. “It seems to me you and John have been working hard to get this house shaped into something a business owner would be proud of.”
The woman’s tone insinuated Lesley needed to listen, but how in the world did a house relate to parenting? “Yeah, so?”
“It’s really starting to come together, wouldn’t you say?”
She turned and stared at Rosalyn. Even though the exterior still hadn’t been complete, the new windows and trimmed up lawn did breathe a bit of new life into the old home, a glimpse at the hope to come. A future she could see with John, and Rachel and Matthew, and a dream worth the work and effort put into it.
Realization dawned on her. “I think I understand the point you’re making.”
“And what’s my point?”
“That something worth anything is worth the hard work put into it.” A relationship with John was worth the effort. Despite her fears of living in his deceased wife’s shadow, her love for him and his kids had grown bigger than anything she ever could have imagined.
“Maybe you’re smarter than you act.”
Ouch! But she deserved that.
“Let John be your partner, not your owner. I can guarantee if you go back with that ex of yours, you won’t have your business or your independence. And, well…let me just say if you’re stupid enough to go back to him, then you’re really not that smart, and you don’t deserve love from a guy like John.”
Double ouch! She winced at the harsh words. “Tell me how you really feel, why don’t ya?”
“You know I’m right.” Linda wagged a finger. “Besides, someone needs to help you wake the hell up.”
She did need a wakeup call. But even confessing her love for the man didn’t change the fact she followed in some mighty big footsteps.
“What about him getting over his wife? He’s not completely healed yet.”
“Do you think you’re completely healed from your divorce?”
“A few weeks ago, I would have told you yes, but now, after Peter showing up the way he has, and the emotions from our past resurfacing, it’s safe to say no. Not completely, but I don’t want him back. I want to move forward.”
“Sandra’s never coming back, and John knows that. He’s doing a lot better than he was even two months ago, and it’s because of you. Give him a little more time.”
Time. Exactly what she had asked him to give her.
“Tell me something, Linda.” Lesley stared up at Rosalyn—her dreams finally coming true, and all because of the man she’d foolishly hurt. “Why do people cheat?”
“They get bored.” She shrugged. “And I know from experience that once a person cheats, it’s hard for them to stop. Don’t waste your time on the past, Lesley. John’s your future.” Linda gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder this time.
“What if John doesn’t forgive me?”
“Well, then you royally effed up, but I know him. I’ve been rather fond of him for a long time.”
Lesley couldn’t suppress her smile. “So, I’ve heard.”
“Then let me tell you what I know to be true. John’s love is big and deep. He may be hurt, but he isn’t unreachable.”
Could have fooled me. His demeanor earlier said otherwise. “Hopefully, you’re right. Thanks, Linda.”
“You’re welcome. Now, get your little ass in there and get to painting. You’ve got a lot of walls in this place and they aren’t going to paint themselves.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Lesley followed the bookstore owner up the steps to her home—her responsibility. She did need to grab a paintbrush and get to work with the crews, but what she desired more than anything was to fix her mistake. Find John. Make things right.
She stopped and stared at the threshold. The one they had crossed wrapped tightly in each other’s arms the night they first made love. A nauseating bubble dared to pop in her stomach.
Linda turned. “You all right?”
“Fine. I’ll be fine.” She shook her head and continued inside like nothing had happened, the bubble sinking to the bottom of her stomach.
What if he said no? Would she be all right?
Lesley picked up a roller and dipped it in an already prepared paint tray. She couldn’t think like that. She would be fine. They would be fine.
Spreading the roller over the wall, she focused her thoughts on each stroke, one by one, doing her best to tune out her doubts.
****
Lesley laid in bed, reflecting on her day. A box fan sat in the corner of her room on high to help air out the smell of the paint fumes. If her night was going to be anything like the previous one, she wouldn’t get any sleep. She’d tossed and turned thinking about her relationships, and despite her conversation with Linda earlier, she still thought about Peter and John. Mostly John.
She wiped a tear as she silently begged God to help him understand, to allow him to forgive her. She’d been hurt, confused, angry, and sad all at the same time when Peter showed up.
Her phone dinged, pulling her out of her self-loathing.
Could her prayers be answered that fast?
Anxious, her fingers shook as she reached for the device, hoping, wishing for some type of message from John. She’d texted him a picture of the paint job, but she hadn’t heard back from him. She’d thought if she texted him something, anything about the manor, he would open up to her. Stupid to think putting a little color on these old walls would get him excited, but she had to try. Like buying a lottery ticket even though she knew she wouldn’t win, still…she had to try.
She punched in the code to her phone and checked the text. Emma. Her heart slowed.
—Peter’s car is still at the hotel. Thought you’d like to know—
She typed in a quick a response.—Thanks. He should be leaving tomorrow—
Despite everything, Emma was still her friend. And despite everything that happened with Peter, deep down, she still had love for him. She would never wish anything ill to happen to him, and trusted that one day he would find happiness. It just couldn’t and would never be with her.
John had her heart. Completely.
She thought being a mom had been ruled out of her future after the divorce, but her soul ached at the thought of missing the opportunity. Being with John could give her that, too. Her biggest fear was being a terrible mother. And while she might suck at it in the beginning, she knew Linda was right. Anything worth its weight was worth fighting for. She would try her hardest to be a good mother to Rachel and Matthew, and a good wife to John…if he let her.
Angel snuggled in beside her, and she rubbed the feline’s head. As much as she’d grown to love the beast, he couldn’t be her sole companion. This house needed love, a family…and so did she.
On the nightstand, the key her aunt gave her glistened from the moonlight peeking through her window. She’d searched the house high and low, but the unit didn’t fit any lock. Maybe Aunt Myrtle had gone senile in her final days.
Lesley sat up in bed, grabbed the journal next to the key, and flipped the book open to the next entry. Though her love life remained in shambles, she could only hope her aunt’s had gotten better.