Page 9 of The Jilted Lovers Club
I rap lightly on the door, then hear Bec’s quiet footsteps as she approaches the door. She peeks through the curtain, and her eyes widen when she takes us in. I can only imagine what is going through her mind, bringing some strange woman here, and know I’ll have some explaining to do.
“Is she okay?” Bec asks as she opens the door. Leave it to Bec to worry about some passed out girl’s well-being before asking where I’ve been, who this is, and why I thought it would be a good idea to bring her here.
“She will be, once she sleeps this off. I hate to ask, but…”
“Put her in Sasha’s room. I just changed the linens this morning.”
I do as she says, though my stomach twists at her admission. Bec’s hope is enough to fuel the world, even for a daughter who will never return. I was aware that the room remained unchanged for the past year and a half, but I didn’t know she was cleaning it, keeping it ready.
Just in case.
Once Jordy is on the bed, I find myself in the strange predicament of what to do next. The outfit she’s wearing had to have cost a small fortune, even with the small stain of vomit that soils her blouse. But I don’t know the woman, and I definitely don’t have consent to undress her.
“I can help,” Bec says behind me. “Besides, you have someone who’s been waiting up to see you. Now, shoo.”
She moves around me, then gives me a light push toward the door.
“Are you sure? Should I—” I point at the clothes in the closet, but her index finger is aimed at the door.
“Ashton, that girl has been asking for you all night. I got this.”
I hesitate for only a second longer, but leave and close the door behind me when I realize Bec is not changing her mind.
Bob is reading in his chair in the living room when I enter, and my daughter, Lottie, stands in the playpen. It will be her bed tonight, which really doesn’t faze my easygoing girl. She reaches for me, her springy coiled auburn hair all over the place despite the tight space buns I’d pulled it into early this morning.
“What are you doing, sweet girl?” I ask, lifting her into my arms as her face breaks into a huge grin. There’s nothing like a toddler in feet pajamas, so cuddly and sweet as she curls into my arms and tucks her head under my chin.
“Daddy,” she murmurs. “Daddy home?”
“Tomorrow, pumpkin. We’ll sleep here tonight. Did you have fun with Mimi and Papa?”
I feel her nod against my chest, hear her little fingers in her mouth.
“She was an angel, that one,” Bob says, “and probably overtired. We had a busy day checking on the cows, covering the beds with mulch, and soaking up the sunshine. I don’t remember it ever being this warm this time of year.”
“It’s always like this in the fall, Bob. You know that.” I lay Lottie back in her playpen, and this time she stays down, clutching the small stuffed rabbit I placed in her arms.
“I know,” Bob laughs. “It still catches me by surprise every year. I bet Oregon wasn’t like this.”
“We had our moments.”
Oregon feels like a lifetime ago, and sometimes like yesterday. Of course, my crops looked a little different back then. Here it’s rows of Swiss chard, lettuce, tomatoes, squash … but over there it was rows and rows of bushy cannabis plants. I thought I was set just keeping my head down and raking in the small piece of the pot, so to speak. Then I met Sasha and everything changed for the better—until it was for the worse.
But was it? Because now I have my sweet little girl, and Bob and Bec feel more like parents to me than in-laws. They’ve only known me for a few years, but you’d never know it with the way they treat me. And in return, I’d do anything for them.
I glance down at Lottie, and see that her eyes are already closed. Turning to Bob, I gesture toward the hall.
“Want to make a break for it while we still can?” I whisper. He nods, a smirk in his eyes as he lays the newspaper down next to his chair and follows me from the room.
“All right, mister. Tell me why there’s a drunk girl in our house.” Bec is three steps ahead of us when we join her in the kitchen. Three cups of tea sit on the center island, and I pull up a stool and Bob does the same.
“A drunk girl, eh?” Bob raises an eyebrow at me.
“It’s not what you think,” I say. “She’s working for Mr. Winslow. The town telephone chain has already gone into effect, and every single business in Lahoma has blackballed her, even the hotel. She had a bit too much to drink at Charred, then Bernie refused to honor her reservation. I couldn’t just leave her out there to the wolves.”
I leave out the part where Griff poured her doubles to purposely get her drunk, and the part where I stood by and watched it happen.
Bec clicks her tongue. “Poor thing. She has no idea what she’s up against.”
