Page 22 of Free to Believe
I’m vaguely amused. “You think I have a dog that’s going to disturb you?”
“I’m almost certain of it,” he concludes.
“Why’s that?”
“Because just your being here is bound to be a pain in the ass.”
Now, I’m half-amused, half-offended. “How do you handle regular renters?”
“I don’t. And Danielle promised me there would be none of those until we were gone.”
“I see.” And I truly do. “Then if you could answer the question about parking?”
“If you plan on renting a car, then park on the right side of the garage. It’s filled with junk, but at least you won’t block me in.” Turning his back to me, he stalks off down the wraparound deck.
“I didn’t have any other questions, thanks!” I call out. He pauses, turns, and stalks back to me.
“Listen, lady. I didn’t want you here. We have family issues we’re trying to work out. Just stay out of my way and maybe we’ll be able to endure your visit while you recover from the broken nail you’re dealing with this week.”
Holding up my hands, I show off my perfectly polished nails.
“Well, damn. It must have been a really rough week,” he drawls. “What happened? Get into a fight over a man?”
His snarky words strike a little too close to home. “Actually, I ended my engagement to a lying, cheating bastard who also stole from me.” Ignoring the chastised look on his face, I shrug. “I guess I’m so shallow it was probably my fault though, right?”
“Emily…” There’s sympathy in his voice I neither need nor want.
“Please.” My tone is derisive. I can’t resist saying, “Why don’t we keep your own little brand of sunshine in your corner and I’ll stay in mine?”
Turning, I start to walk down the stairs that head toward the garage apartment. I hear him call out, “If you need anything, let me know!”
Hell might freeze over before I ask this man for help. I just flick my hand over my shoulder as I cross the decking that connects our two properties. Even through my own stress, I haven’t forgot the life lessons my aunt taught me. Be strong. Be courteous. Be polite unless you absolutely can’t. Because kindness is free and can set about a chain reaction of events.
What is it about Jacob Madison that drives me over the edge away from those lessons?
13
Jake
It seems my luck with women is consistent this week. I’m on the outs with my cousin, my daughter,andmy new neighbor. Dani hasn’t returned my calls since she hung up on me after finding out I was an asshole for no other reason than I was put out. Jenna is still pissed over my reaction to her announcement. Since then, the only words I’ve received are in writing and directly pertain to her work schedule. I let out a harsh breath in pace with the slapping of my feet in the hard sand. I have no idea what to do other than tell Jenna that I’ve looked at RISD and ask her what she plans on doing if she can’t make it as a designer.
It’s a pipe dream. It’s fantastical. Sure, she’s an amazing artist, but a designer? That takes a practicality and a cutthroat attitude I’m not sure exists in my baby girl.
Churning my legs harder, I disrupt a flock of shore birds as I pound past. It’s early morning and the beach is deserted. I’m taking advantage of this incredible weather to get in a workout before I have to suffer the evil dread-mill in the harsh winter months.
Coming to Nantucket was both a good and miserable decision. It got me and Jenna out of the rut we were in, but it’s put us smack in the middle of other memories. I feel like I’m battling so much pain on so many sides, there’s not enough happiness to combat it. Do I capitulate under the whims of my daughter in order to work our way back to us? Should I just give in?
No, I tell myself firmly, picking up my stride. Jenna has to demonstrate why she wants this as much as why she’d want any other school. And somehow, I feel like this is just another test of hers, another button to push to see how far she can aggravate me.Be strong. Set the example for her now, I lecture myself as I huff in another breath. This way she won’t be so flighty with her decisions.
Not like her mother.
Pausing, I drop my hands to my knees and pant. Marriage to Michelle wasn’t perfect—not by a long shot. We were too young when she got pregnant. I was barely twenty-one; Michelle had just turned twenty. But I thought we were in love. I knew with a little hard work, we could make it as a little family.
But while I grew up the very second Jenna was put into my arms, my dreams of becoming a professional musician being put aside in order to support my family, Michelle never did. After the initial newness wore off, she wanted the life we had before. She wanted the man she’d met who seduced her with his saxophone from behind the bright lights of the stage. She wanted the man who would croon to her alone in a room full of strangers.
I had no clue she began to seek that attention out while I was home watching Jenna. She claimed she was going to work, to school, to mommy support groups. She wasn’t lying about work or school; it would have been hard to lie about those as I took care of the bills. But God, was I a fucking fool. I believed her when she said all the mommies drank glasses of wine to alleviate their stress. Michelle was so much happier, so our little world was.
This went on for years until the night Jenna got so sick she had to go to the hospital.
