Flabbergasted, I fall back in my chair.
Hannah believes I’m not able-bodied. Suddenly, I recall years of her telling me I can’t—can’t use the stove, can’t clean the house, can’t reach the washer, can’t work the soil—and then doing those things for me. She took control. Maybe unintentionally on her part, but I’ve allowed it to happen, and eventually, she stepped over me, just as Howard did. What I cannot do is allow this to continue.
I turn to Hannah. “I see what you’re doing. You’re turning this on me. I’m the incapable one. I’m the stupid one, and by offering our land to him, you’ve secured things for yourself. You want him, but a man like him will not replace your daddy. He left you. He abandoned us. Men cannot be trusted.”
Hannah stares at me as though I’ve struck her, something I’ve never done. Her mouth hangs open, and her face turns red while tears well in her eyes.
Jedd’s words rang equally as stunting. I’ve conditioned myself to believe Hannah is correct in her assessment—I can’t. She has replaced Howard in her condemnation of my abilities. My accident has given her a good reason to enable my behavior instead of enforce rehabilitation. I couldn’t do anything for myself, so I accepted her doing things for me. I’ve given her the power to crush my control. But Jedd’s the stranger here—the porch intruder, the barn invader—and we don’t need him telling us how our life is or how to live it.
I turn on Jedd next. “And you, thinking you can smooth talk your way onto my land, maybe into my daughter’s bed by giving her all your attention. I will not let you near her, trying to manipulate her by asking her opinion, feeding her pretty lines of promises to fix things and plant fields. You’re just like Howard, manipulating young girls with promises you won’t keep.”
Jedd’s hand hammers on the table, forcing the silverware to collide with the plates. We glare at one another. He’s angry, angry enough to maim, and I’ve no doubt he’s done so in the military, but I don’t care. My body vibrates with hatred and disappointment and disgust. In myself.
“Get. Out.”
Hannah looks over at me with terror in her eyes. “Momma, he can’t leave.”
“Don’t you ‘Momma’ me.” My voice drips, the venom of my words salivating in my mouth. I point between the two of them. “You want each other?” I question, looking from one to the other. “Well, my daughter, who takes her clothes off so men can gawk, will not call the shots in this house. You don’t want him to leave?” I direct to Hannah. “You don’t want him to run off like your daddy did? If you think fucking this man will keep him here, you won’t do it under my roof.”
Hannah’s face is ashen, mortified by what I’ve said, and I admit I don’t even recognize my own voice. Self-loathing possesses me as I’m hit with the ugly truth of being used by a man, manipulated by my offspring, and called to task by an outsider.
“Apologize to your daughter,” Jedd commands, his voice terrifyingly calm as his hand fists on the table.
I don’t react.
I’m tired of apologizing.
I’m tired of asking for forgiveness. From Howard, it was always for what I didn’t do, say, or think as he wished.
I’m tired of offering a continuous apology to my child for an accident—it was an accident, an unforgiveable, despicable crime—that threw both our lives off course.
I’m tired of praying for redemption when I’ve suffered enough.
When will I’m sorry be enough?
I glare at Jedd in defiance. How dare he come into our lives, into our home, and make us question ourselves? But I don’t have time to continue my list of curses against this stranger with murderous midnight eyes and a jaw edged in justice. He pushes back his chair and kicks at the leg of mine. My hands clutch the seat, daring him with my eyes to do his worst damage. I’m not afraid he’ll hit me. His body language does not suggest he’d use the power of his stature to cause me harm, but he’s looking to square off with me, and I’m itching to fight. If I thought I’d get away with it, I’d throw a swing, wanting a good punch at the smirk on his face, and the firmness of his chest, and the appeal of his physique. Because despite our faulty bodies, my body is drawn to his in a way I can’t explain and don’t wish to define. I desire him when it’s the last thing I should desire, especially with the fire flaming from each of our eyes.
Within a second of heavy breathing and smoke practically coming out of our nostrils, Jedd scoops me into his arms, lifting me from the kitchen chair and pressing me into his very capable chest.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I demand. “Put me down.”
“Mr. Flemming,” Hannah calls after him as he turns for the kitchen door and maneuvers the knob to open it. Within seconds, we are outside in the crisp, fall night air, and Jedd calls over his shoulder.
“Just giving your momma some fresh air to cool down.”
“I don’t need to cool down,” I scream. “I will not cool down!”
“You need to settle,” he tells me, and while I am overheated—between my temper and the closeness of his body—I yell at him once again.
“Do not tell me what to do!” The power of my lungs surprises me as I holler into the night, thankful only a moment later when I realize I’m angled at the left side of Jedd’s body, aimed at the ear he can hardly hear in. My voice cracks as the bellow echoes through the empty air. It feels good; it feels damn good to scream at the top of my lungs.
Do not tell me what to do.
I’m firing up to add, “Don’t tell me what I can’t do, either,” when my body is free-falling. Jedd has released me, and for less than a second, I’m weightless until I hit ice-cold water, and my body’s submerged in the frigid liquid.
I’m too stunned to speak, and the second scream lodges in my throat. I sputter. I choke. But I do not respond to my new surroundings.
“Mr. Flemming…” Hannah stammers, catching up to us on the side of the barn. “Momma,” she shrieks, stepping forward, taking in my new position inside a deep tub full of rainwater. Her head twists from me to Jedd and back. As she speaks to him, her eyes widen on me. She reaches for my hands. “Mr. Flemming, she didn’t mean it. She’s just hurting. She’s upset.”
“Don’t defend her,” Jedd states, stepping between my daughter and the tub. His dark eyes laser focus on me as I shiver, clothes soaked to my skin, and the cold seeping deeper.
What did I say?
What have I done?
“What your momma suggested was reprehensible, and I will not listen to anyone, momma or not, speak to her child like that, insinuating you have impure thoughts of me and suggesting I’d reciprocate such notions. I’ll ask you again, Beverly Townsen, just who do you think you are?”
I glare up at him, my lip trembling and my body quivering. I’d laugh, but there isn’t anything funny about what he’s said. This—swimming in a tub of rain for the pure enjoyment of it—was the kind of mischief I’d get myself into when I was a teen. But now, in my condition, and with what Jedd has accused of me, after I’ve thrown accusations at both him and my daughter, this goes on the list of things I’ll be needing to ask forgiveness for.