Jedd. Who apparently went on a date.
“Who was she?” I ask, closing my eyes as I will myself not to believe it. He wouldn’t do this to me.
“I don’t know, Momma. I didn’t speak with him.” Her voice softens as an edge returns to my face. My jaw holds firm. My teeth grind. I’ve always had trouble holding back my feelings in my expression, and the muscles of my cheeks pinch.
“And where were you?” The question falls into familiar tones of accusation with my agitation.
“I went out with Grizz. We went to Chris Roth’s.” Chris Roth’s is one of the highest-reviewed restaurants in Knoxville. I’ve never been, but I’ve heard of it. Some famous chef on one of those cooking shows I don’t normally watch on HGTV owns the place. They’re best known for pricey steak and fancy desserts. It’s romantic, from what I understand.
“Well, good for him,” I mutter, keeping my head down as the soapy mixture before me blurs. I’m past the point of trace in my process, because I let the stick blender run too long. Removing the handheld blender from the mixture, I set it aside and brace my hands on the table, pushing myself upward. My arms vibrate as my legs shake, and it’s taking all my self-control not to throw the pot of spoiled soap across the room. My heart races, galloping at full speed around a never-ending ring—how could this be happening to me again?—and I gulp for oxygen like a drowning fish.
“I need some fresh air,” I whisper. My body visibly quakes as I swipe the back of my hand over my forehead as if I’m too warn.
“Momma, I didn’t mean to upset you, I just thought you should know. Maybe…” She wrings her hands, and I glance up at the nervous motion. “Maybe it wasn’t what I thought.”
“Maybe,” I mutter, although the word is hollow on my tongue. My history with men leads me down the same mental path. There is always someone else.
I slip into my crutches and step over to the hook by the back door for my coat.
“It’s really cold,” Hannah warns me. She wouldn’t dare tell me not to go outside with the tension rolling off me.
“I’ll be fine. I think I’ll just walk down and see Hickory for a few minutes.” Jedd and I have discussed horse therapy, where grooming a horse or riding one helps soothe the soul. His friend Tower is an expert in this matter, at least among veterans.
Jedd told me he was going to pick up his friend from the airport yesterday, but I see he had other plans. Perhaps today is the day his friend arrives. I wouldn’t know any different. It’s how things went with Howard. Always lies. A drink with a friend. A meeting with someone. A night up in Knoxville at a farm convention. That was my favorite. And I never knew any better. “What friend?” I’d ask. “Meeting for what?” I’d questioned. “A farm convention? Can I go with you?” I’d hope for a romantic weekend away. I chuckle bitterly with the memory of Howard and his excuses as I descend the back steps.
Once I hit the hard ground, I decide the stable is the last place I want to visit. Entering Jedd’s sacred domain will be an overwhelming reminder of him, so I veer off toward the old barn instead. Jedd still hasn’t returned as his truck is absent both from the barn and the stable. He typically parks outside one or the other, but he would have come to the house, right? He’d come to see me after a night without me? I’d like to think the best, but my head suggests the worst. Was I thinking Jedd would want me and only me? He’s told me he has a nomad spirit. He’s told me about the buckle bunnies and the one-night stands. He’s no different than Howard in that regard. What makes me think he’d be a one-woman man with me?
I press open the heavy barn door, recalling the first time I entered and found the ease with which the door slid free. I’d marveled at Jedd and his ability, admired him actually, and all he could do despite his disability. “Differently abled,” he’d corrected. He’s found a way to work with what he has, and he’s forced me to forge a similar path. He’s motivated me to move. Make soap. Garden again. I owe all these things to Jedd. I also owe him my sexual reawakening, and the thought is followed by sadness.
Am I not enough for him?
With Howard, I’d always thought it was my fault. I was to blame for what we lacked. But as time had passed, I’d found myself less satisfied by him as well. Maybe Howard and I had been in a vicious circle, unable to please each other. Never, my heart whispers. You never wanted to please him. There’d been no reward in being nice to Howard. But what about Jedd? Have I satisfied him? He’s given me a horse, a greenhouse, and renewed hope. What have I given him in return?
As I stumble into the empty barn, the hollowness within its cracked panels and shards of dull light feels like my heart. The organ has been restored in many ways but is still not fully healed. And now, the cracks begin to pull apart once again. I stand in the barn with my head turning slowly as I look at nothing in particular.
I wonder where he is.
Suddenly, I’m not thinking of Jedd.
As I’ve spent so much time with Jedd over the winter months, feeding my stranger guest became more difficult. I didn’t want Jedd to frighten him off, so when I discovered the man was possibly sleeping in the barn, I began bringing food here instead of leaving it on the back porch. Giving him a warm meal instead of leaving it to cool on the outside steps made me feel better about serving him, even though I had no guarantee he was eating it fresh and hot as intended. I used Jedd’s old room as my drop spot although I knew for certain the stranger wasn’t sleeping there. The enclosed room would have been warmer than another section of the barn, but he also would have been exposed if Jedd wandered into the barn. He’d be trapped in the small confines of Jedd’s original bedroom—a mouse caught.
“Hello?” My voice croaks as I call out. “Are you in here?”
Silence follows my question, but I’d expect nothing less. I could use a friend. I can’t talk to Hannah about my feelings. It doesn’t seem right to share my confusion, my hurt, or my quandary with my daughter. I could call Naomi, and I will in time, but not yet. Instead, I speak to him as if he were some angel who could listen and offer advice.
Are you there, God? It’s me, Beverly. Again.
“What’s wrong with me?” I choke, swallowing back the lump threatening to gag me. “I mean, you’re a stranger, and you helped me out. You know nothing about me, and you were still kind. What am I missing?” Is it a physical thing? I refuse to accept this, knowing how well Jedd and I fit together. Knowing how we both have physical impairments, and it hasn’t made a bit of difference.
“Is it longevity? Is it commitment? Is that the issue? I’m not worthy of sticking around for.” The final statement breaks me, and a sob escapes, though I fight the tears, blinking rapidly. Cold seeps through my jacket. It’s becoming unseasonably warm for late February, but it’s not the external temperature making me shiver.
“Good thing I hadn’t married him,” I mock, my voice full of sarcasm and self-loathing, which shifts to disappointment. “I thought he was different.”
A hiccup-sob breaks free as I mutter things even I can’t comprehend. My throat feels as if fingers press against it instead of a comforting hand wrapped around my nape, tugging me forward for kisses. For foreheads resting on one another. For promises made in the dark.