Maybe it was only in my mind, but the way she said it made me feel like she wanted me to get it all spruced up so she could move right in. I would die. I would die if he were living beside me with another woman, and then my children would have yet another tragedy to deal with. A vision of them sobbing in black at my funeral crossed my mind.
No. I couldn’t die. I didn’t have time.
The last thing I wanted was to walk through that front door, but I had to.
“You’re upset,” Jack said.
How perceptive. “No,” I said. “Not upset.”
Of course I was upset. How could I not be upset? I loved him, for heaven’s sake. He named his boat after me, and now he was having sleepovers with Realtors from Atlanta named Georgia. But I had no right to be upset. I had told him it wasn’t time for us to be together, that I had to focus on my girls. And all of that was true. When you loved someone, weren’t you supposed to want good things for them? I took a deep breath, swallowed my pride, and said, “You deserve to be happy.”
A flicker of emotion passed across his face. Certainly not his usual amusement. Something more like defeat, but maybe I was reading too much into it. “OK,” he said.
I handed him my sketchbook. “Please be careful with it,” I said. “You can look these over. I’ll come get it later.”
He tossed the book onto the ratty sofa, sitting on the green carpet, in the dimly lit room. This place was awful. But it wasn’t going to be. It was going to be pure luxury. For Jack. And Georgia.
“That’s exactly what I meant when I said to be careful.”
Jack rolled his eyes.
I felt like we were working up to some sort of fight, but there was nothing to fight about, nothing to fight for. We were over, and I just needed to go. “I’ll come get these in a few days,” I said.
“Ansley, come on,” he said.
I stopped, my hand on the doorknob, and turned.
“I know you’re not OK,” he said. “You don’t have to pretend. I get it. We can’t be together, but that doesn’t mean you have to be OK that I’m with someone else. I would hate that, roles reversed.”
I got that same feeling I get when I haven’t eaten in too long, and the room went wobbly. So he was with her. I knew what it looked like and I knew that, flat tire or no, if you wanted to get home, you could figure out a way to get home. But a part of me was hoping it wasn’t what it seemed. Maybe she had slept in the guest room. Maybe he didn’t have feelings for her. Maybe he didn’t find her attractive or interesting. Although, what red-blooded, straight American male wouldn’t find her attractive or interesting I wasn’t sure.
“Biscuit,” I called. No paws thumped across the floor. “Biscuit, I’m leaving right now. Come on!”
No paws. Really? I save the dog from a life of off-brand kibble at the shelter and this is the thanks I get? I guess I should have known she wouldn’t want to leave the house where she had spent her entire life up until a month ago.
I opened the door. “Send her into my yard when you find her.”
“Ansley,” he said. “Wait.”
But I couldn’t wait. All I could think about standing there was her. That woman in this house that, truth be told, I had envisioned myself living in from the moment I saw his car pull into the driveway.
I controlled my tears right up until the moment I walked through my front door. Mom was sitting quietly in the living room, the morning sun streaming through the windows. This was, without a doubt, the best time of day in this room.
She didn’t say anything, just patted the spot beside her. I noticed that even her hand looked frailer. “Honey, I know this is all a lot on you.”
She didn’t say anything more, but the unspoken truth that lingered between us was that she was glad about the decision she’d made.
I shook my head. “It’s not. It’s fine. It’s just that Jack is right there, and now there’s this other woman. And I realize I sound like a teenager.”
She smiled at me and patted my hand. “Darling,” she said, “we are teenagers forever when it comes to matters of the heart.”
She shifted on the couch and stood up slowly, a pained expression on her face.
I didn’t help, and I didn’t follow her out of the room. I was trying to give her space, allow her the independence she had asked me for.
Jack burst through my front door, tiny Biscuit tucked under his arm. “Did it occur to you to tell me that your mother is dying? Was that something you thought I might need to know?”
My stomach clenched, and I put my finger to my mouth. But before I could answer, my mother called, “We’re all dying, Jack. Some of us just sooner than others.”
Mom walked back into the living room, and Jack looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have blurted that out like that.”
Mom raised her eyebrow. “You shouldn’t have strange women spend the night, either. Look like a damned fool. It’s totally inappropriate.” Mom paused. “Your mother would want me to tell you that.”
Then she turned so only I could see, winked at me, and headed back toward her room. I stifled my laugh.
Jack shook his head. “Again, she seems fine to me.”
“Jack,” I whispered. “Mom hasn’t told the girls yet.”
He looked shocked. “Well, she’d better hurry the hell up. I just found out because two ladies I don’t even know were standing in front of your house saying what a shame it was and speculating whether the house would be for sale. The whole town is
