Six
The punch of regret came on the heels of her fury.
Would he come back to her if she asked? Could they salvage their marriage if he did? When she realized she could never forgive him for what he’d done, her regret melted into an overwhelming sadness. She’d loved Marc with her whole heart and thought he loved her too. Retreating to the couch, she cocooned herself with a soft blanket and sobbed until there was nothing left.
Hours later, her anger returned, but this time it landed on Marc for casually discarding a marriage that had meant everything to her. And when the anger was finished with Marc, it turned on Jill. It accused her of abandoning the woman she used to be, rough-edged and loud, in favor of the plastic shell of a woman that Marc preferred. And when her anger was satisfied with the damage it had done, it stilled, leaving her feeling hollow and afraid.
Panic filled the space that anger had carved out, reminding Jill that everything in this house, from the shoes in her closet to the pepper mill in the pantry, had been purchased by Marc. The income from Jill’s photography business was barely enough to pay for the newspaper delivery. To support herself, she’d have to find a job—and quickly. Not that she was afraid of hard work; she wasn’t. She’d come from nothing, earning her place in college with grades and paying her way with work-study and student loans. The life Marc provided was easier, but it came with a cost, and Jill refused to pay it. Not anymore.
When she realized she could right herself again, the panic receded, leaving her feeling utterly exhausted and alone. She felt a wave of despair and almost buckled against it.
And in that moment, a memory of Aunt Sarah presented itself.
Aunt Sarah had been a gentle presence during a difficult childhood and was a master of untangling painful situations. She was the one who had taught Jill to manage and control her anger, gently explaining that those emotions only served to cloud rational thought.
The memory gave Jill the strength to push aside the blanket and rise from the sofa. Shards of broken pottery crunched under her feet as she made her way to the sink and filled a glass with water. The liquid cooled her throat and cleared her head as she found her way to Aunt Sarah, her voice as clear and distinct as if the woman herself were standing in the kitchen, and Jill felt tears of longing collect behind her lids. She closed her eyes and let the tears fall.
“Chin up, sweet pea,” Aunt Sarah said, her voice as gentle as the rustle of fall leaves. “This is not a disaster, though it may seem like one now. This is a correction, and there are valuable lessons in upheaval.”
Jill felt a bittersweet smile tug at her lips. Aunt Sarah was all about great life lessons.
“I see you, Jillian DiFiore,” Aunt Sarah continued, her voice as warm as Jill remembered. Jill let it wash over her. “I know what you’ve overcome, and I know what you can do. The fight’s not over and you cannot give up now. You have to remember what’s important.”
“I thought my marriage was important.” Jill’s croak broke the silence.
Instead of an answer, Jill felt the softest caress across her brow and she froze, knowing it was Aunt Sarah and wishing the moment would last forever.
“I miss you, Aunt Sarah,” Jill whispered.
And the moment was gone.
Sometime later, Jill watched the headlights of Ellie’s car slice through the darkness as she came up the driveway. Ellie had called to chat on her way home from the Brockhurst compound in East Hampton, and when Jill had told her what Marc had done, she’d insisted on coming over right away.
Jill met her outside. “You didn’t have to come right away, Ellie. I’m okay.”
“Is he still here?” Ellie demanded as she glared over Jill’s shoulder toward the house.
“No. I threw him out.” Jill straightened.
Ellie turned her attention back to Jill, her gaze steady but gentle. “And tomorrow?”
Jill winced, though the question was reasonable. Jill’s track record for relationships wasn’t great and Ellie had seen the worst of them. But this time it was different. Marc wasn’t a boyfriend; he was her husband, and he’d betrayed her, more than once. Then he’d laughed it off as if it were nothing. Jill wanted to tell Ellie all of that, but she couldn’t find the words, so she pressed her lips together and shook her head.
“Okay then.” Ellie slipped her arm around Jill’s shoulders. “We can work with that.”
Jill leaned into years of friendship as they crossed the driveway to the house. At the first sign of trouble, Ellie was the friend who grabbed a pitchfork and lit the torches on her way to storm the castle. She was encouraging when she needed to be, tough when the situation called for it, and she always took Jill’s side, no matter what. Having her here made Jill feel as if what she faced was not insurmountable. As if it was possible to salvage the life that Marc had so casually tossed away.
They entered the house through the side door. When they came to the kitchen, Ellie stopped in her tracks and gaped at the mess Jill had left: broken dishes scattered across the floor, red sauce splattered on the wall, and bubbles in the drywall where it had been hit with boiling pasta water.
“Wow.” Ellie whistled. “I missed some fight. You must have been pissed.”
“I was. I am.” Jill slid onto a chair, completely drained. She felt Ellie take a seat beside her and they sat in silence.
“You’ll get through this, Jilly,” Ellie offered. “I’ll help you, whatever you need.”
“Aunt Sarah was here,” Jill said finally.
That got Ellie’s attention. “Tell me.”
“There’s not
