The Usual Family Mayhem

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Two hours later I sat on Jackson’s couch with my feet balanced on his coffee table. On the drive over here, Jackson and I debated if the poison was still somewhere on Gram and Celia’s property. No matter how many times we’d asked we never got a clear response. Celia and Gram were determined to keep some secrets to themselves.

Jackson leaned back into the cushions. “This has been a hell of a day.”

We sat side by side, sprawled out, thighs touching, and more than a little unnerved by the information we’d just heard. “I know you’re tempted to blame my presence in town as the reason for the slightly chaotic way your week is going.”

He lifted his head and looked at me. “Slightly?”

Yep. Ignoring that. “But, today, that conversation was not my fault.”

He frowned but couldn’t hold the mood. Amusement lingered just under the surface and peeked out in subtle ways. In his voice. In the way he fought a smile. “I’m surprised you didn’t throw your back out jumping to that conclusion.”

“Look at you being all funny despite the lawyer thing.”

He really had lightened up since that Anna chick left.

To be fair, she was probably very nice, because Jackson wouldn’t date a mean girl, but their personalities didn’t match . . . or maybe they matched too well. Not sure what the problem was but I’m not sad she’d moved on.

“I have many skills,” he said.

I never would have guessed making me feel at home, welcome, would have been one of them but here we were. We each had a glass of wine, but they sat untouched on the table, as if moving required too much energy. We were content to snuggle into the cushions with not a breath of air between us.

“It’s weird I’m not more upset about women offing their bad husbands.”

Chalk it up to my father or my grandfather, but the idea of violent men being removed from society permanently barely caused a minute of uncertainty. Women’s safety trumped all other concerns.

“It’s hard to root for an abuser.”

I’d been prepared to argue and defend the ladies’ position but he didn’t express reservations. Sometime in the future we’d likely circle back and walk through the fairness issue but not today.

“Hearing Gram talk about . . .”

No. I didn’t want to relive the description or hear the sound of her voice in my head though I knew I would. I’d never known my grandfather and couldn’t remember my father. One more gift Gram gave me.

“I know.”

Jackson reached over and took my hand.

A sense of calm settled over me like a warm bath. The harsh facts didn’t disappear, but they faded into the background. Touching him, being this close, sharing this intimacy, the reassuring comfort of it all, restored my balance.

“I mean, I knew, but knowing and really knowing are two different things.”

That was enough babbling. “I’m just grateful Gram found Celia. They’re good together.”

“They are.”

Okay, but did he understand the nuances of their relationship? I always wondered because we never talked about how much Gram and Celia meant to each other and in what way. Their love for me and each other was a constant that grounded me and a reality I never questioned. I wasn’t clear where he fell on this topic. His answer would impact how I viewed him.

“You know what I’m saying, right?”

His thumb rubbed the back of my hand. “About what?”

“They’re not just friends. Gram and Celia, I mean.”

I shifted until I faced him, never letting go of his hand. “Yeah, they keep separate bedrooms but that’s just for their clothes. They’ve always slept in the same room.”

“Okay.”

His expression didn’t change. His thumb kept drawing that lazy and very sexy pattern over my skin.

Everyone avoided clarity today. I tried to break that pattern. “Jackson, they’re a couple.”

His hand went still. “Do you really think I don’t know that?”

“You should see your face.”

He looked miffed that I’d suggested he lagged that far behind. I almost laughed, not because I thought the topic was funny or didn’t take his reaction to what he clearly thought was an insult seriously, but from the relief shooting through me. It rushed to my head and made me feel . . . silly happy. For once in my life the description fit.

“I’m not clueless.”

Now he sounded indignant.

I couldn’t blame him. I’d tiptoed into what shouldn’t be a difficult or uncomfortable topic but was for many people. Not him. “I wasn’t sure if you were ignoring the truth or if you, maybe, had problems with the state of their relationship.”

“Who other people love doesn’t affect me. I say the more happiness the better.”

Okay, yeah. I loved him. Not a crush. Not a teen love that never matured. Love. Like, I grumbled about not seeing him and claimed we had “unresolved issues”

but, really, I just wanted to be with him. Which was going to make leaving and going back to DC really suck.

“For a very long time Aunt Celia has been the most important woman in my life. She supports me. Loves me. Even though she doesn’t think I know, she also advocates for me with Dad.”

Him. Harlan. The one thing—a six-foot-two annoying thing—that could be a problem. “Does he understand the nature of Gram and Celia’s relationship?”

“In public, he insists they are two very good friends who combined their money because it’s hard for single women out there.”

Jackson lifted our joined hands and rested them against his chest. “That’s not a direct quote but close.”

“Wow.”

At least Harlan was consistent. Consistently not great.

Jackson smiled. “You can’t possibly be surprised.”

Harlan thought he deserved a wife who waited on him and girlfriends who satisfied him, so no. “I’m trying to imagine someone at the club making an offhand remark and him giving a lecture about how very close older women can be friends without anything more.”

“I’ve heard it. It’s astounding in its lack of awareness.”

I looked at the way my hand fit in Jackson’s . . . who knew hand-holding could be so romantic?

“So long as he doesn’t bad-mouth them or act disrespectful, I let it go. Mostly because Celia told me, for her peace of mind, to ignore Dad’s views on this topic.”

That sounded like Celia. Gram would have taken a different approach, one a bit more hostile. Both worked.

All this talk about his dad made me anxious, a sensation I did not love. “Not to sound unappreciative, because I am grateful you suggested we give Gram and Celia a minute of privacy and come here, but is your dad going to pop up again? I don’t really have the energy for another run-in with him today.”

“We have a Dad reprieve.”

This time Jackson lifted our hands and kissed the back of mine, sending my ability to concentrate into a nosedive. “Is he out of town? . . . she asked hopefully.”

“He dropped off some paperwork earlier then left me a text, talking about an informal business meeting with a client from out of town that he couldn’t reschedule and saying we’d talk tomorrow.”

Don’t be here tomorrow. Check. “Lucky you.”

“I need to add the business issue and your boss, Brock, to my list of discussion topics with Dad. You can join us if you want.”

Nope. “I’d rather go running.”

“Whatever he dropped off is on the dining room table. I haven’t looked at it because I wasn’t home until now. I’m also not in the mood to have another battle with him over who gets to decide my future.”

Jackson gave my fingers a squeeze. “The answer is me, if that wasn’t clear.”

That was very . . . wait. “Hold up. Are you saying your dad has a key to your condo?”

Jackson winced. “In hindsight, not my smartest move.”

Sweet hell. “I thought you were supposed to be a genius.”

“It’s for practical purposes. I have one to his house. He has one to here. Just in case.”

I couldn’t think of anything nice to say and didn’t want to kill the relaxing mood winding around us, so I went with the most benign sentence I could think of. “The man does enjoy playing games.”

“He’s an expert at that sort of thing.”

Jackson let out a long exhale. “That and getting married.”

“Three former wives and who knows what he has planned for the future.”

Why any woman would say yes to him was the mystery.

“I think he doesn’t want to be alone, which is interesting since he doesn’t like most people. And don’t think I haven’t figured out that Dad is one of the bad men in Mags’s eyes.”

In Gram’s. In mine. In Celia’s. In the eyes of every woman who strayed across his path. “I know he’s your dad but he’s . . . a lot.”

“I wish I could say he meant well and wanted what was best for me, but—”

I borrowed one of Gram’s snorts. “You don’t like to lie.”

“Something like that.”

Jackson shifted until his head rested against mine. “At one time he was more attentive. We’d golf and he’d come to my high school games but his interest in parenting would fade in and out. We didn’t have a huge amount of family time when I was growing up.”

“That sounds like a wild understatement.”

“He couldn’t handle Mom’s illness and how the cancer kept coming back. He acted as if she got the disease to spite him. She could barely move near the end, and he would rage about missing this event or this meeting to take care of her.”

There was a no big deal vibe in Jackson’s tone that sounded practiced but very fake. “I think a part of him blamed me for her being sick. He’d talk about how she was healthy until I was born.”

It was a miracle Jackson had come out of that household intact. “That’s demented.”

“Despite all that, I was luckier than many. I’ve had a lot of advantages. I had what I needed.”

Except unconditional love. I didn’t say it out loud but we both knew.

“Loving Dad because he’s my dad and liking him as a person are two different things, which is why the last few years I’ve tried to set boundaries.”

That was a news flash. “How’s that going?”

“I’m not sure he even noticed.”

Jackson understood his dad. He didn’t praise him or hold him up as perfect or misunderstood and I was grateful for that honesty. “Let’s agree not to talk about Harlan, the pie business, or dead husbands any more tonight.”

“Done.”

Jackson’s fingertips trailed up my arm. “There are much more interesting things we can do, right?”

That sounded like a promise as much as a question. The answer was yes.