Chapter 5 Five Minutes
Five Minutes
Deacon
The snow on either side of the path reached mid thigh, and the winter sun near blinded me as it reflected off its brilliant, icy surface. I checked the time as I took the freshly scraped front steps two at a time.
Two inches of snow covered the arms of the rocking chairs on the porch that never once made it into storage after all these years.
His and hers.
A dream I’d once wanted with Jenny.
An unwelcome and unaccustomed nervous anticipation sizzled in my veins.
An hour.
One hour and then I’d track Jenny down.
I knocked my knuckle against the door and turned the handle.
“Deacon,” my mother exclaimed, bustling toward me with a broad smile, her skirt rippling around her slender legs. “This is your house. You don’t have to knock!”
She looked happier today.
So was I. There was no mention or disparagement of Jenny the last time I was here. Of course, that may have been due to my brothers and their families crowding in as well.
It had been chaos of the best kind.
Working with them on the farm after all these years allowed me to know them in ways I never did. When I left, they still saw me as a kid.
The ongoing joke was my head was in the clouds while their feet were firmly planted on the ground. I never understood what was so funny about it. Why trudge across the earth when you can sail across the skies?
We’d never had a lot in common, but there was something nostalgic about doing chores with them once more.
Truthfully, there was little for me to do. Which was my signal it was time for me to back away before they created a place for me I didn’t want.
What did I want?
I smiled and dipped my head for her kiss. “How are you, Mom? It smells good in here.”
She beamed up at me then grabbed my hand and tugged me into the kitchen. “It’s just you, me, and Dad today. I thought we could all go to church together this morning,” she chattered.
Pressing my lips together to stopper the response that balanced on the tip of my tongue, I replied, “Perhaps another time.”
My father walked into the kitchen. He was slow, but no cane today. Dressed in his suit for Sunday service, he looked better than he had the last time I’d seen him.
It wasn’t that I didn’t believe in God, I did, but after all this time, I wasn’t sure I believed in church. I met God on the battlefield, in orphanages, and in the stench and decay of human depravity.
There were times I felt Him there, and other times I cursed Him for his absence. But one thing I was sure of: He wasn’t sitting in church.
“You look good, Dad.”
He smiled and winked at my mother who blushed. “Today is a good day.”
I pulled out his chair. “I’m glad.”
The tension I’d carried in anticipation of more derogatory comments about Jenny slowly dissipated as my parents regaled me with the happenings around town and on the farm. At one point, my mother placed her hand over my father’s as she laughed.
His eyes dropped to take in the easy affection my mother showered on him for as long as I could remember.
It was only in the last few years I’d noticed the change.
I stared into space, my eyes narrowing. When did it start?
I’d never known my mother to be angry, but when I moved in with Jenny, she was furious.
I yearned for those days. Living in that little apartment in Moose Lake with its threadbare sofa and zero-count sheet sets was the happiest I’d ever been.
Our farm shared borders with miniscule Moose Lake on one side and the growing township of Peppergrove on the other.
Most of our farm workers came from Moose Lake, and Moose Lake was arguably closer, but it was in Peppergrove where we shopped, went to church, where my brothers and I went to school, and where I attended Air Cadets.
Moose Lake was the magical world I shared with Jenny, a small town whose population fairly doubled in the summer due to the dozens of cottages dotting the perimeter of the lake.
The morning I met Jenny, she was filling in for her mom at our farmstand at the market, and I was delivering produce as usual.
At first, I was confused, thinking I came to the wrong stand, but the banner hanging over the table clearly spelled out the name of our farm.
I halted in place and watched her for five solid minutes, the flatbed stacked with boxes of produce forgotten behind me.
Jenny stood behind the table with her beautiful face tilted up to the morning sun. Dropping her chin, she checked the time and twisted her head one way and another looking for the delivery that was late.
It wasn’t until the bell rang signaling the opening of the market that I managed to propel my feet forward.
Her soft, blue gaze met mine, and I was lost.
I stayed with her for the entire morning, learning the shape of her smile, the sound of her laugh, and the soft timbre of her voice.
I asked her out.
She laughed and turned me down, but by the end of the next week, I’d secured one date.
The rest was history.
I frowned. A history of hurt, betrayal, abandonment, and time wasted. After begging and pleading for her to trust me, I’d desperately let her down.
If it happened now, with the wisdom I’d gained and the depravity I’d witnessed, would I stop to listen, or would I cut her out of my life as viciously as I did back then?
I knew the answer.
And it didn’t please me.
“Deacon!” My mother’s voice pulled me from the past. “Why are you frowning? Mary Knox is a wonderful girl.”
“Mary—what?” I gave my head a shake. “What are you talking about, Mom?”
She sighed. “Mary Knox. She said she’d love to have lunch with us after church.”
Irritation prickled up my arms as my spine stiffened. “I’m not going to church, Mom. And I won’t be having lunch with Mary Knox or any other woman you deem appropriate. I told you my intentions last time I was here.”
“But I asked her,” she protested, appearing lost.
“Then you’ll have to un-ask her,” I replied shortly.
“Miller O’Leary,” my father exclaimed with a snap of his fingers. “That’s the name of the man she lured away from his wife. I’d check into that before you invest any more time in that woman.”
My lips twisted in disdain. “We’re gossiping openly now? Not bothering to hide it behind prayer requests?”
I tossed my napkin down on the table and pushed my chair back. “Let me know when you’re finished tearing her apart. Perhaps then I’ll be back.”
“Deacon,” my father snapped sharply. “Don’t speak to your mother like that.”
I reeled in my temper. “To be clear, I was speaking to both of you.”
“Deacon,” my mother interjected. “We just want the best for you.”
I dipped my head down to meet her eyes and quietly asked, “And you think you know better than me what that is?”
A flicker of unease shifted over her face.
I shook my head and walked to the front door amid their protests. Barely stopping to pull on my boots, I tossed my coat over my arm before looking back.
Reaching into my back pocket, I withdrew my wallet and flipped it open for a brief look before rubbing my thumb over the worn leather and tucking it safely away.
It had to be done.
Decision made, I nodded. “You know where I stand.”
I let the door swing shut behind me, my steps determined as I walked back down the path. There was nothing left to say.
And a helluva lot to do.
Fifteen minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot behind Buns and Biscuits and found a spot in the back corner with a perfect view of her apartment door. Wiping my palms down the thighs of my jeans, I stared up at it.
I’d faced car jackings, bombs, been held at gunpoint, and pulled women and children out of situations that still gave me nightmares, and not a one of them compared to the agony of sitting outside Jenny Davis’s apartment knowing she might reject me.
Certain if I were her, I would do the same.
But she wasn’t like me.
I stepped out onto the icy pavement. Aiming my key fob at my truck, I locked the doors and made my way up the stairs to Jenny’s door.
A fine layer of salt covered each step, but it wasn’t enough. The ice underneath was thick.
She could get hurt.
The last time I’d been inside, the apartment had belonged to Ansel.
When I met her at twenty-six, Jenny had her own place, but markers of the time she lived with Ansel littered his space. They stood out in stark contrast to the dark wood paneling on the walls and the ancient, mottled carpet.
There was a white pillar candle nestled into a bed of blush rose petals in a fishbowl that Jenny made when she was just eighteen that took pride of place on his coffee table.
A half-finished needlepoint she left behind remained stretched over a frame in the corner.
Framed photographs, most of them of Jenny, graced one wall, and a card she made him found a permanent home on his fridge.
What would the apartment look like now?
This was the second time I’d come to Jenny’s door.
Hopefully, she’d let me in this time. Even opening the door would be a step forward.
I knocked and waited; my bare hands tucked into my coat pockets.
I should have brought something. Flowers? Coffee?
That would have necessitated a trip into Peppergrove. And once I’d decided to see her, I didn’t have the patience to wait.
Fuck, I missed Valentine’s Day. Next year I’d give her a Valentine’s Day she’d never forget.
When I heard her footsteps approach the door, I purposefully lifted my head so she could see me through the peephole.
I held my breath when her footsteps stopped, exhaling in relief and victory when she opened the door a crack.
The sight of her in her cozy sweats, her long, black hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and her soft, blue eyes on mine, rendered me mute.
My heart thundered in my chest as I stared at her, stricken by her beauty now just as I was then.
Her eyes widened as they searched mine. “Deacon? Is everything okay?”
Voice gruff, I asked, “Can I come in?”
Her lips parted as she blinked at me. “In here?” she squeaked.
I held her gaze and tried for a hint of humour. “Don’t let the sunshine fool you. It’s not all that warm out here.”
Her jaw snapped shut. Eyebrows crunching together, voice sharp, she demanded, “What do you want, Deacon?”
I settled into my heels. “If you let me in, we can discuss it,” I answered softly.
She was bold and outspoken in ways she’d never been before. Back then, she bolted when faced with any kind of confrontation.
But she’d been through a lot since then. I couldn’t think about it without a burning rage coursing through my veins, a fury that threatened to take apart anyone set on harming her.
Only the enemy now was me.
I fisted my hands at my sides, and her breath hitched in her throat.
The wariness in her eyes pierced me deeper than her words ever could. “I would never hurt you, Jenny.”
“There’s nothing to discuss,” she blurted. The press of her fingertips around the door turned white, but the searching look in her eyes betrayed her.
“Please.” I’d beg if I had to. I’d do anything.
Biting her lip, she looked behind her.
I bit back the curse on my lips. Did she have someone in there? I had no claim on this woman. But given half a chance, I’d rip his fucking limbs off.
Slowly.
This early on a Sunday morning, her hair in gorgeous disarray, could only mean one thing.
“Is this a bad time? Do you have a guest?” I growled, spitting that last word out like it was a piece of spoiled meat.
She spun back to me, her eyebrows taking flight. “What? No! Of course not.”
Of course not?
Chewing on that bottom lip, she looked me up and down and hedged, “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“That’s exactly what I want to talk about,” I stated firmly. “Give me ten minutes.”
She began to shake her head.
“Five,” I negotiated. “Five minutes, Jenny. And then if you want me to leave, I will.”
“And then you’ll steer clear?”
My eyes wandered over her beautiful face, taking in the conflicting emotions flitting through her eyes.
Regretful for the discomfort I caused her, I shook my head. The sooner I clarified my intentions, the better. “That offer is off the table.”
She stared up at me, wariness and longing at war in her soft eyes.
“I won’t hurt you, baby,” I whispered.
Her chin dipped as she wavered. “There’s already too much hurt between us.”
I wasn’t that twenty-one-year-old kid anymore who was still trying to fit into both worlds, pleasing his parents with one hand and loving Jenny with the other.
I made my choice.
Only she mattered.
I’d given her no reason to believe in me. But I would.
I held her gaze. “Let me in. Please.”
I gritted my teeth as she wrestled with our past, my heart kicking up when she stepped back and opened the door.
“Five minutes.”