Chapter 26 Tourniquet
Tourniquet
Jenny
Though the rain had finally ceased, the day was grey, and the smell of damp earth permeated the air.
I tried not to hold on too tight to Deacon’s hand while we waited on the front porch. This was hard enough for him without me adding my own anxiety and misplaced shame to the mix.
He turned to me and tugged gently on my hand.
“Before we go in there, I need you to understand that at the centre of everything it’s you and me, you got me? You come first, then us, then everybody else. Always.”
Before I could answer, the front door swung wide.
Deacon’s mother beamed at the sight of her son, but as soon as her gaze swung to me, it melted off her face.
“You look like your mother,” she blurted, and it didn’t sound like a compliment.
I guess she hadn’t noticed when she invaded my bakery.
“Mom,” Deacon barked.
“Maybe so, Mrs. Raine,” I replied softly, tipping my chin up and meeting her head-on. “But I’m not my mother. And I’d appreciate being judged on my own merit, not hers.”
“Come in, come in,” his father intervened, dipping his chin to give his wife what looked like an encouraging look.
A smooth mask slipped over her face as she offered a polite and equally false smile. “You’re entirely too right. Please come in.”
My heart panged with sympathy for so many reasons as her eyes rose to meet Deacon’s and filled. “I’m happy to see you, Son.”
He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her tightly.
Oh, God.
He’d missed her, of course, he’d missed her.
They’d always been close, probably in part because he was the baby.
And her, how did she stand it?
“I’m sure we can drop the Mr. and Mrs. and move onto first names,” Deacon stated smoothly. “Jenny, you remember my mom, Maria, and my dad, Aaron. Mom and Dad, I know you remember Jenny. I’m positive you don’t know how much she meant to me ten years ago, but in case you missed it, she’s everything.”
Hands shaking, I handed Maria a Buns and Biscuits box tied up with a bright pink bow. “I brought something for dessert.”
She accepted it with a nod and a murmured thanks.
I dipped my chin and removed my boots.
I needed to give her some grace for Deacon’s sake. She was a good mom. None of this was her fault.
She led us directly to the dining room.
Deacon helped her carry in the platters from the kitchen after she declined my offer. I was a guest, after all.
Which left me waiting at the formally dressed dining table with his father, an awkward silence hanging between us.
He cleared his throat. “How is Ansel?”
Deacon and his mother came through with the first round of platters.
Deacon caught my eye and raised his eyebrows.
I gave him a short nod.
My eyes flitted up to meet Aaron’s before dancing away. “We visited him and Darlene earlier. They’re both a bit worn from the virus they caught but are hopefully on the mend.”
“Yes,” he answered. “I saw my mother yesterday.” He paused, his eyes narrowing on the pendant on my chest before returning to mine, curious rather than angry. “She’s quite a fan of yours.”
Still, I wished I’d tucked it under my sweater. Would it look weird if I did it now?
“The feeling is mutual.” I offered a shaky smile and hazarded a glance in his direction. “It may also be that she just wants my brownies.”
His eyes warmed, and for a moment, I saw the man Deacon idolized. “Her sweet tooth is legendary.”
More platters hit the table, this time Deacon paused to rest a hand on my shoulder. “Come help with the last few.” He smiled at his father. “Mom outdid herself.”
Aaron nodded slowly. “She wants everything to be perfect.”
Grateful for the reprieve, I stood and followed Deacon into the kitchen.
His mother frowned when she saw me but smoothed her expression almost immediately and passed me a heavy bowl of whipped potatoes.
“These smell wonderful,” I commented.
“They’re potatoes,” she replied, meeting my eyes. “Nothing special.”
Deacon narrowed his gaze, his eyes flitting back and forth between us before coming to rest on his mother’s face. “Mashed potatoes are soul food, and they’re exactly what I need today.”
My lips twitched.
I guessed I was the potato, or rather, the bowl of mashed potatoes in this scenario.
Deacon held out my chair before tucking me under.
The glossy dining room table fairly bowed under the weight of the food. It looked more like Christmas or Easter than a simple Sunday family dinner.
I flashed a quick, albeit nervous smile in his mother’s direction. “Everything looks and smells delicious.”
“Thank you,” she answered with a tight smile. “These are all Deacon’s favourites.”
She picked up a platter and passed it along. One after another, platters passed through my hands, and I filled my plate.
It was way too much food, but I didn’t dare insult her by refusing anything.
I picked up my fork and speared a piece of buttery asparagus. Humming in appreciation, I stated, “This is delicious, Maria.”
She smiled tightly. “We usually pray before we dig in.”
“We don’t,” Deacon replied boldly. Picking up his fork, he scooped up some mashed potatoes. Eyes holding mine, he declared, “Delicious.”
“You outdid yourself, Maria,” his father added, backing Deacon’s play by taking a bite from his own plate. “Delicious, honey. Lord, bless the hands that made this food. Thank you, Father, for all you give us.”
“Amen,” she whispered, sounding lost.
This whole dinner was a bad idea.
“So, Jenny,” she began. “Where did you go to university?”
Deacon’s fork clattered onto his plate as he glared at his mother.
I laid my hand on his thigh under the table. “I apprenticed under Ansel Blum to become a baker. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”
“You’re lucky you found your vocation at such a young age,” Aaron commented. “Right, Maria?”
“Very fortunate,” she replied. “You lived with Mr. Blum during your apprenticeship?”
“Maria,” Aaron warned softly.
“I did,” I answered, my face flushing.
“He’s a wonderful man,” Deacon added. “He’s like a father to her.” He continued talking to his mother but turned to me. “In fact, this morning he told me he claimed her at eighteen-years-old and considers her his daughter. Said it was the best decision he ever made.”
“He said that?” I whispered, my eyes searching his.
His dark eyes softened. “In those exact words.”
I swallowed, my throat tight. “Do you remember that hideous fishbowl candle I made him for Christmas?”
He nodded. “I do. It had pink flowers in it.”
I chuckled in disbelief. “He has it in his room at St. Michael’s.”
Deacon smiled. “He loves you. Very much.” His eyes twinkled. “He’d have to love you to hang onto that candle all these years.”
I laughed thickly, my eyes welling.
I didn’t know what I did to deserve that man, but I thanked God for giving him to me when I needed him most.
With his love bolstering me, I could get through anything.
“You saw Grandma this morning?” Maria asked, her eyes lighting on the necklace.
I saw the moment recognition passed over her pinched features.
I should have tucked it under my neckline.
Her lips pursed. “Is that hers?”
Not knowing how to answer, I simply nodded.
Her face turned red, but she didn’t say anything further.
There were no more snide comments, veiled or otherwise, but when she brought dessert to the table, my offering remained in the kitchen.
It might have been a simple case of forgetting.
But I knew it wasn’t.
It reeked of dismissal.
And rejection.
What did I expect?
I dabbed my mouth with my napkin and pushed my chair back. “Everything was delicious, Maria.” Glancing around the table and ending with Deacon, I murmured, “Excuse me, please.”
“Second door on the left towards the front door,” Deacon stated as he stood.
Grasping my waist, he turned me toward him. “Okay?”
I jerked my chin down sharply, just once, not meeting his eyes.
If I looked at him, I might break down. And I refused to do that in front of them.
I patted his flat stomach and scooted away.
In the bathroom I ran the cold water over my hands and blotted my flushed cheeks. The woman who looked back at me in the mirror was miserable.
His parents would never accept me.
Stepping back into the hallway, the sight of my coat and boots tempted me to walk straight out the front door.
But it was a long walk to Moose Lake.
And I wasn’t about to create more drama.
Taking a deep breath, I padded back down the hall.
The sound of Deacon’s voice stopped me in my tracks.
“You’re being rude,” he accused.
“How? I’m trying to get to know her!”
“By asking questions that make her feel small, Mom? I expected better from you.”
“I’m sorry. I am trying to let go of the past.”
“What past?” he asked, exasperated. “If I can sit and have a friendly beer with Baxter, you can get over yourself. Jenny and Baxter were victims. She didn’t do anything wrong.”
Oh my God, they knew. They knew and they still treated me like dirt.
“Are you sure about that?” his father interjected.
My stomach rolled.
“Positive,” he stated firmly, his voice going cold.
“We just want you to be happy,” Maria cajoled.
I retreated to the kitchen. Bracing my hands against the counter, I stared out the window. How was I supposed to go back in there with a smile on my face?
The tap of a cane sounded in the hallway.
I opened the cabinet closest to me. Relieved to find glasses, I took one to the sink. Filling it with water, my hands shaking, I turned, unsmiling, to face him.
“I would like a brief word with you,” he stated, pressing his lips together tightly.
The smart thing would have been to walk away. But locking my knees so they wouldn’t buckle had the unfortunate side effect of pinning me in place.
I held up my palm and closed my eyes. “Don’t. I won’t offer the information unless I need to, but I also won’t lie for you. If you threaten me now the way you did back then, I won’t hesitate to tell him everything.”
“You would tear my relationship with my son apart over something that’s ancient history? A mistake?” he queried, his head tilted to the side.
I searched his face.