Chapter Twenty-Five
On Wednesday afternoon, Scarlett laid a hand on my shoulder and asked, “Are you all right? You’ve been checking your phone every hour for the past two days. Are you and Jackson still not talking?”
“I’m fine,” I answered. “Jackson and I are giving each other some space, but we might see each other tonight.”
“Okay, but if you need to talk, I’m here,” Scarlett said.
“Thank you. How’s things going with the new house?” The quickest way to move her to a new subject was to get her to talk about all the excitement of the wedding or her new home.
“Since the loan has been approved, now it’s just a matter of paperwork. The previous owner gave us permission to repaint the walls and put down that plank flooring. It’s like a dream come true that we get to start off in our own home and not a rental.”
I must have frowned, because she quickly said, “The Mendoza family all pitched in, and we had the painting and flooring finished yesterday. We close on Friday afternoon when I get off work, and we’ll start moving in on Saturday.
” She checked the dining room to see where Tressa and Rosie were, then whispered, “We are only going up to Cloudcroft for a couple of nights, but we don’t want anyone to know that we’re coming back to our own home on Monday. ”
“Why is it a secret?” I asked.
“We want to spend a couple of days together in our new home before we both go back to work. If the family would stay away, we would probably even forget the nights in Cloudcroft. We just want some mornings to wake up late, have mind-blowing sex, and then start all over again.”
We had gone back to work when Tressa came from the kitchen with a broom in her hands. “Rosie invited me to go to Mass with her this evening,” she said as she started sweeping. “I haven’t been to church or to confession in ten years.”
On Thursday, I got a text from Jackson: Are you still mad?
I sent back one that said: Workin’ on it.
The next one from him asked: Can we try for pizza and beers again on Saturday night?
I’ll let you know, and added a smiley face blowing a kiss to him.
On Friday, Ada Lou came in that morning and ordered her regular late breakfast—or brunch, as she liked to call it. Then she narrowed her eyes into slits and stared at me.
“You look like warmed-over crap. What is going on?” she asked. “Are you and Jackson still arguing? What was that fight about, anyway? Girl, you need to wake up and smell the bacon.”
“I thought it was ‘the roses’—and we have not made up yet,” I answered before I hung her order through the service window. “He wanted to tell me what to do. I’m a grown woman who has been basically taking care of myself since I was eight years old.”
“I like Jackson. He’s a good man,” Ada Lou said. “But hold your ground. If you start letting him run you like a toy train, then you’ll be giving up pieces of yourself.”
“And pretty soon, you won’t even know who you are,” Tressa added.
Women empowering women came to my mind like it did so often when I thought of all the ladies who were now my friends. Going back to my old lifestyle and leaving them behind would break my heart. I couldn’t do that to them.
My phone pinged. Have you thought about it long enough?
I wiped my eyes and typed I have, and the answer is yes. Pick me up at six?
I’ll be there. I’ve missed you, Carla.
I sent one back that said Ditto!
I spent all day Saturday dealing with a merry-go-round of emotions. By the time Jackson arrived promptly at six, a tangle of nerves the size of a beach ball had settled into my stomach. I slung my purse over my shoulder, stepped outside, and just stood there staring at Jackson.
“What?” he asked. “Did I grow an extra eye in the middle of my forehead?”
I stood on tiptoe and brushed a kiss across his lips. “If you did, you would still be sexy.”
He took my hand in his, and together we went to his truck. “What happened to my Carla? What have you done with her?”
When I was in the passenger seat, I flipped the console up and moved over to sit close to him. “She is ready to talk about the other night now, and she knows what she wants.”
“Have we survived our argument?” he asked as he drove toward the trailer.
“I hope so,” I answered. “I will always be independent. It’s who I am. I don’t need you to take care of me. But I do need you to love me unconditionally and support me. I will do the same for you.”
“I can do that,” he said. “But I have to tell you, that sounds a lot like something my mother would say.”
“Then she is a smart woman. Do you still want to move forward even after I pitched a hissy fit? If not, tell me now, and we won’t waste any more time.”
“Up front. Honest. And blunt as hell.” He parked the truck in between the trailers like always. “And, darlin’, I love you and I very much want to go full speed ahead with us. I’m here for the long haul, no matter how short or how long that is.” He tipped up my chin and kissed me.
I swear I heard bells ringing off in the distance, and my words came out between short breaths. “What you see is what you get. I won’t change, and I don’t ever want you to.”
“Deal,” he said.
When we got inside, I noticed a calendar on the wall beside the door. Today was January 31. Instead of just a month since I’d arrived at the Tumbleweed, it seemed like at least a year. “What a fitting way to end my first month,” I muttered.
“What was that?” Jackson asked.
“Just how hot is that makeup sex you’ve been teasing me about?”
He scooped me up in his arms and carried me to the bed. “You can decide,” he whispered as he removed his shirt and tossed it to the side. He slid the pocket door shut, putting us in a little bubble all our own.
“No one is in here,” I whispered.
“But there might be someday, so we might as well get into the habit now.”
I didn’t care if he was talking about children or visitors or even a couple of cats. I just wanted to feel his body next to mine.