Chapter 29
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
As soon as we’re back home, I offer Riley some sweats and another Turner Saddlery t-shirt. Her clothes have mascara and him all over them, and I can tell she wants out of them. Jo Jo guides her into her bathroom, offering her an array of face washes and hair clips so she can wash her makeup off, take a breath and feel a little better. With those two safe and occupied for a few moments, I use the time to ice my fist.
I know Jo Jo is still feeling hurt and betrayed, and I’m so proud of her for being there for Riley today, despite how she feels. These last few months, our relationship has been so strained, and everyone was quick to blame the teen years. But my thoughtful, sweet girl is still herself in times like these—I can see that now, and it tells me all I need to know: it’s more than teenage angst. It’s a rift between us. One I plan to repair today. No more living the way we’ve been.
I need my girl back.
Hudson’s advice washes through me. The best way to connect with Jolene is talk to her like a young adult, instead of hiding things from her like she’s a child who is incapable of understanding. There’s a lot she can’t understand about the way Riley and I are together, but the foundations of it all– companionship and love– she’s well within her limits of understanding… as long as we give her the chance.
While Jo Jo and Riley are in Jo Jo’s room, I fill a pot with water and place it on the stove, starting the burner. Digging out a box of pasta and a container of my homemade sauce from the freezer, I turn on the oven for garlic bread. A few minutes later, noodles are cooking, bread is heating, and sauce is simmering, just as Riley comes out with Jo Jo, the two of them whispering as they move down the hall together. Jo Jo seems to be raising Riley’s spirits after everything that happened this afternoon, and it makes my chest twist with emotion.
Jo Jo pulls a chair back for Riley, then for herself, and the three of us sit. I pour them each a glass of water, and face my daughter. Her dark hair is straight, down around her shoulders, framing her face so beautifully. She has my eyes, but the shape reminds me of Janie. So much of her does. I smile. “Jolene, I’m sorry that I didn’t talk to you about things growing between myself and Miss Riley.” I make sure not to look around the room, down at my water glass, or anywhere but her eyes, just the way Dr. Tanner instructed. “The truth is, I wasn’t sure what was really happening with us, because adult relationships are layered and complex. One date doesn’t equate to a wedding ring, and I told myself all my life I would never introduce you to a woman that wasn’t meant to be my next wife.” I glance over at Riley, finding her gaze fixed on me. Beneath the table she bumps her knee into mine, and that tiny gesture of support makes my chest burn with passion for her. I level my gaze back on my daughter, who is quiet and listening–two things I haven’t witnessed from her in the past year.
“But the truth is, Jo Jo, you’re old enough now to understand that relationships between two adults are complicated. And instead of trying to hide things with Miss Riley, I should’ve just told you. I just didn’t know how to broach the topic when I believed you pretty much hated my guts.”
“I don’t hate you, dad,” Jo Jo sighs, her voice quiet as she plays with the cuffs of her sweatshirt sleeves.
“I know you don’t actually hate me, Jo, but let’s put it on the line right now, okay? Conversations with you haven't exactly been approachable or easy. And I should have just told you and dealt with your reaction, because that’s what a good parent does. I failed you, and Riley, too, by not telling you right away that I liked her.”
Jo Jo, still looking at her hands as she fidgets, says, “I’m sorry I’ve been so mean to you, dad. You don’t deserve it.”
Riley pushes back from the table as quietly as she can, tiptoeing toward the hall. “Going to give you guys a minute,” she says. As much as I want us to work it all out together, I realize Jo Jo and I have things to tackle– just me and her—father and daughter. I want her to understand that I’ll always be here for her, no matter what.
“Jolene, Miss Riley is the first woman since your mom that I’ve cared about. And because I knew she meant so much to you, it scared me,” I admit, scratching the back of my neck. “I didn’t want to mess it up with Miss Riley, and have your relationship change.”
“I don’t think that would have happened,” Jo Jo says, adding, “She tried being friendly with me this week, even though I could tell she felt like total shit. It was me, I was the one who was a jerk to her.”
“Were you a jerk to her because you don’t want the two of us together or were you a jerk because you were hurt to find out the way you did?” My cheeks flame at the memory of my daughter walking in on me about to whip Miss Riley.
She tucks hair behind her ears. “I’ve always wished you would get remarried. I want you to have that. I want it, too. A step mom. And Dad, I love Miss Riley.” She finally meets my gaze, and my heart nearly bursts at the clarity shining in her eyes. “I was hurt that it was a secret behind my back, when I had told Miss Riley everything .”
I reach for her hand, and she lets me take it. “I’m sorry about that, Jo Jo. I am. And I can promise you that Miss Riley has never shared any of your secrets with me. Not a single one of them. She’s loyal to you, Jolene.”
She nods, looking at our joined hands. “You know the reason why I wanted to do cheerleading in the first place?”
Something ignites in the back of my brain, alerting me to a handful of memories. Miss Riley encouraged me to ask Jo Jo why she wanted to cheer a few times, and with everything going on, I failed to ask. Something in my gut tightens, and a knot of emotion swells in my throat. “No,” I tell her, “but Riley told me I ought to ask you. Multiple times, in fact. And I wish now that I had.”
A tear slips through Jo Jo’s lashes, but she uses the heel of her sweatshirt-covered palm to wipe it away. “I found a picture of mom. It fell out of one of your old yearbooks. I was looking for my grade school yearbook in the hutch, and I found your yearbook. Anyway, I found a photo of her from when she went to Bluebell High.” Her eyes glisten as they idle with mine. “She was in a cheerleading uniform.”
My chest tightens and the air in my lungs rushes out, leaving me slightly lightheaded. “She was a cheerleader,” I confirm, “for two years, yes.”
“You never told me that,” Jo Jo says. Tracing the wood grain of the table top with one of her painted white fingernails, she says, “you never talk about her at all.”
My heart plummets and my ears ring. “After she passed, I thought the less I talked about her, the quicker you’d move past the sad stage. Dr. Tanner recommended giving you a small period of time to grieve but to reintroduce mom and her memory into conversation.” I shake my head, my eyes growing hot. “It was too hard for me. I kept telling myself, tomorrow I’ll feel better. Tomorrow I’ll be less sad. Tomorrow I’ll talk about Janie. But every tomorrow never felt right, and my heart hurt for so long that by the time I felt ready, I don’t know, it just seemed like you’d be better off.”
“I understand why you didn’t talk about her much. I just… I went through these spells of really missing her, and I struggled to remember details about her. That’s when I started getting out old photo albums.” Her lips lift on one side, a peace offering.
“I’m sorry, Jo Jo. I never meant to make you feel like we couldn’t talk about her, and I certainly never wanted her erased from your mind or heart.”
She squeezes my hand. “Mom is always going to be in my heart. I was just… missing that mother-daughter connection.”
I nod, understanding her much better. “Are you okay, Jo Jo? I mean, I get now why you wanted to do cheerleading, but I just want to make sure that you’re okay.”
“I’m okay. I made up with Peyton and Cassidy,” she tells me before chewing nervously on her fingernail. “Dad, do you love Miss Riley?”
Would it be crazy to admit to myself and to my daughter that I do love Riley? The last few weeks have been crazy, but after years of stagnant life, maybe crazy is just what I need. I nod my head.
Her face remains impassive for a few seconds, and I question if I jumped the gun, owned up to everything I’ve been thinking and feeling too fast, too soon for Jo Jo to comprehend that life is going to change if I’m in love. Matter of fact, it was only two weeks ago when she discovered that Riley and I even knew each other, much less that we‘re together. I scratch my head as my pulse gallops and sweat starts to bead along my forehead.
She smiles.
A smile like I haven’t seen for ages. Toothy and wide, she grins, her eyes lifting, cheeks filling will color. I can’t help but drape a hand over my chest to ease the maddening thumping at her reaction. “Oh Jo Jo, I’m so glad you’re not upset about it.”
She squeals quietly, almost as if she doesn’t want Riley to be privy to her excitement or our moment. “I’m so excited, dad. I love Miss Riley. You know I love Miss Riley. And I always wanted you to meet someone.”
“You mentioned that… and I’m sorry I didn’t. I just… I didn’t want anything else to become unstable for you after mom passed.” There are so many choices I made after Janie passed away that were, in hindsight, temporary solutions to the all-consuming grief and pain that come with such a big loss. I wasn’t ever able to reconcile moving on with healing, and something in my brain got so focused on moving on, for what I thought was Jo Jo’s sake, that I realize now… I made mistakes. “Would you ever want to revisit Dr. Tanner? I still see him, you know.”
“I just wanna talk about mom a little more, look at pictures with you, hear stories about her. I want you and Miss Riley to be happy, but there’s room for both, right? Mom’s memory and new memories with Miss Riley?” she asks, blinking at me with soulful eyes.
“Of course there is room for both. We will do that, Jolene, I promise,” I tell her, realizing that talking about Janie more will be hard, but she and I will do it together. Jo Jo squeezes my hand but stands, tugging on me to do the same. I get to my feet and I swear to God, when she wraps her arms around me and presses her cheek to my chest, I want to cry.
“I love you, Dad,” she says, and I have to man-sniffle to keep the tears at bay. We pull apart and sit back down just as the oven dings. I get to work straining the cooked noodles, and Jo Jo leaps up to help slice the garlic bread. It’s crazy how a handful of minutes of meaningful conversation can totally change the outlook of our relationship, but what’s crazier is thinking I was doing the meaningful communication before. I wasn’t, but now that I know better, I’ll do better.
“Maybe mom wanted me to find that photo of her. Maybe mom brought you two together,” Jo Jo says after a few quiet minutes of us working together in the kitchen—another thing we haven’t done in ages.
I arch a brow, swiping a saucy hand along the dish towel on the counter. “You believe in that kind of thing? Fate and stuff like that?”
She stops placing pieces of cut up garlic bread in the bread basket, and looks contemplative for a few seconds. “I think I do. I mean, how strange is it that of all the places that Miss Riley could go, she came here, to Bluebell? Like, she came from a small town, and moved to an even smaller town.” She sprinkles parmesan over a few slices, because that’s the way I like it. “I doubt many people do that.” I consider what she’s saying when she chimes in again. “And I’ve opened that yearbook so many times, too. I never thought to look you guys up in the index. And when I turned to Erickson, to look up mom, that’s where the picture was stashed.”
I throw her a look over my shoulder as I toss the pasta in sauce. “I don’t know about fate. But I do know that she and I have something that I really didn’t think I’d find.” I think of the whips in the garage, the floggers that she begged for me to use on her after I once believed no one would ever even see them. “Jo Jo, I need to talk to you about something else.”
Her face pales. “Yes, I drank at the sleepover. I got drunk and felt horrible and absolutely hated it. I’m sorry. It was so not worth it.”
I scratch the back of my neck but none of the lingering discomfort is alleviated. How I wish I was going to lecture on teenage drinking. That would be far easier than what I need to talk about.
“I appreciate you telling me, Jo Jo. And alcohol and drinking is a discussion we will need to have. I’m not gonna punish you this time, because of everything that was going on—that and because we haven’t defined any rules around partying yet.”
Her shoulders visibly relax, and the weight I had no idea she was carrying seems to lift right off her. “Thank you, Dad.” She pauses. “Did you wanna talk about that now?”
After setting the food out on the table, I peer down the hall and see that my bedroom door is still shut. I wouldn't be surprised if Riley got into bed and dozed off—on the drive home, I could see just how much the situation with Michael and things between the three of us for the last two weeks have taken a toll on her.
Despite the lump of awkwardness lodged in my abdomen, I take a seat and so does Jo Jo.
“I wanted to talk about what you walked in on, you know, between me and Miss Riley.”
She turns the color of a tomato ripe on the vine in the summer sun, but based on the immediate sweat haloing my neck and sliding down my spine, I’d say I probably look like a cherry if she looks like a tomato.
“Listen, when you get older–much older, like years and years older,” I tell her, trying my very hardest to maintain eye contact and not stare at the table instead. “You might discover that you like certain things.” Dead God, if anyone is ever going to rob my house or hold me at gunpoint, send them now.
“Dad, please, use food or something as a metaphor because I cannot talk about your kinky sex life otherwise,” Jo Jo says, sinking down in her chair as she shields her face with her sweatshirt covered hands.
Food. Why did I not think of that? “Oh thank God,” I breathe, and just as the tension is broken by her comment, the bedroom drawer cracks open.
Jo Jo’s eyes dart to mine, giving me a questioning look. It’s just a simple thing, the two of us looking at one another, wondering if Riley is ready to come sit with us. But it’s a ten second private moment between us that we didn’t share yesterday, or the day before that, or the weeks and months before this. My heart swells.
Riley appears at the end of the hall. “Smells good out here,” she says softly, heavy bags still pooling beneath her eyes.
Jo Jo uses her foot to push a chair out. “Come sit. We were just about to explore what kinky shit I walked in on you two doing the other night,” Jo Jo deadpans.
Whether it’s true or not—“Jo Jo, language.” I face Riley. She’s already ten shades of pink, and turns on her bare foot, making a show of disappearing back down the hall, which causes all of us to erupt in laughter.
“C’mon, baby,” I coax playfully, following after to grab her hand. I’ve never called her that before. It slipped out in a moment of happy comfort. Her eyes hold mine. In the hall, with just a few feet of privacy from Jo Jo, I smile at her. “How are you feeling?” I stroke my palm down her arm, and she melts against me.
“Better. A lot better.” She sinks her fingers into my back, beneath my shirt, bringing my body awake in places it’s been dormant for the last two weeks.
“You hungry? Jo Jo and I made some food. And, in case you didn’t catch on, we’ve talked about everything except what happened the other morning.” I kiss the top of her head. “Perfect timing.”
She winces but turns her expression very quickly into a smile. “I may talk to teenagers about this all day, but I can’t make any promises I’ll be helpful.”
I shrug. “You can’t do any worse than me. Hell, Jo’s already told me to use food as a metaphor, so,” I say, smirking. Together we walk to the table where Jolene has fixed plates for all three of us. Mine is made the way I like it, and it warms my heart, as corny as that sounds, that she remembers.
“Miss Riley, do you want cheese?” Jo Jo says, holding the green bottle of parmesan over her plate. Riley nods, and Jo Jo sprinkles.
“You can just call me Riley, Lene,” Riley offers, sticking the tines of her fork in a heap of spaghetti and twirling .
Jolene smiles. “And I think you and dad can just call me Jo Jo.”
“Oh thank goodness,” Riley sighs. “You are Jo Jo forever and always.”
“Ditto,” I add to Jolene, who immediately wags a finger between us.
“Ganging up on me already,” she teases.
“Old dogs struggle learning new tricks,” I tell her, loading up a bite of pasta.
“That may work as an excuse for you, but Riley isn’t old like you.” Jolene snatches a piece of garlic bread, dunking it in her pasta. My eyes veer to Riley’s for a moment, and I catch her already shooting me a look.
She is much younger than me. And I realize that even though we fell into this out of nowhere, we do have a lot of talks about our future in store. Riley is young enough that she may want to be a mother, or start her own business, or whatever. And she deserves to have everything she wants.
“Hello?” Jo Jo taunts, moving her fork in front of my face. “You spaced out.”
“Ah,” I clear my throat. “Back to before. What you walked in on.”
The three of us go red, and after a minute long debate over who is the most embarrassed, and the laughter dies, I rip off the Band-Aid.
“As you get older, and you have more and more experiences, you’ll learn what you like. I mean, the first time you had chocolate, you didn’t like white chocolate, or peppermint chocolate. You had dark chocolate and you swore up and down that it was the only kind of chocolate you liked. Remember that?” I take a sip of my water and Riley smirks. “You don’t know what you like if you never try it. And sometimes you end up liking and needing things that not everyone else likes or needs, or even understands. Remember how Grandpa Charlie loved sauerkraut? We don’t like it,” I say, turning to Riley. “Do you?”
She wrinkles her nose. “No. It stinks.”
“Exactly. But lots of people like it, and we think it’s stinky. And I love peanut butter, but Jo Jo, you don’t enjoy more than a spoonful of it. My point is, everybody likes different things, and sex is no different. The only thing is, it’s more personal. People talk less openly about what kind of sex they like, because sex and your sexual relationship with someone is really personal, and private to just the two of you.”
Riley reaches for a piece of garlic bread. “Everyone likes something different, and being with someone who likes what you like and wants what you want, in and out of the bedroom, is really important.”
“What you walked in on was just two adults who like the same thing,” I add, before sitting back and watching my girl process. She spins pasta on her fork but doesn’t take a bite. “If there’s anything you want to talk about or if you have any questions–”
She shakes her head, stuffing pasta in her mouth, talking around the food as she says, “Nope, I got it. Just… get a lock.”
I dip my head. “Noted.”
Her eyes pan to Riley, and something passes between them. A moment, but maybe something more. A silent understanding and a mutual desire to live a happy life with a family, no matter what that looks like. “You’re staying here, right?” Worry overtakes her features for a moment as she casts her dark eyes on me. “Dad, she’s not going home right? He knows where she lives. I heard him say that.” She looks my way, panicked. “You said that. You said he knows.”
Riley and I haven’t had much time alone to talk about everything that happened that night, where we’re headed and what’s in store for us. But I told her in the gym and on the ride home that she’d be staying with us until a restraining order is in tact. Truth be told, I hope she never leaves, but that’s not a decision for today.
Riley shakes her head. “No, I’m not going home, Jo Jo. Your dad said I could stay in the guest room here.”
Jo Jo stops mid spaghetti twirl. “Guest room?” She arches a brow, then proceeds to make a face like she’s in the presence of smelly idiots. “You’re not gonna stay in dad’s room with him?”
“Jo Jo, you’re kind of putting us on the spot. We haven’t really had time to talk all this through yet. Best thing for Riley right now is to feel safe and comfortable. The guest room is pressure free. She’s got her own bathroom,” I argue, knowing full well that I’d like Riley to sleep in my bed every night if she wanted to. But she needs time. The three of us, in truth, need a little time.
“But… you two are gonna start dating, though, right?” she asks.
“Oh yes,” Riley answers right away at the same time I say, “damn straight.”