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There was another hour of questions and answers before her friends left, and she slid the deadbolt in the door. In a way, unloading was freeing. No more secrets, no more shame of being jealous of Sophie, or Hope’s growing belly.
They all expected Lily to make a baby announcement any day as well. As long as she was sipping on wine, they knew she wasn’t keeping a secret. Jenna had found comfort in that, but now she wanted Lily and Ty to have a baby.
Her friends deserved all the happiness in the world. She’d never begrudge it from them. Shutting off the lights in the kitchen, the loneliness set in. As if on autopilot, she went to Jerry’s room but didn’t turn on the light.
Everything was as she left it three days ago. Her parents had come down the day after he died to be with her. They stripped his bed and washed his linens, and even scrubbed his bathroom, even though it was already pretty darn clean.
They’d been a godsend. They loved Jerry as well, coming down to visit every few months. He always looked forward to her parents’ visits. Family was important to her. It was important to him as well, which was why it hurt so much that his two sons had completely abandoned him.
Jenna expected them to show up any day now to claim whatever they thought they had a right to. The house, whatever was in the bank account, Jerry’s investments. Not many knew how terrible his sons had been to him.
She would have mentioned it to her parents or friends, but she respected his privacy. It wasn’t her story to tell. It would be nice, however, to have someone by her side if they did show up kicking and screaming for Jerry’s possessions.
Ben was only a mile down the road, as was Brady. Her friends’ husbands would come rushing to her side, if need be.
And so would Carter.
And Tristan.
Leaning against the doorjamb, she let out a heavy, sad sigh. With Jerry gone, she had no purpose. No reason to check her clock or monitor in the morning, no one to cook for, care for.
It was just her.
Per Jerry’s request, there was no funeral. No gathering. Instead, she’d honored him in her own way by sharing some of the stories he’d told her with her parents and friends. There was laughter and tears, and now it was time to move on.
At least she had her pottery. Needing the comfort from her clay, she shut off the lights and went to her room to change into her dingy sweats and button-down shirt. Her “throwing clay” clothes.
Jenna slipped out the back door through the kitchen, first turning on the back lights that guided her down the path to the barn. The air was cool and crisp, and she wished for a blanket to warm her.
Or a set of strong arms wrapped around her.
“Nope. Don’t go there. Think about your pottery, girl.” If only her conscience would listen to her mouth.
Once inside, she flicked on the lights, set the music to Sinatra and Friends in honor of Jerry, and got to work at her potter’s wheel.
The rhythm of throwing the clay, wetting her hands, and gently pressing on the pedal to spin the wheel took her mind off the stresses of the past few weeks. She managed to work through four songs before worry set in again.
Six months ago, by Jerry’s request, she set up an in-home appointment for him with his attorney. They’d updated his will and done whatever it was you did when tying up loose ends before you die.
Respecting his privacy, she’d stayed in her room the entire time, only coming out when she heard the porch door close.
What if his sons did come by with their expensive New York lawyers and kicked her out of the house? Instead of making a set of serving bowls, she thought about the packing she needed to do. Finishing the piece she was working on, she slowed the wheel and scraped the clay off, dumping it in her work bucket.
It was crap anyway. She hadn’t planned on actually making anything good. She just needed something to keep her hands and mind occupied. It didn’t take long to clean up and turn off the lights.
On her short walk back to the house, she was keenly aware of the silence of the night. It wasn’t fear that prickled her skin, but the reminder of how alone she was.
Yes, she had friends. She had her art. But Jerry had been her purpose. It was wrong, she knew. Jenna needed to find her own purpose.
Now that she had time on her hands, she should invest it into her pottery and painting, making her hobby a career.
Tomorrow, she’d be visiting Mr. Swan in his office in Rockland. She’d pack up Jerry’s belongings, do whatever the lawyer said to do with them, and start her new life.
Her new career.
She wasn’t alone like so many years ago when she was searching for someone or something to fill the hole in her heart. This time she was planning her future.
Alone.
And happy.
Or at least, content.
***
“YOU’RE KIDDING.” JENNA sat up straighter, sliding to the edge of her seat. Her heart racing with confusion and excitement.
“He was quite clear in his final wishes, Ms. Snyder.” Daniel Swan seemed kinder today in his office than he had been when he’d visited Jerry’s house a while back. Not that he was rude before. He’d been ... quietly inquisitive of her. Or, at least, that was how she felt under his scrutiny.
He slid a paper across his shiny desk, and she picked it up with reluctant hands.
“Why me?”
“I asked him the same question when we met in May.” Swan leaned back in his leather chair and tapped his fancy pen on his desk. “Mr. Bishop was quite fond of you. He thought of you as family. In fact”—he slid out an envelope from a stack of manila folders and handed it to her—“he wanted me to give you this letter as well.”
A letter from Jerry. Her name was scribbled across the front of the envelope in his shaky script. She couldn’t remember the last time he had enough muscle control in his hands to write a letter.
For the first few years, he’d worked tirelessly every day on crosswords, Sudoku, and any other puzzle or trivia questions he could get his hands on. It had been his bout with pneumonia last winter that had wiped his energy and his ability to do much more than watch television and tell stories of Brigitte.
Touched by the amount of effort it must have taken him to write to her, she held onto it with a hungry heart and clutched it to her chest. She’d wait to read it when she was alone. In the meantime, she focused on the paper on the desk and read the details.
Jerry, in fact, left his fully paid for home to her and had put her name on his insurance as a beneficiary.
“I don’t know what to say. I figured I’d be going back to the house to pack up my things. I even started searching for apartments online.” Or rather, she put it at the top of her to-do list.
“There’s some paperwork we’ll need to complete before I can sign over the deed to the house to you.”
“Of course.”
“Do you have an attorney you’d like to call to make sure the documents are clear and to search for any loopholes?”
“I trust Jerry.”
Swan lowered his brows at her as if she were a naïve girl unaware of what she was getting herself into.
“Unless it’s standard to hire your own attorney?”
“Only if you don’t trust or are unsure of the legally binding documents to which you are signing.”
For three hours she listened as he went over every line of every document, signing where he’d highlighted underneath Jerry’s signature.
It wasn’t until she walked through the door to the house—her house—that the enormity of the situation hit her. Curling up in Jerry’s favorite chair, she closed her eyes and let the tears fall.
Once again he’d saved her. Saved her from hurting herself, from losing herself, and now he helped her find herself. And he even gave her a home. His home, which meant the world to him.
The only thing he left to his sons were a handful of photo albums and two boxes of some childhood items Brigitte had been holding on to. They were stored in one of the spare bedrooms upstairs.
When the tears stopped flowing, Jenna wiped her cheeks with her shoulder and snagged two tissues from the box on the end table to blow her nose.
She was a wreck. Hopefully, none of her friends would stop by with a surprise visit. They’d been her life support lately. Reaching up behind her, she pulled Jerry’s blanket down across her shoulders and wrapped herself in it before opening his letter.
Dearest Jenna,
My final days are upon me now, and if you’re reading this, it means I’ve passed. Please don’t shed sad tears. I’m in Heaven now where I belong, standing next to my beautiful bride. She’s been waiting patiently for me all these years, but she knew my time on earth wasn’t yet done.
We weren’t able to save our boys, and it nearly broke my dear wife too early in our lives together. By the grace of God, we held on to each other for support and lived a very happy, full life together.
You can’t control other people’s actions or feelings. We learned that the hard way. After Brigitte passed, I didn’t want to continue on with my life. Somehow I managed. The night before you came into my life I’d contemplated taking a month’s worth of medication in one dose.
I would have if my hands could have opened those damned bottles. When you walked into my living room, I saw the same empty eyes I saw in Brigitte’s when we’d lost our boys to greed and materialism.
I knew I couldn’t leave the earth while your eyes spoke of such sadness. I thought I was doing you a favor by distracting you from the worries you’d come to escape, but really, you were God’s angel sent to rescue me.
You are the daughter Brigitte and I never got to have. You’re the child we so much wanted to share every day with. The grandchild we wished to have visit. So thank you, Jenna, for bringing light and joy back into my life.
Thank you for rescuing me from doing the unthinkable. And please don’t be sad that I’m gone. I lived a long, full life. My time is up, and I’m going to the most wonderful paradise with my one true love.
I won’t leave you until I know you’re in a good place too. You’re a beautiful, strong, brave, independent, intelligent, kind-hearted young woman.
Love and be loved. It’s the greatest gift anyone can give.
You have my love, Jenna. Now go share it.
My heart,
Jerry
P.S. I don’t want my gift to be a burden for you. You have my blessing if you choose to sell the home, renovate, rebuild, or keep as is. My wish is for you to make a home—wherever it may be—that will bring you as much love as this home has brought me and Brigitte.
She had to put the letter down before she soaked it with her tears. Her throat was tight and dry, and her stomach shook from crying. Taking a handful of tissues, she wiped her eyes and blew her nose again.
He was right. He was in a better place now, with his wife in heaven. Jenna’s tears were selfish tears. She loved caring for him. Listening to his stories of love and hope. And she could carry those on to her friends.
Mopping her eyes, she kept the blanket wrapped around her shoulders and went to her room to change out of her skirt and blouse. She contemplated bringing Jerry’s blanket with her to the barn, but she didn’t want it to get ruined.
Once again, she set the music to Sinatra, this time finding her creative Zen, and got lost in her pottery. Painting was relaxing as well, but only when she had a clear vision or inspiration of what to paint.
It was more emotionally taxing and fulfilling to paint. The effort on concentration wasn’t something she could handle right now. With her potter’s wheel, she could sculpt while her mind wandered off. If it turned out to be a mess, there was a sense of satisfaction when she crushed the blob with her wet hands and started over again.
With painting, she hated wasting an expensive canvas and paints when her heart wasn’t in it. This past summer, she’d set up her easel at Coastal Vines and painted the gazebo with the vineyard in the background.
Alexis’ giant Bernese Mountain dog Hemsworth made his way into the painting as well. People weren’t her favorite thing to paint, so she typically stuck to objects and landscapes.
Hemmy, however, had practically demanded to be a figure trotting down a path, a stick in his mouth.
She’d painted the sunrise one morning, coming up over the ocean and the tips of the vines. It took careful planning, watching the weather and to see when a good morning would be, and asking Mia to come stay with Jerry for a few hours.
The end result was spectacular. The sunrise had been okay that morning, but Jenna had seen enough to visualize a grand one with more purples and pinks in the sky.
The paintings had been sitting in her bedroom ever since with the plan to hang them behind her table of pottery at the holiday craft fair.
Headlights from a car coming up the driveway shone through the front window of the barn. Grace had texted an hour ago, but Jenna’s hands had been buried deep in clay, so she never responded.
Figuring it was her, she slowed the wheel and picked up a rag to wipe her hands.
“Is this a bad time?” Carter stuck his head through the door, scanning the area until he spotted her in a dimly lit corner.
“No. Come in.”
The pitcher she’d been working on was actually coming out pretty well, and she didn’t want to be rude, but she didn’t want to lose momentum.
“Just give me a few minutes to finish this piece and wash up.”
“Mind if I watch, or do you need your artistic privacy?” he asked with a smirk.
Rarely did she like an audience when working. Carter hovering over her would make her nervous.
“The side door is unlocked. Make yourself comfortable, and I’ll be there in a few.”
He nodded before slipping out.
The free-flowing creativity was lost, but with only the handle and smoothing of the sides to finish, she hoped it would look halfway decent. It didn’t take long for her to finish and place it in the drying bin to fire in the morning.
While at the basin washing up, another set of lights shone on the barn. This time she met the visitor in the driveway.
Tristan.
Her heart did that fluttery thing it often did around him. It shouldn’t. She’d known him for more than half her life.
“Hey.” He closed the door to his catering van and nodded to Carter’s truck. “I didn’t know you’d have company this late at night. Sorry.”
His lip twitched, and he glanced sideways at the house, the reflection of the television casting light onto the dark porch. He propped a container against his hip.
“It’s almost midnight,” she said unnecessarily. Of course he knew.
“I’m on my way home from an event and thought I’d stop by to see ... how today went.” He held out the container. “I have leftover spinach ravioli with alfredo sauce.”
One of her favorites.
“You could have called.” She took the container and set it on the bottom step.
“I could have.” He nodded in agreement, once again his gaze flashing to the house. And the twitch. The twitch was back. She could have put him out of his misery and told him Carter had done the same thing.
Stopped by unannounced, uninvited. Not that they weren’t welcome.
“I was driving by and saw the lights on in the house and the barn. I figured”—he shrugged—“I’m sorry if I’m disturbing your ... night.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet.
“You’re not.” She moved closer so she could see the hazel of his eyes. “And don’t apologize.”
Keeping his body rigid, his hands tucked in his pockets, he lifted his gaze to meet hers. “How did the meeting with the attorney go?”
Jenna couldn’t help her wide grin. “Amazing. Jerry wrote me the sweetest letter before he died.”
“Really?” The hands came out and reached for hers. “That must have been hard to read. Are you okay?”
“I am.” She welcomed the gentle tug of his hands and stepped closer to him. “It was so sweet. I cried for a solid hour after reading it and have been in the barn ever since.”
Tristan turned his head and stared into the lit windows of the house, and then to Carter’s truck.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed on his words. “I’m glad you’re not alone.”
“He just got here ten minutes before you.”
“Is he ... is staying the night?” Tristan dropped her hands and moved away. “I’m sorry. I have no right to ask you that. I’ll go. I just wanted to make sure you were okay after the meeting. I would have called earlier, but they only sent half the order of shrimp, and two of my waitresses called out—”
“Hey.” This time she reached for his hands. “Don’t apologize. It’s nice to know you ... people are looking out for me.” And it was. While her parents had always been there for her, it was friends her own age she needed to fill the emptiness she felt after Tristan left.
After she pushed him away.
“Besides. It’s a good day. A really good day. Remember how I told you I was going to start searching for apartments?”
“Yeah. Did you find one?”
“No need to. Jerry left me the deed to his house. And it’s paid in full.” She smiled so wide she thought she’d crack her face.
“Seriously? I’m so happy for you. You’ll have a piece of Jerry with you forever.” Tristan pulled her into a hug and kissed the top of her head.
With his arms wrapped tightly around her and her face buried into his warm chest, she felt more at home than ever. He knew the exact words to say to her. Owning the home wasn’t about relieving the stress of having to find a place to stay. It was about her connection with Jerry.
Tristan got it. He got her. So well.
Too well.
“Jenna?” Carter called from the porch.
Tristan dropped his arms too quickly and moved away. “You were very special to him.” He stroked her cheek with his knuckles and turned to the house. “Have a good night,” he said to Carter and walked away into the dark toward his van.
“Am I interrupting something?” Carter asked when she joined him on the porch.
“No. He was on his way home from an event and stopped by to check on me. All you guys keep doing that. It’s very sweet.” She picked up the ravioli and brushed past him, holding the door open. “I’m starving. Have you eaten yet?”
“I ate dinner about six hours ago, but I could always eat again.” He patted his flat stomach.
“There’s pulled pork, a rotisserie chicken, baked mac and cheese, and spinach ravioli.”
“I didn’t know you loved to cook so much.” Nope. Never needed to. She had Tristan for that. Had Tristan.
“I have friends who like to bring me food.”
Carter narrowed his eyes at her as if trying to read her mind. “I see.” He took the ravioli from her and carried it to the kitchen.
She got plates from the cabinet and two forks from a nearby drawer while he opened the fridge. “Wine, orange juice, or water seem to be the three choices.”
“I’m fine with water. I think it’s still warm enough. Tristan said—” Jenna cleared her throat and looked away from Carter as she felt her cheeks turn red. While technically she hadn’t done anything wrong, she still felt the burn of shame in her belly mentioning another man in front of Carter.
“I can heat it up if you’d like it warmer. Or feel free to choose something else from the fridge.” She set the plates down clumsily and went back to the tiny pantry for a serving spoon.
They ate their midnight snack in uncomfortable silence. Normally Carter was good for filling airspace. He could ramble on and crack jokes for just about anything. Tonight, however, the air was full of ... something.
He didn’t seem angry or jealous as they ate. Instead, his facial muscles were relaxed and almost void of any expression at all.
When their plates were empty, she waited for him to break the silence.
He didn’t. Maybe he was tired. Tired of her? Possibly. She hadn’t done anything to make him want to be with her.
“I have plenty of food. Are you sure you don’t want anymore?” She slid the dish closer to him.
“I’m good. Thank you.” He stood, taking the ravioli with him, and covered it before putting it in the fridge.
“It will only take a minute to wash the plates.” She picked them up and brought them to the sink and took her time scrubbing and rinsing.
She joined him in the middle of the kitchen, toying with the hem of her loose shirt. Why did she have to be so awkward? She liked Carter and was being unfair to him.
“I’ve been thinking.” He stepped closer, taking her hands in his. They were clammy as if he was as nervous as her.
Please don’t ask to take our relationship further. “Thinking is good. Sometimes. Sometimes it’s not good if you’re overthinking and you don’t—” Jenna cut herself off before she rambled like a blubbering idiot.
“This may be the worst possible time to bring this up,” he started.
Yes. It was. Jerry had only been gone for a week, she inherited a lovely home, and her heart had decided it was in love with her ex-husband. Shit. Really? Now? Now was when she had to have this epiphany? Nonononononono. This couldn’t be happening. There was no way she loved Tristan.
Well, she’d always love him. He was her first everything. But she wasn’t in love with him, was she?
“It’s been a long day,” she agreed.
“I’ll make it short then.” Carter brought her hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles.
Nope. No tingles and butterflies.
“Carter.”
“I like you.”
“I like you too.” But not in that way.
“I have a lot of fun with you.”
“I have a lot of...” No. This wouldn’t help her situation any. Better to let him talk while she processed a way to let him down gently. She stared straight ahead at his chin as he continued.
“You’re beautiful, intelligent, but most importantly, you have a huge heart.”
A sweet, gorgeous man was spouting poetry, and she was thinking of ways to break up with him. What the heck was wrong with her?
Not her. Him. No, not him. There wasn’t anything wrong with Carter other than ... he wasn’t Tristan.
“We’ve had a lot of fun together the past few months, but I think our dating has come to an end.”
“Wait. What?”
“I know when to respectfully bow out.”
“You’re...” It wasn’t exactly breaking up since they weren’t in a relationship.
Carter dropped her hands and toyed with the collar around her neck. “I know when to throw in the towel. I could put up a fight, but you don’t react the same way to me as you do to him.”
Jenna snatched her head up so their eyes met. “I don’t... I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’ve seen it.” His gentle blue eyes were not accusatory. If anything, they were filled with amusement. “I can’t say I’m not jealous. I live for the day a woman looks at me the way you do at him.”
She shook her head vigorously. There was no way he knew. She’d only just figured out her feelings seconds ago.
“We have a past history is all.”
“He’s still in love with you, and I’m not the kind of person to get in the way of a reconciliation.”
“We’re not ...we haven’t...”
“It’s okay. I’m not mad.”
“I haven’t even kissed him. We talk. That’s all.”
“You’re not kissing is more potent than all of our kisses put together.”
Damn. He was right, and she felt terrible that he could sense the connection between her and Tristan.
“I want you to know, even though we were only dating, I never ... I never did anything with Tristan or any other man. I’m loyal.”
“I know.” He stroked her hair, his friendly eyes dancing with amusement. “I know.”
“I’m sorry, Carter. I never meant to hurt you. To be honest, I don’t know what’s going on. This wasn’t planned. I don’t know. I just don’t know how I’m feeling or what I’m supposed to feel.”
“Follow your heart. That’s what I’m doing. You need to promise we’ll stay friends. I can take the high road and accept you’re with Tristan, but I won’t let him cut you out of my life. Your friendship means too much to me.”
“Never. He wouldn’t do that. I won’t do that.”
“I trust you. A jealous boyfriend, not so much. You’ll need time. I get that.” He took his keys out of his pocket and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “I’ll see you around.”
“I’m sorry things didn’t work out between us, Carter,” she said to his retreating back.
He spun around and walked backward to the door, a wicked smile on his lips. “It only means there’s an even more perfect woman out there for me, right? You set the bar high, Jenna. I won’t settle for any less.” He gave her a two-finger salute and left.
Dragging her feet to the living room in disbelief, she dropped to the couch and rested her elbows on her knees. Her phone sat on the coffee table and lit up with a text.
Tristan. A smile wrapped itself around her heart and squeezed.
If you can’t sleep and need someone to talk to, I’m up as well.
She picked up her phone and typed a reply but didn’t send it. She needed time to process her new revelation.
Whether she wanted to be or not, she was in love with her ex-husband.