Jessica stepped into the room ahead of Ridley, flipping on the overhead lights as she moved through the doorway. “And this is where I work.”
Her workroom wasn’t merely a bedroom that had been converted into an artist studio. Ridley could tell that right off. This room had been designed for her use. Counters lined three walls, much of it cluttered with what he supposed were art supplies. Large windows let in natural light, but there was plenty of electrical lighting as well. Two easels were set up, their backs to him, each with a canvas on it. He resisted the urge to peek at whatever was on them. In the corner off to his right he could see an iMac with an extra-large display, while in the center of the room sat an island. The top of the island was splashed with various paint colors and mediums. A couple of cloths lay wadded up near one corner, and a large toolbox sat in the center. There was a sink to his left. It, too, was stained with colors—bright red, olive green, teal, sky blue, sunshine yellow.
“Impressive,” he said at last. “What do you paint?”
“Wall decor mostly, but I’m a crafter too. I enjoy working with leather. I make bracelets.”
His gaze returned to the computer. The screen was black. If he touched a key, would it awaken? Would he see a browser window? Would he be able to find the local news in a few clicks of the keyboard? Not that he needed to see it.
“Would you like to see one of my creations?” Jessica asked.
Grateful for a reason to turn away from the temptation, he answered, “Sure.”
She opened a drawer, lifted something from within, and placed it on the center island.
He stepped closer to examine it. A bracelet, made of narrow strips of leather, rope, and wooden beads. From the center hung a sterling silver ichthus. “It’s beautiful, Jessica.” He glanced up. “Your husband must’ve been proud of what you do.”
The change in her expression was infinitesimal and yet it struck him powerfully. Did he hear her suck in a breath before she turned away? He couldn’t be sure. But one thing he knew: he’d hurt her by mentioning her husband. The last thing he’d meant to do.
“That’s all there is to see.” She dropped the bracelet back into the drawer, her voice brisker than before.
“Thanks for showing all of this to me. And thanks for dinner too.” He moved out of the studio, on his way to the front door, then stopped and turned again. “And listen. Thanks for not asking a bunch of questions about the Treehorn thing. You’re the first person who’s discovered my identity and hasn’t tried to interrogate me about what happened. Well, except for Pastor Phelps. He knows who I am.”
“I didn’t know you’d met him.”
“Yeah, we met. And I went to hear him preach yesterday.” He waited for her to say something, perhaps admit that Hope Springs Community was her church home. She said nothing. “Well, thanks again. It was a nice evening.”
After closing the door, Jessica leaned her forehead against it and let the hurt wash over her.
“Your husband must’ve been proud of what you do.”
Had Joe ever been proud of her? She couldn’t remember. Maybe once, early in their marriage. He’d built her the studio then, before she got pregnant with Angela. Neither of them had suspected she would one day sell her creations. The studio had been to help keep her occupied and less lonely during his frequent travels. But somewhere along the way, Joe had stopped caring what she did with her art or anything else. He’d barely noticed her toward the end.
She turned, now leaning her back against the door.
“I don’t want to live like this anymore.” Joe’s voice was low but full of anger. “I want out. I want a divorce.”
She twirled away from the closed bedroom door, sucking in a gasp. “A divorce?”
“Yes. I’m miserable. You’re miserable.”
“We can’t divorce, Joe. We can’t break up our family.”
“Jessica, we’re already broken. Can’t you see that?”
She moved to the bed. Silent tears streaked her cheeks as she sank onto the edge of the mattress. He’d made love to her in this bed last night, and this morning he wanted a divorce. How could that be? If he didn’t love her, how could he—
“I love someone else, Jess.”
She gasped aloud this time.
“You must’ve known.”
He might as well have called her stupid. And yes, deep down in her heart, she supposed she had known he was seeing another woman, that he’d been cheating on her for a long time. Even when he was home, he was absent. But last night . . .
“We’ll get through Christmas. Then I’ll move out and we can tell our families.”
She went cold. “You want to live here with me and pretend everything’s all right?”
“Why not? It’s just more of the same.”
She wanted to hit him. She wanted to throw up. Either. Both.
“We’ll keep it together through Christmas for Angela’s sake.”
“Joe.” She held out a hand toward him. “Don’t do this. We can get counseling. We can save our marriage. We can be happy again. It isn’t right to throw it all away. God wouldn’t want us to give up.”
He walked to the bedroom door. “Angela’s waiting for me. We’ve got Christmas shopping to do.” The anger was gone from his voice, leaving only frustration in its wake.
“Don’t go yet. We haven’t settled anything.”
Over his shoulder, he tossed her an irritated look. “It’s already settled, Jess. You’vre just too stubborn to admit it.” He opened the door and left the room.
That was the last time she’d seen Joe—or Angela—alive.
“And I’m still pretending that we were happy at the end,” she whispered, tears blurring her eyes. “All these months later, I’m still pretending. I still care what others think, even when I’m hiding away here by myself.”
Honesty required her to admit she did have a bit of a stubborn streak, that she’d clung to Joe and their marriage, in the end more out of desperation than love. And because of Angela.
In her mind, she once again saw her daughter, sitting in the back seat of Joe’s car, so excited about a day of Christmas shopping with her dad. She’d worn a bright red knit cap with a fluffy ball sewn to the top and her new red winter coat.
“I’m gonna get you a surprise, Mama. I’m gonna get you a surprise for Christmas.”
Why had she allowed Angela to go with Joe that morning? Why hadn’t she realized how angry he still was? If she’d faced the truth then—
A groan tore at her throat, and she bent over at the waist. Her tears splattered the floor. “God, why? Why my precious girl?”
There was no answer from above. She’d asked the question so many times over the months, and there’d never been an answer. Only pain.
Talk about it.
She straightened slowly, her breath catching. For a moment, she almost wondered if God was answering her at last. But why would He? She’d shut Him out as surely as she’d shut out the rest of the world. Still, she pushed away from the door and walked to the phone, pulled there by a need that couldn’t be ignored. She pressed the speed-dial button and waited for someone to answer.
“Hello?”
Tears threatened again. “Mom, it’s me. I need to talk. Could we meet tomorrow?”
“What is it, dear? Is it the baby?”
“No. The baby’s fine. I just need to talk. But not over the phone.”
“Of course. Come for lunch. We’ll have the house to ourselves.”
“Okay. See you then.” She drew a quick breath. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you, too, sweetheart. Drive carefully.”
“I will. ‘Bye.”