Authors: Lori H. Leger,Kimberly Killion
Tags: #Fiction, #Contemporary Women
Jackson’s breath froze as he made the connection. Nausea plus pregnancy equaled to one scheduled abortion. “There’s no need to reschedule the abortion,” he said, his voice steely with anger.
The woman hesitated before continuing. “Has she decided to go through with the pregnancy?”
“
She’s dead.” He disconnected and threw the phone down, remembering the scene in the truck, minutes before the accident.
“
What the hell are you doing, Jackson?”
“
The light is out on that side. I’m letting people exit.”
“
That’s their problem. It won’t kill them to wait.”
“
It won’t kill us to be kind, Chloe.”
“
I have things to do, dammit!” she fumed.
He turned to his wife as he let another vehicle out. “I’m sure they all do, too.”
She looked impatiently at her watch. “I couldn’t care less about anyone else.”
“
I never would have guessed that,” he mumbled.
“
Did you say something, asshole?”
Jackson kept quiet as he let his foot off the brake and inched forward slowly.
“
Well, it’s about damn time,” she huffed.
When he noticed the next vehicle waiting to exit the crowded parking lot, he hit the brakes again.
“
What now?”
“
That’s Toby and Giselle,” he said. “They have a party to go to after this.”
She jerked her head toward him in agitation. “I have things to do, too. Let’s go!” she yelled.
Jackson briefly caught the other couple’s gazes as they waved in appreciation. He pulled out after the black SUV and followed them back toward the interstate, all the while enduring a steady diatribe of insults from his dear wife.
Jackson stood up suddenly. “An abortion,” he murmured to himself. “She had to drive to Beaumont for an abortion, and I was holding her up.”
He walked over to the latest of many studio portraits taken of Chloe and picked up the frame. He studied the features of his dead wife, from her expensive high-end haircut, her two hour make-up application, to her perfectly manicured nails.
Jackson pitched the frame across the room then stood there, panting, wishing he could get his hands around her skinny, little neck. He stood there, gasping for deep breaths to keep from screaming as he stared at the house that had never felt like a home...thanks to Chloe. He picked up his keys, and stormed out, returning thirty minutes later, his truck bed loaded down with boxes from the U-Haul place.
Jackson worked like a man possessed, stopping just long enough to call the local Salvation Army. He told them he had a houseful of furniture to donate that he would put to the curb tonight. Two men arrived within the hour and began to fill the truck with furniture and boxes containing Chloe’s things. By eight p.m. all traces of Chloe were gone. Not a single item left to show that she’d even set foot in the building, much less lived there for nearly eleven years.
He poured himself a highball glass of whiskey, dropped into the one chair he’d kept, a left over from his college days. He drank steadily for another hour, then made his way to the guest room with the plain queen sized bed and dresser. Throwing back the last swallow, he fell onto the bed, and descended into a deep, dreamless, abyss of drunken slumber.
CHAPTER 3
Jackson awoke promptly at six a.m. the next morning. Once he’d showered and shaved, he called Carrie. Her first thought was for him, and it made him smile.
“Hey, Jack, how are you feeling this morning?”
Jackson sipped at his cup of coffee. “I’m okay. How was her night?”
“It was rough. I wish Sam were here with me.”
“Will I do? I’m on my way to the hospital right now.”
“Don’t you have to make funeral arrangements?”
“Nope, but at some point I’ll need to buy a house full of furniture.”
Carrie inhaled sharply. “What the hell’s going on, Jack?”
“I’ll tell you in ten minutes,” he said, ending the call.
Jackson glanced up at the soft whooshing of elevator doors opening. Carrie stood there, arms crossed, and foot tapping. He ignored her look of impatience and brushed past her to look in on Giselle.
“Well” he said, as they exited the room again, “at least she’s not curled up in the fetal position. That’s what I’d do.”
“She tried, but it hurt too badly,” she murmured. “Come on, I’ll buy you a cup of coffee and some breakfast. You look like crap.”
“Well, thanks a lot Carrie.”
“Anytime. When’s the last time you ate anything?”
“Breakfast...yesterday.”
She harrumphed. “That’s what I thought. Let’s get you some sustenance.”
They stood in the breakfast line at the hospital’s cafeteria, sliding their trays along the metal rail. Jackson placed a pastry in his tray only to have Carrie remove it, placing it back on the shelf.
He reached out for it. “Hey, I wanted that.”
She slapped at his hand. “You haven’t eaten in twenty four hours. You need protein in your system, not this crap. You know better than that.”
Jackson opened his mouth to protest until he saw the tell-tale lift of her brow, a sure-fire-dare for him to disobey.
Carrie filled his tray with bacon, eggs, whole wheat toast, and a cup of fresh fruit. She dropped containers of juice and milk in his tray. “We’ll need a carafe of coffee at our table,” she told the cashier. She passed the woman her debit card.
Jackson grabbed Carrie’s card and dropped it in her purse, then handed him his card instead.
“Pushy,” she told him.
“That’s funny, coming from you,” he snorted.
They emptied their trays onto their table while someone brought the coffee. Carrie poured two cups and pushed one toward Jackson. “Sooo—,” she drawled, “—why are you buying furniture today instead of making funeral arrangements for your wife?”
He coughed on his sip of juice. “Jesus, you don’t beat around the bush, do you, Carrie?”
She pulled back the lid on a container of creamer. “Answer the question.”
He paused several moments after taking another sip of juice then cleared his throat. “Chloe left a letter with our lawyer. She said she didn’t want any kind of funeral service, and she wanted to be cremated.”
“Oh.” She looked over at him with narrowed eyes. “Please tell me you’re not going to keep her in an urn on your mantle. That’s so damn creepy.”
“I don’t have a mantle. I thought I’d keep her at the office where you could visit with her every day,” he said dryly.
She dropped her fork, and glared at him. “Even though there was no love lost between she and I, that is
not
funny.”
He grinned tightly at her. “She wanted them sent to her mother in California.”
Carrie’s mouth dropped in shock. “You’ve
got
to be kidding me! To her
mother,
who was sorry for
your
loss but wouldn’t bother coming to the funeral?”
Jackson shrugged. “She did me a favor.” He felt his friend’s gaze on him.
“Come on, Jack. I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re holding back from me. This is not about funeral arrangements, is it? What’s going on, here?”
He placed his fork on the tray and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He leaned forward, rested his elbows on the table, and looked over at her. “No, it’s not about funeral arrangements.”
“What else did she say in that letter?”
“She said that she had been on the pill the entire time we’d been together. She never wanted a child...anyone’s child.”
“But, the depression when she got her period every month,” Carrie reminded him.
He pushed back in his chair. “You remember that quack doctor that tried to tell me she was putting on an act?” he asked, as Carrie nodded. “It seems I owe him an apology.”
“Are you sure about this?”
“I’m sure.”
“You must be...I...don’t know what to say,” she stammered. “I can’t even imagine how you must feel. I’m so sorry.” She wiped at a tear in the corner of her eye.
“Don’t cry over her, Carrie, she’s not worth it.”
“She’s not, but you are. All the years you wasted on that spiteful, conniving...” She swore then released s deep sigh. “I shouldn’t say that, you probably loved her in your own way.”
“Not for a long time.”
She stared at him for a minute in silence. “Did she say anything else?”
“Nothing that should ever be repeated,” he said, his mouth set in a grim line.
Carrie shook her head in disgust. “I’d give my right arm to go one round with that skinny tramp.”
He gave her a sad smile. “Aw, thanks hon. It really means a lot that you’d be willing to whip her ass for me.”
“It’s not fair, Jack. You’re a good man, and one day, you’ll make a wonderful father.”
He shook salt on his eggs. “Aren’t you skipping a step?”
Carrie supported her chin on her clasped hands. “I think God has something special planned for you. I really do.”
He dropped his fork in his plate and rested his elbows on the table to gaze at her. “I sure as hell hope you’re right, Carr. It’d be nice to actually look forward to going home at the end of the day.”
She nodded in understanding. “It happened for me after eighteen years. It’ll happen for you, too.”
He straightened and cleared his throat.
“So, what’s the deal with the furniture?”
He told her how he had emptied his house of everything that reminded him of his wife.
“So you purged your home of Chloe.”
“You could say that. Now I can buy some decent furniture.”
“God, she had horrible taste in furniture, didn’t she?”
He nodded, refilling his coffee cup. “So, how’s Giselle? Does she hate me any worse today than she did yesterday?”
“She doesn’t hate you. Maybe when she sees her girls, it’ll be better.”
“Do they know?”
“No, and they need to be told. I don’t know what to do. I hate to take too much of this on myself when they have a mother, but she’s still so out of it,” she murmured.
“Do you have a photo of the girls here?”
“No, I have plenty at home. Do you think that would help? I could have Sam bring some over.”
Jackson stood up and fished his truck keys out of his pocket. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes or so.” He ran to catch the elevator before the doors closed.
<><><>
He returned a half hour later and knocked lightly on the door of Giselle’s room. Giselle was awake and subdued for the moment. She turned her head to look when he walked into the room then turned away again.
“I don’t want to see anybody,” she said.
Jackson stepped into the room. “I thought you may want to have this with you.” He held up the photo he’d taken from her office. “Giselle, look at me.”
She turned to him, and her eyes widened. Giselle reached for the photo with both hands. “Oh, my babies!” She pulled the photo close to gaze at the photo of her girls. Silent tears trailed down her bruised cheeks and fell onto the glass covering the photo.
“Do they know?” she whispered.
Carrie sniffed and cleared her throat. “No sweetie. I didn’t want to do anything without talking to you first.”
“I’ll tell them, but I want to do it at home. Do you think the doctor will release me soon?”
“What’s her doctor’s name?” Jackson asked.
“Dr. Allemand - I saw her in the hall a few minutes ago.”
“I’ll find her.”
Giselle never looked up as Jackson walked out of the room. After several minutes had gone by, she asked. “Why is Jackson here...is Chloe in the hospital, too?”
“No, hon. Chloe died in the wreck. He’s here because he wants to help.”
“I didn’t know,” Giselle whispered.
Jackson entered the room silently, hidden by the curtain, wondering if it was okay to make his presence known. The sound of Giselle’s voice, heartbroken and tortured, droned on, as she explained about the malfunctioning light at the Civic Center. He smiled as she told Carrie how he’d let her and Toby into the long queue of traffic.
“You know, if he hadn’t, Toby and I would have missed the accident,” Giselle murmured.
Jackson’s breath froze as he witnessed Carrie’s anxious comeback.