Lighting Candles in the Snow (16 page)

Chapter Twenty

T
he next day, twenty-four hours after my visit to his mom, and three days after his visit to my apartment, Jeremy called, making me wonder if she had tipped him off.

I asked him outright if his mom had talked to him about us. I left out the part about my visit, letting Jeremy assume the “us” meant him and me.

“My mom? Why would I tell her about us? She doesn’t get in my business that way.”

I let it drop. I didn’t want it to slip that I’d been to see her, in case he thought I was checking up on him or chasing him down.

I said, “No reason. But I’m surprised to finally hear from you.”

“Why?” he asked, innocent-sounding, like it had not been three entire days.

“Well, I figured our night together was a fluke, a mistake, a one-night stand, so to speak.”

I kept my tone light. After all, we weren’t married. I had no claim on him, or him on me. I didn’t want to come across as jealous ex-wife with a possessive attitude.

Besides, now I was interested in Zac. Not Jeremy.

From our many years together, I was aware of Jeremy’s tendency to run away and hide when he felt threatened or insecure, and after hearing his mother’s story, I understood why. I had always supposed it was him fleeing from me and our relationship, when in reality it was stressful situations he tried to escape, not me personally. Although I rationalized Jeremy not calling was Jeremy hiding, it was still hard for me to take.

I fought against myself in this moment, trying not to resent him for those three days with no contact. Not a text. Or a knock at my front door. I had waited, nerve endings alert, ready to hear his voice, see his face. I had longed to touch him and once again be wrapped in his embrace.

When Zac rang my doorbell the other day, and I ran to open the door, it should have been Jeremy coming over with a spring bouquet to make amends. God knows he had plenty to apologize for.

But that wasn’t Jeremy’s style. He never did what was expected or normal. I suppose I had grown up steeped in my father’s traditional behavior, so that Jeremy, who represented danger and excitement and exploring new vistas of experience, held a strong attraction to me.

Hot Zac, with his tall good looks and sexy smile, with his zeal for snowboarding still had nothing on the energy that emanated from Jeremy. One look from those brown eyes of my ex-husband and I’d be suckered in, a goner. Pathetic.

I visualized Jeremy’s eyes, his hair, his face. I tried to close my eyes and forget, but the image remained, unforgettable, cherished, haunting.

I swallowed as the awful realization coursed through me. I squeezed my phone so close to my cheek I nearly disconnected us. I quickly pulled it away and checked to make sure I hadn’t clicked him away.

I couldn’t bear the idea of being disconnected from Jeremy.

I loved him, I’d always loved him and I had never stopped loving him, even when I hated him.

The sound of his voice evaporated my resolve to shun him and cast him away for good. I tried to stay angry at him for not calling, for putting me through hell in our marriage, for each remembered hurt and infraction. I tried to work myself up into a frenzy strong enough to give him the angry brush-off. I tried to visualize Zac’s sheepish grin as he handed me the daisies, Zac’s long strides as we walked in the Avenues, Zac taking my hand to keep me from slipping on the ice.

No good. All I could see was that hurt little brown-eyed boy hiding under the bed. Jeremy.

After a long silence, Jeremy spoke in a soft voice. “Did it feel like a one-night stand to you, Karoline? Did it feel like a mistake?”

“No.”

It had felt right and perfect and like we belonged together.

“Not to me either. I know what a one-night stand is, and that wasn’t it.”

“Then why ignore me afterward? No phone call, not a text. I don’t understand it.”

“Me, neither,” he said, his voice husky. “Unfortunately, I do a lot of things that are hard to understand.”

“But Jeremy, it was obvious. You should have called, contacted me, or something. I didn’t want to be the first one to initiate contact. I felt like it should be you.”

I would not cry. I could not cry. I would be strong. Mountain Woman here.

“I wasn’t sure about your feelings. I hurt you a lot, Karoline. I cringe to think of it. To treat the woman I love like that.” He paused before continuing in halting words. “And don’t think these are empty words. . . . You might want to know, I’ve been in counseling. It’s . . . it’s helping a lot with . . . my problems.”

It was too hard for us to say anything significant over the phone. We had to meet. And it had to be his idea, not mine.

“Why don’t you come over?” I offered. “Have you had dinner?”

Oh rats. Why did this man turn me to jelly? What happened to strong Mountain Woman?

“I’ve been at the library working on a new rough draft. Been there the whole day, haven’t had a thing to eat, you know how I get. Dinner sounds good.”

He spoke fast, as though afraid I’d change my mind.

Jeremy wrote out his first drafts longhand in spiral notebooks, giving his imagination free rein as he exorcised whatever demons were buried deep within. At last I knew where those ghosts originated.

“I’ll cook for us,” I said.

Really, Karoline, now you’re offering to cook for him?
I was truly the most pitiful doormat. Goodbye, Mountain Woman.

“You sure? You want me to come over?”

He sounded like an eager little boy, and my heart melted.

“Yes, Jeremy. I do. I can’t help it. It goes against everything I’ve been telling myself the past year, especially the past three days, but yes, I want you to come over.”

He laughed softly in that way I loved. “I’ll see you soon then. Karoline?”

“Yes?”

“Uh, Karoline. Thank you.”

The “I love you” hung in the air. I wanted to say it. I could tell that he did, too. There was a long pause, both of us still on the line. I would not say “I love you” first. At least I could hold out for that.

“Bye, then,” I said. “See ya later.” Trying for casual, sure whatever, come if you want, makes no difference to me.

My detached posing ended the second I set down the phone. I rushed around the apartment, tidying up, analyzing the kitchen cupboards for ingredients, wondering if I needed to make a quick trip to the store.

I decided to get a long shower first before planning dinner. I didn’t want to be in the kitchen cooking, gross and unshowered, when Jeremy came to the door.

I ran into the bedroom and checked the sheets and pillows to make sure they were fresh. I had laundered them the other day and they still smelled nice. Good, one less thing to worry about.

I turned on the Scentsy warmer that Suzie had given me for Christmas. It had a fresh square of wax—Lucky in Love, how appropriate.

I jumped into the shower, as giddy as a girl on her first date. I washed my hair three times with the shampoo that Jeremy loved. He once said its scent was more intoxicating than any perfume. I used plenty of conditioner, same brand, rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat, until my hair was silky smooth.

As I stood under the hot water, enjoying the steamy warmth of the shower, I thought about Jeremy and his mom.

What Jeremy had told me was after his dad died, it was only him and his mom. Okay, nothing unusual about that. A lot of boys are raised by a single mom and turn out fine. Jeremy always said she had been a good mom and he had everything he needed. What seemed to bother him most about her was how she’d let herself and the house go the past few years, because she hadn’t been like that when he was growing up.

After graduating from high school, he took classes at Salt Lake Community College. He had no focus for school and didn’t keep it up. He worked as a grill cook at Dee’s Restaurant while writing his first novel.

Once that was published and started selling, he cut his hours at Dee’s and wrote more or less full-time. He lived cheap, didn’t spend money and got by on very little to allow the time to write.

I had always admired Jeremy’s dedication to his craft. No college degree and he had done more than I ever had with my bachelor’s in English. This was a man focused and determined to become a bestselling novelist and would make any sacrifice to do so.

After finishing the second novel, he got picked up by an agent. Once his agent sold the book, that’s when the real money started coming in. By then we were living together. Suzie felt like he was mooching off me, letting me pay the bills while he sat around not working. She had never seen his writing as working, more as him pursuing a non-paying hobby while being supported by me. I suppose it explained her problem with Jeremy.

I never saw it that way, except when he did things to make me mad enough to bring up the past and any other issues I could throw out there. In reality I was proud of what he had accomplished, and I would have been glad to pay his rent and buy the food for as long as it took.

It wasn’t the writing as a living that bothered me about Jeremy. It was the hurtful chronic behavior: staying out late drinking, seeing other women, the cheating. I had never been enough for him. I didn’t know if I could trust him again. His betrayal hurt more than anything.

What was I doing letting him back into my life? It was insane. Why should things be any different now than before?

I had to be sick to get involved with him again, a glutton for punishment. This man made me crazy. I should meet him at the door and send him away.

Yes, that’s what I’ll do. I won’t let him in. I’ll say it was a mistake, it meant nothing. It’s over. I can’t go through this again. And then I’ll go out with Zac tomorrow as planned.

I had to tell Jeremy goodbye. Nothing else made sense. I had to do it.

The hot water poured over me and mingled with my tears.

Chapter Twenty-one:
Mrs. London’s Story

T
he baby was a boy, and I was glad of that. He and Jeremy could be buddies growing up. The two of them would be the only children I’d have. Once I got free of Hank, no more would I hook up with another man. I’d had a good one and I’d had a bad one. I didn’t want to take any more chances. I had my two boys to care for, and I’d do it on my own.

I named the baby Stuart, after my dad who had passed away. It might bring us good luck. My daddy could watch over us from heaven and be the guardian angel for his little namesake, just like my first husband Gerald was watching over Jeremy. I didn’t shorten the baby’s name either, always called him Stuart, his given name.

Hank hated it. “What kind of goddamn sissy name is that? Don’t you care that boys at school will make fun of him? ‘Stuart, screw it,’ that’s what they’ll say. I won’t call my son by such a faggot name.”

He called him Buddy. Since Jeremy didn’t want to make Hank mad, or take sides against me, he called him Brother. There we were, the three of us in the house, each one calling this tiny baby by a different name.

Meanwhile, I’m keeping the peace while planning my escape. I found an apartment and paid a deposit. I told the bakery I’d need to take some time off in the near future, for personal reasons. They said okay, just let them know when, and they’d hold my job for me. I didn’t tell them the truth, that I’d never be back. I had to go into hiding.

I investigated new schools for Jeremy. I wanted to cut ties with the area and move to the south end of the valley, far enough away where I wouldn’t run into Hank by accident. We would disappear. I toyed with the idea of changing our names.

Like I said, I had it figured out. If Hank found us, he’d hurt Jeremy and me, and he’d take the baby. He was awfully possessive about that baby. He called Jeremy “your kid” and Stuart “my kid.”

I had things ready, waiting for the next time Hank decided he needed to get away. That always meant a weekend in Wendover, when he’d take work off early Friday and not get home until the wee hours on Monday. That would give me plenty of time to pull off my own getaway. When Hank crawled in at three a.m. on Monday morning, hung over and broke and mean and rarin’ for a fight, the boys and I would be gone.

I had to be patient and play my cards right. I couldn’t leak any clue to Hank of what I had up my sleeve or he’d be on his guard.

Finally the day came. Before Hank left for work on Friday, he asked me for cash. He said he had called in sick and was heading to Wendover with his buddies. I had money waiting for this moment. A lot of cash. Enough to keep him there for the weekend.

I hesitated. “Are you sure you need it, Hank? I was saving for new school clothes for Jeremy. He’s growing fast. And he needs a new winter coat.”

I didn’t want to sound too eager. I was quite the little actress, pulling off my reluctant wife act, pretending like I couldn’t part with the money.

Hank grabbed the envelope and thumbed through the cash. “Five hundred dollars? Your kid doesn’t need $500 worth of clothes. Fuck that. I’m takin’ it.” He shoved it inside his coat pocket and headed out the door.

Just before leaving he turned back and said, “I’ll double this and bring it back to you, for you to pay the bills, but that’s it. No fuckin’ way are you buying that little faggot $500 worth of school clothes.”

He left. I stood at the front window and watched him pull out of the drive. My heart pounded. I couldn’t move for at least thirty minutes, for fear he would come back and find me packing.

Finally, thinking it must be safe I called my work and told them I wouldn’t be in today. The baby was sick, I told them. I figured once I got away, I’d call back and tell them I was starting my leave of absence.

That was the only phone call I made. It was time to pack. First I went around and pulled the blinds and locked the doors. Not that it would keep Hank out, he had a key to his own house after all, but I was skittish. I was scared. The adrenaline coursed through me, and I knew I had to hurry.

I needed the weekend to take care of affairs and get some space between us. It was February, cold and gray, with deep snow drifting around the house. There had been a blizzard the day before, and during the night the wind had blown huge drifts against our back fence. I remember Jeremy going out back in his boots and too-small coat, stomping around in the fresh snow, trying to roll balls and make a snowman by himself.

“Mommy, come outside and help me make a snowman,” he had said. “Brother’s asleep, so you come and help me roll the balls.”

I wanted to go out with him, play in the snow a bit so he’d feel like everything was normal, nothing different about this day than any other, but I was too nervous. There was no time to spare. I threw clothes in two large suitcases, barely folding them, rolling them up quickly and fitting them in, thankful that Jeremy was entertaining himself outside and not around to ask me a million questions about what I was doing.

The baby was in his carrier, well-fed and sleepy, when I lugged the suitcases outside to put in the trunk of my car. Jeremy was still in the backyard. I would load up, put a heavy quilt over Stuart, call Jeremy and we’d be off.

I knew where we would go. I had done my research. I’d discovered a sanctuary for abused women down in the south end of the valley. It was in a quiet residential neighborhood, no signs saying what it was, a locked fence surrounding the property, and people on guard twenty-four hours a day to buzz you in if you were desperate for help. Or to call the police if a man tried to force his way in.

The boys and I would stay there for a time to get our bearings, to hide until it was safe to get out on our own. I couldn’t go back to the bakery. That’d be the first place Hank would look for me. That, and Jeremy’s school.

I’d have to find a new job, an apartment, create a whole new secret life for us. I was worried about what rights Hank had with Stuart and afraid he might try and take the baby away from me. But I kept reassuring myself I’d get the legal help I needed at the sanctuary. They had lawyers to advise the women with these issues.

Timing is an interesting thing. A few minutes here or there can make the difference between life and death. After everything a person can do to plan and dream and plot, in the end, we are at the mercy of timing, either to our benefit or our curse. I suppose that’s where the idea of luck comes in. Well, I’ve never had it. Luck, I mean. I only have bad luck, and that day I had the worst luck of all.

If only I had jumped right up after Hank left, instead of sitting there like a scared rabbit, the boys and I would have been gone. That extra thirty minutes would’ve made all the difference. It’s funny. With everything that happened that day, the one thing I regret more than anything, which I have never been able to forgive myself for, is the thirty minutes right after Hank left that I wasted, when I sat in the living room staring at the front door.