Authors: Theresa Rizzo
“Agreed. Drop the lawsuit.”
“I can’t do that.” George sighed and looked away. His lips thinned as he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded blue piece of paper. He smoothed his finger and thumb along the crease before thrusting it at Jenny.
Jenny unfolded the paper to see her name a line above a hundred thousand dollars. She stared at the check.
“I’m sure Gabe left you well-provided for, but…well, I don’t know how else to change your mind.”
Jenny crushed the check in her fist and threw it to the floor. Head held high, she descended the stairs without looking back, proud that she’d managed to ignore the urge to slap the old man’s face—or cry. The heavy fire door shut and latched with a loud click that echoed with eerie finality in the vacant stairwell as if emphasizing her aloneness. She passed the first landing. What the world made George think he could buy her off?
For a while back there, she’d actually begun to second-guess herself. Maybe it
was
too complicated. Maybe it wouldn’t be worth the humiliation and pain, but that was before that arrogant prick tried to buy her off.
How
dare
he? How dare George interfere in her marriage? She wanted to have her husband’s baby and she didn’t give a damn what that old man thought. She’d dig up the most ruthless attorney in Michigan. Just let him
try
and stop her.
Jenny struggled to hold onto the anger and push away the hurt. Did George really think so little of her? Was she really so unworthy of being a mother to George’s precious descendants? Strangely enough, George had seemed genuine in his appeal. Yet if he was so confident he was right and would win, why try to buy her off?
It didn’t make sense. Jenny burst through the ground floor door and out into the cold, dank parking garage. Her clicking high heels ricocheted noisily, sounding like a dozen people hurrying behind, chasing her. Nervous cramping in her belly intensified, and Jenny was out of breath by the time she reached the Jeep. With trembling hands, she unlocked the car and got in.
Calm down, Jen. You’re fine. He’s just a crazy old man—don’t let him get to you
.
She’d be okay. She could do this. She’d find an amazing attorney who would persuade that nice lady judge that she should have Gabe’s baby and this time next year she’d be rocking their darling baby in her arms. Everything would be fine.
Then why did she feel so horrible?
Jenny propped her elbows on the steering wheel and dropped her aching head into cold trembling hands. Tears spilled from her eyes and dribbled down her cheek. How could her life have fallen apart so completely—again? What had she done wrong to deserve this?
A sudden knock at the window penetrated Jenny’s misery. Mortified to be caught crying in her car, Jenny brushed the tears away. An older woman with blonde hair twisted into a loose topknot stood beside her car. Folded reading glasses hung from a silver-bead chain around her neck, standing out against the black turtleneck. She hunched into her gray herringbone wool blazer. Twin lines of concern creased her forehead. “Are you all right?”
“Fine. Thank you.” Jenny reached for her keys and put them in the ignition.
“Mrs. Harrison, could I speak to you for a moment?”
Mrs. Harrison? She knew Jenny’s name? She watched the lady closely while inching her hand closer to the door lock. “Have we met?”
“I’m Deirdre Hall from the
Lansing Daily
.”
Jenny punched the lock button.
“Can we go somewhere and talk?”
She stared at the woman.
“Is it true that you’ve had your dead husband’s sperm frozen so you can have his baby?”
The reporter’s words buzzed around Jenny’s tired head.
“Is it true that a sperm bank in California was the only one that would accept your husband’s sperm?”
She knew too much. Jenny fumbled with the keys, then started the car. The reporter backed away, still hurling questions at her as Jenny sped off.
Lansing Daily
? Why come all the way from Lansing to cover her story? How’d the press even gotten hold of her case?
Jenny quickly drove home and collapsed on the couch. Next to her, the answering machine blinked a red warning. She had eight messages. Somehow she doubted it was attorneys suddenly banging down her door to change their minds about taking her case.
Breathing in deeply, she pushed the play button. Most of them were from reporters promising her a sympathetic ear if she’d share her story with them. This had to be George’s doing. Although she’d approached a lot of attorneys, she was certain that some ethical law forbade them from talking about her case, even after they’d refused her. It had to be George. She grabbed a pillow and hugged it tight against her cramping belly. Damn him.
* * *
Jenny blinked, frowned, and then winced at the strip of bright light sneaking around the curtains, blinding her. Groaning, she pulled the covers over her head and flipped on her side away from the window. The doorbell rang, over and over again, making the chimes a demand rather than an announcement.
Throwing the covers back, she growled at the sound of something thwacking the wall. What’d she knocked over? She rolled out of bed and picked Gabe’s watch up off the floor. She cradled it in her palm, carefully examining it for damage. No cracked glass face and the second hand still pivoted. Phew. She blew out a deep breath and gently returned it to her nightstand.
The doorbell rang again. Jenny jammed her feet into slippers and scuffled downstairs. “I’m coming.”
It had to be a relative, Judith, her mother, or maybe even Alex—if she was really desperate or excited. Only a relative would dare be so annoying.
Ritz whined and pranced at the door, doing the doggie version of crossing her legs. Poor thing, it was early afternoon and Jenny hadn’t let her out yet. She opened the door and as Ritz dashed outside to take care of business, her mother barged in.
Mary Campbell was a slight woman with short auburn hair and a profusion of freckles dotting her face. She had laser blue eyes that missed nothing. Jenny had inherited their mother’s petite statue and light blue eyes, but she possessed her father’s dark hair and compassionate nature.
“Mom. Hi.” Jenny wrapped her arms around her stomach. Her hand snuck up to scratch her head as she, discretely as possible, checked her hair for knots.
“I thought I’d drop by for a little visit before picking Michael up for his dentist appointment at two-thirty.” She walked in and dumped her purse on the stairs. With one eyebrow cocked, she stared at Jenny. “Didn’t you go back to work this week?”
“Un huh. I’m working from home.” She forced a bright smile. “How’s semi-retirement going?”
“In your pajamas?” She propped her hands on her hips. “Are you just getting up?”
Jenny looked to the right of her mother at a clump of fur on the wood floor. “I haven’t been sleeping well.”
She turned away from her mother’s steady, concerned stare. What could she say to get her to leave? She didn’t need to be judged nor did she need the guilt that came from worrying her parents. “I’m fine, Mom.”
She went to the door and whistled for the dog. So? She was just having a bad day. It was to be expected. She’d set her alarm so she wouldn’t miss Michael’s game. She’d have her sadness under control long before her evening tutoring appointment with Grammy J, but this morning she’d given in to exhaustion and depression.
Ritz trotted in and snuffled Jenny’s hand to remind her she’d like to be fed.
Mom shut the door, took Jenny’s arm and guided her toward the kitchen. “Well, of course you’re not fine. Your husband died only a little over a month ago. Here, sit down and I’ll make you some lunch. Scrambled eggs or peanut butter and fluff?”
Jenny went to the pantry and dumped a scoop of dog food into Ritz’s bowl before sinking into the nearest chair. “I’m not hungry.”
“I’m sure you’re not, but you need to eat. You’ve lost weight.”
“I’m fine. Eggs,” Jenny said at her mother’s frown.
Mom took out two eggs from the refrigerator. After cracking them in a small glass bowl, she lifted it and wrinkled her nose. “
Dear God
.”
She tossed them in the sink on top of the dirty soup pot and a week’s worth of grimy glasses, plates, and silverware. Jenny hoped colorful mold wasn’t fuzzing them but wouldn’t be at all surprised if it was.
“Peanut butter it is,” Mom announced.
“Third shelf on the right in the pantry,” Jenny said, too tired to get it herself.
Her mom made the peanut butter sandwich and cut it in half. “I shouldn’t have listened to your father. I wanted to come over weeks ago, but he convinced me you needed some time.”
Bless Dad
.
“But what do men know?” Mom slid the sandwich onto a plate and plunked it down in front of her. “Eat up and then we’re going to have a little talk.”
Jenny diligently chewed each mouthful carefully before swallowing, more to make a show of eating and putting off the talk than because she was savoring the subtle melding of crunchy peanut butter and sweet marshmallow fluff. She hadn’t enjoyed the taste of food since Gabe died. Eating was just a means to keep her from getting queasy and for maintaining her strength.
Mom silently loaded her dishwasher and scrubbed her pots and pans. Knowing what a meticulous housekeeper her mother was—an unwelcome neuroses she’d passed on to her daughter, Jenny was surprised she wasn’t mortified that her mother was cleaning her kitchen. Normally she would have been ashamed for her mother to see her sloppy housekeeping, but today she really didn’t care.
Jenny ate the sandwich and drank the ice water her mother put before her.
When the dishwasher was running, pots and pans dried and put away, and the counters scrubbed until the black granite gleamed, her mother sat down at the table and pulled her chair close.
“So. I wanted to check on you and now that I have, I can see that I should’ve insisted you stay with us—at least for a little while. It’s natural that you’d spend days in bed mourning, but you need somebody to take care of you.”
“I’m fine, Mom. Is Dad in China or Ireland this week?”
“Ireland. You’re not fine.”
“You should go with him one of these trips. A second honeymoon. I’d be happy to stay with Michael.”
“That’s sweet—now stop trying to distract me. We were talking about you.”
“I’m fine. I just need to figure things out.”
“Like what?”
“Things. It’s a little hard adjusting—okay,
really
hard,” she confessed. “I’m so tired of it all. Tired of the tears, the emptiness, the
sadness
. I thought I’d be ready to go back to work by now, but I can’t seem to concentrate on anything. I start out doing one thing, then get distracted by something else and before you know it, hours have gone by and I haven’t accomplished anything.”
“That’s menopause,” her mother muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head. “It’s only natural. Everybody grieves in her own time.”
“But it’s been more than a month and I still can’t work, even part-time? I need to work. I
need
to feel normal again. And it’s weird going out now,” she blurted, “even to the grocery store. I feel like people
know
. They know I used to be a part of a couple and now I’m not. I’m not a wife. I’m not an…anything.
“When I used my credit card the other day and signed Jenny Harrison, I felt like a fraud. Like now that Gabe’s dead, I should give the name back. How weird is that?”
Her mother raised her eyebrows and inclined her head. “Well,
that’s
a little strange, but kind of understandable. You’d only been married a couple of years. That’s really not all that long.”
“It’s
weird
, Mom. I’m starting to freak myself out.”
Mom pulled her close and rubbed Jenny’s back. “I know. But you’ll get beyond this. I know you miss Gabe terribly, but he’s not coming back. You’re no longer a part of a couple, so you need to learn to be strong and happy with yourself. You had a life before Gabe and you’ll have a life after him. You’re a smart, beautiful woman.” She patted Jenny’s hand. “You’ll be happy again one day. You
will
,” she said at Jenny’s doubtful frown. “When you were single you were never one to need a man to make you happy. You had goals and ambitions. What were they?”
Life before Gabe? Hmm. She’d just started at the newspaper and hadn’t even made enough money to pay her bills. She’d been in debt to Dad and carried balances on her credit cards. She’d been fighting with Mom over Michael’s skateboard and accident. She’d been a royal screwup.
Gabe had been this good-looking, successful doctor who loved her. He would’ve given her the world if she’d asked. Marriage to Gabe gave her a fresh start and a chance to remake herself into a better person—and she’d taken it, as if changing her name would change the person she’d been inside.
“Jenny? What did you want out of life? You loved journalism,” Mom prompted.
Jenny blinked. She
had
loved journalism—she’d sold a wonderful article on Steve to
People
magazine. That’d been nice, but all she’d really wanted was to be successful and feel good about herself. “To be a great wife and stepmother.”
“And you were, but before Gabe. Who were you
before
him?”
Jenny frowned. She didn’t want to remember those days—didn’t like that person very much. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.” Mom patted her hand again. “What would you love to do? Right here. Right now.”
“Have Gabe’s baby.”
“Something doable, honey. Something that involves just you. For you.” Mom smiled encouragingly. “You’re not a wife. Not a stepmother. Just Jenny. What would feed your soul?”
She’d been so intensely focused on being the best wife and stepmother, it’d been years since Jenny had really thought about herself. She couldn’t even think of herself in that context. Besides, she was still a stepmom. “I…I don’t know.”
“What have you always wanted to do, but never made the time for? Travel? A hobby? Going back to school? Volunteering?”