Because You're Mine(12)
“I’m going to move back to my condo today,” he said.
His mother clasped her hands together. “It’s too soon, Jesse! You’re not ready. Who will be there if your vision blacks out or you fall? You need to stay here for now. The doctor thinks you shouldn’t be alone yet.”
“I’m never going to get back to normal if you keep coddling me.” He didn’t want to hurt her, but he was tired of being treated like an invalid. Restlessness plagued him, and he needed to find a purpose for his life. This endless drifting made every day drag.
“You don’t have a car,” she pointed out, her eyes hardening. “And I won’t let you use mine for this foolishness.”
“Then I’ll go buy one. I still have money in my account.” In his previous life, he’d worked for the FBI for a time, or so he’d been told. A bean counter. He’d looked at his resume and discovered he never worked anywhere longer than three years. Perpetually climbing the ladder or easily bored?
“You’re being very foolish, Jesse,” she said. “I’m going to call your father.”
“Mom, I’m thirty-two, not fourteen! Your hovering is about to kill me, okay? I’ve got to get on with my life. Get a job, pick up the pieces.”
“How can you get a job when all you do is sit in your room and practice that stupid drum? And all because of a dare from a dead man. You don’t even remember how to balance accounting books anymore, do you?”
He glanced away from her challenging gaze. “I know how to do it. It’s just not keeping my attention. Maybe I should start a new career.” Noodling over numbers had become a habit in recent weeks, but it brought him no joy. Wasn’t his job supposed to be something he actually liked?
“You have a master’s, Jesse. It took you six years to get it. You’re going to throw it all over to do something else? You need to stop jumping from job to job and settle into your career.”
He rubbed his forehead as the pain intensified. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
Her face softened. “You’re just antsy, son. Be patient. It will all come back.”
“If I’m back on my own, maybe I’ll have to remember.”
His mother stepped closer and took his hand. “I know it’s hard, Jesse. You’ve held up so well under the strain. It will get better soon. It has to.”
He didn’t know where she was getting her information. It didn’t have to get better. This half-life of his could go on and on. He went to the window. The sunshine shone on the live oak trees lining the yard, and roses raised their heads to the light. The cheerful view did little to lift his spirits.
He wished he’d died instead of Liam. He was going to have to get dressed if he wanted to attend that wedding, much as he hated the thought.
Ciara went to the mirror and fussed with the bright blue beads she’d put into her black cornrows. “I’ll be chasing off the people at the wedding when they see this hair,” she moaned. “You sure I can’t be talking you out of this?”
“When have you ever talked Alanna out of anything?” Ena asked from behind the lens.
“Like, never,” Ciara said, giving up on her hair.
Alanna linked her arm with Ciara’s. “Be happy for me, Ciara. You know I have no choice, not if I want to keep the baby out of Thomas’s clutches.” Even talking about the trouble he’d caused made her ache down deep.
“They should be shot,” Ciara declared. “Especially Liam’s dad. It’s all his fault you’re doing this.”
“Is Jesse coming?” Fiona asked.
Alanna released Ciara and gave the veil a final tug. “I invited him before I heard the explosion might have been his doing. Maybe he won’t come.”
She followed Fiona and Ciara down the magnificent staircase to the library downstairs to await the first strains of the bridal march. She found Barry standing by the window. “You should be waiting in the great room,” she scolded. “It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.”
He turned with her shoes dangling from his left hand. “I thought these might belong to you.” His smile broadened when his gaze went to her bare feet. His eyes lifted to her neck. “What’s that?”
Alanna’s fingers caressed the fine necklace. “Fiona made it. Isn’t it lovely?”
He swiped at the lock of blond hair falling across his forehead. “She’s very talented. You should be wearing pearls though.” He produced a velvet case from his inside jacket pocket and opened it. “These pearls belonged to my great-grandmother.”
Though the pearls held the fine patina of age and quality, the cross seemed a talisman to her, and she touched it protectively. “This is special to me. Fiona made it for good luck.”
His sternness evaporated with a slight smile. “And you should wear it. Do you mind wearing the pearls too?”
She shook her head. “I’d love that.” Her fingers tightened around the cross, then she turned her back to him. “Would you fasten the pearls?”
His warm fingers touched her neck. The next thing she knew, the lengths of the gold necklace dangled in her hands.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice full of regret. “The clasp on your cross necklace broke.”