Beloved (Toni Morrison Trilogy #1)(79)

Without another word she leaves my room. I look over at the small, torn paper, curious as to what’s on it. Lifting and turning it over, I see Jackson’s handwriting.





I spend the weekend pretending nothing happened, trying to come to grips with my emotions. Ashton leaves me alone most of the time, giving me space to sort it through. There are so many times I almost cave, call Jackson, and beg him to come back, but I know I’m not ready. His shutting me out really hurt, but more than that I’m terrified of how much I care for him. I fear the way he stormed into my life and churned up my emotions.

When I wake from my second nap on Sunday, there are multiple text messages from Neil threating his lawyer, but not one from Jackson. I’m not sure whether I should be relieved or disappointed. His message was clear when he left—I have to choose him, fight for him. Instead I’ve been fighting against it. Fear grips my soul. It smothers me, and I’m not sure how to get past it. I would rather be alone than go through another devastating loss.

Much to my chagrin, I call out of work on Monday. My eyes are swollen and I want a day to wallow—alone. Ashton rolls her eyes, giving me an earful before leaving for work.

“So you’re going to stay home and mope?”

“No, I’m staying home because I have a migraine,” I retort.

She huffs and narrows her eyes. “I know you better than that. Funny, you didn’t miss work after Neil. In fact, you became almost obsessed with your job. What gives?”

“Well it didn’t hurt this bad. And my staying home has nothing to do with Jackson.” I grab my coffee and try to leave the kitchen.

Ashton follows behind me. “Then what does it have to do with?”

“Everything! It has to do with everything, dammit. I’m so tired of it all. That letter … I don’t even know what to do with it.”

Ashton continues, unfazed by my outburst. “Why don’t you sit down and reread it? You’ve had a few days to digest it now. But I don’t think that’s really the issue.” Her brow rises. “I think it has to do with a certain sexy SEAL who you’re in love with.”

“Jesus!” I throw my hands up. “This has nothing to do with him. Do I miss Jackson? Yes. Are you happy now?”

“Are you?” she fires back with a calm voice.

“Do I look happy?” Again with the damn tears!

She leans against the wall, casually sipping her coffee. “No, but one phone call would fix it. So what else is making you skip work?”

“I … ugh!” I grip the sides of my head, irritated with her.

“I think you’re making yourself live a lie. You need to look deep down and figure out what you’re willing to walk away from. If you can look me in the eye and tell me that you don’t have some serious feelings for him and he doesn’t make you happy, then fine. Good riddance. But from the look on your face right now, I don’t think that’s how you feel. Fear is going to drive away the one man who’s strong enough to walk through this with you.”

Without a word I head to my room, slam the door, and lock it. I’m batting a thousand right now. Is there anyone in my life I’m not pissed at? Why does she always push me so damn much?

I hear my phone ringing, but the number isn’t one I know. I hesitate and calm myself before deciding to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Pope. This is Avi Goldstein.”

“Hi, Mr. Goldstein. Is there a problem?”

“No, nothing serious. Sorry to bother you, but I received a call regarding the property in Scotch Plains,” he says, seeming distracted.

“Scotch Plains?” I ask, confused.

“Yes, it’s the house you inherited. I’m afraid I didn’t give you the address when you were in my office. Anyway, I received a call stating there was a door open in the back of the house. Nothing has been damaged, but you might want to go secure it until you decide what to do with the property.”

“Oh. Ummm, okay. Can you give me the address?”

“It’s 198 Mueller Court. I’m sorry, I have to go. I’m due in court in ten minutes, but please don’t hesitate to contact me if you need anything, Ms. Pope,” Avi says before the line disconnects.

I guess my day of wallowing in self-pity just went down the drain. Scotch Plains is about an hour away. Determined to avoid rush hour traffic, I grab my keys and head out the door. All I want is to shut my brain off. I think it’s time for some chic rock music. Blaring my radio, I get lost in the sounds of angry, scorned girls singing about how much they don’t need a man.

As I get closer to the house, I start to feel a familiar pang of nerves. The last few days I’ve realized how strong I am. During all the tears and pain, I’ve held it together for the most part. I ate, I showered—which Ashton was impressed with—and I functioned. Even so, the aching was still there, hovering behind the bravado.

I contemplate why I called out of work and if there’s any validity to Ashton’s claim that it’s because of Jackson. If I’m being completely honest, yes, it has a lot to do with him. I miss him. I haven’t spoken to him in three days and every time my phone beeps, I pray his number will show. Even if it makes no sense—since he’s doing exactly what I asked—the emotions are still there.