Almost Like Being in Love (33 page)

No, he wanted to talk to her—it was that simple and that complicated, all at the same time. There was nothing easy about trying to explain what Jessica had learned about his family on the evening news. His mother, bloodied and battered. And drunk. Her car surrounded by two police cruisers, blue and white lights flashing, after sideswiping several other parked cars in the shopping center, and then crashing into the back end of another.

Jessica's words of comfort had echoed in his mind for days, luring him back to her house. He'd thank her for praying and understanding. Ask how Scotty was.

And then be on his way.

A soft rap on the driver's-side window interrupted his attempt to untangle his thoughts. Jessica stood beside his car, motioning for him to roll down his window.

“Hi.”
He cut the engine, the car's air-conditioner-cooled air mixing with the sun-warmed air and humidity outside.

She rested her hands against the edge of the half-rolled-down window, bending low to see his face. “You gonna sit here all day? You pulled up a good ten minutes ago.”

“Uh, yeah. I mean no. I was . . . thinking.”

“You came to sit in front of my house and think?” She scrunched her nose, causing her glasses to tilt. “Okay. I'll leave you to your thinking, then.”

“No.” As he eased open the car door, Jessica stepped back onto the sidewalk. “I wanted to see you—and Scotty.”

“Afraid you're stuck with just me. Scotty was invited to go swimming with a friend.” She motioned back toward the house. “I've got a backlog of work to catch up on.”

Alex halted at the edge of the walkway leading to Jessica's front door. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt.”

“You're not interrupting. I needed a break. Join me for some lemonade and tell me how you're doing.”

Since your mother's car accident.

Jessica didn't say the words, but they hung in the air between them. And he was here to talk about his mother. Kind of.

“You good with lemonade? It's homemade.”

Of course it was. The woman probably made her own bread. He wouldn't be surprised to show up one day and find chickens wandering in the backyard. Her reddish-gold hair was pulled up in a ponytail, but soft tendrils floated free and framed her face, a few pieces laying against the nape of her neck. A red T-shirt dress skimmed her slender frame, and she slipped off casual black flip-flops as she entered the house.

“Sounds perfect.”

Files and her dictation equipment covered the dining room table, but other than that, the house was picked up, no sign of a
five-year-old. A bouquet of yellow roses sat in a glass vase in the middle of the table.

Who was bringing Jessica flowers?

“Nice roses.”

“They were marked down at the grocery store. Scotty insisted on buying them for me. Cute, huh?”

“Yeah. Raising him right and teaching him young to buy a woman flowers.” Something akin to relief coursed through him. Not that he had any reason to be bothered that some other guy might be paying attention to Jessica.

“I'll make sure he knows there's more to treating a woman right than bringing her flowers, although it's a start.”

She handed him a glass of lemonade and motioned him back to the living room.

“Oh, really? What else are you going to teach him?” He settled on the couch, Jessica taking the corner opposite him.

“I know people say actions speak louder than words, but I consider what a man says is just as important. The whole let-your-yes-be-yes-and-your-no-be-no principle.” She stared into the depths of her glass. “I want Scotty to be a man of his word. To say what he means and mean what he says. That kind of guy is hard to come by.”

“I take it his father was not that kind of guy?”

“No, he was not, and short of a miracle, he never will be. Not that I don't believe in miracles, but—” Jessica waved her hand, as if dispersing her words into thin air. “Enough about me. How is your mother?”

“She's better. She's going to be in the cast for a while, but her headache is gone and she's off her pain meds.”

Jessica paused, tilting her head, hesitating just a moment before she spoke. “And . . . she realizes she made a mistake?”

“What?”

“Your
mom realizes drinking and driving was a mistake, right? I mean, you and your dad had that conversation with her?”

He should have expected Jessica to shoot straight. Giving her honest answers after years of dodging and ducking reality? That was the hard part.

“There's . . . no point in having that conversation with her.”

A small V formed between Jessica's eyebrows. “Why would you say something like that?”

“Because this isn't the first time my mother has been arrested for a DUI.” The admission seemed to increase the pressure building behind his eyes. “It's the first time in a long time . . . but not the first time.”

“Are you saying your mother is an alcoholic?”

“Yes.” The word came out low—almost a whisper, the one syllable caustic. “She usually doesn't end up in the news. Her doctor's labeled her a ‘functioning alcoholic.' ”

Jessica shook her head. “What does that mean?”

“Most days she manages. And we manage. Her drinking is controlled. Things seem normal. At least, it's my family's normal. My mother knows her limits. She doesn't drive.”

“Okay. Then can you help me understand what happened?”

“The anniversary of my younger brother's death was in mid-May—” Alex swiped his hand across his face. He was mangling this. “I told you about my younger brother, Shawn, right?”

“Yes.”

“I can't believe it's been twenty years.” Alex shook his head. “My mother always struggles around the time of Shawn's death, but this year it seems harder for her. I don't know why.”

Saying it out loud to Jessica—the reality of how long ago Shawn died—ran through Alex like an electric current. One year had bled into the next . . . trying to find a way out of
the despair that suffocated his mother. Failing. And then adapting.

“My father and I tried to help her at first. We went to a couple of different counselors early on. My mother hated them. She drank before the sessions. After the sessions. I don't know if she was sober when she went there. I was ten when my brother died. What did I know back then? After a year, my father insisted she go to rehab. She left the program. We hid the alcohol. She found it. My father refused to have any in the house. She would go out and buy it on her own, or hang out at the local bar. I never knew what I was coming home to after school.” The words spilled out like sewage from a drainpipe. “Do you know what it's like to get called to the principal's office and have to go home because your mother's sick? Only you know she's not sick? She's drunk?”

“Alex, I'm—”

“And my father . . . after a while, he bailed on the whole situation.” Details he'd blocked for years forced their way past the barricades he'd erected. “I'm at the grocery store one day. I'm maybe twelve years old. Trying to buy groceries so I have something for dinner—something for lunch the next day at school. And I don't have enough money. The cashier asks me where my mother is. I can't tell the lady that my mother's passed out at home. So I just ran out of the store. I was able to scrounge enough change to call my dad. And he tells me to just handle it. He's busy at work and he tells me to stop bothering him. Did he think I wanted him to lose the business? Not be able to pay the bills?”

His words seemed to pollute the air with unwanted memories from the past, unlocked from some hidden room in his memory. The broken silence afterward was filled with his harsh panting.

“Oh, Alex.”
Jessica tugged at his shoulders, pulling him into an embrace. “I'm sorry. I didn't know.”

“No one knows. It's the family secret. And I'm responsible for it.”

Her touch, gentle and soothing as she rubbed light circles on his back, caused a shudder to run through him. “Maybe you can't help your mother or your father. But you have to help yourself, Alex.”

“Help myself? I'm not the one with the drinking problem.”

“Have you ever talked to anyone about this?”

“Only Caron. She knows my secret.”

“I mean someone who can help you sort through all this. A counselor.”

“I don't do counselors.”

Jessica sat silent for a few moments, just letting him rest. When she spoke, she continued to hold him, offer him the comfort of her embrace. “What do you do when an air conditioner or heater is broken?”

What kind of question is that?

“I fix them.”

“I know you can't fix your mom. And you can't change your dad. But you can take care of yourself. They have Al-Anon meetings for families of alcoholics. Have you ever attended one? Your mother isn't the only one who needs healing—you do, too. Pray about going to a meeting or finding a counselor to talk with about losing your brother and how much it has affected your family.”

He shifted away from her. Why couldn't she understand? “I was talking about my mother.”

“But this affects you—”

“I'm handling this the best I know how.”

“Alex, I'm not trying to argue with you.” When she reached out to him, he shifted farther away. “You've been so honest
with me tonight, and you didn't have to even talk to me at all. I just think . . . maybe you should consider changing how you've handled this situation because it's hurting you. You've shoved this family secret into a closet, thinking you can ignore it. But it's still there—banging at the door, screaming to get out. Your brother's death . . . your mother's drinking . . . even your father's choices . . . they're still hurting you. Keeping secrets in your family certainly hasn't helped you, your mother, or your father, has it? Maybe it's time to be honest about all that.”

“Just because you've fed me a couple of times . . . that doesn't give you any right to butt in on my private life—”

She retreated to the opposite corner of the couch, but not before he glimpsed the tears welling up in her eyes.

“I . . . care about you, Alex. You've been kind to me . . . and to Scotty.”

“Look, I'm sorry—”

“Don't apologize.” She sucked in a breath. “The truth is, I'm not going to apologize, either—not for anything I said to you. I can't. I believe with all my heart that you need help. You need to recognize how your brother's death is still controlling your family all these years later. Maybe you're right. You can't change your mother or your father—but you can save yourself.”

“I don't need saving.”

“That's where you're wrong. I can hear in your voice how this is killing you. God doesn't want us to live trapped in desperate situations, without hope.”

“God . . . don't talk to me about God. The driver of that car didn't just kill my brother. He destroyed my entire family. And God allowed it.” He hurled the words at Jessica and then recoiled as if they had backlashed and hit him. “I—I didn't mean that.”

“Yes, you did.”
Jessica reached for him again, and then pulled her hand back. “God knows our thoughts, Alex. Do you think you've hidden any of that from him all these years?”

“I didn't even know I felt that way—”

“Being honest is where healing begins. God is big enough to handle our honest emotions, no matter what they are.”

“I need to go.” Alex pushed himself to his feet, his lemonade untouched. “I'm sure you need to get some work done.”

“I know. You do, too.” She stood in the doorway, forcing the semblance of a smile. “Thank you for coming by.”

“Thank you for listening.” This all felt so final, but what else could it be? “Tell Scotty that I said hi.”

“Of course I will.”

“And you know who to call if you have any trouble with your air conditioner—”

“But I won't. You installed a reliable unit.”

“Keep up on the annual maintenance.”

“I will.” She stepped back into the house. “Goodbye, Alex.”

He couldn't think of anything else to say. Couldn't think of another reason to continue talking with her. And why should he? She was a customer who had become an acquaintance. Nothing more.

“Take care, Jessica.”

“You, too. Thank you for everything. I'll be praying for you.”

Her words followed him as he drove away. He needed her prayers. He certainly couldn't pray for himself.

O
ne more day to go.

After tomorrow night, the Peak Tour of Homes would be over. Considering that he'd won two awards from the panel of judges, Eddie already considered the tour a success. And Kade had his own victories, connecting with a number of potential real estate clients as well as looking forward to discussing a future business relationship with Kingston.