In Your Dreams

Page 31

“I just need a little help,” Hadley said. “I’m sure you’re a wonderful paramedic, Mr. Chartier—” Gerard’s name was stitched on his jacket “—but Jack and I used to be married. He can help me.” Her tone was firm and friendly.
Jack sighed and went over. Emmaline followed. “Up you go,” he said, offering his hand to his ex-wife.
“Maybe if you didn’t wear three-inch heels in the snow, you wouldn’t trip,” Emmaline observed.
“A lady always wears heels,” she said, seizing Jack’s hand. He pulled her up, and she collapsed against him. He caught her right on cue.
“Oh, dang,” she said, tears filling her big brown eyes. She gave an awkward hop.
“That looks pretty bad,” Gerard said. “Definitely a sprain, judging from the bruising. Let me take you to the hospital for an X-ray.”
“No, no, it’s just a sprain. Um...Jack, I hate to ask, but would you mind driving me home?”
“Yeah, Jack. Would you mind?” Emmaline echoed.
He gave her a look.
“Get an X-ray,” Levi said.
“No, no, I’ll just get on home and pop it up on some pillows. Ice, compression, elevation, right, Mr. Chartier?”
“Call me Gerard. And, yes, exactly,” Gerard said, smiling at her like a proud teacher. The guy was such a flirt. “Throw in some Motrin and call it a day.”
Well, Em had to give it to Hadley. Anyone could fake a fall in a parking lot. It took real commitment to actually injure yourself.
Hadley deigned to glance at her, and Em saw the gleam there. And Hadley knew she saw it, based on the twitch of lips. Watch, listen and learn, Yankee. This is how it’s done.
“This is downright embarrassing,” Hadley said, “but I think you’re gonna have to carry me to the car, Jack.”
Jack sighed and picked her up.
Em had the impression there would be many more sprained ankles in Hadley’s future. “Have fun,” she said, starting for her car.
“Em, wait,” Jack said. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”
“Oh, no, you should take care of Blanche DuBois here.”
“It’s Hadley,” the other woman said sweetly.
“Em—” Jack began.
“I don’t really want to have a conversation around the body in your arms,” she said. “Have fun, kids.”
* * *
BECAUSE THE OPERA HOUSE didn’t have an elevator, Jack ended up carrying Hadley up the stairs.
“I really do appreciate this, Jack,” she said as he set her down. She leaned against the door frame and got her keys out. “I guess I just forgot how dang slippery it gets around here. Oh, well.” She smiled and opened the door. “Would you mind just coming in for a second? I did want to talk to you, after all. And maybe you could grab me an ice pack. I’m so sorry to inconvenience you. Really, Jack.”
Right. If her ankle hadn’t been bruised, he would’ve thought she’d staged the whole thing. It was right up her alley; she’d once confessed to him (while in bed) that she’d crashed her bike on purpose to get the attention of a football player in college.
She hobbled inside, and Jack closed his eyes for a minute, then followed. He couldn’t just dump her here, as much as he might want to.
Sharon and Jim Stiles kept this apartment for people just like Hadley, folks who’d be in town for a few months at a time. Faith had rented it out when she’d first moved back from San Francisco, and Colleen’s husband had stayed here over the summer when his uncle was sick. It was a cute little place, furnished and stocked with china and glasses and that sort of thing.
Way too easy for Hadley to make herself at home.
“It’s so good to be back here,” she said as he opened the freezer and grabbed a bag of peas, since she didn’t seem to have an ice pack. “Frankie came up last weekend, and we were both real sorry you weren’t around.”
“I was away with Emmaline,” he said.
Hadley jerked, then recovered. “Is that right,” she murmured, sweeping her hair around to one side. She smiled as he handed her the peas. “Thank you, Jack. Um, would you mind getting a bandage? I think there’s a first aid kit in the bathroom.”
He said nothing but obeyed. The bathroom counter was laden with little baskets filled with bottles of perfume, makeup and other girlie stuff.
Looked like she was planning to stay awhile.
He grabbed the kit and a bottle of Motrin and went back to the living room. “Here you go. I have to run,” he said.
“Do you think you could wrap my ankle?” she said. “I’m sorry, I just...I’m clumsy. As you could tell, I guess. I feel so stupid. Bad enough to be the town pariah. Now I’m the clumsy town pariah.” Her expression was rueful.
“You’re not a pariah,” he said.
“If you say so. I’ve been getting dirty looks since I moved back.”
Moved back. He didn’t like the sound of that.
“Which I guess is what I deserve.”
He sat down next to her, and she reached under her skirt and pulled off her stocking with a businesslike motion, which surprised him. He would’ve expected a striptease. Her skin was cold and smooth, the joint fairly swollen. He felt a pang of sympathy.
“Did you ever tell people why we split up?” she asked as he wrapped her ankle.
“They figured it out, Hadley.”
“Jack,” she began, her voice husky. “If I could undo what I did—”
“I appreciate the thought,” he said. “There. You’re all set.”
“I know you’re still hurt—”
“No, not anymore.”
“But the thing is, I’ve learned so much. I was so young then.”
“Not that young, Hadley.”
“You’re right. I was immature. I like to think I’m smarter now, at least smart enough to know you were the best thing that ever happened to me. And it wasn’t all bad, was it? Here. Look what I brought.”
She reached over and grabbed a book off the table. One of those photo albums you make online, and on the cover was a picture of the two of them in Central Park. “Remember?” she said. “We had so much fun that weekend. You took me skating at Rockefeller Center. And that dinner we had, at the place with the view of the Chrysler Building, and we laughed so hard? Remember that?”
“I do, Hadley. You’re right. We had some happy times. I also remember the lying, the tantrums, the spending and the cheating.”
“I’d make it up to you.”
“You can’t undo something like that,” he said.
“But you could forgive me. And I am so sorry.”
“You’re forgiven. Doesn’t mean I want to get back together, Hadley.”
“I think you do. I think you’re just angry. If you’d give me another chance, Jack, just one...”
Her eyes were full of tears. “Hadley,” he said, putting his hand over hers. “Stop. I don’t know why you’re back, but I imagine some shit hit the fan somewhere in your life, and all of a sudden, life with me didn’t seem so bad. But I’ve moved on.”
Her eyes took on that stony look he remembered from when they disagreed. “Look at this picture,” she said, pointing to a photo of him standing next to one of the carriage horses in Central Park. “Look how happy you are there. Just think about that, Jack. That’s all I’m asking—if the happiest time in your life doesn’t deserve a second chance. Because I’d do better. I swear it.”
Their life together had had some movie-esque qualities to it, Jack admitted—their courtship, the choreographed, petal-strewn lovemaking, the dinners by candlelight, the way she could turn every move into something beautiful.
And in the past, when he’d remembered those times, he’d also remember her with Oliver.
“Rest that ankle,” he said, and, with that, he got up and left.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
WHEN JACK AND HADLEY had returned from their honeymoon two and a half years ago, Jack had nine days before warning signs had started to flicker like broken neon lights.
Nine days.
Despite what she’d said about wanting to have a family as soon as possible, Hadley decided to stay on the Pill, which was fine. After all, she was the one who’d be pregnant and giving birth. It just wasn’t what she’d been telling him or their families.
She also didn’t want to work just yet; she just wanted to settle in first. Again, totally fine. She was living in a new town in a new part of the country. Of course she wanted to acclimate. Then, she said, she’d hang out a sign and start up her interior decorating business once more.
But now that the wedding was behind her and life started to settle into a routine, Hadley seemed a little...irritable. She was surprised there weren’t more events like the Black-and-White Ball, and her interest in doing wine tastings and guiding tours for Blue Heron quickly faded.
She went to a garden club meeting but didn’t join, saying it wasn’t for her. Joined the Art League, took two pottery classes and didn’t go back. Honor asked her to help with the Manningsport Women’s Club, which was organizing a tour of homes as a fund-raiser for local scholarships, but Hadley came back from that saying it made her sad, what passed for graciousness “here in the North.”
“Don’t be a snob, honey,” Jack said, pouring her wine.
“Well, come on, babe,” she returned. “You’ve been to Savannah. You know what I’m used to.” Then she gave him a sheepish look. “Sorry. I’m just feeling a little out of sorts.” Then she wandered off to her computer, calling him over to look at the Christmas decorating ideas she’d found online, even though it was still summertime.
She was alone in the house a lot. Pru and Honor invited her out a couple of times, but the sister Hadley most liked was Faith, and Faith was in California.
And then there was Lazarus, the cat who lived with Jack.
To say it was his cat would be a stretch; Jack fed him and housed him, and Lazarus allowed it. Occasionally, Laz would jump onto Jack’s lap, knead his stomach for a few seconds, then make a hideous gacking sound and go off to parts unknown to murder and pillage the bird and rodent population. He was an ugly creature; tan with splotches of stripes, a shredded left ear and a crooked tail, wary of all humans except Jack.
When Jack first moved back to Manningsport, he’d been struck with a surprisingly strong yearning for his mother. He’d gone up to the family cemetery and sat there in the misting rain, a hard lump in his throat.
And then, from behind the gravestone of the first Holland who’d farmed this land, came a very small animal. It was battered and bleeding and matted to the point where Jack wasn’t even sure what it was, but then it mewed.
Jack’s mom had had a thing for cats. They’d always had a few, out in the barns, in the house. Kind of seemed like a sign from Mom, him finding a cat out here right when he’d been missing her. He wrapped it in his jacket and took it to the vet, who said he didn’t think the kitten would make it. When he pulled through, Jack named him Lazarus.
Hadley hated Lazarus. Why, Jack had no idea, because Laz gave her a wide berth.
Hadley had a cat, too. Princess Anastasia was a fat, fluffy white Persian with startling green eyes and a fondness for shredding curtains, upholstery and human flesh. Princess jumped on the table, walked on the counters, crapped wherever she happened to be at the moment and shed large clots of white hair all over the house. In Savannah, she’d been ill-tempered and unaffectionate. But in New York, she became downright destructive...especially and ironically toward Hadley, ripping her clothes, vomiting in her shoes and scratching and biting her. Not just little scratches, either, but long bloody tears and actual puncture wounds that would make Hadley’s hand or foot throb.