Page 131 of Smoky Mountain Dreams
“Would you have taken him?”
“No! She wouldn’twantto be seenthat way! Not by anyone. It’s not even her, Amanda. It’s not even Marcy therein that bed.”
“Then why can’t he see the body?”
“Because she’d hate it!”
“You hate it.”
He swallowed thickly. “I do. I hate him seeing her likethat. He shouldn’t know. He shouldn’t think of her as anything other than how I’vedescribed her to him. He should only think of the photos I’ve shown him.”
Amanda tilted her head. “Why?”
“Because if she was truly dead that’s how it would be,wouldn’t it? That’s dignity. Seeing her like that? It’s…not worthy of her. Notworthy of who she was.”
“Oh, Jesse.”
They drank in silence for a while. Jesse’s heart ached sobadly that as the alcohol loosened his hold on the present, the past slippedin, and he felt the clutches of grief digging in its claws, the familiar,unbearable sensation taking his breath away and reducing him to almost cryinginto his drink.
“You havegotto stop denyingreality, Jesse,” Amanda said quietly. “You can’t keep this separate. Either youhave to let her go completely and devote yourself to building something newwith Christopher, or you have to give him some ownership in it too. He can’t beyour escape from your ‘real life’ as Marcy’s husband.”
“That’s not my real life. That’s my fucking nightmare, andhe shouldn’t be part of it.”
“Maybe he’d help you turn that nightmare into something morebearable if you let him.”
“Oh, fuck that, Marcy.”
Amanda’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”
Jesse bit his cheek, a wild panic swelling in him as herealized he’d called his sister by his wife’s name. “Nothing.” He gulped therest of his drink and waved for another.
“Was that… Did that sound like something Marcy would say?”she asked gently.
Jesse swallowed down snot that was clogging his throat as hefought to keep from crying in a stupid sports bar. And,fuckhim, that goddamn old song came on again, “The Rose” by Bette Midler,and he quivered with rage as the pain of it sliced into him. Love survivingwinter. New love coming after weathering the loss of the old. “Fuck you,” hewhispered to no one, to everyone, to the God Ronnie believed in who mightsomehow be responsible for the bar’s dated soundtrack choices.
“Well, Marcy never let you get away with bullshit, did she?So, if I was channeling her, then I’ll consider it a compliment.”
“I just want to be angry with him. Why won’t you let me beangry?”
“Well, you called the wrong person for that, big brother.You should’ve called… hmm, I’m not sure who you could’ve called for that. Sincewhat you’re being is a massive douche.” Amanda finished her Negroni andmotioned for the waitress to bring another. “It looks like you’re stuck withme.”
Jesse wished Christopher was sitting across from him. Hethought Christopher would probably know what to say to make him not so fuckinghurt and angry. Only this time, it was Christopher who’d hurt him.
Or maybe it was time to admit he’d been the one to reallyhurt Christopher and himself.
“Looks like my stalker is here.” Christopher sighedand nodded at a figure breaking out of the crowd and heading for where he satwith Holly in a booth in the back of the Christmas-festooned Three Jimmy’s. He’dconvinced Holly to meet him there because it was off the main drag, and he’dnever been there with Jesse.
Christopher’s eyes still burned and felt puffy from thetears of hurt rage he’d allowed himself earlier in the day. He swallowed down amassive gulp of his gin and tonic. After the fight with Jesse, he wantednothing more than to be drunk as hell. “Strange how the tides turn, isn’t it?”
Gareth approached with a swagger, and as he drew closer,Christopher asked Holly through gritted teeth, “Did you send him a text thatJesse dumped me or something?” Though he wasn’t even sure Jessehaddumped him. Had he? It had all happened so fast.
Holly glared. “No. I get that you’re not interested inGareth, okay? I’ve tried to shut him down, but he’s justthatinto you. Unlike your rich ex-boyfriend, apparently.”
That was all she had time to say, because Gareth was there,sliding into the booth beside Christopher, an expression of concern on hisface.
“Hey,” he said, his deep voice vibrating with kindness andworry. “I saw you over here looking so fuckin’ sad. I can’t have that, now canI? You all right?”
Christopher wanted to ask what business it was of his andsend him packing, but it was nice to feel like someone cared. He’d tried tocall Gran, but she hadn’t answered her cell phone, which was worrisome but nottoo unusual since she often turned it off and forgot to turn it back on.
