Unpredictable Love Read online

“You’re gonna kill me.”

  “I wouldn’t do that, kitten. Not to my sweet niece.” Nan squeezed Jory’s face with her hand.

  “You and Amber’ll have to get along. I won’t be here to break up any spats.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I love the girl too, but she’s so selfish sometimes. Makes her hard to deal with.”

  “I know. You and I spoiled her. It’s our fault.”

  “Don’t take everything on your shoulders, Jory. You’re not Atlas, ya know.”

  The women chatted as they ate. When the meal was over, Jory trotted upstairs and began to pack. She loved Nan’s house and hated to leave. Pine Grove had been her home for a long time. Leaving it, or running away—which was what she was doing—left her yearning to stay. Something was unfinished, though she didn’t know what.

  * * * *

  The next morning, Nan stayed home from church to help Jory pack. Amber did a few things then got too upset to continue. She called Troy, and he picked her up.

  Sadness seeped into Jory’s heart as she took down things she’d tacked up on the walls. Leaving this room, her home for fifteen years, wouldn’t be a walk in the park. She grabbed her tissue box and removed Trent’s bird drawings, as well as his picture. Slipping each in its glassine envelope, she layered them in a small box.

  She folded the contents of her dresser and stacked the shirts, shorts, and underwear in another box. Next, she plucked out the hangers with work clothes on them and laid the outfits across the bed. Focusing on the practical tasks kept emotion at bay.

  The closing of this chapter of her life held more pain than she’d expected. Nan had suggested dumping Trent’s art, but Jory couldn’t do it. Whether she and Trent could be together or not didn’t affect the love in her heart. There’d always be a place for the artistic, bird-loving soldier, even if he didn’t feel the same.

  She smiled for a moment at the irony of it. Always dreaming about falling in love, finding the right man—Jory’s fantasy man would be the answer to her prayers, the catalyst who would start her life over again. She’d step out of the shadows. Now that the relationship with her Marine had come to an end, so had her dream. She’d try to be satisfied with the passion they’d shared. At least she’d experienced true love once in her life. Probably more than most people, she figured.

  Letting go didn’t sit easy. Greed gripped her heart. She wanted more, another chance, another SSGT Trent Stevens. She shuddered to think she’d be destined to end up a crazy old lady with a house full of cats. Was that more predictable than her unpredictable love?

  The last one to be tucked away was of Rocky, the hawk. Jory smoothed it with her fingers, staring at the fine lines. She closed the box, brought it to her lips quickly, and then added it to a larger one headed for Oak Bend.

  By the time she’d moved out most of her belongings, which didn’t amount to much by Amber’s standards, her room looked dusty and bare. A stab of pain shot through her heart. People told you to “move on with your life.” But it wasn’t as easy as they said. Not all of her melancholy related to Trent. The unexpected attachment to her small space, the little house, and her aunt and Amber glued her feet to the wood floor.

  A chickadee landed on her windowsill. Fortunately, the screen kept the tiny bird from entering her room. He called his distinctive call, looked at her, and cocked his head to the right then back. She smiled. Surely, there would be chickadees in Oak Bend. Yes, but not this particular one.

  With a sigh, Jory forced herself to turn, close the door, and descend the stairs. Time to pack up the ferry to “move on” city. She didn’t want to keep her aunt waiting. When the last box was loaded and the trunk closed, Nan called to her.

  “Come here, kitten.” The older woman poured two mugs of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table. “I have a confession.”

  “Oh, God. I don’t think I can take any more stress, Nan. What is it?” Jory plopped down in the seat across from her.

  “You’ve been contributing to the mortgage now for the past nine years, right?”

  Jory nodded.

  “Well, truth be told, I never needed your money, or Amber’s either. But don’t tell her.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. So, I took your money and put it in a money market account. I’ve been saving it for when I thought you’d need it. Now seems to be the right time. Here.” She handed Jory a check for twenty-seven thousand dollars.

  Words wouldn’t come. Jory stared at her aunt, at the check, then back at Nan.

  “Whatever you do, don’t tell Amber. She’ll demand her money now and blow it all on clothes and makeup.”

  “I won’t. Oh my God. Thank you so much! This is awesome. I never expected it.”

  “Yeah, well, now you don’t have to worry about me not being able to pay the mortgage or buy food.”

  “That’s such a relief.”

  “So, don’t get some cheap little room. Get an apartment. Buy some real furniture and live well.”

  “Oh my God! I’m so happy! I’ll move into the room for a couple of weeks until I find an apartment. This is the best news. Thank you so much. You’re such a generous person.” With damp eyes, Jory hugged her.

  “It’s as close as I can come to doing what your parents would’ve done.” A tear slipped down Nan’s cheek.

  With her bankroll burning a hole in her pocket, Jory headed for her car. She threw it in gear and steered for Route 55. She’d time to find a better place to live then start her new job. She should be happy—success was within her grasp. But all she could think about was Trent. She wondered how his operation had gone and if he could see. Would he ever walk again? Would he be one hundred percent and return to active duty? Unfinished business ate at her. She needed to know he was okay, and that he didn’t need her anymore.

  He probably didn’t, she concluded. Then, the song “Too Late for Goodbyes” came on the radio. And she knew that though he could get along without her, she wouldn’t do well without him. For her, it was too late for goodbye. She needed him and always would.

  By six o’clock, she had signed a week-to-week contract for a cheerful room in Mary Casey’s house on Third Street. Then, she hit the street, strolling down Main, looking for a restaurant. But at seven o’clock on a Sunday night, nothing was open but a Seven Eleven. She returned to her room, munching on a bag of pretzels, and thought about calling Nan to invite herself to dinner.

  There was a knock on the door. “It’s Mary, dear.”

  Jory opened.

  “Did you want to cook?”

  “I was looking for a restaurant. Nothing’s open now.”

  “Not on Sunday night. Would you like to have a bite with me and Joe?”

  “Oh, I couldn’t do that.”

  “We’re having beef stew, and there’s plenty. Please, come join us. We’d love to get to know the new Managing Editor at the Reporter.” Mary put her hands on her hips.

  Jory smiled. A home-cooked meal sounded damn good. She followed along to the round table in the dining room. It was set for three. A middle-aged man sporting a salt-and-pepper mustache and an extra twenty pounds stood up. He offered his hand.

  “Joe Casey. Welcome.”

  “Jory Walker.” Jory sat in the chair Joe indicated.

  “Mary’s a fine cook.”

  “Thank you so much for the invite.”

  Mary brought in the stew, while Joe retrieved a basket of homemade biscuits and butter. Glasses were filled with water or sweet tea. They bowed their heads, and Joe said a prayer of thanksgiving.

  “My sister lives in Pine Grove. This town is much bigger,” Mary said.

  “I’m looking forward to having more to write about here,” Jory said, between bites of the best stew she’d ever eaten, besides her aunt’s. “You’ve got to give me the recipe for this.”

  “Please pass the butter,” Joe said. “What do you plan to write about?”

  “I have to get to know the town and check out the archives. See what’s already been
covered. I plan to attend town meetings too.”

  “Young woman comes to a town a few miles from her home. Takes a temporary room. New job. Tell me, Jory, what’s the real reason you’ve moved to Oak Bend?” Mary asked.

  Chapter Seven

  After his surgery, Trent moved into Dan MacMurray’s house. By now, he had a walking cast and crutches. Per doctor’s orders, Trent had to wear eye patches for part of the day and use eye drops until his eyes had healed. Days of independence and living alone were over, at least for now.

  His need for drops might not be forever—it all depended on how well he recovered and if he contracted any infections. The doctor had him on antibiotics as a preventive measure. Trent hated taking pills, resting, wearing patches, using crutches. He’d never be comfortable living as an “invalid,” his word, depending on others for help.

  He hadn’t made it to Staff Sergeant by being a wimpy guy who needed to be taken care of. Strong, independent, he’d always been the one others leaned on. This role reversal didn’t suit him. Short-tempered and grouchy, he counted the days until he could be on his own.

  On one trip to the V.A. hospital, he corralled Nurse Marie in the hall. She greeted him with a big hug.

  “Look at you! And they thought you’d never walk and never see.” She crossed her arms over her chest and grinned.

  Trent wore sunglasses, even indoors. He studied her, reconciling the image he’d formed of her with the reality. She was taller than he’d imagined. “Have you heard from Jory?”

  “She came by to see you the day they took you to New York. I told her what happened. She seemed happy for you. I asked for her number, but she said you had it.”

  “Me? No. I don’t have it. Everything happened so fast, I didn’t get a chance. Didn’t think I’d be leaving so abruptly.”

  “Her last name is Walker. I think she lives with her aunt. I’ll write down the address if you want.”

  “Thanks.”

  He slipped the paper in his breast pocket then joined Dan, who drove them home.

  “How about stopping at the diner for lunch?”

  “Sure. I’ll buy.”

  “An offer I can’t refuse,” Dan said.

  Trent was quiet in the car. He wondered why Jory had lied to Marie about her phone number. He’d just stop over there, see her in person, and find out what was going on. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and he wasn’t about to let her go.

  As they sipped their coffee after a fine meal of meat loaf and mashed potatoes, Trent leaned back. “I have a favor to ask,” the Marine said, his leg propped up on the booth seat.

  “Anything.”

  “Can you drive me over to Jory Walker’s house this afternoon? I don’t have her phone number.”

  Dan gazed out the window. “You sure she wants to see you?”

  “Why wouldn’t she?”

  “I don’t know. Just that you haven’t heard from her.”

  “I left before we could exchange numbers.”

  “Oh. I see. Sure. Sure. Why not?”

  Trent’s keen military observation skills kicked in. Dan shifted in his seat and didn’t meet Trent’s gaze.

  “You do need to get your drops and rest today too, remember?”

  “I will. Promise. Just need to see Jory. Now that I can see.”

  Sweat broke out on Dan’s upper lip. Trent’s suspicions were aroused. Dan was hiding something, and Trent needed to know what it was—especially if it concerned Jory.

  Trent picked up the tab and hobbled out to the car. He rode in the backseat so he could stretch out his leg. Keeping it in one position too long made it cramp up. Dan appeared more nervous than he had at the diner. This visit had the feel of a covert op. Hiding in the back might be good.

  As they drove, the older man spoke up. “Surprising her might not be a good idea. Not telling someone you’re coming. You could get a surprise you didn’t bargain for.”

  “That’s okay. I need the truth. If she’s met someone else, I want to know.”

  “She might not even be home. Let’s turn around.”

  “If she’s not home, all we’ve wasted is a little gas and a little time. Keep going.”

  Dan slowed down as they approached the house. Suddenly, the front door opened. The woman in his picture, the one Trent knew to be Jory, came out.

  “Stop!” he ordered. Dan hit the brakes.

  The young woman skipped down the steps and into a waiting convertible. She kissed the young man behind the wheel and slammed the door. The fellow leaned over to give her a bigger smooch then put the vehicle in gear and roared off.

  Trent thought his heart had stopped beating, then, suddenly, it was beating twice as fast. He couldn’t catch his breath as his pulse pounded in his ears.

  “Trent?” Dan asked, turning from the front seat.

  “Home. Drive,” he choked out. “I’ve seen all I need to.”

  Dan turned the car around.

  Adrenaline pumped into Trent’s veins. Pain broke through. Everything hurt. His eyes, his leg, and the back of his head throbbed. The places that had been stitched together ached. He needed to get home, lie down, and forget he was alive.

  Dan pulled into the carport and opened the door for Trent.

  “Thank you.” Trent eased himself out of the backseat, struggling to keep his balance. Dan propped him up until he was safely supported by his crutches.

  Trent disappeared into the den, a first-floor room which had been converted to his bedroom. Dan administered eye drops, and Trent tried not to cry for twenty minutes. His chest heaved, and he turned on the radio. He switched channels until he found music. He put the eye patches on and lay back down. He propped his leg up on three pillows and listened. The song that came on was Julian Lennon’s “Too Late for Goodbyes.”

  Tears streamed down the Sergeant’s face. Sadness and anger swirled through his heart. When the number was over, he threw the radio against the wall, shattering it into pieces. The door opened, then closed again, softly clicking into place. Trent rolled on his side, grabbed his pillow, stuffed it in his mouth, and sobbed.

  * * * *

  Two months later

  Jory had become comfortable in her new job. The people at The Reporter treated her with respect. Jim Sparks, gruff and demanding, expected the best from her, and she worked hard not to let him down.

  Jory trekked to Nan’s house for dinner once a week. She, her aunt, and Amber no longer mentioned Trent. For a month, Jory had asked at least once a week if he had come around looking for her, but the answer had always been “no.”

  It hurt her heart to think, once he had regained his sight, he had turned his back on her. She’d never expected he’d forget her so fast and chided herself on being naïve. She’d been easy, maybe too easy, and now, he’d moved on to his next “fling,” or “friend with benefits.”

  As many times as she had said that, she couldn’t convince herself. A sneaking suspicion that something had happened seeped into her brain. She asked Nan about Trent’s recovery, and her aunt reported that he was doing well. Of course, that was good news, but she’d almost have been happier to find out something had gone wrong. At least it would explain his indifference.

  She’d tossed out the other explanation—that she’d been plain stupid. Jory, the smart Walker girl, was simply too intelligent to be taken for such a ride by the handsome Marine. Any way she sliced it, it still hurt. Not knowing made the pain worse.

  Even when she sank into a new pity party, she couldn’t deny his disappearance had relieved her of the responsibility of facing him with the truth. He’d released her from a whole lot of explaining. Most likely, he’d have ended up dumping her anyway. She consoled herself with the idea that avoiding the confrontation was the less painful way to part. But she didn’t really buy it.

  She wished she didn’t still love him. It would have been so much easier if he had been only a diversion. But she missed him every day—talking to him, looking for a letter, holding
hands. Her new job was demanding, her success uncertain—she could have used his support, or at least his friendly ear.

  After living at the Casey’s for two months, she’d located a comfortable and affordable first-floor, two bedroom apartment. She’d furnished it with the money Nan had given her. Jory kept herself too busy to think much about Trent by starting a garden and putting up bird feeders.

  The birds reminded her of the funny stories she and the Marine had shared about the antics of the little feathered creatures. When something cute occurred, she made a mental note, forgetting she wouldn’t be retelling it to Trent. She shared it with Nan and Amber, but they soon tired of her bird tales. When she got into bed at night, Trent occupied her mind. She’d replayed every minute she’d spent with him, a dozen times over.

  If she was still awake in the wee hours, she’d fish out some of his letters from the pretty, cloth-covered box and sit up reading until exhaustion weighed her eyelids down.

  As the day for the town garage sale drew near, Jory no longer feared returning to Pine Grove. Obviously, Trent wasn’t looking for her, so she could go about her business with her anonymity intact. She pushed aside the disappointment and chose to see it as a relief.

  Amber babbled on and on about Troy and how wonderful he was. Jory smiled to see her sister finally stick to one man. Maybe Troy was man enough to tame the Walker wild child.

  Mary had fixed Jory up on a couple of dates, but they fizzled. She couldn’t find anything to talk about. They didn’t know about birds or books, so she dismissed them as incompatible. Being alone gave her time to read and watch the finches. She had a busy, full life, and decided that that would have to be enough.

  Her cell rang.

  “You have to come to the garage sale. It’s gonna be huge. You must need stuff for your new place,” Amber prattled on.

  “Okay. I’ll come.”

  “Oh, good. I’ve invited Troy to dinner. Is that okay?”

  “Of course, it’s okay. You don’t have to clear it with me.”