Jessica and the jarhead.., p.1
Jessica and the Jarhead (The Alphabet Crew), page 1
Jessica and the Jarhead
Tilly Lebeck
Copyright © 2024
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 9798322832591
To my awesome and amazing sister, who totally didn’t just write this dedication herself, who gave me the idea for my first book and unleashed all the dirty thoughts I’ve ever had but never wrote down.
Chapter 1
Jess
My grandmother’s headstone was clean and white and new. Betrayal wormed its way through me as I stared at it.
“It’s not going to work,” I said to her grave. Thunder rumbled in the background. How dare she be gone? How dare she expect this from me?
“I know what you were thinking, making Charles and I both owners of that cabin and putting that stupid clause in your will,” I said as I paced in front of the grave as if she was there and could hear me. “Making us spend a weekend there together. Alone.”
“I messed things up too bad with him,” I argued. “It’s been too many years. He’s probably moved on. Even if he hasn’t, who’s to say that I even feel the same way?”
I sat down in a huff on the ground. There were fresh flowers in the vase that was attached to her headstone and I wondered briefly about who would have put them there. Someone from one of her clubs, undoubtedly.
“Who am I kidding?” I asked the nearly empty graveyard. “I saw a picture of him recently. He looks somehow the same, but better. Different. More mature. I don’t know.”
Thunder rumbled again, closer to me than before, mocking me with its agreement.
I picked at the grass and tore pieces of it up as I sat there. “I don’t think I could stand it if he doesn’t like me,” I admitted.
Here I sat at my grandma’s grave, pouting over whether a boy liked me, like I was that teenage girl who fell in love with him instead of the grown woman I had become. I wished she was here to talk to in person. She always had an opinion and wasn’t afraid to say it.
“He makes me a fool. I can’t think straight around him. It’s been ten years!” My voice rose in volume until I shouted into the oncoming storm. A couple standing at a nearby grave turned and stared at me. One man was crying profusely, and the other had his arm around him, pulling him in close as they turned away from me. Loneliness crept in, and I wished I had someone here. Someone to hold me while I grieved. It was all too much. I was the dutch boy with his finger in the damn trying to hold it all back. The dam would break, and I didn’t want to be here when it did.
“I miss you,” I said. My voice was small now and I could feel tears beginning to spill over onto my cheeks.
The sky released its hoard just then and rain came down in torrents. The drops were heavy as they fell from the sky. I let the rain wash over me and soak me through. My shirt and pants clung to me, but I still didn’t move. There was no point in trying to hide from nature. It was determined to strip me bare, regardless of my opinion.
I wasn’t sure how I would manage this — this time with Charles. I could still back out. What would happen if I didn’t get on the plane tomorrow? My stomach simultaneously sank and fluttered at the thought of going to Colorado and seeing Charles, like it couldn’t decide if I was excited or scared or both.
I sighed and rose from the ground. I couldn’t put it off any longer
The flight to Denver was uncomfortable. Flying was always uncomfortable. I didn’t fit in the seats. Every time I flew I got that look, the one that said “great, I have to sit next to the fat chick,” like most straight sized people didn’t complain about how small the seats were all the time. I spent the entire flight scrunched up, hoping to forget the proximity of my neighbors.
One of those neighbors had ordered a drink and slipped a little white pill in his mouth before take-off. He nodded off onto my shoulder and I had to keep moving him away from me. It didn’t take long for the stench of alcohol to overwhelm me and plunge me into the past. I tried to fight its pull, but it was determined to drag me under like a riptide, hoping to see me drown.
We hit a bit of turbulence and I lost myself completely.
I was seven years old again and my dad was driving over a dip in the road too fast, swerving all over the road home. He shouldn’t have been driving. Even at seven, I knew that much. He smelled like beer and sweat. Mom asked him to pick me up from dance practice, but he was late.
The drive ended in a crunch when my dad drove into our neighbor’s car.
“Dammit, Jessica,” Dad slurred when he realized what he had done. “Why did you have to have a class today?” I jumped out of the car, ran home, and went straight past my mother into the closet. My tears were falling fast and blurring my vision by the time I got to my room. I messed up again. I should have asked for a ride home.
“You can’t keep doing this,” Mom yelled as I slammed the closet doors.
“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want,” Dad yelled back as I grabbed the doll I kept hidden in here and buried my head in the soft neck. It smelled like cinnamon and Christmas, just like Grandma.
“Baby,” My mom called out to me when the yelling stopped. I didn’t call back out to her, but she still found me. “Sorry baby, I should have had someone else bring you home. Your dad doesn’t mean it. He just gets so stressed about providing for us that he needs to let off a bit of steam after work. I should have known he would need to relax today. Next time, just make sure to find a ride home from dance.” I nodded my head. I didn’t even want to go to dance now, but I couldn’t tell her that. She sold her favorite bracelet to pay for it. She would be so sad if she sold it for nothing. Mom was already so sad all the time. I didn’t want to make it worse.
“Just remember,” she would say to me often, especially after times like this, “what happens in this family stays in this family, ok? Someone might get the wrong idea about your dad and then he’ll be taken away from us. We don’t want that.” I would always nod along and keep my mouth shut. Even if he was mean sometimes, I didn’t want to lose my dad.
I wouldn’t realize until I was an adult that none of that was healthy or good, that it was abuse and alcoholism; that my dad was shifting blame. I’ve spent years in therapy trying to figure out what the hell was going on in my fucked up head.
My heart raced at the thought of having to see Charles again. I hadn’t even started to process everything that had happened with him. It took two years just to understand that what I had experienced really was trauma and to stop blaming myself for everything that had happened.
My therapist took a vacation at the wrong time. I couldn’t even talk to her about all this before I had to be on the plane. It seemed so sudden. Of course, it wasn’t. I had enough notice. I just wanted to pretend like life was continuing on as usual. Processing all this was for Future Jess. Well, here I sat, Future Jess, and I couldn’t do that. I was stuck in a plane, however many thousands of feet in the air and I couldn’t breathe, and the passed out drunk’s head was on my shoulder again and I wanted to shout and scream and cry and run away from it all.
I hated flying.
By the time I got off the plane in Denver, a full-blown migraine had set in from the tense position I had held myself in for the entire flight. I spilled out of my seat and rushed to the door just to get some fresh air. I didn’t care who I pissed off.
My anxiety didn’t ease once I got into the rental car. I didn’t know how to drive in the snow, and I was in a race against nature to make it to the cabin before I had to test my skills.
The first fat, wet flakes fell just as I had rounded the last bend on the road that would take me to the cabin.
I should have stayed home.
I shouldn’t have come.
This was a mistake.
My hands were white on the steering wheel as I took the last dirt road as slowly as I could. The car slid a bit on an icy patch, and I was grateful to be alone. The scream I let out wasn’t pretty. I narrowly avoided hitting a tree as I rounded the last bend, and the cabin where I would stay the weekend, where my grandmother manipulated me into going, came into view. Years of therapy and I still couldn’t ignore the slight guilt that accompanied any thoughts of not going.
The cabin was small and cozy looking, with a pitched roof and smoke winding its way out of the chimney. The light inside was inviting in this storm and I imagined a fire crackling in a small wood stove, the scent of pine and fir filling the place, and the warmth of the fire driving away the biting cold.
It was the perfect setup for a romantic fairytale.
I bet my grandma somehow arranged that, too.
My lips curled in anger and disgust. How dare this place be so inviting?
I sat in my car for a moment. The smoke and light meant only one thing: Charles was already here. I didn’t see his car, but that was likely because I simply stopped in the middle of the road rather than try to drive around to wherever was appropriate to park. I was certain, though, that it would be fine. After all, technically, I owned the place and could therefore park wherever I wanted.
The terror of driving in the snow cleared my head a bit and helped me focus on what was important, finishing this weekend so I can be done with it forever. I could do this. It was only a weekend. It didn’t matter what he thought of me. I wasn’t here for any reason other than to meet the terms of Grandma’s will so I can sell the place. Then we could go our separate ways and never see each other again.
My heart stuttered at that last thought.
I dragged my suitcase through the snow and ice to the front door of the cabin, eager to get out of the cold, but when I tried the handle, I couldn’t get in. That’s on me for thinking the lights and smoke coming from the chimney meant I would have a warm welcome. I dug around in my purse for the key on the large golden heart key chain the lawyer had given me. Way to be obvious, Grandma. I had to abandon the things in my hand on a nearby log-turned-table to dig through my purse better.
“Stupid bag,” I muttered to myself as I propped my cell phone on my shoulder for light. The keys had probably slipped through the hole in the lining. That’s what I get for buying a used bag just because it was cute. My migraine had worsened on the trip up here and now nausea was rolling through me. The altitude was probably to blame, but all I could think about was getting in the cabin and going to sleep. Hopefully, a night at this height would sort me out.
“Need help?” A deep voice asked from behind me. I startled, sending my bag careening to the ground, spilling the contents of it all over the wet porch.
“Dammit,” I muttered as I clutched my racing heart. I refused to turn around. I couldn’t look at him right now.
“Oh, god, I’m so sorry,” Charles said as he jogged up to me and bent down to help me put my bag back together again.
“What the hell?” I probably should have been more polite, but my migraine got worse. My things had scattered across the snow-lined porch when I jumped, and we were in the middle of nowhere with who knew what creeping around in the dark woods. “Why aren’t you inside?”
I couldn’t look directly at Charles when he produced his key right as I found mine. I focused on his hands instead. They were large and calloused, the nails blunt and the fingers wide. I was afraid to look at the rest of him if his hands had changed so much. In them were his keys. The heart on his was a dark metal with a matte finish. So dramatic.
I gathered all my stuff and straightened myself out, as best I could, while Charles unlocked the door. His broad back was to me and I thought it would be safe enough to look now. He had filled out in the years since I’d seen him last, which made sense. He was a grown man now. His shoulders looked strong and wide and his pants looked too damn tight. He was not dressed for the weather, wearing only jeans and a flannel coat, but he didn’t seem cold.
Meanwhile, my rumpled and damp clothing clung to me and rubbed in all the wrong places. I couldn’t do more than change my shirt since being sandwiched between the Too Much Cologne guy and the Not Enough Showers guy on my connecting flight. I was freezing and couldn’t wait to get inside with the fire.
Of course, he smelled like pine and wood smoke and something that was just his. A smell I remembered from high school when I was free to curl into him and drink my fill. Of course, he showed up looking like a male model and lumberjack all rolled into one, highlighting how insignificant I really was. I just wanted to get out of the cold and go to bed.
He finally unlocked and opened the door while I was still in the middle of trying to straighten out my clothing and smooth back my hair. He turned to look at me. I was not ready for it. The familiar hazel color sent a bolt of longing through me. They were a brown-lined green that I used to think looked like grass after a heavy rain.
“And your eyes are the storm,” he would say. “A perfect match for me.” I loved that thought once upon a time. That we were such a perfect match that even our eyes complimented each other.
I was caught in his gaze, standing there looking like a fool. His hand was outstretched to mine, and I had the urge to twine my fingers with his. I clutched my phone tighter instead.
“Here,” he said as he leaned towards me. “Let me help. It’s cold. We shouldn’t be out here long.” It took another minute for my brain to catch up before I could look away from him.
Refusing to let him play the chivalrous hero to my damp damsel, I dragged my suitcase, large purse, phone, drink, key, and a bottle of migraine medicine I had picked up on the way into the small entryway of the cabin.
It didn’t occur to me at that moment that I could have easily stashed most of that away in my purse. He’d always done that to me, rattled my brain enough that I could barely think straight. In the years since our breakup, I waffled between blaming that stupidity for my actions and knowing that it was because I was a coward.
“Jess,” he said, a bit exasperated, “let me help. Do you have anything else out in the car? I can go get it for you while you warm up by the fire.”
“No. I’ve got it,” I said as I pushed past him.
“Alright.” He stamped the snow from his boots and shook out his flannel coat before hanging it on a hook by the door, wisely choosing not to argue with me. All things I should have done before stepping into the main room of the cabin, but didn’t. Why does he have to be so damn perfect?
“I got here and settled in yesterday. Why did you wait until today with the weatherman predicting snow?” He said all this conversationally like we were old friends. That just angered me more. I didn’t even think about checking the weather when I booked my flight. All I thought about was how to fulfill the terms of the will without spending any extra time here.
“I had to work,” I spat out as I stomped out of the central room in search of my bed. I came up short when I realized that there were only three rooms in this cabin, well technically four if you counted the entryway.
“There’s only one bedroom,” I said stupidly.
“I noticed that.” He smirked. “Only one bed in that one room, too.”
“Well, I hope you like the couch,” I said as I moved to the door to the right. The door to the left was open and showed an enormous bathroom, out of place in the small cabin.
“I’m not sleeping on the couch,” he said as he glanced at the small green loveseat. “My torso won’t even fit on that thing, much less my legs.”
He folded his arms in stubbornness, a movement that sent a pang of nostalgia through me. How many times had I seen him take the same stance when we were teenagers? I’d loved that streak of defiance in him. The firm set of his jaw had caused my hormone-riddled teen heart to race right from the start. I matched his stance with one of my own. He wasn’t going to win this time. I had a decade more experience than that teenager and a ball of anger fueling my stubbornness. He wouldn’t sway me so easily now.
Chapter 2
Charles
Stubborn, wind-swept Jess was a sight to behold. Snow dusted her platinum hair, and her cheeks were pink from the cold, her anger, or both. She was just as beautiful as I remembered, and seeing that fire in her eyes eased something inside me. Charlotte, Jess’s grandma, always assured me I would get another chance with her.
“Oh, Charles,” Charlotte had said over cookies just two days after Jess had broken up with me and I had gone over there looking for Jess and hoping for answers. She wasn’t there, but her grandma let me in and fed me some homemade cookies. “I promise you she doesn’t hate you. She’s just going through some things.”
“What things?” I pleaded with Charlotte to tell me. “What is she going through? She shouldn’t be going through it alone, whatever it is.”
“That’s not my place to tell,” she said as she put the cookies in front of me. They were some kind of buttery sugar cookie. She had served them to me before, but I couldn’t eat them now. Jess was hurting, and I couldn’t help her. “I’m sorry.” She patted my hand like that made anything better.
“Can you at least tell me — tell me if there is someone else?” My voice broke, and I wasn’t ashamed of it. I may be an adult now, but everything felt broken, and Charlotte had always been so nice.
