Not that it’s not.
He cruises down the mansion-dotted street with a familiar unease. So happy to have seen her—sheishis best friend and confidant, the only person he’s openly out to in Longview—but also, as with his mother, there are strings attached.
He knows deep in his gut that his love for Charleigh is pure; he loves her, he tells himself, but it’s complicated by the fact that she’s his biggest client. And she if had it her way, she’d be his only client. She sometimes acts like she is.
But he needs to take a chill pill, be grateful that the Andersens are nearly bankrolling his entire one-man operation, Ford Design.
All he had to do today was lounge by the gurgling pool as Lettie splashed more mimosas into their wineglasses, assuring Charleigh that yes, a Hawaiian theme was perfect for tonight’s affair.
He trailed her out to their four-car garage, before digging through bins to find the Tiki torches, plastic palm trees, rope lights, pineapple tablecloth, and armful of rainbow-colored leis.
Charleigh’s supply closet is infinite.
And yes, he’ll get paid for his time today, but sometimes itmakes him uncomfortable how what would normally be typical hangout time in other friendships turns into him being on the clock. The boundaries are fuzzy.
Unless he and Charleigh are out at lunch, or at the Boat House, sipping daiquiris by the lake, he always feels like he’s on, like he’s working.
Plus, there’s the whole Nellie drama. Charleigh was all in a tizzy this morning, chirping about how her daughter is having a hard time. Something about some new girl in town.
Sometimes Jackson wants to slap Charleigh, knock some sense into her. Here she is, married to one of the richest, hottest men in town—a serious catch—living a life of endless privilege, yet she’s never content, never satisfied, never at peace.
Yes, Nellie is a handful, to put it nicely, but Jackson sometimes wonders if it’s not all Charleigh’s fault. He’s convinced the girl has never heard the word no, and he has to stifle the urge to say as much to Charleigh. He also stifles the urge to tell his friend to relax, to quit being so up in her kid’s business. To quit trying to control her. That child has had everything thrown at her, from rhinoplasty to lavish shopping trips at the Galleria in Dallas, as if any of those things really matter. As if they can fix anything or replace real parenting.
No wonder Nellie’s a mess.
But, as Jackson’s sister, Katelyn, likes to snidely remind him, he has no children of his own, so can he shut the hell up with his snarky opinions whenever he feels like it, please?
Driving down the main road through the quaint town square,which will lead him to the tidy bungalow he bought for a song and renovated himself, Jackson tries to shake off thoughts of Charleigh and Nellie. He picks up a cassette, warm as a brick pulled out of a kiln, and slides it into the tape deck.
Duran Duran’sSeven and the Ragged Tigerthumps through the speakers. Even though it’s an older album of theirs, he loves it, loves Simon Le Bon’s voice, especially on “Union of the Snake.” Loves the way it reminds him of his junior year at SMU and his nights with Brad, a jock type who wasn’t out, but most certainly should’ve been. Jackson still thinks about him from time to time, pines for him, remembering the taste of warm beer on Brad’s lips, the sharp tang of Benetton on his skin.
As he grooves to the music, Charleigh pops, unbidden, back in his brain. He’s annoyed by the intrusion.
But then,he loves her, as he reminds himself again.
She accepts Jackson. And she of all people knows what it’s like not to be accepted. Poor as mud when she was growing up. She drove Jackson by her childhood home one afternoon while they were out day drinking, buzzed on margaritas.
He shuddered when she pointed to the depressing lean-to, seemingly plopped down in the middle of an unkempt, marshy pasture on the edge of town. Couldn’t fathom that this same woman sitting next to him, mountains of exquisitely primped blond hair spilling over her shoulders, steering her black Jaguar expertly over the blacktop road, once existed there.
But, Jackson muses, the ghost of that insecure inner child still haunts Charleigh, still lurks within her, and that’s what drawshim to her while simultaneously repelling him. Her bottomless need makes him confident, secure in their bond, while sometimes threatening to engulf him, drown him altogether. Makes him want to run for his life.
Later
The body still bobs on the surface of the lake, a marshmallow floating in hot chocolate.
Why am I thinking of hot chocolate right now?
Andwhyis it not sinking?
It’s not like I thought any of this through beforehand, though. I didn’t know this was gonna happen. It wasn’t premeditated.
I justsnapped.
And now I have to figure out what the hell I’m gonna do, how to clean all this up.
Fuck. Shit. What did I do?
7
