Gracious, we used to be so in love.
I blinked back the rise of tears in my eyes. If only things hadn’t gone sour so quickly. Our relationship took fire before it even had the chance to bloom.
Could I live with Jack again and escape emotionally in-tact? I didn’t know if it was possible. I already lost my heart to Jack. Was there more I could lose? As the question filtered through my mind, the answer blasted my heart like a bombshell to my only decent option.
My son.
Jack could decide to fight for custody. Maybe evenfullcustody. My track record wasn’t all that great. It would be too easy for an attorney to make me look unstable, unfit. And Jack? He was the epitome of perfection. Serving in the police force for twelve years, an upstanding citizen, money in the bank, a homeowner, no crazy exes breathing down his neck…
As opposed to me—the homeless mom on the run with acouple boxes of clothes and a trunk full of processed food. Who had “kept” a little boy from his father for four years.
Jack’s voice from up the hill jerked me back to the present. “Hey! I figured I’d find you guys down here.”
“Kacey’s first word this morning was ‘lake.’”
Jack let out a deep chuckle. At one point, it was my favorite sound in the world—leaving me breathless and awe-struck.
“I had to take care of a few things and make a few calls. But, after lunch I’m going into the attic to look for pictures, albums, and stuff like that.” He turned toward me, furrowing his eyebrows. “I called the mechanic.”
“I’m almost scared to ask. What’s the damage?”
He shook his head, denying me an answer.
“You’re not going to tell me how much I owe you for the car?”
“Per our agreement, youoweme cleaning out the attic.”
“I did not agree to anything! I can’t let you pay for my car.”
“Too late. I already did. If you back out of attic-duty, I’m going to be ticked.”
The breeze picked up, lifting the stray hair around my face. “I guess I’ll help when I put Kacey down for naptime. You really shouldn’t have done that.”
After a few minutes, I found my manners. “Thank you. Seriously, Jack. I don’t have anything to give you in return.”
I shouldn’t have picked up my phone. I was in the groove clearing out boxes in the attic. But when I felt it vibrate for the hundredth time, I glanced at the screen. A string of text messages and missed calls from Chris covered my home screen. He knew what time Kacey napped and was probably trying to wear me down into calling him.
I opened my messages, quickly scrolling through.
Chris was pissed, grabbing onto anything he could find. Apparently, he came to terms with the fact I left him for good and wasn’t too happy about it. His texts were a string of curse words and ugly names, listing reasons I was a horrible mother and detailing my inadequacies in the bedroom.
My cheeks flushed and instantaneous tears rushed to my eyes.
Why did he always resort to embarrassing me?
I swiped at my cheeks, drying them with trembling, smudgy hands. Thankfully, I was on my knees, labeling boxes behind a wrapped Christmas tree, so maybe Jack wouldn’t see my complete humiliation.
I considered blocking Chris, but decided against it. If he started throwing threats, I wanted to be able to see them. His “packing my bags” text was the first, and I figured there would be more. When we left this richy-rich neighborhood, I would ditch my phone. Get a prepaid like Sherri had suggested. If only I had some money.
I sniffed and straightened up as I heard Jack walking a box toward the “done” corner. Jack had been right. The attic was huge, disorganized, and disgusting. Boxes were open, mislabeled, or unlabeled. Dust covered everything. Nathaniel’s meticulous way of handling things obviously did not extend higher than the third floor.
We searched and labeled boxes for forty-five minutes and were halfway done. Making decent time, actually. Out of all the junk in the attic, we only found two boxes containing personal items. Like yearbooks, letters, and pictures. There wasn’t very much proving a family had once lived here. The lack of old toys, baby clothes, or anything belonging to Jack’s mother shocked me.
All the Christmas decorations were glass. Nothinghomemade or sentimental. Ninety percent of the items would go to the estate sale, never to be seen or missed again. The reality made me sad for Jack and Jules. He’d often told me their house stopped being a home when his mother got sick. Said Nathaniel turned it into an upscale barracks. He wanted functionality and nothing more. There was no room for memories in the Barkley household.
“I finished on that side. Now we just have the boxes in the middle,” Jack called out as he set the box in the far corner and brushed his hands down the front of his faded jeans, returning to the opposite side of the attic.
“I have two more in the mostly-Christmas section.” I avoided looking at Jack’s face as he passed by, hunched over from the attic’s low clearance.
