She heard the low, husky timbre of his whisper. “You smell like summer and sunshine.” His breath against her neck sent a tingle through her every time.
She dropped the perfume back into the box.I left these things behind on purpose.
She held up the sweater and rolled her eyes as her mom walked back into the cabin. “Really mom?”
Sylvia set the bag she carried on the coffee table and sat beside Jessie.
Looking at her mother, Jessie felt like she was looking in a fun-house mirror that aged her twenty years. Fine lines had deepened around her mom’s eyes, and streaks of gray now accented her hair.
Sylvia patted Jessie's arm. “It’s chilly in the mornings and evenings this close to the lake, I thought you might need it.”
Her mother’s feigned innocence didn’t fool Jessie.
“But this sweater? Of all the ones I left behind?” She couldn’t remember if she’d left any others behind. She’d packed most of her sweaters—because New York winters were cold—but she couldn’t bear to take this one with her.
Mom sighed and took Jessie’s hand. “Honey, is it so bad for you to remember you were happy here?”
But it wasn’t enough.Jessie swallowed the sting of tears as she acknowledged how her pursuit of art had ultimately led to a life devoid of it.
“Coming home doesn’t mean things will be the same, Mom. I’m not the same person I used to be.”
Sylvia tucked a lock of hair behind Jessie’s ear. “No, you’re not. I know you feel damaged and broken right now, but you’re a fighter and a survivor. It’ll take time, but you’re going to be okay. Wounds heal, even ones as deep as yours. I’m living proof of that.”
Jessie remembered how abusive her father had been before he walked out on them. Sixteen-year-old Jessie had wondered if she’d been a better daughter, would he have been nicer? Would he have stayed? But then she felt guilty because they were definitely better off without him. It had left her confused and lacking confidence.
Her mother had been a strong woman, though, and had insisted the girls go to therapy with her. It had taken a long time and the friendship of a nice boy—Robert—before Jessie found her self-worth.
And she’d let Patrick take it all away.
Why didn’t I see him for what he really was?
“You’re a stronger woman than I am,” Jessie whispered.
“No. If I’d been stronger, I would have left your father when you girls were little.” She lowered her gaze. “And maybe you wouldn’t have ended up in the situation you did.”
Jessie squeezed her mother’s hand. She understood how terrified her mother must have been to leave. “It’s not your fault, mom. None of it is.”
Sylvia’s eyes glistened as she held Jessie’s gaze. “And what you’ve been through is not your fault. You are stronger than you think. You had to sacrifice love to chase your dreams.”
“And look where it led me.”
Sylvia wrapped an arm around Jessie’s shoulder and squeezed. “I am. It led you right back here. Give yourself time to heal, honey.” She rested her hand on the sweater. “Then look forward to the possibilities.”
“You mean Robert? Mom, that won’t happen. He can barely stand to look at me let alone be in the same room with me.”
“He’s not the same person he used to be either. I imagine this is as hard on him as it is on you.”
Maybe, but that didn’t mean Jessie deserved a second chance with Robert.
Chapter 7
Patrick took in the dark windows of his house as he turned onto Magnolia Way. He was later than he’d planned, but Jessica shouldn’t be in bed already.
Had he hurt her worse than he thought?
The enjoyment of his weekend dissipated, and his grip tightened on the steering wheel. Coming home sometimes fell like a burden. Maintaining the control he needed to have in his home often took its toll on him.
Jessica was a beautiful woman, but she had no fashion sense. She cared more about her art than how she looked. As a prosperous investment broker, he had an image to uphold. He couldn’t go out in public with a wife who preferred jeans and a paint-splattered t-shirt over evening attire.
