“Is this a question of finding yourself, or feeling like you have to find the person you thinksomeone elseexpects you to be?” The emphasis her mom placed on someone else clearly meant Robert.
Was that Jessie’s problem? She struggled to find herself because she was trying to become the person Robert wanted her to be. Did she not want to be that person again? Or was it because she feared never measuring up to the woman he deserved?
Jessie wasn’t sure how to answer, so she didn’t. The server brought their salads, giving her an excuse to remain quiet.
“Let me just say this...” Her mom picked up her fork and pointed it at Jessie. “You’ve known Robert for what...thirteen, fourteen years? In all that time, did you ever feel like he wanted you to be someone other than who you are?”
“No.” Any time Jessie got down on herself, Robert had always been quick to say he loved her just the way she was.
“And during the past thirteen years, did you ever feel like he had ulterior motives in giving you the gifts he did?”
Jessie thought about the many gifts Robert had given her over the years for birthdays, Christmas, Valentines, anniversaries, and just because he was thinking about her. He’d never made her feel like he expected favors or wanted something in return. He only wanted to make her happy.
Just like he’s been doing the past two months.
Jessie propped an elbow on the table and pressed her forehead to her palm.Did Patrick mess me up so badly that I can’t trust my oldest and dearest friend?
That’s all she could consider Robert to be right now. A friend. Maybe someday they could be more, but there was still too much unsettled between them.
Things had been interesting between them for the past few weeks. She no longer felt like he avoided her, but she still only saw him twice a week. They texted frequently though, and Jessie saw frequent glimpses of the boy she fell in love with so many years ago in those texts.
He’d held her hand once—Wednesday night didn’t count because it didn’t last near long enough—and put his arm around her twice. But that was it. More than once, they had exchanged a heated glance where Jessie was certain he wanted to kiss her as badly as she wanted him to.
But they hadn’t kissed. They hadn’t even talked about kissing again, and they hadn’t talked about a future together.
Jessie considered his investment comment again and wondered if she hadn’t been so clueless, would that have led to a discussion about their futures?
She lifted her head. “No, Robert would never do that. He’d never try to control me. I guess I’m looking for signs that aren’t there.”
Her mother frowned as she patted Jessie’s hand. “It’s good to be wary, honey. But don’t let what you’ve been through make you afraid to love again.”
“How come you never remarried, Mom?”
Sylvia shrugged. “I just haven’t found the right man, I guess. Now, back to you... Do youwantto stay in Providence? Or do you want to go somewhere else? Back to New York, maybe?”
“No, I don’t want to go back to New York.”
That much she knew. There were too many terrible memories there. But she craved the fulfillment she’d experienced there. She’d been so close to becoming a successful artist. Until Patrick took it all away.
“I’d like to stay in Providence. I love it here.” Yes, people were nosy, but they cared about one another.
It was where Robert was, after all. She’d never ask him to leave—especially since he was up for re-election as sheriff—assuming there was a future for them. But that was something she couldn’t depend on. What if she stayed here and things didn’t work out between them?
“So, you want to stay in Providence, but you’re afraid you won’t be content here? And you’re enjoying painting and making pottery again, but you’re not sure you want those things to be a part of the new you?”
“I want those things to be a part of my future, but how will I make a living doing them here in Providence?” Despite Robert’s insistence that she should try selling her art here in town, Jessie wasn’t convinced it would be enough.
Her mom was quiet for a minute while she took a long drink of water. As she set her glass back down, her eyes sparkled as though someone had turned on a light bulb. “I’ve got an idea. Didn’t you tell me that your boss at the MET... What was her name? Vivian?”
“Violet.”
“Right. Didn’t Violet hook you up with a smaller gallery where you sold several of your pieces? Maybe you could reach out to that gallery owner and see if he’d be willing to sell some of your work again.”
Jessie pictured Mr. Ramo. He was such a kind man, even if he was a little funny looking with a bulbous nose and big ears. She hadn’t made a ton of money on the pieces she’d sold there, but it had helped supplement her income.
It wouldn’t be enough to support a child, but it might be a start. She also pictured Mr. and Mrs. Becker—the sweet little husband and wife owners of The Pottery Cottage, where she’d thrown pots every Wednesday evening. Until Patrick forced her to quit. She’d sold several of her pieces in their gift shop.
A light, fluttery feeling skittered through Jessie’s abdomen and she wondered if the baby was moving or if hope was trying to push its way up? If she reached out to Mr. Ramo and the Beckers and they agreed to sell her work, would she be able to make enough money to support her child? Maybe she could find galleries in other big cities too that would feature her work.
