© Copyright 2007
by Elizabeth Delayne

Love that Hurts

Part III

Carrie stood at her kitchen sink as the sunlight washed around her, washing the lunch dishes as she looked out the window. Dani and Cooper were working together in the garden. She smiled a little as Cooper took the heavy shovel from her and stepped into her sister’s way. She thought that Cooper had been a little overprotective lately—and that, to some degree, Dani was letting him. It made Carrie wonder if they were or thought they were expecting.

Dani as a mom, Cooper as a father. The thought made Carrie smile. They were perfect together, as perfect a pair as anything Jayce could have created in her mind.

Everything should have been bright and sunny for the Morgan-Cooper-Dean family.

Still, when they’d eaten lunch together, it had been painfully obvious that Jayce was absent. Carrie had gotten used to having her sister around again.

And she just couldn’t get it out of her mind that Jayce was hiding something.

Again.

Was she horrible for not giving her sister trust? Jayce had proven herself so many times over the last few months. In prayer, Carrie confessed it all again and still prayed. For her sister. For strength. For safety.

Carrie knew that the history of alcoholics in the Lindsey-Morgan line ran strong. It had sent a number of her ancestors to an early, agonizing grave, changed her grandmother, impacted her father ... and lived on in Jayce.

Tyler walked up behind and wrapped his arms around her from behind. “She’s going to be okay.”

“I’ve told myself that,” she said, her hands stilling in the soapy water. “But I just have this knot in my stomach. This is her first time going off ... she seemed so nervous.”

“My little mommy.”

Carrie rolled her eyes. “Tyler.”

He laughed. “Just because she’s decided she’s ready for a new step, doesn’t mean we stop praying for her. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t need our prayers.”

Carrie leaned back into him and closed her eyes as she felt Tyler rest his cheek against her own.

When the phone rang, Carrie stepped out of Tyler’s arms, hoping it was Jayce.

Just wanting to hear her voice.

* * *

Two weeks passed, and then another, and Jayce just avoided. Dani accused her of using her excuses. Carrie suggested she see a doctor. Instead of hiding away in a make believe world as she had at one time, Jayce just ... waited. Waited for it all to pass. Waited to feel normal.

And maybe that was how she had always dealt with her problems.

At the end of another day with Cooper, Jayce lay on her bed and stared at the red light of her alarm clock. She no longer felt like she was working, that she was in sync with her family. She felt somewhat trapped, locked into this prison.

The evening light was slowly leaving dying away and leaving the room in shadows. Her cell phone was quiet again. She had not reached for it, had not checked the caller ID. She knew the ring tone she’d programed for her sister. The call had come moments after the house phone had rung.

So she knew the first phone call was for her as well.

She’d never answered Kyle’s calls and he’d stopped calling her directly. Apparently, he thought he could get to her through her sister.

And if it was not Kyle and it was one of her friends, she wasn’t quite ready to talk to them either.

So she stayed alone and waited for sleep to come.

“If you think I’m gaining weight,” Carrie said from the doorway, “it is your duty, as my sister, to just ignore it or tell it to my face. You don’t have to make me climb these steps over and over again to find you.”

Jayce glanced over at Carrie who stood in the doorway then looked slowly away. Though her sister was attempting humor, Jayce couldn’t find it within herself to smile.

Carrie sighed. Jayce listened as she walked around the bed and felt the bed dip as she sat down and stretched out beside her. She expected her sister’s comforting touch. Instead Carrie did nothing else.

Jayce just waited. She didn’t know what to say to her sisters, to anyone in her family, since they had arrived to pick her up. Dani and Carrie had come to the airport together, with their husband’s in tow to get her. With Cooper and Tyler taking her car home, she’d sat in the back seat of Carrie’s car with Carrie, as Dani drove home. They didn’t really say anything. They gave her time.

She just wanted more time.

“You need to talk to Kyle sometime.”

“I don’t know what to say to him.”

“How about you start with hi,” Carrie offered. “Something simple. You start with hi ... he can fill in the next statement.”

Jayce closed her eyes. “There’s nothing simple about it. Its not just about Kyle.”

“Are you ...”

“What?”

“Are you afraid that Dani and I aren’t going to be there for you?”

“What?” Jayce turned her head and stared at her sister’s profile. This time it was Carrie looking up at the ceiling.

“We weren’t. In the past ... we just weren’t. That keeps running around in my head. Dani and I were fighting. I was wrapped up in Tyler and obsessed with this house. She was building her business. We only thought we were doing right by you. We told ourselves we were.”

“Carrie,” Jayce sat up and turned to face her sister. “You guys were great. You were strict and you were fun and you and Tyler especially made time for me, even when you were sad. I just ... there was always something inside of me—as if I never ... I missed so much, so many things. I could never find the words to tell you what was inside of me.”

Carrie looked over at her, then slowly reached for her hand. “We all have a void, Jayce. We miss her, we miss him.”

“I never knew her.”

“No. And I never knew enough. I could never give you even the words that he gave me.”

Jayce stared at her sister and felt the words bubble up from her.

“I’m an alcoholic, Carrie.”

Carried squeezed her hand, her look without blame, without ... derision.

“And you’re not alone. If you’d have ...” Carrie sighed again and sat up. “Scratch that. I wasn’t doing you much good before all this–I was so afraid of doing the wrong thing. Of not protecting you this time the way I should have last time. I wish I could say that if you’d told me about the trip I’d have suggested that I’d go with you. To give you support.”

“Why?”

“You weren’t doing anything wrong, Jayce. Lying was fundamentally wrong, but other than that it was a pretty cool opportunity for a Morgan girl. To go to Hollywood? To go to the Oscars with all of the trappings of glamor? To hang out with Kyle Edwards and live for a few days the way the Lindseys preferred to live?”

“So you would have gone with me?”

“Honestly? Not then ... but I would now.”

“Why?”

“Because you need to take the steps in the right direction and you can’t ... you shouldn’t do it alone. You have to realize you need people. And if you had asked, it would have been a step in the right direction.”

“Instead I took a step back.”

“Maybe. Maybe a little one ... but you beat it. You didn’t have a drink, Jayce—and you said yourself that you were dying for one. You got over the fear and the shame and you called us. You admitted you needed us. You’re not alone. As long as you remember that and the other ten or so of the twelve steps you’re going to beat this. That’s something dear old granddad was never able to do.”

“I was always afraid I took more after him then mom or dad or anyone else. The one no one talks about. Are ashamed to talk about.”

“You should write a movie about him.”

Jayce laughed. “That would probably sell.”

“Probably.”

For a moment, they sat silent and Jayce thought back. They’s had few times like this. Most of the time, if they were together, Jayce had resorted to being the evening’s portion of the entertainment. Growing up, they’d grown into their separate corners. Carrie, closer to their father; Dani closer to their grandmother. Carrie was a bookworm, lost in the library. Dani had always found solace in the gardens.

And for anyone to pay attention to Jayce, she had to make the attention herself.

She hadn’t had her own place.

So no, they’d never had moments like this.

The creak of the old floorboards alerted the approach of someone before Dani appeared in the doorway. The oldest of the three sisters, dressed in her daily gardening grub with her grandmother’s faded work gloves still on her hands, crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe.

“If that’s Kyle Edwards in the 1860s parlor ... why are you both still up here?”

Jayce looked back at Carrie. “Kyle? But ... I can’t see him.”

“Who says he’s here to see you?” Carrie just pushed off the bed and spoke to Dani as she walked out of the room. “It was me he called. And it’s my 1860s parlor he’s waiting in.”

Jayce felt the awkwardness of her breath fight for release. She pressed a hand to her stomach. “I can’t see him.”

Dani shrugged as she stripped off the work gloves, but walked over to take Carrie’s place on the bed. “Who said you had to?”

“But he’s here. You let him in.”

“He was in the parlor,” Dani pointed out and rolled her eyes. “Have I ever made it a habit of inviting people into the parlor? I suppose Cooper—who would have found it charming, I suppose, or even Tyler let him in. I had nothing to do with it.”

She leaned back on the pillows and stared up at the ceiling.

“Still, it’s really bothering me, so I have to ask. You have this incredibly handsome, exceptionally wealthy suitor waiting in our nineteenth century parlor and you’re hiding in the bedroom upstairs? How much teenage angst does that speak of?”

Jayce frowned and dropped back to lay on the bed. “He’s not my suitor.”

“Then what is he?”

Jayce shrugged. “We were starting as friends.”

“So you’re leaving this friend ... this incredibly handsome, exceptionally wealthy—“

”Would you stop?”

“I’m just trying to figure it out.”

“There’s nothing to figure out. I didn’t invite him. I’m not ready to see him.”

“But he’s here, and he wants to see you,” Dani noted. “Despite Carrie’s claim that he’s here to see her. As if anyone wants to hear about the yada yada something or other that was part of the historical collections way back in the day.”

“Is that how you talk to Cooper?”

“That’s what I hear when Cooper talks to me.”

Jayce managed a smile.

“But,” Dani said thoughtfully, “I nearly lost him. Lost the possibility of being with him. Of growing a family with him. Do you know why?”

“Because you’re stubborn?”

“Yes,” Dani said with a laugh. “I refused to understand him for a long time. And in not understanding, I almost missed the best part of him. He has this passion for this place that just makes him ... so ...”

“Devastating?”

“That would be your word, not mine.”

“You plant flowers. Little more romantic than that.”

“Yes and fairly recently, I’ve let myself plant flowers here. I never thought I’d let myself believe in all this mumbo ... blah blah blah that Carrie and Cooper love. You know this house has a lot of bad stuff built into its foundation. People who were forced into slavery built its foundation. There was war and greed, hate and jealousy. Bitterness,” Dani frowned, “and there was alcoholism. We come from a long line of crazy alcoholics, Jayce. You’re not the first.”

Jayce let out a breath. She knew. She’d have known even if she hadn’t heard the history. There was just something inside of her. Something shaky.

“Still, there’s this house ... this Heritage. I wanted to get rid of it, ignore it, forget it was part of who I was ... I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want it’s existence. But we can’t change who we are. We’ll always be related to the Lindseys and the Morgans. The bad and the good. The rich and the poor and the very poor.”

“And the crazy.”

“Without the crazy we’d have missed out on your best stories,” Dani turned then. “Carrie was right in wanting to restore this place. We can either destroy the legacy of who we are, or we could do something with our heritage so it becomes more, and we become more ... to turn the house into what it was meant to be. An experience. An education. A legacy to others to never forget.”

“You’re my sister. You were created in love, by parents who loved you and who would have been so proud of you,” she sighed. “If Carrie and I haven’t told you, then that’s on us. We had a mother who adored us. And I wish you had those memories. Maybe knowing her ... maybe it would have made a difference ... but even so, you’re just an alcoholic, Jayce. And you came to us. You’re not alone. God is so much more powerful then you will ever be ... more powerful then the alcohol will ever be. He’s the Alpha and Omega. If he can help me love my heritage, he can help you fix yours. And he seems to have orchestrated a powerful turn of events for you.”

Dani pushed off the bed and walked toward the door. “Why else would the Kyle Edwards have ended up in a broken down plantation house in the middle of nowhere Tennessee claiming to be your friend?”

She stopped at the doorway and turned back toward Jayce. “And if you ever tell Carrie or Cooper that I said they were right ... they won’t believe you anyway.”

* * *

Unable to lie in bed with Dani’s words echoing in her head, Jayce pushed herself out of the bed and slowly followed Dani out the door, but as she reached the doorway, she stopped.

... we can do something with our heritage so it becomes more ...

She looked to the stairs, thought of Kyle waiting. The nineteenth century parlor wasn’t a place you waited in comfort, but he was waiting and she should ... she should go. See him. Explain.

She couldn’t ... she didn’t have the courage to move forward. To put one step in front of the other. She needed to go back to her steps of recovery.

Ask forgiveness. As soon as possible. Make amends. Don’t delay. Take responsibility for your actions ... any and every way she could phrase it didn’t change the sense of fear that had lodged itself in the pit of her stomach for weeks now.

Instead she turned and headed to the only place she thought she could find refuge from Carrie and Dani’s words.

In Annabelle Grace’s room.

She stopped before the window and lifted a finger to trace the etching on the fragile glass.

My Beloved Elijah.

She’d lost him, Jayce thought. She’d lost him and much of what this house and her history meant. She’d stood in the rain with her Bible, unable to pray the words.

As Jayce wanted to now. She didn’t really know the words she needed to pray. She didn’t really have the words ... and she always had the words. The words, the stories had always been there; had always been part of her.

My Beloved Elijah.

She traced the words again. Annabelle Grace hadn’t joined in the family’s alcoholism.

Not that they knew.

But she had her own pain. And she’d gone on. She’d become L. E. Grace. She’d remarried. She’d moved. She’d painted.

What had Dani said?

... we can do something with our heritage so it becomes more ...

So much more.

She traced the words again, unable to move forward or back, and thought of Annabelle Grace.

* * *

Jayce spotted Kyle as she came down the stairs. He wasn’t waiting in the parlor after all, but standing in the entryway, leaning against the doorframe to the parlor, hands in his pockets. With Jeans and the untucked button down shirt, he looked something like James Dean, or his rugged hero character from one of his later movies.

The lost cop, the ... lost something.

But for Jayce, he could have been something right out of her imagination. Maybe he wasn’t the gallant war hero of Lucas who’d come home to Annabelle Grace that Christmas. Still passionate. Still hopeful. The man he’d been before riding off to get himself killed.

Maybe, then, this image was more of the Lucas who would have returned home had he lived.

Revenged by death and war.

The lost soul, looking for home.

Despite the fact that she knew the stairs, and knew where the creaks were, and despite the fact that Cooper had it on his list to fix many of them, Kyle still heard her on the third stair down. He stepped away from the doorway and looked up at her, following her as she slowly made her way down.

Jayce swallowed, but made her feet continue one step after the other.

“Hi,” she said at last, still only midway down, resorting to Carrie’s advice. Her voice cracked just a little. Strangely enough it was the only thing in her head. No stories, no explanations, no reasons, no elaborations. Not even a story she might have concocted for her sisters at one time to throw them off.

Normally the words came and the words flowed, but not now. Not ever when it came to her addiction.

Not even in the meetings.

Kyle took another step forward and waited at the base of the stairs. He watched as she took another gingerly step down.

Jayce grimaced. She must look like she had more trouble with her walking then her tongue.

“You look like someone coming before an execution committee. Not a friend,” he said. “Do you really think I would trek all the way from California for a take down just because you stood me up? That’s so old Hollywood. Or fifties Hollywood.”

Jayce managed a smile.

She reached the bottom step and stood before him. “I guess you came for an explanation.”

He croaked out a laugh. “I came to see if you were all right. You haven’t returned my calls. You haven’t answered.”

“I’m an alcoholic.”

The words spilled from her lips, so furious, so they surprised Jayce perhaps more than they did Kyle.

“And you were afraid,” he said.

“I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to handle it. I was afraid of telling you. I was afraid of ...” she sighed, trying to find the words she so desperately needed—not just for Kyle, but for herself. “Because I know how to make mistakes. I—I don’t know if I can succeed.”

“Do you think you’re the only one who feels that way?”

For a moment Jayce just let his words settle. She looked into his eyes, saw the deepness and the understanding. The deep understanding she hadn’t gotten from Carrie or Dani.

“No ... but it’s in one of the steps of recovery,” she said hopefully. “That there’s a higher power. That He’s in control. That you can’t do it on your own. You apologize for mistakes as soon as you can. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t apologize to you. I couldn’t ... I was ashamed. For the first time in my life I felt like ... I feel like I’d found someone who saw me for who I was ... and I didn’t want to be...”

“The alcoholic.”

“No,” she agreed softly, “I didn’t want to be the alcoholic. I realized I didn’t want you to see who I am. What you would see if you could see who I really am.”

“Jayce, nobody’s perfect.” He stared at her, his look intense. So intense that Jayce saw something she hadn’t seen before. Not just depth, but darkness ... darkness that had conquered him at one point. Darkness that was still there in the back of his eyes. Loneliness, uncertainly. Darkness he’d found his way out of, but was still part of who he was. The mistakes he’d made. The questions he still asked.

They had talked about some of them. They had talked about so much.

“Am I really that different then you?” he asked.

Jayce opened her mouth to argue, but the words didn’t come.

“I want to be your friend, Jayce,” Kyle said as he took her hand.

“Can you be a friend of an alcoholic?” she asked, more to lighten the tone then to actually ask.

He snorted out a laugh. “Do you realize how many alcoholics I’ve known? I didn’t find myself in a dark pit on my own, Jayce. I went there with other people. Willingly.”

His hand tightened on hers. “I don’t want that anymore. Not the fast track, not the uncertainty. Not the overwhelming sense to be more than I was the last decade. I want the grace. I want what Oswald Chambers said ... ‘We are not meant to be illuminated versions, but the common stuff of ordinary life exhibiting the marvel of the grace of God. Drudgery is the touchstone of character. The great hindrance in spiritual life is that we will look for big things to do.’ I don’t want to seek big things anymore.”

“Is that a movie line?” Jayce teased, as he had quoted it so perfectly.

“It was salvation. A meditation I found that my soul could latch onto.”

At his words, Jayce’s heart had opened up. Just the tiniest creak. No, she didn’t want to be who she was in the last decade, or who others thought she was in the last decade.

“I guess we’re even,” she said.

He chuckled. “No ... no, I think you have me beat. I’ve never enjoyed a suburban Tennessee life. Never been in the suburbs, never been in a rural area, except for filming here and there.”

“But you did it so well in the movies.”

“All smoke and mirrors. That long driveway you have out there? Completely daunting.”

“I’d rather walk through the trees, myself.”

“Me too. I kind of like the idea of living somewhere like this. Making a path of my own.”

A path of his own ... here. Seeing him everyday. That she could handle. But a commitment. A future. Now ...

Now she couldn’t handle.

“You ... can’t,” Jayce said, and though she tried to stay light, she felt the bubble of fear rise up. Her and clenched in his.

“Well, maybe not now. Maybe not here. But maybe ... maybe there’s a college somewhere that in a few years, when I finish my obligations, my priorities, I would be willing to take on an assistant professorship at a small college. Something like you have here. Maybe I could teach, maybe I could take a few classes. Something. I’d like to stay in theater, I’d like to ... maybe write. Maybe,” he said with a smile, “I could find a writing partner somewhere.”

She smiled, her fingers slipping in between his so that palms met palm to palm.

“Maybe,” she agreed, “you can.”

No, she didn’t have to do big things or great things, Jayce thought. She could find her simplified dream. She could find ... something.

Carrie had her mansions.

Dani had her gardens.

Jayce ... she smiled. Jayce could have her path. She liked that.

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