“Let me touch you,” he says, and I shake my head.
“How is that going to help this?” I ask, stroking him once over his shorts.
“It will. Trust me.” He brings his hand to the hem of my sundress, slips his fingers under and grazes the skin on my thigh. “Outta your head. Let me touch you,” he says again, then slowly walks his fingers up, up, up, until he’s gently stroking me through my panties.
I flutter my eyes shut, breathe out my permission, and get lost in the sensations of his fingers and lips. It doesn’t take long before I come with a choked cry, and he kisses me again.
“My two favorite sounds,” he whispers against my lips. “When I make you laugh, and when I make you come.”
He takes my hand and leads me back the way we came but stiffens and shoves me behind him the moment we leave the courtyard.
“Jesse,” a familiar voice says, and I glance around him to see Sandra Huntington. Her eyes flick from him to me and back. “I just want to talk.”
After knowing what I know about her, I’m shocked by just how normal she looks. Her hair is highlighted and styled, her face accented with light makeup and mauve lipstick. She’s wearing a pair of dark wash jeans and a flowy tank top. She’s pretty. Fit. She looks like someone I’d see in the school pick-up line. She could be one of June’s teachers. From appearance alone, I never would have guessed what a sick person she really is.
“No,” Jesse says, “you’re violating a restraining order by being on campus.”
Sandra looks at me again. “You’re going to let him ruin his life?” she accuses, anger tinting her features. Her voice, even angry, is light and smooth like silk.
“Don’t talk to her,” Jesse barks at Sandra, but she ignores him.
“Do you even know how hard he’s worked?” She raises her voice and takes a step forward. Jesse moves us back, then fumbles with his phone. “He’s brilliant. You’re going to ruin it for him. He’s going to—”
“Shut up, Sandra,” Jesse shouts, and she jumps. He speaks into the phone, telling someone about the restraining order violation.
“You’re going to get me arrested,” she shrieks, as if Jesse doesn’t already know the consequences of her being here. He scoffs and tells the person on the other end of the phone his location. Sandra gives me one last scathing glare.
“You’re going to ruin his life,” she hisses, then she turns and walks away.
It takes me over an hour to stop shaking. Thankfully, Patrick isn’t one of the cops that shows up to take Jesse’s and my statements, but I know both of the officers. No doubt word will get back to Patrick quickly. Jesse convinces me that it’s safe to take the kids out for ice cream, and by the end of the afternoon, the encounter with She Who Must Not Be Named is all but forgotten.
“I’m sorry about today,” Jesse says for the millionth time after we get back to my house. The kids have headed inside, leaving Jesse and me alone in the garage.
I give his forearm a quick squeeze. “It’s not your fault,” I say honestly.
It’s not his fault. I’m nervous and worried and confused. I keep thinking about how much worse today could have been. What if she’d approached my kids? Is she dangerous? What if the cops don’t find her and arrest her? I’m a ball of anxiety, but none of it is Jesse’s fault. The woman is obviously unhinged. Still...her words keep bouncing around in my head.
“What did she mean? That I was going to ruin your life?”
Jesse shrugs. “She probably still thinks your ex’s threat about Harvard is real.”
“And you’re sure it’s not? You’re sure you’re good?”
I can’t help but worry. Patrick doesn’t make empty threats. He’s ruthless and manipulative. I have no doubt in my mind Patrick would ruin Jesse if he could, especially if he knew the full extent of Jesse’s and my relationship. As of right now, Patrick still thinks Jesse is an occasional babysitter. A kind neighbor. Nothing more, and I have to keep it that way.
“I promise, Classic,” Jesse says, tugging me in for a hug. “I’d like to see him try, actually. Harvard practically turned cartwheels to get me to commit. They aren’t going to drop me on the ramblings of some two-bit Barney Fife on a power trip.”
I huff a laugh into Jesse’s chest. “Shouldn’t you be taking this a little more seriously?”
“No,” he says firmly. “I shouldn’t. Your ex ain’t shit, and I’m not going to waste precious brain space on him.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head, and I fight the urge to melt into his embrace.
“Well, at least we only have to deal with it for a few more weeks,” I say, then force a tight laugh. Jesse’s body stiffens.
“Yeah,” is all he says.
We haven’t talked about the date, how August is coming up on us like a freight train. We avoid it, ignore it, but it’s always there hovering in the back of my mind. We’ve got an expiration date. Until then, I’m making the most of the time we’ve got left.
“What’s your week like,” he asks as he releases me.
“Same as usual.” I work and then I do homework, though my bridge program will be finished soon, so all my work now is for final projects and studying for a few exams. “The kids will be at the summer program at the YWCA all week, and then Patrick should have them Friday through Sunday.”
“I leave for Boston Friday to check out some apartments,” he says, then grins. “Come with me. We can make a weekend out of it.”
For a few seconds, I actually consider it, but then reality crashes over me.
“I can’t,” I say sadly. “I’ve got to use that time to finish up my coursework, and I picked up two shifts. Plus, I can’t leave the state without the kids. I’ll worry too much.”
“You can find someone else to pick up the shifts, and you can do your coursework in the hotel. The kids will be fine for a weekend.”
“Jesse, I just can’t. I’m sorry.” I avert my eyes and hope he can’t see what else I’m thinking. It’s not just that I can’t, it’s that I won’t. This is going to be painful enough on me when he leaves. I don’t need to make it harder.
“Okay,” he says with a pout. “I’ll bring you back a souvenir.”
He kisses me goodbye, and I close the garage door behind him.
* * *
The week passes slowly,and I try not to count down the days until I get to see Jesse again.
I go to work. I come home. I cook dinner. I wash dishes. I study. I do laundry. I shower. I sleep. I wake up. I go to work.
Wash, rinse, repeat.
Texts from Jesse brighten my days, but the moment the kids leave with Patrick on Friday afternoon, that familiar feeling of loneliness settles in. Jesse’s presence has masked it in the recent weeks, but with him in Boston, I’m reminded quickly of my impending future. He will be at Harvard, doing whatever it is that first-year med students do, and I’ll be here, doing what single mothers do. Working, cooking, cleaning. Fighting to remain functional. Wash, rinse, repeat.
I’m on track to finish my bridge program at the top of my class. Then, all I have to do is pass the licensure exam, and I’ll be a licensed registered nurse.
At the very least, that means less dependency on Patrick and more leverage if he ever follows through on his threat to take me back to court. I have no family and, right now, very little savings. Patrick comes from money, and his family is fairly influential in the small town where we grew up. On paper, he’s an upstanding citizen, with a stable career as an honorable police officer and a strong family support system. On paper, I can’t even compete. If he takes me back to court, he'll win. Hands down. But once I finish this program and start working as an RN...
I drag a hand down my face, then pull my hair out of my ponytail, only to throw it right back into a bun. How is it that I’m both longing for and dreading the future?
I get home from work late in the afternoon on Sunday. I talk to Jesse for a bit via text, and I smile as he sends me pictures of the random things he’s done over the weekend. Drank a beer in America’s oldest continuously operating tavern. Ate “the best damn clam chowder in New England.” Toured the Harvard campus. Shopped Faneuil Hall Marketplace.
Each picture makes me both happy and sad.