14. Jessica

14

JESSICA

I wanted to melt into Dylan's embrace. His lips were a soothing balm to my jangled nerves. I wanted to stay in his arms and forget about our little misunderstanding. His lips were the best apology I could ask for.

I heard Max stirring in his room.

Dylan broke the kiss with a groan. "You unpack. I'll get Max," he said.

I looked down at my suitcase. I was almost completely packed. I didn't have very much, and the rest of my belongings were in a small storage unit in Marina. It was out of the way, but it was all I could afford. Had I been too quick to react and expect that I was about to be fired?

I pulled out the shark dress I had considered wearing that morning. As I slid it back onto a hanger, I decided I would wear it the next time Max and I went to the aquarium.

Dylan stepped back to where I was putting my clothes away. He had a sleepy Max in his arms. Max blinked and rubbed his eyes.

"We're headed downstairs for a snack. Come find us when you're through here," Dylan said.

I nodded and watched them leave. Letting out a long sigh, I realized I needed to be careful. I was already falling in love with the two of them. Someone was going to get hurt. Since I was the employee and this wasn't my home, I was pretty sure it was going to be me.

I sat on the floor of the closet after I had everything put away. I looked up at my few meager belongings hanging there. I was done. I needed to zip up my suitcase and tuck it away, but I needed this moment of quiet.

Dylan and I had made up, but I still felt vulnerable. Part of me understood why he was angry with me. I hadn't been truthful about knowing Ryan when first asked. I had left and met Ryan in a hotel bar where more secrets were made.

If Dylan had been that angry just from finding out I had a past with Ryan, how was he going to react when he found out what else I did? Maybe I shouldn't have unpacked. I thought about my options. I could keep my secrets. There were things from my past that didn't need to resurface. If it were up to just me, they would stay there. Problem solved.

I contemplated the joinery work on the drywall in the closet. The paint from the wall was almost perfect. The line from wall to sloped ceiling was as perfectly straight as craftsmanship could make it. That wall, that joint that brought the two angles together, was so simple, and yet so beautiful. It was a tiny little detail of mastery from some guy, or woman, who was doing their job. They probably didn't receive any special commendation for doing such beautiful work because it was their job.

Was it some kind of metaphor for my situation? Or was I reading far too much into it?

I was sitting in a closet in a mansion in one of the richest zip codes in the country contemplating the painting skills of some unnamed laborer and trying to figure out whether this was a hidden message about my life. What did that say about me?

"You need therapy, Jessica," I said to the walls. I probably needed more than therapy, but until I qualified for health insurance—which I would through the hiring agency after so many hours of continuous employment—I was going to have to find my inner equilibrium by talking to the walls in the closet.

I couldn't hide in here forever. I flipped the suitcase closed and ran the zipper around, closing it. With a groan, I pushed to my feet, and then I hauled the bag into the very back behind the hanging clothes. In the bathroom, I made an effort to put myself back together, make myself presentable before I headed off to find Dylan and Max.

I was a little worse for wear after the long day at the aquarium, followed by the emotional turmoil of Dylan's anger. From the streaks my mascara had left down my cheeks, I realized that I had been crying at some point. I washed my face with cool water and brushed my hair. I wiped the cool, wet washcloth over my neck and between my breasts. I felt better, and I looked ready to face the rest of the day.

Downstairs, I expected to find Dylan and Max in the kitchen. They were nowhere to be found. I stood in the empty kitchen and tried not to panic. Had I taken too long? I went to the dining room and continued to look through the downstairs rooms when I couldn't find them.

I decided to see if they had decided to visit with Mrs. Anderson.

Clara's grim face scowled at me after I knocked on the door. "What are you doing here?" she snapped at me.

"I'm sorry to bother you. I was looking for Mr. Anderson and Max. I thought that maybe they came for a visit."

"They aren't here. She's tired. You need to leave."

I nodded and was about to step back to leave when I heard Mrs. Anderson's voice.

"I'm not so tired that I can't have a chat. Clara, let her in," Mrs. Anderson's voice called out. She wasn't loud, and her voice was shaky, but there was no denying her words.

Clara's face twisted up. She clearly was not happy that she wasn't in control here.

I returned her attitude with a grimace. It would have been nice if she wasn't so obviously hostile toward me. I wasn't going to give her back the same energy she gave to me, but I was done trying to play nice with her.

"Come in, Jessica."

I gave Mrs. Anderson a genuine smile. She was easy to be nice to. "I was looking for Mr. Anderson and Max," I repeated in case she hadn't heard me tell Clara.

"I'm sure they are around somewhere. Or maybe they went out for a ride," she said. "Come sit. We haven't had a good chat in a while."

I crossed the room and perched on the small side chair. "Have you been working on any new crochet projects?" I asked.

"No, dear, I'm slow. I'm still working on the same blanket I've been working on for a while."

I smiled and waited for her to continue.

"I know about you and Dylan," she said.

I bit the inside of my cheek and sat up. I wasn't expecting that from her. I opened my mouth to say something, but I didn't know what to say.

"Don't worry, dear, he didn't say anything. He didn't have to. It's been obvious."

"How? You never see us together," I managed. It was as much of a confession as if I had blurted out the truth.

She shook her head. "I know my son. He doesn't get that hot headed unless it's important. And he was fit to be tied earlier. I figured it out before he told me anything. I don't understand why it has to be a secret. If you care for each other, I think that's a wonderful thing. And Max adores you. He needs a steady female presence in his life."

I knew it wasn't my place to ask, but I was incredibly curious. Asking Dylan's mother was next to gossiping. Something I shouldn't do. But she's the one who brought it up.

"What about Max's mother? She's not around, that's obvious, but there is no sign of her at all. I can only guess that Dylan isn't a widower."

She looked at me for a long moment without saying anything.

"I'm sorry, it wasn't my place to ask," I said, trying to backtrack.

She began nodding. "Yes, my son likes you a lot. I don't think he ever got so frustrated or emotional over Max's mother as I saw him this afternoon. Max is what most people would call a mistake ."

I opened my mouth to say that no child is a mistake, but she held up her hand to stop me.

"Even Dylan admitted that Max's conception was not intentional. Max, himself, is a wonder. Dylan loves that boy more than anything else. He probably should tell you the details, because I can only tell you the parts that I know. I never met Max's mother. That was her choice. I know that Dylan cared for her, at least financially, if not emotionally. After all, she was the mother of his child. Dylan had shared custody, and one week after Max stayed with us, his mother never came back."

I covered my open mouth in shock. "Had something happened to her?" All I could think was how horrible if she had been in an accident or something.

Mrs. Anderson shook her head slowly. "She didn't come back. She abandoned Max. Left him. Even then, Dylan wasn't as flustered as he was earlier. His focus was on making sure Max was cared for. Dylan seemed relieved when the custody papers came through, granting him full custody. I've seen my boy through many difficult situations. He holds his temper well. He did apologize, didn't he?"

A small smile crossed my face as I tried not to be embarrassed.

"Yes, he apologized. But I think we need to have a longer talk when Max has gone to bed."

"You do that. I like you. Don't let Dylan get away with messing things up between you." She sighed and closed her eyes as she let her head fall back against the chair.

"You've been so kind to me. And thank you for telling me about Max's mother, and Dylan. You need to rest, and I think I need to go find the two of them." I placed my hand on her arm.

She patted my hand and barely nodded her head. She had worn herself out.

I quietly left under the judgmental glare of Clara. Not certain where to start looking for them again, I went back to the kitchen. As I was about to give up and leave, Dylan opened the kitchen side door.

Max ran inside and straight to me. "Jessica!"

I picked him up. "I looked for you," I said.

Dylan had a cardboard box in his arms. "We thought you might need a few moments of quiet time, so we decided to go pick up takeout for dinner."

"We got Chinese." The next few sounds Max made, I couldn't decipher. But he looked really excited about it.

I smiled and nodded before looking to Dylan for a translation.

"Crab Rangoon," Dylan said.

"Oh, I like crab Rangoon, too," I said.

Concern for everything I was worried about got set aside while I helped Dylan unpack. My focus was taken over by the wonderful smells of our dinner and the unexpected rumbling of hunger in my middle.