But it was treasured. Coveted. Loved.
Family photos and school pictures of the boys filled every free surface. I walked around to each picture, studying them while rubbing my fingers along the stubble on my jaw. Most pictures had Jack in them. Snapshots of vacations and holidays showed a happy family. Kylie and I had never hung one framed photograph of us like that. We had headshots and formal portraits, but nothing casual. Nothing real.
“That was our family vacation to Disney World.” Liz stood next to me, pointing to a picture. She had changed into a pair of tight jeans and a long, white T-shirt. “I think Jack was more excited than the kids to go.”
“You all look pretty darn happy.” I pointed to a picture of the three boys and Jack on a soccer field. “Good looking boys.”
“Thanks.” Liz’s voice softened, and she rubbed her neck.
“That’s Jack?” A man stood with one child sitting atop his shoulders, the other two pressed up against his sides, hands clasped in his. Liz’s body quivered and she nodded.
Liz turned and walked back into the kitchen without another word. “Hungry?” she asked as she opened the refrigerator door and pulled out containers of food.
“You don’t have to feed me. I’m fine. We can order lunch if you’re hungry.” I walked back into the kitchen, rubbing my hands together. “I’m so ready to get started, I’m not sure I could eat.” I leaned against the counter top, and she moved past me, grabbing a bowl from a drawer. Damn, she smelled good. I inhaled and tried to place it. The scent was familiar, comforting, and natural. I was used to smelling Kylie doused in expensive lotions and artificial perfumes.
She met my eyes as she pulled out a cutting board. “If we’re going to be working together on this project, you have to understand something about me. I’m a feeder. Nothing gives me greater pleasure than feeding and taking care of people. I won’t be ordering us lunch. That driveway hasn’t seen a delivery car in years. Is chicken salad okay? I make a mean chicken salad. If you’re anxious to get started, I can talk while I cook. Does that work?” She spoke rapidly, a warm smile making her eyes sparkle.
I chuckled as I sat back down at the table. “So you’re not only going to help write this screenplay, you’re feeding me, too? Sweet deal.”
“I’m used to cooking for three growing boys. This is what I do. So yes, you should be prepared to go back to Hollywood with a few extra pounds on you.” Liz pulled out a knife from a drawer as she took a deep breath. “Should I start from the beginning? I don’t want to bore you, but I also want you to get the whole story.”
Her hands trembled and her voice shook. She stared at the knife lost in thought as she set it down on the cutting board. Shit. This wasn’t going to be easy on her. I hadn’t thought that part through. But she wouldn’t have agreed to do this if it was a problem, right? Anyway, we were doing this for a greater cause. I needed Jack’s entire story if this was going to work.
“I know this will be hard on you, but I’d really like to start at the beginning.” Liz nodded and picked the knife back up. “How did you and Jack meet?”
“I MET JACK during freshmen orientation at the University of Maryland.” The images flooded over me, and an ache in my heart strangled me. I laid the chicken breasts on the cutting board and diced the meat with precision. “He was the most enthusiastic student I had ever seen. Everyone was excited to be away from home and have a taste of freedom, but Jack was different. He seemed ecstatic to be alive.” Tears dampened my eyes. “It was infectious. I looked forward to bumping into him around the dorms or at the library. His presence would instantly put me in a better mood. He was that kind of guy.” I smiled at the memory and sighed, setting the knife down and staring out the window. What I wouldn’t give to go back in time
Family photos and school pictures of the boys filled every free surface. I walked around to each picture, studying them while rubbing my fingers along the stubble on my jaw. Most pictures had Jack in them. Snapshots of vacations and holidays showed a happy family. Kylie and I had never hung one framed photograph of us like that. We had headshots and formal portraits, but nothing casual. Nothing real.
“That was our family vacation to Disney World.” Liz stood next to me, pointing to a picture. She had changed into a pair of tight jeans and a long, white T-shirt. “I think Jack was more excited than the kids to go.”
“You all look pretty darn happy.” I pointed to a picture of the three boys and Jack on a soccer field. “Good looking boys.”
“Thanks.” Liz’s voice softened, and she rubbed her neck.
“That’s Jack?” A man stood with one child sitting atop his shoulders, the other two pressed up against his sides, hands clasped in his. Liz’s body quivered and she nodded.
Liz turned and walked back into the kitchen without another word. “Hungry?” she asked as she opened the refrigerator door and pulled out containers of food.
“You don’t have to feed me. I’m fine. We can order lunch if you’re hungry.” I walked back into the kitchen, rubbing my hands together. “I’m so ready to get started, I’m not sure I could eat.” I leaned against the counter top, and she moved past me, grabbing a bowl from a drawer. Damn, she smelled good. I inhaled and tried to place it. The scent was familiar, comforting, and natural. I was used to smelling Kylie doused in expensive lotions and artificial perfumes.
She met my eyes as she pulled out a cutting board. “If we’re going to be working together on this project, you have to understand something about me. I’m a feeder. Nothing gives me greater pleasure than feeding and taking care of people. I won’t be ordering us lunch. That driveway hasn’t seen a delivery car in years. Is chicken salad okay? I make a mean chicken salad. If you’re anxious to get started, I can talk while I cook. Does that work?” She spoke rapidly, a warm smile making her eyes sparkle.
I chuckled as I sat back down at the table. “So you’re not only going to help write this screenplay, you’re feeding me, too? Sweet deal.”
“I’m used to cooking for three growing boys. This is what I do. So yes, you should be prepared to go back to Hollywood with a few extra pounds on you.” Liz pulled out a knife from a drawer as she took a deep breath. “Should I start from the beginning? I don’t want to bore you, but I also want you to get the whole story.”
Her hands trembled and her voice shook. She stared at the knife lost in thought as she set it down on the cutting board. Shit. This wasn’t going to be easy on her. I hadn’t thought that part through. But she wouldn’t have agreed to do this if it was a problem, right? Anyway, we were doing this for a greater cause. I needed Jack’s entire story if this was going to work.
“I know this will be hard on you, but I’d really like to start at the beginning.” Liz nodded and picked the knife back up. “How did you and Jack meet?”
“I MET JACK during freshmen orientation at the University of Maryland.” The images flooded over me, and an ache in my heart strangled me. I laid the chicken breasts on the cutting board and diced the meat with precision. “He was the most enthusiastic student I had ever seen. Everyone was excited to be away from home and have a taste of freedom, but Jack was different. He seemed ecstatic to be alive.” Tears dampened my eyes. “It was infectious. I looked forward to bumping into him around the dorms or at the library. His presence would instantly put me in a better mood. He was that kind of guy.” I smiled at the memory and sighed, setting the knife down and staring out the window. What I wouldn’t give to go back in time
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