FORTY-THREE
AUGUST 2004
The Jackson house of cards wasn’t going to fall. It was about to explode.
By the third week of August Melissa could barely sleep. Nightmares of her dead mother had returned with fury. And every minute of the day felt electrified. She and Baxter had so little time to be alone. Linda had attended two more church volunteer meetings at night—that was it. The rest of the time Baxter and Melissa were near each other, yet so far. Their presence in the same room became a live wire, her nerves thrumming with his every move. She knew he felt it too, maybe even more. In the office there was no privacy because of the large window looking out to the hall. When Melissa and Baxter were at home with Linda the sparks between the two of them popped wildly. One wrong move, one lustful look intercepted by Linda would be gasoline on embers.
Melissa quickly learned how to handle Baxter—the poster man for duplicity. She knew he admired her stubborn determination and strength, even as he needed to control the women in his life. Each day in the office she asserted herself a little more. Hadn’t she earned that right? It was all a balance. The more self-assured and poised she acted, the more he wanted her. The more he wanted her, the stronger she became.
Slow business didn’t help the situation any. Sales were down for the second month in a row. Some big house would nearly sell, then the deal would fall through. After losing five sales in a row Baxter accused God of cursing him.
“Oh, come on, Baxter, things will pick up again.” Melissa’s fingers poised over her computer keyboard. “That’s what you always say.”
He snorted. “They’d better pick up fast. Linda’s going to break me.”
“We’re not shopping anymore. I told her I have enough clothes.”
He swung around in his chair and surveyed Melissa under lowered brows. “Newsflash—she’s not waiting for you. What do you think she does all day?”
Melissa’s jaw loosened. “Why don’t you tell her to stop?”
“Because it keeps her busy and her mouth shut.” He shrugged. “Besides, she…needs it. Makes her feel better.”
Ah, the guilt again.
“Yeah, well, you need less bills.”
“The money will come, Melissa. Sales will pick up, like you said.”
How fast he changed his tune.
“But you’re right.” His expression twisted into a half tease. “I’d be better off financially without her.” His voice dropped into a mumble. “Not to mention her life insurance.”
“What?” Melissa eyed him with indignant surprise. “What’d you say?”
He waved a hand in the air. “Nothing. Just a bad joke.” He rotated toward his desk, ending the conversation. Melissa surveyed his back for a long moment before returning to her work.
Every day—the tension and desire. The tightrope walk. Baxter’s inner demons.
In church on Sundays Melissa sat next to Linda (she didn’t dare sit next to Baxter) and listened to the sermons about living a Christian life in the twenty-first century. Linda would nod and Baxter mutter his amens. Talk about a disconnect. Those hours in church formed Melissa’s most confusing moments. Pastor Steve’s words pierced her soul more than once. He spoke of Jesus’ love, his forgiveness, his burning desire to set each person free of the past, no matter how bad it might be. There were times when Melissa yearned for that cleansing with aching intensity. The pastor’s promises of wholeness, of a new and stunning purpose that no circumstances could take away shone upon the wreckage of Melissa’s life like a beacon in roiling dark waters. But every time, the Jacksons’ secrets would roll over her and drown the ache inside. They amened and nodded at the pastor’s every point. They projected everything the pastor talked about.
All lies.
How could Melissa stake her life on any of the pastor’s claims, no matter how bright they seemed, when she knew the truth about Baxter and Linda?
Sometimes Melissa wondered which one was the bigger hypocrite—the wife-beater or the one who covered it up? And how strange that Baxter should suddenly develop a conscience when it came to sleeping with Melissa. Why the remorse over cheating on his wife when he felt none about mistreating her in other ways?
Melissa knew one thing—it never feels good to face your own guilt. Much better to channel the energy into something else. Baxter practiced what he did best and took it out on Linda—worse than ever. He hit her almost every day now, the slightest anything from her setting him off. She spoke too loud, she spoke too soft. The meat was overcooked, the vegetables undercooked. She smiled too much, she smiled too little. Linda withdrew into a dazed and brittle shell. Alone with Melissa she cried, “Why?” Melissa gritted her teeth and comforted Linda, cursing the woman and her husband both. Linda was a wimp, Baxter too hot-headed. One of these days either one of them was bound to do something really, really stupid. And Melissa would find herself out on the street.
“You’ve got to lay off Linda,” Melissa accosted Baxter as they drove home one day. He hunched over the wheel, hard-eyed and tight-jawed. Melissa didn’t care that he was in a foul mood. The man needed to get hold of himself.
“Don’t tell me how to treat my wife.”
“Baxter, one day you’re going to hit her too hard, and she’ll really be hurt. Have some bruise she can’t hide. Then what?”
“I said lay off.”
Melissa pressed back in her seat, air pushing from her mouth. She made a face at the road. Sometimes this man could be so knuckle-headed. “Look, I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but—”
“Sure sounds like it to me.”
“Well, what do you want, Baxter? You want her telling her friends at church?”
“She’ll never do that.”
“Don’t be so sure. Linda’s a volcano waiting to erupt. The right moment with the right friend asking what’s wrong with her lately, and she’ll blow.”
“Melissa. Shut up.”
“Don’t tell me to shut up! That’s the way you talk to Linda, not me.”
They hit a red light. Baxter braked hard, jerking Melissa’s body against her seatbelt. He turned on her, his expression black as coal. “You listen to me. Nobody tells me what to do in my own house.” His finger pointed at her, stiff and thrusting at air. “You’re just a sixteen-year-old kid without a home. I let you in mine, and I can kick you out tomorrow. Got that?”
Shock and pain spun through Melissa. She stared at Baxter, open-mouthed. Speechless.
He swiveled back to glare at the stoplight, fingers drumming a mad beat on the steering wheel.
Fine, then. Act like a two-year-old.
The silence in the car pricked.
A minute later they turned a corner. Far ahead the Jackson mansion came into view. The moment she’d first seen it flashed in Melissa’s mind. Had that really been just two months ago? Seemed like a lifetime.
She would not lose this house. This life. Baxter.
Just a sixteen-year-old kid. Oh, really. In some ways she knew more than Baxter Jackson. At least she wasn’t lying to herself.
The driveway approached. They had little time left. Like a wind goddess Melissa swept around inside her body and gathered her whirling emotions. Shoved them down into a hole.
“You won’t kick me out, Baxter.” Her voice shifted low and soothing. She stretched her hand across the seat and grazed his thigh. “I’m on your side, remember?”
He threw her a look, not quite so dark. Melissa’s hand pressed against his leg. He shook his head as if in defeat, air seeping from his throat. Slowly his right hand found hers and squeezed.