Page 18 of Merging Wright

She moves toward the bathroom, but I step before her, forcing my chest to bump into hers. With a sharp inhale of surprise, I catch a whiff of her. All fucking day yesterday, trapped in that truck, her scent surrounded me. Summer rain and freshness. The scent of her haunted my dreams, suggesting she was close, giving me strange comfort as we slept in that small bed. “Jane . . . it’s—”

“It’s simple, actually.” She scowls. “You tell me the truth because the only thing equal to a cheater is a liar.”

“I didn’t lie.” I didn’t. I just didn’t tell her this one additional fact about me. “It was a long time ago.”

“And what happened to her?” Jane’s eyes search my face as if answers are written on my skin.

My throat tightens. My mouth goes dry. “She—”

“You know what? Never mind.” Jane’s eyes widen. “Keep your secrets, Mach. I know enough, right?” She tosses my words from yesterday at me like a wet towel.

“Jane.” How do I explain Tracy? Does Jane really need to know this piece of my past? Does my previous marriage matter? Jane and I are only faking our relationship.

“It’s all pretend, anyway.” She speaks as if she has read my thoughts. Then she stomps around me, disappearing into the small bathroom and leaving me to wonder why she’s so upset.

+ + +

Giving Jane space, I leave the room but eventually return to find it empty. My head is a mess, and I shower in preparation for Fischer’s funeral.

The night before, I’d headed to town with Ma’s homemade scotch in hand as memory after memory flooded my thoughts. Weaving down the hill, I stumbled as I drank trying without much success to ignore the bridge over the river. That damn bridge, shaped like a rainbow of hope, and yet the thief of dreams. I stopped short of Bridge Alley, the main street that curves through Wrightwood’s business district, looping back to the bridge thoroughfare named Wrightwood Road. Wrightwood. A name that should be full of pride for us Wrights. A name I’d come to despise.

I had a love-hate relationship with this town when I was a child.

Ma was revered here, both for her kind spirit and the courage it took to return and face her demons. The devil lived in her home. Eventually, Ma grew bolder with her da. She moved into the big house when we were teenagers, allowing Myles and me to remain in the smaller structure out back. The evil truth is the cabin was once a servant’s quarters. Ma was banished there upon her return to Wrightwood, young and pregnant without a husband.

Myles and I grew up under scrutiny. Bastard boys. Who was their father? Our biggest nemesis was our own grandfather. Over time, Fischer warmed to Myles. The bitterness of Fischer’s rejection was something I couldn’t let go of, though. And I couldn’t wait to separate myself from this town.

Then I’d met Tracy.

Pushing away thoughts of her, my mind wanders to Jane.

At one point, I woke last night to find us holding hands in the tight bed. Surprised, I released her fingers and rolled away from her to give us distance. From that point on, I struggled to sleep as everything in me wanted to turn back and tug her entire body against mine, molding her against my frame.

But I’d already taken enough advantage of her just by bringing her here, forcing her into this farce, and asking her to be my wife.

Then again, she isn’t my wife. She’s here for the coveted partnership.

And why do I wish she was here for other reasons, like simply . . . for me?

+ + +

The funeral passes as funerals do, with words of sympathy. I’m not certain many of the condolences are heartfelt. Fischer was a miserable old man, exerting his power over a town named after his forefathers. He owns all the buildings on Bridge Alley as well as most of the property around the town’s center. Most people might have moved away if it weren’t for my mother. She was the kind buffer between a miserly man and a struggling community. Somewhere between the unwanted memories of growing up here and the glances of empathy for more than just Fischer’s passing, I begin counting the minutes until I can drag Jane away from this godawful place.

She wears a form-fitting black dress today. One panel of fabric crosses over the other and strings tie at her hip to keep the material in place. A deep vee hints at the valley between her breasts, appropriate but still sexy as fuck. Something about that spot—where one breast almost kisses the other—draws my eye often. Not to mention, I fantasize about tugging the knot at her hip, opening that dress and revealing what she wears underneath. My fantasy includes something thin and black and damp with need for me.

We pass the dreary day circling one another. I introduce her as my wife, and she listens to peoples’ stories about Myles and me like we were the best of kids and not the town’s outcasts for a large portion of our lives. Jane tends to Ma often, who remains strong and with a smile on her face.

We still haven’t discussed why her directive was to bring a wife with me.

And I hold my breath for tomorrow, predicting the truth will suffocate me when it’s finally revealed.

12

Playlist: “What’s Your Country Song” – Thomas Rhett

[Mach]

“To my daughter, I leave the main house, the property connected to said house that includes seven acres of land and woods,” Landon Hobbs reads my grandfather’s intentions as he sits behind a large desk in his office the morning after the funeral. For an old guy, he’s surprisingly fit and still has most of his hair, even though now it is blindingly white. His age falls between my uncle Frank and Ma, and like Ma, he has lived here his entire life. He was actually a good friend to my uncle Frank when they were kids, but Frank didn’t remain in Wrightwood. He married, moved a few towns over, and runs a real estate agency. Strangely, his wife Becca isn’t present today, although she’d been at the funeral yesterday.