Jenna rolled onto her side, then her back, then her other side. No position was comfortable. Sleep evaded her.
The past two days had been strangely serene, yet painfully awkward. Jenna had maintained a cool distance from Jim. Whenever the timer would go off, she would head downstairs and dispense whatever medication was needed, reset the timer, then retreat back up the safety of the stairs. Dawn had brought Lulu back the morning after the Earl fiasco, and Jim had asked to play with her a few times. Jenna always acquiesced, retrieving her from the portable crib upstairs and bringing her down. They slept together a lot, Jim and Lulu, Jim on his back in typical zombie fashion, Lulu tucked between him and the couch on his right side. Sometimes, Jenna would hear Jim's murmured voice through the walls; she figured he was reading his book out loud, so Lulu could hear. Eventually Jenna just brought the crib down and made the living room Lulu's home base; her baby loved Jim.
Jenna didn't talk much to him. Every time they interacted, he had a knowing look, as if he knew his offer was inside her mind, eating away at her. Whenever she made him toast or brought him water or re-puffed his pillows and tucked his blanket, she felt like she lost a little bit more ground. Every time she took his hands to help him stand up or sit down, she nonchalantly tried to ignore the electricity she felt there, the painful, vivid excitement. She refused to meet his eyes, but she could feel them fixed on her, not condescending, but intense, feeling the same things she was. She had helped him take his first shower the day before, sitting on the toilet facing away from him to give him privacy while simultaneously being on call in case he fell or passed out. He sang the entire time, his rich tenor filling her ears and forcing the corners of her mouth into a smile. He started with some Billy Joel, then moved to The Drifters and Beegees. Each new song had Jenna reminiscing, remembering whirling around the kitchen with her Mama while they baked pies together. His crooning voice felt like home; the peaceful, unassuming way he sang just for pleasure. Jenna hated it.
Everything Becky had said was true. She couldn't let this man be a band-aid. She couldn't let herself move with him to a strange new place because she would surely fall in love and that would mean jumping from life under Earl to depending wholly on Jim. And while she knew Jim was nothing like Earl, what kind of example would she be setting for Lulu, always needing some man around to lean on? This no-name town was one thing, but in some big city, working at a big hospital full of other doctors and nurses and people who had actually done something with their life, Jim was bound to meet some smart, kind woman who he would fall in love with. And then what would Jenna be, with her baby and her pies? Nothing; out on the street, abandoned because he had found better. She belonged here. The diner was a fine place to work, and at least people appreciated her pies. Plus Dawn and Becky were close, and Jenna knew she couldn't survive without them. Leaving would be idiotic; so why couldn't Jenna stop thinking about it?
Lying there, staring at the beige wall in front of her bed, Jenna groaned. This would be her first night actually getting a chance to sleep. Jim was weaning off his pain pills and could handle the doses by himself now without her help. Lulu was with him as well; somehow, she could sleep through nearly an entire night if she was curled under his arm, and he claimed to love having her next to him. Her bottle was down there too, so Jim could handle a night time feeding. Baby fed, meds handled, no doctors appointments or physical therapy the next morning; it was perfect. Jenna could actually sleep. If she were able. Which she wasn't. Tossing and turning in bed, her mind flipped and fumbled until it landed on one thing: pie. She needed to bake. Without a second thought, she flipped the sheet off her sweaty body and stood.
She tip-toed down to the kitchen and began rustling around for ingredients. Besides the groceries she had bought for the last few days, all Jim had was a couple of cans of beans and tuna, a loaf of bread with a few slices missing that was already growing big green patches of mold, some half-finished spices and a nearly empty tin of baking soda. How did he live?
"Well this simply won't do," Jenna muttered to herself. She walked to the living room and peeked in at Jim and her daughter. Lulu was rosy-cheeked, one fist pressed to her face, the other clamped around Jim's thumb. Jim was smiling wide, whether in reaction to Lulu or a particularly good dream, Jenna couldn't know. He hadn't shaved since the incident, and the scruff on his cheeks gave him a slightly aged look—no longer boyish, but like a man.
Jenna shook herself and walked back to the kitchen, grabbing the keys to the pathfinder from the counter. It was after midnight, so she'd have to go to the next town over to use the twenty-four hour grocery store. Ingredients were stirring around her mind, calling to her.
There was something pleasing about the super market late at night, and Jenna took her time perusing the aisles, adding not only what she needed for the pies, but some other basic staples for them to have for the next few days. She hummed as she shopped, picking her favorite items and concocting the pie in her mind.
When she returned home, she checked on Jim and Lulu again. Neither had moved, the same blissful smiles still in place.
Jenna set to work in the dark kitchen, moving about silently, whisking and rolling and beating and measuring. As she watched the parts come together, Jenna felt as though she could breathe again. Sugar and butter and flour combined and soothed her—as the kitchen grew warmer with the oven preheating, Jenna began to sweat. It felt purifying and liberating. The last two months were a grey haze in her mind, one big jumble of words and thoughts with no punctuation—no pies. Why hadn't she baked? Jenna wiped a flour-coated hand across her sweaty brow and concentrated—she had done so little, but it had seemed so insurmountable. What had been so hard? Not Lulu.
Jenna walked quickly to the living room while the stove heated a double boiler for melting chocolate and peeked in on her baby. She had curled up against Jim, still clutching his finger with one hand, and sucking on her thumb on the other. The pink in her cheeks made Jenna's heart thrum with pleasure.
Was it Earl? Jenna dumped the chopped chocolate bits in the double boiler and called his face into her mind. It made her think of fear and loneliness, but none of that penetrated the grey haze in her mind. Becky and Dawn hadn't been there—well, physically they had, but they weren't in the world Jenna had crafted in her mind that had knocked her down. So what had? Jenna stirred the chocolate ferociously. The act of making the pie rolled the haze away from her, cleared her mind and her thoughts and left her free to imagine better things.
When the pie was in the oven, she leaned against the counter for a rest, itching her nose with a flour-covered finger. How had she gone without this for two months? Her blood coursed with the thrill of creating something new and delicious.
"You're back."
Jenna jumped and turned to the doorway. Jim stood there, leaning on his walker, a bathrobe hanging on his lanky frame.
"I swear to god Jim—"
"Shh, Lulu's still sleeping." Jim turned and glanced behind him back into the living room. He must have placed her in her crib. He was too responsible to leave her on the couch, even if she was asleep.
"You frightened me!" Jenna whispered loudly. "And tell me you didn't bend over to put that baby in the crib, I will not have you popping a stitch on me, not at this hour!" Jim crossed slowly over to her. He was better with the walker now, but his steps were still ginger, his abdomen still sore.
"Sorry," he whispered, peering into the different bowls that contained the leftover elements of the filling. "What's this one called?" he asked.
"It's new. I'm calling it 'What to fondue' pie," Jenna whispered. She blushed as soon as she said it. It sounded stupid out loud. Jim just grinned though, reaching out and plucking a piece of banana from one of the bowls. He didn't say a word, waiting for Jenna to tell him what was inside. She hesitated, embarrassed, but continued.
"It's going to have a vanilla custard, topped with fruit and marshmallows and other stuff you'd dip into fondue, and then topped with a dark chocolate ganache," she whispered.
"You made all of this tonight?" Jim glanced at the various bowls scattered around, then at the clock, his eyes widening. "I guess so, given that time," he muttered. Then he said something else, that Jenna couldn't quite hear.
"What was that?" she whispered as she reached past him to settle a strawberry that almost overflowed from the bowl, her shoulder brushing against his.
"I said it's the witching hour," Jim repeated, whispering into Jenna's ear. A shiver passed down her spine, giving her goosebumps and freezing her in place. She turned slowly to face him, only inches away.
The bruises on his face were terrifying. The stitches had settled in, no longer looking like they stretched the skin, but the mottled red color around them was disconcerting. The scruff she had thought earlier made him look manly was peppered with grey hairs, she could see now up close. The street light outside only dimly lit the room, and Jenna was surprised how much depth it gave to Jim's eyes. They were green, and filled with so much sadness Jenna's heart broke. What had they done to each other?
The timer on the oven went off, beeping in the quiet room. It sounded like a gunshot.
It was only then that Jenna realized how close they'd gotten, how their lips were millimeters apart. Ready to brush and blow up the delicate balance she'd created in her mind. She yanked away and Jim tripped, clinging to his walker for balance.
"That'll be the pie," Jenna whispered, crossing past Jim to the oven to pull it out. "Gotta put the fruit and marshmallows on, let it broil for a minute and add the ganache, then put it in the freezer to set," she used a dish towel to pull the hot pie from the oven, setting it on the stove and moving past Jim again to grab the fruit and ganache. She set the pot of ganache to warm up on a burner behind the pie, then began arranging the fruit on top in a decorative fashion. She could feel her cheeks flaming red and her heart pounding in her chest as she worked. Jim didn't move, standing in the tiny kitchen space with her. She could feel him watching her, but she refused to look at him. She couldn't.
She used the dish towel to put the pie back in the oven and stood there, watching it broil. She could feel his eyes on her back, travelling over her body.
"Jenna," Jim whispered behind her. Jenna ignored him.
The marshmallows puffed up and turned golden brown and began to melt down around the fruit, exactly how Jenna wanted them to. She opened the oven, pulling the pie out again and setting it on the stove. She stirred the pot of ganache before lifting it, pouring a steady stream over the pie, concentrating on getting an even spread and making sure it didn't overflow.
"Jenna," Jim whispered again. Jenna ignored him.
She smoothed out the ganache and used a spatula to scrape the last bits from the pot. She used the dish towel to carry it one more time and get it settled in the nearly empty freezer, then closed the door, leaning her forehead against it.
The kitchen was silent. Jenna could hear Jim breathe, the ticking of the oven as it settled, the hum of the freezer as it cooled her creation. She could hear her own heart pound, in her ears and throat and everywhere. She could hear her thoughts whistling through her mind, a million miles a minute.
She whirled around and kissed him.
He leaned back in surprise and she grabbed the walker, pushing down on it to keep them balanced. They paused, and for a moment Jenna feared that she had made some horrible mistake—an even bigger mistake than she already knew it was. Then he leaned forward, into the kiss, overpowering her. Jenna had to stand on her tiptoes, he was so tall, even with the walker. Jenna felt one of his hands weave into her hair, strong and sure, grasping the nape of her neck. His scruff scratched her cheeks a little. Rainbow lights lit up behind her eyes, every nerve on fire in her skin. The clothes on her body became heavy and gravity re-oriented, pulling her towards Jim, into his orbit.
Eventually, she pulled away, breathless. They looked at each other, the dim street lamp throwing deep shadows under their faces.
"Jenna," he whispered again, mouth still open. He reached a finger up and gently brushed his lips, as though disbelieving.
She loved it. She hated it.
She hated how deliberate it was, as they silently maneuvered him up the stairs, somehow agreeing that they weren't going to stay in the living room. She hated how carefully she helped him sit on his side of the lonely bed, shoving cushions behind him to help him stay upright. She hated how she set herself atop him, careful not to crush his ribs or tear his stitches. How slow and meticulous and planned it all had to be—no claiming spontaneity. She hated kissing him, how similar it felt to a drink of water after being stranded in the desert. How it felt like she could finally breathe, with him tracing his lips up and down her neck. How delicate she was, removing his pants and shirt and her clothes without disrupting his balance. She hated the thrill that travelled up her spine when he looked at her naked. How the stretch marks on her stomach seemed as appealing as the curve of her breast to him. She hated looking at him, battered and bruised and all because of her. She hated how it felt like home once he was inside her. How the gentle noises he made cut her down to her soul and left her bare and empty. How every motion had to be calculated, so she wouldn't hurt him more than he already was. She hated how, no matter how careful she was, she'd hurt him anyways.
