Free Bridgetown, Issue #1: Arrival by Giovanni Iacobucci Page B

Jesse, gauging his
reaction.
    "Are you alright, Mrs. Cole?" - White.
    "She's fine," Wayne said.
    Susanna was sure Jesse had picked up the fact
that the sheriff had addressed her that way.
    "Merely weak with exhaustion," Wayne went on.
"Isn't that right, Susanna?"
    Susanna said nothing. She could say
nothing.
    "Susanna," Wayne continued, in a tone she
found rather patronizing, "Say hello to our guest."
    Still she said nothing.
    Wayne held his gaze at Jesse. If Jesse felt
anything at the news of their marriage, he didn't show it.
    Wayne's eyes were on Jesse.
    Jesse's eyes were on the wall.
    Sheriff White was the only one truly present
in that room.
     
    Dinner progressed in a predictable fashion.
After a time, Wayne's powers of bullshit, acquired through a
lifetime of confrontation avoidance and a few years of high-stakes
business dinners, managed to weave a tall tale: Jesse's arrival was
the product of a long-simmering dream to see the West, which he had
decided to act on, upon returning from a stay teaching humanities
in Dublin. White seemed to buy the story.
    Susanna found herself surprised at how well
Jesse played along. He peppered in a few details about his stay
across the pond. Mostly, though, he let Wayne do the talking.
Susanna said hardly a word. She was still too bottled up, waiting
for the other shoe to drop. She left in the middle of the meal,
excused herself on account of feeling unwell, and disappeared down
the hallway. She needed the one thing that would remind her of her
own realness.
     
    While Martha cleared the dinner table, Wayne
and the sheriff went out onto the deck for cigars. Jesse told them
he'd be right out, that he just needed to use the restroom.
    He began scoping out the house, looking for
Susanna.
    He walked up to the second floor, and heard
her voice. Delicate, deliberately quiet, but he knew it was hers.
He approached the door, and pushed it open.
    Susanna turned and went wide-eyed when she
saw him. She sat in a chair beside a bed, book in hand.
    Lying in the bed, next to her, was a child. A
boy, maybe three or four years old.
    "W.J.," Susanna said, "This is your Uncle
Jesse. I've told you about him, remember? He's been away for a long
time, but he's come home now."
    The boy, half-asleep, gave a weak wave.
    Jesse returned it, with a wan smile. He
motioned toward W.J. The boy had Susanna's eyes, her nose, her
flaxen hair. But he could also detect Wayne's distinguishing
characteristics, and in that, his own.
    W.J. stared back at him, wordless, perhaps
noticing their distant connection as well.
    Jesse tried to look at Susanna. He
couldn't.
    "I'm sorry," was all he managed to get out
before he had to sit down, and put his head up against the wall. He
felt a horrible, cruel, twisted-up ball of things at that moment,
none of them good.
    "You're sorry? Jesse, you didn't do anything
wrong."
    "No, no, I did," he said. "This is my fault.
My doing. None of this would've happened if I hadn't…"
    He thought of the child, sitting on the bed.
How could he sit here and tell the love of his life that her son
was a mistake, a mistake he could have avoided? He hated himself
for hating the boy, but that didn't change a thing.
    He stood up. He couldn't look her in the
eyes—it was too painful—so he looked just past her. "Martha said to
let you know the dessert's ready."
    He walked out of the room.
    A few moments later, Susanna came after
him.
    Jesse turned around to face her. "Why didn't
you tell me?"
    "I didn't know how."
    None of the ten thousand words inside him
would come out. He turned and began walking again.
    Once more, she followed.
    "Look, I know you and I have a lot to talk
about," she said. "But we can't do it in front of my son, and we
certainly can't do it in front of Wayne."
    "Then where can we?"
    "Outside, tonight. Meet me by the barn. Wayne
will be asleep by midnight. We can put all our cards out on the
table then."
    "Alright."
    Jesse wished he had something better,
something more profound to say.