Free C's Comeuppance: A Bone Cold--Alive novel by Kay Layton Sisk Page B

into a clearing that opened up on a lovely view of the surrounding countryside and three small ponds. The white frame farmhouse and unpainted barn were eyesores, but given a strong dose of financial aid, could command views of spectacular sunsets and fine wetlands. She’d suggested to Norm that he donate his land to a nature conservancy, but he’d balked at the idea.
    Jemma had no compunctions about entering Norm’s domain. She found the bathroom, a relic of an affair but more than serviceable for her needs and a quick face wash. She pressed the cool washcloth to her eyes and around her neck. She held it to her throat and realized how thirsty her cry had made her.
    She rinsed the cloth out, hung it to dry in the utility room and helped herself to a bottle of cold water from the fridge. Everything in the house looked to be in its usual state of disregard. Locking the door behind her, she settled onto the swing on the back porch and started a rhythm with her feet.
    The wind was less noticeable on this side of the house, and protected as she was from the road by the grove of trees, there were no civilized noises. There were crickets and birds, the hum of the bees as they finished their fall routine. Butterflies abounded and she watched the last of the grasshoppers finish off what green there was in the yard. Once upon a time, Norm’s wife had hung baskets of flowers from every other hook that still dotted the porch perimeter. Alternate hooks had held a special hummingbird mixture. Jemma remembered coming as a child to sit with her mother as the two older women had gossiped and snapped beans or shucked corn from the farmer’s market. Jemma had counted hummingbirds and butterflies. Norm had even let her ride the old steer once while he held onto her.
    Now she found solace of a different sort. She twisted the water bottle cap and took a deep drink. Her throat felt immediate relief, just as her eyes had from the cool of the washcloth, and her soul had from the release of the tears. She slowed her swinging until she sat very still. She had to sort this out and she had to do it now.
    First of all, she had to ask the right question. Why did C upset her so? Or, was it: why did it upset her that she was attracted to him? How long had it been since someone had elicited such a gut reaction from her? Had she let herself get so isolated that any man’s touch would upset her? Had she avoided men for so long that she couldn’t recognize when one was toying with her because surely, surely, that’s all it was? Why should a man who could have any woman, want her , except as a dalliance?
    She knew she was attractive enough. Not anyone’s idea of a ten, for sure, but if she lost a little weight—or perhaps just the right clothes—she might still turn a head or two. She made her own living. She had no debts. She lived with her parents, that was a drawback. But what had started as a refuge was now almost a necessity. Or so they all thought. Maybe it wasn’t.
    She gave the swing a little push and began rocking again. Still, she avoided the real question.
    Why would anyone want her?
    She was used goods. Jemma smiled to herself. She’d probably heard that antiquated term for the first time sitting on this very porch. It would have been whispered by her mother, probably. Someone was “used.” She was used. But nobody knew that. Nobody but her family.
    They knew but they didn’t understand. How could they understand the hurt, the shame, the guilt? She’d come home and buried herself. Shut herself off from the outside world, hidden herself in a cocoon of family and work. It wasn’t long before any eligible men were re-treads: divorced, thrown out, separated. Soon the men had stopped dropping by the office or talking to her at church. Soon it was Jemma and her parents and she’d been assigned by the community to the role of spinster. She’d gotten used to it. Maybe she relished it. No one had crawled into her space and made her think