The Brother

Stay for Dinner

"You sure you won't be needin' anything else, miss?" Mr. Taylor asked as he set down Jackie's bags in the guest bedroom.

"No, I suppose that's all. I really shouldn't keep you much longer," Jackie answered.

Mr. Taylor nodded at her, and turned to leave.

"Thank you!" Jackie called after him. He paused at the door. "I... I want to thank you for your kindness. I don't imagine I'll be in your car again."

Mr. Taylor glanced at his shoes and turned his hat in his hands. "That bad, miss?"

Jackie was silent for a moment, then asked softly: "Do you love your wife, Mr. Taylor?"

"What, that old broad?" Mr. Taylor chuckled, trying and failing to lighten the mood. Met only with Jackie's serious gaze, he sobered himself. "Yes, miss, I suppose I do. God knows how I'd live without her."

"And for you... is there no one else? Do you ever look at another woman and think ... what if?"

"Miss, I'm lucky she wants me. God knows there ain't no other takers. 'Sides ..." He smiled to himself. "She's it for me."

Jackie smiled too, wryly. "That'll be all, Mr. Taylor. Go kiss your wife."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alone for the first time, Jackie had some time to think. 

She hated him. In this moment, she really hated him. The hate was comforting — she could take solace in it, for as long as she hated him, she had a clear path ahead. Hating him made sense — it was logical — he did something worth hating, therefore she hated him. Simple. 

What scared her was forgiving him, as she had before. Loving him. Seeing him again and running into his arms. Apologizing for leaving; crying for his love. Letting him make it up to her; letting him make it all better. Forgetting it ever happened; leaving it in the past. Watching it happen again. 

If only he was more discreet about it. If only he would stop getting caught. If only ... 

She caught herself before she could go further down that distasteful line of thinking. Did she really value herself so little, to consider resigning herself to a sham of a marriage? To turn a blind eye? To live as her mother-in-law did? As so many other women did? To reconcile private shame as preferable to public humiliation? 

Besides, Jack didn't care enough to be cautious. 

The first time, it was his secretary — predictable, obvious. She called the house phone for him. He wasn't home. She giggled nervously when Jackie answered, and said she had some documents for Jack. She called him Jack. When Jackie stopped by his office and found her in his lap, she shouldn't have been surprised. But she had never cried harder than that night. 

He had promised: never again. He said she had seduced him, he had fired her, and that was it. He would never ever let himself stray again. He loved her. He needed her. He wiped her tears. He held her. She believed him. 

The second time, it was a lobbyist — perhaps it was nothing but a political maneuver to them — to Jackie, it was a dagger in the chest. A reporter, one of Jackie's colleagues from years past, broke the news. He showed her the pictures to prove it. He offered his condolences, but warned that his paper was intent on publishing them. She wrote the check to have them shredded. 

When she confronted Jack, he was ashamed, but only because of how close he'd come to a scandal. It was an election year — he might've lost everything. 

"But you don't care about losing me?" 

"Come on, kid, don't be like that. You know you're the only person I want to share my life with."