Eversea A Love Story

byline.”
    Jazz’s face turned pale. “She’s pregnant?”
    I laughed hysterically. “Yes! Isn’t that great?”
    “Did he know?” she asked, incredulously.
    “No. But that’s not the point, is it?”
    “Well, it changes things a little.”
    “No, it doesn’t. You’re missing the point, Jazz. Regardless of whether he knew, he was cheating on her. With me. And I chose to ignore it. And apparently, it wasn’t the first time. They may actually deserve each other. I went against every principle I thought I had. Seduced by a six-pack and a dimple and an entire personality of honor that was based on a fictitious character.” I was yelling again, and to my horror, crying at the same time.
    I thought back to Jack sharing his painful past with me, and for a moment, doubted myself until I firmly shut that thought back inside my head. I also again remembered past stories of Jack Eversea’s exploits in nightclubs with fast girls. Back when Jazz first became a huge fan and would talk about him the way only a sixteen-year-old with a massive crush can, he was endlessly linked with bevies of beautiful women, leaving a trail of broken hearts.
    The conversation I’d overheard on the phone in my kitchen, where his agent had all but assumed he was messing around with someone on the side, should have been the biggest clue.
    “I’m so, so sorry,” Jazz said again.
    “Stop saying that, Jazz, it’s not your fault.”
    “But it is. I encouraged you, I even told you I thought he cared for you. This is totally my fault.” She winced. “I was living vicariously through you, wanting you to do what I would have done. It was unfair to you. I’m so sorry.”
    “I keep telling you all, I’m a big girl. It was my choice, Jazz. Mine. And the worst part is that he was so cautious ... so hesitant ... at every moment. It was me who pushed, me who closed every gap. It was me. ”
    I pressed my finger hard to my chest.
    “ It was me,” I finished quietly and firmly.
    The fault was all mine. He couldn’t have played it better, really.
    It was the perfect hustle.
     

 
    T H I R T Y – O N E
    If I’d thought Jack might come and find me, to either apologize or explain himself, I was mistaken.
    Every day that went by with no contact from him stretched my nerves tighter and tighter. Somehow, I made it through the next week trying to block the entire episode out of my mind. I was a little numb, which made it easier, but not effortless. I tried hard not to think about whether Jack was still in Butler Cove. I knew if I even let myself start, it would all come pouring out.
    Jazz checked on me constantly, and stayed over any chance she could, leaving early to get to work or class. I kept telling her I was fine, just annoyed, but I could tell she wasn’t buying it. I had overheard her talking to Joey on the phone one night in hushed whispers. I didn’t bother answering when he called me. I knew he knew, and I didn’t feel like talking about it.
    The thing really threatening to make me lose my mind, with frustration, was that most of the household furniture was still out on the deck or upstairs. On the second morning of walking past the bare floors and glancing at the fireplace, I put in a call to Faith for help. She agreed to pre-purchase two of the three chandeliers she had asked for.
    While stuffing my face with the chocolate pudding Mrs. Weaton had kindly brought over, I called the flooring company and asked them to reimburse some of the balance to the credit card used and take my money instead. They finally agreed and had an opening within days to come out and finish. I would still owe Jack for a large part of it, and would be working flat out to repay Faith, but for now, I could get my house back together.
    I was functioning enough that I felt working and keeping busy were the only things that would help me heal without having to do too much thinking. Perhaps the healing could continue in the background while I went about my life. Hopefully, one day I could turn my full attention to the subject of Jack Eversea and feel only a slight annoyance. Perhaps a bit sad and maybe also a little chagrined that I fell for a pretty face; hook, line, and sinker, but the raw pain would no longer be there.
    The following Thursday night, the grill was heaving with locals. I was busy and had perfected a happy mask on my face to all but the closest observers. Hector, of course, was ridiculously and uncharacteristically quiet. I had given him