American Outlaw - Jesse James [97]
Janine had vacated the premises. But before doing so, she’d left a note: I hope we can work this out.
I folded it carefully, then threw it in the trash.
“We were a mess,” I confessed to Tyson, the next time he was back in California.
“Bro,” he said, smiling, “I hate to tell you I told you so. But . . .”
“Why didn’t anyone warn me?” I moaned.
“We tried to,” he said. “But you just weren’t ready to hear it.”
I sat down at the kitchen table and looked at Tyson gravely. “You knew I came from a pretty messed-up home, right?”
“No,” he admitted. “You never really mentioned it to me.”
I sighed. “I just . . . I want to do better than that. I can’t let my kids grow up like I did.”
Tyson shook his head. “Jesse,” he said, after a second, “no matter how hard it is, what you’re doing right now is worth it, man. You have to try to make a new start without this woman.”
I tried to make work fill my emotional void. The lineup of customers clamoring for expensive custom bikes was endless, so, digging in, I tried to face the stack of orders with renewed determination.
Soon I lost myself in the rhythmic, soothing tempo of welding. The mask flipped down over my head had never felt so protective. When I was under that metallic hood, shooting sparks and melting steel, I was free from human engagement. There were no stupid conversations. No mindless bullshitting about the NFL or horse racing. No wife who punched me in the fucking face.
Weeks passed, and then months. Gradually I watched myself grow stronger. I spent the weekends alone with my kids, running on the beach with them, laughing, enjoying the process of watching them grow up. They were my saviors.
Still, I couldn’t help but feel starved for companionship. I was so used to being in a relationship: Karla and I had been together for the better part of a decade, and I hadn’t been alone for very long before I’d found myself head over heels for Janine. For better or for worse, I seemed most comfortable being part of a twosome. I guess I was coming around to the realization that I missed having a woman in my life when, right on cue, Janine finally called.
“I want to see you,” she said seductively. “Can you guess why?”
“Janine,” I said stiffly. “I really don’t think that’s a great idea.”
“Oh, come on.” She laughed. “You’re not still mad about what happened, are you?”
“Which time?” I asked, angrily.
Janine laughed. “Honestly, honey, I feel awful about smacking you. You know I wasn’t in the right head space at the time. But I’ve got things in order now, and I want to make it up to you.”
“Well,” I said, my resolve weakening. “How exactly do you mean?”
Janine let her voice drop to a whisper. “I’d much rather show you in person than describe it on the phone.”
Half an hour later, she was at my doorstep. Five minutes after that, we were in bed together.
We slept together, one last time—my lust had gotten the better of me. But it wouldn’t happen again. I had been wrong to believe that I could get closer to her. Janine was too violent, too unpredictable to form a life around. She would never be able to change.
“We should give this another shot,” said Janine. “Don’t you think?”
I shook my head. “No. This was a mistake.”
Janine shrugged and began putting her clothing back on. “Well, you can’t say I didn’t try,” she said, smiling and strangely smug. “I’ll see myself out.”
13
Several months passed without speaking to Janine. Slowly, I began to form plans for a life beyond our relationship, beyond a marriage that I already considered a regrettable mistake. I knew someday I would find a wiser, more stable person to spend time with. Until then, I would be best off alone.
Then one day, with no warning, Janine appeared at the shop.
“Can I speak with you?” she asked, looking serious.
“You came by on the wrong day,” I said stiffly, not looking up from my work.