Snow Falls

chapter Seven



Jen tried not to stare, but she couldn’t help it. Ryan was so attractive. Nothing like the women her grandfather described as being homosexual. She wasn’t wearing men’s clothing. Well, no more than she herself was, she thought as she glanced at her jeans and boots. Ryan wasn’t pretending to be a man, like her grandfather said they did. She looked normal. And as sheltered a life as Jen had had, in the last seven or eight years she’d been exposed to a lot. It wasn’t as if she’d been living under a rock. And she was a fan of Sara Michaels’ work and she too was normal. But still...

“You’re staring,” Ryan said without looking up from her laptop.

“I’m sorry.”

Jen quickly turned her attention to her journal, her fingers lightly tapping the keys at random, no words coming to her. Ryan, on the other hand, seemed to be writing furiously, her fingers flying across the keys in a graceful motion. They stilled, and Jen realized she was staring again.

“Look, it’s not like I’m an alien or anything,” Ryan said. “Just a woman, nothing more, nothing less.”

“I’m sorry,” Jen said again.

Ryan let out a heavy breath. “You have questions. Ask.”

“My grandfather said...well, never mind.”

“Yeah, what’s with your grandfather?”

Jen bit her lip. “He was a preacher. A minister,” she said. “He and my grandmother raised me.”

Ryan’s smile was humorless. “Great,” she said dryly. “I’ve rescued a homophobe.”

“He died,” Jen blurted out. “Last year.”

“And?”

Jen took a deep breath, wondering why she felt the need to explain. “I was extremely sheltered. My mother was fifteen when I was born. She was the epitome of the wild preacher’s daughter,” she said. “Drugs, alcohol...and sex.”

“So they raised you?”

“Yes. And every transgression and sin that my mother committed, I paid for. I was homeschooled,” she said. “I had no friends to speak of. And I was socially inept.” She glanced at Ryan. “Still am in some respects.”

“I see. So you’re not a homophobe then?”

“No. I don’t think so. I just don’t have any gay friends. Not that I’m insinuating you and I are friends,” she added quickly. “I was just...surprised, I guess. Socially inept and all,” she said with a smile.

“Well, they must have done something right,” Ryan said. “You’ve written three books.”

Jen laughed. “Self-help books,” she corrected. “Something I kept a secret from them, by the way. They wouldn’t approve.” She leaned back, staring at the ceiling, picturing her grandfather’s face. Oh, she could only imagine his scorn. “I grew up in West Texas, near Lubbock,” she said.

“That explains the accent then,” Ryan said.

“I don’t have an accent,” she insisted. “I worked very hard to lose it.”

“Okay, you don’t have an accent,” Ryan said, appeasing her.

Jen grinned at her, then looked away. “My mother got arrested when she was nineteen. That’s when my grandparents got legal custody of me. My mother wasn’t around much after that. I’d see her a couple of times a year when she’d come around for money.” Jen glanced at her again, seeing that she had Ryan’s full attention. “Because she was so bad, they were extra strict with me. I mean, I couldn’t do anything. But since I didn’t have any friends, there weren’t a lot of options anyway.”

“Homeschooled all the way through?”

“Yes.” Jen laughed. “If they could have figured out a way, I’m certain they would have homeschooled me for my college degree as well. But it was nearly that bad. They would not hear of me staying in the dorms. They allowed me to go all the way to Lubbock—forty miles away—to college,” she said sarcastically, “and to stay with a friend of theirs. A widow. A very bitter woman who never smiled. Her entire life revolved around the church. Therefore, so did mine. And every Friday after class, I had to drive home to my grandparents’ house. I wasn’t allowed to return to Lubbock until Sunday afternoon.”

“Resentful?”

Was that the word she would use? She nodded. “Yes. Resentful. Once I moved to Santa Fe, I separated myself from them more and more.”

“You missed out on a lot growing up.”

“I know.” Jen sighed. “I didn’t know it at the time, of course. Back then, there was never a question of me going against their wishes.”

“So you didn’t go through a rebellious stage?”

“I was afraid to. Even in college, I had very few friends. I met Brad there. He was a journalism major, so we had several classes together. He became my first real friend.”

“And lover?”

Jen blushed. “We started dating when I was a senior, and even then, I had to keep that a secret from them. He wasn’t from the church, you know,” she said mockingly.

“Your mother was never in the picture?”

“Not when I was younger, no. She’s married now. Lives in Dallas. They have two children. To her credit, she tried to get me to live with her, but my grandparents wouldn’t hear of it. We’re closer now, but still, our relationship was already damaged. Actually, my relationship with my grandmother is strained as well. I don’t talk to her very often.”

“So how did you escape to Santa Fe?”

“After college, I got a job at Anasazi Press. Brad is from Santa Fe originally,” she explained. “They threw a fit about me moving there, but they couldn’t very well make me move back home with them, even though they strongly suggested it. It was my first act of defiance. Besides, Lubbock offered nothing for me.”

“And they still didn’t know Brad was in the picture?”

“No. Ironically, Anasazi Press had published the first self-help book that I ever read.” She laughed. “I’m certain I’m one of the few people who read it. Party Girl! How to Shake the Wallflower Image.” She rolled her eyes. “It was way over the top. Especially for me. But it did open my eyes about a few things. I gradually broke out of my shell, but I never reached that party girl stage.”

“You’re so attractive, I can’t imagine ‘wallflower’ applying to you,” Ryan said. “You must have had guys hanging around.”

“Thank you. But I didn’t dress to call attention to myself. And I wore old-fashioned glasses, nothing stylish. Not so attractive. And anyway, as soon as guys found out I wasn’t going to sleep with them, they left. By my senior year, I was pretty much over my shyness. I had a few close friends, and I had Brad.”

“So he’s your one and only boyfriend?”

Jen looked away from Ryan’s curious stare. “Yes. I dated a preacher’s son a couple of times, but all he was interested in was seeing if he could get past second base.”

Ryan laughed. “And did he?”

Jen blushed again, wondering why she was telling Ryan this. “I let him touch my breasts—through my shirt—and even then I thought I’d burn in hell.”

Ryan looked at her thoughtfully. “I can’t relate. Certainly not to a boy touching my breasts and not even the burning in hell part. Religion was never a part of my life.”

Jen watched her expression change. The openness she’d shared in that brief moment was gone, and a mask was in its place. Jen was just barely able to stifle her curiosity. That was the first bit of personal information Ryan had divulged.

The silence continued, with Ryan tapping away on her laptop and Jen adding to the journal she’d started. Although it was sunny outside, the wind had picked up, making the windows rattle around them. The stove burned hotly, keeping the inside of the cabin warm enough for Jen to lose her sweater. Ryan was in her recliner, her legs stretched out, her jeans replaced by comfortable-looking sweatpants.

“Would you like a pair?”

Jen realized she’d been staring again, and she smiled. “Can you spare some? Although, as you mentioned last night, I am a little shorter than you are.”

Ryan closed her laptop and went in the direction of the bedroom. Jen blew out a long breath, turning to glance back out the windows. Ryan was nice enough. Pleasant, in fact. Sometimes. But other times, like now, she was withdrawn. Silent. Dare she say brooding? Or was she just moody?

Jen couldn’t blame her. Whether she called her a recluse or not, Ryan obviously wanted to be alone. Having someone thrown in your lap unexpectedly—and for possibly eight weeks—would no doubt put anyone in a foul mood.

“Here you go,” Ryan said, tossing the sweats at her. “My shortest pair.”

“Thanks.”