Deeply Personal

Chapter 29

Jessica

“Listen, Jessica. I’d like to invite you to stay and have tea with me. Can you do that—spend a bit of time with an old woman?” Mrs. Worthmore asked.

Jessica had visited her to go over some details for her project and had just finished up. They were seated together at the kitchen table.

“Of course!” Jessica said without hesitation. She shot her a broad smile. It was the invitation of a lifetime. Having tea with Mrs. Worthmore meant establishing a deeper relationship with her, and Jessica knew that relationships were all important. It could lead to referrals, new relationships, and deals.

“Let’s go into my sunroom where it’s much more comfortable. It’s my favorite room in the house.” She pressed an intercom button on one wall and said, “William, tea for two in the sunroom, please.”

“Yes, Mrs. Worthmore.”

Jessica was surprised at the difference between this Mrs. Worthmore and the one she’d originally met. Had she just been having a bad day during their first interview? Which one was the real Mrs. Worthmore? Perhaps as rich as she was, you could have as many personalities as you wanted. Or maybe she just had to approve of you first before she warmed up to you.

She followed her client down a hallway and headed into the sunroom, which was just off the kitchen. Mrs. Worthmore’s gait was slow, the house quiet and still. Their feet made the flooring beneath them creak and pop. In another room, the phone rang and someone said, “Worthmore residence,” then, “I’m afraid Mrs. Worthmore is not available for interviews at this time . . .”

Unlike the rest of the house, the sunroom was beautiful, featuring lemon yellows and sea greens with large windows looking out onto a deck. Beyond it was nothing but unspoiled wooded acreage, oaks and cherry trees, pines and magnolias galore. It was so quiet here. Completely tranquil. A deer came up to the window and stared at them for a moment. Jessica was entranced. The animal continued looking in as if he were wondering what they were doing in his territory, chewed on some leaves, then walked away casually. This was real money at work—to own this much land in this part of the city.

They sat together on a custom sofa, and Jessica ran her hands over the smooth, full-grain leather. Very fine.

While she was still making herself comfortable, William brought in a tray of beautiful gold-rimmed ceramic cups patterned with ornate blue flowers, then poured the tea from a teapot. He left the teapot resting on the coffee table in front of them.

“Thank you, William,” Mrs. Worthmore said.

“Of course, Mrs. Worthmore,” William said.

“Milk and sugar? Or lemon?” he asked Jessica.

“Milk and sugar,” Jessica said. “Please.”

“I take mine unadulterated,” Mrs. Worthmore said with a smile, raising her teacup to her lips.

William gave Jessica a quick, inquisitive look, as if he was trying to figure how she got invited to have tea with Mrs. Worthmore, then left the room.

“So. What part of town do you live in, dear?” Mrs. Worthmore asked as she sipped her tea.

“East Nashville. I have a bungalow there. It’s really cozy. I designed it to be as comfortable as possible, with—”

“I know East Nashville quite well,” Mrs. Worthmore said. “It’s grown like a beanstalk, hasn’t it? When I was a little girl, my mother would bring me with her to East Nashville once a month to the H.G. Hills which was the only grocery store there.”

Before Jessica knew it, she was pouring second cups of tea for Mrs. Worthmore and herself and, amazingly enough, Mrs. Worthmore started to open up to her.

She began telling Jessica how she’d grown up in Nashville, went to public schools, was a very good student, and how she’d never used her elementary education degree from the Peabody College because she’d fallen in love and married one Mason Douglas Worthmore, who’d studied engineering at Vanderbilt University.

“Mason was so ambitious,” she said, her eyes looking off into the past. “He was truly one of a kind. When he wanted something, he went for it—heart, mind, body, and soul. He built Worthmore Industries from the ground up, you know, started out by providing concrete blocks and bricks to builders. It began in Tennessee, and then grew throughout the entire South.

“It was such a boom time back then. Perhaps you've heard of it, dear? Worthmore Industries?”

Jessica had to suppress a laugh. “Of course I’ve heard of it, Mrs. Worthmore.” Who hadn’t heard of Worthmore Industries? It was one of the most successful businesses in America. Its earnings were in the hundreds of billions of dollars.

“It’s a fine company, indeed,” Mrs. Worthmore said. “And because of it, Mason and I had the chance to travel the world many times over. But as the company grew more and more successful, our love, I’m afraid, turned uncertain. Mason was hardly ever home and I had my own interests—board meetings and charities, basically—and finally, I have to say, our love withered and died.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Jessica sipped her tea and waited for Mrs. Worthmore to continue.

“We talked divorce, but we had two children to raise, and we refused to let them down. No matter how tough things got, we remained resolute. We stayed married, mainly because we believed in the institution itself and also because we had simply learned to live with each other as best we could. But inside, honestly? I started to hate him.”

“Why?” Jessica couldn’t help but ask.

Mrs. Worthmore drew a long breath. “He often belittled me.” She took another sip then rested her cup on the saucer. Her hands were shaking slightly. In her eyes, tender sadness was laced with traces of simmering anger. “For a short while, he became my worst critic. Everything I did was either wrong or stupid. Or wrong and stupid.” She looked down at her hands. “I’d go out with friends shopping and whatever I brought back home, he didn’t like one bit. And any idea I had was not worth listening to. Once I told him what I thought he should do in regards to his business and he just turned away and said, ‘Nonsense.’ Just like that.”

She picked up her cup again. “Of course, I’d give it right back to him, too. Told him how hard his heart had grown—told him that I wished he were dead.

The story just kept flowing. Could it be that the lady just needed someone to talk to? Could the Southern Queen be lonely?

“Finally, the children grew up and moved out,” she went on, “and we thought for sure we’d end it. And we did. It was just as well. He worked all the time, and I hardly saw him. Such a workaholic he was. The divorce was traumatic.” She leaned back in her seat and looked off into the backyard. “The financial repercussions of a divorce are too complex to begin to discuss.”

“Of course,” Jessica said, agreeing as if she, too, knew all about the ins and outs of a mega-wealthy couple’s divorce proceedings.

“So where are your children now?” Jessica asked.

“Ah, well, Beau is the CEO of Worthmore Industries and lives in St. Louis, where the company is headquartered. And Lydia . . .” Mrs. Worthmore’s eyes teared up. “Lydia passed from cancer fifteen years ago. And that, that took a lot out of us both. God, I loved her so much. I was depressed for the longest time. Mason loved her with all his heart too. It brought us to our knees.”

“I’m so sorry.” Jessica’s heart went out to her. She wanted to give the old woman a squeeze and put her arm around her shoulder, comfort her. “That must have been tough.”

“It was such a blow. Something you don’t expect to happen to you in a million years.”

“I’m sure it was. When my mother left us, I was fifteen years old, and that was a blow for me too. It was like she’d died.”

“She abandoned the family?” Mrs. Worthmore asked.

“Traded us in for a different life.”

“Death. Abandonment. They’re not much different, really.” Jessica felt the woman’s eyes on her, studying her. “I must say, Jessica, you do remind me of my daughter quite a bit.”

“Me?” Jessica put a hand to her chest. “How is that?”

“You both have the same energy. Very smart, too. And talented.”

“I do have energy, people tell me that all the time.” Jessica laughed.

Mrs. Worthmore nodded in agreement. “Lydia was incessantly active as well. She started her own clothing line from scratch, turned it into a multi-million-dollar company, then sold it by the time she was thirty years old. Safari. Have you heard of it?”

“Of course!” Jessica said, incredulous. “Safari was your daughter’s?”

“Yes, indeed.”

Incredible. Jessica loved their clothing. They were always one of the trendiest companies around. That was exactly what Jessica dreamed of—one day selling her business for millions when she retired.

“She was a remarkable person.” The older woman stared at Jessica. “And if you don’t mind my saying, Jessica, so are you. You have the same drive, the same creativity.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Worthmore. That’s so kind.” Jessica felt the tenderness of Mrs. Worthmore’s words wash over her.

“Did Lydia ever marry?” Jessica asked.

“No, dear. She was too dedicated to her work. She came close a time or two. But it didn’t last. She always said that if she ever did get married, she’d have to run down the aisle instead of walk since she was so busy.”

“Oh. I see.”

Jessica looked away. Too overworked for love. That sounded familiar.

“At any rate, time marched on between me and Mason,” Mrs. Worthmore continued. Jessica perked up, wanting to see how this story ended. “And before I knew what was happening, he got sick with prostate cancer.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

As she continued talking, Mrs. Worthmore seemed to grow a bit tired, her face growing pale. “And I began nursing him and caring for him. We remarried. I’d never found anyone else and we fell in love all over again, believe it or not. We rekindled the flame. We talked and cried together, and he asked for my forgiveness for all he’d said, and I did forgive him. And honestly, it was a beautiful thing—very beautiful. The days when I was taking care of him at the end were some of the best days of my life. How could I not forgive the man I’d loved so much?”

The old woman’s voice grew soft, and she closed her eyes before speaking again. “He died holding my hand, Jessica. Took his last breath with me right next to him—shivered, and it was done. I just sat there at his bedside and wept my heart out. I realized how his life and my life were so intertwined. When he passed, I was unable to move. To speak. Hardly able to breathe.”

“Oh, I’m so so sorry, Mrs. Worthmore.” Jessica wiped away the tear slipping down her own cheek. “When did he pass?”

“Oh, goodness, twelve years ago. Yes, twelve long years.” Mrs. Worthmore’s voice shook.

The sunroom seemed to take on a deeper, richer quiet—the kind of silence that spoke in its own way. Jessica looked out the window and studied the afternoon light shining on the leaves of the trees. Another deer walked past, pawing at the ground before moving on. A pair of cardinals—bursts of red against the winter backdrop—landed on a bird bath outside the window and perched, resting, looking around, then flew away in unison. Typical. They would never stay for long.

Mrs. Worthmore blinked and emerged from her reverie. “Goodness,” she said. “I didn’t think I’d get into my life so deeply. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bore you.”

“It was fascinating, Mrs. Worthmore. And I feel honored to have heard it. You’ve had an amazing life. You should write a book.”

“I’m much too old for that.” She waved a hand in the air. “But what about you, Jessica?” she asked with a winsome smile. “How’s your love life? I don’t see a ring on that pretty little hand of yours so I’m assuming you aren’t married?”

Jessica felt her cheeks color. “Not yet, I’m afraid.”

“A boyfriend?”

“Well, kind of.” She swallowed. She really didn’t want to go into it, but just thinking about Paul made her feel warm inside. Still, she found herself echoing her cautiousness. “It’s really hard finding the right man these days.”

“You’re saying there aren’t that many fish in the sea?” Mrs. Worthmore asked.

“Contrary to public opinion, there really aren’t. And the plain fact is that the deeper down you go, the uglier the fish get.”

“Ha!” Mrs. Worthmore chuckled. Then she grew serious, folding her hands together. “Are you married to your work, dear, the same way my daughter was?”

It was too true to deny. Jessica fingered her bracelet. Mrs. Worthmore was spot on. “I’m afraid I am.”

“I suspected as much. My husband was a workaholic, and so was Lydia. Beau's the same way. Sometimes, I wonder if it's all worth it in the end, the choices we all make.”

Jessica didn’t know what to say. She hoped it was worth it. But now she wasn’t so sure anymore.

Workaholic Lydia was in an early grave, and Jessica was not in the greatest shape herself—no doubt related to all the work she was doing as well as her sedentary, donut-laden, and fast-food lifestyle. Her father wasn’t in the best shape either, and working his ass off was about all he did too. Lenny, the househusband who’d given up his steady job to raise his children, certainly didn’t feel that way. And who was happier? She or Lenny?

Jessica realized that it was time to stop using work as an excuse to protect herself. It was time to be open to love and see what happened.