by Beth Flynn
It was the nickname his brother had given me when I was nine. A lump formed in my throat as Jonathan threw his arms around me and hugged me so tightly, I couldn’t breathe. He remembered me. Tears threatened as waves of grief and guilt washed over me. It wasn’t until Dolly gently disengaged Jonathan’s arms that I was able to focus on who could only have been Jake, the new orderly. He stood up and turned around to face me.
I took a step back as my mouth fell open. It was him—the disgusting pig. I could tell by the shape of his head, his jaw, his entire physique. He’d obviously cut off his braid and shaved his beard. He had a five-o’clock shadow laced with silver. I could see a hole in his right ear where an earring should’ve been. His arms were covered but I could see hints of the tattoos that were peeking out at the bands of his wrists and collar. And I couldn’t miss the four-letter expletives that adorned his fingers right above the knuckles of both hands. But it wasn’t any of those features that caused my heart to race in disbelief. It was his eyes. They were the same penetrating blue eyes that had held my nine-year-old heart captive and later caused it to stop beating and shrivel up in my chest.
Jonathan started to clap again, this time chanting, “Barbie and Ken, Barbie and Ken, Barbie and Ken.”
I thought I heard Dolly giggle and say, “Barbie and Ken, just like the dolls. I loved playing with them.”
It was obvious that I’d been misinformed. Kenny Pritchard hadn’t died in prison. He couldn’t have because he was standing right in front of me.
The disgusting pig extended his hand in friendship.
“I’m Jake Chambers. It’s nice to meet you…” He paused and gave me a dazzling smile before adding, “Barbie doll, is it?”
For as long as I live, I will never be able to forgive myself for what happened next. It was unthinkable. It was inconceivable. It never should have happened.
The last thing I remembered was looking at his extended hand and back up to his eyes.
And then, I fainted.
Chapter 3
Jake and His Muscles
“I could’ve driven myself home,” I snapped as Darlene did her best to fuss over me. “I don’t know why Sheila called you.”
It was hours later and I was sitting on my couch while Darlene hovered with another cup of hot tea. “And no, thanks. I’ll be up all night peeing if I drink one more cup. Besides, it’s too hot out for more tea. Menopause is still kicking my butt.” I was alluding to the hot flashes that had recently started plaguing me again.
Darlene took the seat beside me and laid the cup on my scarred coffee table. “I think menopause is affecting you in more ways than one,” she said with a half smile.
“I’m telling you, it is Kenny Pritchard, Dar. He’s back and he’s working at the assisted living facility.” I waved my hand in the air. “He didn’t die in prison and is now calling himself Jake something or another. You saw him when you came to pick me up.”
“Chambers. Sheila told us his name is Jake Chambers. And I saw what you saw. A guy with blue eyes. He checks out, Barbie. Everything he put on his application is legit.”
I harrumphed my disagreement. “The information and documents he provided could be fake.”
“Except they’re not. I stood right where you did when Sheila showed us his records and employment application. And Kenny’s prison records too,” Darlene reminded me. “For the second time I might add.” After Darlene arrived to pick me up, I made Sheila show her the same information she’d already shared with me.
Darlene scooted closer to me and reached for my hand. “Look, sweetie. I know the heart wants to believe what it wants to believe. But you are grasping at straws. Jake Chambers is not Kenny Pritchard.”
“You saw the mug shots, Dar!” I fired back. “And my heart does not want Kenny Pritchard. We were children and I’ve been over him for a long time.”
Darlene gave me a look that said she knew better. I blew out a frustrated breath and laid my head back on the worn couch. I stared at the ceiling and relived waking up on Jonathan’s bed. Dolly was taking my pulse while the disgusting pig was holding a cold compress to my forehead. I heard whimpering and rose slightly. I could see Jonathan sitting in his chair, rocking back and forth. My fainting spell had frightened him.
I pushed the tattooed hand away from me and tossed the compress to the side. I sat up and jumped off the bed a little too quickly because I still felt slightly dizzy. I reached for something to steady myself and found that I was gripping a solid forearm. I yanked my hand away like I’d been scalded and approached Jonathan. He stood and I pulled him in for a hug while murmuring words of comfort that I was okay.
“Kenny saved you. Kenny saved you,” he mumbled under his breath.
“Apparently, I remind him of his brother.”
I knew the imposter had stepped over to us and I ignored him.
“I don’t mind if he calls me Kenny.” His voice was deep and warm, like homemade butter melting over blueberry pancakes. I despised blueberry pancakes.
Before I could reply, Sheila burst into the room. “Dr. Anderson, are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Sheila,” I told her while softly rubbing Jonathan’s back. I pulled away and looked up at him. He smiled and my heart melted. Jonathan had Kenny’s dimple. The same dimple that adorned Jake’s cheek.
Sheila insisted that I follow her back to her office. Dolly walked with us and wouldn’t stop talking about Jake and his muscles.
“He caught you and laid you on Jonathan’s bed like it was nothing,” she said with a faraway look on her face.
I wanted to dig a hole and crawl into it.
After we got to Sheila’s office and Dolly returned to her work, I almost had her convinced that I was okay until I mentioned that I thought her new orderly was Kenny Pritchard. That’s when she insisted on calling Darlene to pick me up. “I’ll make sure your car is brought to your house,” she told me. She started to quiz me about my health when I cut her off and started asking questions about the new caregiver. I barely gave her time to answer before I fired off another one.
“He has an address over in Pickens County, and yes, I did a background check and a drug test on him, Barbie.” I was obviously frustrating her because she dropped the formal name-calling.
“And?” I asked. “Does he have a record? Because he looks like he could be a criminal.”
“Yes, he does, but because it was so long ago, and because he passed our drug screening and has excellent references, we hired him.”
I quirked a brow. “What kind of record?”
Sheila went to a tall metal cabinet and pulled out a file. “It’s all here.” She laid it on her desk and rifled through it. “It says he was sentenced to prison in 1981 for three years but got out after only one.” She looked up at me over the rim of her glasses. “That was over thirty years ago, Barbie.”
I reached for his application and quickly scanned it. “His work history only goes back five years.”
“That’s all we require. He has glowing recommendations from two facilities like ours,” she added.
“What did he do before that?” I wanted to know.
“I asked him the same thing.” She hefted her left hip on the desk and gave me a sympathetic look. She thought I was losing my mind. “He’s worked different kinds of jobs. Some construction, drove a delivery truck. He was remodeling a nursing home when he discovered he had a way with the patients and decided to give it a try. It worked out for him.”
I circled back to his stint in jail. “What prison?” I huffed, raising my chin.
“It was in Texas.” Her voice held a tone of sadness. “There is no way he could be Kenny Pritchard.”
I watched as she moved to her chair and swung around to her computer and pulled up a page. She positioned the screen so I could see it from the far side of her desk. It was Kenny’s mug shot from 1984. She pulled up one of Jake Chambers and split the screen. “Jake is a year older than Kenny. He went to prison in Texas and got out two year
s before Kenny went to prison in Florida. I agree that there’s a resemblance, but that’s all there is,” she explained.
“Tattoos?” I asked, still not convinced.
She pointed to the screen. “You can see for yourself that Jake has several on his neck above his collar line. And the picture doesn’t show anything below that. And Kenny’s mug shot doesn’t show any tattoos, but it mentions that he had one of a clock with a chain, possibly a stopwatch or pocket watch, on his right bicep.”
I stiffened and asked, “Does Jake’s mention a tattoo of a clock or a watch?”
She squinted at the screen and turned to me. “No, Barbie. No mention of any clock-like tattoos.”
I shrugged my shoulders. I still wasn’t convinced but knew I was grasping at straws.
“Okay, why does Jonathan call him Kenny?” I hovered over her desk, planting both hands on her blotter.
“I don’t know, Barbie. Maybe because he has the same blue eyes as Kenny. Even in the mug shot Kenny’s eyes are striking. You have to admit, so are Jake’s. They stand out. It’s probably why Jonathan, who was what, six or seven years old when Kenny ran away? It’s probably why he’s taken to Jake. It must be the eyes that are triggering Jonathan’s memory.” She gave me an exasperated glare. “Not to mention, Kenny Pritchard died in 2010.”
“How can you deny their mug shots look identical?”
I could see Sheila trying not to roll her eyes. “Yes, they look alike, but you’re missing an important fact, Barbie. Jake’s mug shot with that scary-looking neck tattoo was taken in 1981. Kenny’s was taken in 1984 and he doesn’t have a tattoo on his neck. Now, unless Kenny had a tattoo with that kind of detail miraculously removed, they couldn’t possibly be the same person. I’m sure their fingerprints would also prove it.”
Of course what she said made perfect sense, but for reasons I couldn’t identify, I felt the need to discredit Jake the caregiver. So I switched tactics.
I stood back from her desk and crossed my arms. Giving her the most disapproving expression I could muster, I asked, “Did you happen to see what Jake drives?”
“Yes. It’s a motorcycle.”
“Did you notice what is painted on the gas tank?”
I got a reaction from her, but not the one I’d wanted. Sheila’s cheeks tugged upward in a wide grin as she brought her hands together in front of her. Assuming the posture of a studious student, she exclaimed, “Oh, yes! Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Beautiful? You think it’s beautiful?” I couldn’t contain my shock.
“Of course!” She blushed a little when she added, “Orchids are my favorite flowers.”
“You think that thing is an orchid?” My tone was mocking.
“You’ve never seen a radiant orchid before, Barbie?”
I threw my hands up in the air and spun around. There was no reasoning with her. I grabbed Jake Chambers’ folder off her desk and sat down. She excused herself and left me alone. I combed through his file while I waited for Darlene since Sheila had refused to give me my car keys. I was determined to prove there was something wrong with Jake and his muscles. Not to mention his perverted fascination with radiant orchids.
Chapter 4
The Mean Girl
Darlene released my hand and stood. Looking down at me with her hands on her hips, she said, “I still can’t figure out what you’re so mad about, Barbie. Are you upset that he’s not Kenny? Because he has the same color eyes as Kenny? Or because he has an orchid painted on his motorcycle that you thought was something else? What has this guy done to disturb you so much?”
I looked away, embarrassed, and stared at an ancient picture on my living room wall. “I don’t know, Dar. Seeing him has stirred something up inside of me. Something I thought I’d buried long ago.” She didn’t say anything and I looked up at her. Her expression told me she understood. I needed to lighten the mood so I gave her a goofy smile.
“You saw his bike when we left. Admit it. You can see how I thought it was female genitalia,” I teased.
“You mean a vagina, Barbie? You are always so formal,” she teased. “Let’s just say I can see how he must be an admirer of Georgia O’Keefe’s work, but that’s all I’m admitting.”
We were both laughing at how ridiculous I’d been when a knock interrupted us. I stood and Darlene followed me to the front door. A smiling Dolly was dangling the keys to my Jeep.
“I can’t thank you enough!” she practically shouted as she thrust them into my hand.
“For what?” I asked, but I already knew the answer when I heard the familiar rumble of Harley-Davidson pipes making their way up my road.
“For fainting! I got to drive your car home and guess what?”
“You get a ride back to your car on Jake’s motorcycle?” I replied blandly.
“It couldn’t have worked out better if I’d planned it.” Dolly’s smile was so broad I thought her face would crack. Darlene started to say something but I interrupted her by thanking Dolly and shutting the door. I stepped over to the window and stood at an angle behind the curtain where I couldn’t be seen. I knew the old drapes needed to be replaced but hadn’t realized how badly until I was close enough to inhale their dank, musty aroma. I could feel Darlene’s eyes boring into my back.
“Barbara Jean Anderson!” Her voice held a tone of authority.
“Not now, Dar!” I shot back as I spied on Jake and Dolly. I could practically feel a whoosh of air as she flounced toward my kitchen.
Three minutes later I found her washing my dishes. With her back to me she asked, “When did you become the mean girl at the eighth grade lunch table, Barbie?”
I let out a long sigh and she turned around to face me while holding a dishrag. “I didn’t realize I had until just now,” I admitted.
“Did it have the effect you intended? Will that poor girl ride all the way back to her car looking like a clown?”
I crossed my arms and leaned against the wide doorframe that separated the kitchen from the living room. When I’d answered the knock, I’d assumed Dolly had reapplied her bright red lipstick before she got out of my Jeep, and in her haste somehow managed to smear a streak of it up to the center of her right cheek. I should’ve mentioned it when she handed me my keys. Dar had tried to tell the woman and I’d cut her off. I didn’t know why.
“Well?” she asked again.
“No, it didn’t have the intended effect, and I don’t know what came over me. You’re right. I was never the mean girl.” This was very true. I couldn’t recall any past incident where I contributed to someone else’s humiliation, let alone took satisfaction in it. Why now?
Darlene’s face softened. Tossing the dishrag aside, she came toward me, wrapping me in a warm hug. “This past year has been more than tough on you, Barbie.” She pulled back and held my hands tightly with both of hers. “Your move here wasn’t actually a complete move with all the back and forth you had to do. You ended up staying in Greenville more than you stayed here.”
I shook my head in disagreement.
“Barbie, you’ve been through a lot, and I think seeing this new employee at Hampton House has resurrected some very old hurts. And it’s hard not to commingle them with the more recent pain you’ve been going through. Don’t be so hard on yourself and do what you came here to do. Start over. Take care of yourself”—she smiled and gestured to my kitchen—“and this run-down old house. It definitely needs some TLC. Can you do that?”
“I dunno. Maybe. Yeah, probably.”
“Good. And while you’re at it, promise you’ll start with the kitchen sink.” Her eyes sparkled as she motioned toward it. “Your water bill must be through the roof with that incessant drip.”
I laughed at her undeniable point. Even though I’d had all the internal plumbing gutted, I’d not gotten around to picking new fixtures and the original ones had seen better days.
“Flea market this weekend?” I asked. I was determined to restore the house to its original era which meant I wou
ldn’t be using modern fixtures. It also meant that I’d be hunting local flea markets looking for older ones that were in good condition.
“It’s a date,” she told me as she reached for her keys.
That night as I sat at my makeup table and applied night cream to my face, I reflected on the young couple at Darlene’s gas station and how their second-chance romance turned out so beautifully for them. I put the lid back on the jar and picked up my hairbrush. Staring into the mirror that sat atop my table, I thought about how I’d obviously missed out on the long-term wedded bless that Darlene shared with Barry. It was definitely too late for that.
“You’re on your own, Barbara Jean,” I said to my reflection.
I was a fifty-two-year-old single woman living in a town that was barely a dot on the map. Prospects for eternal companionship were slim, which was another reason I’d chosen to come home. I’d suffered more than one broken heart and wasn’t about to allow it to happen again. I was an intelligent, educated woman who found immense satisfaction in my work and restoring my home. I didn’t need a man in my life to mess with my peaceful existence. At least that’s what I’d been telling myself.
Satisfied, I climbed into bed, but sleep wouldn’t come. I couldn’t erase what I’d seen while spying on Jake and Dolly. She’d run up to him waving her arms excitedly, trying to climb on the back of his bike. He’d been straddling it and stood up, grabbing her arm to stop her from swinging her leg around. He removed his do-rag and very gently steadied her chin by grasping it between his thumb and forefinger. He looked at her adoringly and had a barely perceptible smile on his face as he softly wiped her cheek.
But it wasn’t the look he was giving her that was etched in my brain. It was the one he’d given me. It was almost as if he knew I was cowering behind the drapes spying on them. He knew what I’d done. He’d seen me shut the door before Dolly approached him so he knew I’d seen the ridiculous smear of lipstick on her cheek. It might as well have been a neon sign that said, “Barbie is a spiteful, small person.”
