A thirty-one-year-old mother of two noted her situation; husband returned to work, sister as live-in help. Parents and in-laws with ready, mainly steady hands, a plethora of immediate and secondary family close. Chelsea Schumacher sat with Jenn at her breast, Marsh in Jenny’s arms. Rachel loaded the dishwasher while Bethany and a toddling Louise sorted laundry. If Chelsea didn’t know better, she would have to admit it took a village to at least raise a set of twins.
By the time Jenn and Marsh were two months old, they were known by those monikers. It was easier to use single syllables, but their cousin was still Louise, although Chelsea swore she had heard Will call her Lou. Mitch seemed to slip with it as well, that man coming round when the usual bevy of vehicles had scattered.
Mitch preferred Lou, for it seemed to fit her, a rough and tumble gal, more tumbling now that she was on her feet. Walking at ten months, she was just like Will, Jenny noted, into everything. She was fascinated with the babies, who were beginning to lose that newborn countenance, open eyes and bright smiles for all who came round. Chelsea did miss the old days when it was just her and Andy, but only for seconds. The fullness of her new life had removed some of what she would never forget. Jenny’s admission hung with her daughter, but not that alone. Eric’s girlfriend had also been a victim, a word Chelsea disliked, but noted in her head. It never emerged aloud; as far as Eric and Dana were aware, only his parents, Travis, and Andy knew the truth.
Chelsea accepted her mother’s history with the recognition of miracles. She had grown tired of that word while pregnant, unable to fathom her condition until it was nearly over. Then as soon as it ended she was bombarded with more insights, one being her mother’s childhood and how Jenny had lasted through it. The second was her father’s past, mirroring what Eric now carried. Then something more soothing; Andy had reclaimed his faith.
It happened slowly, was still evolving. They didn’t attend mass as a family; he went sometimes alone, sometimes with his mom. The babies had been baptized at one month old, right after Mitch came home. To everyone’s surprise, that man espoused new-found beliefs, not of a Catholic nature but a simple Christian notion. He had told Andy and Chelsea why, sharing also with his Grandpa Tommie. Grandpa Jacob wouldn’t have been as keen to listen, not that Tommie was overly spiritual, but it was Alvin who had returned Mitch to his unit, bullets going right through him but not causing a hint of damage.
Alvin Harris’ appearance north of Baghdad, Iraq took Mitch from what had been a sure-death experience, leading him to God. But Andy’s homecoming had occurred because of what he learned about Jenny.
Parenthood hadn’t just changed Chelsea. Within their house, irrespective of who was afoot, Andy was calmer, more prone to pray. Not always aloud, but he couldn’t help it. Jenny had given birth to his wife, but first had endured a firestorm. Not many lived to tell the tale, much less staying sane. Tanner and Dana had chosen remedies that eased their immediate aches, but destroyed the soul. Since Marsh and Jenn’s births, Andy had become more in touch with his soul.
Chelsea had welcomed her children’s Catholic baptisms. The family gathered at the local church, heard a lovely, inclusive mass. Will and Bethany were godparents, along with David, Rachel, and Eric. Andy’s siblings had been approached, but all preferred that Chelsea’s take the job. The Cassel kids were younger, and none of the Schumachers wished to be hypocrites. Andy was the only one of Eric and Paula’s offspring with faith.
Not that David, Rachel, and Eric were particularly churchy; at the ceremony David looked his usual self, a man in disarray, but his wide, loving smile dismissed the priest’s fears, as he held Marsh while Rachel cradled Jenn. Will and Bethany stood close, Eric and Dana on the side. By late August most of the family had noted that Dana wasn’t any more stable than Tanner.
He attended with Travis, looking grim. Mitch’s homecoming hadn’t yet sunk in, but by the time the babies were two months old, Mitch lived with Tanner, which had reduced his habit. Pickle Rhett didn’t mind, not the way Jackson Hooper would have.
Pickle only told Mitch good luck. He hadn’t been able to quit, had tried several times. His girlfriend Tandi was back on it, their daughter taken in by social services. But if Tanner needed anything, Pickle said to just give him a call.
Mitch drifted between Tanner’s apartment, then to his folks, where Liz couldn’t keep her hands from his face or a smile from her own; Mitch had retired from the Marines. Seeing his cousin so wasted and Eric’s girlfriend on the verge, Mitch threw in his lot with family. While the oldsters offered to buy him a house, Mitch refused. Tanner needed him, and until that bridge was burnt, and Mitch didn’t allow it would stand forever, he would stay in the thick of another battle, this time for Tanner’s life.
For a time all Sam had focused on, besides his grandchildren and Eric’s increasingly unstable girlfriend, was news from Iraq. Now that Mitch was home, Sam wasn’t motivated to pay attention, his mind usurped by three babies and Jenny’s back and forth condition. She was still seeing the physical therapist, who seemed to help, but she had cut back on her medicinal remedies, those three grandbabies catching her usually sober and in pain. As Sam read of the Blackwater contractors gunning down innocent Iraqi civilians, he watched another woman, equally blameless, attempting to remain on her feet. Rare were the days Jenny moved without difficulty, but her free time was absorbed by helping Chelsea. In those moments Jenny refused to smoke or eat any pound cake. By the end of the day, she was weak and unstable, and Sam was prepared to slip something into her dinner. Slip anything into her, except himself. Once again, he couldn’t maintain a physical reaction that in all their years together had been so easily achieved. Unlike a few summers previous, when it seemed to be a problem for only him, now Jenny was too worn out and aching to care.
“Honey, what if that therapist came to the house, what if we hired him privately?” Sam asked one night, his wife lying on her right side, the best place for her to find rest. “You can’t keep going like this!”
He said it quietly, but Sam was worried. She had finally updated her glasses, but it had been a large jump in her prescription, and she wore them all the time now. Louise liked to play with them, and Sam often found tiny fingerprints along the edges. Even when Jenny wore them, half the time she couldn’t see for all the smudges.
She was burning herself out; Sam hadn’t seen her this weary since Eric was a baby. Five kids had been a handful, but family had assisted, and once Eric was sleeping through the night, Jenny’s energy had allowed for Rae, Debbie, and Sylvia to step back. There were so many willing arms now; all Chelsea would have to do is crook her finger, Sam mumbled, wondering if Jenny was at all listening to him.
“It’s getting worse,” she whispered.
“What?”
“Sam, I’m afraid.”
He moved to the other side of the bed. Jenny shed a few tears, finding his falling down his cheeks. She moved her hand, which didn’t ache, taking that wetness onto her fingers, like his blood spilling.
“Baby, what do you need?”
“I don’t know. Maybe having Cory come here will help, maybe more than twice a week.”
She went on Tuesdays and Thursdays for a mixture of massage therapy and stretches, which did wonders, but the pain always returned. An increase in treatment would be beneficial, but Jenny didn’t want to do what would really assist. Not being fuzzy all the time had been refreshing. Maybe being stoned worked for Tanner and Dana, but Jenny balked at that form of relief. Yet, her body cringed without it. Perhaps she no longer had a choice in the matter.
“Maybe,” she added, in a voice nearly inaudible. “Maybe I need some pound cake.”
“Maybe you do baby. You want some now?”
“I want you. Can you give me that?”
Jenny hadn’t missed his unwillingness, not that she had felt able, but now she knew; when she hurt, he couldn’t function. Maybe if for no other reason Jenny should return to habits she had never wished to acquire. If nothing else, at le
ast she and Sam would start making love again.
He moved to a space along the edge of the bed. Reaching under her nightgown, Sam caressed her skin, encouraged by Jenny’s needy voice. Within a few minutes that nightgown was over her head, Sam lying alongside her. They started in a slow, subtle manner, but finished as if years younger, lovemaking that offered its own respite. Not as immediate as a massage or as lasting as pot, but the sort of deeper healing Jenny decided had to happen as often as possible. That made her ask Sam for a slice of pound cake, once he could move again.
By late October, Jenny had returned to the role of a stationary grandmother. Rachel divided her time between the farm and the Schumachers, Alana, Liz, and Marcy rotating at Chelsea’s. But within her own domain, Jenny Cassel was still a mom.
To Dana, she looked like an angel, which was the most accurate but unlikely way for Dana to describe her. Jenny was in her early sixties, but when they shared chocolate pound cake or stood on the back porch smoking, it was as though Jenny was in her late twenties, laughter shared over men, this place, the circumstances. Jenny knew all about Dana, never said a word. Dana knew Jenny was in some pretty bad straits herself, that foxy therapist coming round at one o’clock sharp. Then Dana would take her leave, unable to hear Jenny’s small whimpers. It hurt what she was doing, not the drugs, although that also seemed to pain her. But more excruciating was the therapy, which helped, but hurt all the same. Dana couldn’t listen to it. Neither could Sam.
Rachel stayed for those hour-long sessions and Dana wondered if Rachel had noticed the way Cory Sanchez looked at her. As Jenny stood for more coffee, Dana got up, ordering Eric’s mother to park her behind. Dana poured their refills, then asked if Jenny wanted more cake.
“Oh leave it,” she smiled, gathering crumbs with the back of her fork. “If I do, I’ll be too loopy when Cory gets here.”
Dana smiled, retrieved their mugs, then sat down. “He’s not bad looking,” she laughed. “I wonder if Rachel comes round to help you or just check him out.”
Jenny giggled. “Could be both. He does seem happier when she shows up.”
Dana nodded. Cory Sanchez was a somber man, in his mid to late twenties, tall and well built. “Well, if I was here, I’d say it was a fair trade-off.”
Small silence rested between them. “You’re right,” Jenny offered. “What she does isn’t easy.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“No, but it’s the truth.” Jenny took a drink, then set her cup aside. “I used to be so, oh God, capable. Used to take anything at the drop of a hat.” Jenny smiled. “But not anymore. Now I can sit and BS with you. I can hold my grandchildren, make love to my husband. I used to do so much more.”
“I’ve never been able to do anything,” Dana mumbled.
Jenny nodded. “I know that too. A long time ago I thought I wasn’t worth any more than shit.” Then she paused. “Sort of back to that now I guess. Things come in cycles. But I do know this isn’t my fault. It’s the MS, stupid goddamned…”
Then she laughed. “Just what came my way. Some bad, lots of good, then good and bad together. A helluva lot of both in my life Dana, a lot of both.”
“What was so bad?” the girl squeaked, looking to the floor.
“Hey, I’m here!” Rachel called. “Can you believe it, I beat him!”
Tears welled in Dana’s eyes, but she was thankful for the break. From Jenny’s loving gaze, the answer to a somewhat but not entirely rhetorical question had nearly been stated. “No, I mean…” Dana sniffed. “You’re always late.”
Rachel bounded into the room, well covered from the falling rain. “Well, I told Chelse she was just gonna have to do without me for a few extra minutes.” Then a moment of quiet. “Hey, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“No, just girl talk, or pound cake talk. One never knows what’s gonna slip when the pound cake does.”
Jenny’s voice smoothed her daughter’s worries, but stoked Dana’s. If Rachel hadn’t arrived when she did, Jenny would have told her the bad, and Dana didn’t think she wanted to know after all.
An hour with Cory Sanchez was one for which Rachel paid, but the cost was worth it. Rachel didn’t focus on Jenny’s moans or small cries. Instead she eyed the man responsible, but not with animosity.
Rachel’s exterior was unruffled but concerned. Which she was; her mother’s condition wasn’t deadly, but it was serious. She and David had spoken of it at length, those two with plenty of free time when David wasn’t at work and Rachel wasn’t wiping messy bottoms. They didn’t have partners, but Rachel had to wonder if David wasn’t spilling all he knew. And maybe, she smiled to herself, he wondered the same about her.
When Cory Sanchez found her eyes, Rachel offered a smile that only spoke her thoughts about the patient, which were of gratitude for his presence. She was pleased he was there, if only wishing that Jenny didn’t need this now five-day-a-week therapy. Rachel also wished her mother didn’t have to get high, could take her rightful place at Chelsea’s house, that Jenny could once again bake cookies, make potato salad, do all the things she used to. Rachel and Chelsea had noted that the running of a household, even without children at home, was Jenny’s forte. Now another routine ruled.
One of appointments with a therapist, one of getting high with Eric’s girlfriend. Rachel was unaware of many things, the role of youngest daughter part of her ignorance. If Eric had chosen someone more stable, he would take his place as the baby of the family. But his status was elevated to just under David. And if David didn’t have such a forceful personality, Eric would move right behind his two married siblings.
Which left Rachel to languish, but only due to lack of knowledge, which wasn’t necessarily bad. That she wasn’t as vibrant as David or overwhelmed as Eric was to her benefit, especially in this setting. All her attention, or what wasn’t usurped by Cory Sanchez, went to her mother.
Someone needed to be there for Jenny, someone more objective than her husband. Will was busy with fatherhood. And writing, which took more of his time than he and Bethany revealed. Chelsea’s role as Jenny’s shield was waiting for future days when the twins were in school. Had David lived closer, he might challenge Rachel for her position. Although she would be hard pressed to abandon these hour-long sittings; Cory was too good looking.
After farm chores were done, Eric sometimes stayed to visit, usually with Dana in tow, and when they were around, Rachel had the feeling she needed to leave. If it was only Eric, the mood was lessened, but still Rachel sensed something new since he had moved home, probably only due to what a mess Dana was. Rachel was unsure of those reasons. A part of her was so much her mother, not wishing to ask too many questions, also Sam, willing to wait ages before making a move. She had been hanging around Cory Sanchez since early summer, driving her mom to the hospital, then present when the location moved. Still Rachel hadn’t uttered more than thank you to him, and only in English.
That day was no different, as Cory helped Jenny sit up, then Rachel joined them. “Thanks,” she said to the dark-haired, brown-eyed man who looked vaguely Hispanic. Or maybe it was subliminal; his last name sounded Spanish. She could have said much to him in that language, but again, Rachel stayed quiet.
“I wish I could say it’s my pleasure, but…” His smile was genuine. “Whatever I can do to help.”
“You got a magic wand on you?” Jenny asked.
Rachel giggled at their banter, but her mother was tired. After Cory left, Jenny would change into regular clothes, then she would either have some pound cake, or maybe a few tokes. Then she might take a nap, Rachel staying until her father returned. He skipped out on this time frame, usually at Uncle Tommie’s, or maybe holding a grandchild, either of those preferable.
As Jenny headed to her bedroom, Rachel walked Cory to the front door. “Again, I know it’s your job, but thanks. It does her the world of good.”
This time instead of his usual nod, then a swift see you next time, the therap
ist looked directly at Rachel. “Some people I work with don’t try as hard as she does. I mean, it’s not pleasant, more pain than pleasure while I’m here, but it helps later. She pushes herself, which is good.”
He gazed to the now-closed doors, then at Rachel. “I know it’s not easy on her, or the rest of you. But believe me, what she’s doing now will keep her on her feet longer than if she was doing nothing.”
Rachel’s stomach reached her throat, but the reasons were twofold. Rarely did she consider her mother’s uncertain future. And only with a few men had Rachel known this sense of… She wouldn’t permit desire into her brain.
“Well again thanks.” Then she giggled. “That’s all I seem to say to you.”
Cory nodded, then smiled. “It’s plenty, believe me.”
As brown eyes met, Rachel offered a shy grin. Cory squeezed her hands, then chuckled. Then he was out the door, into the rain. Rachel ran to the window to watch him go.
Chapter 20
Alvin's Farm Book 5: An Innate Sense of Recognition Page 19
