This Much is True

by Louise, Tia

  “But you just got home.” His little-boy voice is at my ear.

  Hugging him tighter, I rub his back. “I know. I wish I could stay.”

  “Last time you were gone a long, long time.”

  “This won’t be like last time.”

  “Come to me now, Jesse.” GA puts her hands on his waist, but his arms tighten around my neck.

  “I don’t want you to go.”

  Bending my knees, I set him on his feet, holding him in front of me so we can make eye contact. “I have to fix something. They made a mistake last time. It’s why I was gone so long. Now I’ve got to fix it so we never have to worry about it again.”

  “I can help!” His eyes light. “Mr. Perkins says I’m a good helper. I’ll go with you.”

  My throat aches, and my stomach is in knots. “I wish you could, little man. You’ve got school.”

  A crystal tear appears on his bottom lash. “Don’t go, Dad.”

  Closing my eyes, I hug him. I knew this would be hard, but our last separation is still so heavy, it’s almost unbearable.

  Thickness is in my throat, and I clear it away. “Can you be brave for me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I cup the back of his head, kissing him right on top. “Uncle Scout’s going to stay with you until I come back. Or until you can come to me. Does that sound good?”

  “Yeah, buddy.” My brother squats beside me. “It’s going to be great. We’ll play football. I’ll show you how to skateboard. How does that sound?”

  Jesse’s eyes are red-rimmed and watery, and he looks at me with so much trust. “You’ll be back soon?”

  Nodding, I blink away the mist in my eyes. “Soon.”

  “You won’t even notice he’s gone.” Scout gives him that grin everybody loves.

  “I’ll notice.”

  Reaching out, I pull him close for one last hug, closing my eyes so I can memorize the feel of his sturdy, little body, so different from last time. “I love you, Jesse.”

  His arms tighten around me once more. “I love you, Dad.”

  I hold him until I can’t anymore, then I reluctantly let him go, standing to hug my grandmother. “Thanks for this. For everything.”

  “Don’t you worry, John Roth. Everything’s going to be fine. It’s going to be better than fine. You’ll see.”

  “I’ll take care of him.” Scout hugs me roughly. “Get back here as soon as you can.”

  I don’t attempt to speak. I hold my son’s hand one last time before turning to head to the gate.

  Hope

  “He just let you go?” Yarnell smooths my hair back from my face.

  My head is in my bestie’s lap, where I’m camped out on her sofa. “More like he didn’t try to stop me.”

  Or take me with him.

  Tears were in my eyes as I pulled away from Fireside, leaving JR standing there, his lips a warm memory on my fingertips.

  Tears streamed down my face as I drove as hard as I could to Half Moon Bay, stopping only for gas and to crash at motels along the way. I was through Atlanta when I found an envelope with five hundred dollars in cash tucked inside my coat and a note from JR. Pay me back when you can.

  It made me start crying all over again.

  I cried the whole way home. I wasn’t sobbing, but the tears wouldn’t stop streaming from my eyes. I couldn’t stop seeing his face when he looked at me and asked me how long I’d wait.

  Now I’m utterly exhausted. “He was so cryptic. He didn’t tell me anything, only that he wouldn’t lie to me.”

  She exhales deeply. “What are you going to do?”

  I’ve thought about that question over the past three days. “Check on Dad. Try to get a job. Get on with my life.”

  Inhale, exhale.

  Take one step, then the next.

  Keep walking until the pain is a ghost in the rearview mirror.

  “We’re short-staffed at the Lodge. I could ask if they’d let you on in housekeeping. It’s not the greatest job, but the place is practically empty.”

  “Yars!” Sitting up fast, I dive into a hug. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had! Could you?”

  “I’m your very best friend, and of course I can. It’s like the Wild West these days, anything goes. I’ll vouch for you.”

  Sitting beside her, I lean my head on her shoulder. “Do you think it’s because of my mom?”

  “What?” She picks up the remote and starts cycling through Netflix.

  “The reason I can’t seem to hold onto a guy?”

  Slapping the remote beside her on the couch, she shifts to face me. “Nothing is wrong with you, Hope Eternal Hill. You dated a self-righteous zealot—”

  “Scout said Wade was probably gay.”

  Yarnell tilts her head to the side. “That actually makes sense. His parents were super religious and controlling, and he was doing his best to be exactly like them.”

  “He was cute, though.”

  Shaking her head, her stern tone returns. “You dated a self-righteous zealot who was possibly closeted, and now you’ve spent a week with an ex-con. How does any of that add up to something is wrong with you?”

  I think about what she’s saying. “So the problem is my picker? JR is so hot, though. You should see him. Rough, angry, and that bod…”

  I can’t help a shiver, remembering his lined torso, the tattoo on his chest. This much is true… He has the hottest body, and he has such a good heart behind that grumpy exterior.

  “He’s good, Yars. I know he is.”

  “Of course, you do!” Placing her hands on my arms, she gives me a little shake. “You’re a believer. You only see the best in people. It makes you the best kind of person, but it also makes you susceptible to the wrong kind of guy. That is not a flaw. You have to be more careful. Don’t let your hormones get the best of you.”

  She scoots around again, putting her back against the sofa and retrieving the remote. I return to cuddle at her side, watching a collection of aspiring British bakers doing their best to roll cake.

  Memories of JR and Jesse flood my mind, the way they hugged each other like they were making up for all those lost days. Not everybody gets a dad who’ll do anything for them, one who is so in love with you, he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re happy. I have one. JR is one.

  A hot tear hits my cheek, and I swallow the thickness in my throat. “He isn’t the wrong kind of guy.”

  “How do you know?” Her voice is flat, disbelieving.

  “I know.”

  “I know you’re going to work with me in the morning, so get some sleep. Sonny will hire you on the spot if I tell him to.”

  “Because you’re a boss bitch.”

  “Yes, I am.” She leans down to give me a hug, and I hug her tight.

  “Thanks, bitch.”

  “Now let that shit go and don’t make me kick your ass.”

  Warmth comforts the ache in my chest. “I won’t.”

  The Half Moon Bay Lodge is like that resort in Dirty Dancing. The main hotel is in the center of the property with twenty-four rooms spreading out in two stories on each side. Then smaller cottages branch out into the hills.

  Housekeeping is a team of six—one laundry assistant, one supervisor, who doesn’t seem to do much besides eat chips and watch TikTok, and the rest of us who clean the rooms.

  Two weeks later, and I still kind of suck at this job. It’s not that I don’t clean well, it’s more I take a really long time… I just don’t care.

  Standing in the middle of the narrow, two-bedroom suite, I watch Rubí Perez doing her best to get out of the poverty of her university life on Netflix. It’s in Spanish, so I miss a lot of the story when I look away from the subtitles. Still, everyone is so beautiful and earnest.

  Lifting my phone, I touch the number for Dad.

  “Hey, sunshine!” His voice always helps me forget my worries.

  “Hey, Dad! When am I ever going to see you again? I’ve forgotten what y
ou look like.”

  Walking around the brown and gold room, I pull the thick white sheets off the mattresses. I always hated making beds. How is it possible I’ve landed a job where I do something I hate more than anything?

  I should be in charge of laundry. I could sit and watch Rubí and switch loads in and out for days.

  “My hair’s a little longer these days, but isn’t everybody’s?” My dad’s jovial voice is so good to hear.

  “Longer?” My dad is sort of a mix of Sam Elliot and Keith Carridine, and I imagine him as Road House meets Deadwood.

  Shaking away the distraction, I press on. “When can you come home?”

  “Well, I don’t know,” he hedges. “I thought you were staying with Yarnell until things got back to normal.

  “I am, but I miss you, Dad.” Sitting on the foot of the king-sized bed, I switch the show to Schitt’s Creek, so I don’t have to read.

  “I miss you too, sunshine…”

  I feel like he’s not telling me something. “How are your knees?”

  “A lot better. I’ve started taking a yoga class, and you wouldn’t believe the benefits. It improves respiration, which right now is major, and it relieves anxiety…”

  My eyes narrow. “Dad, you’re a Buddhist. You already beat anxiety.”

  “I don’t know if I’d go that far. I mean, with all the decreased social interactions. Do you know how important physical touch is to mental wellness?”

  Oh, trust me. I know. I struggle with the memories of JR’s hands on my breasts, his lips between my thighs. Focus, Hope.

  “So you’re able to do yoga with bad knees?”

  “Well, I can’t do all the poses. I’m mostly doing it for the meditation. It’s very calming.”

  “You’re always very calm.” It would be impossible for me to be more suspicious.

  “Now I’m even more so. The instructor is very good…”

  Bingo.

  “Dad? Are you sleeping with your yoga instructor?”

  I won’t lie. A week ago, I might have been weirded out by this, but after all we went through on the road, learning about JR’s dad, and finding Grandma Alice’s vibrator, I’m pretty sure there’s nothing that would surprise me now.

  “Hope Hill, I’m not having this conversation with you.”

  “Are you?” I’m not convinced.

  “Of course not. She’s probably ten years younger than me.”

  “You’re only fifty-five dad. It’s okay if you are.”

  “I’ve got to go. They’re ringing the bell for small group time.”

  He’s trying to get rid of me. I’m pretty sure Shady Rest isn’t that worried about whether or not their temporary residents show up for group.

  “I love you, Dad.”

  “I love you, too, daughter.”

  We disconnect, and I study my phone. My mind drifts to JR. I remember waking up in the back of Metallicar, and sitting up to see the angriest, sexiest man alive driving us south to Los Angeles.

  And immediately barfing out the window.

  He almost crashed. Then he almost left me on the side of the road.

  Walking away from the unmade bed, I step into the bathroom, where an array of expensive-looking cosmetics is spread out on the counter. They’re beautifully packaged in glass jars with sparkling accents. I pick up a jade green bottle with a pink lid, turning it in my hand. It says it’s some kind of plumping acid.

  Plumping. I stick out my tongue and put it down.

  We never bought cosmetics when I was a child in the commune, but one of the moms made homemade soaps and lotions to sell. She’d buy raw shea butter from the drugstore and mix it with coconut and essential oils.

  She made a lotion she called Egyptian Spice that smelled like sandalwood and coconut and exotic flowers. I loved it so much, I still order it from her today.

  A bright golden-yellow plastic bottle with Brazilian Crush on the label looks fun and summery. I slip off my mask and pump it into the air. It smells like salted caramel and pistachio and the beach. Closing my eyes, I lift it over my head and spray it again, stepping through the falling mist so it can cover my body.

  After so long being stuck inside in the cold, then being so close to the warm summer beaches of South Carolina, my one regret is not taking a detour and crying my heart out at Myrtle Beach or the Outer Banks or somewhere soothing like that.

  Of course, I have no idea where I would’ve stayed in any of those places. I also didn’t know I had so much cash tucked into my coat. JR, what are you doing to me?

  Exhaling a sigh, I stand in front of the mirror in my light blue housekeeping uniform. How in the world does he expect me to pay him back? I don’t even know where he is right now. My eyes close, and I see the muscle moving in his square jaw, the emotion in his eyes.

  He didn’t want to say goodbye, I have to believe he didn’t.

  Even when he did.

  If there’s any chance…

  I’ll wait for that chance.

  I’m struggling with my emotions when a shrill voice yells, “What the hell are you doing?”

  Jumping around, I see an older woman with a wide stripe of gray down the center of her jet-black hair scowling at me.

  “I was just—” My heart is beating out of my chest.

  The television is blasting Schitt’s Creek, the bed is unmade, and I’m standing in the woman’s bathroom holding her body spray, mask off...

  I am so fired right now. “I’m sorry!”

  “Are you stealing my cosmetics?” Her voice is loud and slightly hysterical.

  “No!” I quickly hook my mask over my ear again, moving towards the door with my back to the wall. “I’m sorry. I was just scenting—”

  “I’m calling the manager! You were stealing, and I intend to press charges!”

  She reaches for my arm, but I spin out the door before she can catch me. We’re in the hotel, so I don’t have a lot of options. I dash down the hall with her standing outside her door still yelling.

  “Stop, thief! Manager! Someone call the manager!”

  It won’t be hard for them to figure out it was me. There’s only six of us for God’s sake. Running from door to door, I turn the knobs, searching for somewhere to hide, until one of them opens, and I fall inside.

  The room is dark, but I don’t go any farther than the entrance. I hold a crack in the door as hotel security runs past, headed in the direction I came.

  Ten heavy breaths later, or ten seconds… twenty? It’s quiet. My heart is halfway back to normal, and I decide it’s safe to creep out. My plan is to jump in Metallicar and drive all the way back to our beach shack in San Francisco.

  I’ll call Yars and explain it was all a misunderstanding—I’ll be damned if I go to jail over Brazilian body spray.

  “Hold it right there.” A sharp male voice from behind makes me squeal and spin around. “Who are you, and why are you in my room?”

  A tall man in a tan suit stands over me. I can tell he’s rich because his suit is so smooth, it almost has a sheen, and unlike everybody else these days, his hair is neatly trimmed. He’s very handsome, and very scowley.

  “I’m so sorry, sir.” Ducking my chin, I actually do a little bow. Why am I bowing? “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’m with housekeeping… I—”

  “What is that you’re holding?” His eyes are on the bright yellow-gold plastic bottle in my hand.

  I didn’t even realize I still had it. I guess I did steal her toiletries.

  Lifting it slowly, I can’t resist. I press the top, sending a clear arc of spray fanning into the room. Even masked, I remember the lovely scent.

  “Hm…” He nods, studying my name tag. “That’s nice, Hope. Hope what?”

  “Hill, sir.”

  His chin lifts, and he turns, as if contemplating what to do with me. “Why are you bursting into my room, Hope Hill?”

  “Well, I was… I was just…” Busted watching Netflix and sampling the lady in Room 218’s toiletries
—one of which I stole.

  “You’re not a professional maid, are you.” It’s not a question.

  “No, sir.”

  “What is your profession?”

  I’m not sure why I feel like I’m on trial before this man, but I do. He has dark hair and piercing green eyes, and he doesn’t smile.

  Still, unlike JR Dunne, this man’s sternitude is more like his usual manner, rather than something thrust upon him by life and a double-crossing, wife-stealing father.

  Clearing my throat, I answer. “I’m a restaurateur.” Blinking down, I figure I should correct that. “Actually, I saved all my money, drew up a business plan, found investors, rented a prime location in the Embarcadero, hired a publicist, and had a huge grand opening for my first, dream restaurant… on March 13.”

  He goes to the brown leather chair positioned in front of the window and takes a seat. “Not so lucky Friday the 13th.” He’s not really being mean. I’ve thought the same thing myself. “And?”

  “And I lost it all.” It’s still a hot poker jabbed in my chest when I say it.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Oddly, he actually seems to mean it.

  “What’s your name, sir?”

  “Stephen Hastings.” He crosses an ankle over his knee. “Tell me more about this restaurant, Hope Hill. What type of food did you serve?”

  “Pancakes.” His eyebrow arches, but I quickly describe my quirky, fun, Pancake Paradise, where parents and kids of all ages could come together and have quality time, learn to cook, play, celebrate milestones, or simply pass the time.

  Bittersweet warmth fills my chest as I tell him about it, remembering how excited I’d been, how I imagined being the Barefoot Contessa of the San Francisco waterfront, welcoming regular customers and new ones with weekly specials and samples of our latest pancake creations.

  I had such big dreams, and they were all coming true.

  This was going to be my year…

  Until it wasn’t.

  He watches me closely. “Would you say it was a children’s restaurant?”

  “Not at all!” My voice is high. “Of course, we were kid-friendly—very kid-friendly—but we also had savory options, omelets and sandwiches. We offered mimosas and other cocktails, wine and beer. Pancake Paradise was going to be a neighborhood hangout.”