“Well,” I responded, suddenly sheepish, “can’t we put the suitcases in the front? They’ll get dirty.”
He stared incredulously for a moment. “You’re right.” Well, I was glad he could listen to reason. “Listen, I’ll make you a deal. If you can find room in the cabin for your stuff, it can ride up front.” Then his eyes twinkled mischievously. “And you can ride in the back.”
My jaw dropped. Was he serious? He couldn’t possibly be. I glared at him, seething now. What kind of greeting was this anyway? Why would my aunt and uncle choose to send this haughty, obnoxious hick to pick me up when they knew my emotional state? Some welcome committee he was. If I had any other choice, I would have told him exactly where he could steer his truck.
“It seems I have no other option,” I groaned, countering my own thoughts.
And with that, I sauntered deliberately over to the passenger side of the truck, trying hard not to look at the grimy conditions I was sure I’d see in the bed as I passed. The outside looked even dirtier as I got closer. The inside was not much better. There wasn’t any clutter, but leaves and hay covered the floor. “You couldn’t have cleaned it before picking up your dear friends’ special guest,” I scoffed.
He didn’t respond and simply got into the driver’s side while I gawked, debating between getting into the truck with him or hopping on a flight to... anywhere else. He revved the engine, so I quickly threw open the door and slinked into my seat. I carefully locked the seatbelt into place using the sleeve of my sweater. Best not to touch anything. Best? Dammit. One day in Missouri, and I was already thinking like a hick. I hrumpfed as I squeezed my arms into my chest. If I had to suffer through a ride in a dirty car with a rude stranger, I was certainly going to make my displeasure known.
John ignored me and shifted the truck into drive. The ride was rough, and I was hoping it was because of the gravel road and not the vehicle itself. As we hobbled along, I remembered the long trips I’d taken to town with Kenny and Martha as a child.
“Just how long will it take to get to Kenny and Martha’s?” My voice warbled from the vibrations.
He smirked. “About an hour and a half. Better get comfortable.”
An hour and a half in this dump? With this overgrown man-child? I rolled my eyes. Was this Kenny and Martha’s idea of a joke? They must have known that I wouldn’t be happy with the arrangement. What did John say? They said I was a handful? Well, that was a rude estimation to make about someone they hadn’t seen in years. Why would they even allow me to stay with them if I was such a handful?
John leaned over and turned the radio knob. Twangy hillbilly voices immediately filled the cabin with stories of drinking beer and driving trucks. I groaned. Country music was my least favorite. I would rather listen to a garbage disposal chewing a spoon.
“Are you kidding?” I snorted. “What is this music? Are you purposefully going for walking cliché?”
The corner of his mouth turned up by a millimeter. “I thought you’d rather listen to music than sit in silence. Unless you’d prefer we talk?”
“Talk? About what? What could we possibly have to talk about? ‘Oh, look over there at those trees. The leaves are sure green for summertime.’ Or ‘Guess what I heard over at the old waterin’ hole! Bessie’s about to have her first calf!’”
“You are something else.” He shook his head. “I mean, I knew you might be a bit combative... being from the city and all, but I had no idea you were going to be such a—”
“What?” I shrieked.
We both recoiled at the unexpected volume in the tiny space. “Spark plug,” he answered. “I was going to say spark plug.”
“Right.”
“So... we don’t have to talk then,” he said after a beat. “But I need the music. It has been a busy week, and I need something to keep me awake.”
“Wow. They sent a sleepy, obnoxious trucker man-child to pick me up. Unbelievable.”
“Man-child?” he chortled. “Like I said, there was a situation. They wouldn’t have sent me if they could have come themselves. And believe me, I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t have to. But when either of them asks a favor of me, I do it. So we don’t have to talk, but you do have to listen to this cliché music in my hillbilly truck for the next hour and a half. Might as well get used to the idea.”
“Fine.”
“Fine,” he repeated childishly.
“Fine. Play your terrible music. I could use a nap anyway.” I peered around, trying to decide where best to rest my head. The window was moist from humidity-induced condensation. The headrest was in an odd place—too high for my head, yet also too low. I tried to make myself taller by stretching my torso, but that made my legs dangle uncomfortably. I tried shrinking down below the headrest, but this made my back arch in a way that was bound to give me sciatic nerve damage. Twisting to the driver’s side meant that I’d be facing him, while turning to the door meant that my nose would be broken in the inevitable crash. I closed my eyes and threw my head back. “Well, I can’t sleep.”
“Okay...”
I looked at him, expecting him to entertain me somehow. He continued driving as if I didn’t exist. When he said and did nothing, I reached over and shut off the radio. “How did you get this truck past airport security?”
“Security?”
“Yes. Airport security. You shouldn’t be able to just drive up to a runway like that. What if you were a terrorist? Or a drug smuggler?”
He gave me a sidelong glance. “In Camden County? I don’t know if you noticed, but it’s kind of isolated here. Pretty sure the biggest event we’ve had in my lifetime was the F3 in ’03.”
“F3? What is that? Code?” It sounded like the name of a fighter jet or an automatic weapon to me.
“Yeah. It’s code for tornado.” He sounded out each syllable of the word tornado as if English was not my first language.
In my defense, I had been living in Los Angeles since birth. Tornadoes were an anomaly there. Of course I’d heard of them, but I didn’t know there was a code for tornadoes. I knew what the Richter scale was, and I knew when an earthquake was really bad accordingly. If I told him that, though, he’d just give me grief. I decided to change the subject. “So, what was all that back there, anyway? Why didn’t you tell me who you were right away? Why did you have to scare me like that?”
“I tried to tell you,” he snickered, “but you were being weird.”
“I was not being weird.”
“You were being weird.” He momentarily glanced my direction with a playful smirk.
“Well, what can I say? I’m weird.” I shrugged. “But you certainly enjoyed yourself, didn’t you?” I stabbed my finger into his right shoulder, which was a bold move considering he was driving this heap.
He laughed heartily. “I did.”
There was something infectious about that laugh, but I stifled any attempts my own traitorous giggle made at joining him.
“You make the strangest faces when you’re confused,” he continued. Now he was guffawing with laughter.
“I do not.”
He cast off his cowboy hat and revealed a shaggy dirty-blond mop atop his head. Then, he crinkled his face so all of his features came together in the center. Next, he stuck his tongue out just past his lips while widening his eyes and sort of bugging them out of his head. Ah ha. I realized he was making the faces. This wasn’t just an attempt to whip out his blonde locks like some young Dazed and Confused Matthew McConaughey.
I pouted. “Well, I’m a very expressive person. I’m sure I looked much better making those faces than you do. You look like a toad.”
This only made him exaggerate the faces more. His mouth contorted, and he flicked his tongue in and out as if he was catching flies. He looked utterly ridiculous, and I let out a small laugh. It was an unusual, almost startling sound. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d laughed genuinely. The laugh must have thrown him off, too, because he stopped making faces and stared at me.
Our eyes locked, and I noticed flecks of green in his and... OMG, we were driving off the road. He pivoted forward and flung the wheel to the left. We swerved back and forth for a minute on the bumpy road until he finally regained control.
“Watch where you’re going,” I snapped. I didn’t want tomorrow morning’s headlines to read: “Young Starlet Found Dead in a Pile of Junk.”
“Well, you wanted to talk,” he retorted.
I wrapped my arms protectively around my chest again. “No, I don’t. Just drive.”
I looked at the clock on the dash and began my countdown. An hour and ten minutes to go.
CHAPTER TWO
My countdown had reached one hour and forty-two minutes when we finally pulled up to the house. Jerked up to the house was more like it. By the end of the uphill trek to Kenny and Martha’s, the prehistoric vehicle was sputtering and lurching in protest. I thought I’d get whiplash from the back and forth motion. The house was just like I’d remembered and everything you’d expect a house in The-Middle-of-Nowhere, USA, to be. It was a one-story ranch style with a wraparound porch. The wood siding was stained a rich hickory brown, and sage green shutters and flower boxes filled with cheerful yellow flowers adorned the windows. I didn’t know much about flowers. I only knew what I liked—roses and lavender. The rest just looked like pretty little allergy inducers to me.
Kenny and Martha were sitting on their porch rockers and hopped up the moment they saw us. Their faces were full of joy as they ran toward the approaching truck. Aunt Martha’s curly chestnut hair bobbed up and down as she ran, and it made me giggle despite my annoyance with the entire situation. It was silly that they didn’t just wait until we rolled up to the front of the house because now we had to park an extra car’s length away. And that meant I had to trudge through the tall grass in my wedge boots. Back at the airport, I had already reconciled myself to the fact that they would need a proper burial after this day. Shoe heaven must be a beautiful place.
Kenny nearly took the door off as he threw it open and lifted me out of the seat. “How’s my girl?” His boisterous laugh was just as I’d remembered. It sounded like a guttural hehe on repeat.
Kenny twirled me around, and the twirling made me dizzy, especially after a day of traveling. I lightly pounded on his chest with my fists so that he’d get the hint to let me down. “Feeling nauseous, thank you.” The words came out harsher than I’d intended. I was actually excited to see them after so long, but I had developed a habit of reacting sullenly toward everything.
“It’s nauseated,” I heard this John character murmur from the other side of the truck.
I shot him an indignant glare, but he wasn’t looking. What was he, the vocabulary police? Why was he so rude and infuriating? He didn’t even know me.
Aunt Martha took her turn to hug me next, squeezing tighter than was necessary. I was beginning to feel like a rag doll. “It’s so good to see you,” she gushed. “Oh, you really are just skin and bones!” Her tone was cheerful, but her smile had wilted. I knew what she was probably thinking, but Kenny nudged her gently underneath the ribs with his elbow before she could give voice to any concerns. She squeaked in surprise. “Come in. Come in,” she continued as if the last few seconds hadn’t occurred. “My famous chicken fried steak is on the stove right now. John, you come in, too. Join us!”
John politely declined. “I’ve got some work to do. Thanks for the offer, though. I’ll take you up on it another time?”
“Umm... I don’t eat meat, actually. I’m vegan,” I announced. I didn’t know why I needed to interrupt their conversation. I guess I just wanted to be the center of attention at that moment. I was the prodigal niece. This guy wasn’t about to rain on my homecoming parade.
I heard him laughing as he walked back to his truck. “You have fun with that one,” he called out to my aunt and uncle. “Handful indeed.” He revved the engine and flashed those teeth again as he waved his goodbye before driving off. Good riddance, I thought.
At the mention of their handful comment, Kenny and Martha’s already pink faces flushed even brighter. Martha quickly reassured me with, “We didn’t say it was a bad thing.”
“It’s fine.” I brushed it off, not wanting to dwell on the insult. I was too drained to defend myself. “I just need to take a nice, hot bubble bath and maybe nap for a week.”
“You can help me carry these bags in,” Kenny called from behind me.
I whirled around, and Kenny was standing where the truck had been. When had he moved? What did that remind me of? I couldn’t quite think of it. My bags were sitting in the grass. The grass! Didn’t anyone around here have any respect for a person’s things? “Oh, all right,” I murmured.
I didn’t often carry my own things. Okay, I never carried my own things. When I traveled, an assistant would take care of baggage handling. Coffee was brought to me every morning on set. A trainer would place a towel on my sweaty forehead while I perfected my tree pose in Bikram Yoga. My, how I have fallen, I lamented. Was this a sign of how this visit was going to go? I stalked over to my luggage—which was surely covered in dirt and bugs and grass stains by now—and helped my uncle carry the bags up to the house. He took two bags and left four for me, of course. Lifting the heaviest suitcase was impossible, but still, I tried. I wasn’t about to roll it on the ground. After several vain attempts, I gave up and had to wrap the straps of the two smaller bags around my shoulders and roll the two larger suitcases through the lawn. I figured grass stains were better than the gashes the gravel offered. When I finally reached the steps, Kenny was by my side, ready to help. He had already managed to take my other bags inside.
“Bugs Bunny!” I exclaimed and dropped the handle of the largest bag. That’s who he reminded me of. In those cartoons, that rascally rabbit would disappear and appear so quickly in the oddest places. That was Uncle Kenny. He had the energy and speed of a cartoon character. I wasn’t sure I would have the stamina to deal with that. I remembered it surprised me, even when I was younger, that a man of his size was so fast and so strong. He was probably only three inches or so taller than I was, and he was lean; yet, I suspected he could have piled all of the bags and carried them into the house with little effort. I know this because I remember seeing him lift and move an oak entertainment cabinet without any help. This wasn’t one of those fake oak particleboard jobs. It was all-out wood.
Kenny looked puzzled, and I realized I hadn’t included him in the stream of consciousness going through my head. “Sorry... Thank you,” I mumbled.
“Oh, of course.” I could see the concern in his eyes, and he was trying hard not to let it shift to his face. “Make yourself right at home, Sissy.”
At home, I thought to myself. As if.
***
After Rude John was gone, I was able to let my guard down a little. This was the first time I’d been with my aunt and uncle as an adult, and I decided I would at least try to enjoy it. Martha gave me a tour of the house as Kenny carried my things into what would be my bedroom. The house was even tinier inside than I had recalled. The entry led directly into an open living room and kitchen with maple-paneled walls and matching floors. This was different than I’d remembered, and I assumed they’d made some improvements in my decade-long absence.
Kenny and Martha didn’t care too much for decorating, it seemed. The rooms included only the essentials, which was just as well since there wasn’t enough space for much else. They had the obvious couches, tables, chairs, and lamps, but what really stood out in the living room was the deer head mounted above the fireplace. When I was an innocent child, I used to love that deer. I named it Nina and created a make-believe world in which I was a fairy, and Nina was my trusty sidekick. Now that I was older, I felt sad for that unfortunate animal staring back at me with dead eyes. I shivered. Poor Nina.
“We fixed your room up real nice,” Martha enthused as we toured the space. To the left, a hallway led down to the two bedrooms and, gasp, one bathroom. I’d forgotten abo
ut that. She opened the bedroom door. “Real nice” to Aunt Martha apparently meant a fresh coat of robin’s egg blue paint and a clean rainbow-colored quilt. The room was rather plain other than that. There was a twin-sized bed, a rocking chair, a bookshelf, and a dresser. That was it for furniture. Oh, and a Tiffany lamp that stood beside the rocker. I remembered that lamp from my childhood. Somehow it always stayed with me. I used to love the way the light hit the colored glass. To a young girl, that lamp was fancy. Now, that I'd seen much more elegant décor in my lifetime, the lamp looked quaint, almost tacky.
“You can go ahead and unpack,” Martha continued. “We got you a fancy pink bathrobe so you can travel from the bathroom to the bedroom without feeling indecent.”
Pink? Gross. Pink may have been my favorite color as an adolescent, but now I was sophisticated. Almost everything I owned was in shades of black, gray, or metallic. I attempted to be grateful, though, and smiled. “Thank you.”
She smiled back and took me in for another too-tight hug. “I’m so happy you’re here,” she cooed. “It’ll be an adjustment, but you’re going to love it. You’ll see.”
She talked as though I was staying forever, and that frightened me. I suddenly felt claustrophobic in her embrace, imagining this place becoming my permanent home. It wasn’t just the small, sparse space or the single bathroom. I was unaccustomed to being stagnant. I began to feel trapped, isolated. How did I let this happen?
After my aunt left me alone to unpack, I plopped onto the bed. My energy was sapped, and I didn’t really want to take my things out. Doing that would be like admitting to myself that this was truly happening. I groaned at the thought, then reached into my backpack to retrieve my cell phone. If I was going to be bored and lonely, at least I could see what the rest of the world was doing. Except I couldn’t. I had no cell phone. I wasn’t allowed to bring it along for fear that I might contact someone and accidentally give away my location or coordinate an escape plan. What was I supposed to do if there was an emergency? How would I make a phone call? What if I wanted to order an extra-large, gluten-free, vegan-cheese pizza with kale and a side of garlic sauce?
Be It Ever So Humble Page 2
