Gently placing me in my seat of the truck, John brushed the hair from my face. I wondered what had happened to his hat. “I have to go back in there—just for a few minutes. I’ll be quick. Are you going to be okay out here?”
I nodded, and he wiped the remaining tears from my face with a handkerchief. Studying my face, he looked uncertain—like he wasn’t sure he should leave me for even a moment.
“Go,” I whimpered. “I’ll be okay here.”
John brushed the pad of his thumb along my cheekbone to catch a lingering tear and held it there for a moment. Neither of us breathed. I knew because he was so close, I would have felt it.
Then he was suddenly gone, and I was alone with my horror. I had blacked out in the grocery store and had seemingly torn up a slew of magazines during that time. Pulling down the visor, I scrutinized my face in the mirror. I had been bawling if the streams marking my cheeks were any indication. Who knows what I’d said or what else I might have done. The experience wasn’t completely unfamiliar. This wasn’t the first time I had blacked out in my life. It was probably the third or fourth, actually. My therapist had told me it was my brain’s way of protecting me from pain or painful memories. That was no consolation. The thought of being unaware of my surroundings, and of the things I was saying or doing, was unnerving.
I was ashamed that John had seen me in that state. He wouldn’t give me a hard time about this, of that I was certain. The fact that he’d seen me completely flip out in a very public place, however, was mortifying. How could I even look at him again? How could he ever take me seriously? He must have thought I was such a drama queen—everything he’d already suspected.
I buried my face in my hands and leaned into my legs. The driver’s side door opened, and I jumped and yelped.
“What? Are you okay?” John jumped, too.
I nodded and started crying again. So, clearly, I was not okay.
“Chastity...” He climbed into his seat and leaned into me, holding my shoulders again. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
Through my sobs, I had to laugh. “You’re sorry?”
“I shouldn’t have brought you here. I didn’t realize...”
He sounded genuine, and I didn’t know how to process that. I let him hold me for a little while longer. It felt nice; I felt safe in his arms. When I saw that his shirt was drenched and that my face was no longer wet, I said, “I’d like to go home now.”
He nodded and gently unfolded his arms from around me. His face looked sad and concerned, but he didn’t voice any of the thoughts swirling through his mind. John started the car, and once again, the truck's motion on the gravel road lulled me to sleep.
***
I didn’t wake up until I felt someone scoop me up and out of the truck. Through narrow eyes, I saw John’s face. He looked anxious as he carried me up the steps to the house. Kenny and Martha met him at the door, looking equally worried. I was still a bit out of it, and they didn’t notice I was awake.
“I’m sorry,” John said to them. “I shouldn’t have taken her... I should have known...”
Kenny shook his head. “How could you know something you weren’t told?”
“Don’t blame yourself,” Martha replied.
“What’s wrong with her?” I was offended until John continued, “I don’t mean what’s wrong with her. I mean, what happened?”
Martha sighed. “Now, John, that’s not really our place to tell you. Sissy’ll tell you when she’s good and ready, I’m sure.”
“Don’t you think maybe the boy should know, Martha? He has been spending an awful lot of time with her, and he might need to know how to... handle her...”
Aunt Martha gave a humorless laugh. “‘Handle her?’ She’s not a cow, Kenneth. She’s a young woman who needs our help to get through this. That’s why she’s here, and it seems like idle gossip to speak on it any further. John, all you need to know is that she’s fragile right now. Physically and emotionally. She may come across self-assured and arrogant at times, but she’s in a lot of pain.”
Arrogant? I wanted to be angry, but Martha’s speech touched my heart. Suddenly I was much more aware of my breathing and of every little twitch of my hand or flutter of my eyes. They couldn’t know I was awake—that I could hear all of this. On the other hand, didn’t they have the sense to talk about this while John wasn’t standing there holding me? Weren’t his arms getting tired? They acted like I wasn’t even there.
As if magically reading my thoughts, Martha whispered, “Well, John, why don’t you take her to bed?”
Take me to bed, indeed. My childish mind immediately took that statement to a dirty place, but nobody else was affected by it. John simply nodded and carried me off to my room. He tenderly set me on top of the bed, and I pretended to stir.
“Where am I?” I acted confused. I didn’t need to act too hard since any memories of what happened at the store were still fuzzy.
“You’re home,” John whispered, covering me with the quilt and tucking it around me.
“Home,” I thought aloud. Back at the store, I had told John I wanted to go home. I didn’t mean Los Angeles, though. I meant Kenny and Martha’s house. And now, for the second time, the word and the place connected. Home. It was a strange feeling. Perhaps I’d never thought of any place as home. Not really. I had lived so many places and had traveled to so many locations. Nothing ever felt comfortable the way Kenny and Martha’s did now. Being in that little room—my little room—with the warmth of John close by filled me with relief. Now all I wanted to do was lie in bed and never wake up. Well, not never. Not anymore. I just wanted to sleep for a week. Today’s episode had taken quite a toll on my energy.
“John, I’m sorry.” I could barely open my eyes to look at him.
I was frowning, and he stroked the deep line forming between my eyebrows. “Shhh,” he murmured. “Just rest.”
CHAPTER NINE
The next few days were a blur. I didn’t leave my room much, and Kenny and Martha left me alone for the most part. John did, too, and that bothered me more than I wanted to admit. He hadn’t come to the house since the incident. That’s what they were calling it. I overheard my aunt and uncle talking about it once while I walked from my bedroom to the bathroom.
“I knew it was bad,” Kenny mused. “I just didn’t think it was that bad.”
“Has anyone else asked you about the incident?” Martha asked.
He grunted. “John talked to Bill at the store. He said they’d make sure to keep things quiet.”
I tried to close the bathroom door quietly, but they must have heard me. They were silent then, but I wished they’d continued. So that’s what John had been doing when he went back into the store. I wondered how much he knew now. Had Kenny and Martha told him my story? Frankly, I didn’t know how much they knew. What had my mother told them? I certainly did not want to talk to them about it.
On the third day after the incident, I groggily made my way into the kitchen. I was still in my pajamas with my hair knotted atop my head. I hadn’t even looked in the mirror to check for eye crusties or drool remnants on my chin, so I was unnerved when a familiar voice said, “Hello, Chastity.”
John stood before me in the kitchen. He looked just as startled by my presence. Had he been avoiding me these past few days? I couldn’t blame him after what he’d witnessed the other day.
“What are you doing here?” I asked hastily. It came out gruffer than I’d intended. I was embarrassed to be seen in such a state, but was it really any worse than him seeing me in a total public meltdown?
John cringed slightly at my words. “Just came to check on you, bring you a couple of things. Didn’t expect I’d see you.”
“Oh,” I flushed. “Thank you.”
An awkward silence floated in the space between us, and we both avoided eye contact. Eventually, I said, “I’m sorry if I came across a little... rude. You surprised me, that’s all.”
“You surprised me, too. I thought I w
as just going to leave this here for you to find later. Ken said you were still asleep.”
I shrugged. “I was.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Well, since you’re awake, I, uh... Have a seat.” He pulled out a chair from the table and gestured toward it. I sat down and waited curiously.
John carefully pulled out a large container from a paper bag on the counter and placed its contents on the table. “I don’t know if you remember, but I’d told you about my pineapple upside-down cake.” He glanced at me for confirmation before continuing, so I nodded. “Well, I was going to teach you how to make it the other day, but... So I just decided to make it for you and bring it over. I thought maybe it would... I don’t know... make you feel better somehow...” His voice trailed off, and he looked bashful. “My mom always says there’s nothing cake can’t fix.”
I smiled for the first time since the incident. “That was very sweet of you. Thank you.”
He smiled, too. “Sweet... because it’s cake. That’s good.”
We both chuckled, and he removed the lid from the cake’s container. My breath caught when I saw it. I’d never seen such a beautiful cake. It was exactly what I would have imagined from its name. The top was covered in pineapple circles and cherries arranged like beautiful golden flowers with cherry-red centers. There was also a light glaze that had been poured over the top, cascading onto the plate in pools. It looked like a spring day after the rain had watered the flowers.
Most importantly, it smelled amazing. I wanted to dig into the cake immediately, but I didn’t want to destroy that kind of perfection. My hands cupped my face as I stared in wonder. “No one has ever made me a cake before.” It wasn’t meant to be spoken, but once again, my inner monologue made its way out.
“I’m glad I could be the first.” John smiled. “But wait, there’s more,” he said in an announcer’s voice, trying nervously to lift the tension. From another paper bag, he pulled out a vase of the most beautiful flowers. There were all kinds, but the ones I recognized were lavender, white and pink roses, and a sunflower. “These are just some wildflowers and some flowers from the garden at my house,” he downplayed the gesture, “but I thought they might brighten your room up a bit.”
“You picked these?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. I didn’t have time to go to a flower shop or anything...”
John thought I was underwhelmed because he hadn’t spent money on the flowers, when in actuality, I was overwhelmed by the sentiment. Plenty of men had bought me flowers and lavish gifts. No man had ever handpicked flowers to make a bouquet for me. I could feel my eyes clouding. Was I about to cry over cake and flowers? I didn’t think I could be any more embarrassed after what transpired in the grocery store, but tears would have pushed me over the edge. Digging my fingernails into my hand, I cleared my tightening throat. “They’re beautiful,” I managed to croak.
He nodded. “Plenty more where they came from.” Another awkward response, and I could see he was putting forth a great deal of effort to remain casual about all of this. When we met, he probably had no idea I was going to be so broken.
I frowned at the thought, and John must have misunderstood the look on my face. “If you don’t want to eat the cake, I understand. I tried to make it as ‘free’ as possible: gluten-free, dairy-free, animal-free... It was a fun challenge, actually. But it tastes good. I made a practice cake to make sure it would work.”
A practice cake? The guy not only baked me a cake, he made more than one to ensure he'd got it right. I gestured toward the chair beside me. “Would you like a piece?”
“Sure! I’ll get us some plates and stuff.” John rifled around in the cabinets for the necessary items. His nervous, excited energy made me giddy. Even if the cake had been full of gluten and dairy, I would have eaten it after that effort.
John cut the cake and placed a slice on my plate. I stared in awe. “I’ve never eaten cake for breakfast before,” I laughed and looked up at the clock. It was afternoon. “Er, lunch.”
“There’s two kinds of fruit in this, so you can think of it as a fruit salad if that helps.”
Nodding, I stuffed a forkful into my mouth. “I like the way you think.”
We sat in companionable silence as we ate. I couldn’t remember eating anything better than that cake. I devoured it too quickly and sulked as I stared at the empty plate before me. John saw my expression and asked, “Would you like another piece?” I must have looked horrified at the suggestion. “Like I said, think of it as fruit salad,” he laughed.
I grinned. “You know what? I will have another piece.” So John cut another piece for each of us, and I ate that one much slower. This time I decided to savor every bite. By the time I was finished, I felt like I could do anything. It must have been the sugar rush; this was probably more sugar than I’d ever had. I took our plates to the sink and washed them. “What now?” I asked.
John looked confused. “I don’t understand your question.”
“What are we going to do now?”
“Oh.” He paused. “I hadn’t thought past the cake really. I didn’t even think you’d be around. The plan was to leave the cake and get to work, but—”
“Well, then, I’ll help.”
He stared at me, bemused. “That must have been some good cake.”
“I’m serious.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I have to do something with all of this energy I have now.” When he still looked shocked, I argued, “Listen, this may be the only time I offer to help you with your farm work. You might as well take the deal while you can.”
John seemed to wrestle with the idea in his head for a few minutes, and I wondered if he thought I was still too fragile to do anything yet. Was that how he would see me from now on? As some insecurely woven girl struggling to keep all her threads from unraveling? I didn’t want him to think of me that way; I didn’t want to think of myself that way.
When he still said nothing, I jutted my chin out defiantly and said, “You can stand there all day if you want. I’m going to go get changed so I can get to work.”
“I’ll just be outside, then, getting some equipment ready.” He shook his head and sighed, bewildered.
“Good.” I headed off toward my bedroom but paused and turned back to ask, “There won’t be any poop in today’s work, will there?”
John laughed. “It’s not in the plan, but I can’t make any promises.”
I took that as reassuringly as I could.
CHAPTER TEN
When I emerged from my room, I was wearing the most work-friendly outfit I could find in my closet. This consisted of a pair of black yoga pants, a gray tank top, and a soft flannel plaid button-down shirt that I’d left unbuttoned at the top and tied in a knot at my waist. Just because I was going to get my hands dirty didn’t mean I wouldn’t try to look decent. I piled my hair on my head in a topknot, spritzed myself with my favorite perfume—okay, I doused myself in perfume—and swished my mouth with some mouthwash. Already I was feeling more like a human being and less like a member of the undead.
Strolling around to the back of the house, I saw John retrieving some buckets from a shed. What were those for, and did I even want to know? He smiled when he saw me. “All set?”
Surprisingly, he didn’t mention my outfit. I expected him to make some wry comment about how the cows didn’t care what I looked like. The fact that he didn’t was proof positive that he saw me differently than before. If he thought I couldn’t handle our usual banter anymore, I would just have to prove him wrong. “All set and dressed to impress.” I spun around to show off my ensemble. There was no way he could resist taking the bait.
But he only snickered and said, “All right.” Then he started walking away, carrying one of the buckets. Over his shoulder, he hollered, “Grab that other bucket, will ya? And mind your step. I’d hate for the cows to see your outfit spoiled.”
I heaved a sigh; no doubt John thought it was an exasperated response to his quip. It wasn’t. I was
merely relieved he had picked on me. Phew! Maybe he didn’t see me as broken after all. I smiled as I picked up the bucket and followed him toward the stables, taking his words seriously about “minding my step.” The last thing I wanted was a repeat of my previous farmyard experience.
When we got down to the stalls, the huge, fluffy white dog that I’d met just before my pooptastrophy greeted us. “Oh, hi girl!” Upon seeing me, she spun around a couple of times, then flopped onto her back, begging for belly rubs. This seemed to be her M.O.
“Wow!” John whistled.
I looked up at him. “What?”
“Just didn’t expect you’d be a dog-person. You two sure became fast friends.”
The dog was obviously upset that she’d lost my full attention and pawed at me. “Aw, what a good girl,” I baby-talked and went back to petting her. “You could learn a lot from...” I paused. “What’s her name?”
“Gracie.”
Hearing him say her name, Gracie jumped up and cuddle-attacked John. She was so big that she reached all the way to his chest. He scratched behind her ears, and she wagged her tail rapidly.
“Well, you could learn a lot from Gracie about how to make a good first impression. We were instant friends, and all because she knows how to treat a person.” I stood up and brushed the grass from the knees of my pants.
“I guess we could both learn a thing or two about that from Gracie,” he said pointedly.
I smirked and conceded, “Guess we could.”
John gently set Gracie’s front paws on the ground and commanded her to sit. “Now, Gracie, I’ve got work to do, but if Chastity wants to spend some more time with you—”
“I said I was going to work, and that’s what I intend to do.”
Gracie watched our back and forth like a tennis match, then trotted back to me. I ruffled the fur on her head and gave her an almost-kiss on the nose. Actually kissing a dog was where I drew the line.
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