Be It Ever So Humble

by Jenifer Jenkins

  Once again, John woke me when we arrived. “Sorry,” I said. “I’m not much company on a drive apparently. Just can’t seem to stay awake.”

  “It’s because I’m such a good driver,” he bragged.

  “Right.”

  John led me into the house, and I made a beeline for the couch. Still suffering the effects of waking up from a nap, I was too exhausted to go to my room. As my body sank into the old, cushy sofa, John called from the kitchen, “Do you want a beer?”

  “Yes,” I exhaled. Beer had never been a favorite of mine, actually. I made it a rule never to eat or drink anything that smelled and tasted of feet. Also, it typically left me feeling bloated. After the day we’d had, it sounded appealing, though. John sat beside me, and I gladly took a bottle. We clanked our glasses together before I took a big swig. Squinting at him, I asked, “How old are you?”

  “I’m twenty.”

  I scoffed in mock horror. “So, this is illegal?”

  “Nah. In Camden County? Kids here’ve been taken sips from their daddy’s beers since grade school.”

  We laughed, and as the sound tapered off, he asked, “Do you have a problem with it?”

  I shook my head. “With underage drinking? No. I’ve been doing it for years.”

  “That’s not exactly what I meant.” John stared at his bottle and rubbed the label with his thumb.

  It took a moment to catch his meaning. “Oh... You’re asking if I’m an alcoholic.”

  John nodded sheepishly, and I resisted the urge to make that clichéd “alcoholics go to meetings” joke. I hated that joke, in fact. I’d seen what alcohol could do to people when moderation was abandoned altogether, and it was no laughing matter.

  “No. I’m not an alcoholic. That’s not my problem. I mean, I have drunk myself into oblivion a time or two, but... Is that why you think I’m here?”

  John shifted in his seat, and I could tell he wasn’t used to having such serious conversations. “I don’t know why you’re here. Nobody has told me much of anything. Martha and Ken told me that you’d tell me when you were ready.”

  I respected that they’d kept my secret even after John had witnessed my episode at the store. They were always looking out for me. This was what it felt like to have people who cared for me, not for what I could do for them. I wondered if John cared for me in that way, too. He’d known who I was from the beginning, and he had kept that secret as far as I could tell. After the incident, he’d gone back into the store to do who knows what; but whatever he did, no one had come looking for me.

  I decided to start small, divulging a little something that he’d be able to digest. “My problem—well, one of my problems—is food-related. I suppose you’ve noticed that I’m very particular about what I eat?”

  John nodded.

  “Well, part of it is because I need to look good and stay fit for the cameras, but there’s more to it than that.” I took in a long breath, unsure how much I was ready to tell. “It’s sort of a control thing. I guess that’s why I don’t get drunk too often. I don’t like feeling out of control. The way I look... that’s something I can control. I can control what I eat or don’t eat; I can control how much I work out. Until I talked to my therapist about it, I honestly didn’t realize it was a problem. Not that talking to her about it made anything any different. I still have a job to do.”

  I was rambling, so I stopped. Now I stared at the label on my beer bottle, afraid of John’s reaction.

  “I guess we all have something,” he finally said. “I’m pretty attached to my family. Not just my mom, but Ken and Martha, too. They’ve been like family my whole life, and after my dad passed,” his voice trailed off. “Well, let’s just say I understand wanting to be in control of something. I suppose it’s the reason I came back.”

  We sat in the darkening living room without speaking. I’m not sure how long that lasted because it didn’t feel uncomfortable. Usually, I felt the need to fill any silence with mindless prattle just because it felt awkward. Sitting there with John in solitude, I felt comfortable. Maybe that was because we were both too exhausted to try, and that’s often what chitchat was for me. Trying. I was so used to being interviewed and having to find interesting things to talk about that, I didn’t know how to just be still when I was with someone else.

  John stood up. “Do you want another beer?”

  I nodded, surprised to find that I’d quickly finished the first one. As he headed toward the kitchen, John turned on a small lamp, and the sudden light made me yelp.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I giggled. Yelping may have been an overreaction. “I just wasn’t expecting the light.”

  “Oh. I just figured you wouldn’t want to sit around in the dark.”

  “Actually, I kinda liked it,” I admitted.

  John headed back to the living area with two more bottles in his hands. “Well, I can turn it off. Or I could light a fire in the fireplace. That might be nice.”

  Nice? It did sound nice. Maybe even romantic. I beamed. “You’re just full of good ideas.”

  He brightened and set out to the task of starting the fire. After disappearing for a few minutes, he returned with an armful of fire logs. I probably should have offered to help, but I had no idea how to start a fire. John didn’t seem to mind the work, though, and I observed him as he set up the logs. He disappeared again, this time coming back with a long lighter. He squatted down next to the fireplace, and I admired the lean muscles in his arm as he reached out to ignite a few sparks on the wood. There was something extremely hot about the whole scene, and it had nothing to do with the fire.

  After he finished and the fire began crackling to life, John turned the lamp off and rejoined me on the couch. From the corner of my eye, I noticed him looking at me like he wanted to say something. Part of me wanted this calm to last forever; yet, another part wanted to talk with him—to have more of that real conversation we’d started earlier.

  “I never apologized for being so rude to you at the airport,” he finally spoke. The new direction of the conversation was unexpected. That day felt so long ago. “I guess I was just being a little bit...”

  “Obnoxious?” I raised an eyebrow in his direction but couldn’t bear to make eye contact with him. I didn’t want to see the earnestness I knew was in his face. Honestly, I wasn’t used to people apologizing to me so often—not in a way that actually sounded sincere.

  John chuckled softly. “Yeah. I was being obnoxious, but I... It’s stupid, really...”

  “What? Come on.” I nudged him playfully in the side with my elbow.

  “I guess I just had it in my head that you were going to remember me, and when you didn’t, I was a little bit offended and sort of lashed out.” Now he was staring at his bottle again, probably afraid that I’d try to make eye contact.

  “Remember you? Why would I remember you?” Even though I wasn’t looking directly at him, I could see his body tense at my words. “Oh, that isn’t what I meant. That came out much worse than I... Please don’t take that the way it sounded.”

  “It’s fine.” John shrugged. “And you’re right. Why would you remember me?”

  He was quiet again, but this time I didn’t like it. The peace from before had now warped into uneasiness. I thought I would have to apologize some more to coax him into further conversation, but he continued, “You see, when I was a kid, you put on this fundraiser for my dad.”

  “I remember,” I stopped him. “I didn’t at first. That was sort of a whirlwind summer. I barely knew where I was most of the time. Kenny and Martha reminded me the first day I was back. Your dad is Will Reed?”

  “He was. He passed away a couple of years later.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Suddenly I wanted to wrap him in a hug and maybe stroke his soft, blonde hair and whisper that everything was going to be all right, as if it had just happened. The idea of hugging John filled me with dread and longing simultaneously.

  “He wasn’t su
pposed to make it much longer, and this may sound ridiculous, but I always thought he held on because of you.”

  “Me? All I did was sing a couple of songs and auction off a few props.”

  John shook his head and looked at me. I was surprised to see that his eyes were cloudy as if he could cry if he let himself. “I think you gave him hope. He saw how many people cared about him in this town, how many people genuinely wanted and needed him around. I think he kept fighting because of that. He got better, and for a while, we thought maybe he was gonna beat it. He held out as long as he could, but his body couldn’t take it anymore.”

  There was a long, gloomy silence. I thought I might be sadder than he was. After all, he’d had longer to deal with it. “It must have been unbearable losing a parent at the age, especially a son losing his father,” I finally responded. “I can’t imagine that kind of pain. My father has never been a part of my life. Sometimes I wonder if he knows I’m alive or if my mother even knows who he is. I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose my mom. Sure, we don’t always agree on things, and some people would call our relationship, well, symbiotic. But we love each other. My mother loves me in her own way. She must if she was willing to send me here to recuperate after everything that happened.”

  God, what had happened? Suddenly, I needed to talk about it. I needed to tell John. Perhaps it was because we had a history together, or maybe it was because he’d opened up to me about his dad. I looked straight ahead into a haze of flames and decided to pour it all out. “I tried to kill myself.”

  I don’t know if I expected him to gasp or laugh or throw holy water on me, but he didn’t do any of those things. He just looked at me solemnly, as if to say, “Keep going.”

  “I felt so alone for so long. I know it sounds ridiculous for someone famous to feel that way, but I did. It can be a very isolating business. I’ve never had real friends, and I feel lonelier in a room full of people than when I’m by myself. I had a boyfriend. Cooper. He was the one you saw me with in New York. He’s the only serious boyfriend I’ve ever had. Anyway, Cooper was older and experienced and influential in the business. I guess that’s what I liked about him. And he promised to help get my career back on track.

  “But there were always rumors about him hooking up with this woman or that woman. I didn’t want to believe it. In Hollywood, there is a ton of gossip. It’s not always true. So I just ignored the rumors and the signs. God, there were so many signs. I should have known... Then I literally walked in on him in bed with not one, but two women. He was directing a film in Hawaii, and I flew in to surprise him. My plan was to set up his hotel room with candles, roses, champagne... I guess I’m a hopeless romantic,” I laughed bitterly.

  “Anyway, I hadn’t realized vodka, margaritas, and ménage à trois were already on the menu. I screamed words I’ve never uttered in my life and threw anything that wasn’t nailed down. I know Cooper ran out wearing nothing more than his boxers, and his ladies were probably lucky to swipe a sheet or pillow from the bed.

  “When they were gone, I bolted and locked the door so I could be alone to fume and just bawl my eyes out. I grabbed the tequila bottle from the bar—it was a suite, of course—and finished it off.

  “I vaguely remember getting plastered, staggering into the bathroom, and climbing into the double garden tub. To be honest, I don’t remember much else. I sort of blacked out. When I woke up in the hospital, they told me I tried to slit my wrist with Cooper’s disposable razor.” Biting my lip, I flipped my wrist upside down to show John the fading scars. Feeling uneasy and doubtful he could see anything in the firelight, I tried to joke, “Guess it’s a good thing Cooper didn’t use a fancy straight razor.”

  He made no noise, and I couldn’t stand the silence. “Sometimes, I get these flashes of memories. The razor. My blood. And sometimes I can’t tell if I’m remembering my suicide attempt or an episode of Where’s Rosie. In one of the episodes, I... er ... Rosie... rescues a cat that’s been hit by a car. Rosie was always doing heroic things with animals. Anyway, I had to work with a robotic cat and about a gallon of fake blood. Fake blood is the oddest consistency; it’s sticky, and it smells sweet. And it looks authentic. I mean, what is wrong with me, right? I can’t remember if my flashbacks are my own or my character’s?

  “I haven’t talked to anyone about any of that. My mother knows, obviously, and I honestly don’t know what Kenny and Martha know. The plan to send me here was made while I was still in the hospital. I wasn’t consulted in any of it.”

  I was relieved to finally talk to someone about all of this. That was, until I noticed that John still hadn’t said anything. Maybe he’d fallen asleep. Maybe he was horrified by my story, and he’d never want to speak to me again. When I finally looked at him, I didn’t see horror in his eyes, but awe. John set his bottle down and reached over, cupping my face in both of his hands. They were softer than I’d expected and cool from holding the glass. He looked into my eyes sincerely, unflinchingly. It was overwhelming. The intensity of his gaze seemed to shoot directly into my soul. He stared at me as if trying to communicate through his eyes that everything would be all right.

  Eventually, he dropped his hands from my face and took my hand in his. We sat in peaceful silence again. As the wood crackled and the flames danced in the fireplace, I found it ironic that I could never have imagined such bliss.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I awoke to the sound of the house phone ringing and blearily made my way into the kitchen to answer. John beat me to it, having slept on the couch the night before. I listened as he made vague, one-word responses. Then he handed the phone to me. “It’s Martha,” was the only information he offered.

  I took the phone and said, “Hello? Aunt Martha?”

  “Yes, dear,” she responded. “How are you doing, Sissy?”

  “I’m fine. What about you? How are you? How’s Uncle Kenny doing?”

  My aunt sighed. “Well, they want him to stay at least another night for observation. Which brings me to my next question.” She hesitated, and I began to worry. “Would it be all right if I stay here tonight and John stays there with you again?”

  “Oh,” I breathed, “of course. That’s not a problem at all. I was afraid something was really wrong.”

  “You’re getting along, then?” she asked. I could hear the hopefulness in her voice.

  “Sure, sure.”

  She let out an exaggerated phew and said, “Well, we’re glad to hear it. I was a bit concerned that you wouldn’t like the arrangement. Especially not for two days. Even if Kenneth needs to stay here any longer, I’ll come home tomorrow no matter what.”

  “Please don’t worry about me. You stay there with Uncle Kenny and make sure he’s okay. Really. I will be fine. If you’re worried about either of us in this arrangement, you should worry about John. He has his hands full with me, you know.” Even though I was trying to play nice, I wasn’t about to let her forget their “handful” comment from my first day here. “And I’m sure you have your hands full at the hospital.”

  “Ask her if they need us to bring anything,” John spoke loudly enough that she could hear him in the receiver.

  I started to relay the question, “John wants to know—”

  “Yes, dear, I heard,” Aunt Martha responded. “And, no, we will be just fine. You two take care of each other. I have to go. Doctor Gerry just walked in. Bye-bye.”

  My aunt hung up the phone, and I followed suit. I began to relay the message to John, but he cut me off. “I heard her. Those old phones are so loud.” He smiled and casually leaned back against the counter. “So... what should we do today?”

  ***

  After I made myself presentable, I hopped in the truck with John. I told him he could decide our adventure for the day, as I had no idea what there was to do in these parts. These parts, I laughed to myself. Their country lingo was really starting to creep into my speech—my thoughts, even.

  “Where are you taking me?” I ask
ed.

  John shook his head as he skillfully backed his truck out of the driveway. “You’ll see,” was his only response.

  I pretended to pout, knowing full well that it wouldn’t work on him. It didn’t, and I gave up quickly. “Can I at least have a hint?”

  He thought for a moment and said, “Okay, then. A riddle: What has a mouth but no tongue?”

  I frowned. “Is that some kind of a sex joke?”

  “No,” John sputtered. His face turned several shades of red, and his eyes widened. “It’s just a riddle.”

  “You should see your face.” I placed my hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh. “I didn’t know a person’s face could turn Crayon Red.”

  John sighed melodramatically. “Here I am trying to do something nice, and you have to make a joke of it. A sex joke, for that matter.”

  The corners of his mouth turned up slightly, and his eyes twinkled, so I knew he wasn’t seriously upset. I was thankful for that. I didn’t want to deal with Brooding John today, especially after our talk last night.

  Thinking back on all that had passed, I was shocked by how easily we could go about our day as if we hadn’t had such an earth-shatteringly intimate, albeit bizarre, moment the night before. John had held my face in his hands, and he’d just stared at me. No, it was more than staring. His eyes bore holes into my own until he seemed to gaze into the depths of my being. Perhaps that was a tad over-the-top, but the whole incident was unnerving now that I thought about it. I felt exposed, and I wasn’t sure if John was trying too hard now to lighten the mood or if he just wanted to pretend it had never happened.

  I rolled down my window, suddenly needing some air as I remembered gazing into those blue pools he called eyes. As the wind wafted past me, I inhaled the heavenly aroma of the soap I’d used earlier. “I just love that soap Aunt Martha has,” I said, changing the subject.