It should have been obvious to me. Everyone has problems. It doesn’t matter where you live or your circumstances; bad things happen, and they can happen to anybody. Maybe if I’d stopped worrying about my own issues, I would have seen that. I was too self-absorbed, though. I just grimaced at him as if to say, “I doubt it.”
“Do most of the problems stem from boredom? “I asked flatly.
John burst with laughter. This habit of his to laugh at my earnest questions and statements was frustrating, but I also kind of liked it. Perhaps he’d want to keep me around if he found me slightly amusing.
“We get bored here, but I’d venture to guess people on the coast get bored, too.”
That was true. Before I’d been forced to hide out here, I had become uninterested in just about everything. “I figured you were the type of people who lived life by the bootstraps—or whatever that saying is—and didn’t have time for problems because you’re too busy working the land... and stuff,” I trailed off, and the statement ended up sounding more like a question.
“People have problems whether they have time for them or not. And I think the phrase is ‘pull yourself up by the bootstraps.’”
“Hm. I guess not having time to face your problems can ultimately make them worse.”
John cracked a smile. “That is very insightful.”
That smile made me melt. John thought I was insightful. It was better than being told I was beautiful.
I sat down on the couch, and John sat beside me. It was quiet for a moment. No doubt, we were both having deep internal dialogues with ourselves.
John spoke first. “This may sound ridiculous because I hardly knew you, but I’ve admired you ever since I was a kid. What you did for my dad was kind. You try to hide it, but you’re a good person. And you have this strength about you.”
“Strength?” I snorted.
“Yes. Strength. I’m even more sure of that now that you’ve told me about your past.”
“You might think I’m strong, but only because you think I’m damaged.” I paused, gathering my alleged strength. “Yesterday, I felt like we had this spark. Like maybe this could become something.” I motioned toward him and myself, so I wouldn’t have to elaborate. “You’re not the kind of person I would expect to be with or to even want to be friends with. No offense.”
“None taken, I guess?”
“Somehow, even though I don’t feel like you understand me most of the time—”
“And you don’t understand me—”
“You get me.” I shrugged. “Maybe we’ve been pretending not to because we were afraid of what that could mean.”
John took my hand in his and squeezed gently. He didn’t say anything.
“But, last night, I let my guard down in spite of myself, and I shouldn’t have. Because now you know me too well. Before, you could have just believed that I was silly and shallow—yet obviously adorable—but now... Admit it, John. You don’t want me anymore now that you think I’m broken.”
“Broken? I don’t think you’re broken.” He cupped my chin in his hand and turned my head so I was forced to look at him, our faces only inches apart. “I think you’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever met. I was up all night thinking about this. When you told me about your past, it made me realize that you had these men using you from a very young age, making you feel like all you are is sex. And I don’t want to be that guy. I want you. Believe me, I do. But I don’t want to hinder your recovery. I want you to get better, and I want you to feel like a whole person. I don’t want you to feel like the only way you can be a whole person is by becoming the other half of me. I want you to feel okay in your own skin, you know? Then, when that happens, maybe we can give this thing a try.”
I couldn’t remember the last time somebody truly considered my feelings in any matter, especially when it came to the physical. I wanted to cry, I wanted to laugh, but I couldn’t say anything. It was kind of irritating that I had to have a guy give me this feminist lecture. He was right, though. I wasn’t just a body; I was so much more. I didn’t know what yet exactly. All I knew was that I should probably figure that out. I didn’t want my self-confidence to depend upon a guy wanting to be with me. I wanted to be happy with myself first.
I rested my head on John’s shoulder, and he wrapped an arm tightly around me as if to help hold me together. “So, we’re okay?” I asked meekly.
“Yeah. We’re okay.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“I hope you were able to scrounge for some food while we were gone,” Aunt Martha said when she and Uncle Kenny arrived later that day.
She helped Kenny to his favorite recliner in the living room, and John followed behind with the bag of items they’d accumulated during their hospital stay.
“We did. John was an excellent babysitter,” I joked, and John subtly winked at me from behind them. Did my heart actually skip a beat?
Martha clapped her hands. “Well, I imagine it was good for you to spend some time together without us old folks. You two got along all right, then?”
If I hadn’t seen Kenny in that hospital bed looking pale as his sheets and hooked up to every machine they could cram into the room, I would’ve thought it had been a setup. They had been trying to get John and me together from the moment I arrived.
“John’s an adult, and Sissy is practically an adult, Martha. I’m sure they managed without us just fine,” Kenny chuckled. I should have been offended that he said I was “practically an adult,” but I decided to let that one slide given the circumstances. Martha brought a pillow over from one of the couches, and he added, “I am an adult and can manage just fine, too. I don’t want everybody fussin’ over me. I’m fine. It was just a small episode. No need to worry.”
“Of course,” I agreed with him diplomatically. “I’m sure with a little rest, you’ll be up and running in no time.”
“A little rest,” Kenny scoffed. “I had my rest in the hospital. Give me one night’s sleep in my own bed, and I’ll be good as new.”
Martha lightly smacked his arm. “You aren’t seriously thinking about going back to work tomorrow.” It was definitely not a question. She knew he was, and she was making her disapproval known.
“Now, Martha, you know I can’t sit around when there’s work to be done.”
“You heard what the doctor said, Kenneth Sullivan.” Martha shook her finger in Kenny’s face. She didn’t elaborate, which made me wonder what I’d missed by not staying. Uncle Kenny scowled, and I wasn’t sure if it was because he’d heard his full name spoken or because he remembered the doctor’s orders.
“We can take care of everything,” John interjected. “Chastity and I.”
My aunt and uncle wore identical expressions—their brows wrinkling up to their foreheads. “The two of you are going to run this place?” Kenny stifled a laugh.
“Why is that so funny?” I pouted like a child. “I’ve been helping since I got here. I know the ropes.”
John nodded enthusiastically. “She really has learned a lot, Ken. We can run things until you’re ready.”
Kenny looked like he’d protest, but must have thought better of it when he looked at Aunt Martha. Though I could only see the back of her head, I was sure she was giving him her stern, don’t-even-think-about-arguing-with-me look. Kenny studied John and me before conceding, “I’ll let you two have a test run tomorrow. If the place doesn’t burn down—and you don’t kill one another—well, maybe I’ll consider it a vacation.”
Martha squealed and clasped her hands together. “I think that’s just wonderful,” she gushed.
“All right then.” John shook Kenny’s hand to seal the deal. “I’ll be heading out. I’ve got some work to catch up on at the old homestead.” He took his now infamous cowboy hat from the hook by the door and placed it on his head. “We’ll have an early day ahead of us tomorrow, Chas.” Then he tipped his hat to me like he was in an old western movie. Man, he was cheesy, but I appreciated the levity.
I shook my head and tried no to let my face betray just how hard I was crushing on him. “You really think I can help? I won’t get in your way?” I asked, following him to his truck.
“Sure.” He buried his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and raised his shoulders. I wasn’t sure why I found the action so charming, but I did. “I think you can do anything you want to.” Then he amended, “Plus, I’m an excellent teacher, you know. Some would even say I’m wise.”
Wise indeed. In the last couple of days, I’d learned that John was insightful, sage, and kind. Until Kenny and Martha returned, I’d spent most of the day resting my head on his shoulder. We didn’t talk much, but that didn’t bother me. His presence calmed me. I was excited to work with him the next day because it meant we’d spend more time together. All I wanted was more time with John.
As if reading my thoughts, John nudged me in the arm. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Don’t be late,” I warned, shaking my finger at him like Martha had done with Kenny.
“Me?” he laughed. “I’m a very punctual person. You, on the other hand... well, make sure you’re dressed appropriately. Wouldn’t want you to ruin anything else. You remember what happened the last time.”
“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”
John flashed a toothy grin. “Not a chance.”
With that, he bowed out and drove away. I instantly missed him once he was gone, but I remembered what he’d said about me being a whole person on my own. I didn’t want to be half a person. I didn’t want to rely on someone else to complete me or to give me my happiness.
Walking back into the house, I had resolved not to think of John again for the rest of the day. Then Aunt Martha said, “You two sure are cute.”
Cute? If there was one word I hated, it was cute. Perhaps that was because people had been calling me that since I started portraying Rosie on television. When I attempted my transition from child star to adult star, or at least semi-adult star, I had wanted that word to be erased from my description. I wanted to be sexy. I wanted others to describe me that way. Sometimes I went overboard trying to be seen that way.
Suddenly, the word cute didn’t have such a negative connotation anymore, not when it was used about John and me. I had to admit I thought John and I were pretty cute, too. We were comfortable with one another, but shy. We had a history that we were only now aware of. Or maybe I was the one becoming aware. It seemed John had a history with me that I’d known nothing about. While that would typically seem stalker-level creepy, John had made up parts of our history out of necessity.
“I’m bored already.” I hadn’t realized I’d spoken the words until I heard Kenny and Martha tittering.
“Well, don’t worry about that!” Martha exclaimed. “I’ve got something for you to do.”
I groaned. Perhaps boredom would have been better than what she was about to offer. “And that is...?”
“Be patient,” she laughed. “I’m going to change out of these clothes and freshen up. Kenneth, why don’t you try to entertain this girl why I’m away?”
I sat on the couch across from him and realized we didn’t have much to talk about. “So...” I fumbled for something. “Are you glad to be home?”
“I am.” He gave me a knowing smile but said no more. My uncle was really good at that knowing look. It was like he was looking through or, rather, into you. When I was the one on the other end of that stare, it was unsettling. What did he know? Or what did he think he knew? He was probably thinking about my alone time with John these last couple of days. I wondered if he thought we’d been crazy or irresponsible. Was he happy about his assumptions? Was he disappointed? Did he want to rough John up a little for it?
“I appreciate you helping out around here, Sissy,” Uncle Kenny continued. “Don’t know what we would have done if you weren’t here when all of that happened. Martha’s awful grateful for your help, I’m sure.”
“Well, I really didn’t do much.”
“But you were here,” he assured me. “Sometimes that’s all it takes.”
“I guess... Like the way you were there for me when I needed it. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t taken me in. Things were really bad, and I think it was good that I got away from all of that. So, thank you. I know I haven’t been the easiest to live with.”
Kenny stood up and pulled me into his arms in a massive bear hug. It was unexpected. Even more unexpected were the tears I saw clouding his eyes when he drew away. He looked into my eyes and shook his head. “No, Chastity. I don’t think I deserve any thanks. I haven’t done nearly enough for you over the years. And while the reason for your being here isn’t what I’d hoped it’d be... Well, I’m just tickled to pieces that you’re here now. Makes this place feel complete.”
I didn’t quite understand why he was so emotional, but it touched me. Tears threatened to spill out of my own eyes, too, and I was not in the mood for a sob fest. I sat back on the couch and said, “Shouldn’t you be resting? Don’t want to end up back in the hospital, do you?”
He sighed and eased himself back into his chair. “Wouldn’t want that. I want to be here for you as long as we’ve got.”
“As long as we’ve got? That’s not comforting.”
Aunt Martha walked into the living room, utterly unaware of the somber conversation she was interrupting. “Well, I’m about as fresh as I can be now. Ready to help me out, Sis?”
Kenny nonchalantly wiped at his eyes. “I believe she is, Martha. I think I’ll just rest in this chair for a bit before I hit the hay.” He seemed relieved that our encounter had been cut short. I, however, was left feeling puzzled and uneasy.
“No time like the present then,” Martha said. She patted me on the back and began nudging me down the hallway until we came to the door at the end. It led to the basement. I hadn’t been in the basement of that house since I was a kid, and I’d forgotten how bad it used to spook me. After all, I’d only been down there once or twice in the middle of the night when a tornado siren blared.
As we walked down the old wooden stairs, the smell surprised me. I expected it to smell dank and musty with a hint of mothballs. Yet, as I reached the bottom few stairs, I was hit—no, not hit, caressed—with the heady scent of flowers.
The basement didn’t look like anything special. It had a concrete floor painted gray and concrete walls painted white. Shelves filled to the max with boxes and bins lined one wall, and on the opposite wall was a refrigerator-freezer combo next to a large sink and counter space. In the middle was a kitchen island covered with a 1970’s flowered vinyl tablecloth. On the back wall was a smaller set of shelves with what looked like kitchenware and wooden boxes.
“What is all of this?” I asked. “It looks like a 1970’s medieval torture chamber.”
“It’s my workshop,” Martha answered with a smile as she pulled a few things off the back shelves. “You’ll need a pair of gloves and some eye protection,” she handed me those things, “and you can wear this apron.”
The apron was made of the same floral vinyl as the tablecloth. Aunt Martha strapped a matching one around her waist. “I made these myself,” she shared. “Now, put on your gloves and goggles, and we’ll get started.”
“Okay. What exactly are we doing?”
“Thought it was about time I taught you how to make that soap you love so much,” Martha said as she pulled out various bowls and utensils.
My brow furrowed. “You mean you really do make that soap?”
“With my own two hands,” she chuckled. “Seeing’s how you seem to use a lot of it, I thought you might want to know how to make more. I like to give them out as gifts, you see. Thought I’d make up a batch so I can take some down to the hospital in appreciation for everything they did for Kenneth.”
“John told me you made those soaps, but I guess I didn’t really believe him. They’re so...”
“Elegant and refined? And I’m so... not?” she ribb
ed.
I shook my head. “No, I wasn’t going to say that.” But, inevitably, I would have said something similar or just as offensive if she hadn’t said it first.
“It’s something I do to relax,” she explained. “Some days Ken’ll be out working late, and I’ll be bored out of my mind with my usual work. That’s when I come down here and regroup. You’d be amazed at how therapeutic it can be. And, of course, there’s the essential oils. I sniff a few of those, and,” she inhaled with a flourish, “instant relaxation.”
I was fascinated by this new information I was learning from my aunt. How could I have lived here for almost a month without knowing this? “Wow, Aunt Martha, you are full of surprises.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” she muttered. “But, no time to get into that. For now, would you grab an ice cube tray out of the freezer for me?”
Pulling a tray from the top shelf of the freezer, I recoiled. “I think there’s something wrong with your ice.” It was off-white.
“That’s because it isn’t water. It’s milk.”
“I didn’t know you could freeze milk,” I mused. “Why would you do that?”
“We’re making the soap out of it. It stays a nicer color if you start off with it frozen.”
My jaw dropped open. “So you actually make it out of that? I thought John was just harassing me. You mean to say that I’ve been bathing in goat’s milk this whole time?” Ew. I’d seen first hand where that came from.
Aunt Martha chortled. “Well, I’m sure it’s no worse than what’s in those fancy serums and moisturizers you’ve got upstairs. I hear they’re using snail mucus in that stuff now.”
“What? Gross!” I squealed and made a mental note to check all of my toiletries for that ingredient before using them again.
“You can drink goat’s milk. If it’s okay to drink, surely it’s okay to put on your body. In fact, it’s better than okay. It’s incredibly moisturizing.”
That was true. My skin had never felt as soft as it had recently. I figured it was the soap because I’d assumed it was some fancy Parisian brand that used... I didn’t know... the actual tears of angels.
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