Be It Ever So Humble

by Jenifer Jenkins

  “Soon,” I said. “I just need to be ready, and I don’t want to see him until then. If I do, I might not be able to wait.” My cheeks tingled. I’d never talked so candidly with my uncle.

  “You’re blushing,” Kenny poked.

  “No, I’m not,” I huffed. “I just got warm ducking down like that. I must be out of shape.”

  “Uh-huh. Whatever you say, kid.”

  I couldn’t help but smile back at him. This new relationship we were forming was kind of sweet. We got our desserts and ate them at the same table John and I had occupied weeks ago. I chose a cherry slush this time since I wasn’t keen on having another dairy-induced stomachache. My uncle and I talked about random stuff like the rumors of piranhas in the lake they frequented. He told me piranhas couldn’t survive the cold winters, so people weren’t too worried about it. Kenny said he grew up going to the lake with his father, and he’d love to take me sometime. We could rent a boat and go waterskiing and tubing, or we could fish. He’d let me decide. It sounded fantastic. I could see myself being a natural at that kind of thing. Well, maybe not a natural. I remembered seeing the murky water when I’d been to the cave and wasn’t sure I was ready to plunge into it. Perhaps I’d start slow by sitting on a dock or a boat, sunbathing. Next thing, I’d be in the water, skiing one-handed and doing flips like a pro.

  Before we left, we bought Aunt Martha a shake because that was the best ice cream product to last the long car ride home. As I drove, I began rambling to Kenny about the things I’d done in town, which wasn’t an extensive list, and the things I wanted to do eventually. I found myself telling him about the Bridal Cave and how I’d worried John took me there to get married in some weird, ritualistic ceremony.

  Kenny guffawed. “You weren’t really scared of that, were you?”

  “Not really.”

  “He’s a good kid. I’ve known him his whole life. Wouldn’t have let him near you if I didn’t trust him like my own son.”

  “I know.” I shrugged. “It’s just how my mind works sometimes.”

  Kenny’s face changed, and he looked concerned. “We didn’t push him on you too much, did we? We wanted you to have a friend here. We knew you two had a history. I s’pose Martha and I haven’t figured out how to do this thing yet. I mean, we’re not raising you. You’re a grown woman. And you turned out pretty well all things considered.”

  I hooted. “That’s the nicest non-compliment compliment I’ve ever heard.”

  “It wasn’t meant to be offensive. I just mean you’ve lived a different kind of life than most folks.”

  “I know,” I assured him.

  He rubbed his shoulder, looking anxious. “I just want to do right by you, Sissy.”

  “You have.” When he didn’t look convinced, I continued, “You took me in when I had nowhere else to go. You cared for me and put up with my attitude. You even bought me a car that I had to earn. Frankly, I’ve never felt so parented.”

  He cleared his throat. “That’s good to know.”

  Glancing over, I could see that Kenny’s eyes were clouding. “But let’s talk about something less serious. I’ve cried enough lately—sad and happy tears.”

  Kenny covertly wiped at his eyes and obliged. “I was gonna tell you that there are plenty of other caves in the area if you liked the Bridal Cave. Tighter spaces, too, so we could go spelunking if you’re feeling adventurous.”

  “Sounds fun. Let me get some things in order first. Then, I’ll be ready to go on all kinds of adventures with you.”

  “Some things in order?”

  I smiled reassuringly. “All good things. Trust me.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Phase two of my plan involved a lot of phone calls. I had to go into town to get the best reception on my cell, and I still needed access to the Internet. Kenny hooked me up with just the person to help in my super-stealth mission.

  When I parked in the lot at the grocery store, I had to coax myself out of a panic attack. “They’re gone,” I told myself. “And, anyway, they can’t hurt you anymore.” That was the breakthrough I’d come to during my basement meditation. Now that everything was out in the open, I could stop living in fear of my truth. It was somewhat liberating.

  I found Old Bill the store manager right away and thanked him for allowing me to use his office and computer.

  “That’s alright,” he responded. “When Kenny called me and told me you had some big surprise to plan, well, that was enough for me. You know I can keep a secret. No one’ll know you’re here. I’ll put a sign up on the door so no one disturbs you.” He let me into his office and left me to my mysterious work. There were perks to knowing the store manager.

  I sat down in the wobbly, old office chair at Bill’s desk and was relieved to see that he at least had an updated desktop computer to work with. In front of the keyboard was a little jar with a note attached. It read: “In case you need a pick me up.” The jar was filled with trail mix, and beside it were two large water bottles. Old Bill was easily my favorite person in town. Well, he was really the only person I knew in town.

  Staring at my phone’s home screen, I tried to steel myself for my first task. The wallpaper image was of a batch of heart-shaped soaps. I’d changed it from the one my mother had added originally. I didn’t want to see her smiling up at me every time I used my phone. The mere thought of hearing her voice sent me into a panic attack.

  Just pull the Band-Aid off, Chastity.

  I hit the phone icon on the screen and found the contact labeled MOM, which wasn’t hard to find since she’d made herself my one and only favorite. With trepidation, I tapped her name, and the phone began to ring. Part of me hoped she wouldn’t answer, but I needed her to.

  It rang once. It rang twice. Maybe I would just leave a message.

  “Chastity?” My mom sounded surprised. Of course she did. I’d made it very clear that I wanted nothing more to do with her. She’d tried calling and texting since her visit, but I ignored all of her attempts.

  “Hello,” I tried to keep my voice neutral.

  Neither of us said anything for several seconds. Finally, my mom asked, “Are you ready to come home, then?”

  I blew out the air I’d been holding onto. “No.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’m calling because I want my money,” I said.

  More silence.

  “I’m afraid that’s out of the question, Chastity,” my mother responded icily. “You haven’t proven you can handle that kind of responsibility.”

  I figured she wasn’t going to just hand it over, but her words stung. “Responsibility? You’ve never given me a chance to prove...” No. I would not allow her to derail this conversation. If I argued with her now, I might never get what I wanted, what I needed. “It’s my money. I earned it.”

  “Earned it? You were just a child. You’re still a child. You earned that money through me, and you’ll get that money when I want you to. Truth be told, I’ve been looking into a conservatorship.”

  I was stunned. Didn’t see that coming. “A conservatorship? Like what Britney Spears has?” I didn’t understand how it all worked, but I knew it was something people were forced into when others thought they weren’t of sound mind. Or when parents were extra controlling and greedy, I thought. “You can’t do that. I haven’t shaved my head or attacked anyone with an umbrella.”

  “You tried to kill yourself, Sis.” The way she said Sis now sounded like a serpent, and it made me feel queasy.

  “I did,” I admitted, “but I’m not going to do that again. I’m better now.”

  “How can you be so sure?” she asked. “Who’s to say you don’t have some equally awful breakup with John,” she growled his name, “and make another attempt on your life? You see, baby, I’m looking out for you. Do you know how many child stars waste their money in their early years and are left with nothing?”

  Wow. I guess I wasn’t fully prepared for this phone call after all. I thought my mom would g
ive me a fight, but she was delivering some seriously low blows. It took several moments to steady my heart rate so I could take back control of the discussion. “Mother, you will give me my money. All of it. Because if you don’t, I will tell the press everything. I will tell them how you knew of my sexual abuse and did nothing; I will tell them how you pressured me into a relationship with Cooper for the fame; and, I will tell them how you leaked all of my secrets. I will hold nothing back, and you will be lucky to come out of it with any notable contacts or business dealings. So you see,” I used my best impression of her, “it would behoove you to cooperate.”

  Of course, my mother didn’t believe I had the guts to do it. She told me as much. She didn’t realize that I had nothing left to lose. My secrets were already exposed. What did I care if hers were, too? They’d only make her look bad. With a click of the mouse, I emailed her the drafted letter I planned to send to all of the leading news outlets. It was entitled Chastity Sullivan: In My Own Words. It was a brutal expose of the mother who’d failed me in the one way I needed her most. I was quite proud of it.

  “Check your email,” I commanded.

  She read through the letter and, unsurprisingly, changed her tune. I wondered if she felt remorse at all or if self-preservation was her only motivator. We soon came to the terms of our agreement. She would keep twenty percent of what I’d earned while under her guardianship and transfer the rest to my account. Then she would give me full access to the account, and I’d immediately have her removed.

  “But, you’ll see, baby,” my mother pleaded her case one final time. “Eventually, you’ll see this is a mistake. You’ve never made decisions on your own. You don’t know how to get on without me.”

  “That’s true,” I conceded, “but that’s also just a part of growing up. Goodbye, Mother.”

  I couldn’t believe it had worked out so easily. Then again, I knew my mother’s reputation meant more to her than money. It was liberating to know that I would no longer have to rely on her for anything. I felt free.

  After that, I spent the rest of the week using Bill’s office as if it was my own until all of my phone calls were made. Once phase two was officially complete, I packed up my temporary office and made my way back into the store. I thanked Bill for his help and decided to meander around for a bit to pick up a few items. For me, this was a test of my bravery. Could I walk around out in the open now that potentially everyone knew who I was? Did I want to accidentally catch a headline on a magazine that was aimed at my situation? I strolled through what passed for a beauty aisle in the store. There were only three makeup brands featured and a column for each type of product after that. I was appalled by the soap selection. There were only two brands to choose from, and they would both leave my skin dry and flaky if I used them regularly. Visions of my soaps on those shelves scrolled through my thoughts.

  “Chastity?” a voice asked. I braced myself. It could have been a reporter. Or worse, it could have been John. I didn’t want to have our conversation in the middle of the cosmetics aisle with Maybelline and L’Oreal listening. I had it all planned out in my head, and this would ruin everything. “You are Chastity, aren’t you?”

  I reluctantly turned and was greeted by a familiar face. “Oh, hi,” I said. “Tim, right?”

  “You remembered my name!” He beamed as if that little detail had made his day.

  “Of course.” I smiled back, relieved I had gotten it right. “You gave John and me that tour at the cave.”

  He bobbed his head emphatically. “That’s right. I mean, I thought you looked familiar then, but it was dark, you know? And I remember thinking, ‘There’s no way that girl is his cousin.’ You guys seemed a little too close for cousins.” He nudged me, a too-familiar gesture for our short acquaintance.

  “Yeah, we’re not cousins,” I conceded.

  Tim laughed and punched one of his fists into his other palm. “Man, I can’t believe John’s banging Chastity Sullivan.”

  “Gross.” I shuddered.

  His laughter stopped abruptly, and his face turned fifty shades of embarrassment. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean... I just assumed. But, of course, you wouldn’t be with somebody like him.”

  “Oh, that’s not why I said gross. We’re not... but that’s none of your business. I just hate that term ‘banging.’”

  “Right. Yeah, like... so do I,” he stammered.

  This conversation had gone from slightly amusing to rather offensive. It was time to bow out. “Well, I have to go.”

  “It was great seeing you again. Don’t tell John I said that about banging... er, you know. I was just nervous. I’ve never talked to a celebrity before. Well, I guess I talked to you before I knew who you were, but now that I know...”

  I was already walking away and called back, “Don’t worry. I won’t tell him.”

  Rounding the corner, I nearly bumped into Bill. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “One of my employees told me you were being harassed in aisle three.”

  I chuckled. Perhaps if I wrote a tell-all one day, I would name it Harassed in Aisle Three. “Don’t worry. I got out of it. You really are my bodyguard, huh?” I lightly punched him on his arm.

  The old man looked flattered. “Just know that anytime you’re in my store, you’re safe.”

  “I know,” I said, “and it means a lot. Thank you.” Then I did something that shocked even me. I gave Old Bill a great big bear hug. “Bye, Bill.”

  Leaving the store was the beginning of Phase Three. This was also the final phase. Well, the final phase before actually living the plan. I was going to finally have my talk with John. The conversation I had prepared played on repeat in my head. I had memorized everything I wanted to say, and I didn’t want to leave a word out. It was all too important.

  Many of the phone calls I’d made during my planning were to John’s mom. She was a co-conspirator in my scheme. I pulled up to the house, and she came running out to greet me. She gave me a warm hug and was teary-eyed when she pulled away. “I think what you’re doing is so generous,” she bubbled. “I don’t wanna get all weepy. When you’re done talking to John, I have a homemade pie waiting for you. Actually, I have several. I didn’t know what kind you’d like.”

  I smiled. “I’m sure I’ll like all of them.”

  “John’s out back.” She pointed and shooed me away before stage-whispering, “Good luck!”

  Why did she think I needed luck? This was going to go well, wasn’t it? Or did she know something I didn’t? Maybe John was mad at me for not trusting him. Maybe I’d waited too long to come to him. Maybe he’d moved on and found someone else. These were things I should have thought about before I’d arrived, not when I was literally running toward John. I stopped running, deciding I didn’t want to be out of breath or sweaty for our reunion. I began walking and focusing on my breathing. It had been so long since I’d concentrated on my one hundred breaths. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. I stopped. There he was, bouncing a basketball next to a hoop nailed to a tree. He squatted and jumped to land a perfect goal. That was the right word for it, wasn’t it? Or was that in soccer? I didn’t know much about sports.

  “He shoots, he scores!” I used my hands as a megaphone as I walked toward him. Well, that wasn’t in the plan. Why did I have to make this awkward? I almost lost my nerve and considered running away.

  “Chas.” He dropped the ball and let it roll away. He didn’t say anything else; he just walked toward me.

  My impulse was to run toward him like lovers did in movies after a long parting, but I was afraid he wouldn’t run, too. That would be humiliating. Instead, I walked toward him in what felt like the ultimate slow-mo version.

  “Um... how are you?” I asked, clasping my hands behind my back. The dialogue I’d so painstakingly crafted vanished from my memory when I saw his face. I was going to have to wing it. Great.

  John looked cautious. “I’m fine. Uh... how are you?
”

  “I’m good,” I said honestly for the first time. “I’m really good. I’ve been busy making soap and... thinking.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Turns out, I like making soap, and I suspect I’m pretty good at it.”

  “Oh?” It was a question again.

  I wished I could remember my lines. I’d never been good at improv. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot. About us...” It was starting to come back to me now. “And I—”

  “Chastity, I am so sorry,” he interrupted just as I remembered the script.

  “You’re sorry?” I stuttered.

  “Of course I’m sorry.” He stepped closer to me, remorse filling his features. “I should never have told my mom your secrets. I betrayed your trust, and it was wrong.”

  “I’m not mad at you for it.” I paused and amended, “Not anymore. I understand why you did it. I do. In fact, I haven’t been mad at you for a while now.”

  “Then why did you stay away so long? It’s been two weeks.” He looked like a sad puppy, and I wanted to take him in my arms that instant. But I was afraid if I did that, I’d never get to the point of all this.

  I shrugged. “I had to get right with myself. Does that make sense? Remember how you told me that I needed to be a whole person on my own? Well, I just needed time to think about everything and decide what I really want—for me and no one else. I’ve done some major soul searching in the last two weeks.”

  “That’s good.”

  “I’m going into the soap business,” I said in what must have seemed like a complete change of topic.

  “Oh?”

  “Your vocabulary has really taken a nosedive since the last time we talked,” I joked, placing my hands on my hips.

  “Oh?” He smirked.

  I rolled my eyes. I’d missed the way he teased me. “I’m going to start selling soaps. I’ve even registered the business name: Sissy’s Suds. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

  He cocked his head, mulling it over. “I like it.”