by Mina Bennett
I shrugged. "I don't know why she has to get like that."
Martha hesitated. "I took this class," she said. "Psychology stuff. We talked about how sometimes people get so angry they can't control it. It's scary for them too. They don't want to be that way."
I didn't know what to say to that.
"Mom loves you," Martha said. "I know it's hard, but...she really worries, and it's not just about her thinking that you're clumsy. She worries that you can't take advice and you won't be able to have a happy life. She's really afraid for you. She just has a weird way of showing that she cares."
"Well," I said, slamming the yearbook shut. "I'm tired of it."
"At least you'll be out of here soon," she said, optimistically. "I have to admit, sometimes it gets a little bit lonely at school, but I kind of hate coming home."
I smiled at her. It was nice for someone to acknowledge it.
"Sometimes I think Mary only acted out because she wanted to escape. Any amount of time she could spend away from here, and finally she figured out if she got herself..." She trailed off. "Well. I don't know. Whatever. I think she got it worse than I ever did. But you..." She sighed. "I don't know, Mari. Sometimes I don't really understand what's going on inside your head, but I don't think there's any reason to treat somebody the way Mom treats you sometimes."
I heard the front door closing.
"That's my cue," I said, getting up. "I better start cleaning."
"Come on, let me just pay for the detailing," Martha said. "I feel bad. I have some saved up still, from working at that yogurt place by the college."
"It's fine," I said, smiling. "I can do it."
I stopped by the hall closet to gather up some cleaners, brushes and a roll of paper towels. I kept my eyes on the floor as I made my way downstairs, past the kitchen and living room, towards the front door.
"Where are you going with all that stuff, honey?"
My mom's voice came from the kitchen. I froze in my tracks.
"Going to clean..." my voice broke. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Going to clean up my mess," I said.
"What?" I could picture her making a dismissive gesture, though I didn't turn around. "Don't worry about that, I'll just take it in tomorrow."
"No," I said. "You don't have to. I'll clean it."
"Don't be silly." My mom's voice was soft and kind, just like when I was little. It was tempting to follow her advice, but I knew that it would come back to bite me later if I did. "I know you want me to clean up my messes."
"I never said that!" my mom insisted, as I walked out into the driveway, letting the door shut behind me.
I soaked up everything I could from the carpet, before spraying everything down with an all-purpose cleaner and wiping and wiping. The smell was persistent, so I pushed the front seats forward as far as they would go, looking for the source.
"Hey, Mari." I heard the squeak of bicycle brakes from out in the street, and lifted my head.
"Jacob." My heart did a little jump. "I didn't see you at church."
"Yeah, I was actually doing a job interview. Kind of weird timing, but it's retail, so, you know. Gotta be flexible. Turns out they were looking for someone with a little more experience. Not sure why they called me in the first place, but hey." He wheeled his bike over to me. "What'd I miss? Anything good?"
"Oh, you know. The usual." I balled up some of the damp paper towels. "I spilled some coffee in here on the way home, though, so that's pretty much the most exciting thing that's happened all day."
"Oh, bummer. My dad did that once, but it all went in the center console. Fried the electrical system, so all the lights started flashing, and the wipers switched on, and the alarm started going off. I'm sure it wasn't funny to him at the time, but I was standing in the driveway and I gotta say it was kind of hilarious."
I giggled. "Okay, that's pretty good. Yeah, I was in the back seat, thankfully."
"Well that's nothing that can't be fixed."
"I guess. I think I've gotten everything, though, but it still smells."
"Well, some of the nooks and crannies are almost impossible - but did you wipe real good in the crevice under the seat?"
"You know, I missed that." I unspooled some paper towels and wiped, and sure enough, they came back stained with coffee. "Thanks. I must not be thinking straight."
"Well, sure. All your caffeine ended up in the car instead of in your bloodstream. Here." He grabbed a handful of paper towels. "Let me see if I can get into some of the nooks and crannies."
I stepped back and stretched a little, feeling some aches and pops in my back. I hadn't realized how hard I was working to clean up the stupid mess.
The front door swung open. It was my mom.
"Hey, Jacob." She waved, and Jacob waved back.
"Hey, Mrs. Moore," he said. "I was just riding by, and I thought I'd stop and help Mari out a little bit. Don't want your car to smell in the morning."
"I appreciate that, Jacob. You're very sweet. Marissa, can you come inside for a moment? I need to speak to you."
I walked into the house, slowly, not looking back.
"Mari," she said, her tone low and slightly dangerous again when I reached the doorway. "Remember we've talked about this? Spending time with Jacob?"
"That was ages ago," I said. "We're both grown-ups now."
"Still. If Mrs. Warren finds out that you two were spending time together, she's going to come right back to me. And I don't feel like having that conversation."
"You're always saying that." I couldn't look her in the eyes. "Has she ever actually told you that she doesn't like me? That she doesn't want Jacob spending time with me?"
"She doesn't have to." My mom's lips were pursed. "And now, with Mark courting you - do you really think it's appropriate to spend so much time with another boy?"
"We're just friends, mom. We've always only been..." There was no point in finishing my sentence. I could tell by the look on her face that she wasn't listening.
"All I know about Jacob is what I've told you a thousand times. He's a nice boy." She frowned at me. "Don't you ruin him."
She turned and stalked upstairs to the master bedroom, leaving me angry and baffled in the hallway.
When I went back outside, Jacob was still there, scrubbing his heart out. I took a moment to watch the muscles in his arms ripple, before I spoke.
"Hey," I said, softly. "Thanks for your help, but I can take it from here."
"You sure?" He pulled his head out of the car. "I don't mind helping out."
I cleared my throat. I could practically feel Mom watching me from her bedroom window. "I think you'd better go."
"Oh. I'm sorry." He set down the cleaning supplies and stepped back. "Is...is everything okay? I wondered, when your mom called you inside."
"It's fine," I insisted. "I just - I really need to get this finished and get back inside. And I'm sure you've got stuff to do."
"Well, yeah. I guess." He headed back towards his bike. "Have a good one, Mari."
I nodded, but didn't wave as he rode away.
The smell was all but gone.
CHAPTER NINE
Jacob
"Dear Lord Jesus, thank you so much for all the blessings you've given me. I want to ask you for your grace..."
It was open prayer time. Every once in a while, Pastor Dave devoted a few minutes of the service to have us all kneel, and if the spirit moved us, pray in front of the congregation. I didn't participate. I preferred to keep my prayers between me and God, but plenty of people seemed to relish the opportunity. I fidgeted on the floor, trying to find a position that wasn't horribly uncomfortable. These pews weren't designed for kneeling.
"Lord, I want to thank you for all the blessings in my life. I know sometimes I forget to be grateful, and at times I let myself get distracted by all the temporary problems..."
"Dear God, we forget Your grace all too easily..."
"Dear God, please show me the path..."
&
nbsp; Suddenly, a familiar voice perked my ears up. At first I thought I must be going crazy, because Marissa never breathed a word of prayer in public. But there was no mistaking her voice, quiet though it was.
"Dear Lord, I'm so grateful for all the blessings you've given me. I'd like to ask for your grace particularly as we-"
"Dear God," came a booming voice from the corner, which I recognized as Mrs. Linden, one of the more...outspoken mothers in the community. "Thank you for all your blessings! I'd like to offer a prayer for those in our congregation who might be unwilling or unable to speak up for their needs."
She kept on going. In the far corner, Marissa continued her prayer, murmuring quieter and quieter. I cracked an eye open to see if anyone else was reacting, but they all kept their heads bowed and their eyes shut.
I wanted more than anything to interrupt, to tell everyone to shut up already and let Marissa pray. But if there was anything that would humiliate her more than being prayed over during a service, it was that. So, with a very real effort, I kept my mouth shut.
I heard a whisper-quiet "amen" from the far corner. By then, someone else had started in with another prayer of their own.
After the service, as we all gathered in the social hall like usual, I overheard a few people approaching Mrs. Linden with kind words about the prayer.
"That was beautiful," someone was saying. "Thank you so much for sharing."
"Oh, it was just in my heart," she said, with a beatific smile.
I looked around the room. Mark had managed to get himself absorbed in a conversation with Pastor Dave, so I sidled over to Marissa.
"That was a really nice prayer," I said. "What I could hear of it, anyway."
She cracked a smile. "Story of my life, huh?"
"I'll say." I glanced at Mark, but he didn't seem to notice we were talking. "I would have said something, but I didn't want to embarrass you any more."
"Thanks," she said. "I guess Mark thought the same thing."
"I guess," I said.
"I mean, obviously she couldn't hear me."
"Well, let's hope so. Otherwise we're dealing with a whole nother situation."
She grinned. "Thanks, Jacob. You just made my day about a thousand percent better."
"Well, glad I could help." My heart felt like it wanted to leap out of my chest.
"Marissa!" Mark was calling for her without even turning around, walking towards the door. "Come on. We need to get going. I have homework."
My own parents seemed to be drifting towards the parking lot, so I followed at a respectful distance. As they walked away, I swore I heard Mark say something like "you need to speak up more." I gritted my teeth until my jaw hurt.
"You okay, honey?" My mom was looking at me with concern; I must have had some kind of horrible rictus grin on my face.
"Yeah, fine," I said. "Just got a headache."
"Did you eat something?"
"Yeah," I lied. "It's fine. It'll go away on its own, they always do."
"Hey!" A voice came, brightly, from further up the driveway. I turned around, slowly. It was Lily, hurrying down to meet us.
"Are you guys leaving already?" she asked. "Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Warren!"
"Hi, Lily," my mom said. "Yeah, I think we need to hit the road."
"Oh, that's too bad," Lily said, clearly addressing me. "I was hoping to get a chance to talk to you. It's been a while."
"Why don't you two exchange numbers?" my dad piped up.
"Oh, that's a great idea, as long as you don't mind!" Lily chirped, glancing from my dad to my mom, and then back again.
"Absolutely, I'm always happy when Jacob makes a new friend."
"Great!" Lily scribbled her number on a sticky note - where she'd gotten it from, I had no idea - and handed it to me. "Text me, okay? Or call. Whatever. We should hang out sometime."
"Sure," I said, managing a smile. "Absolutely."
I stayed slumped in the backseat on the drive home, not participating in the conversation, even when Marissa's name came up. My mom glanced in the rear-view, clearly expecting some kind of input from me, but I had nothing to say. Nothing they'd want to hear, at any rate.
At home, I flopped down on my bed and stared at the ceiling for a while. I had to start filling out more job applications, but at this point, there was nothing I'd rather do less.
My phone started buzzing on the beside table. I didn't recognize the number, but the area code was nearby.
"Hello?"
"This is Liam Harris, I'm the assistant manager of the consumer electronics department at Ashefield's. Is this a good time to talk?"
I hesitated. "Yes," I said. "Is this about the...interview?"
"More or less." He let out a long breath. "Listen, I wanted to call you back and see if you were still interested in working here. Before you answer, let me assure you that the manager who interviewed you is no longer working with us."
I sat up. "Oh, really?"
"I can't go into details, but I'm sure I don't need to. The point is, whatever experience you had with him isn't representative of how we conduct ourselves, as a company. I've been going over the applications he took care of, and a lot of those people have understandably moved on. But all our college kids and high school graduates are going back to school in a couple months, and I'd love to have someone well trained to replace them. Would you be interested in coming in for another chat?"
"Sure," I said. What did I have to lose?
"How about this afternoon?"
"Yeah, all right, sounds good."
I hurried down the stairs, pausing in the kitchen to answer my parents' questioning glances.
"I might have a job," I said. "At Ashefield's."
My dad rolled his eyes, but my mom actually managed to smile.
"That's great, honey," she said. "Go get 'em."
***
Mr. Harris was a kindly man, probably approaching forty, who smiled, shook my hand, and apologized for the fact that he had to interview me in the seating area of the deli.
"No worries," I said.
"The office where we'd usually - well, you know all about that," he said, shuffling a folder full of papers. "We're having it steam-cleaned. We can't figure out how to get rid of the smell."
I laughed. "Have you tried Nature's Miracle?"
He glanced up at me. "What's that?"
"Oh, it's like, this - enzyme-based cleaner. You get it at pet stores. I have a dog, and she wasn't always as well-behaved as she is now. But I hear it works for cat stuff too."
"Do you think that's what it is?" Mr. Harris frowned. "That's what everyone else is saying, but I can't figure out how he managed to get cat smell all over the room. Unless he was smuggling his cat in here."
"Hey, anything's possible."
"I'm sorry," he said, putting on his reading glasses. "We've wasted enough of your time already, I think. Let's get down to business. Without experience, I can only offer you minimum wage for now, but you'll get a raise every six months. I need a clerk for my department, someone to help customers, cash out, cleaning, organizing, stocking, sales. All the usual stuff. I just need someone who will show up on time and put a little effort in. You seem like a nice kid. Now what's this business about not being able to work nights?"
"My sister," I said. "She's - she's in the hospital a lot, and my parents need me home to take care of the house, and the dog. You know."
"Sure," he said. "Well, that's no problem, just let me know ahead of time whenever you can."
"Absolutely," I said, feeling nervous and giddy all at once. "I'm sorry, are you - is this you offering me a job?"
"Sure," he said. "If you want it."
"I - yes. Of course."
I shook his hand again.
"There," he said. "That wasn't so terrible, was it? And now you've got the story of your first interview to tell forever. You'll never pay for drinks in your life."
"I don't know," I said, smiling. "It's a pretty good story, but it's probably only
good for a bag of pretzels."
***
My mom was sitting in the kitchen, alone, when I came back. She was thumbing through a magazine, feigning interest, but I knew she was waiting for me.
"How'd it go?" she asked, before I even had a chance to grab a soda from the fridge.
"Good," I said. "He offered me a job. I start next week." I sat down at the table, fiddling with the label on my soda bottle.
"Well," my mom said. "I hope it works out for you, honey."
I shrugged. "I'm sure it'll be fine."
"So," she said, closing the magazine. "Lily seemed pretty excited to talk to you today."
I took a moment to process this. I'd expected a cross-examination about my new job. "Uh, yeah. I guess so."
"She seems like a nice girl." My mom sipped some tea from her mug. "What do you think of her?"
"Yeah, she seems nice," I echoed.
"Well. I think you should certainly give her a call. Or a text."
"Okay," I said, perplexed. "I'm going to."
"Just don't let your job interfere with your social life, okay? Make sure you don't forget to get in touch with her."
"Okay, okay." I chuckled. "What are you making this into such a big deal?"
She shook her head in protest. "I'm not trying to! I just think she's a nice girl, and I worry about you working too hard and forgetting to enjoy yourself. That's all."
"I don't think that's a huge risk, to be honest." I grinned, getting up from the table. "I promise I'll give her a call."
***
In the end, I decided to take the simple approach with Lily.
I sent a single text:
Hey, what's up?
A few minutes later, my phone rang. It was her number, of course.
"Hey," I said, trapping the phone between my cheek and shoulder.
"Hi," she said. "Sorry, I hope you don't mind me calling. I kind of hate texting, you know? I'm so slow. Everybody makes fun of me." She giggled.
"Well, you know, practice makes perfect." I picked at a thread on my bedspread. "But no, it's fine. You can call me anytime you like."
