The Weird Travels of Aimee Schmidt: Seeking Others

by J. A. Schreckenbach

  Paul responded, “Jill has a truckload of stuff I need to unpack now so she and Gretchen can get this incredible feast done. I'll just be a minute.”

  “Do you need some help?” asked Greg.

  “Nope, Greg, I got it.”

  “I'll help,” Aimee quickly offered.

  “Thanks, Aimee. I got the cooler, but if you want to bring in your things, that would work.” Paul smiled at her. He and Jill were always so nice. Thank goodness they were here with her for the next two days. Jill had already disappeared into the house, and Greg stood there waiting. Aimee pulled out her pack, threw it over her shoulder, then collected the pie from the back before Paul shut the hatch. She had it balancing in one hand, pulling the suitcase in the other as they climbed up the steps to the front door. Greg didn't make any attempt to assist.

  Aimee extended the pie towards him and proudly stated, “I hope you like apple pie. I made my special recipe.”

  Greg managed a smile. “Well, I don't eat sweets, but Gretchen loves them.”

  Damn, Aimee thought. Why didn't I check with Dylan about what his dad liked? She tried to hide her frown. “Well, next time I'll make something special for you.”

  The house was enormous, even bigger than Paul and Jill's. It took them forever to get to the kitchen, but once there it was in a buzz with Gretchen and Jill yakking over one another, laughing, and already busily working on the holiday meal. Paul came in behind Aimee carrying the cooler. Gretchen came over and gave Paul a quick kiss on the cheek and pointed to a hallway. “You can put that in the utility room,” she directed.

  Jill immediately stopped what she was mixing and came over to Aimee. “Gretchen, I want to introduce you to a very special person. This is the love of our son's life, Aimee Schmidt. Aimee, this is Greg's fiancée, Gretchen Herdegan.”

  Greg came into the room a second before the introduction. His face didn't seem to match the same joy that Jill had over Aimee being Dylan's girlfriend, but he didn't say a word. Gretchen wiped her hands on her apron, then with a broad smile she extended her hand, and in perfect English with only a slight hint of a German accent, she said, “It's wonderful to finally meet you.”

  Aimee shook her hand and replied, “It's nice to finally meet you, too. Thank you so much for inviting me.” Gretchen looked just like the pictures in Dylan's room. Young, tall, and beautiful. She had her blonde hair pulled up in a tight bun. She wore skinny jeans and a WC t-shirt, with huge diamond earrings, and an even larger diamond on her left ring finger. Dylan forgot to let Aimee know his dad was engaged.

  “Well, you're family, aren't you?” she answered. She looked over at Greg, then back to Aimee and smiled warmly. She seemed so opposite Dylan's dad. Like Jill, Aimee instantly liked her.

  Aimee still held the pie. “Here,” she started, “I made an apple pie for after this wonderful dinner I hear you and Jill are making.”

  “Oh, it looks fantastic! I'm sure it'll taste as good as it looks!” she exclaimed. “Why don't you put it over there on the side counter, next to the other two pies. Pumpkin's Greg's favorite, mince meat's Paul's favorite, but apple is definitely mine. What about you, Jill?”

  Jill answered grinning, “Yep, you can't beat a good, homemade apple pie.”

  Aimee stepped past Greg and put it next to the other pies, then spun around and glanced at Greg. Funny he had told her he didn't eat sweets. Well, she mused, this is getting off to a good start.

  “So, Dylan didn't tell me you were engaged,” Aimee said to Greg and Gretchen as she stepped to the bar.

  Greg answered quickly, “Well, he doesn't know yet, and I'd like to be the one to tell him.”

  Yes, sir, Aimee thought, no way will I spill the beans.

  Gretchen added, “Greg and I just got back from visiting family in Germany. He's such a romantic. He proposed one night when we were staying at a Bavarian castle overlooking the Alps.”

  Greg reached around Gretchen and washed his hands in the sink. “Gretchen has made an honest man out of me...” He looked over at Jill. She smirked back. “...so I guess it's about time we make it official.”

  Jill still had Gretchen's hand in hers, looking at the ring. Finally she said, “Greg, you did good.” She dropped Gretchen's hand and the two hugged, then she hugged her ex-husband. Paul hugged Gretchen, then shook his friend's hand.

  “Congratulations, you old devil,” Paul said with a grin.

  “Thanks, Paul,” he answered. “It took a while, but I found the most wonderful woman.” He smiled at Gretchen, and the two kissed briefly.

  “So, enough mushy stuff,” Jill said. “Why don't you two guys get out of the kitchen and let all the wonderful women do our jobs.”

  Greg poured himself another cup of coffee, and then asked Paul if he wanted one. Paul grabbed a cup, then the two men disappeared.

  Gretchen suddenly remembered before she restarted her task that she made breakfast. “Anyone hungry? I made a ham souffle this morning.”

  Jill quickly replied, “I could eat a bite. How about you, Aimee?”

  She lied. “Thanks, but I'm good. I ate something before y'all picked me up.” She was starving, and all of the delicious smells in the kitchen were making her hungrier, but she didn't want to hurt Gretchen's feelings by telling her she couldn't eat the souffle because it had meat in it. Gretchen stopped what she was doing and reported she was going to let the men know about the souffle.

  Keeping busy with the ladies would keep Aimee out of Greg's hair, at least. “Can I help?” Aimee asked.

  “Sure,” Jill answered with a smile as she pointed towards the hall. “You can find an apron in the utility room.”

  Dinner was planned for one. The turkey was baking in the oven when they arrived. The desserts were obviously made. The sides and hors d'oeuvres needed preparation. The men came in and out of the kitchen checking the progress of the meal, but never staying more than a minute or two. Paul almost always had something to say to all three of them. Greg, on the other hand, never said anything directly to Aimee. Aimee sensed the day was going to be long.

  Shortly before one, dinner was almost ready. Jill asked Aimee to start taking things into the formal dining room. She pointed the direction, and Aimee took a crystal pitcher of ice water and a wine bucket with a chilled bottle of Chardonnay. Aimee stopped and gasped when she entered the room. Paul and Jill's dining room was incredible, but this was the most lavish dining room she had every been in. A long, antique table with brocade covered dining chairs was in the center of the room atop a rather large oriental rug. Around the walls were antique furniture pieces that matched the dining set. A half dozen framed paintings with spot lights above each hung on the walls. Aimee peeked at the one closest to her. Albrecht Durer was engraved into the nameplate. She certainly wasn't an art expert, but it appeared to be an original oil painting. Very old and very expensive, Aimee imagined. She stepped back and took a long breath and wondered how much it was worth before she cruised around and admired the rest of the paintings. The room was set just like Dylan said, fancy enough to be a White House gala. A very delicate and fancy-looking lace tablecloth covered the heavy wood table with thick, carved legs. Small china plates rested on top of a matching dinner plate. Two silver forks were on the left side. A silver knife and two silver spoons set on the other side. A tiny plate, to the left of the dinner plate, had a small silver knife on the plate, each knife pointed the same direction and precisely in the middle of the plate. Two crystal glasses with gold rims, one taller than the other, were on the right side of the place setting, and a folded linen napkin in a silver napkin ring rested neatly on the plates. A posh centerpiece with autumn colored flowers adorned the middle of the table. Aimee put the items in her hands on the side server next to the bottle of opened red wine, then twirled around and took in the elegance of the room. Dylan told her his dad was rich, but she never imagined just how wealthy. She had never been in a house this lavish. She suddenly felt really inadequate. No wonder his dad doesn't like me, she surmised.
I'm not just an interference, I'm not good enough for his son. “Oh well,” she muttered. “I'm not in love with Mr. Greg Townsend. I'm in love with his son, and he's crazy in love with me.”

  Suddenly, Aimee heard the floor creak. She twirled around. Greg was standing at the entrance behind her.

  “I...I'm sorry,” she stuttered, “I didn't hear you.”

  He gawked at her for a very long time not uttering a word. Finally he asked, “Can I help you with something?”

  She instantly felt nervous, like he suspected she was trying to heist the silver. “No, Gretchen sent me in here with the water and wine. I was just admiring all of the paintings.”

  “Hmmm,” he casually replied. “All but one of these are originals, a couple from the Renaissance era. I collect artwork. Which is your favorite?”

  She looked at him, then started to analyze the collection, taking her time like she was being tested. “Well,” she started, “I think I like this one the best.” She pointed to a large painting that had the Renaissance period look, but the colors were bright.

  Greg scoffed. He walked over to the painting and stood there looking at it. After a long period, he turned back around and faced Aimee. “You picked the only one that's a reproduction.”

  Well, she thought, I'm not an art expert like you, Mr. Townsend. “So, what's your favorite?” she asked, hoping to get him to talk about himself and not focus on what he thought were Aimee's inadequacies.

  “Actually, my favorite is in the living room. I bought it for Gretchen on our first anniversary together. It's an O'Keeffe.”

  Aimee instantly replied, “Wow!”

  “You know who she is?” he questioned, like he was testing her again.

  “Yes, sir, I do. We studied her in my art class at East Medford. Her work is fantastic.”

  “Well, go in there and take a look.” He wasn't smiling at Aimee, but at least he was conversing like it wasn't a complete pain to be in the same room with her.

  “I'd like to see it,” she said.

  He pointed the direction to the living room. “That's the living room on the other side of the entry. I'm heading this direction...” he pointed towards the kitchen, “...to see how much longer before dinner.”

  Aimee smiled, then walked towards the living room. She looked back, but Greg was gone. Aimee started into the living room and stopped before she set one foot on the carpet. It appeared to be a room no one used because you'd be afraid to sit on the furniture, or put a cup of hot coffee on a table, or touch any of the nicknacks, or even step on the white carpet for fear of leaving footprints. Aimee looked down at her boots and quickly slipped them off. In socks, she tip-toed into the room and immediately noticed the large painting above the couch. Anyone who knew O'Keeffe would immediately recognize her work. Aimee slowly approached the painting and stopped about twelve feet back. She explored every inch of the painting's surface with wonder.

  “Wow!” she whispered.

  “I like it, too,” said Gretchen.

  Startled, Aimee whipped around. “I'm sorry to be snooping, but Mr. Townsend told me he bought you an O'Keeffe. I've never seen one other than in a book.”

  “You like this one?”

  Aimee quickly answered, “Oh yes, I love it! The colors are absolutely incredible.”

  Gretchen laughed. “Yeah, that's the reaction everyone has when they see it.”

  Aimee stared at the painting. She figured it cost a ton of money. She couldn't wrap her head around just how affluent Dylan's dad was, yet how down to earth Dylan was. Of course he had been given a new car for graduation and Dylan seemed to buy anything he wanted. But that was just it, he didn't spend money like a rich kid.

  They stood together quietly enjoying Gretchen's present. After a long time, she broke the silence. “We're about ready to eat. You can use the half bath there in the hall to wash up.” She smiled and walked with Aimee out into the hall. Jill was bringing in dishes and setting them on the buffet. Gretchen went into the dining room and filled the water glasses while Aimee went into the bathroom, used the toilet, then washed. She stared into the mirror as she slowly lathered her hands. Aimee had managed to make it through half the day without any altercations with Greg. But he had spent most of the time in the entertainment room watching football with Paul. The next hour would be a real test. She took a deep breath as she turned off the water and pulled the hand towel off the fancy rack. She gave herself a fast pep talk, dried her hands, and hung the towel back on the rack, turned off the light, then exited.

  Everyone was in the dining room waiting on Aimee. They all stopped talking and looked at her when she entered. Jill spoke first. “Well, I hope everyone is starving. Gretchen has prepared enough food for an army. Aimee, you'll need to take a plate or two to Dylan.”

  “Dang, everything smells wonderful,” Paul stated while he picked up the lid of one of the silver chafing dishes to peek underneath. Jill popped him on his hand and smiled.

  Greg scooted up next to Gretchen and gave her a kiss. “You did good,” he said. “Okay, everyone, if we can gather around we'll do blessing.” Aimee stepped into the circle, stuck between Greg and Jill. Everyone grabbed hands, something Aimee wasn't used to. After Jill took Aimee's hand, Jill looked over at Greg, who ignored her stare. Aimee slowly extended her hand for him to take. But he didn't. Instead he bowed his head and started the prayer, which was full of blessings for everyone, especially Dylan. Notably, Aimee was absent from the prayer. It didn't matter. She said her own silently and included everyone, even Z Boy. At the end, the circle dropped hands and Gretchen explained the house staff had been given off the day, and asked everyone to grab their large plates for the turkey and sides. She had fancy little name tags where everyone would sit. Aimee, of course, was sitting on the other side of Gretchen, who sat at the end. Greg sat in the grand chair at the head of the table, and Paul and Jill sat on the opposite side of the table. Once everyone went through the buffet, they sat down and started eating.

  Greg didn't miss the fact Aimee didn't have meat on her plate. “So, you don't like turkey?” he asked, as he cut a piece of turkey and then forked it. No one seemed to notice it before his comment. Now everyone was staring at her. She and Dylan hadn't mentioned her dietary preference with his mom or stepdad, and the few times she ate at his house, Aimee had somehow managed to skirt the topic of being a vegetarian. She didn't think it was a big deal, but some people act indignant when you don't eat what they serve.

  Aimee put down her fork, wiped her mouth, and answered, “I like turkey, but...” Aimee paused and looked at Jill because she had made Aimee things with meat when she visited. Dylan always helped her out so his mom wouldn't notice she didn't eat the meat. Aimee finished, “...well, uh, I'm a vegetarian. I haven't eaten meat in the past three years.”

  Jill immediately asked, her brows knitted, “Seriously?”

  “Yes ma'am,” she answered.

  “So, what's your problem with eating meat?” asked Greg. Aimee wasn't one of those die-hard vegans who wouldn't touch meat; meat-by products, including leather. She just preferred not eating an animal, and liked getting her protein from other sources. Still, she didn't want to offend anyone so she took the easy way out. She lied.

  “Meat doesn't agree with my stomach.”

  Greg stuck a big piece of meat into his mouth, chewed, then swallowed. “Well, that's unfortunate. This turkey is the best I've ever put in my mouth.” He smiled at Gretchen.

  “Thanks, Greg,” Gretchen acknowledged. She looked over at Aimee and added, “I think that's great you have been able to stick to a meatless diet. I'm sure it would be healthier for all of us to eat less of it.”

  Greg shot Gretchen a serious look, then asked, “So, what about Dylan? Have you turned him against eating meat?”

  “Greg...” Jill started, then stopped.

  Greg took a long sip of his wine first. “Well, I just wanted to know how much she's changed our son. After all, it seems like he's pretty taken with Aimee.”r />
  The conversation wasn't starting out well. Aimee's stomach really started to hurt. Despite starving before they sat down, she now didn't feel like she could eat another bite.

  Paul kept eating, not saying a word, but watching everyone as Greg continued to make Aimee the topic of the conversation.

  Greg continued, “So, Aimee, Dylan tells me he wants to move out of the dorm at the end of the quarter.”

  The pain moved up. Her head started to throb. She didn't know what to say, so he continued, “He said he thinks he could do better in school if he lived in an apartment.” He took a bite of dressing, put his fork down, and sat back. “So, what do you think?”

  Jill interrupted, “He hasn't said anything to us about wanting to move out of the dorm.” She looked at Aimee and asked, “So, is this true, Aimee?”

  Aimee lied...again. “I guess the dorm is too noisy.” Obviously Dylan had only mentioned his moving out of the dorm to his dad, since his dad footed the bills, and left out the fact they planned on moving in together. She sure wasn't going to be the one to tell his parents.

  Gretchen casually said, “Well, if I was in love with someone I planned on spending the rest of my life with, I would probably want to live together.” She took a bite of sweet potatoes, then noticed Greg and Jill had quit eating and were staring at Aimee.

  Greg was the first to speak. “Is that the reason?”

  Busted! Thank you, Gretchen, fumed Aimee. Yes, it was the reason, but his son had brought up the idea first. She just happened to agree it was a perfect idea. Aimee glanced nervously at Greg, then Jill. Even Paul had quit eating waiting for her response.

  “Yes, sir,” Aimee timidly answered.

  Instantly, the color in Greg's face changed from its tan glow to beet red. He pitched his napkin on his plate and pushed away from the table. Gretchen tried to intervene.

  “Greg,” she started, “please, not now. Don't ruin dinner.”