The Hermit Next Door

by PJ Vye

  Returning to her chair, Carolyn passed her envelope three. “You can’t stop now.”

  Willa was determined to be unforgiving and wasn’t enjoying seeing Carolyn won over. Anyone could make a few phone calls, organise a few things. It didn’t make Jack the hero. It was the chickens, the garden watering, the seed planting all over again. Jack trying to save her.

  Why did she always need to be saved by this man when he couldn’t even save himself?

  The third envelope was long, narrow and thin. Inside was a thick piece of folded A3 parchment paper.

  “It’s the freehold title to a property on the Goulburn River.”

  Willa could hear the wall clock tick, felt the weighted texture of the document, as visions of a white and grey wooden house played a slide show in her mind. The magnitude of what the document meant, slowly, gently sank its way in. She rubbed her thumbs over the page, the sketch of the dimensions in the corner, the bends of the river marking the north end boundary. The dreams she had lived that day, standing beside him, the house, the hopes, the possibilities.

  She handed Carolyn the document. “He bought you a house?” she asked.

  Willa folded the envelope on her lap until it wouldn’t fold any further.

  “You own a house?” Willa?”

  A house of my own.

  A house of my own.

  Willa was torn. She had to remind herself who was pulling the strings here. Jack bought her a house, her dream house. But it was most likely with company money and a way of securing her allegiance to the EP Records label. That’s all this was.

  A house of my own.

  Willa didn’t really care who she’d be indebted to. She wanted that house. More than ever. “I guess I’ll be moving out.”

  Carolyn drained her champagne glass and put it on the coffee table. “Willa, that makes this so much easier to say. I got offered a job yesterday in Melbourne. That was the reason for the champagne.”

  Willa stood and hugged her friend. Carolyn had been guest reporting for the breakfast TV news show for several weeks. It didn’t surprise Willa they’d offered her something more permanent. Carolyn was a natural. Personable, pretty and precise. Still it was a competitive market and no-one made it in the industry without a little bit of luck. This was good news for Carolyn.

  “I’m so happy for you. Tell me everything?”

  “It all happened so fast,” replied Carolyn. She released Willa from the hug and turned to gaze out the window as she spoke. “I actually suspect Jack may have put in a good word.”

  Willa threw her hands in the air. “Damn him, Carolyn. Really? Are you sure? I want to hate him so much and then he goes and fixes things.”

  Willa didn’t expect the tears that started plummeting down her face. But they fell, her gulping sobs the size of golf balls, her body wracked with unhappiness.The constant nausea and fatigue taking its toll. Could one man really make another person feel so wretched from half a world away?

  Carolyn helped Willa back into her chair and rubbed her back. “Open the fourth one, Willa. Get it over and done with.” Carolyn placed the thick, almost square envelope in her hands, then stood beside her, one hand on her shoulder.

  Tears continued down Willa’s cheeks as she pulled out the bound, inch thick document. A contract, Jack’s handwritten note inside the front cover.

  Willa - Hire yourself a good lawyer. Someone you trust. This contract protects you, gives you full control. No pressure to sign. Your call. Phil takes over as CEO next month. He won’t let you down. Jack

  Willa took a sip of champagne but it tasted like medicine. She walked to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water, her hands shook as she drank the entire glass.

  Jack was clearing a path for her. A nice easy path. Removing all the obstacles in her way. She just had to choose. Is this what she wanted? Spend her life making music or disappear inside a solitary world again. She had options. It was time to decide. What did she want?

  Willa Jones, singer. Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome to the stage, The Singing Hermit herself, Ms Willa Jones. Can I be that person? Sing. A singer. A famous singer.

  Performing to crowds of people. What about the photographers at the front door—could she sing for them? A classroom of students at the local high school? A supermarket of shoppers? The workers at the tomato factory? They were just people. What if she could do it but they didn’t like it? Now the mystery had gone, maybe so had the fascination? If no-one wanted to hear her sing anymore, what then? Who was she if not a singer? She’d never go back to social work.

  Accept, move on and take charge of her new life was the only way forward. To release the constant uncertainty that sat heavy on her shoulders. She’d unpacked one baggage full of misery only to have it replaced by another. Jack.

  Could she forgive him? Was it possible for a man like him to change? He’d always be an addict, the monkey on his back. Life with an addict was undoubtedly filled with anxiety and despair. She knew the statistics. How many relapses could she endure? Did he even want to change?

  Maybe the answers were in the fifth envelope. She walked in small steps back to the TV table and picked up the last one.

  It was the smallest. Thin.

  She held it in her fingers, turned it over, tapped it against her wrist, put it down again. This was it. The final connection. It could be goodbye. She closed her eyes and let a plan form in her mind. She would take charge and live. No matter what, she would be okay. She would find a way to be happy again.

  With that firmly settled, she tore open the seal and withdrew two sheets of music, a note attached with a clip. Jack’s handwriting, again. Her pulse set off, again.

  Dear Willa - I’ve been accepted into the Hazelden Treatment Centre in Minnesota. I’ve made a lot of changes. I’m finding my way again, I just need time. You must know how sorry I am. I’ve made some terrible mistakes and these have hurt you bitterly. There’s no excuse. I’ll spend the rest of my life making myself worthy of you. Can I see you when I’m released in February? This song is for you. It’s my truth, my promise. I love you. Jack.

  Love me like a river,

  Though it forces its own way

  Finds the weakness in the valleys

  Etch a path through land decay

  But love me like a river

  Stark reflection, cool and deep

  Ever changing in its nature

  With a strength that never sleeps

  Love me like a mountain

  Standing solid in your path

  Too high to go up over

  Too wide around to pass

  But love me like a mountain

  To count on, solid, set

  A shield for your protection

  A timeless bill of debt

  Love me like a forest

  Though the path is hard to see

  Answers dark, afraid and lost

  Are hidden in the trees

  But love me like a forest

  For it’s wonder and it’s might

  A canopy of shelter

  That protects from searing light

  Love me like an ocean

  Relentless though it is

  Eroding rocks and dangers hide

  Beneath the surface lives

  But love me like an ocean

  For its beauty and its force

  A tide you can depend on

  Till the moon has run its course

  But love me like a river

  Through the twists and through the bends

  Just love me like a river

  From where it starts to where it ends…

  Willa heard the music in every word, every metaphor. He was asking her to love him despite the betrayals, despite the bullying, despite the failings. She stood, her stomach churned and she ran to the bathroom and vomited.

  Carolyn followed her and pulled back her hair. “What is it about him that effects you this badly?”

  Willa lifted her face. “I don’t know. I just feel sick about it,
all the time. I didn’t know it could be like this.”

  “What do you mean, ‘it’? Are you in love with him?”

  Willa shrugged. “How else do you explain it?”

  “Constant nausea and vomiting? I could explain it one other way.” Carolyn gave her a long look, one eyebrow peaked.

  Willa didn’t answer.

  “You’re pregnant?”

  Willa didn’t answer.

  “Willa?” Carolyn stabbed out her name, gripped Willa’s arms with her fingers. “Willa?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “You slept with him? With Jack?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? You’re pregnant Willa?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s a bit hard to believe.”

  “Oh my god.” Carolyn sat down on the edge of the bath tub. “Are you going to tell him?”

  Willa rinsed out her mouth, washed her face, joined her on the bath edge. “You know, it’s just like Jack. Even with him gone, somehow he’s still managing to pull all the strings.” Willa put her hand on her belly, letting the idea settle for a moment. Up until now, she’d pushed every conscience thought of the possibility aside. She’d had a lot of practice at keeping unwanted thoughts at bay and she was quite good at it. But if Carolyn thought it too, maybe it was real.

  “I need to be sure.”

  “I’ll make an appointment when we’re in Melbourne next week. We should probably try and find someone discreet - until you tell Jack.”

  Carolyn put her arm around Willa’s shoulders and they sat for a minute. It was nice to have a friend. Willa didn’t know how she’d managed so long without one.

  Willa couldn’t sleep. She picked up the guitar beside her bed and plucked the strings, picking out the melody of the song he’d written her. It was stuck in her head and replayed over and over, like a soundtrack to her decisions.

  When it had come time to choose her final year subjects at school twenty years ago, her brother Carl filled in the forms believing he would make better selections than she could make for herself. Willa didn’t object. She didn’t know what she wanted. She’d been called in for a private consultation with the career adviser. Whether he knew about her situation, living at home with two older brothers, parents deceased—and took a special interest—she’d never know. He’d asked her a few simple questions about the subjects she liked, what she could see herself doing in five years, where she wanted to live.

  He referred to a large syllabus and rewrote her subject selection list on a new form. Placing both lists in front of her, he gave her a pen and asked her to make a choice. Each form represented two very different pathways.

  She’d made a selfish choice that day. To find her own life and not the one her brothers had assumed. And for a while it had been the right path. Her life had been better.

  Until it wasn’t.

  Could she make that same choice now? Take charge of her life again, risks and all?

  Keeping her pregnancy a secret was essential. She didn’t want Jack to change his mind about the rehab. And she didn’t want him to take over. She would be in charge for once. This baby needed a home, security, love. She would provide for it. She must provide for it. And she had the means and the opportunity.

  She strummed through the chords Jack had written and sang the words, bending a note or two but mostly staying true to the notes on the page. It was beautiful work. The melody soothed her, surrounded her until she was the song. Transformed and transfixed.

  Jack needed an answer. This would be it.

  She took Carolyn’s phone from its charger in the kitchen and found Phil’s phone number in the contact list like she’d been shown. It would be mid-morning in Los Angeles. Phil answered on the first ring. “Carolyn, how are things?”

  “Phil, it’s me, Willa.”

  “Willa, so nice to hear your voice.”

  “Phil, I have a song I want to record. Is it too late for the album?

  Chapter 20

  Jack walked the wide corridor lined with white, broad framed pictures of positive affirmations and waited for the attendant to swipe her card to release the door. He made his way slowly to the reception desk and signed the papers, returning the pen to the woman beyond the window with a small smile and a gentle nod.

  The cold took him by surprise as he stepped outside onto the unsheltered pavement, squinted his eyes against the sting of ice and snow. Three months of centrally heated comfort at Hazelden Treatment Center had not prepared him for the intensity of a late Minnesota winter. Hitching his duffel bag over his shoulder, he walked the short distance to the man waiting. He shook his gloved hand.

  “Hi Phil,” he said.

  “Good to see you, Jack,” said Phil, clasping the other hand on Jack’s shoulder.

  “How’s the family?” asked Jack. Clouds of warm air escaped his mouth and he cupped his hands there to warm them.

  “Good, yeah, thanks,” replied Phil, indicating the direction of the hire car as they began to walk. “Although it’s been busy, you know.”`

  He noted the man beside him who now held his position of Chief Executive Officer at the label. He might be wearing a tie, but Phil still wore cheap, white runners on his feet.

  “The album sold well,” said Phil.

  Jack, at his own request, had kept his contact with the outside world to a minimum while he was inside, not wanting any distractions or triggers. All media access had been filtered. He didn’t need any mention of the industry or Willa to remind him of what he’d lost. Not while he was at his most vulnerable. He’d known pre-sales had topped the millions before he’d gone into rehab, so it wasn’t a surprise the album had sold well. “What are the figures to date?”

  “Twenty-one times platinum in the states, thirty-nine times multi-platinum in the UK. Biggest selling album of all time.”

  He wanted to ask Phil about her. Was she coping? Was she happy? But he couldn’t do it. Not yet.

  “How did you go with the promo?” he asked instead.

  “Willa’s been cooperative.”

  Jack eyes widened. “She’s doing the publicity? How the hell did you—.”

  “She even did a few concerts.”

  Jack couldn’t stop his jaw from dropping. “I bet those tickets were popular. How did you meet the demand?”

  “Everyone from Prince Harry to the First Lady wanted tickets. But she raffled them, so it didn’t matter if you were a pauper or Bill Gates himself, you didn’t get a ticket unless your name was drawn.”

  “So you don’t have to be rich—just lucky. That sounds like her.”

  “Yeah, it really does.”

  The men chuckled to themselves as they approached the hire car and climbed in. As Phil pulled away from the curb Jack settled back into his seat, his head full of questions.

  “Phil, I appreciate you coming all this way to pick me up. It’s really good of you.”

  The new CEO secured his seatbelt, backed out onto the road, then headed west. The airport was east. “Actually, I have a favour to ask.”

  Jack didn’t answer straight away. He would do just about anything for Phil. But if he asked him not to see Willa, well that was the one thing he wouldn’t do. He might be no good for her, but he needed to hear that from her, not him. “Ask away,” he said with an enthusiasm he didn’t feel.

  “There’s a kid I want you to meet. I think he could be the next big thing,” said Phil.

  Jack wasn’t sure if he felt relief or regret. “Phil, your instinct has always been spot on. You don’t need me to help you make up your mind.”

  “I’d like you to meet with him. Just give me a second opinion. I’d really appreciate it.”

  Jack recognised the inflexible tone. Phil was in the driver’s seat now, literally, and he usually always got what he wanted from there. “You know I’m leaving it all behind me, Phil. I don’t want anything to do with that life anymore. I’m moving on.”

  “It’s not some trick to get you back into th
e business, if that’s what you think. He’s in town and heading the same way as us. I thought we could travel together.”

  Phil swung into an Amtrak car park, and turned off the engine.

  “He’s on the train?”

  “Yeah, heading back to LA. You know the Grammy’s are on this weekend?”

  “Are you going?”

  “Of course.”

  Jack grabbed his bag and followed Phil through the station and onto the train platform, noting a considerably sized security detail. Phil nodded to a uniformed man who returned it and then spoke into a headset. There was no-one else on the platform. Not a single passenger. And from what Jack could see as he climbed aboard, the train was deserted. It was long distance, he’d counted seven carriages from the outside. Deluxe and expensive. Jack heard a whistle and then felt the train move beneath him. Had they been waiting just for them?

  It didn’t take long for him to figure it out. “This train’s been chartered, hasn’t it? Don’t tell me—let me guess—son of billionaire who has everything but a rock star career.”

  “Pretty close.”

  Jack didn’t have much time for rich clients who liked to push their weight, or money, around. Nothing good could come of it. He’d have to try and talk Phil out of this. It surprised him that he would even entertain the idea. It had disaster written all over it. “So why are we meeting on a train and not a private jet?”

  “This kid loves trains. Has a thing for ‘em. Sleeps like a baby on ‘em.”

  “So we’re taking this train to Los Angeles?”

  “All the way.”

  A small, discreet looking man collected Jack’s duffel bag and disappeared with it. “I’ll show you to your room later, Jack. Do you want something to eat, drink before we go in?” Phil said as they passed through the dining car.