Loving You Is Easy

by Wendy S. Marcus

  In under half an hour Brooke had chosen some yarn Ma apparently had her eye on to make scarves for his sisters for Christmas. While Sassy wrapped it up all pretty, Brooke took out her credit card, then hesitated and turned to him. “Do you think…?” She looked down at the card. “No.” She answered her unasked question and shook her head. “I’m overreacting, right?” She looked up at him again.

  Shane doubted anyone would try to track her down via her credit card usage. But, “Would you feel more comfortable if I paid cash?”

  She shook her head. “Then the present wouldn’t be from me.”

  Sassy looked back and forth between them in question.

  Shane told her, “Anyone comes asking about Brooke, you have no idea who she is or where she’s headed.”

  Sassy took the card from Brooke and swiped it. “I’m an old woman,” she said with a wink. “My memory isn’t as good as it used to be.”

  On their way out, Sassy stepped in front of Brooke, blocking her path to the door. “I don’t know who might be looking for you or why, but if you ever need anything, anything at all, you know where to find me.”

  “Thank you,” Brooke said, and she hugged Sassy like she didn’t want to let her go.

  Shane hugged Sassy, too. There’d be no leaving if he didn’t. “Thanks, Sass.”

  When they got back into the Jeep, Brooke said, “That was fun.” She looked and sounded like she really meant it.

  Shane realized seeing Sassy had been fun. Maybe his mom was right when she’d told him he needed to get out more. Maybe now, with Brooke by his side, he would.

  “I’ve never met anyone like Sassy.” Brooke smiled and waved to Sassy, who stood in the doorway of her shop smiling and waving right back.

  Shane didn’t doubt that. Most people thought Sassy was bat-shit crazy, and they weren’t wrong. But she was also kind, thoughtful, and dependable. He had no doubt if he ever had to bury a body in the middle of the night, Sassy would offer to drive and serve as lookout, without any questions asked.

  It warmed his heart when Brooke added, “I like her.”

  Maybe it wouldn’t be as difficult for her to fit into his life as he’d originally thought. Not that it mattered.

  He pulled onto his street, and tried to view his neighborhood from the perspective of someone seeing it for the first time. Old house after old house after old run-down house: some separated by narrow driveways, others with mere feet between them. Tiny front yards. A cracked and uneven sidewalk.

  No, Brooke didn’t belong in his blue-collar world.

  He parked in the street, seeing as his house was one without a garage, and wished he’d painted the washed-out white railing the last time Ma had asked. Or shored up the saggy left corner of the front porch or treated his folks to a fancy new screen door like their neighbors had.

  But Brooke didn’t seem to notice. “Look at all the yellow ribbons and American flags.”

  He turned off the engine, so used to the yellow ribbons tied around every tree that lined the street and all the flags hanging in people’s yards, he hardly noticed them anymore. “Most everyone in the neighborhood has a family member or knows someone in the military.” Kids from low-income families didn’t have all that many choices after high school.

  Now home, Shane wanted out of his Jeep immediately. “You ready to meet the folks?”

  Brooke looked nervous, but she nodded, grabbed her purse from the floor, and opened her door.

  Chapter Eleven

  Brooke entered Shane’s home, the smell of apples and cinnamon baking transporting her back in time to visits with Grandma Ellstein, who used to take her to the local farmers’ market for fresh apple cider and doughnuts. Back to happier times when she could eat anything she wanted without feeling guilty, when she could be herself and have fun without worrying about who might be watching, when she’d felt a part of a family, loved, wanted.

  “You made it!” Patsy had a round, kind face and a genuinely happy smile as she hurried over to hug Shane. Her girth spoke of a woman who enjoyed life without a care for the consequences. Good for her. Noticing the white kitchen trash bags Shane carried, Patsy asked, “You brought me garbage?”

  “Brooke had to leave in a hurry,” he explained.

  Shane leaving her condo carrying luggage would have alerted the press to her plans.

  Patsy studied Brooke briefly, as if trying to figure out why, and then opened her arms. “Welcome to our home.”

  The warm exuberance of her hug made Brooke truly feel welcome. Patsy didn’t just say the words; she actually meant them. Once free, Brooke held out the present. “This is for you.”

  “What for?” Patsy studied the gift-wrapped package.

  “It’s a hostess gift,” Shane explained, like he was now the resident expert on hostess gifts.

  “To say thank you for having me,” Brooke added because Patsy still looked confused.

  “A simple thank-you would have been enough for me, but since you already went to the trouble. Come in.” She stepped back to make room for them. “Come in.”

  Brooke quickly toed off her shoes to avoid an introduction to the wooden spoon.

  Shane shot her an amused smile. “Where’s Dad?”

  “In his recliner pretending to watch TV while he takes a nap. He worked an early shift this morning.”

  From Shane’s letters Brooke knew his dad worked as a New Jersey Transit bus driver and Patsy worked as a homemaker. We didn’t have much money, but my dad and ma made sure we had food to eat, clothes to wear, and a house to come home to. If we wanted anything else we had to work for it.

  Brooke noticed Shane stood with his back resting on the door and he hadn’t removed his boots. He had a tight grip on his cane, his expression pained. The trip to and from New York had really been hard on him. Since every time she’d tried to offer him assistance he’d refused her, this time she didn’t offer, and simply dropped to her knees to untie his laces.

  “Don’t.”

  She didn’t listen. He needed help and she was going to give it whether he liked it or not. Things would have gone a lot quicker if he hadn’t double knotted the darn things.

  “I can take off my own damn boots,” he said slowly, carefully enunciating each word, making his displeasure known.

  She worked as fast as she could. He stood rigid, tense. She could almost feel the heat of his angry stare burning into the back of her head as she looked down. One more…and laces loosened! Thank goodness. She stood, gave him a nonchalant, “So go ahead and do it”—even as her heart pounded in her chest—and walked toward Patsy, who stood in the kitchen, watching them.

  With a slight nod of approval Patsy ripped open her gift. Upon seeing the yarn her face lit up. “This is perfect.” She hugged Brooke. “How did you know?”

  Shane walked up beside her in his sweat-sock-covered feet. “We stopped at Sassy’s.”

  While Patsy talked excitedly about the scarves she could now knit, Shane dipped his head and whispered, “Don’t you ever treat me like a cripple again.”

  Brooke donned her sweetest, most innocent expression and looked up at him. “My urge to help a person is an unfortunate by-product of my caring about them. Another character flaw, I’m afraid.”

  Shane grumbled something and limped off.

  A few hours later, after settling into her room and getting to know Patsy over coffee and way too many calories of apple strudel, Brooke stood in the kitchen as the rest of Shane’s family piled into the house for an “impromptu” family dinner that didn’t feel at all impromptu.

  “Don’t worry.” Shane, who had been noticeably absent for most of the afternoon, came to stand beside her. He’d showered, shaved, and changed his clothes, looking clean-cut and even more appealing in faded blue jeans and a long-sleeved navy tee. “My family is loud, physical, and in-your-face, but for the most part we’re harmless.” He leaned in close and added, “Except for her.” He pointed to a very tall, very solid, not-all-that-friendly-looking woman
who had her long brown hair pulled back into a high ponytail. She looked a couple of years older than Shane. “That’s my sister Charlotte. You do not want to get on her bad side.”

  As if she’d heard her name, Charlotte walked directly toward them. Brooke tried to get control of her nerves by taking a deep breath in through her mouth and letting it out slowly through her nose.

  “Mom says you’re finally done feeling sorry for yourself and we can resume Friday night family dinners. About damn time.”

  Such gall, yet Shane seemed unaffected.

  “I did not say that, Charlotte,” Patsy said while collecting coats. “You just got here. Don’t go starting trouble. And watch your mouth. We have company.”

  “Right.” Charlotte turned her attention to Brooke and boldly looked her up and down, unimpressed. “The mysterious Brooke who got my malingering, lazy brother off the couch and driving on his own again.”

  Apparently Brooke’s sisters weren’t the only ones who could be cruel. She glanced at Shane, trying to gauge his reaction to being called lazy and malingering. To her surprise, he didn’t seem at all upset.

  “Don’t hold back,” he countered. “Tell me how you really feel.”

  “You know I love you, baby brother.” Charlotte wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug.

  He hugged her back. “I know.”

  Maybe there’d been some type of subliminal component to their exchange that only family could pick up on, because aside from the hug, Brooke wasn’t feeling the love.

  “I just want things to get back to normal around here,” Charlotte added.

  “Me, too,” Shane said.

  “Then make it happen.” Charlotte pushed him back and stepped away. “Or I’ll kick your ass.”

  “Again with the mouth,” Patsy yelled.

  Brooke nudged Shane and whispered, “She’s not serious, is she?”

  “She talks a big game.”

  “You mean you two actually fight? As in fistfight?” Brother and sister?

  “Turned out to be good training for hand-to-hand combat,” Shane said.

  “You’re welcome,” Charlotte answered, then turned to Brooke. “Well, aren’t you the complete pretty little package?” She held out her hand and mocked a polite greeting. “So very nice to meet you.”

  Her condescending tone didn’t bother Brooke. But, ouch, the woman had a strong grip.

  “Stop it,” Shane warned.

  Charlotte sneered and released Brooke’s hand. “Sorry. Sometimes I don’t realize my own strength.”

  Liar, but Brooke refused to make a big deal of it even though it took some serious concentration not to rub her now-throbbing hand. If she remembered correctly, Shane’s older sister had been the problem child, pregnant at eighteen and living in sin with a man her parents disapproved of until he ran off with another woman, leaving a twenty-one-year-old Charlotte alone with two young children. She deserved a little slack—she hadn’t had an easy life.

  Luckily Shane’s younger sister, Lucy, smaller, nicer, and more feminine, was another hugger, as were Shane’s dad and Charlotte’s twelve-year-old daughter, Jillian, and her eleven-year-old son, Matt, so Brooke could give her aching hand a rest.

  When they were herded into the dining room, Brooke sent up a quick thank-you for being seated by Shane and far away from Charlotte. One chair remained empty.

  “Where’s Jillian?” Patsy asked as they all sat.

  “She said she’s not hungry and wanted to go upstairs to lie down,” Charlotte answered.

  “But she loves my pork roast.”

  Brooke looked at the individual serving dishes of food on the beautifully set table. A delicious-looking roast that, come to find out, was pork. Antipasto salad. Baked ziti with cheese and meat. The only thing she could eat was the green beans.

  Patsy asked, “What did Dr. Forester say about her frequent stomachaches and skipping meals?”

  “He couldn’t find anything medically wrong. But something’s going on, I know it. She used to love school, and now she hates it. Hates the lunches I pack her and the clothes I buy her. Spends hours hiding out in her room.”

  “She’s almost a teenager,” Patsy pointed out.

  “If she’s anything like you were,” Shane said, “the fun is only beginning.”

  Charlotte balled up her cloth napkin and threw it at him.

  “Knock it off,” Patsy scolded. “We have company.”

  “Let’s eat,” Al said. They were the first words Brooke had heard him utter since her arrival. His directive absolute, everyone started passing around dishes and serving themselves.

  With the roast closing in from the left and the antipasto salad closing in from the right, Brooke had to make her move. “I apologize.” She folded her napkin and placed it on her empty plate. “Please excuse me.” She stood. “It’s been a long day with a lot of driving and I’m feeling a bit queasy.” She put her hand on her abdomen for effect then pushed her chair back under the table. “I think I’m going to lie down for a little while, too.” Without waiting for a response, she left the dining room.

  Upstairs she entered Lucy’s old room, where Patsy had put her, and turned on the light to find Jillian lying on the bed.

  The girl jolted up to a sitting position, wiping her wet eyes.

  “Are you okay? Should I get your mom?”

  Jillian let out a panicked, “No! You can’t tell her. Promise.”

  Oy. Keeping secrets from Charlotte did not seem like a good way to stay on her good side, assuming she had one. But Jillian looked so upset. “Are you ill?”

  “No.”

  Unsure what to do next, Brooke offered, “Do you want to talk about whatever’s bothering you?”

  Jillian thought about it.

  Brooke waited.

  Then Jillian whispered, “Close the door.”

  Brooke did.

  “Uncle Shane said you’re a teacher.”

  “I am.”

  “And you teach kids my age.”

  “I do.”

  “I wish I was pretty like you,” Jillian said.

  The young girl had a large frame for a twelve-year-old, and the extra weight she carried probably made her look huge in comparison to her classmates. She wore her long brown hair pulled back like her mom, nothing special. But she had a kind, sweet face. “I saw you playing with your brother,” Brooke told her. “When you smile, you’re the prettiest girl in the room.”

  Jillian turned away, looking uncomfortable with the compliment.

  “When I was your age,” Brooke took a few, tentative steps forward. “I was skinny and flat-chested and I had freckles.” Not many, but enough to have her mom squeezing lemon juice onto her face every chance she got. “That’s why I grew my hair so long. So people wouldn’t think I was a boy.”

  “Did you get teased?”

  Brooke nodded, gaining some insight into what had Jillian crying.

  “What did you do?”

  Nothing. She’d done nothing. “Is that why you’re upset? Is someone at school teasing you?”

  “Some girls in my school are so pretty.” Jillian twisted the hem of her sweater around a finger. “And mean.”

  Now they were getting somewhere. Brooke pointed to the corner of the twin bed. “May I sit down?”

  Jillian drew up her legs to make room.

  “Do those mean girls have anything to do with why you’re skipping meals and why you all of a sudden hate your clothes and hate school?”

  Jillian sucked in a breath and her eyes went wide. “Mom told you?” She looked absolutely horrified.

  Brooke shook her head. “I overheard her tell your grandma.” No need to mention it was at the dinner table. “She’s worried about you.”

  “My mom says girls need to learn to stand up for themselves and take care of themselves. We can’t depend on anyone else.”

  Poor thing, being raised by such an angry parent.

  While adults like to think they understand what their childre
n have to deal with at school, times change. She’d been shocked to learn how early bullying started these days, and how truly vicious preteen/young teen girls and boys could be. “While I agree it’s important for women to grow up to be independent, there are some situations young girls need help from an adult to handle.”

  Jillian shook her head. “I can’t tell my mom. She’ll go running down to my school all out of control and crazy and make everything worse.”

  “There has to be another adult you trust. What about your grandma?”

  “I trust you.”

  Sometimes it’s easier to tell your problems to a stranger. Brooke wasn’t sure how to proceed. But finding Jillian crying alone in a room reminded her of some very unpleasant memories when she’d wished she had an adult she trusted to talk to. Thank goodness she’d had Neve.

  “But you have to promise not to tell,” Jillian said.

  Brooke looked into her teary eyes. “Honey, I’m happy to listen and help you in any way I can. But I cannot promise I won’t tell your mom or your grandma.”

  The tears she’d been trying so hard to control spilled over onto her cheeks.

  “If you’re in danger or someone is hurting you, as a responsible adult, I have to do something. How about we make a deal? You tell me what’s going on and then together we’ll decide if someone else needs to be told and who that someone should be?”

  Jillian wiped at her eyes with her wrist and thought some more. After about a minute she nodded and said, “Okay.” She hesitated then shared, “Those mean girls I told you about? They call me fat. That’s why I can’t eat. I have to lose weight to make them stop.”

  If only it were that easy. Brooke didn’t have the heart to tell her if she lost weight they’d simply find something else to tease her about. She felt like a fraud, considering how closely she monitored her own weight so as not to have to deal with her mother during her family visits/public appearances, but Brooke said what needed to be said. “The only reason you should try to lose weight is if you want to lose weight. Not to please anyone else. Only to please yourself. If you want to lose weight—”

  “I do,” Jillian interrupted.