by S. M. Smith
“I-“ He tries to calm himself down, but to no avail. “Mud?? I…can’t picture you covered in mud,” he finally chokes out. I just shake my head at his amusement. It takes him a few more minutes to stop laughing. “Okay, so you and Stephen then. Oh, the guy from that picture in your living room? So you’re still in contact with him?” I nod, confirming his putting together the connection.
“Oh yeah, he’s one of my closest friends. He was a rock for me as I was trying to get over Jake. He stayed by my side as much as he could right after everything happened. He’s a lawyer at Adams, Michaelson and Associates actually, so he couldn’t be there all the time, but he’s been awesome.” His brows rise, impressed.
“I know the firm. Great group. Sounds like you two are pretty close then if he followed you here to the city.” He starts to get all serious.
“I wouldn’t say he followed me,” I say, starting to feel like he might be insinuating something, “but we both landed here after college, yes.”
“Hmm. So you’ll be having dinner with your dad on Thanksgiving, with Stephen and his family.” It sounds more like a question than the statement it is. And there is something other than curiosity there too.
“Well, yes. We usually do. Sometimes we even have other members from our church over too.”
“What’s your church like?” He is back to being strictly curious. His question puts a smile back on my face because I love our church.
“It’s full of real people.” He kind of huffs at that. “Okay, so what I mean by ‘real’ people is, everyone has their story. They are hurting or recovering from some hurt, they aren’t overly righteous or try to make every moment of their life look like some production of how they are living for God. They’ve all gone through their fair share of grief and hard times. Some hurt so badly they make decisions that hurt themselves or their families. And because we all understand what it means to be in need of grace and mercy, we all step up to help them recover. They are normal everyday people who are just trying to figure out this thing called life and finding the glory and beauty and love of Jesus in everyday things.”
“OH! Well that’s a relief, because for a moment I thought you were going to tell me that you went to a church full of green aliens or something.” He sends me a playful look from across the table. I throw a wadded up paper napkin at him. He laughs it off.
“It sounds nice,” he says with a hint of skepticism.
“It is. And it’s been my home for as long as I can remember. Those people are some of the strongest people I’ve ever met and they are quick to lend their strength too. They were incredible when my mom died, and are still wonderful about remembering her to this day.”
“She must have been a wonderful woman to have people still saying great things about her now. When did she pass away?”
I know I’m the one who brought her up, but my heart still sighs at the thought of her.
“My senior year of high school. Just a few days after we found out I had been accepted to the University of Missouri, actually.” The picture in my room flashes through my mind all of a sudden. That had been a good day for her, but it was her last good day. I’m so thankful God gave her enough strength to celebrate with me.
“I’m sorry, Jessie, I didn’t mean to dig up anything for you. We don’t have to talk about her if you don’t want to.”
“It’s okay. It used to hurt to talk about her, and it still does to an extent. But really, as much as I would want her here, I realize now, it is selfish of me. She was in so much pain for so long, and she’s not now.” I shrug it off and move on to something else because as much as I know it’s selfish of me, it doesn’t make it any easier not to want her here.
“So what types of traditions do you and your sister have for thanksgiving?”
“Nothing really. She tries to cook, but fails horribly, so we typically will order in. I have tried the last couple of years to just have her start with ordering in, but she insists each year that she has better recipes than the last, and because I’m a sucker and want her to succeed, I let her try them anyway.” He laughs to himself and shakes his head. He goes on and on about her failed attempt at homemade cranberry sauce last year. We laugh and talk on for a little while longer, until we have to get back to work.
***
My sessions after lunch take no time at all, but the moment I sit back down at my desk, it seems like time stops and is just dragging on. Daphne scurries around like a lost puppy all afternoon, most likely trying to work up the courage to enter my office and start drilling me about what is going on with Caleb. Every time she starts to enter my office, I pretend to make a call, successfully keeping her from entering my office. Fortunately for me, Stephen decides to surprise us with coffee midafternoon.
Daphne follows him into my office to retrieve hers, but after giving me a stare down and realizing I’m not going to crack, she huffs, picks up her coffee and stomps out of the room.
“What’s her deal?” Stephen chuckles.
“Oh, she’s mad because I won’t talk to her about Caleb.” He eyes my bouquet and nods toward the gorgeous purple and white flowers.
“I take it things are going well then.”
“Yes and no. It’s all better now that we talked, but Daphne thinks I need to talk about what is bothering me and I don’t want to right now. Hence the stomping like a herd of elephants.” He laughs as he settles himself on my couch, moving a ream of photo paper out of the way. I make a mental note to take the time to clean my office before the end of the week.
“Ok, well then. Will Caleb be joining us for Thanksgiving then?” I wince, another topic of the ‘don’t want to talk about Caleb’ discussion.
“No. He’s going to London to spend it with his sister.” I start shuffling papers together and tapping them on the desk to busy my hands.
“I see. Has he met your dad yet?”
“Not yet. We’re supposed to set something up when he gets back.” Stephen just presses his lips together and nods almost disapprovingly as he takes that in. That look starts to make me mad since this shouldn’t really be any of his business. “Can we please talk about something else….anything?” I ask a little harshly and his face softens and he adjusts in his seat.
“Sure. So are you hunting next weekend?”
Deer hunting with Jake had been more Jake’s idea than mine. Something for us to do together, but it tended to end up a competition and something he would get mad at me over. I usually brought home the bigger deer, effectively keeping him from speaking to me until the season was over. I haven’t even considered hunting this year.
“You know, I think I’m going to pass this year. Maybe spend the time with my dad. This will be ten years, you know, and I think we both could use some more time together, just in general.” Ten years without Mom has been hard for me, but is heart wrenching for the man who has loved her for over thirty.
“I think he would love that,” Stephen says softly.
“Yeah. Hey, I have an idea, though. When was the last time we watched the parade together? Any chance you’d be up for commentating the parade with me this year?” We used to curl up on the couch in our Thanksgiving best, pretending to be Katie and Al, reporting the different floats of the parade while our mothers scampered about trying to finish Thanksgiving dinner before the football games started. But it has been ten years since we had a ‘normal’ Thanksgiving.
I look up at him to see sadness in his eyes. But that sadness is different somehow, as if he is sad that I am sad. I pull the corners of my mouth up to a smile, showing him I’d be excited to watch the parade with him again. He looks doubtful that I have fully moved on to being excited, but his eyes soften a bit regardless.
“I would love to watch the parade with you this year.”
Chapter Twelve
I wake to the smell of bacon. Normal people would love this smell, but I am apparently not normal. The thought of bacon makes my heart beat faster, well really the thought of all the potential he
alth problems bacon has makes my heart beat faster. But the smell feels like home and that is why I smile, stretch and decide to join my father downstairs instead of rolling over and going back to sleep.
I check my phone as I pull my hoodie over my crazy hair and slip my feet into my soft, fuzzy pink slippers. The Studio is only open Monday and Tuesday this week, and since Caleb is going to have to leave today to catch his flight to London, I decide to come home early and spend the rest of Thanksgiving week with my dad. I had hoped that Caleb would text or leave me a message upon his arrival in London, but there are no missed messages on my phone, so I pocket it and head down the stairs without touching my hair.
The sun’s early morning rays light up the living room as I make my way through the house. Dust particles float through the air as I think back to when I lived here full time and every morning smelled of various delicious breakfast foods. If Mom wasn’t cooking bacon and eggs for me and Dad, then it was some sort of muffin or fruity pancake. And coffee. There was always coffee in the kitchen. Which is why I am only half surprised to find Stephen and Mark sitting at the kitchen table when I round the corner.
“Well, good morning, sunshine,” Dad says as I stop dead in my tracks. I realize now that I should have most definitely brushed out my hair, but it is too late now. I’m also painfully aware that I’m rocking pink flamingo pajama pants with a Mizzou hoodie. To say I’m not the queen of fashion right now, would be a huge understatement.
“Morning” is all I can muster as I shuffle my way to the coffee pot. I notice the camouflage that the Cahill men are all decked out in as I pull my favorite mug out of the cabinet, and realize they must have been out hunting this morning. I pour myself a cup and add my typical sugar and a dab of milk as Mark tells Dad about the chaotic time they had at the meat processor’s this morning. Once I’ve had the opportunity to let the warm liquid caffeine hit my nervous system, I decide to speak and form full sentences.
“How was the hunt this morning?” I ask as I take a seat across from Stephen.
“Excellent. Stephen hit a twelve point buck not ten minutes into the hunt,” Mark brags. Well that explains their presence this early in the morning.
“Congratulations.” I nod at him. He smirks, taking my hair in as he munches on a piece of toast. I pat the rat’s nest and shoot him a daring look. He’s seen me worse and he knows it, but that won’t stop him from using this morning as a punch line for some good jokes later.
“Would you like some bacon, sweetheart?” Dad asks from the stove. His red “Kiss the Cook” apron is splattered with grease stains, reminding me that he needs a new apron for Christmas this year.
“I’m fine, but thank you,” I say, slipping both hands around my mug. I pull one foot into the chair with me and snuggle my knee to my chest, still feeling a little groggy.
“Eggs or toast?” Dad asks holding out a plate with some scrambled eggs and wheat toast on it. I take the plate, thanking him. Stephen gets up to put his plate in the sink and I notice the massive bulges protruding from his arms through his thermal shirt. When did he start bulking up? I wonder.
As he turns back toward the table, I notice his pecs too and it dawns on me that I don’t know much about what he’s been up to lately. He catches me staring though and tries to give me this charming smile. I wrinkle my nose and squint, trying to make it look like I was trying to focus my sight on something else. But truth be told, I don’t have any problem noticing that my already hot best friend is looking drop dead sexy lately. I must be delirious and sleep deprived to be thinking something like that about my best friend. That’s the only reasonable explanation.
I turn my full attention back to my breakfast, hoping it would be a successful distraction. Unfortunately it isn’t enough for me not to notice Stephen’s stare down.
“Yes?” I ask, finally meeting his gaze. He shakes his head at me, amused by something.
“Nothing,” he chuckles. I eyeball him from across the table before stabbing some eggs with my fork.
“Well, Jack, thank you for the breakfast.” Mark stands up and picks his jacket up from the back of the chair he was sitting in. “Son, your mother should be back from the store soon and will need our help.” Stephen grabs his coat and puts it on as well.
“Mr. St. James, Jessie, thank you for your hospitality.” Stephen shakes my dad’s hand and turns another ornery smile my way. “We’re still on for the parade tomorrow, right?”
“Yep,” I say, barely looking in his direction. I’m ready for this weird awkwardness to be over, so I just continue inhaling my breakfast. They make their way out the back door and I sigh my relief in not being totally humiliated any further. Dad finishes cooking his breakfast and takes the seat beside me.
“So, what is on the agenda for you today, kiddo?” he asks cheerfully.
“Well, I figured I would hang with you today. Maybe take some fall afternoon shots. Maybe some of downtown. I don’t really have anything I need to do really, other than spend some quality time with you.”
“Ah, well then. We’ll just have to find something fun to do. You wouldn’t want to go for a ride around the property with me later would you? I need to check on the fence line and a few other things.”
“I would love to,” I tell him as I finish my breakfast and sip on the last of my coffee. “I just need to clean up first.”
With a mouthful of bacon, he nods his head to acknowledge me. I get up and start rinsing my plate to put it in the dishwasher.
“Don’t worry about the dishes, honey,” Dad says from the table. “I’ll do them while you’re getting ready for the day. We’ll go for a ride once you’re all done.” Thankful for his ever hospitable demeanor, I kiss the top of his head before heading upstairs.
***
I tug the straps on my saddle one more time before attempting to mount my horse, Sadie. Once on top, I make sure my camera is still firmly packed in the saddle bag and direct Sadie to follow my dad. We trot along for a few quiet minutes, side by side.
“So, what is happening in the world of the big city?” Dad asks, inspecting the fence line as we trot along.
“Not a whole lot. I told you I’ve been seeing someone, right?”
“The guy who took you to the Chiefs game?” he asks, barely looking up.
“Yes. His name is Caleb. We’ve been seeing each other for almost two months now.”
“Hmm. Well I’m glad you are feeling comfortable to be getting back out there,” he says, stopping to dismount and check out a loose wire.
“I am. Caleb seems to be a great guy so far and I’m really enjoying just trying to get back to normal,” I tell him. He ties a red tag around the wire and climbs back up on his horse.
“Well, kiddo, I’m not sure what you mean by ‘normal’ but I think I understand what you’re trying to say.” He gives me a hopeful look before moving on.
“I was going to invite him to dinner tomorrow,” I start, waiting to see how he reacts. He doesn’t really show any surprise, but does slow his horse down a bit.
“So you think I’m ready to meet him, huh?” He pulls a corner of his mouth up into a half smile.
“I think so. But he isn’t able to come to dinner. He’s actually spending Thanksgiving with his sister, in England,” I say. Dad stops again to inspect a fence post, so I take the opportunity to pull my camera out. I snap a few pictures of the fence line and of the landscape here and there before Dad gets back on his horse.
“England, huh?” he says after trotting along a few moments. I nod my head, not really sure what else to tell him. “Well, I will look forward to meeting him when he gets back then.” He smiles at me.
My father can be a very patient person, sometimes, like now, to the point that it is a bit unnerving. He’s never been unkind after having to wait, but his demeanor still naturally makes you feel guilty for making him do so. I have to make sure that Caleb solidifies a date to meet him once he gets back home.
I search my brain for a change of topic
and I remember that part of the reason that I want to spend some time with him is so that I can gauge how well he is handling this particular holiday season. We ride on in silence for a while longer, before I work up the courage to talk to him about Mom.
“So, how are you doing, Dad?” I ask gently, before adding, “Really doing?”
He looks at me with a semi-confused look on his face, then his look changes to show that he understands what I’m asking. A fake smile flashes across his face, but he knows better than to hide anything from me. He rides for a few more moments before answering.
“I still talk to her, every day. I know it’s been ten years, but I still need her just as much as the day she went home.” Tears threaten my eyes so I take in a quiet, cool breath. “She started answering back, you know?” My jaw drops and I jerk my head around to see if he’s serious. He’s not.
“That’s not funny,” I tell him firmly, but he’s too busy laughing to hear me.
“You should tell that to your face.” He laughs. “But in all seriousness,” he says, calming down, “I do still talk to her. I tell her about you, how proud I am of the woman you’ve become. How you’ve really made something of yourself and your talents. How worried I am about you.” He gives me a very pointed look.
“I’m fine, Dad,” I tell him, facing forward again.
“I know you think you are, but I also know there are things you’re not telling me. I’m your father. It’s my job to worry, and when you leave details out about your life, it just makes my job that much easier.” He gives me a half smile. “You’re a good kid, you know that, right? You proved that long before I expected that of you. There isn’t really anything you could tell me that would make me love you any less.”
“You’re my dad, you’re supposed to say things like that.”
“Yes, but it’s true.” We ride on in silence for a few more seconds. I really wish Mom were here. What I need to hear would be much more comforting if it were coming from her.
