by S. A. Wolfe
“You think it has something to do with Dylan’s idea of self-worth and the need to give you something comparable to what you just earned? Could be, but even that’s a little convoluted for Dylan. Numbers are your thing, remember?” He laughs lightly.
“That’s true.” I drape the coat over my head.
“Be careful on the path. I don’t want you to fall. Can I walk you back to the house?”
“No. I’ll be fine.” I hesitate. “What’s your middle name?”
“Phineas,” he says with a slight eye roll.
“You must have been loved dearly to receive such a beautiful, impressive set of names. Goodbye, Carson Phineas Blackard.” I open the door fast and jump out. Right before the door closes, though, I think I hear Carson say, “I’ll see you soon, Jessica.”
Twenty-Three
The power comes back on late in the morning and, with the exception of a few small tree limbs and branches sprinkled around the yard, we’ve survived. Even my new fridge spared the food from spoilage and Imogene is able to fry up eggs and bacon for breakfast. We all have headaches so we guzzle glasses of water and wear sunglasses as it turns into another hot and humid day.
Carson calls to tell me that he’ll clean up the storm debris when he comes by for the ring. When I hang up all I can think about is the next time I will be able to see Carson. Regardless of Carson’s demand that I not see his brother, I do have a responsibility to see Dylan, even though I dread it.
I think back on my behavior with Dylan—the school-girl giggles, the lust and sex—never once did I think that it would come to this. I don’t want to believe that I was very cavalier with Dylan. Yet it’s true. It all went to my head. I was finally old enough and pretty enough to catch the hot guy. I wanted a boyfriend like Dylan, but I got more than a casual fling you can drop when it gets boring.
I hate that I became one of those selfish women I hate seeing with nice guys. They take them for granted. Even if Dylan’s depression played the biggest role, I, too, had a starring role in this disaster.
“I wish you guys weren’t going to work today,” I say as Imogene washes dishes and Lauren reads on her tablet.
“Are you lonely here by yourself?” Lauren asks.
“Yes. Bert doesn’t talk much and he certainly doesn’t know how to have a proper cocktail hour.” I pout.
Imogene pulls the rubber gloves off her hands and joins us at the table. “Do you miss Dylan or is it just having a boyfriend around that you miss?”
“I miss being with someone, but I don’t want to be back in that situation.”
“Of course not,” Imogene agrees. “Even if you weren’t in love with the guy, Dylan is pretty terrific. You had a live-in stud. But Dylan needs to do what’s best for him right now. We’ve all known he’s bipolar, but Carson is the person who manages him when he won’t or can’t manage himself. So now it’s time for Dylan to help Dylan.”
“Bipolar,” I repeat. ”So you all have known this?”
“For years,” Lauren says. “At least since Dylan was a teenager. It’s not anything new. A lot of people are bipolar.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It wasn’t our place,” Imogene answers. “Dylan should have told you. He did, right?”
“Carson told me Dylan had issues. I didn’t know the full extent of his problems and Dylan didn’t say anything until after Carson told me. By then, Dylan was in a full-blown obsession with me or really our relationship. I was in the dating stage and Dylan was way ahead of me planning our wedding.”
“Unfortunately, that’s part of Dylan’s problem and you got dragged into it before you knew what was going on,” Lauren says, but there’s an edge of annoyance to her voice and I suspect she’s irritated with me for some reason.
“I wanted to end my virgin status. I didn’t want it to blow up in my face.”
“Listen to you,” Lauren snaps at me. “Is this really about you? Our dear friend, Dylan, is falling apart and you’re still blubbering on about yourself. I’m going to say this once. You are so fucking lucky. I know you’re smart and you’ve worked hard, but you also got the lucky gene. We all pray for the lucky gene while most of us never get it. You got it. You’re smart, you’re pretty and you got Dylan. Even if it was short lived, you got a great guy. I’m sorry he’s out of the picture now. It’s for the best, but still.”
My humiliation is obvious; I sense my face reddening.
“Lauren,” Imogene scolds.
“Jess, I like you a lot, but I’ve only known you for a few months. Dylan has been my friend my whole life. He’s had a history of wild behavior and a trail of women, but he’s a good person. At least you lost your virginity to a nice guy who cares about you and not some lame geek you dug out of the library stacks.”
Imogene and I look at one another and burst out laughing.
“Fair enough,” I say.
“It’s amazing that you didn’t fall in love with Dylan,” Imogene says. “Usually it’s the inexperienced girls that fall really hard for the first hunk, but you’re so…”
“Pragmatic,” I tack on. “It’s our family motto. Why fall hopelessly in love when you can be practical?”
“Ew. Really?” Imogene asks. “My parents have been working side-by-side in that diner forever and they argue over dinner orders or ketchup, but they are real romantics at heart. My dad still can’t keep his hands off my mom. Sometimes it’s like living with lovey-dovey teenagers.”
“That’s nice.” I picture my parents, content with their rigid routine of work, eating at the same restaurants and going to the same benefits where they can be seen by people they call friends, but who they secretly detest. “My parents are not affectionate people and they pushed me into the early college program, assuming I’d skip over all the pesky puberty and dating business. They got their wish. Almost. I think they would have preferred if I was a eunuch so they’d never have to deal with the possibility of me having a boyfriend or worse, a husband.”
“Nonsense.” Imogene laughs. “Be grateful they made sure you got the education you received. Your accomplishments are remarkable.”
“But it’s lonely always being the youngest person in the dorms, in my classes, in my office. Even here, everyone treats me like a naïve school girl.”
“No, we don’t. We don’t think of you like that,” Lauren says.
“Well, maybe a little,” Imogene adds.
“Carson always lectures me.”
“That’s how Carson is,” Lauren says. “Do you know how many times he’s lectured Imogene to quit smoking?”
“Hey, I haven’t seen you smoking lately,” I note.
“I quit. And I’m fucking irritable. Can’t you tell?”
“No, you’re doing great. Did you do it cold turkey?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Tell her why,” Lauren says.
I look back at Imogene who rolls her eyes up to the ceiling and lets out a dramatic sigh. “I happen to like someone who has asthma. Wouldn’t ya know?”
Lauren giggles. “It’s perfect. She has to quit smoking because Jeremy is asthmatic. He told Imogene when she offered him a smoke. He actually said his future family will live in a non-smoking environment.” Lauren is beside herself with laughter.
“It wasn’t that funny,” Imogene says. “I was trying to break the ice, get the conversation going, and we were outside a pool hall. Everyone smokes there, but not the one guy I’m interested in.”
“Who’s Jeremy?” I ask, excited to hear about someone else’s dating woes.
“The new guy at Blackard Designs,” Lauren answers.
“I met him. Dylan introduced me to him,” I say. “Really, you’re into this guy? Like seriously enough that you’ll quit smoking?”
Imogene glares at me. “He better be worth it. I gave up two packs a day for this guy, but the upside is that now I can afford to buy new shoes.”
“The upside is now you can breathe,” I say. “Have you gone out?”
�
��Oh, no, she hasn’t even gotten that far. Miss big mouth over here, who tells the rest of us how to date, can’t get up the nerve to ask him out, so she’s hoping she’ll bump into him again and then the magic will really happen.”
Imogene shrugs. “What can I say? I’m a little shy around guys I’m attracted to.”
“It sounds very promising,” I add.
“What about you, Jess. Are you going to talk to Dylan? Mend things? I don’t mean get back together, but find a way to speak to each other like friends?”
“Carson would rather I stay away from Dylan right now.”
“We all heard what Carson said to you, but Carson’s no expert. I think it’s pretty nasty for him to say you need to be cut off from Dylan. Dylan isn’t a leper and maybe a come-to-Jesus conversation with you will help him after all. You could be the push he needs to get back into treatment.” Imogene sounds so sure of herself. “Dylan really likes you and he’s had time to calm down since he’s been back at Leo’s place. He’s rational again. Isn’t that the time to talk him?”
“I don’t know. I trust Carson on this,” I answer. “I don’t want to make things worse again.” I’m afraid to see Dylan. That’s what I can’t admit. Afraid because I don’t love him and it makes me feel like an awful person; the one who should be persecuted. I have no doubt that I would have been the first woman burned at the Salem witch trials if I had been born during that era.
“Enough about these men,” Lauren says. “I’ll never get Leo to speak to me, Imogene will never ask Jeremy out, Dylan won’t face reality and Carson and Jess will dance around each other, avoiding the obvious forever, so let’s move on to another topic like our jewelry business.”
“What about Carson and me?” I ask, bolting upright in my chair.
“Lauren thinks she has a sixth sense for these things. She thinks you and Carson are really better suited for one another and that’s why he antagonizes you,” Imogene says. “I don’t know. I can’t think straight since I quit smoking, but you know the old saying about boys who tease girls they secretly like.”
“For the boss of his own company, who doesn’t need to do the actual labor any more, Carson sure spends a lot of time over here,” Lauren says.
“He was hired by Aunt Virginia,” I say.
“Carson has a crew for his contracting business, Jess. They go out and do the house renovations. I’m not talking about his employees at Blackard Designs. Those guys make the furniture. I’m talking about Carson’s high-end carpentry and renovation work he does in private homes. He has a huge crew for that. He has two very successful businesses and he doesn’t pick up a saw or a hammer, but he’s over here every other day repairing or building things. He’s here because of you.” Lauren nods her head after her solid closing argument. “I saw that sweet little necklace he gave you. Is that the key to his heart?”
“Key to his heart?” Imogene barks with laughter. “Okay, it sounds lame, but Lauren, you may be on to something.”
I look down at the necklace that I slept in. I fiddle with the key, hoping it is a way to Carson. It seems inappropriate for me to comment about Carson and the attraction I have felt for him since I was sleeping with his brother. The whole idea of telling them sounds crude, so I avoid Lauren’s remark entirely.
“Tell me about your jewelry business,” I say.
Imogene and Lauren look at one another, debating whether to let me change the topic or not.
We spend the next hour, before they have to leave for their shifts at the diner, discussing re-purposed vintage necklaces. Imogene and Lauren have been making necklaces, bracelets and earrings from pieces of vintage jewelry they buy at estate sales or as lots on auction sites. They take the old jewelry apart if it is damaged or has missing pieces and then they use the undamaged components in their own creations. Their pieces are quite elaborate and require a lot of labor, yet they enjoy the work and doing it together. Their online presence in a community store for artists brings in good sales, but they want to expand with their own website and figure out how to make it a full-time career, so they can stop waitressing.
It’s exciting to hear them talk about it and they promise to bring their jewelry cases over next time for show and tell. They want to get professional photos of their work and would like me to help them create their website. When people hear that I’m good with computer coding and design they seem to think I have some kind of supernatural abilities. If that were true, I wouldn’t feel so alone.
Losing track of time is easy when you don’t have to be anywhere. My office, my home and my studio all blur together. I spend more time painting, staying in my pajamas, working on 5 Alpha projects before going to the studio. I eat at odd hours. Apples are easy to eat any time and in any room.
It’s easy to wallow in self-pity and loneliness, it’s also unattractive. Hair goes unwashed, showers get skipped, clothes get over-worn and even man’s best friend starts to get turned off.
Bert stops sleeping on my bed and moves to the floor when my moping becomes the overbearing third person in the room. His dog sense tells him that his master needs to get her act together.
Lauren and Imogene are often at the diner or working on their jewelry business out of Bonnie’s home’s basement. I look forward to when they make time to see me, like a kid waiting for their parents to take them to the circus.
It’s the end of August and I’m wearing a flannel, granny nightgown because it’s the last clean sleeping garment available. I’m sitting in the bay window of the library, eating a bowl of dry Cheerios because I ran out of milk three days ago. My thick hair has grown longer and it’s flat with grease build-up. I tuck it behind my ears and munch on my cereal when Carson’s big, black truck pulls up in front of the house and he and Leo get out. They inspect the large tree closest to the house and the branches on the ground that were brought down by the storm. Carson looks up at the library window and sees me. I wave my spoon and continue eating.
A few minutes later, the slamming door and his boots pounding on the stairs makes me think I’m reliving some kind of bad school play. I expect to see the star football player-slash-theater major barrel onto the set with his overeager entrance.
Carson swaggers into the library and I think, Here’s Carson!
He takes in my flannel nightgown and fuzzy footies. It’s only ninety degrees outside. “What has happened to you?”
“I’ve been busy with work,” I mumble through a mouth full of cereal.
He continues to look at my unkempt hair, the paint under my long fingernails and my miserable meal.
“No time to get my hair and nails done. Big project at work and I have all those paintings that I need to finish,” I go on.
“Uh-huh,” he says. “When was the last time you left the house?”
“I take Bert out every day.”
“You mean you open the door everyday so Bert can go out.”
I shrug and continue to eat my dry, tasteless food. I’m not even swayed by the fact that Carson is freshly showered and I can smell his scented deodorant along with a whiff of the shampoo from his wet hair. He takes my cereal bowl from me and puts it on the windowsill. Then he walks me upstairs to my bathroom.
“Shower,” he demands. “Put on clean clothes and meet me downstairs when you’re done.” He leaves and I hear him jog back down the stairs.
I decide to use Aunt Ginnie’s master bath instead because I’ve never used the enormous claw tub in there. I fill it with her herbal-scented bubble bath and then discover a long rubber tube with a showerhead that screws onto the faucet so you can wash your hair while taking a bath. Either that or it’s to give yourself an enema.
When I sink into the hot water, I slip down far enough to realize that the tub could easily hold two people comfortably. Why did I always rush through showers when I could have taken a long, hot bath and soaked as long as I want? I have no place to be.
I take my time, shaving my legs, deep conditioning my hair and trying out one of my aunt
’s mud masks. It’s a very slow process to wake up all of my senses, but after a half hour in the tub, I feel like I’m coming back to earth.
My hair takes a while to dry with the low wattage hair dryer, so I swing my head upside down to help hurry it along. Then I slather on body oil that smells like roses and makes my skin baby smooth. Then I dab on one of her perfumes and find a simple cream-colored cotton sheath dress in her closet to wear.
My aunt left behind a lot of little luxuries I never noticed in her room when Lois and Eleanor helped me clean out her closets. Her friends obviously saved some of the special toiletries and clothing for me, and it’s a treat to discover everything I missed up until this point. I imagine my aunt getting ready for a date, going through the same rituals with the same products I’ve used. She was very beautiful and I suspect she had admirers and lovers even in old age.
Before I leave Aunt Ginnie’s bedroom, I take the jeweler’s bag from the closet shelf. I haven’t looked at the ring since the night Imogene found it. I kept it in the bag with the receipt and shoved it in the back of the closet. As if that would stop me from thinking about it, I laugh.
I pad barefoot back out to the porch to watch Carson and Leo haul the rest of the yard debris onto the truck bed. I lean against the porch railing and watch them lift the heavy broken limbs. Carson glances at me only briefly, before giving his full attention to the yard work.
The sun beats down on them as they haul the heavy branches over their heads with loud grunts and a final ARGH as they dump it on a flatbed hooked up to Carson’s truck. They use cables to secure the large limbs from rolling and then take a break from their hard work. Carson wipes his sweaty brow with the bottom of his t-shirt and slugs back a full bottle of water.
I wonder if some of this Paul Bunyan activity is for my benefit.
When the yard is cleared and the truck is loaded, Leo takes out his cell phone to make a call. He sits half in and half out of the cab of the truck talking to someone. What Lauren wouldn’t give to see this, I think.
Carson makes his way over to the porch and eyes me with suspicion. I am groomed and dressed, nothing like the zombie he encountered earlier.
