“You know the last time he saw me? The last time he saw me and we weren’t at the track? When he helped me move back to my parents’ house. How depressing is that? And he couldn’t even stick around afterwards for a beer.” And then he muttered, “I guess getting home to you was more important.”
I remembered the day well. Ryan had worked overtime for three days so that he could take the entire day off to help Chris move. It had only been little more than a week since he had helped Chris move out of his parents’ house, and now, he was heading back again. It was frustrating for me, though Ryan didn’t complain, and he didn’t question the sudden change of heart either. He dutifully went to help Chris despite the personal sacrifice it took. He’d come home exhausted and tense that night. Chris had insisted on trying to help despite the crutches making it nearly impossible. And more than once, Chris and his father had exchanged hushed terse words. Over the course of the day, each of the other guys from the riding group had come to help, though none of them could spare the entire day. By the time the last of the boxes and furniture was moved, Ryan told me that he nearly ran from the place to avoid the awkward tension.
“Chris,” I tried to remain calm and fight the urge to defend Ryan, “the guys love you like a brother, and Ryan probably more than the rest of them.”
“They pity me,” he said through gritted teeth.
“No, they don’t!”
“Yes, they do! The young one who barely got started riding and now gets to drool jealously from the sidelines.” He looked down at his hands. “I may never be able to ride again. Fuck, I might never walk again…not like a normal person.” He turned his head away from me and then said more softly, “If they cared, I wouldn’t have to beg them to spend time with me. It wouldn’t matter that I can’t ride.” He wrung his hands together, clenching and releasing his jaw. “Do you think I like sitting on the sidelines like this? An invalid?” His voice began to rise, and he turned back to me, eyes bloodshot and glassy. “You think I like drooling over what I used to do? Waiting in the wings to break bread with guys who otherwise don’t have time for me? I mean, I love these guys, but I kinda hate them, too. They are partly the reason I’m like this.”
“Wow. Hun… do you really believe that?” I looked at him intently.
“They fucking knew I couldn’t handle it.”
“And they tried to tell you—”
“Maybe they should’ve tried harder.”
“And maybe you should’ve listened harder.” The words came out as a reflex, and I knew they were the wrong ones as soon as they rang in my ears.
He fumbled with his crutches and got up. “I have no fucking clue what I’m even doing here,” his voice cracked; “groveling like some…” he bit his lip, though not before I saw it quiver.
I jumped off the bleachers and grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him as I spoke, “Stop it, Chris. Jesus Christ, man, stop talking like that!” I pulled him into a hug. “Sweetheart, it simply isn’t true,” I said to his neck and ear. Breaking away, I looked into his eyes as tears threatened to spill onto his cheeks. “You’re like a little brother to me, y’know. And as your big sister, I won’t let you keep heading down that road. This kind of thinking…it’s not helping.” I smiled at him softly. “I tell you what, riddle me this, Batman: what’s going right? At this moment, tell me something that’s going right for you.”
He sniffed and he swiped his face with the back of his hand. “Nothing. That’s what’s going right. A big fat fucking nothing.” In that moment, he looked like a child, helpless and friendless, abandoned in the corner of a schoolyard.
I pursed my lips and cocked my head skeptically. “Nothing?! Absolutely not one single thing?” I sighed heavily. “Tell me about physical therapy. I see you graduated to a new crutch,” I stroked the forearm cuff of the new, shorter crutch and raised an eyebrow at him.
“Hate ’em.” He fumbled with the grips. “The first ones messed up my armpits, and these aren’t much better on my forearms.” He rubbed one of his arms as if making the point, though I saw no signs of chaffing. “And physical therapy,” he continued, resettling back onto his crutch, “is painful and tiresome, and it’s not getting me anywhere. I mean, I haven’t gotten much better since I left the hospital, still can’t even stand on my own.” He looked down at his feet and spoke almost inaudibly. “Y’know, one of the biggest reasons I moved back home?” He looked around as if making sure no one had snuck up on us. “I fell once getting out of the shower. I mean, I had been doing so well. I barely moved back into my apartment when it happened. Mom and Pop insisted that I move back home again. And now, my mother won’t let me shower until my father or brother is around to help me get in and out. I feel like a fucking four-year-old.”
“Work? What about work?” I was grasping at straws. “What do you do, now that construction is…?” Damn I shouldn’t have said that. “Now that you…” I paused again. “What are you doing for work now?”
“Another nothing. How about that? A whole bunch of nothing. You are looking at a four-year-old nothing. And I’m not sure how the fuck to get back to where I was.” His lip quivered and tears fell. This time he didn’t try to hide them.
I thought of Dullberth and the sales staff. Dullberth kinda screwed me over, probably for my own good or that of the company. But still, maybe he’d feel like he should make good on that.
“What about sales? How do you feel about sales?”
“Like telemarketing? No thanks.”
“No, hun. Do you not know what I do?”
“Guys don’t talk about that kinda stuff. I have no clue. Best guess is you’re a chef.”
I smiled broadly. “Well, thanks for saying that, but no. I’m not. I’m the regional manager for Huntington’s Sports. We sell all kinds of outdoor equipment—the heavy outdoor stuff. Not running shoes and stuff, but tents and camping gear, quads and dirt bikes, helmets and knives, stuff like that. In fact, that’s where I met Ryan, back when I was on the sales floor.”
“Really? I never pictured you for a sales person. To me, sales feels like used car shit.”
“Retail is different. And this is stuff you know about. You’d be great at it. You have charisma and charm…well…when you aren’t so busy being whomever this guy is.” I waved in his general direction.
“Fuck. I’m sorry. It just sucks. This whole fucking thing sucks. I mean a few months ago, I was a ‘rising star’ at Ace construction, site supervisor in training. I was making good money, had my own place…” he trailed off, looking down and toeing the dirt. “I was going places. My life was right on track. And one fucking day ruined everything. Now, Ace won’t even let me stay on and do the paperwork until I get better.” He stabbed at the dirt with his right crutch before continuing again but more softly. “I was fucking stupid to even try that ridge. I know now that I was. And I hate it.”
I had an idea. I’d take Chris to Huntington’s. If it went well, maybe I could secure him a sales position until something better came through for him. If it didn’t, at least, it would be a distraction, and maybe I could shake him of this funk. “How about you come with me to our flagship store tomorrow? Ryan has to work anyway, and I’m off until I leave.”
“I heard about Germany. What about you and Ryan?”
“I love him, hun. And I’m gonna miss him terribly, but we’ll talk and video chat and stuff. We’ll get through it I’m sure.”
“He won’t be the same without you. I don’t think any of this will be. We sort of expect you to come with him. At least then, we know there’ll be food,” he laughed and then said more softly, “and a really cool chick.”
“Well, now, that’s a compliment coming from a badass like you! Now, what do you say about that trip to the store tomorrow?”
“Ahhh, fine. I’ll do it, but only as a favor to you. I’m no used car salesman.”
&nbs
p; I tousled his hair. “You’re no four-year-old either.”
* * *
That night, as we drove to his parents’ house, Ryan asked about Chris. “What was up with you two today?”
I smiled, remembering our exchange. “He’s worse than you know, babe.”
“It didn’t look bad by the time we came off the track.”
“He’s really upset at how slowly he is recovering. And he feels alone—”
“But we’re always there for him!” Ryan interrupted. “I mean, we arrange our schedules around checking up on him. What more does he want?”
I wiggled my head a little, shaking loose from my surprise at Ryan’s strong emotions. “Whoa, baby. Nobody is blaming you for anything. Nobody said you and the guys aren’t some damned amazing friends. He’s just upset. If you couldn’t walk, wouldn’t you be pissed? He’s not pissed at anyone in particular; he’s pissed at the situation.” Ryan looked unconvinced. “Look, baby, he feels like a kid. He’s living at home again. He has no job. And he had been in training to be a site supervisor, did you know that?”
He shook his head at me and pursed his lips. “We don’t talk about shit like that. We talk about riding and chicks and sports and stuff.”
“Hun, he went from feeling like he was building a life for himself on his own to living at home again, jobless and feeling helpless. I mean, honey, he needs his father or brother to help him in and out of the shower because he fell once. None of those things are yours to own.”
“I feel like shit that I wasn’t there that day. I could’ve stopped him. That was a dumb move, and I could’ve prevented this whole thing.” Ryan’s frustration and defensiveness became suddenly clear. More than a brother to him, Chris had become a responsibility. Ryan wanted him to get better, wanted to see him do well, and felt helpless to do more than he already had.
“But you weren’t there, and you can’t be sure that you could’ve stopped him. To hear the guys tell it, he had a full head of steam about getting up that ridge that day. I think he was bound to try regardless.”
I took a deep breath before blurting, “I’m going to take him to the flagship tomorrow.”
“What? Why?”
“He needs to get back to work. He needs something to keep him busy.”
“And what’s the flagship got to do with it? He knows construction, not sales.”
“He knows outdoor equipment. He camps, he goes four-wheeling, and he rides dirt bikes. He can be a good salesman, at least until he gets his legs back.”
Ryan parked in front of his parents’ house, and as he shut the car off, he looked at me, his lips pressed together, his eyes examining me. “Where did you come from?”
“What?”
“Where do women like you come from?”
“Women?!” I gasped in mock horror. “There is but one of me in all the land, sir. And you’ve lucked up and caught me,” I said in singsong.
He kissed me tenderly. “Well, then, aren’t I the lucky one?”
It was nice to visit with Ryan’s parents one last time. They’d been married nearly forty years and their love for one another was still obvious. It was an inspiration to see them together, and it made me hopeful about Germany.
Ryan’s mother had made a homemade cheesecake, and as she went to get it from the kitchen, Mr. Riverton lit up. “You just wait,” he said, “you are in for a treat. My Caroline makes the best cheesecake west of the Mississippi.” And with that, he was gone, scurrying to the kitchen behind his wife.
A few minutes later, Mrs. Riverton reemerged carrying napkins and looking a bit embarrassed. “Jim will be right out with the cheesecake,” she explained.
Ryan chuckled. “He wouldn’t let you carry that tray, Mom, would he?”
“I could’ve, though,” she announced proudly as if someone in the room doubted her.
Ryan shook his head smiling, “I know you could’ve.” He hugged her lovingly. “After forty years, you have to know he does it because he loves you and not because you can’t.”
Her face softened and she smiled knowingly. “It’s just on thirty-seven years. Don’t make me sound older than I am,” she chided.
Watching Ryan and his mother interact was heartwarming. He was her youngest. And no matter how independent and capable he was, he was still a momma’s boy. Seeing their bond made me feel nostalgic about my own son, wondering how we would interact when I reached Mrs. Riverton’s age.
The cheesecake was indeed amazing, and so was the freshly ground Amaretto-laced coffee. We settled easily into conversation, talking of Germany, of how Ryan and I expected to make it through the separation, and what kind of touristy things we would do when he came for Oktoberfest.
“It would be great if you guys came, too,” I suggested. “Have you ever traveled abroad?”
“That trip will be for you two,” Mrs. Riverton pointed at Ryan and I. “There’s nothing we could do but get in the way of that. If we want to go to Germany, we don’t need excuses.” Her voice was warm and loving. Between her cooking and her demeanor, I could see why Ryan was still single. The example his mother gave him had set his bar high. A woman would be lucky to win his heart.
And I did feel lucky.
At the door, while his mother and I hugged, she whispered in my ear, “He loves you, Jen, like I’ve never seen him. He lights up around you. Remember that when you’re missing him in Germany.” She pulled away and looked into my eyes. “Okay, my unofficial daughter-in-law, take care of yourself.” She smiled as if we had a secret and then she winked. “And you remember what I said….”
As we drove back home, joy and feelings of privilege washed over me. Was I everything he wanted? Was I really all that he could imagine in a wife? Should I have accepted his proposal? He had given me multiple opportunities, and each time I had stubbornly said no. Today, feeling so overwhelmed at how blessed I was to have him, it somehow seemed petty that I had not accepted the privilege of being his wife.
* * *
The next day, I picked up Chris at ten, and we headed to the store. I took him in through the back entrance so he could see the warehouse first. It was slow going as he moved with his crutches, but that gave him time to soak it all in.
“This isn’t a store; it’s heaven.” I laughed. “I love white water rafting…and those kayaks over there are really top quality. And…how many different kinds of tents do we carry?” He couldn’t stop chattering. It almost seemed like he was taking mental inventory.
“It sounds like someone has considered taking a job here.”
“I meant you. How many different kinds of tents do you carry?”
“Mmmhmm…”
Chris oohed and aahed through the warehouse, pointing out all the equipment he’d either owned or rented in the past and mentioning pros and cons of some of the brands we carried. About halfway through the warehouse, I noticed that we’d picked up a tail. It was Bill, the store manager. He was watching and listening intently to the conversation, and Chris was making this hire a pretty easy sell.
By the time we got to the floor, Bill was waiting for us.
“Hi, Bill. It’s so nice to see you.” We shook hands.
“And you, too, Ms. Simmons. How have you been, ma’am?”
“I’m fine, Bill. Just fine. A little nervous about the trip to Germany, but otherwise really happy. How’s the store doing?”
“Sales are steady. Not the spring spikes we saw when you were here, but I’m happy with our overall performance so far this year.”
“Sales should be spiking this time of year. We’re in mid-May. At this point, people should have been ramping up for their summer activities. Hmmm. I’ll take a look around your sales floor and displays and see what I can do to help. In the meantime….” I turned to Chris. “Bill, this is Chris, Chris Jacobs. And Chris, this is M
r. Rasmussen; he runs the flagship.”
Chris shook Bill’s hand enthusiastically. “I love the place. It’s amazing. And I haven’t even seen the store yet.”
“You were happy then …with the warehouse?” His Danish accent and linguistic pace were obvious but charming. Bill Rasmussen was a dutiful man. He stood about six foot three, with ebony hair parted precisely to the side, and perfect porcelain skin. His teeth were white as if he got them cleaned and whitened regularly, and he always wore suit slacks and a dry-cleaned, heavily starched button-down.
“Are you kidding? That place is the Taj Mahal of any outdoorsman!”
“Well, perhaps I shall show you around the sales floor?”
“I’d love it.” This time I took the trail position, letting the men walk ahead of me while I texted Ryan.
“It’s going amazingly well, baby. I think he’ll fit right in.” Ryan was busy at work, but I wanted him to be able to relax about Chris and about this morning.
I wandered around the store and saw that displays were functional but lackluster in some areas. The sales staff needed to work on being more creative about staging in the key moneymaking areas of camping and outdoor vehicles. I grabbed some sales staff and gave them my suggestions, and then met back up with Chris and Bill.
“How’s it going, boys?”
“This young man is really something special, Ms Simmons. He knows things about the equipment that most sales staff cannot talk about even after being here for a year or more. People always have an area of expertise, but this one is…well, he is something.”
“I told you, Bill.” I winked at Chris. “Turns out that Chris might be available for hire.”
“This has already been handled, ma’am. I could not help but offer him a sales staff position, and thankfully, he has accepted.”
I slapped Chris on the back, almost knocking him off his crutches. “Congratulations! How about we get out of Mr. Rasmussen’s hair and go celebrate?”
Sunrise Fires Page 8
