Authors: Jeannette Barron
Lily
laughed, glad to see the old Jimmy back. Then, struggling to free her face from his sweater, she peeped, “Is it time for food and a fire now?”
He took her face in his big hands and gave her a happy, loud kiss. “Yes,
darlin’, it’s time I fed and romanced you some. Will you lay out the food on the table while I build you a great big fire? If I forgot somethin’, you might find what you need inside. But I have to warn you, the inside ain't much prettier than the outside.”
Between the grocery store, and what Lily assumed had to be Jimmy’s mother, a nice spread of fried chicken, salad, mashed potatoes, fresh bread, and a decadent chocolaty dessert was provided and devoured.
Jimmy built a bonfire in a rock circle across from the trailer. He placed blankets a safe distance away near a log that substituted as furniture. Lily fetched the wine left from dinner. With full stomachs and quiet minds, they snuggled together under the blankets and watched the shadows play. The crackle and pop of the fire accompanied the night sounds as she rested her head on his shoulder and he stroked her hair.
“Are you warm enough?” he asked.
“Mmmm,” she purred and nuzzled closer.
“Can I ask you
somethin'?”
“
Mmmm,”
“I’ve shown you my house now and told you about my big family and where I grew up. Will you tell me
somethin’ about your childhood?” He felt her stiffen. “Anything, really. I want to know you better. Tell me a story.”
Jimmy let her leave his
embrace. He needed her to trust him with her past if they were going to have a future. Kim had warned him that Lily wouldn’t like being asked, but he couldn’t see avoiding it any longer. He kept his eyes on the fire and gave her the space to think.
Lily’s automatic response was to shut down. She was instantly aware of her body’s rigidity and mind’s distance in response to his request, an old habit.
But after feeling the cold air seep between them, she recognized for the first time the consequence of her defensive instincts. They sat an arm's length away from each other as the silence pulsed. Jimmy was determined not to speak first, and Lily picked her cuticles, wondering where to start.
She wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and clutched it to her chest, aware of the shame that also enveloped h
er. Her voice steady and low; she began, “The summer before I was left at the home, we camped out a lot. We didn’t have any camping gear, but it was more comfortable than sleeping in the station wagon. We’d sneak in after the park gates closed for the night so we wouldn’t have to pay. I treated it like some great adventure, but Dani, my sister, complained. My dad had a way of making everything fun. We’d pretend to be green berets as we snuck through the brush with our bundle of blankets avoiding the enemy and booby traps. It was all a big game.”
“First thing when we got there, my dad would send us out to collect wood before it got too dark while he chatted with people nearby, sometimes bumming food, and sometimes just making friends so we didn’t look suspicious. Then he’d bui
ld a fire---like this one. I loved his campfires, the smell, the light, the sounds. It felt like magic to me the way the light hypnotizes you and makes your mind drift in and out. I remember staring at the fire until my eyes burned, waiting for something or someone to appear and then blinking and doing it again.”
“My dad told gr
eat stories. When he was a kid he read lots of cowboy and Indian books. He still remembered them and would retell them to us, replacing me and Dani as Indian chiefs and soldiers. The stories were always the same, good guy versus bad guy, but it didn't matter. The way he told them made them fun to listen to. He’d act it out, pretending to shoot guns, swing tomahawks, or launch arrows. When the story reached its inevitable end and the good guy beat the bad guy, he’d play the dying man’s part flopping around on the ground, gasping for air. The whole thing was so ridiculous that even Dani laughed.” Shifting positions, she brought her knees close to her chest, wrapped her arms and blanket around them, and with a weak smile added, “I hadn’t been to a campfire since that summer.”
Lily’s story ended. S
he was struck mute by how fresh and raw the memory had returned. Remembering the faces of her family felt both wonderful and painful. She rested her chin on her knees and stared ahead, overcome by the flood of emotions so long contained, threatening to escape.
What now? I can feel myself coming undone in front of him.
Jimmy brushed the hair from
her eyes and she shivered. He brushed her cheek and tears wet his skin. He whispered, “Darlin’, let me hold you.”
She leaned tow
ard him and then away, wrestling with self-preservation, old methods against new. He bridged the distance, hugging her to his chest, soothing her with soft words. In his arms, she chose the new path and let herself unravel.
They
laid tucked together on their sides. Lily’s head resting on Jimmy’s arm, his breath warm on the back of her neck, watching the fire burn itself out. Jimmy asked nothing more from her. The quiet between them felt safe.
Because he knew he should, he asked,
“Do you want me to take you home now?”
She turned to face him. “Can I stay?”
“Are you sure?” He ran his fingers along the paths of her dried tears as his pulse bucked with anticipation.
Taking the finger that stroked her cheek
, she traced the sensitive skin of her lips. She tasted its tip with her tongue, met his eyes, and answered, “Yes.”
He led her into the dark trailer and fumbled for a light. Other
than a TV, couch, and books, the living area was empty of color, pictures, or accessories. He felt as nervous as he had on the ride over. “The kitchen is to the right and the bedroom and bathroom are to the left. I know it’s not much, but it’s not meant to be my home, just a temporary place to sleep.” He took the blankets from her, folded them, and fiddled with the thermostat.
“Jimmy, this place is luxurious compared to some of the places I stayed as a kid
, including the house I grew up in. As long as your bedroom isn't painted black, I'm okay."
"What?" Her strange statement confused him. "No. It's not black. That would make this place even more depressing."
Hiding her relief while pushing the uninvited memory of her parent's old room away, Lily patted the cushion of the couch next to her, encouraging him to join her. “What is it? You’ve been kind of weird off and on all night.”
He sat and stared at his boots. “I want to impress you and this
ain’t gonna do it. See, there’s a difference between a house and a home. A house is just a roof over your head. A home is comfort, and warmth, and memories." He gestured to the room's sagging wood paneling and ratty shag carpeting. "And this place is a dump.”
He
left her side and adjusted the antenna of his television. “I want what my parents have, but I’m not there yet.” His shoulders slumped as he finally arrived at the part that was bothering him. He turned to face her and sunk his hands in his pockets. “The last woman I brought here thought my idea of a home was stupid and impossible. Her parents went through an ugly divorce when she was growing up and she jumped between their apartments while they fought over everything, including custody of her. She hated them and her life with them. I thought I loved her." He shrugged. "I thought I could make her happy, and I realized late in the game that ain't nothin’ gonna’ make her happy. But first, I gave up on my dream of building a house...for her. I tried things her way and I followed her to New York City. She loved being far from her family and I hated it. She liked the idea of signing a six months lease somewhere and taking off for somewhere else when it was up, and I pretended to be okay with it all. I couldn’t keep the act up and came back with my tail between my legs. I realized I needed my roots, I needed my family, and I needed my dream.”
He lifte
d his chin and saw the rattled look she wore.
Damn.
That was not how he'd practiced this speech. The story was jumbled. The meaning was lost. He rubbed his hand across his face and started over. “Lily, I like you. I like you a lot. I brought you here so you could see my house and see where I’m headed. I want you to know what I’m about and that I won’t surrender it again. Someday I want my casa to be complete with a white picket fence and all that comes with it. Whether that’s a home I share with you or not is not what I’m asking so you can start breathing again.” She smiled and both their nerves settled some. “I won’t make you talk about your past again tonight, but I don’t know anything about what you want for the future. I have to ask because of what happened to me before. I have to know if we're headed down the same road. Lily, what do you want?”
She rested her elbows on her knees and cradled
her face in her hands. Studying the carpet, she tried to think. He asked harder questions than he knew. Part of her wanted to give Jimmy exactly what he wanted to hear.
Me, too. That’s what I want. A home with a white picket fence and all the fixings.
But, if this conversation was about being honest with yourself as well as each other, she’d give him the truth, even if it fell short of his expectations. “Jimmy, I don’t know what I want and I don’t know what I’m capable of. I’ve only ever had a roof. I’ve never had a home. Even the house I grew up in, I don’t think you could call a home by your definition.” She slouched back into the couch and with more clarity than she’d ever had when considering this same question privately, she answered, “I know I want safety and security. I honestly can’t tell you what kind of box that comes in or if there’s also a fence, because, before I met you, I never thought more was possible.”
He
kneeled in front of her, and settled himself between her legs. Resting his hands on her hips, he waited for her to meet his gaze. “Is love possible?”
Her pulse quickened at his touch. She could feel her body straining toward him, wanting to close the distance.
Wetting her lips, she whispered, “I’m trying. I'm really trying.”
“Let me help.” Tilting
his head, he tasted her neck from her collarbone to her ear.
She moaned and s
hifted under him.
Taking his th
umb, he watched her tongue taste it again and smiled. Maybe he could still rekindle the romantic part of the night. “Do you still want to stay?”
Breathless, she nodded yes. His hand left her mouth and trailed downward
, teasing her breasts along the way until he felt her respond hard and ready through her clothes. Slipping off her shoes and socks, he gently lifted her to her feet. He unbuttoned her shirt, revealing a black lace bra and his body also grew hard and ready. Her eyelids lowered and she relaxed against him. Her bra slid to the ground. His hands stroked and kneaded, eager to support the weight. She was lost in sensation, in the heat of his touch, in the wet warmth of his mouth. His fingers found their way inside the waist of her jeans. Kneeling, he watched and tasted as her slender stomach kicked under his finger’s play. Her grip tightened on his shoulders and her balance swayed. Sitting back on his heels, he slid her jeans down and off. He savored the sight of the beautiful woman trembling before him. His breath caught, recognizing the mix of passion and vulnerability in her eyes. She’d been naked for him in other ways tonight. Lifting her in his arms, he kissed her deeply and carried her to the bedroom.
“
Darlin’, I’m gonna make you glad you stayed.”
10
Jimmy
climbed the front steps of his parent's sturdy old farmhouse and was greeted with hugs and handshakes by the platoon of relatives that gathered inside for Thanksgiving dinner. The two-story home with its single gable and wrap around front porch was built three generations ago when the family trade was farming. The loving hands of the fathers and sons who slept under its roof had preserved its solid structure while their wives cultivated the spirits of children who learned the value of home. The original screen door, its layers of chipped white paint, and its inclination to stick, offered the only clues to the fortress's possible imperfections.
Grace Rogers, Jimmy's mother, the oldest of eight siblings,
the crowned matriarch of the family, welcomed the control her position afforded. She was without a doubt bossy by nature, but in her presence it was best to label her determined. Her delicate frame and sapphire eyes gave no indication of the momma bear constitution that erupted when she or her family was crossed. Those who knew her well could also speak of her generous heart. It was definitely the latter Jimmy hoped to find when he arrived alone. He decided it was best to confront his mom first and get it over with so he could enjoy the evening, knowing the worst was over.
He found Grace, as he knew he would, in the kitchen managing the preparation of enough food for a small army. The sound of the television, loud conversations, bursts of laughter, and squeals of children hid his approach as she stood at the stove mashing a mountain of potatoes. He grabbed her from behind
and wrapped her in a smothering hug.
S
he shrieked and began beating her assailant with her masher. Her whacks hit their mark and her attacker let go. She faced him and shouted, “Dammit Jimmy! You’re gonna give me a heart attack one day. Why can’t you say, ‘Hi Mom’, like everybody else?” She whacked him again for good measure. “If my potatoes turn out lumpy because of your crap, I’ll never forgive you.”
“Yes, you will.” He knew she was all bark and no bite except when she did bite, which he prayed wouldn’t be today.
She scanned the kitchen and then peeked into the family room overflowing with people, expecting to spy an unfamiliar face. “Did you bring her?”
“Nope,” he
answered, bracing himself for an argument.
“I told you to bring her, James. It’s past time that she met your family. I don’t like this, not one bit.”
She slumped in a chair at the table and Jimmy joined her, secretly relieved. Sitting usually resulted in a conversation more often than a yelling match. “She spends holidays with her roommate. Neither one of them have family to visit so they spend the time together.”
Crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair, Grace studied her son’s face. She always prided herself in her ability to read what her kids were thinking and feeling. She was the gypsy fortune teller and her children’s heads were the crystal balls. But he knew her too well and gave nothing away. “We could easily feed two more,” she said matter-of-factly.
“I know, but they wanted to do their own thing.”
Grace shook her head. “James, this whole thing sounds awfully familiar.”
Jimmy wondered if maybe he did prefer when his mom yelled and heaved small objects and false threats. She seemed calm, too calm, and her quiet disapproval was excruciating. “Mom, I know what you’re thinking, but Lily isn’t like Laura. Laura had a miserable family life and stayed away because she believed it was that way for everybody. Lily’s shy and all this family stuff is foreign to her. She’s been mostly on her own since she was ten, and the attention of over forty of my relatives all at once could be a touch overwhelmin' for her." He shrugged. "It’s not a big deal that she’s not here. It doesn’t
mean
anything.”
Grace reached across the table
for Jimmy’s calloused hand, remembering the dirty little fingers of a boy dragging her outside to admire his latest stick creation. This was the boy who learned patience early not only because of his obsession with building and the necessary precision required, but also because none of his brothers or cousins could keep up with him. Now he exhausted that patience on women, always waiting for them to catch up. Her mother’s intuition told her that once again he'd chosen someone who'd never arrive. “Do you care about her?” Grace asked.
“Yes.”
“And does she care about you?”
“I think so.”
“Then it is a big deal...because your family matters.” Grace returned to the meal preparations without another word or glance at her oldest son.
Jimm
y watched her leave the table realizing that that wasn’t the discussion he’d prepared himself for, it was worse. He escaped the tense atmosphere of the kitchen and joined the commotion of his male relatives shouting at the football game on TV. He blindly stared at the game unable to shake the feeling that maybe his mom was right.
Whatever the excuse, family matters.
“I don’t think I can do it,” Lily said, already queasy.
“I did it last year. It’s your turn.” Kim had no sympathy for her. As far as she was concerned, her roommate had no excuse for turning down their first chance at a real Thanksgiving dinner. “The directions say to reach in there and pull that stuff out before we cook it.”
“If you do it, I’ll clean up everything after. I swear...you won’t have to lift a finger.”
“No way, Betty Crocker,”
Kim snapped. “We should’ve gone to Jimmy’s house and had the best meal of our lives with
his
family; instead we’re here sticking our hands up a bird’s ass praying we don’t die of food poisoning. I suggest you get to it so that turkey is done before midnight.”
Lily knew she’d be in a little trouble about turning down Jimmy’s invitation, but Kim was being just plain nasty. “Are you going to be like this all day?”
“That depends,” Kim answered.
“On what?”
“It depends on whether or not this meal we’re spending all day preparing is edible.”
“We did this last year and didn’t starve.”
“Last year we had no other offers. And last year, if you’ll remember, I got sick.”
“That was a cold, not food poisoning.”
“Same difference.” Kim left the kitchen pouting.
Lily rolled her eyes and returned to the problem at hand, the problem she had a better chance of fixing than her roommate’s bad attitude.
Kim tried staying angry, but watching her roommate squirm and wince as she prepared the turkey for roasting was too funny.
Now we’re even
. She helped ready the remaining dishes. The rolls, green bean casserole, and frozen pumpkin pie offered little resistance. However, the sweet potatoes were a challenge. Neither of them had prepared them before and had no idea how hard they’d be to cut. Their only knife could barely slice an apple. Lily was ready to surrender, fearful one of them would lose a finger, but Kim had an idea. After a few minutes, she emerged from the carport with a hammer and screwdriver in hand.
“I promised myself this year I’d have real sweet potatoes, not the kind that come from a can.
” Kim washed the screwdriver, grabbed a towel, and with sweet potatoes in hand headed back to the carport. Lily smiled as her crazy roommate roared out the door like a general leading her troops to battle, “I will not be beaten by a tuber!”
S
till laughing long after dinner's completion about Kim’s victory over an insolent vegetable, it was agreed that once again, they’d established another charming holiday tradition for themselves. The evening's final act commenced with the roommates snuggling with blankets on their favorite furniture to watch
It’s a Wonderful Life.
Lily
broached the topic of the dinner invitation, hoping with the success of their meal that all was forgiven. With her eyes directed at the television, she said, “I’m sorry I kept you from your fancy Thanksgiving this year.”
Kim was rolled up in a tight ball with her head r
esting on Fido’s arm. She also didn’t shift her attention from the hypnotizing shadows of the TV in the otherwise dark room. “Why’d you say no? You’re obviously a couple now. That’s what couples do; they visit each other’s families on holidays. Don’t use me as an excuse, either.”
“Jimmy and I
are a couple?” She considered the idea, not realizing she also spoke the words out loud.
“Don’t play dumb, Lily. You spend every weekend together and stay over at his place all the time. You’re definitely a couple.”
“I’m not playing dumb. I just hadn’t thought about it. We don’t talk about it. We agreed to take it day-by-day and that’s it.”
“Wasn’t Jimmy upset when you said no to his invite? He had to have known you didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
Lily sat up and peered over at her roommate whose big blue eyes met hers, reflecting either concern or suspicion. “Jimmy didn’t seem upset. He was his usual happy-go-lucky self when we talked about it. It’s not a big deal. I’ll see him tomorrow.”
Kim perked up, interested in Lily’s answer to the original question. “So why
didn’t
you go to Thanksgiving dinner with Jimmy and his family?”
Lily’s gaze returned to the TV, and she hoped her roommate’s would do the same. Kim
's stare made her feel exposed and she wasn’t in the mood to peel away more layers for her. She tucked the blanket more tightly around herself. “Maybe I don’t want to be reminded of what I don’t have.”
This was the answer Kim expected, but her spin on the situation was different.
She dared voicing her perspective, even though her roommate’s tone warned it might not be welcome. “Maybe being with Jimmy’s family would show you what’s possible, what you could have. Who doesn’t want an uncle who tells dirty jokes and cleans his ears with his keys, or an aunt with whiskers who smells like Pinesol? There are forty people at that dinner tonight, all of whom would notice if Jimmy wasn’t there.” Kim hesitated, anticipating the bruise her next question would leave on both of them. “Lily, wouldn’t it be nice to be missed?”
Lily’s chest tightened at the thought. She pictured her father and sister. Did they miss her?
Was it possible that her father and sister could be looking for her? And if that idea was too farfetched, was it possible that someone else, someone new, could care enough to miss her? Her thoughts swirled as faces and feelings surfaced. She stood, preparing to escape to her room and away from the “helpful” conversation her roommate seemed to be itching for.
Kim recognized the anguished expression
on her friend's face and wished Lily wouldn’t run away. This was a topic she was tired of handling with kid gloves. Lily wasn’t the only one who struggled. She hurt, too. More now, than at any other time in her life, Kim was aware of how alone and lonely she felt. She wanted to talk about it. She wanted to be the patient for a change.
Lily was halfway down the hallway before Kim convinced herself
of the futility of her impulse to be counseled and returned to the original subject. “Lily, wait. I think you’re wrong about it not being a big deal. I think Jimmy is trying not to pressure you, but he’s lying if he’s telling you that he’s not eager for you to meet his family. Your excuses are going to hurt him.”
Lily stopped and slowly turned to face her roommate. “I don’t want to hurt him, but I guess I knew it was inevitable that I would.” She took
a deep breath, rested her back against the wall, and gathered the courage to say aloud the truth she’d known since the age of ten. “I’m not like everybody else. I’m broken, Kim. I don’t want the stuff everybody else wants. I want to be left alone. I want to forget. I think I’d be okay living the little life I’ve created for myself. But the only two people on the planet who I give a rip about won’t let me.” She smirked, “How’d I get so lucky?”
Kim
gave her a warm smile from the perch of her chair. “Whether you like it or not, roomy, I love you. And there ain’t nothin’ that’s broken that can’t be fixed. You just need to believe you’re worth the effort. If I didn’t think you were worth it, I wouldn’t have exposed myself to salmonella for you tonight." She scrunched herself up and moved her cover. "Come sit with me and watch the rest of the movie. Jimmy Stewart’s about to jump in the river and I don’t want to miss it.”
Lily
joined her, grateful for the comfort of her best friend even if she wasn’t really listening.
Jimmy’s worries abated when, after some help from Kim, Lily agreed to attend Christmas dinner with the Rogers clan. In the weeks following the Thanksgiving rift, Kim had become an invaluable ally for him in all things girlfriend related. Lily wasn’t much of a talker so when little roadblocks popped up between them, he went to Kim for assistance. Only she knew her roommate well enough to help Jimmy identify the problem and smooth things over. He knew it was sophomoric of him to go to Kim for help, but he feared Lily would give up on their relationship if she felt like he was pushing too hard by asking too many questions. He worked at keeping their time together fun and light, hiding his desire for a richer level of intimacy. He was certain she had let him get closer than anyone else, but even as they lay in bed with arms and legs weaved together after making love, she often seemed remote. Sometimes he’d see a glimpse of an unguarded Lily when she laughed with him, and those moments were precious and rare. He desperately wanted her to trust him with her story. That might fix it. What happened before she was sent to the home? Why had he never heard mention of her mother? Why had her sister left?