Be It Ever So Humble

by Jenifer Jenkins

  In the glove box, I found a case filled with old cassette tapes. Cassette tapes? Had I not noticed there was a tape player in the dash the last time? How old was this thing? Admittedly, he had some good music on these tapes: The Beatles, The Eagles, Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin... Part of me wanted to make fun of him for his taste in music, but I couldn’t because it was also my taste in music. I loved old movies and movie stars, and I adored music from the olden days. My post film shoot wind-down recently consisted of wine, a bubble bath, and a playlist filled with the Rat Pack. And Michael Bublé, of course. Don’t get me wrong, I did love the pop music that was popular when I grew up, but I wasn’t interested in anything current; and I always went back to the crooners.

  Without announcing it, I took the Frank Sinatra tape out of its case and plugged it into the dash player. It started mid-song. I’d forgotten that was how tapes worked. The surprise of it sent me into a giggle fit.

  This amused John. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” I said serenely. I rested my head on the seat behind me and closed my eyes, letting Old Blue Eyes’ voice wash over me.

  “Never would’ve pegged you as a Sinatra kinda gal,” John said.

  I countered, “I never would’ve pegged you for one either.”

  He laughed. “Well, I am. I’m a Sinatra gal.” He shook his head awkwardly at his own joke. Once again, I wondered how much he socialized with people his own age. From what I could see, he spent the majority of his time with Kenny and Martha.

  “The other day, you were all about country music.”

  “Yeah. Well, that was just to be annoying,” he admitted, grinning widely.

  His smile was sort of contagious. It was so easy and relaxed that I had no choice but to smile, too. “Well, it worked. I was thoroughly annoyed.”

  “I’ll try not to do it again.”

  Shaking my head, I responded, “You can try, but you won’t succeed.” He looked momentarily offended. “It’s just that a lot of things annoy me nowadays, and I don’t think you’re the type to walk on eggshells.”

  “Can’t say that I am.”

  He was annoying me already with his strong silent type responses. Didn’t he ever say more than ten words in a sentence? I could probably say more in one breath than I’d heard from him in the entirety of our interactions.

  So I was going to have to keep the conversation going then. “How did you get into this music? It doesn’t seem like something a guy like you would appreciate.”

  “My parents always listened to it; Kenny and Martha always listened to it. I suppose I was around it a lot.”

  Now that I thought about it, Kenny and Martha had been the ones to introduce me to the Rat Pack. And cassette tapes. My mother didn’t listen to music much. She was more into self-help audiobooks.

  John hadn’t asked a question in response to mine, so it was up to me again to keep this conversation going. “But you do like country music?”

  “Yep.”

  “Because you’re around it most of the time?”

  “Most of the time.”

  Patience was not one of my virtues. I was used to getting results. This conversation was trying, to say the least. I exhaled loudly. “You sure don’t make this easy, do you?”

  He looked confused. “What?”

  “You give these short answers to everything, and you don’t ask questions. It is impossible to have a conversation with you.”

  “You want to have a conversation with me?” He sounded genuinely surprised and not the least bit sarcastic.

  I threw my hands up in the air. “What else are we supposed to do for two hours in a car together?”

  He shrugged. “Listen to music?”

  Okay, so maybe he didn’t want to talk to me. I hadn’t considered that before. Lots of people wanted to talk to me. I was a celebrity. Talk show circuits were part of my career. All I did was talk about myself, and I had a lot to say. Or did I?

  “What would you like to talk about then?” John asked.

  I hated that question. It always seemed so dismissive, so uninterested. “We don’t have to talk. It’s fine.”

  He shook his head. “It’s just that I’m not much of a talker. I don’t have anything to say to you that would be particularly interesting.”

  “No?”

  “I’m a pretty boring guy.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I highly doubt that.”

  “We just probably don’t have much in common to talk about. You’re very... um... worldly, and I’m just a regular guy.”

  Regular. What an odd concept. There was nothing “regular” about him. Not to me. He seemed very different than the guys I was used to spending time with. He reminded me a lot of my Uncle Kenny, and Uncle Kenny was far from regular in my eyes. He was like a superhero. I wasn’t even sure why I viewed him that way. It seemed I went to Kenny and Martha’s every time I needed to escape my life. They never asked questions, but they always seemed to know something. Perhaps John was the same way—ever knowing. I didn’t like that idea.

  Thinking of Kenny and Martha reminded me of our conversation not long after I’d arrived. “Maybe you could start by telling me why my aunt and uncle think we spent time together in New York?”

  “Oh.” Suddenly he seemed nervous. “Well, I was in New York, and they told me to visit you.”

  “But, you didn’t.”

  “Right.” He cleared his throat. “You were in a play or something? I didn’t really have time for that, so I just told them that I went. I didn’t want to hurt their feelings. They were really persistent.”

  “They can be,” I responded. “Well, I was extremely busy at the time, so it’s for the best that you didn’t try to see me. Besides, we definitely wouldn’t have had much to talk about then.”

  “Exactly.”

  More awkward silence. This was more exhausting than my trek in the field the day before. “So... yesterday was...”

  “I’m sorry about that,” he spoke earnestly. It caught me off guard. “I’m not very good at apologizing; I don’t have to do it very often. But it was stupid of me to send you off by yourself. I’m just glad nothing too terrible happened.”

  “Nothing too terrible?” I blurted. “I fell in a pile of—”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  Blowing it off, I said, “I guess you’re forgiven. Next time, you could stand to give a few instructions first.”

  “That’s for sure. I’m just not used to having much help—other than from Kenny and Martha and people who know what they’re doing.”

  “Hey! I know what I’m doing. Just not when it comes to farming.” Perhaps that wasn’t even true, though. Did I ever really know what I was doing? Lately, that question seemed to consume my every thought.

  “Right.”

  By this point, I’d decided effortless conversation was not going to happen between us. John must have as well because he stopped trying. If you can call what he was doing trying. I listened to Frank Sinatra’s soothing voice crooning Moonlight Serenade and drifted off.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  John woke me when we arrived at the Winters’ place. He looked worried because it had taken a few tries before I began to stir. I guess that meant I needed the rest more than I’d realized. Perhaps it was a symptom of my late-night reading. As I unbuckled my seatbelt, I noticed a wet spot on my shirt just below the neck. I felt my chin, and it was wet—almost crusty. It was drool. Gross. Quickly, and as casually as possible, I wiped it from my face. Had John seen me drooling? Had I been snoring? At this point, I had no pride left in front of the guy. He waited outside the car and began walking when I stepped out.

  “You still have a little something on your chin.” He pointed, and I could see he was trying to stifle a laugh.

  “Oh!” I rubbed my chin rapidly until he nodded his assurance that it was clear. He reveled in making me feel foolish, didn’t he?

  We were at an ancient-looking farmhouse. If I’d been the betting type, I’d have wagered
it had been built before the 1900s. What kind of farm equipment would we possibly need from this place?

  As if reading my thoughts, John said, “This is the old Winters estate. Mrs. Winters and her family live in a newer house down the hill.”

  “Why wouldn’t they want to live here?”

  “It’s haunted.” John made googley eyes and wiggled his fingers. My eyes must have gone wide because he cackled and admitted, “I’m kidding.”

  I let out a loud breath and smacked him on the arm, instantly regretting the too-familiar act. “I don’t even believe in ghosts.”

  He laughed again. “Sure...” Then he rubbed his arm before quickly dropping his hand. I assumed he didn’t want me to know my punch packed the pain. Punch packed the pain. I liked the sound of that. “The old house needed a lot of repairs, and when Grandfather Winters passed away, the family decided it was time to move out. They got a pre-fab and built it down there. The property’s been in their family for centuries, practically.”

  I nodded. “So why did we park all the way up here if the farm is all the way down there?”

  “Don’t want to disturb the cows.”

  I squinted suspiciously. “Okay...”

  We walked past the old house and to the opposite side toward a fenced-off area.

  “What kind of equipment are we picking up anyway?”

  “A cow.”

  I stopped in my tracks. “A cow?” He had to be joking. That wasn’t equipment.

  “When you think about it, a cow is equipment for a dairy farm.”

  So I’d been lied to. Kenny and John had tricked me into going along with this task on the assumption that it would be better than working with the cows. And here I was about to work with a cow.

  “How exactly do you expect me to help you with this project?”

  John smiled. “I don’t, really. Just figured you could use a change of scenery.”

  It was almost sweet, and his unexpected thoughtfulness caused my stomach to do a little flip—not a bad flip like when you’ve eaten too much hot sauce, but a good flip like when your feelings start to swell to capacity. Perhaps my stomach had grown three sizes that day. Dear Lord, I hoped not. Too bad I couldn’t get the notion out of my mind that he was omitting something. But what?

  We walked down to the barn that housed the cows, and I wrinkled my nose as we walked in. The smell was bringing back unpleasant memories from the day before. I wondered if now the smell of manure would always make me gag—even more than it had before. There had to be at least a dozen cows in this barn chewing cud or whatever it was called.

  “So, do we just pick one, or...”

  “No,” he said. “We have to wait here until Mrs. Winters tells us which one is ours.”

  “Then where is she? Should we go to the house to get her?”

  John shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. I’m sure she heard us pull up, and she knew we were on our way. She’ll probably be in here any minute.”

  I hoped he was right. I didn’t think I could handle the smell much longer.

  “Why don’t you say hi to one? Get to know it?” He had to be joking. I must have made a face because he said, “I’m serious. Cows are pretty friendly. They’re the dogs of the farm world.”

  “I thought dogs were the dogs of the farm world,” I contradicted.

  “Then they’re the dogs of the bovine world,” he stated.

  It was kind of cute the way he said the word bovine with his drawl. The b sort of exploded out, and the vine sounded more like van. I giggled but corrected myself almost instantly. “Well, I don’t need to make any new friends. I have plenty already.” Of course, I really couldn’t say that was true. I had plenty of acquaintances but not true friends. I often envied other girls who had a pack of girlfriends to confide in and get mani/pedis with. Most of my so-called friends only came around because they wanted something from me.

  I frowned, and John’s expression changed. Sometimes I felt he could read my thoughts. I wished he wasn’t reading them then.

  Mrs. Winters appeared in the doorway. “John!” She greeted him with an embrace.

  “Hello, ma’am.” He hugged her back.

  “Hello, Johnny,” a melodious voice chimed.

  I whirled around to see a pretty girl standing in the doorway, a flirty smile on her lips.

  “Hello, Sandy.”

  “S’been a while since you’ve come around here,” she purred.

  “Indeed it has.” He gave her a tight smile and quickly shifted the focus to me. “This is Sissy. She’s staying with the Sullivans.” It was weird to hear my aunt and uncle referred to by our last name.

  “Howdy,” I said in an exaggerated drawl to match the Winters ladies’ accents. Honestly, it wasn’t meant to be mocking. It was a reaction entirely based on the self-consciousness I felt.

  Sandy was tall and slender with blonde hair to match her name and piercing blue eyes that matched John’s. She was gorgeous—and I had met a lot of beautiful people in my day. The smirk she gave John made me want to punch her in the face. Was she friend or foe? I couldn’t decide.

  “Mother said you’d be stopping by,” she said to him after giving me a brief once over. I wondered if it was the drool stain on my shirt that rendered me a non-threat. Mrs. Winters and I may as well not have been in the room. Or barn. Or whatever.

  “Yes,” he responded, “but we’re here on business.”

  “So I can’t interest you in a glass of iced tea or something to eat?” Sandy chirped.

  “No. We have a lot of work to do.”

  I felt like I should sit down with some popcorn as I looked back and forth from speaker to speaker.

  I swear she batted her eyelashes at him. “Are you sure? I made some of my special Hummingbird cake that you like so well.”

  I wasn’t sure what hummingbird cake was, but it didn’t sound appealing. I hoped it wasn’t actually made of birds, but I couldn’t be too sure in these parts. “Yeah. We have so much to do,” I interrupted, not wanting to learn the special ingredient.

  Now she noticed me, and she deliberately looked me up and down, taking in my features. “Have we met before?”

  “I doubt it,” I snorted.

  “You look familiar,” she continued. “Perhaps I’ve seen you around town?”

  John cleared his throat. “Well, we’d better get moving.” Then he shifted his attention back to Mrs. Winters. “So, who are we taking?”

  “You can have the skinny one over there.” Mrs. Winters pointed. I wanted to say thank you as if she were talking about me, but I wasn’t sure this was the crowd for that joke.

  Mrs. Winters and John stepped outside to talk price, and I was left alone with Sandy. How could John abandon me like that? What if Sandy got a good look at me? I ducked my head, acting like I was inspecting the hay-covered ground of the barn.

  “Sissy’s an unusual name,” she said.

  I shrugged. “So is Sandy.”

  She giggled, and I couldn’t tell if it was genuine. “Well, that’s what you get when your mom’s obsessed with the beach, and you were probably conceived on one.”

  “Gross.” I squirmed.

  “Tell me about it.” We both laughed, cutting the tension. “So are you and John...?”

  “Gah-ross.” I made the word two syllables for emphasis. “Absolutely not. He’s friends with my aunt and uncle, and I’m stuck with him.”

  Sandy looked as if she didn’t believe me. “John’s not a bad guy to get stuck with.”

  I didn’t like the way she acted like she knew something I didn’t. And I couldn’t decide if she was trying to talk John up to herself or to me. “You don’t get out much, do you?” It wasn’t meant to sound as caustic as it did. Mercifully, John and Mrs. Winters entered the barn with perfect timing.

  “Ready to go?” John asked me.

  I nodded and followed him outside. “Don’t ever do that to me again,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “What?” he asked.


  “Leave me alone with a stranger.”

  “Oh...” I could practically see the switch flip in his brain. “Right. I forgot.”

  He forgot? How could he forget? My aunt and uncle had practically made me his responsibility, and he forgot that he shouldn’t be leaving me to fend for myself with an exceptionally chatty girl? Okay, she wasn’t chatty. She asked me one, maybe two questions. But they were loaded questions, and I wasn’t prepared to hold a press conference that afternoon.

  “I thought we were picking up a cow,” I said as I realized I’d followed John all the way back to the truck.

  He opened the passenger side door before continuing on to the driver’s side. “Not today.”

  “But we have that trailer attachment thingy.”

  “We couldn’t agree on a price, and that cow was awful skinny. Ken’ll have to haggle with her over it. I’m not the person to do that. I’ll have to come back for the cow another time.” John started the car, and we were back on a gravel road, the truck rattling around us.

  I crossed my arms and squared off. “You didn’t say goodbye.”

  “What? To the cow?” he teased. “I told you I’ll come back for her.”

  I shook my head. “She likes you.”

  “The cow?”

  I knew he was playing dumb, so I persisted. “Did you bring me along to make her jealous?”

  “Who?”

  “Mizz Winters,” I emphasized the z so he couldn’t play dumb and pretend that I meant her mother, Mrs. Winters. I already knew his tricks.

  “Sandy? Make her jealous? Pfft,” he sputtered. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re friends. We’ve been friends since we were kids.”

  “But she likes you more than just friends.”

  He stared at me, blankly.

  “Can you really be that obtuse? I was around you two for a few minutes, and I could see it. It’s so obvious.”

  “Naaah.”

  “Yaaah,” I mimicked him. “And you like her.”

  John snickered. “Where do you come up with this stuff?”