“Hand me that bowl, would you?” Aunt Martha then talked me through the process of making her soaps. It was complicated. I had been using soap my entire life, but I’d never had a moment’s thought about the process of making it. We had to put the frozen cubes of goat’s milk into a bowl that sat in another bowl full of ice. This was because the powder we poured into the milk would somehow scorch the milk if it started at a higher temperature. What kind of sorcery was that? I supposed most people would have just called it science. Aunt Martha said that if we didn’t do it this way, the soap would end up discolored.
After mixing for so long that I thought I’d have to change arms to keep my muscles even, we finally added the milk concoction to a bowl full of oils. We used olive oil and coconut oil—again, no wonder my skin had been so smooth lately. Then Martha let me choose which essential oils we would add for fragrance. “Lavender and rose,” I answered wistfully.
Once we had finished mixing all of that together, we poured the blend into molds shaped like hearts. “It seems appropriate given Kenneth’s situation.”
I scanned Martha’s workshop, basking in its ambiance. “I can see what you mean about this being relaxing. It’s a lot of work, but it’s nice.”
“Mhmm.” Martha grinned. “Now we put these molds in the fridge for a day, and tomorrow—”
“We use them?” I asked.
“Oh, no,” Martha laughed. “Tomorrow, we’ll set them on that shelf over there to sit for a couple of days. Then, after that, we’ll take them out and let them set another month or two.”
“You’re joking.”
She was not. Apparently, the lye we mixed into the goat’s milk could scorch not only the milk but also a person’s skin. I thought it was odd that something used in a product specifically made for the skin could be so dangerous. According to Aunt Martha, there was a neutralizing period the soap had to go through before it was safe to use.
“I don’t understand,” I said as we cleaned our station. “How are you going to give these as gifts to the hospital employees when you’ll have to wait two months to give them?”
Martha pointed to the shelf on the back wall. “I’ve got an entire row of soaps over there that are prepped and ready to go. I like to plan ahead and make more when I know I’m about to use some.”
“So, this is like a hobby? You don’t make people pay you for these?”
“Of course not. This is something I do for fun. I wouldn’t dream of asking my friends to pay me for a gift.” Martha headed toward the stairs and motioned for me to follow. There was nothing left to do in the basement, and my childish fears still sent me into a panic when I thought of being down there alone.
“Maybe you should,” I muttered as I flicked the basement lights off behind me.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The next day I was anything but bored. John was punctual as promised, and I wore my roughest outfit as promised. He showed me the ropes of managing the farm, and I trailed after him trying not to look completely overwhelmed or clumsy. We fed the cows, milked some goats—a feat I was now captivated by after my night of soapmaking with Aunt Martha—and cleaned up after the animals. John didn’t make me do anything too gross, though. He said I’d seen enough cow dung for a little while.
The day flew by because I was somehow, unbelievably, enjoying myself. It was grueling work, but it was nice to have something to do other than dwelling on the past. John and I talked about a lot of random things and some meaningful things, but we never talked about my earlier confessions. We’d pretty much exhausted those topics by now anyway.
“You did pretty well today,” John said as we carried a few garbage bags full of leaves to the front of the house.
“‘Pretty well?’ I was great. I could run this place tomorrow.”
“Right.” He pursed his lips. “Then, I guess you won’t be needing my help anymore?”
I dropped my bag. “Let’s not be hasty. I could still use a few lessons. Then I can start telling you what to do.”
John raised his eyebrows twice. “Looking forward to it.”
Something about the implication in his look made my stomach flutter. That had to be hunger, right? “Are you going to stay for dinner?” I asked, attempting to sound casual and not at all like I was hoping he would.
“Can’t tonight. Promised my mom I’d have dinner with her.”
“Oh.” Even I could hear the disappointment in my voice.
He grabbed the trash bags I was holding and threw them into the bed of his truck. “You can join us if you’d like.” It sounded too casual as though he was trying very hard to make it that way. Aunt Martha was right. We were cute.
“I’d hate to impose.” In case I was misreading the situation, I wanted to give him an out.
“You wouldn’t be,” he responded quickly. “Besides, my mom would like to meet you.”
Don’t blush. Play it cool. “You told your mom about me?”
“Well, yeah,” he mumbled. “I had to tell her about this pain in the ass girl I’ve been forced to spend time with, and now I’m kinda liking. Spending time with, I mean.”
“Right.” My inner schoolgirl squealed with joy, and I suppressed the urge to jump up and down. “I don’t know if you really want me to meet your mom, though. Moms love me. Like, she’ll want to adopt me, and I’ll be the favorite. It’s not looking good for you.”
He spread his arms in a challenging gesture. “I don’t know. My mom’s a pretty tough lady. She can be a bit standoffish at first. You’re not going to walk in there and win her over without a little effort.”
“Oh.” My confidence fluttered away like a scared bird, but then it flew right back in hopes of snagging a breadcrumb. “Well, I guess I’ll have to brave it just to prove you wrong. Besides, I bet she’s got a lot of embarrassing stories about you and baby pictures that I can’t wait to see.”
John came to a halt and faltered. “She wouldn’t dare.”
“We’ll see.”
***
“You must be Chastity.” John’s mom welcomed me with an affectionate hug the moment she opened the door. “I’m Linda. Come in, come in.”
I glanced at John and spoke through my smile—a skill I’d mastered as an actress. “Standoffish?”
He merely shrugged.
“What’s that?” Linda asked as she escorted us directly into her kitchen, one arm around my shoulders, the other around John’s. “What have you been saying about me, Johnny?”
“Johnny?”
“Only Mom is allowed to call me that,” he noted. I thought I recalled Sandy using the nickname, too. I wondered why he’d let her do it. “And Mom, I merely told Chastity she shouldn’t expect you to grovel at her feet the moment you meet her like everyone else does.”
“Grovel?” I hooted. “Not everyone grovels at my feet.”
“I have yet to see that,” he countered.
“Is that so? Like the way you groveled at my feet when you met me at the airport?”
Linda tsked and patted my hand. “I’m very sorry about that, Chastity. You think you’re raising your boy right...”
“Mom!” John’s eyes looked like they might pop out of their sockets. Was he embarrassed already? This was going to be fun!
Linda patted his cheek. “I’m just saying.” To me, she said, “Johnny told me all about your encounter at the airport, and I told him to apologize. I hope he did. But I guess you’re here, so, he must have. I didn’t raise my boy to be rude, especially not to someone who’s practically family. You know, Chastity, we’ve been friends with Kenny and Martha since John’s father and I were in high school.” She reached into the cabinet behind her and asked, “Water or lemonade?”
“Water, please,” I answered. John certainly didn’t get his conversation skills—or lack thereof—from his mom. She hadn’t stopped for air since we walked into the house.
“Mom was Ken’s girlfriend in eighth grade,” John recited as if he’d heard this story his whole life. He pro
bably had.
I was surprised. Although, I probably shouldn’t have been since everyone in this town must have dated one another back in the day. The population was smaller then, I assumed. And what else did teenagers have to entertain themselves here? Especially back then. “No kidding? Then we really would have been cousins,” I mused.
“Not quite,” John laughed. “Because, you know, I wouldn’t exist.”
I rolled my eyes and slapped him on the shoulder. “I know that!” My sarcasm was often so advanced that it just made me seem stupid.
Linda continued the story, ignoring our repartee. “But the moment John’s father started at our high school, Ken didn’t have a chance.” Her eyes were dreamy as if she’d been mentally transported back to that time. I could see the scene in her memory playing out on her face. She was wistful and sad. He was her high school sweetheart. They must have thought they’d grow old together. How tragic that their love story had been cut short. John’s mom snapped back to reality. “Anyway, Ken had moved on by then, too.”
“To Martha?” I presumed.
Linda turned to grab something from the refrigerator. “Mhmm,” she responded. Then she dropped the subject, which I assumed was a coping mechanism for her. This must have been a painful subject. “Now, Chastity, you have a seat at the table. John and I will bring dinner to you.” She and John began placing bowls and plates of food in front of me, and I watched with amusement. They bantered back and forth as they worked, and I found myself jealous. I didn’t have that kind of connection with my mother. She and I had a more professional relationship. If I talked back to her the way John did, even as a joke, she would have slapped me—maybe not with her hands, but with a look. My mother was queen of the look.
“I made this salad especially for you, so no pressure.” John’s mom winked and scooped a few spoonfuls onto my plate before doing the same to John’s and hers. Then she watched me expectantly.
“Mom,” John admonished.
“What?”
“If you watch her eat it like that, she’s gonna think something’s wrong with it. I would. I’d think you’d poisoned it or something.” John then took a big fork-full of salad and made a show of eating it.
I wondered if he was serious. Did he actually think I’d worry she’d poisoned my food because of that act of hers? He knew me so well. I followed his lead and ate a big scoop. “It’s delicious,” I said through my mouthful.
“I’m glad you like it.” Linda beamed and looked from me to John. “This is nice. John hasn’t brought a girl home in years.”
John flushed and ran his hands through his hair. “Thank you. Thank you for that, Mom.”
“Well, do you want me to sit here and lie? You want me to make it look like you bring girls home all the time? As if somehow that would be better?”
I played along. I had to. It was in the How to Charm Parents and Torment Guys handbook. “You can’t win with him, can you?”
Linda reached over and patted me on the cheek. “We’re gonna get along just fine.”
And we did. The night went on in the same way. Linda and I teased John mercilessly, and I loved every minute of it. After dinner, the three of us retired to their living room. We sipped iced tea while John’s mom pulled out a photo album. John groaned and tried to intercept before Linda handed it to me.
“No way.” I tugged the book to my opposite side and held it close to my chest. “You’ve seen me in plenty of awkward situations. It’s payback time.”
He slumped onto the couch beside me. “I guess that’s fair.”
His mom narrated as I flipped through the photos. John was, as expected, the most beautiful baby. His blue eyes were even brighter and more piercing in his childhood. No wonder I’d kissed him when we were kids.
“That’s my favorite picture.” Linda pointed out a rather unflattering school photo of John. He was scrunching his face tightly as if he smelled something rancid.
“Oh, come on,” he said as he tried to cover the picture with his hands. “The guy took the picture when I wasn’t ready.”
I slapped his hands out of the way. “I’ve seen this face before. You make it all the time!”
We all laughed. Then John’s mom said, “That was the year John’s father got sick. This was taken a few months before we found out.” She ran her hand over the photo as though caressing the child looking back at her. “You two met that year.”
That face squishing back from the photo did look familiar. I sorted through the files in my brain to try to remember our first encounter. I remembered seeing Child John for the first time. I remembered being nervous to talk to him. He was an older boy—not by much, but when you’re a kid, an age difference of a year or two seems like a lot. When I kissed him, it wasn’t just because I felt sorry for him. I remembered that now. I kissed John because I liked him and thought there was something special about him.
“Well,” John tapped his hands on his legs, drawing us out of our reveries, “I think that’s enough humiliation for one evening. You’ll have to come over again if you want to see the rest of it.” He pulled the photo album out of my hands and handed it back to his mom.
Linda offered an enthusiastic nod. ”Oh, yes. Do come back any time. This has been lovely.”
“It has,” I agreed. John stood up, and I followed suit.
“I’ll walk Chastity home and help you with those dishes when I get back,” John told his mom as he ushered me to the door.
“Don’t be silly.” She waved her hands as if clearing the air of his words. “I am plenty capable of washing a few measly dishes. Take your time!” Then Linda gave me a big parting squeeze and whispered, “Thank you.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that. Why was she thanking me? All I did was intrude on her quiet home life, eat her food, and tease her son endlessly. “Thank you back,” was all I could say. I chastised myself immediately after. It was the word back that ruined it. What an awkward thing to say.
John’s house was close enough to my aunt and uncle’s to offer us a decent stroll without breaking a sweat. “That went well,” he reflected as we strolled through a wooded shortcut.
“See? I told you moms love me.” I flipped my hair and added a little swagger to my step. John once said Martha was not one to toot her own horn. Well, I was the entire orchestra.
“I’m sure they do,” he conceded. “What’s not to love? Of course, the deck was definitely stacked in your favor.”
“Meaning...?” I tried not to crush too hard over the “what’s not to love” comment.
“Meaning my mom has a good memory, too, you know. Where do you think I get it? She’s grateful to you for what you did for my dad.”
“That’s why she said thank you to me when I left.” I stopped in my tracks. There was no point in telling them both that I’d worked the charity event for John’s dad as a favor to Kenny and Martha and as a part of a publicity stunt. To them, it meant something. They treated me like I’d single-handedly kept Mr. Reed alive, even if it was for just a bit longer. Who knew one seemingly inconsequential act would touch their lives in such a way?
“I also told her a little about you...”
I wrinkled my nose. “Then, I’m surprised she liked me at all!”
John stopped and fixed his eyes on me so intently that I was forced to meet them. “I think you know by now that I would never say anything negative about you.” Then he raised his eyes skyward. “Well, maybe I did at first.”
“I assumed.” I would have wagered his version of the airport story had been very different than my own. At least his mom took my side on that one.
“You assumed I told my mom about you? How presumptuous,” he teased, clutching his chest.
“Clearly, I was right.”
“You were,” he admitted with an exasperated sigh. Then, in an effortless move that was so subtle a bystander would’ve blinked and missed it, he took my hand in his. Despite his touch being so gentle, it sent a shockwave through me.
“Your mom is really great.” I tried to keep the conversation going in hopes that he wouldn’t notice the quickening pace of my heart. Could he feel it through my palm? “You’re lucky to have her. My mom and I have never been able to laugh together like that. I can’t imagine what that must be like.”
“Yeah. I am really lucky to have her. She’s funny and honest. And, man, my mom’s strong. After my dad died, she had to keep going. She had me. She couldn’t wallow or even mourn really. I feel bad about that now that I’m older. It couldn’t have been easy for her. Some nights I’d lie in bed, and I could hear her in the next room, crying. She tried not to let me see her pain. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been. I know she still misses him. In fact, I’m surprised she mentioned him tonight. She doesn’t do that too often with new people.”
I squeezed his hand. “I’m glad she did. He must have been really wonderful, too.”
“He was.” John’s face lit up as a thousand memories filled his head. “We used to watch old movies together. My favorites were silent films. We would narrate them ourselves. Silly stuff. He loved Charlie Chaplin especially. Sometimes we’d go out into the yard and reenact the scenes. He’d teach me how to do some of the physical gags Chaplin did. I even dressed up like his character the Tramp for Halloween one year.”
“Next time I visit, I want to see that picture.” I liked it when John started on tangents like this. It was like taking a trip through his thoughts. When he talked about his dad, he opened up. It was as if he'd been holding his memories in for so long that once one came out, a hundred followed. John regaled me with stories of his childhood, most of which involved his father, for the remainder of our walk home. I wished I could have been around more back then. I would’ve liked spending time with John as a kid. What would it be like now if we’d had all that time together? I thought about the sappy things I’d heard couples say like, “I only wish I could’ve met you sooner so we would’ve had longer together, blah blah blah.” But now, it didn’t seem that gag-worthy. That sentiment actually made sense to me. Weird.
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