by Jenny Hale
She’d told him where she was from when he’d asked, and he’d laughed—a jolly, chuckle of a laugh—because he’d grown up quite close to her town. He’d asked about her family and whether she missed them at Christmas time.
“I do miss them,” she’d said politely. She did; she wasn’t lying, but she really felt something other than homesickness, she felt emptiness at being in a home with a family that wasn’t hers when she really just wanted to have her own family. To her complete surprise, Walter had seen through her response.
“You’re a very sweet girl,” he said. “But I can tell something’s on your mind. I can also tell that missing your family isn’t what’s bothering you.” He shifted on the sofa, wiggling his right leg as if to get the circulation going. “But what do I know,” he smiled. “I’m just an old man.”
“I don’t know anyone in Virginia,” she admitted. “I’m new here.”
“Ah.” Walter didn’t say anything else, but he kept looking at her. It wasn’t a bothersome look; it was as if he expected her to say more, so, being thrilled to finally be able to speak to someone, she kept going.
“I don’t have any girlfriends to go out with,” she said. She didn’t want to say what she was really feeling: that she didn’t have any girlfriends at all, and even if she did, she had no time to go out with them, nor did they understand her. They didn’t know what it was like to care so much for someone else’s children that the thought of going out for herself seemed trivial. No one would ever understand that.
“I had a girlfriend whom I liked to go out with once,” he said, winking at her. There was something about Walter that could draw her right in, as if she’d known him her entire life. It was like talking to her own grandfather. Carrie’s grandfather, Pappy, had passed away almost a decade ago. That decade had seemed like a blip in time until she sat across from Walter. Being with him made the years without Pappy stretch into what seemed like a lifetime. She could remember the corduroy trousers he always wore, the buttoned shirts, the way he smelled—it had been so long since she’d had him near her. She remembered how he always kept a piece of candy in his pocket, and, even when she was a grown woman, he still had one for her—butterscotch in the gold wrapper. Watching Walter now, his genuine smile, the way the whites of his eyes had yellowed with age, just like Pappy’s, made her want to hold onto him, not ever get up from that sofa, because sitting there with him, she felt like she was with Pappy again.
“Her name was Beth,” Walter said, pulling her from her thoughts. She blinked, her eyes moist with memories. “Beth was the only girl I ever wanted to go out with. She had a laugh like warm apple pie, and she smelled like roses. It took me a year to get up the courage to ask her to the picture show, and I worried that she wouldn’t go, since it was dark in there, and she was quite the lady, but she went. I spent every day with her after that.” Walter wiggled his leg again. “Every single day until the good Lord wanted to have her back.” Carrie swallowed the lump in her throat. She didn’t even know Beth, but Walter’s loss was evident even through his smile. “I know what you mean is all,” he said. “I know what it’s like not to have any girlfriends to go out with.” He smiled a playful but knowing smile.
Carrie found out that the rest of Adam’s family, too, wasn’t much different from hers. They lived in a small town in rural North Carolina, and, like her, they enjoyed the little things in life. Walter kept a deck of cards in his back pocket for whenever he was bored. He pulled them out, and they’d played Rummy all evening. As they played cards, she had a chance to chat since the kids were in bed. It turned out that Adam’s sister, Sharon, had attended her college—they were two years apart—and she’d rented a beach house in Nags Head, only a street over from the one where Carrie had vacationed with her parents as a kid.
She’d delighted in the banter between Walter and his son, Bruce. Walter chattered about the World Wars and politics—topics that generally didn’t interest her—but he had a way of telling the stories that made her unable to pull herself away. Even when Joyce had asked her to help cook supper, she found herself leaning toward the table to hear what he was saying. Whenever Bruce would question him on a fact, he could twist it into a joke and make everyone laugh—even Sharon, who’d sat quietly most of the time except when she leaned over to Eric to say something. Every so often, though, laughter would rise up in her, and a little amusement would escape. Carrie knew, just by the few interactions she’d had, how close this family was, and she felt a twinge of sadness that Adam wasn’t there to share it. He’d chosen a lonesome desk in an office over this.
The thought kept coming to her, how differently she would have painted the family of Adam Fletcher. Why, with such an obviously normal, loving, middle class family, had he ended up the way he had—so driven to make money that he’d ignore everyone in his life? Was that why his wife had left him? Had she had enough of being alone? Carrie was in a very strange predicament: she’d never felt the need to fix or alter a situation involving a parent before. She’d known children who required her assistance in learning how to behave, but she’d never felt so strongly about helping another adult. She knew it wasn’t her place, but just like the children, underneath the behavior, she saw the potential—perhaps that was the reason for her need to make him a better parent.
Adam would probably be such a good, loving father. There had been moments—she’d seen them—where he’d pondered what she was saying, almost as if he were second-guessing his original thoughts. If she could just get him away from work long enough, maybe she could make him see. She worried about him missing out on everything; it bothered her. But then she thought about how she’d promised herself she wouldn’t get involved, especially after the last fiasco. It wasn’t her place no matter how much it kept her up at night. For now, at least she was enjoying his family, even if he wasn’t.
Joyce, having heard about the impending snowstorm, had stockpiled a ton of food in the camper, and Bruce had helped her unload it all earlier while Sharon and Eric took everyone’s bags to their rooms. So, when it came to supper time, Joyce set out cooking an extraordinary amount of food. Carrie was more than happy to help. She hadn’t had a chance to cook like that since she’d lived at home with her parents. On Christmas, they’d have a big, family dinner with her aunts and uncles, cousins, and grandparents. She and her mother would spend all day in the kitchen. She could still remember the sting of onions in her eyes and the smell of turkey in the oven as she helped her mother prepare supper.
As Joyce pivoted between the island and the counter, just like her own mother had, Carrie couldn’t help but feel excited. She was with people like her, she was happy. But just as quickly as the feeling came, it drained out of her and an emptiness took over. Even though she was enjoying herself, none of this was hers in any way, and it hit home that she didn’t have children of her own sleeping upstairs or a husband to share the evening with. This family barely knew her. She didn’t have a home where she could entertain her own parents, and although they’d been fine with having her away this Christmas, she suddenly missed them terribly.
A huge dish of bubbling macaroni and cheese baking in the oven sent a savory wave around the kitchen as they prepared the ingredients for the Brunswick stew. The garlic and onions were already in the pan with the butter, their flavors mixing in the air with the cheese.
“When the timer goes off, Carrie, pull out the mac and cheese so we can get that cornbread cooking,” Joyce said, her accent seeping out as thick as molasses, the more relaxed she became. She added the ingredients to the pot she’d pulled from Adam’s cabinet. It looked like it had never been used. Despite her feelings of loneliness, Carrie was relaxed. In fact, this was the most comfortable that she could remember being in a long time. These people spoke her language: they played with the children, they enjoyed each other’s company, and they liked good food. Cooking gave her something to do while she enjoyed these strangers. As she watched them all sitting at that giant table that had been so quiet wi
th just her and Adam, she wondered why he’d only taken four days off.
Sharon set down a run of six cards and looked over at Eric under her lashes. “Top that,” she challenged him quietly.
“Hold on,” Bruce said. “I’ve got two hands here. I’m playing for Carrie while she helps Joyce. And Carrie has three sevens.” He set them down, and winked in her direction.
“Thank you,” Carrie said, smiling from across the kitchen, adding a little more cayenne to the Brunswick stew at Joyce’s suggestion. The timer went off, and with mitted hands, she pulled out the macaroni and cheese casserole. It had a brown crust at the edges just like her mother’s had. She set it on a mat on the island in the center of the kitchen and then put the cornbread in the oven.
Sharon had clicked on the light outside on the deck—an enormous wooden structure with levels and built-in seating. Carrie could only imagine the parties that Adam could have there in warmer weather. If he took the time. He’d made her feel awful at the tree lot, and she couldn’t get that out of her head, but there were other moments over the last two days when he’d been great. She was torn between wanting to understand him and wanting to yell at him. It was awfully early on, she decided, to have emotions this strong about him. She worried that by the end of her stay she’d either be head over heels or driving herself crazy with irritation.
“Carrie,” Walter said. “I’m sure there’s no shortage of beer in this house. Do you know where Adam keeps it? Bruce said he didn’t see any in the fridge.”
“He stores it in the garage. I’ll just go and get some. How many?” She looked around the room at the show of hands. There were four. After she’d offered, Carrie worried: she had no idea if she was even allowed to take beers from his refrigerator in the garage. She’d never had the need before. Already, his family had made her feel so at ease that she’d just offered as if it were her house. She wondered if she should send him a quick text just to ask.
As she opened the door to the garage, she knocked into Adam, nearly toppling them both over. “Oh!” she said in surprise as Adam grabbed onto her to steady them both. “Hi,” she said, her face only inches from his. She wriggled herself upright. The time she’d spent getting to know Adam’s family made him look a little different to her tonight. It was almost as if she could see the boy that he may have been, envision him in the big yard in North Carolina where he’d played as a child. She hadn’t realized until she’d met his family that his upbringing and hers were probably quite similar. They’d just turned into completely different adults. Seeing him sent a flutter through her stomach, and she fought with everything she had not to feel it. She knew she shouldn’t be feeling it—it was silly, childish. She barely knew him.
“Hi,” he said the corners of his mouth turning upward. “I see the family’s made it.”
“Yes. They want to drink your beer. Are they allowed?” she whispered dramatically. She felt like some sort of prohibition agent, guarding his loot, her eyes darting around so as not to offend anyone who may be in earshot.
He let out a big “Ha!” that nearly sent her tumbling backward. “Why wouldn’t they be able to? I think I would know where to get more,” he chuckled. He backed up and walked with her to the refrigerator. His laughter was addictive—she wanted to hear more of it. She thought back to the way he looked sitting at his huge desk in the office upstairs, his brows puckered, his lips pressed together in a serious expression. His face now was a stark contrast to that. To see all that stress lifted off of his face gave him a kind of familiarity—he was more casual—and she liked that. “It’s starting to snow again,” he said.
All the cooking, the warm glow of the Christmas lights, and having him home—it all made the idea of more snow seem perfect. She wished selfishly that the storm would dump so much snow that he wouldn’t be able to go into work. She was having such a lovely night with this family of strangers; she wanted him to be a part of it.
“Oh,” he said. “I brought you something.”
He’d brought her something? She smiled to conceal her surprise.
He reached into his briefcase and pulled out one Salty Shockoe bottle. The label was fancier with dark green holly and little red berries behind the words. “Since you were the designer, I thought I’d bring you your own bottle. No white space on this one,” he smiled, and her heart started hammering. Adam’s gesture was so unexpected that it floored her. He’d thought enough of Carrie to take time out of his busy schedule and do something nice for her. He’d focused on her and what she might like. As she looked at him now, his face was so attentive, so kind. When he did give her his undivided attention, it was as if they could talk all night. He was so conscientious, his eyes focused on her, his face set in a half smile while he listened to her. She hadn’t put her finger on it until then, but when he was in the present, he was really there. That’s what made the other side of him so hard to bear. Looking at him now, she wanted to know everything about him at once—what he liked, what he didn’t like, how he smiled after a good night out, whether or not he listened to music, what he did for fun—all of it.
“How many beers do we need?” he asked, his blue eyes on her. She took in a breath to try and get her thoughts straight.
“Four.”
“I’ll just get one of the six-packs,” he said, turning away and opening the fridge. Then, he stopped and said, “You know what? Let me just take a case inside. With everyone here, we’ll end up drinking it at some point.” A ray of hope tickled her insides. Would he finally put his phone down, sit at the table and play cards with his family? Would he kick back and have a beer? Suddenly, she couldn’t wait to get back in there. She followed him to the kitchen, trying to keep her emotions in check. She could feel herself getting too involved with him and his family. This was a short-term arrangement, and she was moving on with her life once the kids went back to their mother in January. Best she not get too attached. The trouble was, she could already tell she would be.
“Well look who decided to come home,” Joyce said with a grin as Adam walked in with the case of beer. He set it down next to the refrigerator and gave her a hug.
“Hey, Mom,” he said. “I warned you that I still have to work.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek. Looking at the two of them, Carrie wondered again what he was like as a kid. Had he run to this woman in front of him now with scraped knees after falling on his bike outside? She imagined Joyce, a wisp of a woman, younger, her arms stretched out, a consoling look on her face. Had she bandaged him up, given him a hug? Did he make her Mother’s Day macaroni necklaces in school and paint her pictures? Was he funny, or serious like David?
“I made supper. You’d better get that snowy coat off of ya and sit down and eat. The cornbread’ll be coming out soon,” she said with warmth behind her eyes. Carrie wondered if Joyce was thinking the same thing as she was: Please stay, Adam. Don’t go to your office and do work. Stay. Carrie was willing him, with everything she had inside, not to go.
“I’ll get us the beers,” Eric said, clapping him on the back and squatting down to pick up the case of beer. When the two men made eye contact, there was something unsaid between them—she could feel it. Eric was friendly enough, but his eyes said something else too, something that they hadn’t said when Carrie had met him, something she couldn’t quite decipher. Eric carried the case over to the island and gently set it down.
Adam scooted out the chair and hung his coat on the back of it. When he took a seat, Carrie had to work to conceal her smile. “Hey there, Gramps!” he threw up a hand to Walter.
He smiled at Sharon, but it wasn’t his usual smile—there was something jagged and tense in their look to each other. They were both trying to hide it, but she’d caught it. What is going on between them? she wondered. Eric’s look and now Sharon’s was a kind of look she couldn’t figure out.
“How are you, Dad?” he asked.
“Can’t complain.” Bruce slid Carrie’s hand of cards along the table toward Adam. “Here, play Carrie�
�s cards for her while she helps your mother.”
“What am I playing?” He scanned the table. “Oh. Rummy. I should have guessed,” he grinned. “Whose go?”
“Yours.”
As Carrie went back to the stove to help Joyce, she noticed that Adam was glancing over at her from behind his hand of cards. It was subtle, his gaze not lingering for long, but she’d noticed it, and it made her feel self-conscious. At the same time, an electric sort of energy shot through her, and she had to work not to smile. She had so many emotions already for someone she barely knew: irritation, worry, nervousness, excitement. She’d never cared how she looked before or what people thought of her when she was working around the kitchen, but when he looked at her, she couldn’t help but stand a little straighter, tuck her hair behind her ear when the loose strands fell down around her face.
She helped Joyce get the dishes out of the oven and off the stove, and she dished his plate first. Eric had popped the top off a few beers and put one in front of Adam. She set his plate down just as he took a swig from the bottle, and she had to stifle the fizz of attraction that ran though her seeing him in such a casual atmosphere. Being around him was easy, nice. Seeing him like that gave her hope that things could change for him. He had the ability to relax if she could just make him see that he needed to do it more often. Carrie went back over to the food to fix the others their plates.
Sharon stood up and shooed her away from the food. “Don’t worry about us,” she said, handing Carrie a plate. “You’ve done all the hard work. I’ll get everyone’s dishes served. There’s an empty chair next to Adam,” she smiled. “Why don’t you relax and eat.” The funny thing was that she was more relaxed than she’d been in a long time. She didn’t know much about the Fletcher family, but she could tell they were her kind of people—the kind that enjoyed sitting around a table for hours doing nothing but talking, the kind that sat on their front porches in good weather, the kind that looked out for one another.