At dusk, Becca and Deke loudly entered the front door. “It’s fantastic,” Deke’s voice boomed through the house. Chesney found Becca acting as a tour guide. “Truly, I am amazed at what they have done.”
They?
“When he took me to Nashville earlier to get wine, he told me all about their plans,” Becca was saying. “He seems to be pretty interested in her.”
“Oh, I know that,” Deke smiled. “And can you blame him? They are perfect together. I overheard him talking a day or so ago at the hardware store. He was telling Luke about her. But Dalton also said that she doesn’t seem to be interested. I don’t understand that. Dalton is a great guy. He looked jealous today when I stopped in. Didn’t he? So he’s not very good at hiding how he feels.”
With her heart banging around in her chest, Chesney hid behind the banister as Deke and Becca wandered through the library.
“Well, you have to remember that she has been through a lot. In the last few months, life hasn’t been exactly easy for Chez,” Becca said. “She is probably just being cautious.”
“Not long ago, Chesney said something to me that seemed a bit odd,” Deke leaned in and lowered his voice but Chesney strained to hear his words. “She seems to believe that she is somehow cursed. Did you know that? She also believes that her grandmother was cursed. I don’t think she was joking, either. Becca, do you think Chesney really believes that about herself?”
Becca didn’t immediately respond and Chesney held her breath. She felt guilty about eavesdropping but not guilty enough to stop. When Becca finally spoke, her voice quivered. “You know Deke, Chez is the most wonderful person I’ve ever known. She means so much to me. Her family and friends, her readers, they all adore her. And nothing would make me happier than to see Chesney in love. I want to see her finally be treated the way she truly deserves to be treated.” Becca wiped her eyes, which immediately made Chesney’s eyes fog with tears. “I guess I can understand why she might believe that. She’s had lots of bad luck in love.”
“Me, too,” Deke nodded.
“Yep, I know about the bad stuff too,” Becca chimed in. “Some of us just don’t seem to fair very well in the romance department.” Even though Becca offered a fast smile, Chesney knew her friend hid lots of pain behind that fake grin.
“God made the world for couples,” Deke said gently. “So I don’t plan to give up. You shouldn’t give up, either. In fact I’m very sure your other half is out there waiting somewhere in the universe. And when he finally arrives, you will feel like he’s always been in your heart. You won’t ever take him for granted, either.”
Maybe Deke didn’t see the tears rimming Becca’s eyes but Chesney did. And she smiled to herself when Becca very naturally hooked her arm in Deke’s and accompanied him to the door. “Thanks so much for the motorcycle ride.” Becca smiled. “I don’t remember when I last enjoyed such a beautiful afternoon.” When Becca smiled up at Deke, Chesney was shocked. That very abrasive way Becca always interacted with the other gender was non-existent. Her eyes were soft, gentle.
“Can’t recall when I’ve had a nicer afternoon either,” Deke smiled sweetly and hugged her. That’s when Chesney crept around the staircase, into the kitchen and out the backdoor. Once she was safely outside, she exhaled and fanned her hand across the crazy beat of her heart. She sank to the grass against one of the gigantic walnut trees and revisited every word she heard while spying on Deke and Becca. Leaning back against the tree with her eyes closed, Chesney allowed herself to wonder if Dalton actually did have an interest in her. But of course, she had probably blown that possibility by refusing his invitation for dinner. Her terrible attitude didn’t help matters either.
When Becca called her name a few moments later, Chesney pretended that she had been hauling trash to the burn pile behind the barn. Of course one day she would confess to Becca that she purposefully listened to the private conversation with Deke. But this was definitely not the day Chesney planned to come clean about it. First, she needed time to mull over what they said about her and the handyman.
“You okay?” Becca was staring and Chesney nodded, swallowing hard.
“I think I’ll fire up the grill,” Chesney stood up and leaned against the tree. “What about that, Bec? Think it’s a good idea?” Without waiting for a response, Chesney walked past her friend, avoiding Becca’s curious stare. “How about marinated chicken, salad and a couple of baked potatoes?” she asked over her shoulder.
“Sounds great,” Becca said happily. She scooped Blossom into her arms and buried her face in the fluffy white fur as she hurried to catch up with Chesney. “What an awesome day I’ve had here, Chez. It’s just been perfect.”
“Yeah?” Chesney smiled broadly. “What was it exactly that made your day so wonderful? Was it the lovely weather? The amazing scenery? The very special hardware store owning artist? The ride on Deke’s Harley?”
“I think all of it,” Becca grinned. “I don’t know when I last felt so relaxed and accepted. It was just… It was so easy to talk and laugh with Deke. I’ve never met a man like him.”
“Wow,” Chesney giggled. “Maybe I should check your vitals, Bec, to see if you’re delirious. I was fairly certain that Deke’s ZZ Top looking appearance would send you running in the opposite direction.”
“Um, no,” Becca blushed. “I found everything about him so endearing, even the long hair and beard. He’s wonderful.”
While Chesney prepared dinner, Becca and Blossom took a long walk down the lane and back. They ate in front of the TV and discussed the latest gossip among friends and family. Then they sacked out on Chesney’s comfortable new couches in pajamas, with buttered popcorn and Merlot nearby.
“He’s a great guy,” Becca said.
“Who? Deke or Dalton?” Chesney asked, trying to seem nonchalant.
“Deke’s a great guy, too,” Becca said. “Like I said earlier, I have never met another man like him. And I really enjoyed the motorcycle ride. But I was talking about Dalton.”
“Sure,” Chesney nodded. “Dalton is a very talented carpenter.” Careful to keep her tone even and uninterested, she added, “He's also very dependable.”
“Did you know he was a professor in Boston?” Becca reached for the wine bottle again. When Chesney nodded, Becca said, “That was an interesting story. Wasn’t it?”
“At first it was a shock,” Chesney smiled. “But as I got to know him better, yes I could see that other side of Dalton. He’s very well read and very articulate.”
“I love his passion about living in the country,” Becca said. “I don't think I've ever met anyone quite like him or Deke either. They are both so settled and so comfortable with who they are.”
“Yes, Dalton is very dedicated to his work and his lifestyle,” Chesney said lightly. “Deke is the same. I respect that about both of them.”
“And wow, what a handsome man too,” Becca said. “Isn't it odd that a guy like Dalton is still single?”
“Yes,” Chesney nodded again, carefully checking her facial expression and voice tone.
“I asked Dalton directly whether he was married or committed to anyone. And he said something rather strange,” Becca said.
“Oh?” Chesney pretended to sigh and not pay much attention.
“He said he is waiting for a certain someone,” Becca said. “He said it was part of the reason he left Boston to come back here. He said he made a commitment about it, to wait five years.”
“To wait five years? For who?” Chesney asked, still trying to sound nonchalant.
“Well he never mentioned the woman by name,” Becca ran her fingertip along the rim of her wine glass.
“Maybe the woman is married,” Chesney said. “Maybe Dalton hopes she'll leave her husband for him.”
Becca shrugged. “It was a weird conversation, really. He didn't seem to want to disclose too much about his private life. Deke, on the other hand, is an open book. He answers every question very quickly. I really like that
. Nothing to hide.”
“And so…you think Dalton has something to hide?” Chesney asked.
“I’m not sure,” Becca studied her for a moment. “He just seems to be…you know, a little bit secretive.”
Chesney chewed her lip and decided not to comment. Instead she poured more wine.
“Jack told me he surprised you,” Becca said. “He also said the visit got pretty ugly.”
“He told you the truth,” Chesney said with a frown. “I didn't want him here.” Then the words spilled over each other as Chesney told Becca about the confrontation.
“Oh, my gosh, Jack told me about falling through the rotten porch,” Becca laughed. “And then I laughed so hard, I thought I would pee my pants. I couldn’t help it. The visual was priceless.”
“It was a wonderful moment,” Chesney smiled. “In fact, it was classic. I stepped out the door and said, 'Watch your step, Jack.' Then I slammed the door in his face. It was absolutely delicious.”
“I would have paid money to watch that scene,” Becca said.
“And it would have been worth every penny,” Chesney chuckled. “I don't think Jack Mobley will darken my doorstep anytime soon.”
“Good for you, Chez,” Becca smiled. Then she sat back against the couch and looked around the candlelit room. “You should be proud of yourself. This house is so beautiful. You have made every little nook and cranny your own. It really is you. And I'm so happy to see you healing from the break up with Jack the Ass.”
“I think I'm headed in the right direction,” Chesney said proudly. “I'm changing. I'm starting to care about what I want instead of what other people tell me to want.”
Becca leaned forward, close enough to touch her wine glass to Chesney’s. “Here's to your courage, Chez,” she said. “Here's to your ability to give your heart exactly what it needs.”
“And here's to friendship,” Chesney said with a soft smile.
With her mouth full of popcorn, Becca looked at her friend with a wicked grin. “By the way, Chez, are you willing yet to confess that you’re hot for the handyman? Or shall I interrogate you?”
Fearing that she might spew wine on the new furniture, Chesney covered her mouth, ready to roll on the floor, laughing. She swallowed the wine and took in a deep breath. “Keep your hands off my handyman,” Chesney laughed. “He's mine.”
“I know that,” Becca said with a hearty laugh.
“Was it that noticeable?” Chesney gasped.
“You're such a lousy actress,” Becca grinned.
Chapter Sixteen
Long after midnight, Chesney and Becca said goodnight. When Chesney closed her bedroom door, Becca sneaked back down the stairs. She needed to sit on the porch swing in the heavy, Indian summer air and stare into the blackness. She needed to think. Something happened today when Becca climbed on the back of that motorcycle and awkwardly wrapped her arms around Deke. That something was joy. She felt it bounce around in the pit of her stomach, cartwheeling and giggling. That beautiful sparkle of happiness, wrapped up in hope, had not been a part of Becca’s life since she was sixteen years old. In fact after all these years, she just assumed it was gone forever. But there it was today, unmistakable and warm and lovely. She thought joy would never again be an emotion that belonged to her, even in its most simple form. But there it was today. And amazingly enough, she still felt it. Every time she thought about the motorcycle ride, that joyful feeling yawned happily in the bottom of her chest, worn out from a long day, but still thrilled.
In the quiet, Becca leaned back in the swing to think about the year she lost her joy. People always described that particular year of life as ‘Sweet Sixteen.” Stupid phrase followed by “And Never Been Kissed.’ Who created dumb shit like that? Dumb shit that made young women feel unworthy if they weren’t gorgeous, skinny and popular?
During her sixteenth year, Becca was crowned homecoming queen. She was one of the smartest girls in school. But she pretended to be on the dumb side. She learned in middle school that brainy chicks weren’t considered fun. So Becca pretended not to have an interest in anything more challenging than choosing a shade of lip gloss. Playing dumb made her gag but like so many girls that age, she wanted to feel safe. And that feeling came from being popular. She forced herself to hang around with girls who discussed shoe sales and fashion blunders, botched haircuts and magazine articles about sex. If she was rejected by the hot girl club, Becca knew she would land somewhere in the middle of the weird kids, like the losers who picked at pimples while reading Tolkien.
When two little rosebuds began to sprout on her chest in fifth grade, she experienced an odd rush of excitement. When the buds bloomed into beautiful, firm balls of flesh a couple of years later Becca felt pretty and mature. In her bedroom mirror, she examined the new breasts, squished them together with her hands, to give herself cleavage. She bounced up and down to watch them jiggle. She learned immediately that her fleshy knobs attracted male attention. Guys also commented on her long, muscular legs. They enjoyed her smile. They loved her laugh.
Becca carefully observed a continuing theme of female behavior. At home, her mother passively walked away when Becca’s father “laid down the law,” as he liked to call it during one of his rampages. Not one time did Becca see her mother, Lydia Bartlett, turn around in a red-faced rage to tell her bully of a husband to go to hell or to shut the hell up or to grow up and stop frightening the family. Nope, Lydia merely moused her way out of the conflict and quietly locked herself in the bedroom. When the family terrorist snored in the recliner, she would reappear and behave as if nothing had ever happened. Female teachers at school acted much like Becca’s mom. They were frequently interrupted by male coworkers. Sometimes they were criticized or belittled in front of faculty and students. For some reason, it seemed acceptable. Men got to act like assholes any time they wished. And women were fragile little birds, scurrying away with their heads down in shame.
For a couple of years, Becca kept track of the injustices. On the back page of one of her notebooks, she carefully printed the facts. Most administrators and principals had penises. Most store managers, dentists, physicians and astronauts had penises. Damn.
It was not a strange coincidence; it was a truth. Human beings who had vaginas could flirt and coo their way into higher social levels where the fun stuff happened. But after that, females had only a few career choices. Be a nurse and wipe asses. Be a babysitter or a florist or a maid. No matter how unfair it seemed, Becca saw the ungodly truth. People with those odd little sacks of hairy balls hanging around between their legs had all the power. They could have a head filled with Skittles and horse shit, but they still had more power than Becca Bartlett. By her junior year, Becca had a solid 4.0 grade point average, thank you very much. Her intelligence could take her wonderful places. And Becca planned to fight for her place amongst the people with testicles. Even if she had to turn into a bitch to get it accomplished.
During her sixteenth year of life, with the homecoming queen tiara hanging on the corner of her bedroom mirror, Becca was confused about how to successfully navigate through life, appearing to be dumber than a door knob while striking a pose like a conceited little shrew every time someone pointed a camera lens in her direction. She was already thinking about how to wade through the mud of social structuring. She wrongly assumed that her career goals were her biggest worry.
A week after that milestone sixteenth birthday, Becca’s mother was diagnosed with a brain tumor. Her father’s ranting stopped. Anything from his mouth was now tearful and soft like tiny feathers against his dying wife’s heart. It was too late in Becca’s eyes, for her dad to turn into a nice guy. Surely he didn’t believe it was possible to wipe away the years of temper tantrums, just because he was now watching his wife die. Becca resented her dad for being so explosive. Obviously, he had been capable all of her life, capable of handling his anger much more appropriately. She knew that to be true because when her mother became ill, he stopped shouting and sto
mping. Becca blamed his fiery temper for her mother’s death. Her dad had an extra dose of guilt gurgling around in his gut, Becca was certain of that. But she, too, had some struggles. She loved and adored her mother. But occasionally Becca wondered if she hated her too, for being so weak, for never standing up, for never fighting back.
Less than a year after the diagnosis, Lydia Bartlett was laid to rest. Becca guessed her mom fought to live with about as much zest as she fought for her marriage. Every month or so after her mother died, Becca made a trip to the cemetery. Beside a mound of dying flowers, she would sit on the grass, pull her knees up to her chin and talk to her mother’s memory. She admitted to the shiny black grave marker that everyone at school now treated her like a delicate flower. Being known as “that poor Bartlett girl who lost her mother” was infuriating.
By the end of the first semester, however, Becca found a safe place to land. Her calculus teacher, Mr. Wildman, took an interest in her. Initially, she stayed after school to study math formulas with him. They definitely shared a passion for math, of course, but also for classic literature.
A few weeks later, she started meeting her teacher at a quiet café a few miles from town. Becca had not yet acquired a taste for coffee, but she sipped it anyway, always aware that she wanted Mr. Wildman to view her as a young woman. When her teacher shyly requested that she address him by his first name, which was Russ, Becca knew she had successfully played the game of womanhood. Her role was no longer attached to being a student, barely old enough to drive that beat-up old Honda Civic. No, she was a gem in Russ Wildman’s eyes. He told her frequently how much he adored her ideas. He showered her with compliments about her intelligence. He said she was bright and strong, focused and very talented. He even encouraged Becca’s eagerness for learning. Finally, she had the attention of a man who was not the least bit intimidated by her brain.
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