🎧 Chapter Five | The Scream
What you need to know:
Jennifer takes up knitting to deal with anxiety over a disturbing event with her new husband that has shaken her badly. With the knitting to calm her, nerves Jennifer hopes to explore this event with therapy. Will he agree to try?
Chapter Five
The Scream
I double time it along the city blocks, pass clusters of homeless people unfurling sleeping bags over lengths of cardboard. A few of them set up tents.
I slow down, feel into my purse for my wallet. I rarely carry cash in this age of plastic but am able to distribute a fiver, several ones, then my change into the few empty paper cups set out for that purpose.
“Thanks, man,” one man says.
“God bless,” another says.
Snapping my now empty wallet closed, I shove it back into my purse, tuck my knitting supplies tighter under my arm, hurry along. I just spent more than three hundred bucks on this new hobby and all I can give is what…ten bucks? You’re going to burn in hell, I tell myself.
Stopping at the same intersection I crossed a couple hours earlier, I push the signal button, look back over my shoulder. The cluster of street people shrouded in shadows.
I didn’t give money out of the goodness of my heart but out of fear. I have been homeless before. Well, not technically homeless. At age ten, or maybe it was eleven, I lived in a communal house in L.A. My father had died. His new wife, my step-mother, had ditched me in a Church of Scientology half-way house. I had to work two jobs to earn my keep. Eventually, I dropped out of elementary school, begged for money, passed my time tucked in a movie theatre. I started hearing voices about then. Felt sure I was losing my mind. The idea of ever being that lost again fills me with dread.
Little fires lift, from camp stoves perhaps. Lanterns. Are those people as scared as I used to be? Do they hear voices? A part of me wants to go back, do more for them. But what? How can I fix so huge a problem? I can barely manage myself right now.
The light changes. I dash across. Up ahead, The Scream which is actually called Annabelle’s. Black awnings. Wide windows. A cloud of BBQ smoke twists out of a vent in the roof. Out front, a line of people wait on the sidewalk. Men and women in heavy coats, hats, scarves and gloves. They stand with their shoulders raised to their ears, stomp to stave back the chill.
Through the window, Rick sits at a table for two. Seeing me, he waves.
Past the crowd, I tug open the door. Step inside.
Country music twangs. Ice clinks into glasses. I tug off my coat, hang it on the rack.
“Miss Jennifer,” Belle says, her southern accent tempered by her time here in the northwest. Belle (Annabelle) is one of the owners. She wears black slacks, a black t-shirt, and over this, a black apron with Annabelle’s in white script across the top. Curvy-hipped, big busted, white-blond hair, Belle pulls me into a warm, genuine hug.
“Packed again,” I say.
“Every night,” she says. “Not too shabby. I’ll bring over a couple wine samples. Rick already ordered crab cakes. They’ll be up quick.”
“You’re a saint,” I say.
“Ah, get away with you,” she says.
Belle is Rick’s second cousin from Georgia, I think, serves up platter-sized helpings of hush puppies, grits, fried chicken. On the weekends, it’s waffles, pancakes, fluffy buttermilk biscuits.
Weaving through the tightly arranged tables, I press my bags tight to my body.
Rick, ever the gentleman, is up. Coming around the table, pulls out my chair. “Good walk?” he asks, the warmth of his breath on my neck.
“Very good,” I say, sit, then snug my bags under the table.
“Looks like you did a little shopping?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m learning how to knit.”
“Cool,” he says, rests his hands on my shoulders, “maybe you’ll make me a scarf?”
“Sure. Of course,” I say.
Around the table, he folds his lanky frame into the chair. We smile at each other across the table, Rick reaching his hands toward me. He really is a catch, I tell myself. I’m so lucky.
Mid-reach, I hear the ping of my phone. Lifting a finger, I reach into my purse. Fran, true to her word, texted three names.
I flip off the ringer, drop the phone back in the bag, rest my hands into his. Warm. Soft.
It’s the perfect moment to make the therapy suggestion I tell myself but then Belle steps up with wineglasses in one hand, a plate in the other.
We break our hold. Sit back. I’ll wait, I tell myself. Better he has something to eat.
Finally, while waiting for Belle to deliver a slice of her heavenly coconut cream pie, I force myself to speak. “We need to talk,” I say, turning my nearly empty wine glass around by the stem.
Around us, people shout conversations to one another.
The music jangles some lament about love gone wrong.
Rick cups a hand to his ear, shakes his head.
This is exactly why we call it The Scream. Terrible acoustics.
I ease the glass aside, shift forward, raise my voice. “We need some help, Rick,” I say, point to him, then to myself. “I think we need to do some therapy. Couples work.”
The lenses of his glasses reflect the low lighted restaurant behind me so I can’t see his eyes, but I can see he finally understands what I say.
Rick shifts his chair around the table, leans nearer. “It’s because of the car, right?” he asks.
I lower my head. Nod.
“I think it’s a good idea,” he says, hand over my own. “Let’s do it.”
I lift my head, stare at him. “You’re not offended? I mean, we’ve only been married a few months.”
“I think it’s great,” he says, squeezing. “If I did therapy with Kate, maybe we’d still be together.”
I stare at him a long moment. Rick…a good man. A kind man. A reasonable man. “Okay,” I say. “I’ll do some research.”
He lifts my hand, kisses the back.
“Hey now,” Belle says from behind us, “you two get a room!”
Rick lets go, sits back, laughs in that way of his. A low, deep throated chuckle.
Belle steps in, sets an undulating slice of pie between us with two forks.
“Enjoy,” she says, leaving a tray with the bill.
I snap it up knowing that Belle has given us a great discount. A feeling, at last, of peace.
Next:
Chapter 6: The Love You Want
Rick and Jennifer start therapy in a group setting. Jennifer discovers some deeply buried resentments Rick holds toward her, and her kids…
