Charlie dropped Jenny off at home and helped her unload the Bibles, noting the attention from next door. He'd have to ask Jenny if she ever had any problems. Then again, he reminded himself, Jenny could certainly handle herself. He loaded Baby Girl into her carrier as she howled in protest, the older black cat watching carefully.
He closed the door to his apartment and sat down on the plain couch. Jenny had always thrown an afghan on the couch, and she'd left him the blue-toned one she'd made when she learned to knit. He'd put it away, the memories too painful, but maybe it was time to get it out. He dug it out of the closet, gave it a sniff for freshness, and draped it over the couch.
Baby Girl immediately climbed up on the couch and began kneading the blanket as she purred. He got himself a drink of water and fired up the laptop.
Charlie closed it, hours later, with a notepad full of notes. He'd learned a lot. He checked the time and whistled. He had about 3 hours of sleep before he had to go back to work.
He headed off to bed.
Jeff opened his email after doing his morning God time, musing over what his brother had written. He'd always liked Jenny. Charlie was the one one who'd ever really mattereed to her; and they had been soulmates from the moment they met.
Charlie clearly wanted to patch things up; and Jenny certainly didn't hate him. But Charlie's control issues had nearly wrecked them.
Jenny's pride hadn't helped. Having been told 'You can't" her entire life, she was bound and determined to do everything for herself. It must have taken an amazing amount of restraint for them to come to this point: asking him for help in fixing Jenny's housing problem.
He had some ideas, but now he had to get to work. He picked up his paramedic bag and left the house.
Thursday, September 19, 2013
Chapter 26
Charlie felt a prickle in the back of his neck and looked up from his spreadsheet. Jenny was frowning at the manuals as though they'd insulted her, her eyes bright with tears.
God, please don't let me screw this up. Please.
He tried to still himself for a moment and receive guidance from God. Upon a gentle inner prompting, he walked over to Jenny and knelt by her chair, taking her hand in his own.
Tears slid down her face quietly as she looked up at him. "Remember when I had that evaluation? They told me I had brain damage, and bipolar disorder. They said I'd end up in some kind of dependent living situation - a group home, or living with Mom for the rest of my life?" She choked back a sob as Charlie nodded, his blue eyes brightly focused on hers.
Jenny gave into temptation and ran her hand through his hair, resting it on the back of his neck. Charlie had changed. Instead of rushing to help her, he was actually listening. "I remember" he murmured. "That's the first time I proposed to you. I told you if you needed someone to take care of you I wanted to do it."
Jenny blinked in shock as the memory came back. Charlie, indignant and furious, telling her he'd love her forever if she'd let him. Her acceptance. The makeout session in the bathroom until they'd been caught.
"Jenny" he continued "That's never mattered to me, any of it. I don't care about the 'disabilities'. I wish I had hurt Carl Smith, and I think I always will; but what he did to you never mattered. You matter - not the things you think are problems." Charlie took a deep, shaking breath as he watched Jenny leaning back in her chair.
"We need to figure something out." she began. "My house is a dump. I found one used mobile home in my budget; and it was worse than the house. I have a $600 mortgage, one job, and an absent husband. I'm going to end up living in a tent if I don't figure something out." It was Jenny's turn to take a deep breath. "I don't want you to 'fix' it, even if you could, even with that." She gestured to his backpack. "I want to go out and fix this on my own, but I can't. " She looked him in the eyes.
"I need help, but I don't want you to take over." She took a deep breath. "Can you do that, Charlie?"
Charlie nodded.
God, please don't let me screw this up. Please.
He tried to still himself for a moment and receive guidance from God. Upon a gentle inner prompting, he walked over to Jenny and knelt by her chair, taking her hand in his own.
Tears slid down her face quietly as she looked up at him. "Remember when I had that evaluation? They told me I had brain damage, and bipolar disorder. They said I'd end up in some kind of dependent living situation - a group home, or living with Mom for the rest of my life?" She choked back a sob as Charlie nodded, his blue eyes brightly focused on hers.
Jenny gave into temptation and ran her hand through his hair, resting it on the back of his neck. Charlie had changed. Instead of rushing to help her, he was actually listening. "I remember" he murmured. "That's the first time I proposed to you. I told you if you needed someone to take care of you I wanted to do it."
Jenny blinked in shock as the memory came back. Charlie, indignant and furious, telling her he'd love her forever if she'd let him. Her acceptance. The makeout session in the bathroom until they'd been caught.
"Jenny" he continued "That's never mattered to me, any of it. I don't care about the 'disabilities'. I wish I had hurt Carl Smith, and I think I always will; but what he did to you never mattered. You matter - not the things you think are problems." Charlie took a deep, shaking breath as he watched Jenny leaning back in her chair.
"We need to figure something out." she began. "My house is a dump. I found one used mobile home in my budget; and it was worse than the house. I have a $600 mortgage, one job, and an absent husband. I'm going to end up living in a tent if I don't figure something out." It was Jenny's turn to take a deep breath. "I don't want you to 'fix' it, even if you could, even with that." She gestured to his backpack. "I want to go out and fix this on my own, but I can't. " She looked him in the eyes.
"I need help, but I don't want you to take over." She took a deep breath. "Can you do that, Charlie?"
Charlie nodded.
Chapter 25
After Jenny's question, Charlie had handed her a package of five dollar bills. Jenny had protested, but he'd insisted, so she stuck it in her backpack.
What would she do with the money? She didn't need any Bibles. Jenny guessed she could make Princess another chicken breast. Princess loved cooked chicken and Jenny loved to cook for her. Princess had been old when Jenny got her - the former home owner had rescued her several years ago.
"She was fixed" Mrs. Jones had said, moving her tobacco chaw to the other cheek. "So she had a home." She spat. "Some shithead left her in my yard. I won't be dumping her just 'cause I'm going to hospice. If you buy my house you're buying the cat for life." Jenny had looked at Princess, purring in the old lady's lap.
"Of course I'll take her." She'd had to reassure the old lady she wasn't an "idiot" about black cats, she had experience with same, and would feed the cat before she'd feed herself.
Mrs Jones had consented to the sale - owner finance, and everyone had been happy. Jenny had taken great pains to mail photos of a happy Princess to Mrs. Jones until her death, and had attended the funeral. She made her payments to the estate now.
Jenny knew her home had some serious problems. She'd seen the way Charlie had looked at her bathroom. She was scared to scrub the tub enclosure due to the falling tiles - everytime she cleaned she lost more tiles! She'd felt some wierd spots in the floor, and dropped items always rolled off to one side. She also had alarmingly high water bills.
She had problems - serious problems. She'd known she was buying an old house. "Used". "As-is". "Handyman Special". She'd secretly hoped Charlie would come back and fix them, naively dreaming he'd show up anyday now.
He hadn't. She couldn't afford the kind of work she needed. She couldn't even afford the demolition; much less the purchase of a new (to her) mobile home and placement on the property.
She'd wanted Charlie to save her. He hadn't.
She had to save herself; and she couldn't.
What would she do with the money? She didn't need any Bibles. Jenny guessed she could make Princess another chicken breast. Princess loved cooked chicken and Jenny loved to cook for her. Princess had been old when Jenny got her - the former home owner had rescued her several years ago.
"She was fixed" Mrs. Jones had said, moving her tobacco chaw to the other cheek. "So she had a home." She spat. "Some shithead left her in my yard. I won't be dumping her just 'cause I'm going to hospice. If you buy my house you're buying the cat for life." Jenny had looked at Princess, purring in the old lady's lap.
"Of course I'll take her." She'd had to reassure the old lady she wasn't an "idiot" about black cats, she had experience with same, and would feed the cat before she'd feed herself.
Mrs Jones had consented to the sale - owner finance, and everyone had been happy. Jenny had taken great pains to mail photos of a happy Princess to Mrs. Jones until her death, and had attended the funeral. She made her payments to the estate now.
Jenny knew her home had some serious problems. She'd seen the way Charlie had looked at her bathroom. She was scared to scrub the tub enclosure due to the falling tiles - everytime she cleaned she lost more tiles! She'd felt some wierd spots in the floor, and dropped items always rolled off to one side. She also had alarmingly high water bills.
She had problems - serious problems. She'd known she was buying an old house. "Used". "As-is". "Handyman Special". She'd secretly hoped Charlie would come back and fix them, naively dreaming he'd show up anyday now.
He hadn't. She couldn't afford the kind of work she needed. She couldn't even afford the demolition; much less the purchase of a new (to her) mobile home and placement on the property.
She'd wanted Charlie to save her. He hadn't.
She had to save herself; and she couldn't.
Chapter 24
Charlie snickered to himself as Jenny sat engrossed, reading a snack machine manual in a folding office chair. He'd set her up with a cold soda. She'd declined chips or candy, accepting a bag of pork rinds. He smiled at her as she tucked the strand of hair behind her ear as she turned a page in the manual.
Jenny, like him, had always loved to figure out how things worked. Charlie had figured she'd want to know about the equipment or the safe, but she'd gone straight for the shelf of manuals. She took a sip of soda, licking her lips.
Charlie gave himself a mental shake and turned to the "pull" - the money he'd taken out of the machines the morning he'd gotten sick. It seemed ages ago, now. He pulled out the stacks of bills, rubberbanded.
He removed the rubber bands and began to count the bills by hand. It was a lot more affordable to count the bills yourself, than to use a bill sorter machine. Besides, the one he'd tried had beeped incessantly, refusing to process the typically used bills he found in his validators. Occasionally, he'd separate a five dollar bill into a separate stack, the rest found their way into hundred-packs of singles. He put the hundred-packs back into his backpack after noting them on a tally sheet.
Jenny leaned back in her chair, watching Charlie count. He looked so cute and serious, counting his money. He sat at an old metal desk, facing a corner. Behind him Jenny spotted a metal rack full of vending machine parts. They had labels like "Rowe Snack Validator" and "Food compressor". "Snack Parts" appeared to be comprised of metal coils leaping out of the milk crate like demented springs. She never knew vending required so many parts.
She turned to her left and pulled out the "Manual" box, replacing "Rowe 648 Snack Merchandiser" and removing "Rowe Bill Changer". Charlie sure seemed to like his Rowes. She settled back in her chair.
Charlie finished counting. It had been a good week. "Hey, Jenny, I'd like to show you something." He began stacking bills into piles. Jenny got up, stretched, and came over. He could smell her soap, something light and sweet.
He pointed at the first, and biggest, stack of money. "This is inventory". He pointed at another: "Taxes." Jenny made a sour face. "This one, God forbid, repairs. I like to put a percentage aside so they don't bite me in the butt." Jenny nodded. He pointed at a good-sized stack of hundred packs. "Profit". Jenny nodded.
"Question" she began. Charlie nodded. "What's the duration on this - a month?" Charlie gave her a wicked grin.
"A week." Jenny gulped.
Jenny, like him, had always loved to figure out how things worked. Charlie had figured she'd want to know about the equipment or the safe, but she'd gone straight for the shelf of manuals. She took a sip of soda, licking her lips.
Charlie gave himself a mental shake and turned to the "pull" - the money he'd taken out of the machines the morning he'd gotten sick. It seemed ages ago, now. He pulled out the stacks of bills, rubberbanded.
He removed the rubber bands and began to count the bills by hand. It was a lot more affordable to count the bills yourself, than to use a bill sorter machine. Besides, the one he'd tried had beeped incessantly, refusing to process the typically used bills he found in his validators. Occasionally, he'd separate a five dollar bill into a separate stack, the rest found their way into hundred-packs of singles. He put the hundred-packs back into his backpack after noting them on a tally sheet.
Jenny leaned back in her chair, watching Charlie count. He looked so cute and serious, counting his money. He sat at an old metal desk, facing a corner. Behind him Jenny spotted a metal rack full of vending machine parts. They had labels like "Rowe Snack Validator" and "Food compressor". "Snack Parts" appeared to be comprised of metal coils leaping out of the milk crate like demented springs. She never knew vending required so many parts.
She turned to her left and pulled out the "Manual" box, replacing "Rowe 648 Snack Merchandiser" and removing "Rowe Bill Changer". Charlie sure seemed to like his Rowes. She settled back in her chair.
Charlie finished counting. It had been a good week. "Hey, Jenny, I'd like to show you something." He began stacking bills into piles. Jenny got up, stretched, and came over. He could smell her soap, something light and sweet.
He pointed at the first, and biggest, stack of money. "This is inventory". He pointed at another: "Taxes." Jenny made a sour face. "This one, God forbid, repairs. I like to put a percentage aside so they don't bite me in the butt." Jenny nodded. He pointed at a good-sized stack of hundred packs. "Profit". Jenny nodded.
"Question" she began. Charlie nodded. "What's the duration on this - a month?" Charlie gave her a wicked grin.
"A week." Jenny gulped.
Chapter 23
Charlie pulled over in an office/warehouse complex and turned to look at Jenny. "I hope you don't mind" he murmured "If I run by the office for a minute. I'd like to show it to you, anyway." Jenny nodded. "It's not the best area..." Jenny began to snicker as she surveyed the area. Streetlights lit a semi-industrial area that reminded her of home. A used car dealership squatted next to an oil changer. One of Houston's ubiquitous taco stands shared a corner with the oil change facility. It was a lot better than her Bible handout location and a hell of a lot better than their first apartment. She rolled her eyes at him.
"Charlie" she began somberly. "I think your misunderstanding has been a huge source of problems in our marriage. I'm not fancy. In fact fancy places have brought me a lot of pain. I was happiest with you in our first apartment. Remember that? I told the landlady about the drug dealer and she asked which one I'd seen?"
"'Which one," Charlie murmured. "And then she gave you the lecture about 'snitchin'."
"Yeah" Jenny nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I was happiest with my mom in a 2 bedroom trailer. I was happy with you in a crime-ridden dump. I don't need a fancy place to be happy; they make me nervous. Like I said, bad things happen in fancy places." She fought back the memories of her aunt's apartment. The hardwood floors, gloriously decorated bedrooms, and stone countertops had concealed a lot of evil. The nicely furnished home Charlie had rented had hidden his devotion to the cult and criminal misunderstanding of her needs.
Charlie nodded sadly, reading between the lines as he often did. "I didn't help." Jenny gave him a one shoulder shrug.
"I know my home isn't much, Charlie, but it's mine. It's a safe place I've made for myself and my cat. It meets my needs; access to a bus line, very quiet evenings, and a garden. If things get better," When they got better, Charlie vowed. "I can expand a little. I know my house has some issues; so I've been looking at used mobile homes."
Charlie started. He hadn't known that. At least he wouldn't have to tell her - what - she couldn't live there? Oh, yeah, that would go over great.
But her house was a dump.
"So," Jenny brightened her tone of voice. "Show me your office. Or do you call it 'The shop'?"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)