30 JANIE
JANIE
“You sure about this? I can wait outside.” Ben says, studying me.
“It’s Thanksgiving day, the nurse said she’s in good spirits, we should try. She’s not exactly warm to the guys I bring home.”
“She’s protective, you mean.”
I smile a bit, “Yes, I guess. Just remember—” I start to get anxious but he puts a large, warm hand on my neck and squeezes.
“She may not know you, she may get angry or confused. I read up on dementia after you explained.”
“You did?”
“Of course, this is important, she’s your Gran.”
My eyes sting as I nod. She is. She is everything to me and she is protective and he…he gets it.
“Yes. Okay.” I nod and brace myself. I push my shoulders back and inhale, then push the door open slowly.
“Gran?”
“My favorite grandchild!”
“Granddaughter, Gran. You have Jack, too.”
I repeat our usual conversation since it normally sets us up for success, at least for a few minutes. She deadpans at me like I was hoping she would, “I said what I said.”
Ben chuckles behind me.
“I, uh, brought someone to meet you.”
“The boy from the city.” She says with attitude.
“Yes, the one I told you about, sweet, funny, British.”
“British?” She recoils as if I told her this was a bit I had going.
“Afraid so, lovely to meet you,” Ben waves, without approaching to shake her hand. I’m sure he’s fighting his normal urges, to gush at her, to go for the hug, to wink. I appreciate the effort.
“Oh my, what a charmer,” Gran says, and not in a good way.
“Yes but he’s genuine, Gran, I promise.” She narrows her eyes at him so I quickly go on. “Brought you some chocolate turkeys.”
“Turkeys? In the middle of summer?” She scoffs.
I don’t correct her about the season. I’m just so happy she recognizes me and hasn’t freaked out about Ben yet. Next, we go through our usual conversation, I ask about how everyone is, she gives expected answers about Bobbie, Kim, Tyrone and a few others.
Ben just watches. Until she finally remembers him standing beside me.
“So, what do you do, Sir Fancy Pants?” Gran gives Ben the side-eye as she takes the chocolate from my hand.
Ben looks at me and silently says I see where you get it and I silently reply, I know.
“Family business. Posh Job. Nepotism. All that rubbish.”
Gran looks at me with a satisfied grunt, “At least he’s honest.”
“Right?” I smile. “And he’s being modest, he’s good at branding.”
“Branding? Like cattle?”
At that, both Ben and I laugh and he puts a hand on my shoulder.
“No, not like cattle. But it’s a good job. He’s good at it.” I say and when I look up, Gran’s changed. Her eyes go from Ben’s hand on my shoulder to his face. I can tell she’s seeing something different, I just can’t pick up on what, exactly, it is.
“Of course he is, my boy is good at everything.” Gran says, breathless.
I look at Ben in a panic.
I see Ben, but she sees my dad.
My dad, her son, who has been dead for over two decades.
How will her brain reconcile this? And what will happen if said son suddenly talks with a British accent.
“We, um, we need to get going,” I say quickly.
“What? Nonsense, you just got here,” Gran turns to Ben, eyes filled with adoration.
“Um, soup’s on, you know.” I say, trying to think of phrases Gran has used, excuses she’d use herself. But she won’t look at me, she can only look at Ben.
There’s not much resemblance to my dad in him that I can see, other than that he’s also tall with light brown hair. He also has golden skin that should be pale this time of year, except Ben travels to warm, sunny places. My Dad just loved to be outside, even in winter.
“I’m afraid Janelle is right,” Ben answers her, trying to sound as American as he can, talking slowly and squeezing my shoulder.
“Janelle. Janelle?”
That’s it.
That’s the fatal mistake I have been trying to avoid.
I should have thought of it.
Why didn’t I think of that?
I should have warned Ben not to call me that!
Gran’s face snaps to me and she’s irate.
“You keep that precious angel’s name out of your mouth. Why are you even here? You think I want to meet your latest fling? Why would you bring him here?! Get out!”
“Sorry, we’ll go!” I grab Ben’s hand and pull him out, pushing the call button on the door as I go.
He whispers as soon as we’re through the door, “I’m so sorry, love, I—”
“Not your fault. This was a stupid idea. I just, she’s my Gran. I’m freaking married , it felt like she should know, and—”
“Of course,” Ben tries to calm me but I’m rambling, distraught. “Can we g—”
“I have to wait until the nurse is here. I can't just leave her upset!”
“Okay, my darling, okay.” Ben looks and spots a nurse at the very end of the endless hallway. He yells, “Excuse me! Help here, please!”
The nurse hustles over. When she reaches Gran’s room and scans the name, she looks at me.
“I’m sorry, she had a good few minutes, but we set her off.”
The nurse nods, “That’s okay, honey, I’ll go in and see how she’s doing.”
“Here!” I say, sounding desperate. I shove more chocolate turkeys in her hand. “She didn’t even realize it was Thanksgiving, why aren’t there any decorations?” My voice cracks. Gran’s home technically isn’t in Juniper Falls, it’s a few miles away, but still.
“We do what we can, sweetie. We’ll get a tree and some lights up in the lobby, though, for sure. Let me go give these to her, okay?”
She leaves and as I watch her disappear through the door, Ben watches me.
“A tree? One damn tree in the lobby? Ugh I hate this. I hate this! Of course the one person I don’t stick around to help is the one person who really needed me. And now she thinks I’m her least favorite person. I…I deserve this. I left and—”
“Ja—Janie.” He says, stopping himself from calling me my full name. “She saw you. She was happy there, for a few minutes. Her eyes lit up. You know it’s not your fault and it sure as hell isn’t what you deserve.”
“Don’t try to make it better!” I shriek, involuntarily.
“Okay,” He reaches out and wraps his arms around me, as he mutters, “Shhh, Okay, my darling, okay. Shhh.” He says it over and over, holding me tight. I start to sob. He breathes deeply, just holding me through it. When I finally start to settle, I realize he’s shaking.
“Benedict?” I pull away, “Are you okay?”
“Me? Yes, of course, I’m fine, are you—I mean I know you’re not okay, but, do you want to go home? Do you want to go back in there? Or I’ll go? Just tell me.”
“No, I can’t go back in. I can try tomorrow. We can leave,” I say, suddenly totally exhausted.
He grabs my hand, kisses my knuckles, and leads me out, like he can sense I’m barely able to hold myself up.
He opens his big fancy rental, tucks me in, buckles my seatbelt, and kisses my forehead.
But even in my stupor, I can feel tremors shaking through him.
I study him as he walks around the front to his side, noting all the blood has left his face. He climbs in.
“Ben,” I say, firmly, then put my hand over his on the wheel. “What’s going on with you?”
He pauses, “Do you hate when I call you Janelle? Truly?”
I frown, “What?”
“She called you that. Your mum.”
I nod, “She did. She was the only one who did. And she…” I breathe in and then let it all out.
“She resented, no, hated me. Or, at least that’s what it sounded like when she said it.
” He curses under his breath and puts both hands on the steering wheel, gripping it so hard his hands turn white.
“But you redeemed it.” He glares at me, disbelieving, and I go on.
“I mean it. I…I like it when you call me that now, I, I like that you’re the only one.
” He’s still breathing hard so I try to lighten the mood.
“I am prepared for you to gloat and be totally unbearable about it.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. I roll my eyes. Finally, he seems to begin to relax.
“Admit you like it when I call you wifey, too,” he pushes, but his voice is scratchy.
“Never.”
He starts the car and for a while we drive in silence.
“Sooo? Are you going to tell me what just happened to you?” I finally ask after a few miles.
He sighs, “Panic attack. Nearly.”
He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t make a joke. Doesn’t even cover it with a brag or mutter something self-deprecating under his breath.
I watch him, surprised.
Because he staved off a panic attack, which means it wasn’t a new thing. Benedict Clark, my unbotherable, unaffected, happy-go-lucky billionaire playboy husband, is experienced with panic attacks. The obvious question is why?
Before I can ask, my phone buzzes a million times in a row. Again. I pull it out and pretend to look at it.
“The Cantons want us to pop over tomorrow,” I say. It’s not a lie. Those texts aren’t from Skye or any of her sisters, but Samantha has texted me and I know she’s been bugging her brother-in-law next to me with messages as well.
“Well, let’s. Don’t you want to see Skye?” I must gasp or make a face or something because he looks over at me. “You don’t want to see your best friend?”
“I just…they’re going to be the hardest crowd to convince. Skye will be all over us because, like I warned you, a shotgun Vegas wedding is not me. Remember she barely wrote me back about it all.”
“Yes but you know we have to see them soon, we can’t avoid it forever, I’m afraid.”
“I know, I’m just…not ready.”
“But their Christmas extravaganza, we’re expected.”
“Yup, I know,” I nod and he studies me, as much as he can while also watching the road. I think he can tell all that I just said, while true, is not the whole story. But he doesn’t press further. I decide to let go of my questions about his panic attacks too.
We make a good team.
We’re friends.
Close friends lately.
But today was too much. We don’t need to dive into each other’s deepest secrets. We need to stick to jokes, public outings and quick, hot, itch-scratching sex. Or, almost sex. Oral sex?
I’m sure we’ll actually have sex soon. I can’t resist him forever. I blush as I stare at him. The color is back in his cheeks now and damn, he’s gorgeous.
“Alright. We’ve got the decorating to do anyway, yeah?”
I snort, “We both know we’re hiring out every single bit of decorating.”
“Are we hiring that out?” He asks, eyes starting to twinkle again.
“We’re not lifting a damn finger, Boss. Please, remember the nail gun.”
“I’d rather not.”
I chuckle and then ask him, “I mean, do you want to go? See your brother at the Canton Thanksgiving the rest of this week? I can stay here.”
He shrugs a shoulder. “It’s an American holiday. Plus, today is Thursday.”
“And?”
“And after Thursday is Friday and then, thank God, it’s Saturday again and there’s no way in hell I’m not here by 12:01.” I snicker, so he doubles down. “You think I’m bloody joking? I’ve a countdown on my phone.”
“You do not!”
He pulls the device out of his pocket and hands it to me. “Code is 1717.”
I laugh as I unlock it and see that, indeed, there is a countdown app set to Saturday at 12:00am.
“Not taking enough classes, I guess?”
“My darling, now that I’ve tasted you, there aren’t enough classes in the world.”
I chuckle and blush at his bluntness, then gasp when the phone’s automatic prompt pops up. “Benedict Clark. Your phone is suggesting that since it’s been unlocked, you must be about to pull up Uber Eats.” He cocks his head to the side as if he’s not surprised. “Seriously? You order food that much?”
“I’m a man traveling alone almost all the time, of course I order food that much.” Something twists in me after he says it.
“Alone? You are literally with someone every time you call me.”
“Strangers or staff.” He huffs, looking up at the rearview mirror to find Nigel driving behind us. “And that’s only dinners, a man doesn’t get built like this,” he wags his eyebrows, “on just one meal a day.”
“Uh huh, and what app suggestion will pop up next? Let me guess,” but he says it the same time I do, “Amazon.”
“I know! I’m gross! I’m a disgusting capitalist billionaire!” He yells before I can tease him and I laugh.
“Do I even want to know what your most recent purchases are?”
“Give here. Come now, give it back.”
I slap the phone into his palm, still smiling.
He’s smiling too.
We’re back.
Happy, close friends.
Good. Fine.
Only thirty-three days to go and they will fly by.
Why am I not relieved by that?
And why are his hands still shaking?