Chapter 38
38
“ I made dinner for you.”
Carlisle heard his words and felt his breath at the shell of her ear as he almost whispered it to her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and she leaned in.
She wondered what he was talking about though. They were walking across the lawn to his house, but he hadn’t been home yet. He must have made something ahead of time.
Carlisle was breathing heavy, sure he could feel it. She felt as if she were still winded from the ordeal, but it had been several hours ago now. In a rare move, Simon had taken off work early to come spend the afternoon with her. Instead of being elated she felt almost deflated.
“I thought everything went well . . . very well.”
She wasn’t ready to talk about it. Everyone could see it on TV. So she offered the only thing she could think of that was on topic but not traumatic. “I was wearing so much makeup! And the cameras are crazy, I still looked like I wasn't wearing anything. I’m so glad I got a moment to change and wash my face.”
It was the only thing she’d done at home after Jane dropped her off. She’d put on jeans and a comfy lightweight sweatshirt and washed the layers of color from her face. Then she’d sat on the couch and stared at the TV even though she hadn’t turned it on until Simon knocked and reminded her to be human again.
“I put on way too much makeup at Jane's suggestion.” She sighed and sidestepped the gopher hole that had appeared on what was now a well-worn path between the two homes. “I’m glad now that I did, but if anyone saw me outside the studio, they would wonder if I’d picked up another profession.”
Simon leaned closer and kissed her, seemingly unconcerned if the neighbors saw them. “I’m glad you took it off. I wouldn’t be able to kiss you if you still had that lipstick on, it’s not my color.”
Carlisle managed a laugh.
“Are you okay, though?” he asked. She understood what he was referring to but only then realized he hadn’t missed that it had been a lot for her.
She and Jane had gone on the local news talk show this morning. Jane suggested it was a great place to test out their skills. If they screwed it up, well, only locals would see it. Their friends would be kind and they'd probably still buy some of the kits. If it went well, they would have a template for bigger venues—like Atlanta—next week.
Carlisle was already afraid.
“I screwed it up,” she told him. She’d told Jane the same thing, though Jane had disagreed. Simon did now, too.
“No. You broke down a little bit, but I don’t think that screwed anything up. It was . . .” He paused a moment, searching for the right word. “You came across as honest . You went through something really horrifying and everyone around here knows it. Everyone knows the Mayfairs, and everyone read the headlines last year. So no one's surprised. It didn't seem like you were trying to work the drama for attention. ”
He waved his free hand around. “You just told your experience, and your experience was terrifying.”
She took a deep breath. His words should have brought it all back and made it worse, but they made it better.
“And, bear with me,” he said one hand out in front of them as they walked together as if he were telling her to back up and wait for him to finish. “But from a marketing standpoint, that really sells your product.”
She laughed. The marketing standpoint had not been on her mind, not once she started telling her story. But marketing was the whole reason for going on the show in the first place, for torturing herself with reliving the experience.
Simon led her up the steps to the back deck and opened the door for her. “How about I start dinner?”
“It isn't dinnertime yet.” She followed him into the kitchen.
“Well, you went on in the morning and then it took several hours afterwards. Did you have lunch?”
“Jane and I went out for lunch.”
“But you didn't really eat, did you?”
He knew her. She’d just picked at the food. “I was still coming down off the whole experience.” It hadn't been a high, that was for sure.
“I figured we'd eat early.”
Jane had driven her to the studio and home after, knowing that Carlisle feared the interviews. But Jane was right, they needed to do them. Also, Carlisle was going to be their best spokesperson. It was, after all, her name on the kit.
She now looked at Simon as he pulled a dish he'd prepped out of the fridge, laid it on the counter waiting for the old oven to preheat. She tossed an idea at him.
“Jane said she could tell the story in the future if it's too much for me.”
He looked at her and nodded, but then he added, “She could, but you’re the only one who can tell it as it happened to you. But maybe you could develop a signal. If it gets to be too much for you, you can pass to her and she can finish.”
She’d been hoping he would tell her it was a great idea to let Jane tell it, but she already knew that wasn’t their best bet. “I need to tell it, don't I?”
“It's better coming from you.” He paused, looked at the oven, and back to her, his gaze serious. “If you look at marketing today, a lot of it is about authenticity. ”
He used air quotes for the word, which was of course ironic because it was literally about marketing.
“It's your story, only you can really tell it. It sucks, but when it hurts you, it helps other people see that it’s something they shouldn’t ignore. They should be prepared.”
She sighed, letting that sit for a while. She had seen a comedian on stage once talk about how she was leaving comedy because the jokes were all based on her own personal trauma. As long as she kept getting up on stage and telling those stories again in a funny way, she didn't have the capacity to move past it.
Carlisle wondered if she was putting herself in the same situation. By the same token, she'd banked everything on selling enough of these kits. She had to sell enough to earn a living, at least until she could go back to nursing.
“The product you have is a really good product. You aren’t selling another cheap shoe or a trinket. Your product helps people. If they never have need of it, they can at least drive around with the comfort that they are covered.” He opened the oven door and popped the dish in, setting a timer. “Your kit could let the people who have it help other people in accidents, too. You should be proud.”
She was, but she wasn’t sure she could live by re-living her worst day. Maybe it was time to try the day job again.
“Are you ready for that?” Simon asked before she even realized she'd voiced the last part out loud .
“I don't think so.”
“Honestly, I don't think you'll have time to go back. At least not for a while. Have you checked your website?”
She frowned at the question. “What would be wrong with the website?”
“It’s likely flooded with orders.” He looked at her like she was a dumbass.
Maybe she was . That had been the major point of doing the interview this morning. “Oh, I was so intent on getting through the questions and then just getting back in my own head.”
She grabbed her phone from her pocket, tapping quickly and logging into the backside of her website. “Holy shit!”
Turning the phone around, she showed him the numbers. Then she grabbed a screenshot and messaged it to Jane. There were little dots rolling even before she could change the screen, then the little bubble popped up. — Holy shit!
— That’s what I said!
“How about this?” Simon pulled her attention back to the kitchen and the man in front of her. He was reaching into the fridge, into the back, where he maneuvered out a bottle of champagne and set it on the counter.
“Oh, that looks wonderful.” Carlisle wasn't normally one to use alcohol to regulate herself, she was more of a social drinker. But she could use something to balance this day out.
“I like this brand, but it's not anything expensive.” He sounded apologetic. Before she could tell him it didn’t matter, he added, “I had to put off Kitten’s vet visit until next month.”
“More medical bills?” Her heart broke for him. There were no good answers to the problems his family had.
“And rent.” He sighed. “I wanted to take you out for a nice dinner, but . . .”
“It's fine. I haven’t had this one before, but I’m no aficionado. I won’t be able to tell the price.” It meant a lot more that he'd taken several hours off work for her, that he’d bought the champagne and planned dinner.
“I'll take Kitten to the vet if you want.”
“It's not the taking her to the vet, I mean, that's helpful. It's the bill. It’ll have to wait until next month.”
Carlisle waggled her phone at him, as if to indicate the number of new orders they had. “I can afford it today.”
But could she afford it tomorrow? she wondered. Could he? He’d taken on Kitten and the baby cat was so good for him. He loved the little orange striped ball of fluff and Carlisle wondered if living alone for the first time had been getting to him. Kitten was entertainment and snuggles when he felt down and another living creature in the house. One who needed him but didn’t have a crisis each week.
She hated that there were so many demands on him and that they came at such unpredictable times. Unless he considered anytime he wasn’t looking as “predictable.”
Something must have showed in her expression and he didn’t like it. Simon was looking at her with a question and a scowl on his face.