Chapter 23 Thanksgiving #2
Jake adroitly shifts the conversation. “So, did Vee tell you Emma was her personal assistant for a while, and that’s how the two of us met?”
Beth regards me with a smile, “Oh, I did hear that. Do tell us some stories of Vee’s modeling? I just loved going to shoots with her. I felt like I was part of them.”
We spent the next hour talking about photoshoots, and Beth and Joe share some funny stories of Vee when she was a gangly kid. Beth has two more refills from the bourbon bottle, and just as she is getting a little sloppy, Joe stands. “Hey, Jake, let’s show Emma the basement, for old time’s sake.”
“Yes, go and enjoy.” Beth nods her head agreeably.
As I start down the basement steps, I watch Beth pull herself up and walk a little unsteadily over to the liquor cabinet.
A brightly lit woodworking shop that smells of fresh sawdust occupies most of the basement.
There are half-finished chairs and tables and lots of large tools and tables with saws embedded in them.
Framed pictures of old jets and airplanes adorn the walls.
I look around, intrigued; this must be Uncle Joe’s little hideaway, where he comes when he needs to be alone for some peace and quiet.
It feels miles away from the stuffy room upstairs infused with bourbon and broken dreams.
Touching a few of the tools and pieces of wood, Jake says warmly, “This was always my favorite place when we came to visit. I loved coming down here with you.” He turns to me and adds, “Uncle Joe taught me how to plane and cut wood. He can build pretty much anything.”
Uncle Joe whispers conspiratorially, “It was my favorite place to come during those visits too.
Beth and Carol one upping each other the whole time, and Oliver pontificating about this or that.
Lord, I was glad you were there to have an excuse to take you down here to teach you a few things.
I knew we were safe because Oliver would never dirty his hands.
Jake cracks a smile and nods in agreement.
Joe picks up a small rectangular box about a foot in length. When he turns it around, I spot a little hole in the front panel.
“Oh, a bluebird box!” I exclaim clapping my hands.
“Yup,” Joe says proudly, “been makin ’em for the Mississippi Audubon Society’s annual Christmas bazaar since 1995 or so. Right, Jake? So, just about fifteen years now.”
“Sounds about right,” Jake says.
Glancing at the wall behind Uncle Joe, there is a wall of boxes stacked one on top of another. “Wow, there must be a hundred.”
Joe asks, “How about it, Jake? Let’s put one together. Your girl here can do some sanding. She looks as if she can handle getting her hands dirty. Even Vee never minded helping me down here occasionally.”
The two of them start working as a team, and I find a stool to sit on and watch them. They are relaxed and focused, and in no time, they produce a finished box.
“I didn’t get to do anything,” I protest.
Joe hands me some sandpaper and plops the box in my lap. “Okay, just start rubbing out any rough spots. Mainly focus on the edges.”
Joe leans against the table. “Have you seen Vee yet?”
“No,” Jake says. “Tomorrow we’ll go for a visit and a turkey dinner.”
Joe states matter-of-factly, “I’m just glad she won’t be alone for Thanksgiving.
I’m not sure why Beth dug her heels in, but she did and just refuses to be inconvenienced.
If you have an addicted son or daughter, far worse things could happen to you than being inconvenienced.
” Joe shakes his head. “Beth just wants it all to go away and go back to having a model for a daughter, but that ain’t going to happen.
She is slowly coming around, though. The sessions we attend pretty much make you face facts.
Of course, it’s tough as some of Vee’s issues are because of Beth, and Beth is going to have to come to terms with that.
She pushed Vee way too fast, and Vee was clearly too young to be left alone in the city.
The pressure that little girl was under would have been too much for most people.
Modeling can really do a number on someone whose self-confidence was low to begin with.
I’ve picked up these things in the sessions, and I see we did a lot of things wrong with Vee. It’s tough when she’s your only child.”
Pensively picking up a box, Joe absentmindedly begins to rhythmically sand it. Scrape, scrape, scrape.
“Beth felt cheated out of a life and blamed your mother unfairly. But I think that’s what made Beth put a lot of unfair expectations on Vee.
The focus on Vee’s looks did a lot of damage.
I should’ve stepped in more to stop what was happening, I now see that.
But it was easier to come down here and escape.
But I’m dealing with things now, and I don’t want to escape it anymore.
I just want to help my little girl. Those stories at the therapy sessions are scary.
Kids die if they can’t get their heads on straight. ”
Jake seems at a loss for words; all he does after this lengthy speech from Joe is nod soberly. Joe looks unhappy but resolved. I’m glad Vee has her dad in her corner.
We head back upstairs and find Beth sitting serenely on the couch in the family room with a snifter of something nearby. She’s watching TV and waves to us to come in. “My legs are plumb tuckered out from all the preparations and shopping I’ve done for tomorrow’s dinner.”
We each give her a quick hug, and I smell the alcohol oozing from her pores. Joe walks us to the front door and gives us a hearty wave as we drive away.
The next day, we drive to Jackson Clinic. Dinner is at 2:00 p.m., and we arrive early so we can visit Vee first.
We knock lightly on her door, and peek into a bright and sunny small room. Vee shrieks, leaps off the bed, and throws herself at Jake, giving him a big hug. She then spins to me, lifts me off my feet, doing her classic laugh snort, which leaves us all giggling like kids.
Jake sits on the one chair in the room; Vee and I sit on her bed. She appears healthy and almost happy.
I ask, “So how is it?”
“I’m learning a lot in therapy about myself and why I use or misuse alcohol and drugs.
I’m now on antidepressants and antianxiety medication, and it’s starting to help.
I realize that when I used to get anxious or feel bad about myself, I would turn to alcohol or drugs, which only worked in the moment—in the long run everything became much worse.
” Vee says in a rush. “So, I would do it again and again, causing a spiral that was very hard to climb out of. It’s called self-medicating, and it isn’t good. ”
Vee pauses, and I picture Beth over at the liquor cabinet. Jake gets up and gives Vee another hug and sits on the other side of her.
He murmurs quietly, “You can do this. You are really strong, and you have people who care about you as a person and not just a pretty face. You’ll figure it out.”
Shrugging, Vee says, “I’m getting there. I really am.” Then she turns to me. “Tell me all about it. What’s it like living with this jerk?”
I smile shyly, “It’s alright. He at least puts the cap back on the toothpaste, unlike someone I know.”
Vee scoffs, “Oh! A match made in heaven.” She continues, “Okay, Jake, how are Carol and Oliver taking it? Wait, wait, what about Jessica? Did someone tell her the news?”
Jake visibly cringes. “I imagine my mom broke the news to her. I have no idea.”
Vee leans back. “Okay, I imagine she pursed her little prissy lips and didn’t say a word. What an uptight bitch.”
I love how Vee says things I never even dare to think. I give her arm a squeeze and say sincerely, “I miss you.”
Vee replies, “Miss you more.”
We spend another hour updating each other and sharing stories. I gush on about my wood thrush project with Professor Montgomery.
Vee says to no one in particular, “Jesus, birds! I can’t imagine what is so interesting about birds. I remember you in our basement years ago, Jake, building those boxes with my dad.”
Jake responds playfully, “Guilty as charged. We built one with him yesterday for old times’ sake. It was great.”
Vee glances at her phone and announces, “Chow time. Come on, I’m starving.”
Each family has their own table, so the three of us sit together after serving ourselves from the buffet.
There is a large table of clients, as Vee tells us they are called, who are sitting together because they don’t have any family visiting.
The table looks fun, and the clients appear happy, but I’m so glad we are here to be Vee’s family, and she doesn’t have to sit over there.
The turkey dinner and all the fixings are delicious.
Vee shares, “My dad visits me almost every day, but my mom only comes for family therapy sessions, and she isn’t happy about that.”
“If anyone can use a little therapy, it’s your mom,” Jake says.
“She told some stories about my mom and dad yesterday. Boy, she’s still holding on to some actual anger from way back in college .
. . and still drowning that anger with bourbon.
She definitely was living vicariously through you to prove something to my mom or to get back at my mom for ditching her.
My guess is she wasn’t looking out for you so much as trying to rub my mom’s nose in your success.
I guess she forgot my dad died from it all and she should be thanking her lucky stars she wasn’t any part of the New York City scene that ruined my family. ”
Vee gazes at Jake, raising an eyebrow. “Jake, you should be a therapist. You clearly have real potential. That’s exactly what my therapist says to me in my sessions.
Not exactly, but pretty darn close. She thinks my mom used me and didn’t do enough to protect me and should never have left me at eighteen like she did, even though I told her to go.
My therapist is trying to work on my mom, baby steps, she says. ”
Her voice trails off with a bitter little laugh. We sit quietly for a moment.
How hard life is sometimes, I think. For everyone, even the beautiful. I never realized that when I was watching from the sidelines.
Our melancholy is broken when they announce the pies are now served and the three of us make a dash for the dessert table. Jake is an apple guy. Vee and I pick the pumpkin.
After dinner, we’re back in Vee’s room, and when Jake goes to find a bathroom, Vee clutches my arm and giggles, “Okay, quickly tell me everything. How is the sex? Is it like you imagined it would be? Come on, out with it.”
Turning a bright pink, I stare at Vee in utter embarrassment.
“I’m teasing!” she exclaims, laughing. “I don’t want to hear about my cousin, yuck. Don’t say a thing. I’m just making sure my plan is working. Oh, you guys make the cutest couple.”
Shushing her as I glance at the door, I reply, “Vee, you of all people should know, this is all fake. You haven’t forgotten that part, have you?”
“Oh, that.” She swishes her hand in the air. “Well, it can become real anytime you guys want it to. Or keep calling it pretend, as long as you’re having fun. That’s all right too. For another six months, is it?”
I shake my head and mutter, “Closer to four now, but who’s counting?” I picture my calendar up on Vee’s wall and I know the exact days remaining in my deal with the devil or God or whomever.
Walking back into the room, Jake narrows his eyes at us suspiciously and we jump apart.
He says casually, “Vee, what have you been saying to Emma? She’s as pink as your hair was when you were fifteen. Remember that phase?”
Vee and Jake laugh.
After visiting Vee several more times over the weekend, we fly home on Sunday night. I fall asleep against Jake on the plane ride, though I wake long enough at one point to hear the flight attendant ask Jake if his fiancée wants a snack. He whispers, “No, she’s fine.”
My body fills with a warmth like someone has wrapped me in the softest blanket. I take a mental picture of this moment. This will be one of those memories I store away to take out and examine once I’m back in my real world that will help sustain me.