Chapter 2 - What Lies Beneath
“Sit with me, and I’ll not be alone.
Hold my hand, and I’ll not feel alone.
Cry with me, and I’ll no longer suffer alone.”
— Richelle E. Goodrich
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Somewhere along our journey from one town to another, Mom realized that tools captured my interest as much as toys. So, on my twelfth birthday, she bought me a tool bag. I’d been learning to fix things as they broke ever since.
Sunday, after the incident at the festival, she bought a new set of locks and deadbolts for Brooke’s front and back doors. “Jake, please install this for her.”
Brooke stepped forward to protest. “Y’all don’t need to do this for me.”
Mom put a hand on her shoulder. “After all you’ve done for Jake and letting him stay here after school, this is the least we can do.”
Brooke took a step back while twisting her long, curly hair. She cast her eyes down and backed off.
With all the assortment of tools in the bag, the screwdriver would do the job fine. Power drills couldn’t get the right angle around the doorknob. Besides, I preferred the simple feeling of twisting in the long screws by hand. I needed that calm and focus after yesterday’s encounter.
Why didn't I stand up to that jerk, even though he was smaller than me?
Mom reminded me that providing protection was just as valuable as standing up to that bully in the heat of the moment.
After I tested the locks, I handed the pair of keys to Brooke. Then she turned to Mom and gave her one. “Grace, y’all should have one. Just in case, ya know.”
I thought she’d protest, but she nodded and accepted the key. “We’ll keep it safe.”
Brooke said flatly, “I suppose it’ll be my turn to make dinners this week.”
“Great!” I said, “I’m anxious to see what you make next.”
She turned away and let out a long sigh. “Yeah, I’m sure.” Then she slunk off to her room without saying goodbye.
Nathan thanked us as we left.
Later that evening, we returned and didn’t bother knocking since Mom had a key. Nathan greeted us and helped carry some of the things Mom had bought. Brooke crept from her bedroom, not saying much, and avoided looking directly at us.
Were her eyes puffy and red?
When she saw the new crockpot in the kitchen, no happy smiles or a “thank you” burst out like we expected. Instead, she softly whined, “I don’t know how to use that thing.”
“Come, let me show you,” Mom coaxed her.
Eager to learn a week ago, Brooke stared at her feet more than at the food.
“Red beans and rice, didn’t you say that you enjoyed that growing up?” Mom asked. “Well, I have the recipe for you, and I made it easy with canned beans, frozen bags of trinity, and some Old Bay. Cut up the sausage tomorrow morning and throw it all together. It’ll be fantastic.”
Brooke’s reply of “Sure, no problem” sounded more like “Yeah, whatever.”
Mom pulled out three copies of the key to their house. “Here’s one for Nathan and a couple of spares.”
Brooke stared at them like she didn’t recognize them. Nathan said, “Thanks,” took his key, and stored the spares in a safe place. Then, his sister retreated to her bedroom.
What was going on? She was always gracious and took every chance to talk. I was dumbfounded and turned to see Mom’s reaction.
I looked at Mom, and she shook her head. Most people wouldn’t have noticed, but I grew up with her. I knew what she meant. “Leave it alone.”
* * *
As Nathan and I approached their house, my stomach growled in anticipation of the crockpot meal. “I can almost taste the red beans and sausage now.”
Nathan made a small grunt or some similar sound. He didn’t want to talk unless it was something about school. Despite being a teenager, food held no interest for him like it did for me. The aroma would tempt me while we waited for Brooke and Mom to arrive.
What made me excited about this meal? I wasn’t sure.
Perhaps watching Brooke's excitement about learning to cook made me eager for this meal.
When we walked into their house, I couldn’t smell anything cooking. I rushed to the kitchen and found the empty crockpot. The ingredients Mom bought were still in the bag. Disappointment filled my heart, and my stomach grumbled for some warm food.
My focus turned to the kitchen table, where Nathan spread out his books and sat ready with his pen in hand. I slumped down in a chair and prepared to study.
He spoke up. “Thanks for the sturdy and secure locks, Jake”
“No problem. The metal frame and door were well-built. They just needed a new lock.”
He gave me a side glance that I didn’t understand.
* * *
After an hour of studying, the front door opened. Nathan's sister breezed past the kitchen without any cheerful greetings or even a ‘hello.’ He didn't look up from his phone while texting his girlfriend, Monika.
“Hey, what about…” A sharp kick to my foot distracted me, and Brooke disappeared into her room.
“What?” I gave him a disapproving glare.
He gave me a flat stare right back. “There’s more work we need to do.”
After solving a few more math problems, Mom showed up with a rotisserie chicken and a tub of potato salad. We carved it up and wolfed it down, or mostly me. She went down the hall to invite Brooke, but she wouldn’t come out.
The house felt quieter, almost dead, without Brooke bouncing around and chattering.
We finished studying before Mom returned from her second job. She promptly checked on Brooke and practically dragged her to the kitchen.
On a few occasions, Brooke mentioned her love of chicken wings. Mom gave her one from the leftovers, and she picked at it.
With expert, quick hands, Mom picked the rest of the meat from the chicken, chopped it up, and threw it in the crockpot. Cutting up the sausage became my task. Not being a pro like her, we finished about the same time. She threw the rest of the ingredients in and set the pot in the fridge.
Mom turned to Nathan. “Could you put the pot on to cook in the morning? Set it to low.”
Nathan nodded, and my fantasies of red beans and rice were fulfilled the next day. The pot was packed, and my stomach demanded its share, which amounted to two or three bowls. Nathan ate barely one bowl, and Mom, too. Again, Brooke didn’t come out until later for a small portion.
* * *
The next day, she avoided everyone, and her depressed mood lingered in the air. What happened to that fun-loving Brooke?
Concern for her led me down the hall to her room, and I knocked. “Hey, Brooke? You, okay?”
The silence from her room was deafening. I stood still until a chair creaked. Instead of the door opening, the bed squeaked softly, and I heard a defeated sigh.
Not wanting to push the issue but still concerned, I sat down in the hall next to her door and waited. I waited until it was almost time for Mom to pick me up, then Brooke’s door opened, and she saw me. If she was shocked or annoyed, it wasn’t clear. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m concerned. Are you okay?”
She stood for a moment, grimacing as if not knowing how to respond. “No, I’m not okay. I have to pee.” She shuffled to the bathroom and firmly closed the door.
Before she emerged, Mom came and picked me up. On the drive home, I told her what happened. She responded, “Your heart is in the right place, but you’ll need more patience with her and give her time.”
* * *
Early on Friday, we approached Nathan’s house, and Brooke’s car sat in the driveway. Was she back early, or was she sick?
When we went inside, Nathan headed to the kitchen table to study, the same as always. But I had to know Brooke was okay.
A knock at her door produced the same soft sounds of movement. At least she was here and moving. I was still worried, but I joined Nathan in the kitchen to study until Mom came for dinner. She brought some dirty rice and collard greens, which we promptly devoured.
“Mom, I don’t think Brooke went to work. Do you know if something’s wrong with her?”
Mom turned to Nathan, who was already clearing the table, but he did not explain. Mom looked back at me. “I’ll go talk with her. You stay and help Nathan.”
He talked when doing homework or when necessary. I never heard him complain. Somehow, the kitchen felt quieter and more lonely than usual while Mom spoke with Brooke.
When she returned to the kitchen, Mom said, “Well, I’ve got to go. The diner might be busier tonight, so I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
She left without even a word about Brooke. We finished most of our studies for the weekend, so Nathan went to his room. Typically, I’d follow, and we’d play Xbox, or rather, I would while he texted Monika.
Tonight, I went to Brooke’s room and knocked on the door. No tell-tale signs of her presence came from her room. Maybe she’s asleep. I sat down next to her door and waited to hear her stirring.
After several minutes, I abandoned my post and walked around the house. I’d helped Nathan tidy the house several times and found my way around. They’d welcomed us into their home, which their parents had left for them. However, one door was always closed off: the only forbidden room in their house, their parents’ room.
As I passed by, that door partially opened. I froze. Brooke had to be there.
Cautiously, I slipped into the room. Moonlight peeking through the curtain gave the room a dim glow. It appeared that no one had touched this room after her parents died. The bed was unmade. A book and reading glasses sat on a nightstand. A robe and nightgown hung on a set of hooks on the wall.
In the middle of the bed sat Brooke, clutching a pink fuzzy pillow and staring out a closed window. Slowly, I climbed onto the bed and sat next to Brooke, but not so close that she would be startled.
She didn’t react to my presence. She seemed in a trance and didn’t want to be interrupted. Whatever was happening, she needed something more than this. Her parents had been gone for a year, and she still couldn’t handle this room. She and Nathan had been left alone in this house. She had let me in, and I decided to stay and do what I could.
The clock on the wall behind us continued to tick. I couldn’t see it, but its steady, soft sound told me a long time had passed. Finally, Brooke acted like I had suddenly appeared and snapped at me. “What are you doing in here?”
However, I answered her, it would make her mood worse, so I remained silent. She didn’t say anything else but returned to her sulky stare.
“Mom and I moved around a lot,” I began. “She would find jobs in childcare centers because …” I had to be careful not to say too much. “…because that was her thing. I was supposed to be doing homeschooling lessons, but she kept me with her. When I was eleven, I got to help with the after-school kids.”
I couldn’t keep the smile from my face. “Those were some of my favorite times. I got to play with the kids, build with blocks, have tea parties with the girls, throw around a football outside with some boys, play with the race cars, and do lots of other stuff. All those kids looked up to me like a big brother, and I loved them all.”
Brooke hadn’t moved or shown any indication that she was listening. The joy of the memory started to fade, and I continued to my point. “Some were troublemakers, but they needed someone to believe in them. I rarely had problems with them.” I hope she doesn’t think she’s a troublemaker.
“A few wouldn’t play with the others and hid somewhere to be alone. Eventually, I realized what they really wanted was to be found.”
I rested my hand, palm up, between us. Brooke hesitantly reached out and rested her hand on mine. Gripping her hand, I felt her loneliness flowing out of her.