The Humper Game Pt. 07 Ch. 02

Tuesday, we had arranged to go visiting. Jenny was working during the day, but Martha had promised to be home for us, and said Lynda would be as well. It seemed they were neighbors. Mia was kind enough to let us borrow her car, and she also gave us advice on route—not that there was anything difficult, and our phones provided GPS apps.

We arrived at Scott's and Martha's house. It was out of town a way, and the "street" was more like a private driveway shared by a few houses. Martha greeted us warmly, admiring the engagement ring and wedding band. She asked whether we were making any progress on the things that made me tend to fall apart.

"I think so," Ellen told her. "He's always going to be a sentimental type, I'm pretty sure, and pull inside himself a little at anything that moves him, emotionally. But it looks like he's learning to recognize it, and to keep paying attention to the outside world. Oddly enough, I think the taekwondo is helping with that. He's really working to be able to do things, well, on autopilot, but still keep his focus, and that seems to help with the emotions. He feels them, but he can let them go on inside him while he still pays attention to whatever is going on. He's got a way to go, but there's progress. There was one point at the wedding that had me really worried, but he came out of it in a minute." She laughed. "Though you're not supposed to cry at your own wedding! But at least he wasn't crying at having to marry me!"

Martha looked right at me. "Phil, I'm so happy to hear that! It's fine to feel things, but you mustn't let it make you collapse. Scott and I have been praying for you. And that things would go smoothly as you've moved toward getting married, and I trust that they did."

I had a question, and I was very ready to change the subject anyway. "I expected to see Hannah bouncing around," I said. "Is she taking a nap, or in some kind of childcare, or what?"

Martha laughed. "You could call it a kind of childcare," she said. "Brian's and Lynda's oldest is a few months younger, and they're usually together, at one house or the other. We should go over there. Lynda's eager to meet you, and you're right, Hannah will be excited to see you. And even more excited that you're married. I decided to let her be surprised."

We followed a flagstone path through trees and brush, and came up to a large house. Hannah and a smaller girl were sitting in the sunlight, drawing or—as it turned out—coloring. Martha said, "Hannah, look who's here." And her earlier statement was thoroughly confirmed, because Hannah jumped up and jumped over to us, shrieking with excitement. She was excited enough to hurt my ears, and I had trouble understanding what she was saying—except that the words "the beautiful lady" were repeated several times.

After half a minute or so, Martha took her hand and held her still, and said, "Hannah Grace! Calm down, sweetheart!" It wasn't instantaneous, but she did quiet down.

"Hannah, what do you say when a friend comes to see you?"

She looked at us very seriously. "Phil and Ellen, I am glad to see you again. You were very nice to let us have dinner with you." This seemed to me to be amazingly precocious, for a girl who was five or six. I was even more surprised when she went on, "This is my cousin, Nancy. She's not really my cousin, but her mother and father let me call them Aunt Lynda and Uncle Brian."

The younger girl had been watching us shyly, from behind Hannah. Ellen said, "We're very pleased to meet you, Nancy. I'm glad that Hannah has a friend close enough to be a cousin to her." She went on, to Hannah, "Hannah, you may remember that when you visited us, Phil was my boyfriend. But now he's my husband. We got married on Saturday. Would you like to look at my rings?"

Hannah showed signs of excitement, without the effervescence—not to say hyperactivity—she had showed when we first came into view. Ellen let her look at the rings, identifying the engagement ring as "the ring Phil gave me when we promised each other that we would marry each other," and Hannah exclaimed over how pretty it was. And she said, "I know the other ring is your wedding ring, when you promised to love each other and stay together your whole lives. Mom has a ring like that, too."

"That's right. You're very smart, to know that, Hannah." Ellen looked at Martha. "I never looked closely at your engagement ring, Martha. May I see it?" Martha extended her hand, and we looked closely. Blue sapphires rather than a diamond. Ellen said, "It's simply beautiful, Martha. Is there a significance to the sapphires?"

Martha laughed, and when she spoke her voice still held an echo of the laughter. "The significance is that Scott loved me enough to find out what I would like, without asking me, so he could surprise me with it. We had gone through a lot of compatibility questionnaire things, and one had asked about colors, and he took note that blue is my favorite color. It's his, too, by the way. And once when he was over at my house, he snooped in my jewelry box. And then, to make sure, he asked Lynda what kind of jewelry I would like if he got me, say, earrings for my birthday. And he had promised not to deceive her that way—using half-truths to mislead her! But she forgave him, even though he didn't exactly repent or ask her to.

"When we showed it to the older people who lived in the apartments where he lived, you should have heard some of the old men. They told me I should be insulted that Scott didn't love me enough to get me a big diamond—'a big rock,' they said. And I told them that he loved me enough to find out what I would really like, and get me that! But it was quite a surprise, and so it's all the more precious to me."

"You remember, we told you about our beloved friend, Sam," Ellen said. "She designed this ring for us. She found someone to make it from her design, and let her help him—though he suggested some small changes that really do make it even more beautiful. Phil paid for the ring, of course, but Sam gave us her work on the design as a gift. And really, she gave me Phil, too. If she had wanted to be selfish, she could have gotten him to choose her instead. And you see, I can be about as emotional as Phil, if I don't stop talking about how good a friend Sam is, I'll be crying. She was my maid of honor, and she means so much to both of us!" She really was dripping a few tears.

"We'd better go find Lynda and the rest of the brood," Martha said. I tried to take Ellen's hand, but she took possession of my arm instead. Martha didn't bother knocking, she just opened the door and took us in. "Lynda, company's here," she called, fairly quietly.

"In the girls' room, Martha," came a reply.

We followed Martha, and came to a room set up as a nursery. It had a bunk bed and a crib. There was a young child, a toddler most likely, on the lower bunk, asleep. A woman only a few years older than Ellen and me, I thought, was sitting in a chair with a young girl, perhaps four years old, in her lap, reading to her.

Lynda reminded me of Mia, though they really didn't look that much alike. She was beautiful in the same general way, petite, with a spectacular figure—though she was pregnant at the moment, showing a little. Her hair was as black as Ellen's, but wavy, and her eyes were so dark that the pupils were almost invisible, which made for a striking and exotic look. Well, Ellen's were almost that dark, and maybe that was part of her beauty—but I was used to it in Ellen. I soon saw that Lynda was energetic, but without the restless sense of constant activity that Mia projected.

Martha said, "Lynda, this is Phil and Ellen. We've told them personal things about you, and told you personal things about them." She looked at us. "And this is Traci, Nancy's sister. Sleeping there is my Brian. Lynda, I was going to ask you to come over for lunch, but since you've managed to get Brian to sleep I'd better not."

"Traci's going to lie down as soon as we finish this book, aren't you, hon?" Traci looked slightly mutinous but didn't say anything. I privately thought that I wouldn't want to argue with Lynda, myself. Maybe I was overly influenced by what Scott and Martha had told us, though. "We'll just have lunch over here, OK? Why don't you go out and get it ready, Martha?"

We went out to the kitchen with Martha. I looked out the window at Hannah and Nancy. "You know, I'm a little surprised that you let two girls that age be out there unsupervised," I said.

"Hannah really is pretty responsible," she said, "but partly it's policy. Lynda is a worrier, and Scott is to a lesser degree. I'm more easy-going than Scott, and Brian and his brothers—and sisters, but especially his brothers—were allowed to kind of run wild a lot of the time. They were taught how to behave, and they were taught to be careful, and they looked after the younger ones—but a lot of the time nobody supervised them. They had rules about where they could go, and so on, of course, and if they had any doubts they were supposed to ask. But Brian's approach is very hands-off. One of many places where he's way better for Lynda than Scott ever could have been. God provides. Anyway, we're trying to teach them responsibility. Lynda was here, within earshot, and you can bet she was listening. They were coloring, which is pretty safe, and there are a number of things they can do without asking, and they know what those are. I'm sure she looked out the window fast when we arrived, but she probably didn't need to—happy excitement doesn't sound like terror. Lynda still worries, but she's learned to trust Brian and me, and Scott too—she already trusted him. And me, I guess." I was impressed, and not so sure I could take the same approach.

As she told us all this, Martha pointed out where to get plates and utensils, and Ellen and I set the table. Martha got food out and ready. She clearly was as familiar with the kitchen as she would be with her own.

Ellen said, "Seeing her mother, and now her Aunt Lynda, I'm really honored that Hannah seems to think of me as 'the beautiful lady.' And I'm afraid Phil and I are going to have to fumble our way to a child-rearing strategy, so I'm glad to hear about yours." Martha gave her a blinding smile.

Martha made sandwiches for Hannah and Nancy, but left the actual construction of lunch for the rest of us to us. She went and called the girls in, reminded them to wash up, and looked in on Lynda and Traci, then got us all seated. She said, "We'll wait a minute for Nancy's mom, girls. I think she's about done in there." And indeed, Lynda was no more than two minutes more. While we waited, Ellen asked Hannah and Nancy about what they had been coloring. Hannah answered with some enthusiasm, whereas Nancy had to be drawn out.

When Lynda was seated, we all held hands, and Martha prayed. The girls ate, and the adults made sandwiches and ate them. As we were nearly finished, Scott came in. He washed his hands and sat down. He bowed his head for a few moments, and then began fixing himself a sandwich. Lynda got up and brought fruit, a variety, and we all had some.

"I thought you were working today," I said to him. I was really glad to see him.

"Having Martha as my assistant, and then losing her, taught me a lesson," he said. "I can't do the job nearly as well without someone doing what she did. She's so efficient that I need two, in fact, just to do what she managed." He smiled at her. "Lynda learned the job, and the two of them helped me choose and train their replacements. But one result is that I have people I can trust to cover for me, some of the time. I'm available, if something comes up, but realistically nothing is likely to."

I watched and listened, letting Ellen hold up our end of the conversation. Her rings were displayed again. I was remembering that Scott had been sexually involved with the two of them, and that he and Lynda had reportedly been in love as much as he and Martha. It was plain that all three of them were very fond of each other, but no more. I decided that this really wasn't all that surprising. If Sam were there, well, she and Ellen had never been lovers—and both would have found that unnatural and repulsive—but they were affectionate friends. And while, at the moment, Sam and I still had somewhat inappropriate feelings for each other, in a few years those would be dwindling to no more than fond memories, I suspected. I hoped! More so if Sam found a husband to be devoted to. I certainly hoped she would. And in my case, there were several others as well. All true regarding Jenny, too, if less so.

During all this, the girls were excused. They asked for permission to take their dolls outside, and this was readily granted. The rest of us talked, a little more freely in their absence.

Meeting Lynda really was a treat. From what Scott and Martha had told us, if she thought something was seriously wrong, she would say so at length, demanding repentance on the spot—but nothing like that came up that afternoon. She was amusing in conversation, ready to be serious when the subject was serious but teasing Scott and Martha fondly as well.

Scott asked us much the same question Martha had, about my tendency to collapse under stress. Ellen answered in much the way she had, too. But Scott asked for details about the interruption to the wedding, and she said a little bit about that. Then she pulled out a DVD and gave it to them.

"It's a little silly to give you a video of a wedding of people you really don't know that well, but I thought you might be interested. Watch it when you have a chance, if you like. You can see it happening to Phil, as Sam sang, but you can also see that he did come out of it fast enough when the song was over. Jim—that's his best man—Jim and I were a little worried, and you can see that Sam was, too, once she turned around and saw. She wasn't supposed to start back up before the pastor started talking. But it was just while the words and music were still going, that he was so focused on them that he lost track of everything else. You'll see."

Martha took the DVD. "Scott and I will look at it, but I think Lynda and Brian will be interested too. Thank you!"

I should probably have said this earlier. Steve had gotten it all onto a DVD, but then emailed it all to us. Mia had given us some blank disks and let me burn them on her computer. She had a price, though, namely a copy for herself. So even on our honeymoon we were able to give copies to interested friends.

I added, "I really hope Sam will come to visit Jenny sometime, and that she'll come and see you. I know you admired her drawings, but I'm thinking Scott and Sam would enjoy talking together about music, instruments at hand. As far as I know, she doesn't play the kind of thing you mostly do, but she likes it—and she's talented and adaptable. Well, listen to the song she composed and sang for us. When you get the chance."

Ellen asked to look at Lynda's rings. I had already seen that Lynda's engagement ring was a moderately large diamond, pretty enough but not unusual. But as Brian came up in conversation, it was obvious that she was devoted to him. And Scott and Martha cared about both of them, very deeply. This was a great reassurance to me, soothing something I hadn't really recognized as being troubled. At some point there had been passion and desire, and now those were where they should be, between the married partners—but this hadn't destroyed the great affection and friendship between Martha and Lynda, or Scott and Lynda. Or, I was sure, Brian and the Davidsons. So there was hope for Ellen and me with Sam, especially, and with Jenny. I didn't bother mentally listing Claire and Barbara and all the others.

We left when it was still pretty early in terms of our arrival at Jenny's, but we had an errand in mind. We had asked Mia about gift shops, and she had said that there wasn't really a good one in their town. A couple of stationery or card shops, with the kind of trinkets card shops carry. But here, in the smaller town we were visiting, there was a shop with a reputation for unusual gifts. It also included a kind of antique shop, which was in fact the original business. I didn't know whether she realized we were looking for gifts for her and Tom, and for Paul and Mary. We had hesitated to look for gifts before we met them. If we could find something nice for Jenny and for her parents—whom of course we hadn't met yet, either—we would be pleased, as well.

So we went and browsed in the shop. For our tastes, it was pricey—but we had to admit that the items were nice, and not the common type of things we could get almost anywhere. So we picked out four items. We decided not to have them gift-wrapped, but they were wrapped in tissue to protect them, then at our request put into two separate bags. We made sure we could tell them apart.

As we were walking back toward the parking lot where we had left our car, Ellen was carrying our purchases. This proved to be a very good thing. Suddenly, from behind me, a hand grabbed my shoulder and spun me around, and I found myself facing Vince Sharkey.

I didn't have any time to wonder how he happened to be there. He said, "So, mama's boy is here with nobody but his girlfriend to protect him, nobody to run to. Let's see if you can act like a man." And without warning, he threw a punch at my face.

Except it really wasn't without warning. His tone had been blustering and aggressive, and his body language had clearly indicated what he meant to do.

Now, I wasn't very advanced in taekwondo after just a few months, but I had mostly drilled as I was supposed to, and I'd done some sparring under supervision. Probably that contributed to my recognition of his body language. And some of my sparring partners weren't much more advanced than I was, but their moves were a lot faster than Sharkey's punch—surely because they really practiced and he didn't. Without really thinking about it, I shifted so that his punch went past me, grabbing his arm and starting to move with it.

About that time, I realized what that move was leading me into. There's a lot of difference between practicing flipping someone over who's prepared for it, so he lands on his back on a mat, and flipping someone hard onto his back on a concrete sidewalk, when he didn't even know how to avoid hitting his head.

Well, our basic wrestling in gym in high school hadn't been particularly advanced—I could now see that clearly—but I was able to convert my action into something else familiar. As he was propelled forward, by his own momentum and my pull, I pulled down on his arm, twisting it behind his back.

He was breathing a lot harder than I was, and I'd done most of the work! I said, "Sharkey, if you're at all smart, you should already know that if I wanted to hurt you, I'm in a position to break your arm or dislocate your shoulder without even trying very hard. You probably aren't aware that I almost flipped you onto your back, which on this concrete probably would have put you in the hospital for a while.

"If you're willing to talk instead of fighting, I'll let you go. Otherwise, I can hold you like this until you change your mind, or until I decide that I can't defend myself without injuring you. It's your choice."

At that point, however, I was interrupted. A police car sped up and stopped, double-parked, and two policemen hopped out. They split onto two sides of us, keeping a careful bit of distance, and one of them barked, "All right, you two! You there, let him go, and then you both move apart!"

I instantly dropped Sharkey's wrist and stepped back. He was mad enough to be stupid. He whirled and started for me. The second policeman poked him in the belly with his nightstick—not all that hard, but he sat down kind of hard on the sidewalk.