Okay, well, I saw the first episode of the new season, it was awesome!!!! Mike suggested that I adapt my story to the show, but keeping to my original story plot. I've done it before; I can keep doing, can't I? We'll see how that goes.
Soundtrack: a song called "I wonder" by unknown artist (heard it in a commercial), Vanessa Carlton's "White houses", and Kelly Clarkson's "Break away".
Alexz: And now The Chemist has a confession to make.
Mike: -sigh- It was my fault this chapter took so long to post. I gave myself too much time to proofread it and another lifetime to send it back to her. I'm sorry, it won't happen again.
Alexz: And?
Mike: -rolls eyes in annoyance- And Alexz is a very pretty lady.
Alexz: And?
Mike: -teeth grit- And so am I.
Alexz: -pats him on the head- Atta, girl.
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The Beginning of the End
-by La Gioconda
Chapter Eight – The lost man
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Helen Girardi dropped a bag of chamomile tea in a mug of water, and then carried it over to the microwave to heat up. She was tired. After Joan left her with a handful that afternoon, Helen had tried to pick up the mess in the kitchen as fast as she could; the fire extinguisher foam was easy to clean, but the dark spot on the floor where the Pyrex dish had crashed and burned was a bit more reluctant. In fact it was still there. As for the smoke and the stench in the air, Helen had to request Luke's help to put aromatic candles all over the house, vacuum the carpets and curtains and atomize all the furniture with linen spray (and Helen realized how, erm, unhelpful Luke was when it came to house chores or the like). Now, finally, the air had stopped stinking.
However, all that running around made her half an hour late for the PTA. It was embarrassing; some of the parents mumbled amongst each other and shook their heads disapprovingly when she burst through the auditorium door, breathless and disheveled. She went red in the face and didn't even dare take her seat in the teachers' area, choosing to disappear in the back row instead, joining a lone woman who gave her a sympathetic smile. Before she knew it, it was Helen's turn to address the parents about her class, and that was another embarrassment, because in her hurry to leave home, she had forgotten her notes. To her relief, the woman on the back came to Helen's rescue, making some suggestions and praising the teaching methods and course syllabus Helen exposed. After the meeting was over, the parents and teachers all retreated to the back of the auditorium, where drinks and snacks were served (Helen remembered with a groan, the cheese sticks Joan had tried to make); she ended up having a nice chat with the woman from before, about their kids and the troubles they caused. After a hectic afternoon, it was nice to have a friendly conversation with a fellow parent who shared so much with her. But she was glad when she could come back home and take a breather.
"Hey, mom."
Helen looked up and found her daughter standing just outside the doorway, clutching the frame and biting on her thumbnail nervously, as if she were afraid to come in. Helen kept her anger in check and just moved to the kitchen table, cup in hand, and acknowledged her with a barely audible "hey".
Joan hesitated before actually walking in and approaching her mother's side. Out of the corner of her eye, Helen could see Joan shuffling with uncertainty; it was obvious, judging from her manner, that Joan felt bad about how she bailed, and she would probably manage to coax Helen into granting her mercy one way or another. But Helen wouldn't give in so easily. Not this time.
"Where's everybody?" Joan asked sheepishly.
"Luke is upstairs in his room. Your father and Kevin should be home in a while." Helen sounded like a robot, her voice emotionless. Joan bit her lip again.
"How was the meeting?" she asked in a sweet voice. Helen sniffed rather spitefully.
"I was late."
"Oh," Joan bit her lip. She was quiet for a moment. "I'm sorry," she finally muttered. Helen said nothing.
Joan finally sat down on the chair across from Helen and observed her mother nursing the mug of tea silently. She searched her mind for something to say.
"Listen," she began tentatively, looking down at her hands on the tabletop. "I'm… I was only trying to do something nice for you." Her voice was honest. Perhaps Helen perceived that, because her eyes rolled onto Joan, even if her facial expression was not at all welcoming. Joan shrugged, still not looking at her. "I guess it doesn't matter how simple it is, I always manage to screw up somehow."
Helen knew that tone of voice. It was extortion; whether Joan was using it on purpose or not, Helen didn't know. But it seemed to always work. Even this time.
She tried to keep a straight face, but somehow broke into a smile and gave Joan a sympathetic stare. "It's not that I don't appreciate what you wanted to do for me," she explained. "But leaving me like that to fix what you had broken was definitively not nice. I understand you had things to do, and you were in a hurry; but so was I, and you kind of trashed my schedule with that little stunt."
Joan was decidedly downcast. This had been a lousy afternoon, in every aspect. "I'm really sorry." She was being sincere.
Helen sighed thoughtfully. "I'm going to put it behind me this time. Just don't expect me to be as understanding IF something like this ever happens again." Her voice was softer and she was leaning onto the table, closer to Joan. In spite of it, Joan still felt terrible.
"I'm never cooking again," she said, her tone serious.
Helen chuckled. "Don't say that. I'm sure that if you had remembered to take those cheese sticks out of the oven in time, they would've been good."
Joan gave her mother a half-smile. "Well, at least I'm never cooking with bleu cheese again." Helen chuckled again. Joan smiled wider now, feeling a bit better. "So, how did the meeting go?" she asked, deciding to change the subject.
"It went well. We barely talked about the graduation, but there's plenty of time," Helen replied. "I did well on my little speech, even when I forgot my notes. The food was good. I met the parents of the new kids in your year, they were nice. Especially Jordan Canavaggio's mom."
Joan looked interested. "You met Jordan's mom?"
Helen nodded. "Yes. Estella Canavaggio. And then I found out she was an art gallery curator, which explained why she was so interested in my class."
"Yeah, Jordan said she's into art mostly because of her mother's influence," Joan added. She got up to get a mug from the dish rack; she wanted some of that tea, too.
"She's an interesting woman," Helen continued, as Joan fetched a chamomile teabag from the pantry and then went to fill the mug with water from the sink tap. "And rather brave, too. I don't know if you know, but her husband, Jordan's father, he left them a few years back. And he never came back."
Joan stopped, water overflowing the mug. "I know," she replied softly. It was a statement.
Helen shook her head lightly. "Of course you know. Jordan probably already told you about it. Not surprising; you two seem to get along great."
Joan was annoyed suddenly, because everyone seemed to think that Jordan and her had become best friends overnight, and it was equally vexing to pretend everyone had it correctly as it was to actually correct them. But she also felt a tinge of sadness, because Jordan's secret was out, whether she liked it or not, and people who weren't supposed to know it yet (a list which, as far as Joan knew, included only herself) were onto it as well.
Joan didn't say anything. She turned off the faucet and took the mug to the microwave, programming a minute of heating.
"She and her two daughters traveled a lot after that," her mother continued. "But they were always somewhere around Europe, close to home. I still don't understand what made them come to the United States; they seemed to be fine over there. She says it was because it's supposed to be the land of opportunities, but I think she was only kidding. She says they have some family and friends right here in Arizona. Close to Arcadia." Helen took a sip from her mug and sighed.
The microwave beeped when the water was heated, and Joan pulled it out and dropped the teabag inside.
"Poor Estella. And poor girls," Helen said under her breath, more to herself than to Joan. Joan frowned.
"Don't say that, mom," she reproached. "You don't feel sorry for them, do you?"
Helen shrugged. "No, of course not. I'm actually impressed. It must have been very hard, and they probably were very… brave." She followed Joan with her eyes as her daughter sat down again, drinking her tea. "I just suppose it couldn't have been easy at all. Not at first."
"No, I guess not."
Helen stood up to put her now empty mug in the sink. "Jordan seems to be very independent; like, self-sufficient. Must have gotten that from her mother. It sounded like there was nothing Estella wouldn't do to ensure that her daughters had everything they needed. It's not easy for one person to pull that off."
Upon hearing this, Joan felt admiration for Mrs. Canavaggio. She guessed it was difficult to raise two daughters alone, but she seemed to have succeeded resoundingly. Jordan obviously looked up to her mother, for everything she had done for her and Giulia. It was at that moment that Joan realized how much she actually underestimated her own mother. How she took for granted everything her mother always did for her.
Joan's face scrunched up and tears welled in her eyes. "Mom, I'm so sorry!" she wailed, and she covered her face with her hands.
Helen was stunned silent. "Honey, what's wrong? Why are you crying?" she asked. Joan shook her head and tried to swallow her sobs.
"I'm such a brat," she muttered. "I have you and I have dad and you two give me everything I need. And still I act like I don't need you. But the truth is I do, I need you guys, and I don't know what I would do without you. But I'm ungrateful and spoiled and self-centered, and I make up for a lousy daughter. I whine and complain all the time, and you still put up with my crap. And I'm so sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Joan began wailing again, tears running down her cheeks. Helen was stunned again, not sure whether to laugh or cry. She suppressed a giggle and went to hug her daughter.
"Oh, sweetie," she began, wondering what to say. "You're not a brat. Not anymore, at least."
Joan sniffed loudly and reached for a napkin to blow her nose. "Yes, I am."
"Joan, I don't think you've realized it, but you've grown a lot. You've matured. And I'm proud of you."
"How can you say that? I just made a mess in the kitchen today, not to mention I nearly burned the house down, and then I ran out on you! How much more selfish can I get?"
"Well, if I can put that past me, then so can you. Just don't let it happen again, that's all I'm asking."
Joan didn't say anything. Her sobs subsided, but she continued to sniffle. Helen smiled reassuringly and returned to her chair.
They were silent for a while. Joan had a sudden flashback to the night her mother had confessed to her that she had been raped in college. Joan had been in shock; she remembered crying a little, and Helen doing her best not to follow suit. Helen told her daughter about how she managed to put it behind her; she also told her about being strong, and about being smart when it comes to guys. Joan suddenly realized that Helen was not just her mother, but also a woman. She was someone who could tell her what it was like to be a girl and suddenly grow up and have all these decisions to make and all these risks to take, and about taking the reins of her own life. Because it didn't matter whether she had a harsh past or a difficult present; Joan was a free woman in this scary world, the owner of her life, and she could make of it whatever she wanted it to be. And that's exactly what her mother was raising her to do.
"Mom, what would you do if dad left us?" she asked suddenly. Helen frowned, taken by surprise with that question.
"Honey, your father would never leave us. He loves us all very much. Don't think those things—"
"I know, mom, I don't… I mean," Joan interrupted, "just hypothetically, if dad weren't dad, if he were different, and he left, what would you do?"
Helen thought for a moment, clearly not sure of what to say. "Oh well… I don't know. I'd like to think I would do as Stella Canavaggio. Be strong, for my children. Be strong for myself." She smiled sheepishly. Joan smiled back.
"I know you would," she said in a reassuring voice.
Helen chuckled. "I figured you'd say that. But what if I couldn't be that strong?" she asked, suddenly hesitant. Joan grinned wider and patted her mom's hand across the table.
"I'd help you, mom."
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Joan woke up the next morning with a heavy heart. Last night's talk with her mother, not to mention her talk with Adam, had caused a certain apprehension; she didn't want to have to see Jordan today. She would feel especially bad because she knew she wasn't supposed to find out about Jordan's father from anyone but Jordan herself. It would be awkward to be around her pretending to not know anything. But she had to keep her promise to Adam.
"What happened to the floor?" Kevin asked as Joan entered the kitchen, attempting to tie her shoelaces as she walked and nearly falling face-first into Luke's cereal bowl as he passed in front of her. He shoved her out of the way and went to sit at the breakfast table, and Joan lost her balance and landed sideways on the floor with a thud, right next to the dark stain on the floor tiles Kevin was pointing at.
"Ask Joan," Luke said with a mouthful of Lucky Charms, and he grinned mischievously. Joan propped herself up and glared at her little brother.
"Is anybody aware that the kitchen clock is a little delayed and it's not really as early as you think?" Helen asked, bursting into the kitchen with a white scarf hanging precariously from her neck, a bunch of books and a sketchpad stacked with loose papers on one hand and a half-eaten granola bar on the other. "And why isn't the coffee ready by now?" she demanded, looking angrily at the empty pot beneath the coffee maker.
"You forgot to turn it on," Luke pointed out, munching loudly on his cereal.
"And you knew I had, but you still were incapable of switching it on for me?" his mother protested. Her three children froze in fear. Helen was not in the best mood.
"Helen, Helen, that vein on your neck is starting to show. Relax," Will said, coming from behind Helen and putting his hands on her shoulders. "I know you had a hectic night yesterday, but you need to take things easy."
Joan put a couple of Pop Tarts in the toaster. "Do you need help, mom? Can I put those things in your bag for you?" she asked sweetly, reaching out for the books in Helen's hands. Everyone stopped and looked at her strangely.
"What?" Joan asked, nonplussed. Helen grinned knowingly and handed the books to her daughter.
"Nothing, sweetie. Thank you very much, I appreciate it," she said, and caressed Joan's hair. Joan smiled back and ignored the others. She took the books over to the living room and put them in her mother's bag, then went back into the kitchen to get her breakfast.
"Well, I'm off. Can't afford to be late this early in the year. Later," she announced, taking her Pop Tarts out of the toaster and wrapping them in a napkin. She kissed both her parents on the cheeks, grabbed her book bag and coat and exited through the back door. Everyone stared after her, still looking puzzled, until Luke spoke up through another mouthful of cereal.
"Pod people, anyone?"
Kevin thwapped his youngest sibling upside the head.
"Hey!" Luke protested.
"Dork."
Joan arrived at the school grounds some ten minutes before the bell would ring, and found none other than Jordan herself sitting on the cement steps that led up to the building entrance. She was writing something on a notebook while occasionally glancing at a thick textbook propped on her feet as if they were a reading desk. After much debate, Joan went over to her.
"Hey, Jordan," she said when she sat next to the girl. Jordan looked at her and barely smiled in acknowledgement while mumbling something that sounded like "hello", before gluing her eyes back on the notebook on her lap. Joan could tell, from the numbers scribbled across the page, that this was a calculus assignment. Joan wondered if she should interrupt her, when Jordan gave a low groan of exasperation and shut the notebook closed.
"Argh! I hate calculus! Or rather, calculus hates me," she whined.
"You're not alone, you know?" Joan said, taking the book from Jordan's feet and closing it. She just realized she had forgot to do that same assignment herself. Professor Graff would not be very merciful.
"Somehow that does not make me feel any better," Jordan replied. "Here's the finished report, if you want to look it over," she handed Joan a red hardcover binder folder. "And you left this at my house," she added, pulling Joan's cell phone out of the pocket of her bag. "Don't ever do that again, please. Grace kept leaving you missed calls and it was driving me crazy."
"Oh… sorry about that," Joan apologized. Jordan opened her notebook again. She scribbled a few things, but promptly stopped, grimacing.
"Mmm, I wish Dante were here," Jordan said absent-mindedly. "He'd help me finish this stupid assignment." She closed the notebook again and shoved it into her book bag. "No use. I'll just have to come up with some excuse. I just want to forget about it."
"Okay," Joan said lowly.
"So my mom told me that she met your mom last night. She said she was impressed. Not surprising; your mom is a really good art teacher," Jordan commented with a smile. Joan tried to smile back, but there was something bothering her, pinching at the back of her mind.
"Uh, Jordan, I'm really sorry about yesterday. I shouldn't have read your essay."
Jordan was obviously taken aback; she probably didn't expect Joan to bring that up. Still, she gave Joan a reassuring smile.
"It's okay," she replied, but it sounded somewhat forced. "Did you read it whole?"
Joan swallowed hard. She might as well be honest. "Most of it."
"I supposed you couldn't tell me what you thought of it."
Joan felt a sort of cold sweat breaking at the back of her neck. She was uneasy. It was as if Jordan was probing her or something. "I don't know. I'm not that good with essays."
Jordan chuckled. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound pushy. I just wanted to know what you thought of it. If you could give me your honest opinion. Not many people have read it, and I wrote that mostly thinking about concept, not form, and I'm kind of wary about other people reading it."
Joan felt like she was in the middle of an essay question in an English lit exam, but she was so glad Jordan was really okay with it, that she didn't mind. "Well, I'm not much of an essay critic or whatever you might call it, but I liked it. It's the way you talked about a lost man as if it could be any person, really, instead of talking about your dad in a more specific way. It's a good concept." Joan was impressed with herself; she didn't know she could be so eloquent about literature.
Jordan nodded, as impressed as Joan. "Wow, not many people our age really understand what it's really about when they read it, but you hit the nail right in the head. Let me just ask you one question," she said. "How do you know the essay is about my dad?"
Joan felt her heart give a sort of stumble.
"Er… your mom told my mom about it. Last night. And my mom told me about it, too." That was the best lie she could come up with. Did it sound believable?
"My mom doesn't know about that essay," Jordan replied.
Busted.
"I… well, I mean…" Joan was really stammering now. "I just thought—"
"Adam told you, didn't he?" Jordan asked, knowingly. She didn't look too amused anymore. Joan mentally kicked herself, wondering how she could get her foot out of that one. Or in this case, Adam's foot.
"Just for the record, it was you who assumed that he had told me. I didn't actually say it," she said very quickly. "I never broke my promise."
Jordan sighed. "Well, he broke his."
Suddenly, Joan felt really bad. "Are you mad at him?"
"No, no," Jordan shook her head. "I couldn't get mad at him for something as silly as this."
There was a pause. Jordan looked thoughtful, almost sad. "Besides, I was going to tell you," she added, "Soon, because you had already read the essay. I might as well."
"Are you mad at me for reading it?" Joan asked warily. Jordan gave a sort of chuckle.
"No. Although you shouldn't have, I didn't plan on showing it to you. But I guess it's just fine."
Another awkward pause. Joan pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "It was… really moving," she said tentatively.
"Really?" Jordan asked, but she didn't seem to be really paying attention.
"It was good."
"Thanks."
They smiled at each other. Joan didn't know if they should drop the subject. She was hoping someone would show up and cut the tension. There were still about two minutes before the bell would ring.
"I don't even think about it anymore," Jordan began again, but she seemed to be talking more to herself than to Joan. "I try not to. There's no point. But anyway, the past is past, life goes on, I just don't dwell on it anymore because no good comes from dwelling on the past and the what if's." She smiled rather cheekily at Joan. Joan did not know what to make of her attitude. She did know one thing, though; if she were in Jordan's position, she wouldn't want people to feel sorry for her, either. Joan wasn't looking to be all-compassionate and schtuff; she just wanted Jordan to know that she could count on her, as a friend.
"You know, you can talk to me, if you want. You don't have to feel like I—"
"That's sweet, Joan," Jordan interrupted her. "But do you mind if we don't share this anymore? I don't think it would be too comfortable for either of us. It's not that I don't appreciate it. But you understand, don't you?"
Joan blinked. "Sure… well, you know, if you change your mind…"
"Thanks, Joan."
The bell rang at that moment, and Joan was grateful for the interruption. This had been much more awkward than when they had talked about Joan catching Jordan shoplifting.
"Well, I've got to go talk to my counsellor. I'll see you in second period," Jordan announced, flattening her skirt and grabbing her stuff. Joan got up as well and motioned to follow her into the building. However, there was someone blocking her way.
"Oh, dear God!" she exclaimed in surprise.
"Yes, dear Joan?"
Joan glared at cute boy/God, standing directly in front of her, hands in the pockets of His brown jacket. He grinned smugly.
"You're going to give me a heart attack one of these days," Joan complained. She looked past God; Jordan, oblivious to the situation, had wandered into the school building with the rest of the students.
"Joan, I couldn't give you a heart attack even if I wanted to."
A snort escaped Joan, but she pretended to clear her throat to cover it up. "Before you can accuse me of being cynical, let's just move on to the reason for which you're here, besides the pleasure you take on annoying me this early on a school day in the middle of the week."
"You're a good girl, Joan. You should be proud of yourself," God said, smiling not unkindly.
Joan cocked an eyebrow. She wasn't entirely sure of what He was talking about.
"Jordan's relationship with you did not quite get off on the right foot. She probably thinks the worst thing that could've happened to her is that you found out about her being a kleptomaniac, when not even her own family knows about it."
Joan wanted to groan. It was one of those lectures. She should've known this had something to do with Jordan. But for some reason, that wasn't so annoying anymore.
"However, you didn't reject her because of that. In fact, you promised to keep her secret, and you even offered your support," God continued, leaning comfortably against the railing. "Obviously, this is something different. You figure you can't really know what she's going through, or how to help her about that. But you still offered your support, to be there, to listen, as a friend. That was enough."
"She doesn't want my support," Joan interjected.
"But she knows she can count on you."
Joan nodded. "Why didn't she want to tell me about her father?"
"Why would she want to badger you with her problems, when you probably have your own to deal with?"
"But she said she'd eventually tell me."
"This is the sort of thing that friends shouldn't keep from each other. She's not expecting you to take her problems away with the flick of a magic wand. She just wants you to understand. That's what friends do."
Joan sighed. Were she and Jordan real friends? She wasn't absolutely sure. But they could be, someday not too far away.
"I know it's difficult for you to be friends with Jordan, since you feel like she barged into your life and settled in so comfortably in no time," God said, knowing what she was thinking. "But she's lonely, and she could use some friends right now. It's not easy moving away from home and leaving your friends behind. You probably know what that's like, right?"
She nodded in understanding. "Yeah, I know."
God nodded as well, smirking. "You better go inside. You'll be late for class."
Joan gave a dismissive wave. "What's the rush? The second bell hasn't rung yet."
Not surprisingly, the bell rang, as if on cue. Joan narrowed her eyes suspiciously at Him. He smirked again and patted her shoulder as He stepped past her.
"What would she do if her father came back?"
God spun on His heel and looked at Joan. Joan turned too, facing him.
"Interesting. Adam asked her that exact same question just a few days ago," He replied.
"What did she say to him?"
"That is not really what matters."
"You know the real answer, then, don't you?" Joan demanded.
God rolled His eyes. "She said she'd probably do nothing. She reckons she never wants to see him again."
"Really?" Joan was a bit surprised. Jordan couldn't really mean that, could she?
"She has her life now, they all do, her mother and sister," God continued. "They're really doing just fine without him, it's not like they need him anymore. If he came back, it would change everything. They don't need that sort of change; she says it would do no good. That they're better off not coming across him ever again."
"But that's not really how she feels," Joan added, sensing what He meant.
God didn't answer. He looked thoughtful, the depth in His eyes reflecting a sudden sorrow. Without another word, He turned around again and walked off. Joan watched Him go for a moment, before forcing herself back to the present, and into the school building.
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Correction: THIS one is officially the most annoying chapter I've had to write so far. Sorry this was so long.
In other news, I will officially go insane if I don't get my hands on Sum 41's "Chuck" right about now.
More new characters showing up next chapter. Hope you like them (and you're welcome to take them away. Seriously, they're driving me up the walls.) And my boyfriend Seth will be the next God. He's so excited (only he/God knows why).
Thanks for reading! See you next chapter!
In the darkNess