The Junebug and Her Mistress

Chapter 4

         Harry was born in Whitehall some 36 years ago to John and Lindsey Green. His christian name was Harold, but from the time he could talk everyone knew such a formal name did not fit. Harry was a precocious youth, with a wicked intellect and the brazen ability to call someone out, be they young or old, if he thought they were in the wrong.


         The Lattimores were two of the Green's oldest friends. When Harry was three, the family moved to the town of West Hillsbrand to be – according to Lindsey – in a town where a 'good, Christian upbringing' was possible. The fact that they found a house next to Jim and Alice was a bonus.


         Every Sunday, the Lattimores and the Greens would eat lunch together after church. They alternated who hosted the event, and the children, after clearing their plates and helping with the dishes, would play until time for bed. Some of Harry's happiest memories were in the Lattimore household.


         As long as he could remember, he had been in love with Candice. The first memory he had of her was her long blonde hair as she ran and how it looked like golden threads as it flowed in the breeze. At the age of six, he explained with all the childish seriousness in the world how he was going to marry her. She screwed up her face, pushed him down and ran away. But she looked back as she headed into the kitchen, and that was all the encouragement Harry needed.


         As he grew older, so grew his love for the Lattimores' middle child. They were fast friends through elementary school and endured taunts and gossip through junior high. They hung out together after school at the newspaper office, and Harry talked about the day he would work for Jim.


         “Well do what you want,” she would say. “But I'm going to move to New York and be a fashion designer. Then, when I'm rich and famous, I'll let you come up on holidays with the family and I'll show you all the coolest clubs.”


         Harry fretted at the thought of losing his golden-haired goddess, but also could see no way clear of leaving the place he loved. He never had been a roving spirit. When he went on vacation, even as a small child, he wanted nothing more than to be back home. The thought of leaving West Hillsbrand was never even an option.


         He went to Jim for a job at the newspaper the summer of his sophomore year.


         “Well, what would you like to do?” asked the editor, crossing his arms as his sign of a serious conversation about to ensue.


         “I'm not sure,” said Harry. “I'm a hard worker. You know that, Jim. Tell me what you want me to do, and I'll do it.”


         “Alright, tell you what. We'll start you out on copy. Nothing too writing-intensive, mind you, just to see if that's something you would be good at. If not, we'll go from there.”


         The first story Harry turned in to Jim, told the editor all he needed to know – this was no writer he had on his hands. He waited until a few more sub-par stories crossed his desk to make his decision. When he called Harry into his office, the young man seemed to know what was going on.


         “Not so hot, huh boss?”


         “No, not really,” said Jim. “Ok, that's one job down. Hank over in the sports department is needing some help this week with a charity football game that's going on. How are you with photos?”


         “Pretty good. You've seen my photos.” In truth, it was hard not to at least have some knowledge of photography in such close proximity to the Lattimore household. Jim delighted in teaching his children – and Harry by proxy – about how to shoot.


         “Alright, well go out and get some pictures of the game. Here's a camera,” Jim pulled out a 35mm in a camera bag, “and here's some film,” 10 rolls of film manifested from a desk drawer. “Fill these up in case we need a couple of photos for the inside. Let's see how this goes.”


         When Harry came back the next week, Harry had developed the photos and had a contact sheet on his desk. A yellow post-it was stuck on top:





         I think we've found you a job.


Jim





         From then until photography was easy enough for anyone to shoot a decent picture, Harry was the lead photographer. He covered sports in the fall, award banquets in the spring and news year-round. Harry helped him hone his skill with suggestions of future modifications to his exposures, and taught him how to fix some of the problems he encountered in the dark room.


         Harry's sophomore year flew by him in a rush of school and work.


         And Candice. And always Candice.


         The two were walking up to the news office one day when Harry got up the nerve to ask her what he'd been wanting to ask all his life.


         “Say, Candie. What would you think if I asked you out on a date.”


         Candice froze in her tracks, looking at Harry as one who looks at a puppy who suddenly started nipping at people. “I don't know, Harry. Is that the kind of thing you'd be likely to ask?”


         Harry stepped closer, inches from that adorable button nose and lips the color or wine.


         “Come on, Candie, don't act like you don't know. I've loved you my whole life.”


         “Harry,” Candice started once again walking down the street. “I know how you feel, and I care about you too, but I don't want to ruin a good friendship.”


         “Think about it, at least,” he said. “Don't tell me now, just let me know.”


         “The answer will still be no, no matter how long I think about it,” she said. “It's not a good idea and I'm not going to wreck what we have.”


         She very nearly did anyway. Harry nursed his wounds like an injured lion after a disastrous hunt. Work was difficult, since she was always there, helping out with circulation, copy or whatever was needed. He just tried to avoid her. She tried a few times to talk to him, but stopped trying after being repeatedly met with a stony wall of silence.


         Then one day, almost two weeks after the incident, Harry came jogging up beside her to walk to the news office. It was never mentioned again because no apologies were necessary. The only remnants lay in the fierce protectiveness of Harry over Candice and the questioning looks Candice gave Harry when no one else was around. Other than that, it was business as usual and the two friends stayed close.


         Life has a way of turning awry from the plans of a teenager, especially when hormones get in the way. Her name was Joanne, and Harry didn't even know she existed until the homecoming football game of his senior year. She was hanging back from her friend, who was dating a buddy of Harry's. He was a fellow outsider that night as well, the only one of the guys without a date. They started talking during the game, cheering for the Raiders in their less-than-spectacular effort, made out under the bleachers while everyone else was in the bleachers singing the school song and went out to a turnrow Harry knew for a few beers.


         She wasn't pretty, even Harry's beer-soaked eyes could see that. Her teeth were jammed into a mouth too small for them, her breasts were too small and her hips too big. But her eyes, they grabbed him in a snare. She didn't seem to have the ability to idly glance at anything. If she was looking at something, her eyes were trained like lasers. When they looked at Harry, he knew she saw everything and accepted it. Their conversation was occassionally interrupted by bouts of kissing and clumsy groping. He took her home a couple hours before sunrise. Neither one cared about the consequences of breaking curfew.


         They began dating and were regularly seen together at school functions. What he at first mistook as shyness at the game turned out to be that same ability for absolute scrutiny. While he joked around with his friends, she stood back and just watched. She experienced it all vicariously. He adored the way her analytical mind saw things he never even thought of and how practically she accepted everything in life. Her acceptance made him like her, but their conversations together made him love her.


         They had sex for the first time during spring break. A group of the seniors had rented a hotel room for the night, and after a few beers, Harry and Joanne went to rent a room of their own. The experience was awkward, both of them were virgins. When he penetrated her, she bit her lip, but told him to keep going, though tears were running down her cheeks. He pounded away for a few minutes, watching those too-small breasts jiggle underneath him, finished and dismounted. They checked out an hour later and both returned home early.          


         After that night, they met as often as they could in secluded locations, rutting in the darkness. Harry tried to be satisfied with Joanne, who was a better girlfriend than he had ever had. But no matter how hard he tried, when in the throes of passion he would imagine a different woman underneath him. Her blonde hair fell over her bare breasts and wine-colored lips stood open in a moan.


         Jim handed the majority of the dark room work over to Harry the day he graduated high school.


         “Now I got it set up the way I like it,” said Jim. “But if you want to rearrange it, feel free. I'm just glad to have someone else do it.”


         Harry doubted that statement, because long after Harry became the photo editor of the paper, Jim would come back and watch him develop his film, grunting in approval at an expert dodge, or crumpling up prints he felt could have used more or less exposure time.


         Candice stayed on at the newspaper and attended school in Whitehall. Her plans to move to New York had fallen through because of finances, so in typical Candice fashion, she altered her plans and said she would move as soon as she got her degree. Harry felt ashamed at the relief that flooded him from the news. He didn't want her to go away and was grateful that she would be here at least a few years more.


         Harry thought about college, but couldn't decide exactly what he wanted to do. Truth be told, he already had everything he needed where he was. Could years of studying – which he had never been good at – and a piece of paper saying he was smarter than he was do anything to improve on what he had? He decided to wait a couple of semesters before he decided.


         He never got a chance to make that decision. The February after he and Joanne had graduated, she came into the news office and asked to talk to Harry. She had never visited him at work before and he was surprised by it. Smiling, he swept her up in a bear hug.


         “Hey Jo, whaddaya know?”


         “Harry, can we talk privately?”


         They went into the dark room, avoiding the curious looks of the staff. He leaned against one of the counters, waiting for what must be some bad news.


         “I'm pregnant,” she said. “I missed my period a month ago and so I took a test. It was positive.”


         “Well, that's great,” said Harry, wholly sincere. “I'm gonna be a daddy, and you'll be a mommy!”


         “See Harry,” said Joanne, taking in the dark room, like she just noticed where she was, “I don't know if keeping it would be a good idea. We're awful young, and I don't know if I want to be tied down right now.”


         “But you got to keep it,” he said. “I'll be there to help raise it. Please, don't think about getting rid of it, Joanne. We can do this.”


         Tears welled up in her eyes. “I don't know, Harry. I mean, you say you're gonna be there, but how do I know you're not just gonna cut and run at the first sign of trouble?”


         “By this,” he said. Getting down on one knee, he pulled the ring he'd been carrying for weeks out of his breast pocket. “I've been trying to find the right time to ask you this, and it looks like this is a pretty damn good time. Will you marry me, Ms. Joanne?”


         Jim was puzzled by the sounds of laughter and crying coming all at once from the dark room. He considered going in to see what was happening, but a few seconds later, Harry and his girlfriend came out. Harry put his arm around her shoulders as she stared at the ring on her left hand.


         “Jim,” said Harry. “May I introduce you to my fiance? Joanne, this is my boss Jim.”


         The wedding set the small town ablaze with gossip. Rumors flew about Harry being forced into the marriage, or Joanne not really being pregnant, or even one scenario where it was someone else's baby and Harry knew it, but was going to make an honest woman out of Joanne. Candice knew the truth of it, and that was all that mattered to Harry. She and Joanne were friendly toward each other, but whenever they were in the room together, Harry could feel the hostility only two women who are pretending to like each other can create.


         He stayed mostly out of the wedding plans, giving his input when it was asked but otherwise letting the women do what they would, which they enjoyed immensely. Joanne's family was a large one, and Harry had not only his mother, but aunts and cousin who took part in the planning as well. The night before the wedding, the church was a sea of churning estrogen. A wave would smash against a wall and leave flowers and thin, pink fabric. It would overflow onto the tables and silver-trimmed tablecloths manifested along with lilac centerpieces. When the flood receded, the church was fully decorated and ready for the next day.


         Harry went through the service like a sleepwalker. He had rehearsed his part, but almost forgot it all when he saw his bride. She was about five months pregnant, but the bulge under her breasts only accentuated how fragile she looked in her lacy empress-waist gown. Harry wanted nothing more than to scoop her up and protect her for the rest of his life. When it dawned on him that he would get his chance, he almost cried.


         The service was short, but sweet. The priest had been a friend of Harry's family for many years and, despite the circumstances of the marriage, he was happy to see the boy wed. And so began Harry's life as a family man. Jim adjusted Harry's grueling schedule to give him weekends and evenings off as often as he could and gave him a 50-cent raise.


         About two-and-a-half months after the wedding, Joanne called Harry at work. The baby was coming. He rushed home and took her to the hospital. When they arrived, the doctors whisked her away to surgery. Harry paced the waiting room for two hours. Finally, a doctor entered and said the mother and the baby were fine, but the baby was in NICU due to her low weight and early birth. He asked when he could see Joanne.


         “She should be ready for visitors in an hour or so,” said the doctor. “But I'll warn you now that the surgery was hard on her. We almost lost her a half dozen times. She'll need a lot of time to heal.”


         Harry was escorted to his child, an impossibly-small girl who was sleeping peacefully, despite the myriad of monitors hooked onto her tiny body. Harry was proud to know that he had a part in that miniscule miracle sitting in that incubator. He already imagined holding her, playing with her as she got older. When it came time to go see his wife, it was almost regretfully that he left his newborn daughter.


         The head of the bed was elevated so she could see the T.V., which had some kind of gameshow on. She didn't seem to even know it was there. Her face was turned toward the window, where the trees were putting on their red and gold finery.


         “Hey Jo, we sure make a pretty baby. You did real good, sweetheart. Have you seen her yet?”


         He leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. She responded no more than a statue.


         “I heard it was tough on you in there. Thank God you're alive. I don't know what I'd do without you.”


         She fixed him with a stony gaze. “Oh I'm sure you'd come up with something, Harry. I almost died. Where were you, out galavanting around with your friends? Or did you and Candice have a little get-together while I was being sliced open on the operating table?”


         “Honey, I...”


         “Oh, just go. I don't want to talk to you.” As he got up to leave she gave him a chilling smile. “Oh, and one more thing,” she said. “I haven't seen that little brat and I'm not going to. She nearly killed me.”


         Harry left before he said something he'd regret. He asked the nurse to page the doctor and met him in a lounging area near the nurse's station.


         “Sounds like Acute Stress Disorder to me,” said the doctor knowlingly. “It happens a lot in difficult births. I'll get you a few numbers for some local therapists. Oh,” he put his hand on Harry's shoulder and stared straight into him. “and whatever you do, don't let her be alone with the baby, at least until the therapist says it's ok. I'll make a note of it in her chart as well.”


         Joanne was in the hospital for a week. Harry came to visit every day, going first to see how his tiny daughter was developing. He soaked up every ounce of joy from her he could before going to his wife's room. She seemed more participatory with the rest of the world after the first couple of days, but she still showed a lot of animosity toward Harry. He'd sleep nights on a cot next to her bed and would wake to her screaming. The nightmares sent her into a panic attack and became so severe that the doctor finally prescribed a sedative.


         Every day, only after Harry had arrived, one young, smiling nurse or another would ask if Joanne wanted to see her baby. At first she refused, but after some prompting from Harry, she allowed him to wheel her in once. The experience was so traumatic for her that he did not ask her to again. The minute she saw her child, she began hyperventilating. She screamed when Harry picked up the child and fell out of her wheelchair trying to get away. The NICU nurses loaded her back in and quickly escorted her out.


         The therapist arrived at the hospital the day after the incident. She asked Harry a few basic questions, then went to talk one-on-one with Joanne. It seemed to help. Joanne began to open up to Harry, explaining in choked sentences about the surgery, how she had been awake for the whole thing, and her fear. Some days, she wanted to just be held all day. Others, she didn't want to be touched. It was slow going, but eventually he got his wife back.


         But the resentment toward the child was slow to die. They named her Alexandra – Harry's idea, not Joanne's. She stayed for another week after her mother left the hospital, and the first day she was home, Harry knew his wife's inner struggle was far from over. He asked friends and family to be with her and the baby when he was at work. When he got home, it was a footrace to keep up the pace of good husband and new father. He did all the feedings, afraid to leave her alone with the baby as he slept.


         One day, his patience found its limit. Alexandra, about a month old and getting bigger by the second, was on the changing table. Harry made faces at his daughter as he put on a new diaper. Her hair was growing in and looked like it was going to be blonde and her eyes were limpid pools of pure sapphire.


         “Well, at least we know you'll love her. She's got the right coloring.” He didn't hear Joanne walk up behind him and nearly dropped the baby powder on the floor.


         “What's that supposed to mean?”


         “Oh, come off it, Harry. Doesn't she remind you of someone else you love more than life itself?”


         Harry had endured dozens of jabs at him about Candice since the delivery, but after weeks of next to no sleep at a non-stop pace, he was not going to endure it any longer. He turned to his wife, forgetting about the changing supplies still in his hands. She backed up a few steps, not liking the look in his eyes.


         “Enough, Joanne. I will not hear another word about Candice come from your God damn lips. I don't know what you think you see, but it's not there. Another word, and we're done. I love you, but I swear to God it will be done. Understand?”


         She didn't talk to him for a week afterwards. When she did start talking again, it seemed only out of a sense of practicality. She needed a husband to help care for her daughter. Therapy sessions improved, and in due time she was cleared to be alone with her child.


         Joanne never mentioned any problems to Harry, but the warmth in their relationship was drained. She was an attentive wife, but cold and distant with rarely any affection to give.


         As time went on, Harry continued his work at the Herald-West. When the task of photo editor was small enough for Jim to handle on his own, he moved Harry to ad manager. The previous ad manager had quit about three months prior and the department needed some serious leadership.


         Harry worked hard for his family, but he didn't go out of his way to spend time with his wife. He would have left about a hundred different times, but he needed his child. Alex was a bright ray of light that brightened his day no matter how hard work had been. He gave to his daughter all the love and affection he didn't give his wife.