How Jenna Found Out I Loved Her – Part 2

Click here to read part one.

***

My mother and I had only one conversation about my father’s affair.

“Do you think he loved her?”

“Did he love who?”

“Do you think Dad loved Eloise’s mom?”

She stopped ironing the tablecloths for Sunday’s dinner and said simply, “The flesh is weak.”

We never spoke of it again.

***

I thought it would be wonderful having a sister. I’d always wanted a sibling I could play with when I was younger, and confide in when I got older, but having Eloise around was a lot like having a goldfish. It didn’t provide much company and if it wasn’t for the fact that you had to feed it occasionally, you might forget it was even there. She spent most of her time in her tiny room, reading books and listening to music on an old radio our father used to keep in the garage.

Everything Eloise owned was used. Her mother never returned after that night. I had expected her to because all she’d left Eloise with was a garbage bag of clothes. She didn’t have books, games, or jewelry. She didn’t have anything a girl was supposed to have. While I was allowed to purchase inexpensive clothing from the mall or department stores, Eloise’s attire came from Goodwill or church donations. She never complained, but I did.

“Why does she have to have these hand-me-downs?” I asked my mother.

“She should be grateful for the roof we have provided.”

It was rough on Eloise and it seemed I was the only one that noticed. Our father wanted to forget the mistake that was his youngest child, and the best way for him to do that was to pretend she didn’t exist. He only spoke to her when he had to. She called him sir, and my mother was ma’am. They were never father or mother and I don’t think I’d ever heard my father once say her name.

One day, we were in her room removing posters from the wall. I had suggested that Eloise do something to her room so it wouldn’t look so lonely. When my mother saw the pictures of Johnny Depp and Christian Bale she ordered Eloise to take them down immediately.

“The room is small enough. Now it’s downright suffocating!”

I wanted to shout at my mother, “Whose fault is that? Why don’t you let her have the spare bedroom that’s more than twice this size,” but I didn’t. She’d had that tone and it would have been useless to argue. I was sixteen at the time, Eloise fourteen, and I hadn’t yet gotten the nerve to stand up to my mother. I found it easier to defend Eloise against others.

“Your cousin is weird.”

“She’s not really.”

“Why does she dress like that?”

“She doesn’t have to be like everyone else.”

The longer Eloise lived with us, the more interesting I found her. I imagined that I’d grow up and write a book about her; a story both tragic and romantic. I longed to look into the future and see what she would become once she escaped our disinterested father and my unfair mother. Eloise did well in school and always had her nose in a book, so I was sure she’d go on to college. Maybe she’d become a doctor or a lawyer and my parents would feel awful for treating her so poorly.

I would be the disappointment. I was the child they treated better because I wasn’t a product of sin or a constant reminder of betrayal. I was openly praised to others in Eloise’s presence simply to make her feel small. My book would expose all of their secrets and I’d send autographed copies to the whole congregation.

Almost immediately after Eloise came to live with us I’d begun keeping notes in a journal until pretty quickly, I’d filled the whole thing. I bought others and filled them too.

Was it Christian to force one child to eat cold cut sandwiches when the rest of the family had roast chicken and vegetables?

Was it Christian to give one child an allowance and the other nothing?

Was it Christian to not allow Eloise to have a sleepover, or date, or go to the movies?

The thought of telling Eloise’s story, and mine, was the only thing that kept me sane.  The journals became my escape and the only way I could stand up to my mother. I could release all of my anger and resentment on the lined paper and know that one day everyone would see how things really were. They’d see that my mother was not selfless, but petty and that my father was weak and sneaky.

The spring when I was seventeen, around the time that I’d given Jenna a lift to buy balloons for Carrie’s party, I carried a red leather notebook almost everywhere I went.  It contained all of my thoughts, wishes, observations and speculations. I noted every injustice placed upon Eloise and how they burned me up inside. There were many pages filled with my feelings for Jenna; how my stomach knotted when she walked into class and how I thought it was adorable when she’d nervously chew her bottom lip before an exam. Eloise and Jenna took turns being my muse.

***

The day after Carrie’s party, Eloise and I attended bible study after school. It was held in the church basement that always smelled like an old lady’s perfume. I’d given up asking not to go.

“As long as you live under this roof you will go to church and you will go to bible study.”

Eloise never complained, but I can’t imagine she enjoyed it anymore than I did. She’d sit next to me with her hands folded in her lap and only speak when asked a question or to read a passage. When it was the latter, she’d bow her head and her long brown hair would obscure her face as she read. She spoke softly, but confidently. She’d admitted to me once that she’d never even held a bible before coming to live with us. In five years, she’d memorized it chapter and verse. I, on the other hand, had been read psalms like most children were read Goodnight Moon; every night before bed, and I couldn’t tell Job from Moses.

The only thing that made Thursday night bible study tolerable was Jenna. Sometimes she’d sit next to me and forty-five minutes would feel like an eternity; time stood still, my pulse quickened, and I’d nervously run my fingers through my own brown hair.

“Hey, Sam.”

Jenna and Carrie entered the room that also doubled as the church’s day care center. The chairs were arranged in their usual half circle and Eloise and I were already seated. Jenna smiled at me and I smiled back. This moment of euphoria was short-lived because right behind her was Jacob Hammond. It wasn’t just his obvious attraction to Jenna that made it hard for me to stomach Jacob. Being around him reminded me that he was everything I was not, and Jenna seemed to like that. Tall and athletic, Jacob carried himself with the self confidence of someone ten years his senior and his biceps were the size of Buicks.

“We missed you at the party, Sam.”

“Sorry, Carrie. I had too much homework… and a biology test.”

Eloise, who knew the test was a lie, looked from me to Carrie, but didn’t say anything. Carrie was pretty, but she wasn’t my type. She was self-centered and could be mean if you landed on her bad side.  She nodded as if she’d decided that a biology test was just barely an acceptable excuse for missing one of her parties.  Jenna sat next to me and leaned over to say hello to Eloise. My stomach did flip flops.

That night, I wrote four pages of notes. All were about Jenna.

Stay tuned for the third and final part next week.