No Good Deed

Sunny Side Up

I woke up to the still weak sun sneaking in past the blinds. Spring was here, and the sunrise came from across the lake, directly through the French doors of the balcony.

"I’m going to do something about that one day, I muttered groggily as my eyes fought the adjustment. Soon."

Then, just like every morning, I reached over to put an arm around my better half; my wife Claire. It fell to the bed instead, having only grasped air. After a quick sleep induced lapse of memory, I knew where she would be. She was already downstairs making breakfast. It would be great, as her breakfasts always were. Normally, I would have loved to go downstairs and join her, but this time was different than the others.

I groaned at the thought. Today was Thursday. Currently, I wished Thursdays would somehow go away – far away. Far enough away that by the time Thursdays returned, the world would be used to a six day week, rendering them useless.

Usually, I was never this irritable; and rightfully so. Simply put, life was too incredible to be that way. To think anything otherwise would be beyond foolish.

I knew the view from the balcony would be perfect, as always. The water would be calm and peaceful as the dimly rising sun peaked through the budding trees. The dock, the water, the gazebo, and the landscape would be just like out of a painting. What a view to have as your own every morning, right?

How exactly did this happen, again? I asked out loud, knowing no one was near to answer.

Oh, never mind, I know. Don’t get me wrong – I love my wife completely, and she knows me better than even I do, but I was still amazed at how she thought I’d just go along without any objection. She knows I don’t really do the whole center of attention thing, so why this? Being recognized for doing something good for someone or the community is a great feeling, sure, but that’s not a valid reason for doing it. Actually, this was pretty much a glaring symbol of what I didn’t want.

Might as well get going, I sighed.

I stubbornly fell out of bed and shuffled over to the source of my awakening a few minutes prior. I opened the door – to no surprise – a picturesque morning. Of course it was; the universe couldn’t allow me to wallow in my current mood. The sun had, in fact, just started to peek through the budding leaves, spilling faint light over the calm, still water. A bird was singing his little song on top of the dock. He was mocking me; I was sure of it. He knew I wasn’t allowed to be in such an antagonistic mood – just like I did. I watched two deer across the lake. They were at the banks edge, having a drink, making the only imperfections in the glassy surface. There was a chill left in the air; my guess was somewhere around 40 degrees. With only the sweat-shorts and old tee shirt I had slept in to keep me warm, my perfect picture viewing moment was over. Time to warm up in the shower. It would at least wake me up enough to pretend to want to do this.

As I stood there thawing out and slowly waking up, I began to ponder: It’s really not that bad, you know. Claire wasn’t so wrong for doing all of this without me. After all, she knew I would have never agreed otherwise. I smiled and shook my head as I recalled the initial conversation we had on the deck that evening.

People will love reading about you, Phillip, she said, stating her case. You’re a positive influence on a lot more people than just the ones you know by name.

Let’s hope, I quipped. Otherwise, some poor writer will be subjected to my rambling on and on, and probably end up in one of those pillow rooms.

Oh, you would think like that, she shot back, flashing her impossibly beautiful smile.

Hey, I’m just looking out for the poor soul. Wouldn’t want them to waste their time. It was an extremely subpar argument on my end – was really just grasping straws at this point. I blame insufficient preparation time.

Again, just like you, she said, her voice trailing off.

Like what?

YOU, she emphasized, still in her soft, little voice. You, always brushing off how fortunate we are like it’s nothing.

Oh, she came armed and ready; I remember thinking after she made her point. She would never raise her voice, but she knew very well how to make words linger.

You know that’s not how I think, love, sensing a need to be slightly more serious now. You know how thankful I am about how our lives are. It’s just that I don’t picture some stranger running to the store to reserve their copy of the Phillip Hughes Chronicles.

It’s a biography, silly, not a death sentence, she said smiling again, looking puzzled about how I worded the last sentence.

"Yes, but therein lies my problem. It’s a biography, memoir – whatever, about me. I just can’t wrap my head around it all." The very thought of it made me cringe. Over the years, I’ve attempted to make it as clear as possible that I considered my life as a blessing, not a given right. Allowing a writer to assemble the innermost details of my life, only to then put them on display for profit would seemingly undermine it all.

It wouldn’t have to be like this if you would have just taken the time to write some things down a long time ago. She folded her slender arms matter-of-factly. Another well placed point.

Well, that would have gone over perfectly, considering I have no idea how to write. I couldn’t even manage a paper in school, much less a memoir.

You could if you were able to see it from my perspective, she said softly. Her emerald eyes were longing, her little tulip nose crinkled, and her lip puckered…an unbeatable combination, even after all these years.

And with that, I knew it was over. There was no more use in debating the matter. My poorly constructed defense had failed to hold water. I was going to have my life published – no matter how unexciting I think it might be.

I sighed, but agreed. Ok love, how do we do this?

She rejoiced – possibly more so to the fact that she had already arranged the first interview with the writer than me agreeing to the plan. She unfolded her arms, skipped over to me, hung herself from my neck, and kissed me with an audible mmmwuah at the end.

Wait, I said, pulling her back slightly. I have a stipulation.

Oh boy, here we go. What now? She joked cautiously, looking up at me, her eyes intent.

Her tensing made me grin. I replied, If this is going to happen, then I want the title to be whatever I like.

Thinking for a short moment, she said, Sure, but that’ll be up to your writer and publisher. What did you have in mind?

Shrugging, I said, "Not sure, something like Move Along, Everyone. Nothing to See Here"

With an incredibly un-amused face, she narrowed her eyes and gave a simple No. It’s a shame, because in some odd way, such a title would probably compel people to give it a second glace on the shelf. Right then, as she was attempting to act stern and concrete, a piece of her light brown hair fell directly into her face. She tried to ignore it, but it broke her concentration, which made me laugh.

Ok, fine. I really don’t know yet, we’ll see how it goes first.

Fair enough, she agreed, kissing me once more, satisfied with her victory. Was it even a battle? I was only being combative for sake of it, because it wasn’t like I was really going to say no.

By now, my shower had effectively done its job jogging me awake and warming me up, so I shut it off and grabbed a towel. As I dried off, the thought of not knowing what to wear suddenly hit me. The one glimmer of redemption for today was that a new writer was scheduled to pick up the project. The previous writer, Jane, had apparently been called away to a different project – much to my delight. Although, Claire had never specified whether or not the first meeting with her replacement was supposed to be formal or informal. What was she – I remembered Claire specifying ‘she’ – like? Was she going to be a true ‘professional’ like Jane, complete with preconceived notions and her own agenda? Jane was unable to even pretend to be interested in the story. It was as if she already knew who I really was – which was not a bestselling non-fiction topic…furthering my reluctance for the whole idea. If she was of the same no nonsense variety, then I had better dress to impress. Or, maybe she’d be a bit more open minded. Either way, I didn’t want to upset her, so professional attire was best. I hoped she’d at least fall somewhere between the two.

In the end, however, I ultimately decided that since this meeting was taking place in my living room, it was informal. If she was in any way different that Jane, then she probably wouldn’t even notice. So, I threw on my around the house jeans and a long sleeve tee shirt. My bare feet also complemented my less than classy ensemble nicely.

The smell of breakfast caught me as soon as I passed the balcony overlooking the living room. Scents of sausage, pancakes, bacon, and eggs had made it upstairs to greet me. All the brooding over what the day would bring left me without an appetite, until I smelled the food, then I instantly became famished.

Hmm, I thought, Claire must be excited about this new person. Usually, bacon, eggs, and a glass of OJ is plenty for a good start to our days.

Claire was whisking about, setting the food on the table as I walked in. When she saw me, her ever beautiful face perked up. Morning, babe! I was hoping you wouldn’t sleep in. You need to be ready for today, she beamed, leaning in for a kiss. It was still beyond me as to how she could possibly be this vibrant so early in the morning.

Blah, I’ll be fine, I replied, begrudgingly. Good morning to you too, love. Thanks for breakfast. Even though either Claire or I made breakfast most mornings when we’re both home, we always made it a point to share our appreciation. Sure, it was something small, but we enjoyed staying conscious of the little things. A way to avoid becoming complacent, perhaps.

You’re welcome. I made enough for our new guest too, in case she’s hungry when she gets here.

Deflecting the not so subtle invitation to expound on that particular subject, I instead asked, So, where’s Kenny? Is he around to eat with us?

Kenny was our son. He was 19, and spent almost all of his time either working with the family business, or under the hood of his car.

No, he was already up when I came downstairs. He was wolfing down a bowl of cereal, getting ready to leave. He mentioned going up to the job site early, so he can get off in time to go out tonight.

That sounded like Kenny. He wasn’t the person you would expect to come from a ‘celebrity.’ He was modest, never giving off any sense of entitlement in anything he did, especially when the media was watching. He chose not to go away for college after he graduated, using the family business as his excuse. It made a lot of sense, really. While we wanted him to get a degree should he ever need one later in life, we all knew it wouldn’t be necessary. As he grew up and learned about how and why we lived the way we did, he took a liking to the business. It was one of the things our family did to generate income on top of the previous winnings. Hughes Properties, among many other things, flipped houses. Kenny developed it into his specialty – he absolutely loved it. Like my father (who was the one who really took the business to where it is today), he was great in the construction department. Likewise, he possessed a natural charisma and business savvy that made the workers he oversaw enjoy coming to work.

Oh, ok. They’re supposed to be almost finished up there, so I guess he’s just trying to get it ready a little ahead of schedule.

Yep. So, are you ready? she asked, even though she knew the answer already.

Of course I am. Wait…do you think there’s still time to hop on the jet ski? I could hide out on the other side of the lake till she’s gone –

No, you don’t, Claire cut in. Plus, I already know your hiding spot, remember? she taunted.

Crap, you’re right. But no, I’d really rather not, I said, defeated.

It’s going to be fine, Phil. I’m sure this one won’t be any worse than Jane.

I shuddered. There was no comfort in the thought. This person could be leagues better than that lady and still make Hitler look charming. She was like a cold fish. Stoic, impossibly bitter, seemingly unable to smile – and those were her more admirable qualities.

Hopefully, I replied between mouthfuls of my pancakes. I may have to throw her out if not. Where will you be today?

I’m just going to be around town, shopping and such.

Oh sure, leave me to fend for myself, I see how it is… I said, folding my arms, pretending to pout.

"Well, you wouldn’t want the axe murderer to get me too, would you?"

Still in my pouty stance for a moment, so to appear as though I was giving the thought real contemplation, I finally said, Nah, I’ll spare you.

That’s what I thought. I won’t be that far away; you can always call if she gets too mean, she smirked.

"Oh really? Well then, maybe she’ll be mean about every five minutes," I smirked back.

Go ahead, but you know what happened to the boy who cried wolf… she trailed off, picking through her food with her fork. Why was she so much better at the playful bickering than me? She knows all my tricks, I guess.

Fine, I concede. I’m sure she won’t be as bad as you know who, I replied with shallow confidence. It’s what she wanted me to say all along, anyhow.

We were both about through with our food – we had been so lost in our competitive banter that we hardly noticed we had eaten so quickly. I got up and carried my plate over to the sink while Claire finished her last few bites. It was almost time, I thought.

Strangely, a small knot grew in my stomach. How odd. I’ve been in front of stadiums full of people, walked red carpets, been on national television, and driven race cars at over 160 miles per hour, and yet this gave me butterflies? Something must be wrong with me. Before I had time to dive too far into my personal psychological evaluation, the doorbell rang.

She’s here! Claire jumped up enthusiastically, and scurried towards the door.

Yippie, I muttered as I went to grab her plate.

Oh, give it up! You’re going to be fine, she called from the foyer.

How did she even hear that? Maybe she didn’t, and rather just knew I would mutter something. I guess she did know all my tricks.

I went over to the fridge and poured another glass of OJ – gazing at the flow of orange as if it would be my last.

Hey there, please come in! I’m Claire. I pictured her smile glistening ear to ear as she spoke.

Immediately, hearing the stranger’s voice brought an entirely new feeling over me; this time around was going to be different. Good or bad, however, was yet to be determined. The knot in my stomach held fast.

Here we go, I said to myself, quieter than before.

The New Girl

As she introduced herself, Rachael was clearly much younger than Jane. There was a bubbly, effervescent quality in her tone that hinted to her personality and her eagerness for this new assignment. As Claire walked her through the house to the kitchen, I could feel my disdain for the upcoming hour ease, if only by a little. Then, Claire came through the open living room with Rachael a few paces behind, looking slightly apprehensive with her surroundings. Even though she seemed uncomfortable – most likely simply from being in an unfamiliar house with people she had only seen on TV – she looked pleasant, ready to get things underway.

Come on, dear, Claire said as she entered the kitchen. Phil’s in here.

She came in, slightly cautious, almost nervous.

Rachael, this is Phillip, your subject matter, she said, flashing a grin my way as she spoke. Perfect word choice on her part.

Hey there, Rachael. It’s nice to meet you, I said, extending my hand to shake hers. Welcome to our home.

Thank you, it’s nice to meet you too, she replied uneasily, taking my hand. Her voice was chipper, yet unsure.

It was nice of you to come all the way out here so early in the morning, especially with you having to take over for Jane on such short notice, Claire said, obviously trying to make small talk.

Oh, it’s no problem at all. Actually, they’re pretty much letting me do my own thing since Jane left so quickly. Not too much of the legwork has been done, she replied, appearing to grow more comfortable with every word. This will be my first piece since I graduated.

Rachael, upon first glance, was clearly a very attractive young woman. She was in her early twenties, I guessed. Her skin was fair, and her hair was a natural dark brown with some reddish highlights. It was cut fairly short and trendy, done up in a messy, yet still professional style. It complimented her brown eyes very well, as did her fair complexion. There was very little make-up on her face, only a little around her eyes, not that she needed it. She was thinly built and shorter, but not frail by any means. She wore nicely coordinated clothes, but not overly dressy, so my jeans didn’t feel too out of place.

Ha, I thought. I didn’t need to dress up.

Are you hungry? Claire asked, We have some breakfast still warm if you’d like.

I knew offering Rachael breakfast was the polite thing to do…and I knew that was Claire’s intention all along, but at that moment, it was only prolonging the inevitable. Sometimes, procrastination can be fun – useful even. But right then, all I wanted was to get this thing going already.

Oh, no thank you. I ate before I came over. It smells fantastic, though!

Yes! I silently rejoiced. Then, seeing my opportunity, I chimed in. It’s ok, Rachael. Ready to get started?

Sure, where are we headed? she asked, looking around the unfamiliar house.

Shrugging, but relieved, I said, The living room is fine.

Our living room, much like the rest of the house, was quite inviting. It was how we liked our home to be – a reflection of who we were. Our house was big enough – more than we would ever really need, but definitely not a sprawling mansion. It wasn’t complete with museum quality furnishings that would be stuffy, uncomfortable, and give the ‘too nice to sit on’ impression. Similarly, we opted against the bowling alley and the Movie Theater. I mean, if we had those, why would we ever go out? Instead, we made sure our house was a home – well lit, comfortable and hospitable. The vaulted ceilings had two skylights, the walls were a pale green and the trim was white. For flooring, there were throw-rugs on top of lightly colored hardwood. The furniture was microfiber – much to the chagrin of our ‘higher class’ guests. Plush, soft, and completely comfy; they were the kind you could sink yourself into.

Once we were seated, me on the sofa, and her in a single recliner across from me, I figured I should be the one to get the ball rolling – even though I would really rather not. But, to my surprise, Rachael was not one to stall. She had her laptop open and ready to go in a flash.

OK, so Jane left her notes – not that there is much here – but I think I’ll operate a bit different than her, anyway.

Oh – sure, what did you have in mind? I asked, pausing quickly as I recalled the horrendous grilling that had been thrust upon me in the previous weeks.

Well, you gave her everything up until high school, right?

Mmm, yes, that’s about it.

Good, she said, how about you just start telling me about your time in high school, and I’ll break in with any questions that pop into my head.

Wow, I managed. I was taken aback, having braced myself for the horribly cold approach the previous person – the one I didn’t call by name unless socially obligated – had used. So I just…talk? You don’t have anything specific?

Nope, I just plan on compiling everything into a story once we’re done.

Huh, well that sounds good then, I suppose, I said, still unsure of myself.

Great! So then, high school.

With a reflective and relieved sigh, I started to take her back.

There’s really not a lot to tell. I was just your average, preppy teenager. Maybe even more boring than most, actually. I don’t come from a broken home, had loving parents, never got into trouble. We were never poor; but were never rich, either. I always had everything I needed. High school was, in a way, a time I’d like to forget. I coasted through with no real purpose or direction. I’m sure everyone would say the same thing, but I never really fit in.

Rachael smirked, as if she had been waiting for that line, but she let me continue.

It’s really kind of hard to explain, I said, thinking of a way to make it seem believable, It’s not like I didn’t have friends, it’s more like I never really had a niche. There really wasn’t anyone else like me – and I don’t mean in a cool, unique way – more like the ‘I never fit in well with any group’ kind of way.

Ok, Rachael responded. Why do you say that?

I grinned as I relived those times in my head. I was just strange.

Because…

‘Well, I played football. I was a good player, but even with all the trophies and awards, everyone knew I had no future past high school."

So? Hardly anyone makes it passed the high school level. I was always taught to follow your dreams; they can’t come true if you’re not willing to fight for them.

And you’re right, I replied. "The thing with me though is that I didn’t really want to play anymore."

Rachael looked at me, seemingly confused.

Don’t get me wrong; I loved it and played hard, but I looked at it differently than most. When I wasn’t running for touchdowns, I was a very involved member of the Chess club.

She clearly wanted to laugh, but wasn’t sure if it was a joke or not. Wait, what?

See, told you I was strange. I was athletic, but not football player built, and had the mind of a nerd. I got made fun of rather frequently for it, actually.

Wow, definitely wasn’t expecting that. What made you do both?

I took a moment to reflect. "I was competitive, so that was a driving force to win with football. But, with the way my mind worked, I looked at the players on the field as chess pieces. Every move I made was like a strategy – anticipating what my opponent was doing, reacting to change on the fly. That’s what made it fun."

A pretty interesting parallel, she thought.

"Well, you know the typical jock profile, right? I didn’t fit it at all. I mean, look at me, I should be running away from football players. I was just the little guy who happened to play well in a sport meant for big people. Plus, the chess aspect basically alienated me from the other guys on the team. Off the field, I had almost zero interaction with them. While they were hanging out at the gas station waiting for someone to score them beer and cigarettes, I stayed home. While they concentrated on finding the best way to stuff the nerdy freshman kid into a locker, I daydreamed about being in a racecar and flying around a track. It got to where they didn’t even bother to tell me where the next party was because they didn’t want me there."

Huh, Rachael began, popping her head up from her laptop. Were you just not fun to be around or something?

Ha, I don’t doubt it. I was the little church boy type, you know, the one with a conscience. I wasn’t into the same things as them, so I could never relate. No one wanted to be around someone who killed their good time.

Heaven forbid… she joked, showing she had a grasp now.

Exactly. So, when the last whistle blew is when I played my last down.

Aww, you sound like you miss it.

"Oh, not in the least! I mean, I played all my life, so I missed the not playing part, but I was 100% better off leaving everyone associated with the sport behind. God only knows where the heck I’d be if I would have actually tried to fit in."

Hmm, I see what you mean, she said in agreement.

But that’s really only part of it, I continued, Just because I didn’t fit in with the jocks doesn’t me I did anywhere else, either. I was pretty much the odd man out in every circle.

Laughing out loud at that one, she said Now THAT sounded cliché.

I couldn’t do anything except shake my head and sigh, because she was completely right. I was so bad at telling stories. She was going to have to abuse her creative privileges to make people interested in mine.

"Anyway, it’s true."

I’m not trying to say it isn’t. She was still fighting to suppress her giggling. So, does that mean you were like a loaner? No real friends at all?

Her bubbly laughter was infectious. I was beginning to laugh at her. Come on now, Rachael, you’re the one behind the wheel here, I just said it wasn’t like I didn’t have friends, right?

OH! I’m sorry; you’re right – momentary lapse. Won’t happen again! she assured me, even though I was only kidding.

"It’s fine. But no, I had friends, just not many that I went to school with. My two best friends at the time lived in my