Thursday Stories: Molly, Jenks, and Joey

A New Story Most Thursdays

In This Edition of Thursday Stories: Overcoming the fear, taking the plunge…

Happy August, Friends and Neighbors, and welcome to Thursday Stories. Looking back over my dusty herd of short stories, I realize that some of these rascals haven’t seen the light of day in quite a spell. Time to let them romp a bit! And so—drumroll please—I give you Thursday Stories. I’m not guaranteeing a new story every Thursday, but I will do my best until all the archived tales have been set free.

You can find all of my stories and more editions of Thursday Stories at the Marco Etheridge Fiction Website:

Marco Etheridge Fiction

This week’s edition of Thursday Stories features Molly, Jenks, and Joey. A man struggling to give voice to his desire, a teenage neighbor who struggles with a speech impediment, and a beautiful speech therapist who arrives every Thursday. Molly, Jenks, and Joey first appeared in October Hill Magazine, 2024.

Now, without further ado, I give you another edition of Thursday Stories. I hope you enjoy it.

Molly, Jenks, and Joey

by Marco Etheridge

Jenks is a doer, a planner, a maker of lists. Enumerating tasks brings Jenks comfort. A good list offers a pause from the whirling cyclone of modern life. Beyond this peaceful courtyard, the maelstrom spins a chaotic jumble, without order or plan. But inside these sheltering walls, his study is a peaceful refuge overlooking gardens and shaded lawns.

Today’s list is complete. One item leaps off the page, underscored and bulleted with stars. Jenks examines the sheet of notebook paper, then peers down from his bay window. Yes, today is the day. It has to be.

His right-hand neighbors, the Everetts, keep a lovely terrace. Jenks sees wicker chairs and a table set for two, with a covered plate of scones. The chairs are empty, yet the scene is expectant. She will arrive any minute, the speech therapist who works with the Everett boy. A sweet, smart boy, but afflicted with a terrible stutter.

From his hidden window, Jenks sees the neighbor boy appear. Joey, his friend and confidante. The teenager sits in one of the wicker chairs, observing the courtyard. The kid is always watching, never missing a thing.

She will be here soon. Joey’s speech therapist, the lovely Miss Mary Penrose. Molly to her close friends. Their session will run fifty minutes. The clock is ticking. Less than an hour. Then Jenks will descend the stairs, step out his back door, and walk to the neighboring terrace. He will act his twenty-five-years, after all, not a like a smitten teenager. This time he will not fail.

The list shouts at Jenks from the desktop, accusing him of procrastination, of cowardice. An underscored and starred task with no tick mark beside it. A thing unresolved. The words written on the list hang in the quiet air.

Ask Molly out on a date.

Jenks is not a procrastinator, yet that is exactly what he has done three weeks in a row. Hence the unticked box, the stars and underlines that have blossomed on the list he now hates. Worse, he has witnesses to his failure. Joey knows.

The hard truth is that Molly Penrose ties his tongue in knots. It’s not her fault. Molly is charming and beautiful, gracious, easy to talk to. The few minutes they spend chatting together are the highlight of his week. The next step is so simple. Just walk with the girl, escort her to the courtyard gate. Then, out of Joey’s hearing, ask her one simple question.

How hard could this be? It’s not as if he’s a stranger. Fate delivered Molly to his doorstep. Practically threw them together, with Joey as a catalyst. Once or twice, he has seen a certain look cross Molly’s face, an expression he thinks is anticipation. Jenks is almost certain of it. Almost. 

He remembers their first meeting, how Joey had stuttered through the introductions. He struggled with the word Mary, and with Penrose. He winced when Joey used his full name.

Please, Miss Penrose, call me Jenks.

Of course, but only if he would call her Molly. She smiled, Joey smiled, and Jenks noticed that her name slid off Joey’s tongue like water, without a hitch or stammer. Effortless, as if simply being around Molly made everything easier. The way she said Jenks without need of an explanation.

Jenks hates his given name. He was christened Thom Jenkins, not even Thomas, as if his parents were being stingy with individual letters. Just like them, tight with everything, especially their affection.

So he ended up Thom, the sort of name you give a turkey, the Christmas bird everyone pretends is a pet. Fattening the old gobbler up until that last day of Advent. Then—Whack!—no more Thom.

He pushes away his past and looks to the clock on his desk. In a few moments, Molly will step through the gate and cross the courtyard. She is punctual to the minute. Reliable and calm. And to his eyes, she is very beautiful.

Glancing out the window, Jenks sees Joey, catches the boy stealing a glance at his window, then turns his face to the courtyard gate. Then Jenks sees Molly standing in the open gateway as if Joey has conjured her.

Now he must wait, bide his time and gather his courage. He opens his notebook, stares at the blank page. His hand lifts the pen. The tip whispers across the paper, words appearing without conscious thought. It is a declaration, not a question. Jenks looks at the words his hand has written.

You will ask Molly Penrose to have dinner with you.

*  *  * 

Joey Everett is a watcher, observant, a young sleuth. Joey’s mind is calm and brilliant, except for two small bits in the frontal lobes of his brain. The Broca’s area, two malfunctioning bits of gray matter that hinder Joey’s speech, causing him to stutter like a too-full tea kettle on the boil.

He is not stuttering at the moment because he is alone. Joey sits on the terrace behind his parents’ townhouse, waiting for his speech therapist. The wicker table is set for two, cups and saucers, a pot of tea, a plate of scones, butter and jam. Joey would not dream of touching any of it before Miss Penrose arrives. Mary Penrose, whom Joey is encouraged to call Molly when no other adults are present.

Her name contains the two syllables most likely to send Joey’s treacherous tongue into spasms, but he gets it right every time. He cannot say Trolley, but he enunciates Molly perfectly, every time.

The Everetts’ terrace is shaded by tall plane trees. Leafy branches reach out past second-storey windows and rise above the mansard roof. Joey knows that his neighbor Jenks is watching from his window because Molly will be here at five to the hour. You can set your watch by her arrival, and it’s a sure bet that Jenks will be on the lookout for her.

Joey shakes his head. Adults can be so oblivious, even those who mean well. Especially the well-meaning ones. The adults who think they are being helpful by filling in Joey’s words for him. The impatient grownups make Joey want to scream.

Stop it, stop it, stop it! That is not helping!

But he doesn’t scream at the adults. He does occasionally conjure up images of a black-hooded executioner lopping off their stupid heads, but that’s only a coping mechanism. He’s a very smart teenager, and he understands coping all too well.

Molly and Jenks are not oblivious. Molly is the most helpful, patient person Joey has ever met. She teaches Joey tricks for taming his errant tongue, how to tap out the frustration, find alternate words, or sing the problem phrase if all else fails. Joey loves Molly utterly and completely, even though he is only fourteen and she is twenty-eight.

His neighbor Jenks is kind and patient in a completely different way. When Joey and Jenks are hanging out, Jenks listens to him, really listens to him. No matter how hard Joey struggles, or how long it takes for him to spit out a sentence, Jenks never looks impatient or tries to fill in Joey’s words. It’s as if Jenks doesn’t even notice Joey’s stutter. Jenks gives Joey the chance to feel normal.

Jenks is also an idiot about some things. Mostly Molly. Joey understands better than anyone because he loves Molly with his entire heart and soul. Still, he made a solemn vow to step aside, to give Jenks his chance. But if Jenks doesn’t get on with it soon, Joey is going to renounce his vow.

Joey understands that his friend Jenks is nervous. Who wouldn’t be? Molly is an amazing woman. But what happened last week was almost unbearable.

Jenks shows up just as Joey and Molly are wrapping up the therapy session. That’s part of the routine. Everyone says hello, Jenks and Molly stumble into their embarrassing, awkward chitchat, then Jenks lets Molly get away without asking her for a date.

Joey is giving Jenks the signal, darting his eyes between the two adults. He’s not even subtle about it. Anyone else would have thought Joey was having a seizure. Jenks sees him, gets the signal clear as a bell, but he just can’t say the words. He lets Molly escape him yet again.

Molly is gone, walking away across the courtyard. Jenks watches her go, then drops himself into one of the wicker chairs. He hits it like a dead weight and Joey thinks the thing is going to collapse. Before Joey can say anything, Jenks is shaking his head.

I know, Joey. I know.

Maybe today is the day Jenks finds his words. Joey sees Molly walk through the gate. She’s smiling her beautiful smile, as always. Molly waves at Joey and his heart swells. Jenks better discover his courage if he knows what’s good for him. Joey will give him one more chance before he forsakes his vow completely. Every man has his limits, even a fourteen-year-old man.

Joey stands to greet Molly, a huge smile breaking across his face.

*  *  * 

Mary Penrose is contemplative, patient, a weigher of options. She makes decisions only after careful deliberation, weighing the pros and cons one against the other. To the outside world, she presents a serious face, the look of a sensible woman, professional and skilled. And she is all of those.

But here in this lovely courtyard, Mary Penrose allows the balance to shift. She is Molly, sitting with her favorite patient, Joey Everett. He is more than a patient to Molly. Joey is a delightful young friend, possessed of a wild, soaring imagination trapped behind the barrier of his impaired speech. It is her job to dismantle that barrier, piece by piece.

Their therapy session is over, fifty minutes practicing mouth exercises, tongue curls, and brain tricks. They sit in silence, sipping the last of the tea, now gone cool. It’s late morning and warm. Joey’s face is flushed and a bit sweaty. He has worked very hard this session, as he always does.

Molly watches Joey over the rim of her teacup. She sees his eyes flit to the neighboring townhouse. She smiles to herself. However brilliant Joey is, he is still a teenager, immersed in his own private world which he believes is very secret and invisible to the adult world. And like most teenage boys, Joey keeps secrets badly.

Joey is waiting for his neighbor Jenks. In truth, Molly is waiting as well, but she keeps that to herself. Unlike Joey, Molly keeps her secrets close.

The boy needn’t worry. Jenks will appear like clockwork, the third player in this meticulous routine. Molly arrives at the gate every Thursday at precisely five minutes to ten. The therapy session runs from ten until ten-fifty. Five minutes more to nibble the last bits of overlooked scones. At five to eleven the neighbor’s door opens and Jenks enters the stage.

Molly is thinking these thoughts when Jenks appears. He steps into the dappled sunlight, not closing the door he has just stepped through. Jenks glides across the close-cropped lawn and as he draws near, Molly’s eyes are on his face. She does not see his legs move. He seems to float forward, reminding her of the carved figures on a clock tower, life-sized princes, and angels who mark the passing hours.

Yes, his face, freshly shaved within the last hour, a bit of a rosy glow on his cheeks where he has toweled away the last drops of water. Hair brushed, the collar of his shirt just so, each item carefully attended to. He looks like a youngish man on his way to a garden party, which in a sense he is. Jenks gives off an air of composure, except for his lovely brown eyes, which betray him. They have an almost feverish glitter, the look of a brave man walking to his own execution.

She knows that she herself is the reason for the fever in his eyes. The poor man has tried to conceal that telling look, Thursday after Thursday, but failed. Molly is flattered to a point. Jenks is handsome, in an unassuming manner. That in itself is attractive.

Molly’s last romantic choice was for a very handsome man, one well aware of his good looks. That romance was one of her few rash decisions, out of balance and unwise. It came as no surprise when the affair ended badly. But the sting remains. Mary Penrose is not a woman to make the same mistake two times running.

Jenks is a few paces away, his hand raised in greeting. Molly smiles and nods. Joey is up out of his chair. Yes, he is handsome, but that carries little weight with Molly. She has watched the way Jenks listens to Joey. He is a kind man, a patient person, traits that tip the balance in his favor far more than mere good looks or a clean-shaven face.

Molly is patient as well, but her patience is not infinite. Insecurity is not attractive. And Jenks can be so damn reticent. At times he acts as if she were a snake coiled to strike. Not the best to win her over. She is not a snake.

She has given him the opportunity, the expectant pause just before the goodbyes. Joey sees it, as he sees everything. Thursday last, the boy was jittering with expectation. Then the moment passed unanswered. Jenks said his goodbyes, looking crestfallen. Molly walked away and out the gate.

One more chance, she decides. Then Jenks is standing beside them.

*  *  *

Joey is on his feet to greet Jenks, holding out his hand, a firm grip, just like his dad taught him. In the middle of the handshake, there’s a moment. For a single heartbeat, Joey feels as if he’s the therapist and Jenks is the patient. Jenks gives him a weird little smile and releases Joey’s hand.

Then Jenks turns to Molly and they’re talking, the usual greetings. Joey cringes, hoping beyond hope that one of them will smash the usual routine to bits. Please, not another round of two grown adults stumbling through the same awkward chitchat.

Good morning, Molly. Lovely day. It is lovely, isn’t it?

Joey feels a scream pushing up through his throat. He could fake a seizure, flop around on the grass like a dying carp. Anything to break this cycle. Maybe belt out a monologue, like a cartoon criminal or a Shakespearean actor. But his treacherous stutter would betray him.

Look at the two of them, both with fluent tongues in their heads and no idea how to use them. What a waste. Jenks has got to know that this is his last chance. Joey knows it’s true, without a word from Molly’s lips. How can adults be so thickheaded? It was maddening!

Joey stares at Jenks, then Molly, his eyes ablaze. Words rage through his brain without a stutter or a stammer.

You have to break the spell, Molly. Do something, anything. Just knock Jenks off the rails, even a little bit. Stick out your tongue and blow a raspberry right in his face. Poke him in the ribs. He’s an idiot, but he’s a good idiot. Don’t let him fail.

I know you can do it. You did it for me, that very first session. Do you remember? You said we would have a go at untangling my tongue. We’re still working on my knots, but something else happened that morning, right here on this terrace. You untangled my heart.

Help Jenks find his words, just this once. If Jenks fails, I’m renouncing my vow. I swear, I will kneel and declare my undying love for you. And that will be so uncomfortable for everyone involved. So do something, please, even if you have to stomp on his foot.

Joey is ready to drop to one knee, or shout at the two of them, or kick over one of the wicker chairs. At that very moment, when he can’t restrain himself another second, he hears something that shatters his mental tirade. He replays the words in his brain, not quite believing.

May I walk you to the gate, Molly?

Did Jenks really say that? And Molly is nodding at Jenks. She’s got a smile on her face. Joey blinks, but she’s still there, still smiling. Then Jenks offers his arm, like some aristocrat in one of those old movies.

Their lips are moving. Joey realizes they’re speaking to him, but he can’t hear the words. Has he gone deaf? He feels like an actor in the wrong scene, not knowing or remembering his lines.

Then the terrace swims into focus and the routine jitters back to the familiar. The end of a session. Molly, Jenks, and Joey standing under the plane trees. Except in this scene, Molly’s arm slips through Jenks’ crooked elbow, her hand on his forearm.

Jenks and Molly offer their goodbyes, the same pleasantries they say every week. Except on this morning, as if by magic, everything is different. His two favorite adults stand arm in arm. That’s when Jenks winks at him.

Today it’s Joey who flops down into one of the wicker chairs. He watches Jenks and Molly stroll along the courtyard path, growing smaller and smaller as they near the gateway.

They reach the open gate and stop. Sunlight pours through the gateway, turning Molly and Jenks into silhouettes. A moment passes. Joey sees Molly nod, sees her raise a hand to Jenks. Then her silhouette vanishes into the light.

Jenks steps out of the sunlight. He saunters back toward the terrace. Joey sees a goofy grin plastered across his face. A laugh bubbles out of Joey’s throat and words follow.

Way to go, Jenks!

His voice floats clear as a bell into the morning air, without a hitch or a stammer. Joey’s face breaks into a grin every bit as silly as his friend’s. As Jenks walks up the path, Joey sees him growing larger with each step.

finis

You can find October Hill Magazine here:

https://www.octoberhillmagazine.com/

That’s it for this week’s edition of Thursday Stories. More stories are coming your way. How will you know when a new story breaks? Glad you asked, Friends. Read On! Drumroll and… Meanwhile, don’t miss any upcoming stories. You can stay tuned for all the latest by following the MEF blog:

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