Beneath the Surface

by Tara Marlow

  “What happened after that?”

  “Once you were settled at the hospital, we went to the police station and finished filing the report. They filed some other charges against him. Possession. Assaulting a police officer. Attempted rape. Assault against you. When you came to, you didn’t remember what had happened. They told us to just let the memories return naturally.” She nodded, but something still wasn’t clicking.

  “I just don’t get what he was talking about. He was calling me a shacked-up whore,” Grace said, remembering. She looked at Lowell. “Some of it makes no sense.”

  27

  Grace finally exhausted herself a few hours later. Her headache had turned into a migraine, so Lowell gave her a painkiller the doctor prescribed, then tucked her into bed. She knew she needed sleep. She was all over the place, and the memories were just getting more and more jumbled. What was real? She didn’t know anymore. Everything hurt. Lowell told her he was going out while she slept. She was asleep before the front door even closed.

  When she woke, the aroma of something amazing wafted from the kitchen. She carefully got out of bed, found the jumper she’d been wearing earlier, and headed out to investigate what smelled so good.

  “Hey, Jelly,” Lowell said, looking up as he unloaded container after container from a paper sack. There was a gigantic bouquet of daisies on the side table, a gift-wrapped box on the couch, and a decadent cake sitting on the kitchen counter.

  “Hi. What’s all that?”

  “Thai food. Bland stuff though. Wasn’t sure what you could eat. I ordered in. I’m sure you’re hungry.” Her stomach rumbled at the sight of the food.

  She gestured to the flowers, the wrapped gift, and then pointed to the cake.

  “And all that?”

  “Well, since you didn’t tell me about your birthday, I thought we’d have a little celebration. I would have made the cake myself, but I didn’t want to wake you.” She was gobsmacked. No one had bought her a cake before, let alone made one. Well, not since her mother died.

  “But first, well, sorry to spring this on you, but Daniel was here earlier. He’s coming back in, oh,” he glanced at the clock on the wall, “five minutes. Sorry, figured you’d be up before now.”

  “Oh. God, I’m sure I look like…” she said, raking her fingers through her knotted hair.

  “To be honest, I don’t think he cares what you look like, but maybe brush your teeth?” He gave her his usual cheeky smile. It settled her.

  “Did he say why he’s coming? Or maybe the question should be, why he left?”

  “All I know is he’s been a shit. I won’t excuse him for that, but I guess you should hear him out.”

  “Maybe,” she said, and headed to the bathroom. She looked in the mirror. She had an imposing black eye, and a purple bruise that spread up and around her cheek. She put her hands to her hair. It was sticking straight up on one side, like a lopsided cockatoo.

  “I’m going to have a shower,” she yelled out to Lowell.

  “Yell, if you need help. I’ll send Daniel in when he gets here,” Lowell teased. She was happy to see he was back to normal. Still, she didn’t need Daniel in here helping her. They hadn’t moved past kissing, so there was no way she was going to let him see her naked now. Especially if he’d already seen… No. Don’t think about it. She tried to get the image of the attack out of her head. Easing out of the oversized shirt Lowell had loaned her, she knew the shower would be a slow process. But she’d manage it. She had before.

  Fifteen minutes later, she walked out to the kitchen, clean and refreshed. She wore Lowell’s Bon Jovi t-shirt over polka dotted pyjama bottoms. Daniel stood, looking very uncomfortable, near the doorway. A butterfly tape crossed his cheek, and he was also sporting quite the black eye. He held a bouquet at his side.

  “Holy crap,” he said. “Sorry, hi.” He looked sheepish. “These are for you,” holding the flowers out to her.

  “Hi Daniel. I could say the same about you. What happened to your face?” she asked, looking at his cheek, avoiding his gaze.

  “Stupidity. Got into a squabble at the pub near my parent’s place. I picked a fight with a known troublemaker. Doesn’t matter. How are you feeling?” He shoved his hands deep into his front pockets. She looked him over. He wore the usual jeans and boots with a soft blue button-down shirt. Today, he looked like a rich grazier’s son.

  She ran her hand through her hair, pulling one strand in front of her scar. His nervousness made her uncomfortable. He looked like he didn’t want to be there. Lowell stepped forward and took the flowers from her and placed them on the kitchen counter.

  “Crap,” said Lowell. “I forgot something from my car. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She knew he was escaping to give them a few moments alone. He was as transparent as a brick wall.

  “Why did you leave?” she asked, cutting to the chase. She didn’t like that he’d left suddenly without telling her why. Especially leaving it for Lowell to explain. But she wouldn’t clue him in on that.

  “Lowell said you remember what happened?” Grace nodded. He hesitated and began pulling his shirt away from his chest, like the room was too hot. It wasn’t.

  “I got scared. I was so angry. God, I just wanted to kill the fucker and then I looked at how broken you were. How you didn’t remember, and yeah, I freaked out.”

  “So, you made it all about you?” She knew all about anger, too.

  “Yeah. I owe you an apology. I fucked up. I was angry at your dad and confused, I suppose. I didn’t know how to help you.”

  “Sure.” She wasn’t sure he knew any better. It must be nice to have the ability to switch off when things got hard. Talk about privileged!

  “I just needed to clear my head, I guess. To take a breath. It was just... all too much.”

  “Welcome to my life, Daniel.” He looked at her with pain in his eyes. She was surprised to not feel any sympathy for him. Instead, she felt… what? She didn’t know.

  “I didn’t expect to find you on the floor. I thought you were dead.”

  God, she was tired of men making things all about them. Her father. Lowell’s father. Now Daniel. She spun on her heel in disgust, but dizziness overcame her. He caught her under the arm as her knees buckled.

  “Take it slowly. Where are you needing to go?”

  “Couch,” she said, hating the fact she needed help. Daniel seemed off. She didn’t think it was the meds clouding her judgement. He just seemed sad and ... disconnected. Lowell mentioned his ex-girlfriend, but she wanted to hear the story directly from him. Daniel guided her to the couch, but he continued to stand.

  “Do you want to tell me about Kate?” His face registered his shock. “I heard you talking to Lowell when I was in hospital, but I couldn’t open my eyes. The pain meds have been doing weird things to me. I’ve never been on them before. It really throws you off kilter.”

  “Never? Even with the past beatings from your dad?”

  “No,” she said, wondering if he was avoiding the subject. “The times I’ve been in hospital, I’ve left before they gave me anything. My dad, well, he wasn’t a fan of hospitals.” Daniel shook his head slowly.

  “You grew up in a different world than me, that’s for sure,” he said. “My Mum used to give me painkillers after playing football on Saturdays.”

  “So, Kate? Or are you avoiding that question too?”

  “Yeah.” He blew out a breath and took a seat next to her. “Kate and I went out for a while, a couple of years ago now.” He went quiet, rubbed his hand over his hair. He put his face in his hands, then rubbed that too, careful not to bump the cut on his face. Grace kept quiet, letting him gather himself. But she wouldn’t wait long for him to explain.

  “Every time I think of Kate, I want to cry. I’m not kidding. Kate had a story all her own.” Daniel ran his fingers through his hair again. Clearly a nervous gesture she’d not noticed before.

  “After going out for about six months, we, um, slept together. Af
terward, Kate turned into a sobbing mess. I didn’t know what was going on. She was hysterical, and it took ages for her to calm down, to tell me what was going on. That’s when she told me she’d been sexually abused by her father. We talked for hours, and she decided she was going to press charges. I was going to go with her to the police. You know, support her. Except, the next day, before I could pick her up to go to the police station, her mother found her with a suicide note next to her body. She’d taken pills. It had been too much for her.”

  “God, that’s horrible. The poor girl,” she said and meant every word, but it didn’t explain Daniel’s running.

  “And you thought that happened to me and that I’d react the same way as Kate?”

  “Yeah, I think I did. I had a lot of therapy after… that. I read a bunch of books about sexual abuse, and about how people don’t really recover all the way from it, if it happens during childhood. Some find a way to move forward, eventually. Others break, like Kate did. I got scared because I couldn’t protect you. I know, it’s irrational.”

  “Yes, it really kind of is.”

  “Last night, my friend Claire and I had a long chat about what happened and why I fled. She calls it my white knight syndrome. When I told her about you, she questioned my motives for why I was going out with you. She asked me if I was trying to make up for Kate. To be fair, I’m not altogether sure that my feelings for you, at the start anyway, weren’t somehow connected to what happened with Kate. Especially when I saw the bruises in the café. I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

  “Wow,” she was shocked. She thought there was something between them. But that’s all she was? A do-over?

  “I don’t feel that way anymore. I guess I’m in awe of you. You’re so independent. The way you have pulled yourself out of your own situation. To get past what’s happened to you. To make a better life for yourself. You’re determined. And I really like that about you.” Was this an apology? She wasn’t sure what to make of it. She wasn’t Kate. Nor were the situations the same. But they could have been. She could have been raped by her father. She could have died. But would she have committed suicide, thinking she had no other way out? No, she didn’t think so.

  “I’ve had this thought lately,” she said eventually. “This situation wasn’t caused by me. Or by something I did. This is my father’s story. And I am in control of my own. Am I confused about my past? Sure. Am I hurt by what happened? Yes, of course. But I guess I’m angry most of all. Enraged, really. I want to know why my father did what he did. He at least owes me that much.”

  “I think we all want to know the answer to that.” Sure, she thought, but Daniel didn’t know her whole story.

  * * *

  When Daniel left, Grace stood at the door and realised any romantic relationship between them was over. She couldn’t deal with his baggage and her own. She was sad to think about it. Most of all, she was sad if she lost him as a friend. She didn’t have many of those, and he had saved her from her father. But the feeling of disappointment was palpable, knowing he may not be there when she needed him most. She needed people she could count on if she was going to come out of this okay, not more disappointment.

  “Come on Jelly, you need to open your gift,” said Lowell, bringing her out of her thoughts. He invited Daniel to stay since the icy vibe in the room had thawed a little, but Daniel made his excuses and left. She was kind of glad, if she was honest with herself. His leaving her at the hospital had tarnished the silver on his armour. Claire hit the nail on the head with that description. White knight indeed.

  Now, a huge box wrapped in blue paper and a flurry of ribbon sat on her lap.

  “Damn. Where did you learn how to wrap a gift?” Grace asked Lowell, bemusement written all over her face. “I hope you know that if you ever get a gift actually wrapped from me, consider yourself very lucky. But then it will probably be wrapped in newspaper, so...”

  “I learned from an old boyfriend named Frank. He had many talents. Gift wrapping was only one of them. Now, open it!”

  She carefully removed the ribbon and cleanly undid the tape from the paper. Seeing the end of the box inside, she gasped and stopped unwrapping.

  “Is it what the box says it is?”

  “Keep unwrapping and you will find out.” She did, going as fast as she could to find the treasure inside. Squealing, she hugged Lowell ferociously.

  “Are you serious? A MacBook Air? I can’t! Oh Lowell. Really?” She picked the computer out of box carefully and hugged it. “Oh, my God.”

  “Well, I’m glad you like it. Mumma contributed, saying it was her way of saying thank you,” Lowell said, smiling. “And I'm sure it will come in handy, Miss Journalism Major. We send you successfully on your merry way to university.”

  Grace hugged him again. Pulling back from the hug, she locked eyes with him.

  “Thank you, Lowell. You are...” she said, tearing up. She cleared her throat. “You are the best person I know. But are you sure? This is a lot.”

  “Grace, you have given me more than you will ever know. This is only a small token.”

  28

  Four days after the attack, Grace pulled out a notepad and started writing. She needed to offload all the thoughts swirling in her head. Lowell left her to teach his classes. She was glad for the space and, now with a laptop of her own, she was eager to do some research.

  Lowell arrived home later to find Grace staring intently at the laptop screen.

  “Jelly? Are you okay?” She looked up, took a moment to focus. She blinked several times to clear her burning eyes.

  “Hi. Yes. I think so. Here, I need to show you something.” Lowell came around the couch and sat beside her.

  “I’ve been writing. I decided to change my English assignment from the human rights focus. I emailed Miss O’Donnell and told her what happened, asking if it was okay to change at this late date. She checked for me and said, ‘under the circumstances’ it’s fine. So now, I’ve written about living with my father. I had to get it out.”

  “Okay. That’s good.” He seemed circumspect, but supportive.

  “Maybe. I mean, it took me weeks and weeks to write the women’s rights piece, and it’s only taken a few hours to write about this.”

  “Well, you know about this first-hand.”

  “Yes, but I still needed to do some research. Look.” Grace turned away, picked up her notepad. It was full of notes.

  “I listed everything I can remember. But it’s odd. There are so many gaps. Things aren’t adding up. He’s been violent for as long as I can remember. Not toward me at first, he was rather nice to me for a while. But he was always angry with her. Keep in mind, I was young. But that came back to me today.” Grace was going a mile a minute now.

  “Dad told me my mum died of cancer, but that’s not what the detective said. I remember her being afraid of doctors. She always wore long sleeves. I don’t remember her ever wearing a dress or t-shirt. She was scared of him. That was another thing I didn’t remember until today. There’s another part where I’m drawing a blank. The night my mother died. I was five, I know that. And I know now that the last memory I have of her was that night. The night in my nightmares. I remember hiding in the closet, hearing her screams, the phone in my hand, unsure of what number to call. That’s what my nightmares are always about. I am reliving that night. And I watched him...” her voice fell to a whisper, “rape her.”

  Grace felt bile rise in her throat. She jumped up and raced to the bathroom, relieved to reach the toilet in time. Lowell followed her in, then handed her a damp cloth when her stomach was empty.

  “Grace. Stop a while. You need ...” She shook her head.

  “There’s more.” She dashed back into the living room to find her notes. She flipped a page. She wasn’t stopping now.

  “I dug more deeply. I think my last name is Pruitt, not Thompson. My mother’s name was Zoe. She was a model. I think my name is Grace Pruitt.” She felt frantic, like a freight train
was coming at her at full speed and her feet were stuck. She put her hand over her pounding heart, something she always did when it was racing like this, hoping to ease the stress. But it was an empty gesture.

  “Okay. Take a breath. Let’s slow down a bit. One thing at a time. Come on, let’s get you some water.” Lowell led them to the kitchen.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Nothing says friendship more than watching someone vomit.”

  Lowell laughed. “Don’t be sorry. I was about to push you aside! I hate watching people vomit.” She rolled her eyes. She wasn’t completely lost in what was happening to her. This affected him too, probably brought back memories of issues with his own dad. He handed her a glass of water, and she took a long drink.

  “Are you okay? Really Jelly. Are you?”

  “Yeah. I think so. It’s just...”

  “Yeah. It is just. It’s a lot to process. A lot to discover. Geezus, Jelly, how did you even work that out?”

  “Some stuff the detective said. Like, the tattoo my dad has. Or, when she mentioned murder? I don’t understand what she meant by that. I mean, I don’t remember how my mother died. Maybe it wasn’t cancer after all, like my dad said. I’m remembering bits from around that time. I think my nightmares are true. Like, they’re trying to tell me something.” She started pacing like a greyhound going around a track, chasing the rabbit it would never reach.

  “Need a break from it?” he asked. She shook her head.

  “No. It’s like everything is coming at me at all at once and every nightmare I’ve had is finally making sense.” They walked back into the lounge room and sat down in front of the computer.

  “The red suitcase. You’ve mentioned that a lot.”

  “Yeah. The detective mentioned that. I think mum and I were leaving my dad that night. Maybe he came home earlier than she expected? I had a dream once of Nanny, my grandmother, saying ‘Come home to me, sweetness. You’ll be safe here.’ I dreamt my mother said it to me, too. She was standing at the front door, next to that suitcase.” Grace, as if mesmerised, stared off toward the darkening street outside.