“I don’t want you to forgive your father to make his life easier, I want you to find forgiveness so you can move on with your life without your father’s demons becoming yours.”
I shift in my seat as my nerves demand for me to run, but as much as I want to run, I need to stay. I need answers. I need to know what to do. I’m nervous, I’m sick, I’m dizzy, but more important, I’m desperate. “Mom … Mom says Dad is changing. Dad says he’s changing, too. Is he? Is change possible?”
“I can’t answer the question as to whether or not he’s changing as I don’t counsel him. Even if I did, I couldn’t betray my trust with him, but I will say that I do believe that change is possible. Over the years I’ve seen many broken people who never thought they’d find joy be happy again. The question I have for you is, do you think your dad is changing?”
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “He’s not angry anymore.”
“I need you to hear me on this,” Pastor Hughes says. “Letting go of your anger and sadness does not give your father permission to hurt you or your family. I pray daily he is changing, and that you find peace. But you finding peace does not mean that you or your family are punching bags. There are no more second chances when it comes to abuse. Let me say it again: if your father hurts your mother or hurts you or your sister, you call the police. Do you understand?”
I slowly nod as I attempt to comprehend all he’s said. Letting the anger go doesn’t mean Dad has permission to hurt me again. It’s such a strange concept that my brain disconnects.
“A part of my job is to discuss what is called a safety plan with people who are in complicated relationships. It’s a plan of how to stay safe if you find yourself in a dangerous situation and a plan in case you need to leave home.”
I’m so overwhelmed that I can do nothing more than listen. Pastor Hughes continues to talk about the plan and then he talks about websites he wants me to visit, websites to show me that help is available, but suggests doing so at school or at a friend’s house.
I listen, yet I don’t because I’m still lost in the last part of our conversation. It is possible? Can I let the anger go? Can I let go of my sadness? I honestly don’t know.
* * *
There are several suitcases in the foyer and not a single one of them is mine. I sit on the steps, and I’m so stinking excited that my knee bounces. Dad is taking Mom and Isabelle to Atlanta for the weekend, and I’m staying here by myself, which is the most fascinating and exhilarating experience of my life. I’m not staying home either. I’m heading into Lexington with Jesse to go apartment hunting and to tour the University of Kentucky. Life is absolutely amazing.
In a suit, Dad walks out of his study and places his laptop bag near the pile. He takes in the baggage then looks at me. I don’t glower in return—that’s a major improvement for me. The anger I’ve been holding on to is becoming harder to muster, and I don’t know how I feel about that.
“Can I bring you anything back from Atlanta?”
“An ice cream sundae?” I ask.
Dad grins. “Not sure that’s going to travel well in my suitcase.”
I snap my fingers in a fake dang it.
“Seriously, though, do you want anything?”
“I don’t need anything, but thank you.”
Mom and Isabelle walk down the stairs, and Mom’s verbalizing a nonstop list of who I should call if there’s an emergency, and whatever random thing pops into her head.
Isabelle gives me a wet kiss on the cheek, and my mom gives me a long, warm hug. Dad, on the other hand, gives me space. He has kept his word. He’s going to counseling, he seems to be listening to me, seems to be listening to Mom and he seems to be … changing. Like Pastor Hughes, I do believe change is possible, but I have to decide if change is possible for my dad.
“Be safe if you go out with your friends or if they come over,” Dad says. “Either way, let your mom know of your plans. Otherwise, call us if you need anything.”
His hands shake, and I think of what it must have been like for him to wait for a phone call from his sister that would never come. Just the idea hurts. I can’t imagine having lived it.
I walk across the foyer and hug my father. It takes a moment before he hugs me back. I close my eyes and revel. As a child this hug was the favorite part of my day. I’ve missed this. I’ve missed him. I’ve missed having a real home.
I pull back, and my chest tightens at the sight of Dad’s eyes filled with tears. “Thank you.”
The emotion in me is so powerful that I only say, “Thank you for giving me space.”
“You’re welcome.”
Yes, I do believe change is possible. For me and for him.
“When you get back,” my palms sweat and my skin is clammy, “I’d like to talk to you.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
About my job, about Jesse, about how I don’t want to lie anymore and how I’d like him to, maybe not approve, but deal with my choices. “Things like how I’d like to get my driver’s license and a few other things. Maybe we could talk about them with Pastor Hughes.”
Happiness spreads over my dad’s face. “I’d love to.”
“You’re okay with letting me get my driver’s permit?” I’m testing him because if he’s not okay with me driving, then he won’t be okay with Jesse, my job or UK.
“It’s time, but we’ll discuss this more in counseling, okay?”
I’m absolutely blown away because it’s happening—he’s changing. “Sure.”
Dad says a few other things, reminding me of important numbers and where they will be, and then he finally leaves. Standing alone in my house, I’m filled with a sense of hope that maybe, just maybe, we can be a family again.
I wrap my arms around myself because while that hope is uplifting, it is possibly the most terrifying emotion I have ever felt.
JESSE
Pen in my hand, I stare at the piece of paper. None of the sentences do justice to what it was like to lose my mother. I don’t know how to describe how Mom’s cries are a constant background noise, that at times the wound on my back still aches, or how to describe the ever-present hole that can never be filled.
Mom died, Dad lived and it doesn’t make sense. It’s not fair. It’s not right. And some person in power thinks it’s okay to let him go.
To do what? Hurt someone else? Three years. He was supposed to serve a minimum of twenty. When will life be okay?
The clock is ticking down. I either write this letter, show up in person to explain why Dad should stay in jail, or I do nothing. I’ve started the letter countless times, but I can’t get through the first paragraph. The blank parts of the paper make me a failure.
A knock on the door, and I crumple the paper and toss it in the trash. I’ll deal with it later. Right now, I’d rather deal with what’s good in my world.
I open the door, and Scarlett’s smile is bright enough to drive my demons away. She’s been a piece of heaven in hell. She walks in, no purse in hand as she’s convinced her father is still tracking her cell. Scarlett raises on her toes for a kiss, and I’m more than happy to oblige. My fingers thread into her hair and I press my lips to hers. I could do this every day for the rest of my life, and it still wouldn’t be enough.
“You ready?” I ask.
I expect a quick confirmation, but instead she steps back. “I think so.”
My eyebrows draw together. “Think so?”
“I think Dad is changing. He’s willing to consider letting me get my driver’s permit.”
Changing. The word tries to settle in my stomach, but it doesn’t. It hangs there as a foreign object that needs to be surgically removed. Maybe this change she speaks of is real, but just in case … “Looking at apartments and taking a tour at the University of Kentucky doesn’t mean you’re taking out a thirty-year mortgage. He can change and yet you can still look.”
“I know.” She fiddles with the ends of her sweater, an indication a ton is
going on in her brain. “How would you feel if I told my father about us?”
My gut reaction is that what Scarlett and I have going on now is fine, but if I tell her to keep us quiet, she might see that as me having a problem with us going public. Which I don’t have a problem with, but I am concerned with her safety. “I want what is best for you.”
“I think he’s changed,” she says. “I think he might listen.”
There’s an awful lot at stake with words like think and might, but saying so isn’t going to help, but hurt. “Are we leaving or staying?”
“Leaving.” A daring fire glows in her eyes, and my Tink has returned. “If anything, this will be an adventure, right?”
SCARLETT
Panic attack. That’s what I’m on the verge of. The world’s not okay, and my dreams are being swept away. I don’t know what apartment this is, but it’s not the one pictured on the internet. I try to inhale deeply, but my lungs won’t take in air.
This is the last apartment on the list and each one has been worse than the one before. Evidently, for me to afford a decent place to live, I must sell either my liver or my soul.
Jesse stands next to the large open window looking down at the squalor below. On the corner, someone is selling heroin. When we were on the sidewalk, there were two people shooting up. Jesse tugged on my hand, mumbling how we didn’t need to see the inside, but I did. I needed this place to be an oasis in the proverbial desert.
Jesse jumps, catches the bottom of the open window, performs a pull-up, and soon his feet are no longer touching the floor. He drops, and I blink. “Why isn’t it shutting?”
“It’s painted open. I’m guessing management keeps it this way so they don’t have to replace the glass for when the place is broken into. Easy access and all.” Jesse grins like a lunatic at the woman showing us the apartment. “Am I right?”
The realtor, who is in a pencil suit, stares blankly at Jesse, but she then glances at me with a smile. “Have you seen the bathroom? It has a claw-foot tub!”
“Did you hear that, Tink? Claw-foot. Practically sells the place.” He walks into the bathroom, I hear the sound of water in a sink and then he calls out, “Cool, brown water.”
The realtor’s cell rings, and she excuses herself to answer it in the hallway.
The printout of the gorgeous apartment in my price range crackles in my hand, and I spin as I try to find something redeemable. Anything. A tickling near my ankle; I glance down and my heart bursts past my rib cage. I scream and sprint across the room.
Jesse comes running out, and when he looks at the corner I’m pointing at while shouting something even I can’t understand, he places his hands in his pockets. “Look, it comes with pets.”
“It’s a rat!” I shout.
Jessie looks at me like I stated the obvious, because I just did.
“I hear rats are all the rage now. It’s the new dog. They’re supposed to be super-smart. Like how they know how to tie you down to the bed first before they gnaw your eyes out.”
Not helping. “I can’t live with rats!”
“They do get a bad rap. Bubonic plague can do that. Do you think they can domesticate the stray ones or do you think that’s a genetic thing they breed into them?”
A new level of panic sets in, and I start to shake. “What am I going to do? I can’t live like this. I can’t live in any of these places and I had hoped and I had dreamed and…” I hold out the piece of paper that had contained my dreams. “They lied. All these places lied.”
“Yes,” he states plainly, and for a few seconds, I consider throwing the rat at him.
I spin, praying for an answer. “I’ll get a roommate. That will help. They can pay half, I can pay half.” We can move into an apartment where I won’t die of tetanus.
“Where are you going to find a roommate? Are any of your friends planning on moving out from their parents’ financial umbrella upon graduation as well?”
My friends are heading to college, maybe some to UK, but they’ll move into the dorms because they have parents who will help them. “I can find someone on the internet?”
“Great thinking,” Jesse says. “In your internet ad, are you going to be specific about the way you want them to kill you? I’d go with fast, but what do I know?”
I swing around and the glare I give Jesse causes him to step back two feet. “I’m teasing.”
“This isn’t funny!” I roar.
“I know, but if you don’t learn to laugh during the bad moments, life—a life that is already rough—will be rougher.”
My shoulders collapse, and Jesse crosses the room to me. He weaves an arm around my waist, and I press my head into his shoulder. His embrace is strong, it’s safe and I’m completely and utterly lost. “What am I going to do?”
“Take it one step at a time. You’re going to work for Glory as much as you can, you’re going to save every penny and you will think of better ways to get a roommate other than the internet. If you can’t afford to move into the dorms, I would find a better realtor, one who isn’t obsessed with claw-foot tubs, for help finding suitable studios in other parts of the city.”
I lift my head, and I’m grateful he still holds me close. “You knew this is what would happen, didn’t you?”
He nods, and I appreciate he doesn’t gloat. “If I told you, I don’t think you would have believed me. Reality is sometimes something people have to experience to believe.”
Sad part is, he’s right.
“You have six months until graduation. That’s a long time, but it’s going to go by fast. I know you want college, but college, working a job and paying your own bills is a lot of work. It’s doable, but work. You need to buckle down, apply for a ton of scholarships and get that meeting with the financial aid counselor at the university like our tour guide suggested. If you remember, she said that they still might be able to help you financially even though your father is refusing to help.”
I sigh heavily. There’s a lot I haven’t considered, and there’s a lot I need to learn. Dreams don’t happen because I wish them into being. If I want freedom, I’ll have to work and work hard.
“I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough of real-world problems for the day,” he says. “Want to get out of here?”
“Definitely.”
JESSE
After grabbing a quick bite to eat for dinner, we’re headed home. Nice part of having an old truck is that Scarlett’s able to ride next to me on the bench seat. My heater’s not the best, the fall evening is cool and Scarlett wants to be warm. Fine by me. My arm’s around her, her head is on my shoulder and every inch of her is squeezed tight to every inch of me. There’s a flame that’s been lit inside me, creating a smoldering fire.
At first, she had placed her hand on my thigh. Just laid flat. That alone got my mind buzzing. So then I fantasized about kissing her and how I’d love to have more time alone with her, and my fingers began brushing along her arm. Sometime later, can’t remember when because the blood had drained from my brain, she made slow and tempting circles on my leg.
Alone. I need to get to this girl alone. It’s become my single-most obsession. Scarlett in my bed, in my field, hell, the bed of this truck would work.
“Pull over!” Scarlett shouts, and I jump after the long, comfortable silence.
I hit the brakes and glance in my rearview mirror. Thankfully there isn’t anyone behind me, and I take the turn into the deserted parking area next to the low rock wall that had to be built back in the 1800s. Scarlett undoes her seatbelt, leans forward and looks through the windshield. “My parents have driven past this place hundreds of times, and we have never once stopped. No matter how many times I’ve asked.”
Funny, Gran stopped here almost every single time we drove by. Never occurred to me that anyone in our county hadn’t parked here at one point or another. We’re at the top of the highest hill of our county and below us are the twinkling lights of our hometown.
Our to
wn has a county courthouse, a government building, a police station, a few two-story buildings, some fast food joints out on Massey Street and then the elementary, middle and high schools. Most people would turn their noses up at the sight, but for me it’s home.
Scarlett’s radiant as she looks upon the landscape. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it is.”
She glances over at me and pushes my arm. “You weren’t even looking.”
“I like looking at what’s inside my truck more than what’s outside.”
Her eyes soften to the deep blue of the sea. She relaxes back into the seat and cuddles closer to me. “Do you think I’m stupid for wanting to strike out on my own? Do you think I should suck it up and let Dad pay for everything for the next four years before cutting ties?”
“Do you want to go to a business college?”
“No.”
“If he’s hurting you, then you leave. It’s that plain and simple.”
“There is nothing simple about leaving.”
“I wish my mom had left.”
Her hair brushes my shoulder as she turns her head to look at me. “What do you mean?”
I push forward rapidly in an attempt to ignore the memory of the screams. “My mom had a habit of dating guys that hurt her until one day the guy didn’t just hurt her, he killed her.”
“Oh my God, Jesse, that’s awful.”
“You knew she died.” Scarlett had left a note in my locker for me even though I had stopped talking to her by that point. I had continued to ignore Scarlett, but I had kept the note. It’s still in my room, in a box at the bottom of my dresser.
Only a Breath Apart Page 26
