by Amanda Perry
At first, nothing registers as familiar, and the panic intensifies.
When my vision finally gains focus, the room is empty. The memories of arriving in California flash through my mind, reminding me of where I’m at. Getting up out of bed, I turn on the white lamp sitting on the nightstand. I approach the closet cautiously. After a full minute of working up the nerve to open it, I find it empty as well. A sigh of relief escapes my lips and I glance at the alarm clock, glowing with a bright red to show two in the morning. I’ve only managed a few hours of sleep, but there’s no way I’ll be able to go back to sleep, now. Making my way to the top of the stairs, I pause for a few moments, listening to the silence of the house.
When I’m satisfied I haven’t woken anyone, I go back to my room and grab my shampoo and soap. The need for a long, hot shower to fully ground myself in reality outweighs the fear of waking anyone with the sound of the shower.
Once clean and revived, I climb back into bed, grabbing the first book I touch on the nightstand. The next few hours go by fast as I lose myself in the story.
A quiet knock on my door startles me, and I let out a startled squeak. A second later, my heart beats again, and I check the clock to find it’s already eight in the morning. I hadn’t meant to get lost in my book, but it happens a lot. Getting up, I answer the door to find Leanne in her pajamas standing on the other side.
“Oh! Hey, Riley.” She seems pleasantly surprised I answered her knock. “I wasn’t sure you’d be up. I made blueberry pancakes for everyone if you’re hungry. The three stooges skipped dinner last night to watch a movie, and since you ate early, you must be starving.”
I blink rapidly, trying to come up with something to say. No one has ever made me breakfast before. Swallowing down the lump that forms in my throat, I stutter through a thank you. “T-t-that sounds a-a-amazing.”
Seeming pleased by my response, she gives me a wide smirk and nods. “Well, I love to cook, so get used to it.” She winks, then heads downstairs.
Gazing down at myself, I take in my jeans and plain gray shirt. After my shower, I put my only other pair of pants and the shirt I wore on the plane in the corner of my closet. I don’t own pajamas. Instead, I slept in my regular clothes, like I normally do. I’ll need to find a way to wash and dry them with the soap I brought. The idea of using the bathtub crossed my mind, but I don’t want to leave my things in the bathroom to dry. They might get in someone’s way.
Once I deem myself presentable, I make my way downstairs and follow the chatter into the kitchen. Everyone’s around the table in the nook again. I stop at the entryway and take it all in for a moment. A family laughing, talking, and eating together. They all seem genuinely happy.
Will I have that someday?
Caleb glances up from his seat and notices me. His face brightens, and he motions for me to come over. Gazing around, I don’t find anyone protesting. Pushing my luck, I make my way over and sink into the seat Caleb motioned to. There’s already a plate with some pancakes, bacon, and scrambled eggs in front of me, and since everyone else has their own plate in front of them, I assume it’s for me. Leanne said I’m allowed to eat with them; that’s the same as getting permission, I think.
I’m quiet through breakfast, listening to everyone talk about things of little importance. They all seem to get along, and my heart drops, wishing I belonged at this table.
After everyone finishes eating, I stand and grab all the plates. I head to the sink, ready to wash the dishes. When the room goes silent, I stop. Turning around slowly, my cheeks heat when I realize everyone’s attention is on me. Their expressions range from confusion to frustration. My heart skips a beat as my cheeks burn even more; my gaze drops to the floor.
“D-d-did I m-m-miss a p-p-plate?” I peek up from under my lashes, trying to figure out what the silent stares mean.
“No, but we can get our own dishes, kiddo. You don’t have to do those for everyone.” My dad’s the first to speak up, but the rest of them quickly agree.
“O-o-oh, uh, o-o-okay.” I glance from them to the sink and back. “I-i-it’s a h-h-habit, I-I-I guess.”
“Was that your chore back in Washington?” Cassie continues chattering before I can answer. “My mom always made me clean the dinner dishes as my chore growing up. She said it was because I needed to learn to be self-sufficient. I’m not sure how dishes help a person be self-sufficient, but I didn’t mind it too much.”
“U-u-um”—I wring my hands together as I frown down at them like they hold the secrets to the universe— “W-w-well, I g-g-guess so. I w-w-was in ch-ch-charge of cleaning, th-th-the housework, a-a-and cooking m-m-meals.”
“Harsh,” Cassie mutters, her eyes going wide.
“What do you mean housework and cleaning?” my dad questions with a slight tensing of his shoulders.
The subtle gesture puts me on edge, and I try to choose my words carefully. I didn’t mean to upset him, which adds to the knots forming in my stomach. I’m not even sure what I said wrong. “Just the u-u-usual stuff, I g-g-guess.” I turn my head toward the sink again, trying to subtly end the conversation.
When no one says anything more I turn back to them in time to find my dad and Leanne exchange a fleeting look that further enhances my discomfort. In an attempt to avoid their questions, I turn fully back to the sink and continue washing the dishes. I’m not sure what happened, but my heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest.
My dad and Leanne let the subject of chores drop while I finish up the dishes, and I let out the breath I held. My shoulders relax, but I find it was too soon to calm down when Leanne addresses me as soon as Caleb, Jaxon, and Cassie go upstairs. “Did you like to cook? What was your favorite meal?”
Twisting slowly, I blink at her a few times, trying to decide what to say. Her concern appears true and I quickly decide the truth is the best way to go. “I d-d-don’t really h-h-have a favorite. I c-c-cooked for th-th-them, not m-m-me.” I set the dish in my hand onto the drying mat and clasp my shaking hands together in front of me.
“You didn’t like your own cooking?” She sounds confused.
“I’ve n-n-never had m-m-my own c-c-cooking.”
Silence. I peek over my shoulder and watch them exchange another glance. My father turns back to me and cocks a brow, silently demanding an explanation. Rather than trying to make up a story, I stumble my way through the truth.
Since I’m rotten at lying, I don’t see a reason to try now. “When I-I-I cooked m-m-meals, I cooked for o-o-only them. I’m n-n-not… I-I-I mean I-I-I wasn’t allowed t-t-to eat the f-f-food I cooked. It c-c-cost too m-m-much for me t-t-to eat the s-s-same things th-th-they did. They s-s-sent me to the s-s-store to buy the g-g-groceries, but th-th-there wasn’t enough m-m-money so I-I-I was o-o-only allowed t-t-to get e-e-enough for them. T-t-they instructed me t-t-to make the f-f-food, th-th-then they a-a-ate, while I-I-I did the d-d-dishes. I’d c-c-clear the t-t-table for them when th-th-they finished b-b-because it was a-a-also m-m-my r-r-responsibility. S-s-sometimes they a-a-allowed m-m-me to eat s-s-something from my s-s-shelf, th-th-though.”
Shutting my eyes tightly, I give myself a small shake. Talking to people is difficult for me, and I hate how I stumble and stutter over words. Even as I’m speaking, I’m second-guessing every word I say. It’s embarrassing. It gets me into trouble often, but it’s a hard habit to break.
Silence weighs down the room. When it gets too uncomfortable, I glance up, and my eyes focus on my father. His expression hardens as he grits his teeth, making him appear ready to kill someone, and my stomach drops to the floor. I shouldn’t have said anything; this is why I second guess everything. It never ends well when I say things. He didn’t want to hear those things. Speaking up only made him really mad. He bounds to his feet, and I panic.
My flight instincts take over as my eyes dart to the hall leading to the front door. My gaze flickers back to him as he takes a step toward me. With a bowed head, he doesn’t notice me silently calculat
ing my chances of escape. Sitting at the table, Leanne buries her face in her hands.
I spent a lot of my life running, and I’m pretty sure my chances to outrun him are fair, especially if he’s caught off guard. He takes another step in my direction, and I take a step back out of instinct, my hip hitting the counter behind me. As he reaches the edge of the kitchen, I make my move and race to the front door.
Pulling on the handle, the door doesn’t budge because it's locked. I spin to gauge how far back he is, only to find him standing right behind me. Pressing my back against the door, I let out an involuntary whimper and cross my arms over my face, waiting for him to strike.
Getting caught fleeing is always worse than standing still. Because I risked running, I’ll pay for it. Cowering lower against the door, my eyes shut tight as I wait for him to make his move. Instead of doing anything at all, he’s still and silent for a full minute.
When I finally lower my arms to figure out what he’s waiting for, he pulls me into a hug, his body shaking with hard sobs. I stand stiffly, not having any idea what to do.
“I’m sorry, Riley,” he chokes out through his tears. “If I’d known about you, I would’ve protected you. Please forgive me, I’m sorry.”
When I don’t so much as take a breath, he pulls back, but holds onto my shoulders. I peer up into his pleading eyes and find sincerity there. For a brief moment, I believe he really would have protected me.
“I f-f-forgive you?” I whisper, not meaning to phrase it like a question, but unsure how I should respond.
Mostly, I hope he knows how important his affection and sincerity are to me.
He pulls me back into the hug, tears now coming from both of us as our hearts break for what could have been. My father holds me like a parent should hold an upset child, while I let myself trust this man I hardly know, even if it’s only for a moment, believing he would have kept me safe.
Later when I’m alone, reality will take over, again. I’m never safe, not as long as he is still out there.
~
Today started off slow. Jaxon, Caleb, and Cassie left to go run errands soon after breakfast. At the same time, my dad headed to work. Leanne made herself busy in the kitchen, waving off my attempts to help. With time to myself, I end up in the corner seat of the sectional in the game room with a book. It doesn’t take me long to lose myself in the pages of a new story I picked from the full shelves in there. My father gave me permission to read any books I wanted and I took full advantage of the vast collection.
When Leanne pops her head in, it startles me. My heart skips a beat as I jump to my feet, staring wide-eyed at her. Her features soften, and she gives me a reassuring smile. “Are you busy?”
“N-n-no.” I cautiously shake my head.
She steps farther into the room. With each of her strides, my body stiffens. She pauses a few feet in front of me. My eyes stay glued to her hands, waiting for her next move. A person’s hands tell a lot about their intentions. Leanne’s hang softly at her sides, not balled into fists like I feared.
“Would you like to go to the store with me?” Her offer distracts me, my gaze jumping up to her face. She appears relaxed, not agitated at all.
“Th-th-the store?” I ask, not understanding what she’s getting at.
She nods hopefully. “I have a few things to grab at the store. I thought we could go together.” She pauses, her excitement fading. “Unless you don’t want to go. You don’t have to, Riley. It’s up to you.”
It would be really nice to leave the house and get some fresh air. With nothing to lose, I accept her offer. “I’d l-l-like to g-g-go.”
“Great,” she chirps, her grin returning. “Come on.”
After getting our shoes on, I follow her to the car. She gestures for me to get into the passenger side as she slides into the driver’s seat. While I put my seatbelt on, she does the same then fiddles with the mirrors and the radio.
Pointing to the radio dial, she arches a brow at me. “Do you have a preference?”
“N-n-no.” I blink, not used to being asked my opinion on things. I’ve been asked what I want and what I think more during my short time in California than I ever was in my seventeen years in Washington.
She nods absentmindedly as she continues to scroll through the stations. When she reaches a classic rock station, she perks up. “Perfect! You can’t go wrong with Bon Jovi.”
As we drive down the road, Leanne sings along to every song that plays. Her melodious voice merges seamlessly with each of the singers, bringing a bit of joy to our otherwise quiet ride. Since the drive is short, Leanne only sings about three songs before we park in front of a fancy chain store.
She hops out of the car, glides around to the front, and waits for me to catch up to her. When I’ve gotten out and made my way to her, she strides toward the door. “We probably only need to grab the essentials. I think Cassie has plans to do a big shopping trip soon.”
Having no idea what she’s talking about, I stay silent.
She doesn’t seem bothered by my lack of response. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you all set up, honey.”
Leanne finds the pajama section of the store first. When she picks up a pair of soft, cotton shorts and holds them up for me to inspect, I shake my head. “I-I-I’m not a good p-p-person to ask about f-f-fashion,” I admit, scratching nervously at my arm. “T-t-the color would be n-n-nice for you.”
“It’s not for me, honey.” Leanne chuckles, lowering the pants. “You need some clothes. That’s why we’re here.”
“M-m-me?” My eyes widen. “But, I-I-I—”
“Please,” Leanne begs, cutting me off. “Let me do this for you. I really want to.”
The pleading in her eyes makes me cave in before I can really think about it. “O-o-okay.”
Truthfully, there is no way for me to pay for the things she wants to buy for me. Maybe I’ll be allowed to find a job to pay them back. The amount they’ve spent on me in food alone will take a while for me to repay. Trying not to dwell on it, I focus my attention on Leanne as she goes through the pajamas. She pulls item after item off the racks, showing them to me.
“What about this?” She holds up a plain black tank top.
“It’s n-n-nice.”
Leanne lowers the tank top and wrinkles her forehead. “You’ve said that about everything I’ve shown you, Riley.”
My heart jumps into my throat as she waits for me to reply. “I’m s-s-sorry.”
“Honey, don’t be sorry,” she soothes. “If you like something, tell me. If you hate it, tell me. I’m not wearing it, you are. I want you to be happy with what we get.”
Taking a deep breath, I agree. “I’ll t-t-try.”
“Good.” She turns back to the rack where the selections she has made are stacked and gestures to some that are draped over her arm. “Now, what do you like from our current pile?”
“The b-b-blue is n-n-nice,” I admit.
“You need more than one pair of pants for sleeping,” Leanne scolds softly. “How about we pick three for now?”
It takes a while for me to work up the courage to tell Leanne what clothes I like. It doesn’t help that she’s obviously keeping the price tags hidden from me. When I have three pajama bottoms picked out, we start the process all over again with pajama tops. Just when I think we finally finished, Leanne heads over to the jeans and shuffles through them.
She absentmindedly thumbs through the jeans. “Do you know your real size?”
Blinking a few times, I wait for her to elaborate, but she doesn’t. “Real s-s-size?”
Glancing over her shoulder, she nods. “Yeah, the pants you have now don’t fit you right.” She points down at my ragged jeans. “I think they’re a few sizes too big.”
“O-o-oh.” No other response comes to mind.
Leanne pulls a few different sizes for me and points to the dressing room. “Go try these on, we can’t get you pants without knowing your size. If you’d like help with them, just
holler.”
Doing as I’m told, I lock myself in a dressing room and try on the jeans she gave me. The smallest pair seems to fit the best. Since I’ve never done this before, I enlist Leanne’s help. “L-L-Leanne?” My voice barely rises above a whisper, but she responds.
She taps on the door. “Need some help, honey?”
Unlocking it, I poke my head out and nod. “P-p-please.”
“Let’s have a look.” She opens the door a little bit more and scoots in. Once inside her gaze rakes over the pair of jeans I currently have on. “Can I see the waist?”
Lifting my shirt slightly, I show her the waist.
She gently tugs on them, nodding to herself as she circles me. “These look good. Though, I think we should only get a few pairs. You’re such a tiny little thing right now. Hopefully, you go up a size or two soon, and we can get you some new ones then.”
Stopping behind me, she gingerly touches my hip. My hands let go of my shirt, letting it fall back into place as I arch away from her, spinning on my heel to face her. My arms fold over my stomach automatically to protect myself.
“Sorry, honey,” she whispers softly, putting her hands up, palms out. “You have a dark bruise on your hip. It surprised me is all. Would you tell me what happened?”
Blinking a few times, I take a moment to remember what she’s talking about. Lifting my shirt again, I seek out the bruise. Realization dawns when I find it. “I-I-I hit my h-h-hip on the c-c-counter in the k-k-kitchen.”
“That’s a pretty bad bruise,” she observes, her focus back on my hip. “Doesn’t it bother you?”
I shake my head and use my index finger and poke the bruise. “I-i-it’s only a l-l-little sore.”
“It must look worse than it feels,” she mutters. “I’ll give you some cream to put on it when we get home. It should help to reduce the healing time.”
Before I have a chance to respond, she reaches outside the dressing room door.
She pulls some tops from the hook on the front of the door and hands them to me. “If you like any of these, try them on. We can find others if you don’t like the ones I found.”
