by Aly Martinez
“But he didn’t say he didn’t mean it, did he?”
“He doesn’t say much of anything anymore. He listens a lot though and observes everything. But you know who’s more observant?” She released my neck and used one finger to tap me on the nose like I was one of the kids in her class. “Me. And I’m telling you right now, the same thing I have told you for oh…twelve years, eight months, three weeks, four days, and however the hell many hours we’re up to at this point: My brother loves you, Thea. Ramsey is stupid. Ramsey is an idiot. Ramsey is emotionally stunted. But Ramsey fucking loves you.”
She’d said it so many times over the years that I’d started to believe it. There were mounds of evidence to say otherwise, but each time Nora hugged me and whispered those words to me, it gave me the strength to make it through another day.
It had been lonely growing up without him. I’d watched as people we’d gone to school with grew up, posted stupid shit about their relationships on social media, got engaged, got married, had babies. A few had already added a divorce and marriage number two to their relationship résumé.
Meanwhile, I was twenty-eight and had never been on another date since our night in the tent on his seventeenth birthday. Forget about a relationship or even a one-night stand. I was in the never-ending holding pattern of hating Ramsey for what he’d done to us while simultaneously waiting for him to come home.
He was in the bedroom across the hall and I was still waiting.
“There’s nothing there when I look in his eyes, Nora. I used to be able to tell. I don’t feel anything when he looks at me now.”
“He’s overwhelmed. Just give him some time.”
The room was dark, lit only by the moon and dim rays from a streetlight. My vision swam as I stared at Nora’s silhouette. “How much time do I need to give him before I accept that it’s really over? Twenty years? Thirty? My entire life? Because you know I’ll do it. If there is one single sliver of hope that I’ll finally get him back, I will wait for that man.” When my voice cracked, she slid her arm under my head and wrapped me in a hug.
“Ohhh-kay, let’s slow down. It’s been, like, twelve hours, Anxiety Angie. Nobody is asking you to wait the rest of your life. Let’s start with like…two weeks. Tops. Ten bucks says I’m falling asleep with earplugs in by the end of the month.”
“It’s not even about the physical stuff. I just want my best friend back.”
“Hey.” She feigned injury. “I’m your best friend now. He can have all the other gross stuff like seeing you naked and watching all those cheesy Christmas movies you try to force on me every year.” She hooked her arm through mine before rolling to her back. “I read a study recently about reintegration and it said there are two common reactions when it comes to reacclimating into society. Some men go full steam ahead, making up for lost time and filling their days with missed experiences. That was what I thought was going to happen with Ramsey. For weeks, he’s been planning the things he wanted to do as soon as he got out. Apparently, he’s not that type though. At least not yet. We just need to be patient with him.”
“What’s the other type?”
She sighed. “The ones who can’t leave prison life behind. Nothing feels familiar anymore, not even the most mundane chores. I read a story about a guy who got out after twenty years. His first day home, he sat on the couch for over two hours watching the TV Guide channel because he had no idea he could change it.”
“Jesus,” I breathed.
“Ramsey’s relearning how to live. He did it twelve years ago when he went in. He’ll do it again, and this time, he has us to help him.”
My eyes stung, and my throat got thick. “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want my help.”
“Probably not, but you have to remember where you two started. How many times have you told me that you hated him when you first met? You were depressed and miserable, and Ramsey stormed into your life with nothing but a smile and the finesse of a tornado. Now it’s your turn. It was a good start putting him in his place tonight. But you gotta stop all the woe-is-me wallowing. Not when you’ve already come this far. You’re the strongest woman I know, Thea. It’s time for you to do what you do best.”
“What’s that?”
“You need to beat the absolute shit out of him with kindness and love, the same way you did with me.”
I laughed. “For the record, you were right. I shouldn’t have gone today.”
“Now, that I’ll agree with. But here we are, and this is our new normal. We have to accept that whatever happens, good, bad, or ugly is part of the process. Every step, no matter how heartbreaking or difficult, brings us closer to truly getting him back. We’re all fighting the same fight here.” She gave my arm a pointed squeeze. “And trust me. He’s fighting hard. That’s nothing to be sad about. That’s fucking beautiful.”
If Nora was right—and, God, I was praying Nora was right—I had to be patient for a little longer.
If he was fighting, then I was fighting too.
“You’re right,” I whispered.
“I know. And you can name your first born after me as a show of gratitude.”
I smiled, and it wasn’t even fake. “You’re that confident this is going to work out, huh?”
Her face warmed and her lips tipped up into a breathtaking smile that was an exact replica of her brother’s. “Yeah. I am. I accepted a long time ago that something good had to come from all this. I still don’t know what it is exactly, but knowing that something is yet to come, it fuels me to keep searching. Maybe it’s in him. Maybe it’s in you. Maybe it’s in all of us. But whatever it is, we’ll find it. We just gotta keep looking.”
Right then, I had a strong suspicion that the universe giving me Nora Stewart was hands down the best thing that was ever going to come from this tragedy.
Twelve years earlier…
As crazy as it sounded, I wasn’t sure how I felt about Ramsey killing Josh.
A part of me didn’t believe that he was capable of something like that.
A part of me was devastated that he loved me so much that he’d killed a man over me.
A part of me felt relieved that Josh couldn’t hurt me again.
And then, in some sick and twisted place hidden deep in my soul, a part of me was mad that Ramsey was the one who had gotten to do it.
For a few days after Ramsey had been arrested, I prayed so hard for a miracle that I invented new religions. I begged anyone who would listen at the police station to let me see him, but they wouldn’t budge. Surprisingly, it was my dad who jumped into action, calling around, trying and failing at every turn to find out what was going on. No one was talking—at least not about anything other than gossip.
I wasn’t eating or sleeping, and time passed at a staggering crawl.
The sun rose.
The sun set.
And he never came home.
Hollow.
I was so damn hollow.
It took just over ten days for the prosecution to offer Ramsey a plea bargain. The news hit our small town like a wildfire. Those who had known Josh were screaming for the death penalty. I was a minor, so my identity had not been revealed in the public court documents, but it wasn’t hard to figure out who Ramsey had been defending that night.
Josh was well-liked. His dad was the mayor, and his mom was the president of the prestigious Ladies of Clovert. In the eyes of our town, there was no way he could have done what I’d claimed.
A rape kit at the hospital the morning I had thrown Ramsey under the proverbial bus said otherwise though. It was the only reason the prosecution agreed to a deal so quickly.
Unfortunately, the court of public opinion found me guilty of fabricating the entire story. Rumors began circling back on themselves, forming a vicious cycle of exaggeration and straight-up lies. Some people thought I was covering for Ramsey. Some thought I was in on it too. Whatever the case was, the Hulls and the Stewarts became the town’s most hated families.
Our h
ouse was egged three times. Fireworks were shot through the front windows twice. And, once, the Stewarts’ lawn was set on fire.
The cops did nothing.
Coincidentally, that was the same thing Ramsey’s dad did after Ramsey had been arrested. He spoke to the police when questioned, and during a TV interview with the local news, he told them all about his son’s “violent side” at home. After that, he went back to sitting on his ass and being a worthless waste of oxygen. Nora stayed locked in her room, and I was too lost in my own grief to entertain the idea of helping another person through the darkness.
I was dealing with a lot those first few weeks. I couldn’t differentiate between the emotional torture of what Josh had done to me and the devastation of having lost Ramsey. The pain was unbearable.
A lot of it stemmed from guilt.
What if I’d fought harder against Josh?
What if I hadn’t told Ramsey what he’d done to me?
What if we’d reported it to the police as soon as it had happened?
In every scenario, there was a “what if” in which I was to blame.
The story the police decided on was that Ramsey had flown into a blinding rage when he’d found out what Josh had done to me. I’d already caused enough damage to his case, so I didn’t bother to tell them that he’d taken his shoes off and lain in bed with me for well over an hour while I cried in his arms. Ramsey wasn’t violent, but they painted the picture of a monster.
As I forced my legs to carry me into the courtroom the day he was to be formally sentenced, I decided that if he was a monster, then I was a monster too. I still loved him with my whole heart and my entire being.
The stares I got that day with my father standing tall at my side made me want to peel out of my skin. I had no idea that was the last time I was going to see him for over twelve years. In my mind, the fact that he was going to prison changed nothing.
There’d be phone calls, visits, and a future where we could pick right back up where we’d left off. We were still a team. When he looked at me over his shoulder just before he was escorted out of the courtroom and mouthed, “I love you,” I naively believed we were on the same page. He was gone before I had the chance to reply to him that day. He knew though.
Our love wasn’t defined by time or circumstance. Or, at least, that was the romantic musing of a sixteen-year-old girl who had no concept of how much a person changed in the sixteen years he’d been sentenced to.
Just like the day my mother died, the clock started. But instead of counting to how many minutes he’d been gone, I was officially counting down.
My father drove me home and it was the strangest feeling. Mainly because, for the first time since we’d lost my mom, it wasn’t strange at all. We had a newfound respect for each other. We’d both loved and lost. And now we were both going to survive. Simple as that.
When we pulled into our driveway, the sound of Nora screaming could be heard up and down the street. Without the first thought or concern, I took off at a dead sprint.
Ramsey had told me a lot of stories about their dad. He was an abusive drunk who hated his children for no other reason than they reminded him of their mother. The bastard hadn’t even gone to his own son’s sentencing.
Nora was fourteen and a freshman in high school. She didn’t need a babysitter anymore. But there was no fucking way I was abandoning her with that asshole now that Ramsey was gone.
“Thea!” my dad yelled after me. “Stay out of it.”
I couldn’t stay out of it. Nora and Ramsey were my family. I didn’t slow as my ballet flats pounded against the grass through the neighbor’s yard to their house.
“You didn’t even try to help him!” Nora screamed.
I slung the door open without knocking and then my blood caught fire as I watched him charge Nora, pinning her to the wall with a hand around her throat. Streams of crimson dripped from her lip, and her eye was already starting to swell shut.
“Get your fucking hands off her!” I yelled, giving him a hard shove that did nothing to move him.
“You fucking whore!” her dad roared, releasing Nora and turning his anger on me.
Pain exploded inside me as I T-boned my back on the open door in my frenzied attempt to stay out of his reach.
His vile breath ghosted across my skin as he leaned in close. “You ever put your hands on me again and I will slit your throat. Do you understand me?”
And then he was gone. He went stumbling back, falling flat on his ass and cracking his head on the coffee table.
My father stepped in front of me, fury rolling off him in waves.
“You son of a bitch,” Mr. Stewart said, touching his temple to check for blood. There was plenty of it.
My dad didn’t say anything for a long second, but he reached back and took my hand, giving me a reassuring squeeze. I moved in close to his back, feeling his chest rising and falling with labored breaths.
Joe Hull wasn’t a fighter. He was a quiet man who owned a barbershop. But that day, he was my hero. And it had nothing to do with him physically stepping between me and Ramsey’s father.
“Nora,” he rumbled. “Get your things. You’re moving in with us.”
“What?” she croaked.
“Now, Nora,” my dad ordered. “Thea, go help her. Throw the stuff out the window and we’ll get it from the side of the house after we get her cleaned up.”
I slapped a hand over my mouth and peered around him to look at Nora. The relief in that young girl’s shoulders as she started to cry would stay with me for the rest of my life.
She didn’t have much, so it only took us about ten minutes to pitch it all out of her bedroom window. I was tempted to crawl out after it so we didn’t have to walk back through the house and see Mr. Stewart again. But my dad was still in there, and there was no way I was leaving without him.
I have no idea what they were discussing as we entered the den. Nora’s dad was still sitting on the floor, but he was holding a towel to the back of his head and my dad was squatting in front of him, whispering inaudibly. They weren’t brawling, so I took it as a positive sign.
I curled Nora into my side, and together, we hurried to the front door. We’d almost made it out the door when Mr. Stewart called out. “Have a nice life. God knows, you ruined mine.”
She choked on a sob, and then we left her father’s house for the very last time.
One week later, Nora’s dad moved in the middle of the night. He’d left Ramsey’s room untouched, so we were able to sneak over and gather most of his belongings before the landlord cleaned it out.
The very next day, my father produced signed and notarized papers granting him temporary guardianship of Nora. We all knew it was permanent though.
And the day after that, my father added Nora to his health insurance and our new family of three started therapy.
Under the crisp white lighting of my new bathroom, I leaned toward the mirror and inspected my face. Jesus. When had I gotten so damn old?
Yes, there were mirrors in prison. They were small rectangles of metallic painted plastic bolted to the wall. They would have been more useful as funhouse mirrors rather than anything else.
Drawing my eyebrows together before popping them up, I watched thin lines dance across my forehead. Had those always been there? Making a mental note to look at Nora’s forehead later, I ran a hand over the top of my hair, smoothing down the styling cream. I needed a trim. I should have asked Jared before I left, but I’d been too damn busy working my way through the line of guys I’d promised to cut one last time before I flew the coop. It was the downfall of being one of only two guys in the cell block allowed to work in the barbershop.
The day I’d been handed a pair of clippers almost eight years earlier, I’d thought it was Karma’s way of sliding my naked ass down a rusty razor blade straight into a sea of salt. The last thing I needed was a fucking reminder of Thea, much less to follow in her father’s footsteps with a set of scissors. I’d ha
ted the man for the way he’d abandoned Thea after her mom died, but when I’d found out he took Nora in, I’d felt nothing but gratitude.
I learned to love cutting hair. The job kept my mind occupied and my hands busy. I made friends with almost everyone who sat in my chair, including a few of the guards who would come in for a cleanup when they didn’t have time to go after their shift.
Working in the shop wasn’t exactly manual labor, but it was far from a cushy job like pushing the book cart or mail delivery. We had at least four lice breakouts while I was there. People were supposed to go to Medical for that shit, but those lazy fuckers just turned them around and sent them to me. I pretended like it pissed me off, but I didn’t mind. I got extra hours in the shop when there was lice. I’d work my ass off shaving everyone’s head and then spend even more time teaching them how to pick the nits off each other with a comb. By the time I’d get back to my bunk, I’d lie down and pass the hell out.
There was no staring up at the ceiling. No tossing and turning on the mat masquerading as a mattress. No counting down the days until Nora came for a visit. Nothing but thoughtless sleep while time melted off my sentence.
That was the main goal. Stay busy, try not to think, and sleep as much as allowed. Time passed faster that way.
Shower. Eat. Cut hair. Work out. Eat. Read. Sleep.
And that had been it. That had been my entire life since I was seventeen years old, minus a few months while I was working to complete my GED.
Now that I was free, I was standing in a bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror because I was so fucking bored and I had not one goddamn idea what to do.
I’d woken up before the sun.
I took a shower, not realizing until halfway through that I didn’t need to wear my shower shoes. I shaved with an actual razor that didn’t leave a red burn on my neck. I brushed my teeth with a toothbrush that hadn’t been snapped in half for fear someone would use the handle end to make a weapon. I walked around the room naked for a solid ten minutes, just to remember what it was like not to be surrounded by a roomful of other naked dudes. This led to some other naked activities when I remembered I wasn’t surrounded by a roomful of other naked dudes. This led to another shower, and when I got out, I sat on the bed and rubbed my toes in the carpet for twenty minutes.
