A chill that started somewhere between my shoulders surged through the rest of my body until I was ice. Surely she wasn’t implying... I had to remind myself to breathe. “Wait. Are you saying... you knew about that?”
“I’m your mother.” She closed the visor, apparently satisfied with whatever she’d been looking at. “I know everything.”
“You never said anything.”
She tilted her head. “What would I have said?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Anything! You could have comforted me. You could have tried to stop it.”
She reached to cup my face in her hands, but I drew back. “I didn’t have to, baby. You stopped it all on your own. I saw the way you avoided him. It practically stopped before it started.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means no real harm was done. You learned to take care of yourself. If anything, it made you stronger.”
“Stronger?” I choked on the word. “How could you think it made me stronger?”
My mom dismissed my question as if I was a child. “Now, don’t be maudlin, Chastity. Do you know how many women go through that sort of thing? I had to endure something similar, and I got through it.”
“All these years, I didn’t say anything because I thought you’d be upset with me, but you knew? And you... you could have helped me?” Pain stung my hands, and I looked down to see red fingernail marks where I’d been digging into my palms. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
She splayed a hand across her chest. “I didn’t want it to hurt your career. It would have been a long, drawn-out process of trying to explain what had happened. And you might have been labeled ‘difficult,’ and nobody would have wanted to work with you. It was better not to say anything. Besides, you were okay.”
“I was not okay, Mother. I have never been okay.”
“Baby—”
“No! I’m not your baby. I’m a grown-ass woman.” I pushed her hand away as she reached for me. “All this time, I remembered what happened. I held this secret inside, unable to talk to anyone about it—especially you. You should have talked to me. This is not okay.”
“Chastity,” her voice quivered now. “Being a mother is hard, and being the mother of America’s sweetheart is even harder. I only did what I thought was best for you. Everything I have ever done has been for you.”
She spoke convincingly enough. Hell, she probably even believed what she said. But it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be because there was no way her actions were for my benefit. These were not the selfless acts of a loving mother. She should have gotten me out of there—should’ve at least talked to me about what had happened so that I didn’t blame myself.
No, she didn’t do that for me. She did it for herself. I couldn’t even attempt to understand her reasons, and I didn’t want to. Then a shocking realization slammed into my chest. The mysterious and sudden arrival of the paparazzi, the things they knew... “It was you,” I hissed. “You sold me out?”
My mother stared at me, and I could see that she was trying to remain composed. “I don’t know what you mean, dear.”
I pondered her use of the word “dear” in comparison to Martha’s. When Martha used the pet name, it was a term of endearment. When my mother did, it was belittling. Her voice was colder than I’d ever heard. She was a good liar. Usually, when she wanted something, or wanted to impose her will on someone, she used a melodious voice. This tone was like nothing I’d ever heard. It was obvious she was lying, but this time the stakes were too high. She couldn’t resort to her standard tactics.
I gaped back and said nothing. What could I say? We both knew the truth. I shook my head, dazed, and reached for the car door. There was no reason to stay in that car with her if she couldn’t be honest with me now.
“I did it for you,” she pleaded and grabbed my arm to stop me. “I wanted you to be able to come home. You don’t need to be here anymore, and I knew you weren’t ready to leave. And your sentimental attachment to this boy here... well, that’s a disaster waiting to happen. He’ll ruin your life. You’ll stay here for him, and you’ll get stuck—or pregnant, God forbid. I’ve seen it happen. You know I grew up in this godforsaken place. And so many people just stay here and rot. Don’t you see? You’ll be stuck here forever, and he won’t love you, and you’ll end up miserable and alone.”
“Like you?” I realized. “I’m all you have. Without me, you don’t have anyone.”
My mom sniffled. “You are my life. Is that such a bad thing?”
How could I explain to her how messed up that was. She was crying now, not because she was remorseful, but because she knew she was losing me. Her actions were not easily forgivable. My whole life felt like a sham. It had only become real when I’d escaped her grasp. Even if I could believe that my mother wasn’t a horrible person for what she’d done, I could never accept that it was for my well-being. No, it was for hers. She wanted to cling onto me for the rest of her life. I was reminded of that documentary, Grey Gardens, about the mother and daughter living in filth in the Hamptons in the ’60s or ’70s. I think they just basically sat around their decaying house while cats and raccoons defecated on newspapers. That was the kind of codependent relationship my mother wanted to have with me. If I went back with her, that’s what it would be.
“This is unhealthy. Can’t you see that? You have to let me go! You are not good for me.”
“I am your mother. Of course I am good for you!”
“No.” I opened the door of the car and stumbled out, slamming it behind me.
“Chastity!” My mother jumped out after me.
“You need to leave,” I said flatly. “Leave, or I’m calling the police.” It was a bluff. I couldn’t imagine calling the police on my own mother. However, I was betting she wouldn’t want to create that kind of spectacle. Chastity Sullivan’s mother being arrested for stalking her own daughter would undoubtedly be headline news.
My mother reached her arms out to me, but I wasn’t anywhere near her. “I can fix this,” she promised.
“No. You can’t.” Suddenly, I was eerily calm. “And even if you could, I don’t want you to. I don’t want anything from you.”
“Chastity,” she begged, “just come home with me."
I shook my head, trying to dispel any pity I felt for her. She didn’t deserve it. “I’m staying here. You can’t hurt me anymore.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
My mom left after what sounded like a long, heated argument outside with my uncle. I couldn’t hear any specifics, and I didn’t need to. I sat on my bed with earbuds in, listening to the loudest music I could find stored on my new phone. I imagined this was what it was like for kids whose parents fought all the time. There was a shadow looming in the hallway throughout the argument, and I suspected Martha was acting as a bodyguard outside my door. Although, whether that was to keep me in or my mom out, I couldn’t be sure.
The rest of that day was spent in my room crying over what my mother had done. I was torn between which was worse: her selling me out to the press to somehow win me back or her complete lack of action when I needed her most in my life. She wasn’t a mother; she was an agent who cared more about my career than about me. A mother would have spoken up for her daughter, would have fought for me. A mother would have assured me that it wasn’t my fault. Instead, my mother let me live with this guilt and shame and fear that she’d find out and abandon me. But all the while, she knew.
My mother was manipulative and self-serving, and she clearly didn’t care about me. When I came to terms with that, the tears stopped. The contrast between her and Kenny and Martha was staggering. I spent my entire life with a woman who lied and swept things under the rug so that I would have a clean image. When I was younger, I told myself that she did what she did because she loved me. The woman I thought I knew and the woman who had been in that car with me were two very different people.
Meanwhile, I’d spent only a couple of months with Kenny and Martha, and I
had never felt so much warmth or belonging. Theirs was what I always thought parental love should be. They weren’t worried about what I could do for them. They worried about me—even when I was horrible to them. I didn’t understand it sometimes. Maybe I was the daughter they could never have.
I spent a week in the house laying low, mostly in the basement. The soapmaking thing was getting more enjoyable and gratifying every day. Sometimes Martha helped me, and sometimes she let me work alone. I liked working alone, which was nothing against her. My soap time was my meditation time. It put me at ease and helped to clear my mind. I thought about my new home a lot. More than ever, I wanted to stay with Kenny and Martha as long as they’d have me. Not only did I feel comfortable with them, I actually liked the slower pace of a small town. I liked knowing that there were people there looking out for me. Besides, my aunt and uncle needed me. Kenny was in questionable health, and the farm wasn’t running as it had in the past. I felt I was meant to be there to help them bring their business into a modern world. Getting my hands dirty didn’t bother me like it used to.
I thought about John a lot, too. Would he ever forgive me for accusing him of such awful things? Were we going to be able to pick up where we left off? I tried to ignore the gut-wrenching urge I’d had all week to run straight to him and beg forgiveness. He deserved more than that after what I’d put him through, and I deserved a little time to figure out what I wanted without factoring in a romantic attachment.
After all, this whole mess started when I tried to kill myself because of a guy. Well, perhaps that wasn’t the real reason. The buildup to that moment had been going on for some time. I had felt lost, alone, and empty. The lousy breakup was just the final push that threw me down the rabbit hole.
I wanted to have a plan before I apologized to John. Sure he was rude and obnoxious when we first met, but he was precisely the person I needed when I needed him. He grounded me and made me feel solid, not like a character in a story. Deep down, I was never upset that John told his mom about my past. It must have been nice to have a mom to talk with about that kind of stuff. I couldn’t begrudge him that. Our argument in the car replayed in my mind constantly, and the part that stuck out most was when he said he was falling for me. Despite the grim memory, a goofy smile crossed my face every time I remembered that.
Before I could sort things out with John, I needed to sort things out with myself. My week of solitude was meant for just that. It was my time to figure out what I wanted for a change. Heart-shaped soaps became my specialty, and when I started noticing that trend, I started devising a plan. How could I take care of the people that I loved—the people who had taken such thoughtful care of me?
Soap was filling the basement shelves, and I was running out of room for new batches. It was time to get out of my soap shelter and carry out my plan. Phase one involved some research. Of course, it wasn’t easy to do at the house because my aunt and uncle still lived in the Stone Age. When I first moved in, I was sure they were bluffing. They had to be hiding their computer from me to keep me from reading things about myself online. But a thorough house search concluded that they owned nothing newer than a prehistoric Dell, which had been stashed in the corner of the front closet. They had smartphones and said that was all they needed, so they’d never upgraded. I guessed they had a point. Those phones were basically little handheld computers. For my plan, however, I wanted to use something more manageable to navigate than a smartphone.
“Do you know anyone who has a computer?” I asked Kenny when I had finally come out of hiding. He was sitting in his chair in the living room, basking in the daylight pouring in. I did not welcome the light. I was still in yesterday’s pajamas and felt like a troll leaving its heckling spot under a bridge.
Kenny gave me a meaningful look. “John has one.”
“I know John has one.”
“I’m sure he’d let you use it,” Kenny continued hinting.
I crossed my arms and smirked at him. “You sure do like to meddle, don’t you?”
Kenny feigned a horrified expression. “What ever do you mean? You asked me a question. I gave you a reasonable answer.”
“You did,” I conceded. “But I can’t talk to John yet. I have a plan.”
Martha popped into the room from the hallway, startling me. “Ooo. What kind of plan?”
I laughed. At least it would never be dull around here with these two. If only I’d understood that from the beginning. I could have saved everyone a lot of grief. “I’m not telling just yet. So... any other ideas for a computer? Or is there somewhere I could buy one?” I wondered if they’d secretly bought me a computer, too, and were just waiting for the right time to give it to me. No such luck.
“You could go to the library,” Kenny suggested.
The library. It was something I wouldn’t have considered because, regrettably, I had never been to a library. The thought of going was thrilling, actually. It sounded like an adventure. A picture of an enormous cartoon library in a castle flashed in my mind, and I knew the library would instantly become my favorite place.
“That’s perfect,” I squeaked. “Where is it? How can I get there?”
Kenny reached into a wooden box on the side table next to his chair and pulled something out. “Why don’t I go with you?” He tossed me something, and luckily my reflexes were sharp. I looked down to see a shiny set of keys on a chain with a little cartoonish avocado-shaped squishy attached. How cute!
“Are these the keys to my car?”
Kenny nodded and smiled widely. “Figured I’d let you drive, and I’ll be the navigator.”
I whooped with joy, and Kenny and Martha laughed. It was like I was a fifteen-year-old being allowed to practice driving for the first time. In fact, when I started driving my new (well, new to me) car, it really did feel like that. Kenny gave terrible instructions on how to get to the library. He’d be talking about something completely unrelated, and then he would nonchalantly say “Turn right here” as I was even with that street. He also had plenty of comments about my driving. He’d say, “Well, that wasn’t really a stop” or “Slow down, you’ll hurt your tires on this gravel.” So this was what it was like to have a dad.
The library was an unassuming wood-shingled building in town. John and I had passed it several times, and not once did I expect it to be full of books. We walked up to the doors, and Kenny whispered, “Are you ready to be amazed?”
I laughed and said I was. My first step into that library was like stepping onto the sands of Cabo for the first time. That is to say, it was epic. It turned out I loved libraries, even if they didn’t all look straight out of Beauty and The Beast. The smell of the old, used books was enticing after I got over the initial observation that hundreds of people could have touched them. A few months ago, I would have been disgusted at the thought. I didn’t even like vintage clothing because it was used. Falling into piles of manure changes you.
After Kenny explained how libraries work—how embarrassing that I didn’t know at my age—and set me up with my very own library card, he sauntered off to find some books for himself and to let me explore. I started out walking through the rows of bookshelves, running my fingers along the spines of books I’d heard of or books that looked interesting. Once I had my bearings, I found the room with the computers and sat down in front of an old desktop computer with a sign above it that read: “Be Considerate. Use Your Ten Inch Voice,” with a picture of a shushing owl. I giggled at the image it conjured of a voice that was somehow ten inches long. Thankfully, nobody else was in the tiny computer lab to judge my random outburst.
I got out a little journal I had in my purse and began running various searches online. In no time, I had several tabs open and was scribbling notes so quickly that only I would have been able to read the handwriting. After almost two hours dedicated to my research, I was ready to get out of there. I found Kenny sitting in a comfy armchair reading Wind in the Willows, which he said was his favorite. After he checked
out his book and I checked out a copy of Emma, we headed outside.
“Well, was it everything you imagined?” Kenny playfully jabbed me in the side with his elbow.
“I think I’ll be spending a lot of time there.”
“A girl after my own heart—a lover of words.” We got into the car, and Kenny asked, “Want some ice cream?
“Sure.” I didn’t know if it was some sort of post-library high or what, but suddenly something extra sweet and sugary sounded perfect. I started driving to the DQ without needing any instructions and was proud I was beginning to know my way around town. As we headed down the main drag, I recognized a familiar old truck driving toward us in the opposite lane. “Oh no,” I yelped, ducking my head down and hiding it between my hands at steering-wheel-level.
“What are you doing?” Kenny hollered as he grabbed the wheel and steered us back to the center of the lane. “Oh,” he chuckled a moment later, presumably noticing John’s truck.
“Is he gone?” I asked through my hands.
“He passed us.”
I popped back up from my ridiculous position behind the wheel. “Do you think he saw me?” I tried to sound calm and cool as I continued driving.
“I think he wondered why there was nobody in the driver’s seat. If you didn’t want to draw attention to yourself...” he snickered as he trailed off. “When are you going to talk to him, Sis? I can tell you want to.”
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