by Hart, Rebel
“Ah, we don’t have to get into all that. Right now, we need to focus on—”
“Cecilia.”
My curt tone shocked her into silence, and I heard why. I sounded like my father. My voice filled the room like my father. I closed my eyes, trying to swallow down the taste of my father’s voice within my own.
“I’m sorry.”
She took my hand. “It’s okay.”
I shook my head, ignoring the dull pain I still felt. “It’s not.”
“You just wanted me to—”
“I sounded just like him, and that's not okay. Because my father isn’t an okay kind of man. You and I both know this.”
Damn it, I wished I could fucking look at the woman. To read her face. To look in her eyes. To let her know she wasn’t alone in all this.
I licked my lips. “What do you mean, he’s like your father?”
Cecilia paused. “I’m not sure if I should really be talking about something like that with you.”
“Why? Because Dad told you not to? Or because you don’t want to?”
And when she fell silent, I knew the reason why.
“Don’t let Dad be that control freak with you, okay? He gets it enough with me,” I said.
She squeezed my hand. “Your father can be a bit off the wall, can’t he?”
I snickered. “That’s one way to describe it.”
“My father was a bit off the wall, too.”
“How so?”
“Oh, you know. Randomly yelling over things. Never quite sticking to the rules he set out. One day, my sisters and I couldn't wear dresses that came above our knees. And the next day, it was full-length dresses only. No boys’ eyes should be on us. And if they were, it was somehow our fault.”
“Yikes.”
She giggled bitterly. “Yeah. It was a very traditional household. The women kept their heads down. Dressed modestly. Head to toe, if Dad preferred it that way. No makeup. No jewelry. No hair products. My father didn’t believe in those kinds of things. Material possessions and all that.”
“Were you raised Amish or something?”
Then the giggle was real. “We might as well have been. Though that still might be an insult to the Amish people as a whole.”
And that comment made me chuckle.
I squeezed her hand as the awkward conversation slowly started to flow. And in the back of my mind, I wondered why I hadn’t taken the time to talk with Cecilia sooner than this. I mean, she and my father had been married for a few years. And in those years, there were things about her I’d never known. Like her laugh. Her bright smile. The way her touch felt against my own. I didn’t know these things about her and she was my fucking stepmother.
Cecilia’s sniffing ripped me from my mind.
“What’s wrong?”
She swallowed hard. “I tried convincing your father to stay. I really did.”
I paused. “He’s not even at the hospital right now, is he?”
“I mean, I don’t know for sure. But I do know your father. And it’s been well over an hour since he’s come back to the room.”
“Yep. He’s left for his office or something.”
“I’m so sorry, Clint. I told him to put that damn phone away and pay attention to what was happening. Be present. But he just gets worse and worse with that work stuff of his.”
“Cecilia, I hate to break it to you, but he’s always been that way. There’s no ‘it’ getting worse. It’s just you figuring out that this isn’t behavior that’ll change.”
She sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”
I paused. “Are you okay?”
She snickered. “I believe that’s the question I should be asking you.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t ask you.”
“You know, I don’t know how to answer that question. I mean, your father and I have been together since you were fourteen years old. And now you’re lying in this hospital and I’m sitting here holding your hand and I realize I don’t know a thing about you.”
The silence that followed that admission was deafening. Because she was right. She didn’t know anything about me, and I sure as hell didn’t know anything about her. I tugged her hand, pulling her up from her seat as she sat down on the edge of the bed. She leaned over me, placing one hand on one side of my body as I continued holding the one in my hand I already had.
“All right. Good to know,” I said.
She furrowed her brow. “What?”
I snickered. “Your eyes. I didn’t even know they were hazel.”
“We’re a sad bunch, aren’t we?”
I shrugged. “We do the best we can.”
Tears rushed her eyes. “I really did beg for him to stay.”
“It’s fine. I know the kind of man my father is. There’s no use in begging with him, either. At least do yourself a favor and keep your dignity.”
“There are so many times where I should have—”
“It’s okay. There’s no use dwelling on the past, either.”
She wiped her tears away. “Again, isn’t this the kind of thing I should be telling you?”
“Eh, I’m sure we’ll get there.”
That made her smile. Which made me smile. And slowly, the burden of the hospital room lifted from my shoulders. The two of us talked for a little bit. I found out more about her home life as a child. How drastically different it had been from mine. And yet, how similar our own fathers were. I told her about my mother. Every question she asked, I answered. Including why my leather jacket was so important to me. For the first time in years, we opened up to one another. Learned more about one another. And the more I learned, the more I wondered how the hell my pathetic excuse for a father had snagged such a bright, beautiful, candid woman for a second wife.
“You’re way too good for my dad.”
She giggled. “Maybe so. But he does have a softer side.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure he does.”
“I know that sounds cliché and trite, but he does. At least, he did. I see it sometimes when we’re on vacation.”
“Well, tell him to send some of that softness my way. I could use some of it.”
We stared at one another and my eyes lingered on her face. Her hazel eyes stared back at me from a full face of makeup that seemed almost luminescent. She didn’t have a wrinkle on her face, courtesy of the botox I was sure Dad pumped into her skin. Her fake breasts were sky high, propped underneath her chin without any sort of effort. Her hair was pulled back in a modest fashion. Probably a habit she hadn’t broken from her childhood. And as I lay there, studying her, I realized something.
She reminded me a bit of Mom.
Guess Dad has a type.
“Do you need anything?”
Cecilia’s voice filled my mind and I shook my head.
“Nah. I’m good for now. Though I’d really like to see—”
A knock on the door interrupted my sentence, and I hoped it was Rae. Cecilia slid off the edge of the bed, whipping around to see who it was. I knew she wanted it to be Dad. While I wished it to be Rae. But instead, we were both disappointed as a man in a white coat came strolling in the door with a clipboard underneath his armpit.
My heart sank as he walked toward us. And I had a feeling Cecilia’s heart was doing the same thing.
“Hey, Doc,” I said.
Cecilia sat back down, quickly falling into ‘her place.’ She got out of the way of the man, making herself as small as possible as the doctor came to stand at my side. He silently checked my tubing. My I.V. My morphine drip. A few other things, before finally standing upright. I saw his eyes lingering on Cecilia for just a few seconds longer than was appropriate. Then he turned his attention back to me.
“All right. Since you’ve had an evening to rest and recuperate out of surgery, I think it’s time we discuss what you’re looking at in terms of your recovery.”
I nodded. “Fair enough. How long do you think I’ll be in the hospital?”
Cecilia sighed. “Thank the Lord.”
“But your recovery is going to be daunting. You’ll be on pain medication for a while. And there are police officers who are clamoring out here to speak with you once you’re able to recall your side of events from last night.”
I nodded. “You can send them in once we’re done talking.”
The doctor paused. “Do you want to wait for your father?”
Cecilia stood up before coming to my side. She found her voice as she reached for my hand, cradling it within hers. She looked that doctor straight in his eyes, even though I felt her hand trembling with nerves. Finding her place beside me when Dad should have been there himself.
“I’m here, and whatever you tell me I can relay to my husband,” she said.
And damn it, I was proud of her for finding her voice.
7
Raelynn
After I got sick on the side of the road, Michael made the executive decision to keep driving around. And I was thankful for it, because I couldn't go into my house like that. I’d still been too shaken up to deal with being alone. For all I knew, I’d walk right in on Mom and D.J. in the living room, and I’d erupt. Just completely unload all the stress and anxiety and worry on my shoulders off onto them. And they didn’t deserve that.
I mean, D.J. did. But not Mom.
We drove around and Michael made me eat my food. Despite the fact that I was convinced it might make me sicker, he convinced me otherwise. And again, he’d been right. The saltiness of the fries settled my nausea, and eating the chicken wrap leveled out my blood sugar. For the most part, my trembling stopped. The shaking in my hands ceased. Some of the nausea in my stomach abated, giving me a bit of rest.
Then Michael drove me out to that park.
We sat there on the bench where Clint and I had sat a few weeks back. A few weeks. Holy shit, it felt like a few months. A few years. I ran my fingers through my hair and kept sighing. I gazed off at that bright star between the trees, wondering if Clint was all right. And the entire time, Michael stayed by my side. Even though Allison bombarded him with phone calls. Even though she begged him to tell her what was happening. He didn’t tell her, and he didn’t leave my side.
Which pushed even more tears down my face.
I cried on Michael’s shoulder as we sat in that park. I ranted his ear off as I paced around in front of him. I regaled him with how Clint had found me out here. How much I wanted to shove his face into the dirt before he opened up randomly about his home life. Prompting me to talk about mine. I kept telling him story after story. How we made it back to Clint’s house. What happened. How he made me feel. I spilled it all out to Michael and he listened while nodding his head, drinking it all in.
And not once did he criticize me for it.
As the remnants of the sun began blossoming over the tops of the trees, Michael finally took me home. I was shocked when I didn’t see D.J.’s car in the driveway. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, at all. Nothing except Clint’s health and happiness. His healing and what he’d have to do for his recovery time.
“See you at school?”
Michael’s voice pulled me from my trance, but I shook my head.
“Not if I can help it.”
I gathered up my garbage and slid out of his car. I closed the door behind me, listening as he backed out of my driveway. I’d have to find a way to thank him later. But not now. Right now, I couldn't focus on anything else. Especially after I threw my trash away in the trash can out front.
Because the second my hands came into view, I saw I still had Clint’s blood on me.
“Shit.”
I unlocked the front door and pushed my way inside. I closed it behind me, leaning my forehead against it. A sound pacing down the hallway made me jump. The footsteps grew closer, then they grew frantic. I whipped around, watching my mother rush me. Watching her robe flutter behind her with her hair wild and maniacal around the crown of her head.
Then her eyes fell to my clothes.
“What the—? Rae, where the hell have you been? Are you all right? What are you—is this your blood!?”
She ran toward me, her slippers sliding across the floor as she took my hands within hers. She tugged me into the kitchen, murmuring to herself in Spanish as she sat me down at the kitchen table. Her hands ran over me, checking for wounds or gashes. Anything to explain the blood I’d completely forgotten I was covered in.
“It’s not mine,” I whispered.
Mom paused. “Then whose is it? Where have you been? I’ve been up all night, worried sick about you.”
I nodded slowly. “I’m sorry.”
She pulled up a chair. “Rae, look at me.”
I slowly turned my head to find her eyes, but I didn’t try holding back my tears. Mom wiped them off my face, brushing away more crusted blood as she grimaced to herself.
“Talk to me, princess. What’s going on?”
My lower lip quivered. “He’s so hurt, Mom. He’s in the hospital, and I can’t know anything.”
“Who’s hurt? Michael?”
“No.”
“Allison?”
I shook my head. “Clint.”
She paused. “That the boy from school you talked to me about?”
I nodded. “We—it—happened so fast, Mom.”
“Are you hurt, Raelynn?”
“I wish I was, instead of him.”
“Oh, sweetheart.”
She wrapped her arms around me and I sobbed against her. I heard myself wailing. I felt my chest heaving. It was almost like an out of body experience. My heart fluttered so wildly I thought I’d burst out from my chest and take off toward the rising sun. My legs locked up, shaking and trembling as my stomach slammed against my ribcage. It felt like my entire body was rebelling. Fighting back after years of being caged.
I shook against Mom, soaking her robe with tears as she stroked my back.
“I’m right here. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”
“They ran him off the road, Mom. They wanted to kill him.”
“Who did, sweetheart? Who wanted to kill him?”
“Those dumbass drunk boys!”
I shrieked it so loudly that Mom clung to me tighter. She stood up, pulling me against her as she slowly moved us from the kitchen to the living room. We fell to the couch and she pulled me into her lap, cradling me the way she used to do when I was a small girl.
She kissed the side of my head. “Tell me what happened.”
I shook my head. “I can’t—can’t—can’t ta—”
“Sh-sh-sh-sh-sh. It’s okay. Deep breaths for me, princess. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Okay? Like this?”
I tried to do as Mom asked, but my breathing was choppy. Weak. I couldn't breathe out as much as she was and I had a hard time drawing in air. But she worked me through it. She counted softly in my ear as I sank against her. Sank into the warmth and comfort I’d always remembered about my mother. My tears slowly dried and my body quietly calmed down. And after a few minutes, my breathing evened out.
“There’s a good girl. That’s my princess. I’m right here, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”
I sniffled. “Clint came to hang out with me after work last night. He wanted to hang out before bringing me home on his bike.”
She nodded. “Sounds like a good enough plan. What happened?”
I sighed. “Four boys drove up to us in some car. It was obvious they were drunk, too. A couple of the guys Clint knew from a fight that happened at school a couple days back or so. I don’t know. I can’t really remember the timeline anymore.”
“It’s okay. You can talk about whatever you want.”
“It all happene
d so fast. It’s such a blur. I just—they kept saying things to me. Looking at me. Licking their lips at me. Clint got them angry with him so they’d leave me alone. He told me to run, and I did. I hopped the fence to the elementary school playground and he took off on his bike.”
“My God, princess.”
“Next thing I know, I’m calling Michael to come get me. Calling 9-1-1 and telling them they have to get out there. We’re driving up and down roads with tires squealing in the distance. And then we come upon Clint’s bike.”
I felt my voice catching in my throat as Mom tucked my head into the crook of her neck.
“Where was his bike?”
My chest jumped. “Crushed into the metal railing of a bridge. Momma, he fell into the river. Twenty feet, down onto the bank. It was terrible, Mom. He looked absolutely mangled. He stopped breathing. There was water. Michael kept screaming at me. There were sirens and I kept calling out his name, trying to get him to wake up. I just couldn't leave him down there like that, Mom. I couldn't let him be alone. Please don’t be mad at me. Please.”
“I could never be mad at you. Ever. I’m just so thankful you’re okay.”
“Please don’t be mad. Please. Please, Mom. Please.”
I cried into her, wrapping my arms around her neck. I clung to her tighter than I could ever remember, and she rocked me side to side. I heard her singing a song in my ear. A Spanish lullaby she’d always sung to me as a little girl. It calmed my soul and soothed my fears, quieting down my tears.
Then a knock came at the door.
“Raelynn Cleaver?”
The man’s voice stunned both my mother and myself. Until it dawned on me.
The police.
The knock came again and Mom stood up with me. I slid to her side, walking with her toward the door as she cracked it open. I peeked around the corner with my tear-stained cheeks, studying the two officers standing on our porch.
Wow, Michael really wasn't joking.
“Can I help you?” Mom asked.
They brandished their badges. “I’m Officer Talbot. This here is Officer Williams. We need to speak with your daughter about an incident last night. A motorcycle wreck, supposedly involving a car full of boys?”
