“Clearly, you didn’t follow my counsel though, or we wouldn’t be in this situation.”
She was referring to Cash.
“You’re impossible.”
I tossed and turned in bed, knowing it was the right thing to do—to leave Cash to live his own life. If I went back to Dillon Creek and told him my mother had lied, he’d hang on for the rest of his life. And what if the cancer did return? Then, he’d be stuck. I’d push him away and tell him to live his life, but I knew it would be no use.
Also, I knew from now on, Cash and I would never be the same.
I had seen the distrust when I moved without saying good-bye. I always knew there was hesitancy on his side.
He’d likely get married to a nice barrel racer with blonde hair and perfectly white teeth. They’d have two beautiful children, and they’d probably settle back in Dillon Creek. They’d go to church on Sundays and volunteer for school and community events. She wouldn’t get cancer, and if she did, she’d be in her late eighties, and Cash would have already passed away. She’d have good kids to take care of her until she took her final breath.
My stomach turned when I thought about my future. I’d live, guarded. I’d be successful at whatever I did because that was what I did. I knew I was smart, and I knew that I’d most likely get lost in my work. There would be a day when I wouldn’t know what day it was because I’d worked the last seventeen days straight. But it wouldn’t matter because I wouldn’t have a family, no one to come home to, not even a pet, not even a fish named Roland. I’d do takeout for most meals, and I’d send my laundry out on Fridays.
I’d be lonely, but my heart wouldn’t get broken. I’d live without heartache, but I wouldn’t long for anyone.
It would be safer that way.
It was the less broken way.
It was the right choice.
What would my mother tell my grandparents? Surely, the Atwoods would bring it up with my grandparents—the fact that the cancer had come back. Maybe my mother would tell my grandparents, but I surely wasn’t going to. That wasn’t going to sit on my conscience.
Marmie peeked in the door. “Scarlet?”
I sat up in bed and rubbed my eyes. “Marmie?” I whimpered and sobbed.
Quietly, she shut the door behind her and came to my bedside. I fell into her arms.
“Marmie, it’s awful. Did you hear?”
Marmie’s arms cocooned my body, and I felt safe. Less worried about the world around me, my future, Cash’s future.
“Shh … oh, child. If there is anything I’ve learned about life, it’s that the only thing we can control is ourselves. We can’t control what others say and do. But if we can accept this situation for what it is, we will find peace. Nothing happens in God’s time by mistake. Because of this situation, you will live, you will thrive, and you will go on and do great things in this world, child. Do you understand me?”
I clung to her words like a thirsty man walking through the desert, and I nodded.
“Always remember that grief is the price we pay for love. Now, lay your head down on the pillow, and I’ll stay until you fall asleep, all right?”
I nodded again as I slid back between the covers.
She stroked my head until I could no longer keep my eyes open.
Quietly, before I drifted off to sleep, I prayed for Cash, hoping that one day, he’d understand why I’d left.
41
Cash: Age 18
Dillon Creek, California
My brother died, and I couldn’t save him.
42
Scarlet
Present Day 2020
I’ve been sitting with this for a whole day.
Pacing.
Thinking.
Driving myself insane.
Calls to my mom with no answer.
Fury wreaking havoc in my bones and in my heart.
Unsure of who to turn to. Both my grandparents gone, Marmie gone, Cash MIA. And my mother was the root cause of this.
Anna.
I could call her. Ask her to meet me. But what if she rejects the idea? What if I’m so incredibly wrong and I make this accusation?
But I can’t sit on this any longer by myself, or I’ll drive myself insane.
I could call Whitney. My therapist back in Boston.
Yes. This is the first right thought I’ve had in the last twenty-four hours.
I grab my phone from my purse and call Dr. Whitney Stone.
“Doctor Stone’s office. This is Mara. How may I help you?”
“Mara, it’s Scarlet Brockmeyer. Is Whitney in?”
“Oh, Scarlet. Let me check, okay?”
I wait, tapping my bare foot on the hardwood floor. I move from a sitting position to a standing position, rubbing my earlobe, biting my thumbnail, full of nerves and fear and anxiety—something I haven’t had in an awfully long time.
“Scarlet?” I hear Whitney’s voice.
“Yeah, hey. Whit, do you have a minute? I could use some help.”
That is when the tears start to flow uncontrollably. Asking for help is hard, but it’s even harder for a steadfast woman who’d rather work than feel. Who’d rather tough it out than sit with her emotions. Who’d rather run—than meet herself alone in a room.
After a few minutes of Whitney talking me through the tears and the emotions—telling me to breathe, using her gentle, expensive words she learned in school to help me calm down—I fill in the missing pieces of the story about who I think my father is.
She’s quiet for a moment after I finish.
“Do you want to know the answer? Do you want to know if James Cain is your father or not?”
“I … I don’t know.”
“Scarlet, it was only once, but several years ago, you said you wanted to know where half of you came from. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“I’d destroy a family. A family in my hometown. An upstanding family.”
“No, if the results come back positive and he is your father, you are not responsible. James Cain is responsible for destroying his family. You did not create yourself. You have always felt overly responsible for things that are not your duty to take on. You’ve proven this to yourself time after time. Your cancer—not your responsibility. Thinking you could be responsible for Cash’s destiny from your mother’s manipulation. Protecting your mother for years because she’s your mother. Have you ever stopped to consider that none of this is your fault, Scarlet?”
She waits for an answer I can’t give her.
“Yes, I’m your therapist, but I’m also your friend. You were raised in an environment where manipulation was key. Scar,” she whispers, “you created Marmie from your own imagination, out of loneliness and to feel safe when your mother left you for months at a time.”
This is the second time we’ve ever discussed this in the two years we’ve been working together.
Marmie was a figment of my imagination, made up to be what I thought a mother should be.
Marmie was a coping mechanism I used to protect my subconscious, a safety blanket so I wouldn’t use the abandonment as an issue later down the road. Sure, there were women who came and went through a revolving door to take care of me throughout my upbringing, women who came to collect a paycheck, treated me as though I was just an item to check off on their to-do list, but it was Marmie who held my heart together.
“This was your mind’s way of protecting itself,” she adds. “What are you going to do, Scarlet? Are you going to sweep this under the rug, like you’ve done in the past? Hide it because you’re afraid to rock the boat, feel through things? Or are you going to do what you want to do deep down? And in my opinion, that’s to know who your father is.”
“What if I’m wrong?”
“What if you’re right?”
“Maybe I can share this with Anna.”
“That’s a good start.”
“Call me tomorrow after you talk to her.”
“Tomorrow?”
&nb
sp; “Yes, that means you’ll need to talk to her tonight. I’m giving you a deadline, Scar.”
I nod even though she can’t see it, and I rub my earlobe. “Okay.”
“Call me if anything comes up.”
“I will.”
“Okay.”
“Whitney?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. You have no idea—” But I pause mid-sentence because I feel the tears well in my eyes. I push them down.
“I know, honey. I know. Scarlet, we all need help from time to time. You are no exception to that rule. You’ve spent your whole life trying to fix, trying to keep the peace, trying to hold shit together and stuff it down. You were bound to explode. This is your time, Scarlet. You can choose to sit in the problem or walk through to the solution.”
“Are you all right, Scarlet?” Anna asks as she takes a seat across from me at Las Cazuelas in Fortuna.
I couldn’t let this information leak out in Dillon Creek without facts. Besides, Fortuna might have Pearls and Delveens, but it’s a lot bigger town and rumors and gossip spread a lot slower.
With me, in the small envelope in my purse, are the facts I came across.
“I could use some wine,” I say.
The waitress walks over to our table to take our order. I can’t even think about eating, but I order a few tacos anyway.
After I give this information to Anna, she might not be able to eat either.
The waitress brings our drinks. I down my wine before I start.
“So … I … so … you … you asked about an address on Haight Street in Chicago.”
“Yeah, that turned out to be a dead end.”
My heart pounds against my chest, but the wine slowly reaches my mind allowing my nerves to calm just a bit. “Well, I remembered something.”
I could stop right now, not destroy Anna’s life, her family’s life. I could run.
But Whitney’s voice plays in my head. “You can choose to sit in the problem or walk through to the solution.”
I want to be free.
I’m slow to speak. “My mom … my mom … when we made the move to Chicago, she asked a gas station attendant where Haight Street was.”
“What?”
I sigh, reach in my purse, and take out the envelope with the letters to my mother. I push them across the table to Anna.
Confused, she opens the envelope and takes them out.
This could go two ways. One, she could write me off as looney. Two, she could embrace this crazy story.
“I found these in a box in the attic when I was cleaning it out to sell the house,” I say as background noise. “It was hidden, as if someone didn’t want these things to be found.”
She begins to read the letters.
I ask the waitress for another glass of wine.
My stomach twists and turns as I, too, try to wrap my head around this.
After she’s done, she’s white. Her mouth falls open. “My dad … is your dad?”
My words are caught in my throat as Anna says the words out loud.
“I-I don’t know.” I stare back at her.
She leans back in her chair, dumbfounded.
“You’re not mad?”
Anna’s head falls to the side in confusion. “Mad? Why would I be mad? I mean, hell yes, I’m mad, but not at you, Scarlet.” Her eyes grow to the size of saucers. “You didn’t do anything to deserve this. If anything, you should be mad. Your father was fucking MIA for twenty-nine years, and that’s bullshit.”
I remember Marmie’s words. “The only thing we can control in life is ourselves. We can’t control what others say and do. But if we can accept this situation for what it is, we will find peace. Nothing happens in God’s time by mistake. Because of this situation, you will live, you will thrive, and you will go on and do great things in this world, child.”
“I’ll make him agree to a paternity test.”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary.”
Anna’s mouth falls open. “Not necessary? Scarlet, he owes you an explanation. At the very, very, very least, he owes you that.”
Relief spreads throughout my entire body. Not because of what Anna just said, but because she’s come to the same conclusion I have—James Cain is my father.
“Look, I’ve made it this far without a father. I’m not sure I want him to know.” Instantly, I realize what a position this puts Anna in. Knowing she most likely has a half-sister and that her mother, Amelia, and Adam have no idea. “I-I don’t want to put you in an awkward place, Anna. I know this must be hard for you.”
“Look, this isn’t about me, my mom, or our sister and brother. This is about you. My mom’s filed for divorce. She’s free and clear of his bullshit. But can I let you in on a secret? I know Amelia and Adam would be delighted to have another sister. And, yes, my mom might be caught off guard, to say the least, but she’s always known the kind of man my father is. This won’t blindside her. Think about it and let me know what you decide.”
I nod as the waitress comes back with our food.
“Who’s hungry?”
My text is still unanswered by Cash.
I let us slip away once. I won’t let us slip away again.
I call him, and it goes to voice mail, so I leave a message.
I don’t call Laurel because I don’t want to draw concern, so instead, in the cold December air, I drive up to Lost Hill barn.
“Cash?” I call out, my voice echoing off the concrete floor, ricocheting.
A slow moan comes from above.
“Cash?” I look up.
Another moan.
I climb the ladder to find him in a ball with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. “Cash.” A rush of air leaves my lungs. I go to him.
He’s pale and weak, and he reeks of alcohol.
“Cash?” I take his face in my hands.
Guilt starts to meander through my chest. How long has he been like this?
These are the same clothes he left my house in.
“Scarlet,” he whispers. “I’m not okay …”
“I know. I know.” I curl around his body, checking his pulse at the same time.
And he starts to cry. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Through his drunken bender, he begins to tell me about the summer after I left. Losing me and his brother in one summer.
What he saw.
What he never said.
And secrets that he’s kept buried deep within him to protect the ones he loves.
Once he’s done, I get him downstairs and take him to the hospital.
Cash was always taking care of me during the most difficult times of my life.
It’s time I take care of him.
43
Cash
Present Day 2020
Nervous, I knock on Scarlet’s door at the old Brockmeyer house, spinning words in my head like I’ve been doing for the past few days. Although I don’t remember much, I remember her at the hospital room door, standing there like an angel, full of sadness and relief. I’m not sure how the two emotions existed together, but she made it look beautiful.
She left, and I haven’t seen her since. Deep down, I know why.
I needed time with my family to tell them the dark secrets I’d kept in for so long.
I wanted to be free, and if I wanted that, then I needed to let go.
Scarlet answers, and my heart stops. Her red hair sits in waves down her shoulders. And our life together flashes before my eyes.
At six.
At seven.
At nine.
At ten.
At twelve.
At thirteen.
And seventeen.
She leaves me breathless, just as she’s always done.
“Hey,” I say anxiously, my breath reflected in the temperature outside.
“Hey. Come in, please.”
The rain starts.
We sit down on the couch.
“I think we need to talk,” she says
.
My gut wrenches. She’s better off without me, and I understand. I’m just here to apologize.
But she takes my hand. “For a long time, I held this in,” she says, “and I’m terrified that if I don’t say this now, I never will.” She looks into my eyes. “I guess I was trying to control destiny. Give you an easy way out. When I was seventeen … the cancer never came back.”
“What?”
“No. My mother told you that, so I could live the future she wanted for me and not what I wanted for myself.”
“But my react—”
She puts a finger over my lips.
“I was scared the cancer would come back, and I knew you would fight tooth and nail to keep me. I knew you’d come to your senses later that day. You’d apologize and feel awful. You’d never leave me, even if it meant robbing yourself of a future. I know now that things work out the way they’re supposed to, but I didn’t know that as a naive seventeen-year-old girl.”
I pause for a moment to process what Scarlet just said to me.
“Honestly, Scarlet, after my brother died, I was so fucked up. I’m sure I would have found a way to push you away because you deserved so much better than who I was at that time. And to be quite honest, I never liked your mom.”
Instead of defending her, like she’s always done, she says, “I didn’t like her behavior.”
“We can agree on that.” I look into her eyes, and without thinking, I run my finger along her jawline. “I’m sorry you had to find me like that—in the barn.”
“If we can’t be vulnerable, what else can we be? Vulnerability is our truest self. So I’ve learned.” She smiles.
“That night I came over for dinner, my anger toward you had nothing to do with you at all. It had everything to do with my brother.”
“After you told me everything in the barn, I saw the whole picture.”
“Oftentimes, the ones we love most in this world get the shitty end of the stick when it comes to stress.”
“Love most?”
“That’s never changed. I’ve always loved you most.” I pull her mouth to mine and gently kiss it.
Leaving Scarlet Page 22
