More Than We Remember

by Christina Suzann Nelson

  Emilia parked beside a truck with no hood or tires and more rust than paint. A scrawny cat peeked out from under the half-attached running board. “Come on, Cami. This is your stop.”

  Emilia let the girl out of the back.

  The eyes that had been flaming earlier now looked down at her shoes. She licked her lips but seemed to have run out of words.

  Emilia laced her fingers together. This wasn’t fair. Everyone in Cami’s life had ignored or abandoned her. There was a time when Emilia would have welcomed a kid like Cami into her home and done whatever she could to help the girl. Now she could barely keep the three people already there from drowning in the muck of day-to-day life. “Come on, Cami. Let’s get this done.”

  Rotten wood made up most of what had been the steps and porch. Emilia started up, but Cami stopped her. “We go in and out the back now.”

  “Thank you.” At least she’d stopped Emilia from breaking a leg.

  Around back, a dog was chained to a tree, his reach not quite to the door. He barked and foamed at the mouth, running after them again and again, only to be yanked back by his collar.

  Cami slid open the glass door patched with packing tape and disappeared down a dark hall.

  “Tom? You in here? It’s Emilia.” She leaned her head in the door to hear over the dog’s raspy bark. “I brought Cami home. I’d like to talk with you.”

  Bottles lined a table covered with car parts and long-abandoned food containers. The floor hadn’t seen a broom, much less a mop, in years. A lightbulb hung bare from wiring that draped from the ceiling. And the smell—a mix of filth and stale beer. How could anyone live like this, much less raise a child in these conditions?

  “What in the world do you want?”

  Emilia spun around, taking a step away from the voice.

  Tom stood too close for comfort, his skin sallow and pale. He was thinner than the last time she’d seen him and smelled of sweat and motor oil, with a touch of rotten coming from the blackened teeth that filled his sunken mouth.

  “Tom. Long time.” She didn’t finish the sentiment. “I brought Cami home. She was hanging out at the park, vaping.”

  Tom sniffed, then spit, barely missing Emilia’s boot. “So? What’s the problem?”

  “The problem is her age. She’s what? Thirteen?”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “If you say so.”

  “You’ve got to keep an eye on her. Underage vaping is a crime. I could have hauled her in; then you’d be dealing with a whole lot more than me.” She shimmied to the side. “Take care of your daughter, and keep her away from mine.”

  “Oh, your precious little princess is too good for our kind, is that it?” A bubble of brown tobacco spit gurgled down his chin. He slapped it away.

  “It’s not a matter of too good. It’s a matter of keeping my kid safe when you have no intention of doing the same for yours.” Emilia rounded the house before Tom could manage another insult. She’d call in Child Protective Services this time, not that it would do much good. They were understaffed and overworked, plus Tom’s aunt ran the call center.

  There was a time when Emilia would have packed Cami up and brought her to live with them. Time had gotten away, leaving Emilia in a world with no choices.

  17

  Brianne laid out a picture on the clipboard she used to hold other photos steady. She examined the portrait of Hannah, lost in the world of a book, lying in a hammock between two black walnut trees behind Caroline’s house. This one was perfect from the beginning. Brianne didn’t usually color photos of people, but Hannah had caught her eye that day, the way her face lit with expectations born in her own imagination.

  Hundreds of colored pencils, some short from use, some nearly new, stood upright in rows built into a box. Brianne ran her finger along the line of green, finding a Kelly green that would highlight the edges of the leaves. With golden yellows, she lit up the lighting behind Hannah, giving the setting a look of fantasy, as if the story had come to life around the reader.

  “Hey there.” Addison walked past the white picket fence, a DVD player under her arm.

  Two visits in a week. Brianne had gone from a hermit with little contact, to being stalked. Well, not stalked, but two visits were double the company she usually had in a month. And Addison had brought the DVD player that would force Brianne to pick up the next piece in a puzzle she wasn’t sure she wanted to solve. She let a smile replace her shock, remembering how her mother insisted guests feel welcome in their home. “Where did you come from?”

  “I think the real question is, where were you? I said your name three times.”

  Brianne rested her hand against her collarbone, the pencil still woven between her fingers. “I get lost in my mind sometimes.”

  “What are you working on?” Addison climbed the steps.

  Insecurity attacked, and Brianne held the clipboard to her chest. “Nothing. I’m just getting started.”

  “Oh, please let me see. I have no artistic ability, but I love to look.” She scrunched up her nose. “Please.”

  Brianne’s stomach wobbled as she lowered the picture to the table. “Remember what I said: I’m just getting started.”

  Addison covered her mouth with one hand and reached for the clipboard with the other. “This is amazing. You’ve captured my daughter. Not just her appearance. It’s like her soul is on display.” She looked at Brianne. “I’m so impressed. I mean, I knew you were an artist, but this is so subtle yet also powerful.”

  “It’s colored pencil on a picture. Anyone could do it.” Brianne pretended to arrange the pencils by color from light to dark.

  “Not a chance. You have an eye for detail. This is beautiful.”

  It was easy to impress a mother with the image of her flesh and blood. She’d seen parents hang on their child’s every accomplishment, taking the success as somehow an award to themselves. Parents were powerful people in a child’s life. They could boost a child, let her go to soar, or they could crush her before she had a chance to bloom.

  She was starting to wonder if that’s what Amanda’s mother had been doing. It was Brianne’s responsibility—her job—to protect Amanda, but she’d failed.

  “Please show this to Hannah sometime.”

  Brianne looked up. The skin between Addison’s eyebrows had formed two lines. “What?”

  “The picture. I hope you’ll show it to Hannah. I think she doesn’t see her beauty. I guess that’s a thing with thirteen-year-olds. Maybe if she sees this, she’ll see a bit of what I see in her.”

  “Everyone needs to see themselves through their mother’s eyes once in a while.” Brianne took the picture back, setting it on the table in front of her and covering the image with a protective sheet of parchment.

  “Not me.” Addison took the chair across from Brianne and rested the DVD player on her lap. “I know exactly how my mom sees me. I’m a waste, the person who ruined her life by being born, and her greatest disappointment. Let’s not make a portrait of that, okay?” One side of her mouth cocked in a crooked smile.

  “How did you figure out how to parent your kids with that kind of childhood?” Brianne leaned back in her chair.

  “Watching other women. It’s probably closer to spying.” A self-deprecating laugh buffeted the delicate link between them.

  How had Brianne missed this vein of insecurity Addison had running through her? “It sounds to me like you developed great coping skills. What did you learn from these other women?”

  Addison pulled the ponytail holder from the end of her braid and drew her fingers through her thick hair. “Everything, really. I watched how they dealt with toddler tantrums, organized their purses, how they dressed. I was starting to feel like I might finally fit in when we moved. It’s crazy how different life is in West Crow. It’s only thirty minutes from home, but it feels like another world.”

  “You use the word home to describe your old place often. Do you wish you’d remained there?” Brianne brushed the unsharpene
d end of a pencil along her chin.

  Addison blew out a breath, lifting her long bangs. “No. I’m glad we moved. Caroline needs us, and it was a brutal commute for Caleb. What about you?” She smiled at her joke.

  But Brianne froze, her heart stalling at the question.

  “Will you ever go back?” Addison leaned forward, her forehead a series of waves.

  The question peeled a layer of fresh scar from Brianne’s heart. She’d wanted to hide her past in a closet, never thinking about the people she’d worked with, the kids who’d been through so much. Would she do it again? There were aspects she missed. And there were the places in her heart that were still so raw and damaged, she wondered if they’d ever heal. Instead of helping her patients, Brianne had left with her own trauma to work through.

  Addison should have been a therapist herself, the way she waited quietly for Brianne to answer, the pressure pushing against Brianne’s better judgment. Much like Brianne had done with clients.

  “I miss the kids. The job was just too much. I guess my parents were right. I’m not suited to handle other people’s problems.”

  “Why would they say something like that?” Addison’s head tipped, and Brianne could easily imagine her watching the other mothers, taking in every detail. “You’re such a great listener. It seems like you would have been wonderful at your job.”

  “It was mainly my dad. He thought I was too sensitive to handle other people’s trauma.” She looked down at the edge of the table, examining the design in its top.

  Addison didn’t speak right away. They sat in silence, Brianne waiting for the next question that would reopen her old wounds.

  “Do you think there’s something wrong with Hannah?”

  Brianne dropped the pencil. “Why do you ask?”

  “I don’t know. She’s been so quiet since we moved here. And now there’s the accident. She’s never been a big talker, but I have no idea what’s going on in her head. Isn’t a mom supposed to have long talks with her daughter? That’s what it looks like on the Hallmark Channel. I guess . . . I’m afraid.”

  Common sense told Brianne to abandon this line of conversation altogether and to make it clear to Addison that she didn’t wish to be her therapist. But Addison had also awakened the same part of her that led her to practice child and family therapy. “What are you afraid of?”

  Addison tugged her hair over her face. “I don’t want to end up like my mother.”

  “Do you think you’re like her?”

  “I don’t think so, but how would I know?” She looked up, pinning Brianne with desperate eyes. “My mother used to tell me she was a good mom. I think she still believes that. What if there’s some kind of genetic component? What if I’m destroying my children and I don’t even know it? What if my husband is making a fool of me? I know he said he was with Jeff that night, but he wasn’t. Caleb lied about who he was with. What if that lie goes even deeper?”

  “I’m willing to make a deal with you. If I see that you’re doing anything harmful to your kids, I’ll let you know. I promise. But honestly, Addison, you seem like a great mom. I think Hannah is just a normal girl entering her teens. She’s likely to struggle a bit for the next few years, but that doesn’t mean she’s not okay.”

  Addison wiped a lone tear from her cheek. “Thank you. I can’t understand why you’d change careers. You’re so caring and understanding.”

  “I’m not giving you therapy; I’m just having a conversation with a friend.”

  Addison’s smile was so innocent it triggered Brianne’s guilt reflex.

  “Why don’t I spend a little time with Hannah. Maybe we could have a small art class.” Brianne held out a hand. “But, Addison, I’m serious, this isn’t my career anymore. I won’t make any diagnosis or suggestions. I can be a friend to her, and I can be a friend to you. Are you comfortable with that?”

  Addison stood and squeezed Brianne around the shoulders. “I’m more than comfortable. I’m blessed. Without you, I would have come undone these past three weeks. Thank you.”

  Brianne returned the hug, but the sentiment was something else. Did she even know how to be a friend anymore? Amanda had taken far more than her own life. She’d taken a piece of Brianne’s too.

  “Oh.” Addison covered one eye with her palm. “I nearly forgot. Would you come over this afternoon? We’re not doing much because Caleb is still moving slowly, but we thought we might have a picnic together before I take the kids for fireworks.”

  “That sounds perfect.” Brianne’s face warmed. She hadn’t even realized today was the Fourth.

  Message to Seth Wallace:

  Brianne Demanno has accepted your Facebook friend request.

  18

  By five o’clock, the sun was still blazing hot in the cloudless sky, but West Crow was turning up the volume. Pops, snaps, and sizzles filled the air, along with the acrid scent that came with fireworks.

  Emilia pulled up in front of her home and got out of the squad car. She drew her forearm across her face, wiping away accumulated sweat. The air conditioning in the museum-worthy car wasn’t up to the challenge of a July day.

  In a couple of hours, the masses would make their way to the park where the evening’s show could be seen over the river. That’s where Emilia would be, still in uniform, along with every other person who’d sworn an oath to protect even the thankless of West Crow and the surrounding areas.

  Roger and Tally wouldn’t be at the festivities. Roger couldn’t handle the noise, and Tally could stare at her wall for the rest of summer. It served her right. She knew better than to hang out with those girls and vape.

  Emilia thought back to the fight she and Roger had had the night of the accident. It had been about Cami. Emilia, still naïve at that point, thought Cami would be okay as long as they gave her what she was missing at home.

  The past thirteen months had changed everything about Emilia, including her ridiculously hopeful attitude. People were nasty, selfish creatures. They destroyed whatever got in the way of their desires. If Emilia didn’t stop this thing with Cami, in a few years she could be visiting her daughter in prison or in a home like the one she’d returned Cami to today.

  Inside, Emilia’s house was dark, the blinds pulled. The window air conditioner pushed out cold air at top speed, blowing away the money that she would make on today’s overtime.

  Emilia stood for a moment in the icy stream of air, letting it send a chill over her skin. She had half an hour to stop at home for dinner and make sure Tally knew that leaving this house tonight would mean a loss of privileges until the next time Mount St. Helens erupted.

  She pulled a watermelon from the fridge, cutting it into slices, then dropped a few hot dogs into a saucepan, covered them with water, and set them on the burner.

  Hot dogs, buns, and watermelon. That would have to do for the Cruz’s Fourth of July celebration. It would be as festive as they’d been in months.

  Emilia tapped on Tally’s door as she opened it. Tally stood by the mirror. Cutoff shorts cut three inches higher than anything Emilia would allow her daughter to wear and about two sizes too small stretched across Tally’s slight hips. A tank top stamped with the image of the American flag hit halfway between Tally’s belly button and rib cage.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Emilia’s pulse raged. She’d been a thirteen-year-old girl once. The question didn’t need to be asked. But it was out there now, ready for any lie that might follow.

  Tally pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes. “This is my room. What do you think you’re doing in here?” She put her hands on her hips and cocked her head, chin high.

  Anger and adrenaline buzzed through Emilia’s arms. The cool of the air conditioner was gone. “Phone. Now.” She held out a hand to her daughter.

  “You don’t have any right to my phone. It’s mine.” Tally’s cheeks colored.

  “Oh, I see. I must have forgotten that you’re paying the bills around here.” Emilia spot
ted the cell on Tally’s unmade bed. She snatched it up and punched in the security code.

  “How do you know my pass code?”

  Emilia looked up with her own smug look. “I just do.”

  Sure enough, Tally had been texting with Cami, and they had a plan for the night that didn’t include reading books and enjoying the sunset. The cell phone meant to keep Emilia in touch with Tally had backfired. What had happened to her daughter? How could she have been lost so quickly? A year ago, she had been a little girl who wanted to do little girl things. Now Emilia was balancing a new teen who was trying to change the spelling of her name to r-e-b-e-l.

  “I’m keeping this for now.” Emilia held the phone over her head. “And I’ll be talking to Cami and her father. On top of that, you’ll be seeing me, as well as a multitude of my coworkers, driving by all night. I suggest you don’t make any crazy moves, young lady.” A knot pulled tight in her stomach. She sounded like one of those out-of-touch, doesn’t-understand-her-own-kids mothers. But she and Tally had been so close, like sisters.

  She took in the girl in women’s clothing, makeup applied too dark around her beautiful brown eyes. Emilia had to reach her before it was too late. She picked at what was left of her thumbnail and turned toward the door. “And get rid of those clothes.”

  The walls shook with the slam of the door, followed by sobs. Emilia had once wanted a large family. Seriously, what had she been thinking? One ninety-five-pound girl was doing her in. And without Roger’s help, she no longer had the advantage of numbers.

  Emilia tucked the cell phone into the pocket on the outside of her leg. She switched on the fans around the house in hopes that the noise would soften the thunder of the fireworks display. The scent of salty hot dogs circulated in the air.

  Emilia got to them just in time to take them off the burner before they were too overcooked to eat.