Winter Flower

by Charles Sheehan-Miles

  Rick didn’t take long. Spent, he rolled off of me and got up and began to get dressed without words. I lay there staring off into space. Finally he said, “I got you something for your birthday.”

  He dropped a small jewelry box next to me. I sat up and opened the box. It was a pair of diamond earrings.

  I felt nothing but anger. He hadn’t bought the earrings. I had. I paid for them with countless men using my body. I wanted to flush them down the toilet. Instead, I looked up at him and met his eyes. “I love them. Thank you so much.”

  Brenna

  It rained heavily for the next several days. Rick was grumpy because business was slow, so I did my best to stay out of his way.

  The day after Rick had said it, I whispered to Nialla that Rick believed she’d been stashing money in the lining of her purse. She nodded wordlessly and no more was said about it. I hoped that meant she was going to get rid of it.

  One early morning Rick and Nialla picked me up from an outcall. I climbed into the back seat and he began to drive back toward the motel where we were staying.

  “I’m starving,” Nialla said.

  Rick said, “Let’s get some breakfast.”

  Nobody consulted me, of course. I just went wherever Rick took me. Even after two years, Rick treated me more like a piece of baggage than a person.

  Rick parked the car in the side lot next to Dave’s Diner, a crappy little place. We’d eaten there a couple of times before. I hated it. Early morning hours, the place was usually full of pimps trying to show off their girls. Sometimes they’d buy and sell girls in those booths.

  When we walked in, Rick went for one of the booths in the back.

  “I’ve got to go to the bathroom,” I said.

  Rick looked around, assessing the layout of the place, looking at the exits, the people, the locations of windows. He already knew there were no phone booths where the bathrooms were—the first time we came here, he’d walked me to the bathroom.

  He nodded permission. “Go ahead.”

  I turned and headed to the back as he and Nialla sat in the booth. As I walked down the short hallway to the bathroom, I passed the bulletin board and kept walking—then I froze. And turned back to the bulletin board. My heart started to pound, the pulse rushing through my face.

  A flyer was stuck on the bulletin board. A flyer with my face on it.

  I looked back toward the restaurant. Rick and Nialla were around the corner and couldn’t see me. I quickly tore the flyer down and ducked into the bathroom and locked the door.

  I gasped as I looked at it.

  The top of the poster said in all caps: “HAVE YOU SEEN THIS GIRL?”

  Underneath, in smaller letters, it said, “Our daughter Brenna was kidnapped in Virginia. She was last seen in Portland three weeks ago. Reward for information leading to her recovery. Brenna, we love you. Mom and Dad. Call 571-555-1572.”

  On the left, a mug shot from three weeks ago, me staring dead-eyed at the camera. On the right, me two years ago. I didn’t even remember that picture being taken. I was wearing the same clothes I’d had on the day I was kidnapped, and behind me was the VW Beetle Mom and Dad bought me for my birthday. On my face in that picture, I had an innocent, happy smile.

  The girl in that picture still had her mom and dad. She still had Sam. She still had her life, and innocence, and happiness. She was me … but not ruined.

  I began to weep. Most of the time I could contain the pain. Most of the time I could just keep going. But this was too much. This meant that they were still out there looking. They were still out there wondering where I was. They hadn’t moved on, they were grieving, they wanted me. All of Rick’s fucking lies were just that, they were lies meant to confuse and destroy me and keep me in his power.

  How close were they? My mom and dad might be right down the street? Had my mother touched this very flyer? Sam might be nearby. For a second, the old shame almost overpowered me. They had the mug shot, which meant they knew what I’d been doing when I was arrested. The shame was so overpowering I wanted to die.

  But then I realized that was lies, too. That was one of his lies, meant to keep me from them, meant to keep me leaning on him, listening to him. They knew what I’d been doing, and they’d still come all this way, they’d still come looking for me. They still wanted me.

  I clutched the flyer against my chest and struggled not to wail. Every part of me ached with longing and pain, emptiness and hurt, and loneliness so powerful I felt it like a yawning chasm in my soul.

  I wanted to go home.

  Twenty-Nine

  Erin

  “Hi, Mom.”

  Sam’s voice was hesitant. Breathy. It was eight o’clock in the morning, and the dirty motel room seemed particularly oppressive. I could hear the rain beating on the metal gutters, a loud clatter that portended floods. I’d opened the slightly mildewed curtains so I could see outside and maybe get a little light in, but it was pointless. It was a deluge outside.

  “Hey, Sam. Your dad told me … well, a lot. How are you? Are you in pain?”

  “I’m okay. My ribs hurt, and my face. But it could be worse. They gave me meds.”

  I swallowed. Despite the drenched world outside, my throat was dust. “I wonder if you can talk to me about … your dad … he said that you … that you were…” I trailed off. I seemed to have lost my ability to articulate anything.

  “A girl?”

  Sam’s statement was bold, challenging, firm.

  “Yes,” I said. “Can you tell me about that?”

  Sam took an audible breath, then said, “I-I’m not sure what to say, Mom. I’ve been this way my whole life.”

  I swallowed. “Your whole life?” I asked. “Really?” I didn’t mean to sound skeptical. But I’d known Sam his whole life. This seemed like a shot out of the dark.

  “Yes, Mom.” Sam went quiet for a moment, then said, “Do you remember throwing away Brenna’s old princess dresses? When she grew out of them, and I kept wearing them and you got mad? I’m not even sure how old I was, but it’s one of my earliest memories.”

  Jesus fucking Christ. I had to cover my mouth with my hand to keep from gasping audibly. Of course I remembered that. Sam had been inconsolable, he’d cried all afternoon. He was four when that happened.

  I didn’t take it seriously at all.

  Brenna had begged me not to throw them away, too. I remembered that. I had said, “But they don’t fit you, sweetie.”

  Six-year-old Brenna had looked me in the eye and said, “No, but Sam likes to wear them. Why would you take them away?”

  I had responded, “Sam is a boy, Brenna, and boys don’t wear dresses.”

  “Yes. I remember,” I whispered. “Brenna knew, didn’t she?”

  “Yes,” Sam said.

  A wash of memories flooded over me. Sending Sam back to the boy aisle in the toy store because he wanted to get the same Barbie dolls as Brenna. Christmas mornings, when Sam would turn up his nose at G.I. Joe gifts from Cole’s father, or those ugly alien toys that he never even took out of the box. He would politely say thank you but displayed no enthusiasm for such gifts.

  I remembered Brenna buying a purple leather-bound locking diary for Sam for his twelfth birthday. It had silver flowery detailing along the edges. Brenna had saved her allowance for several weeks to buy the gift. Sam had bounced out of his seat and spontaneously hugged Brenna.

  How could I have been so blind?

  “Tell me more,” I whispered.

  “Do you hate me?” Sam whispered back.

  I sucked in a breath. “No. I’d never hate you. Never. I just … I wish you could have told me. I wish you hadn’t had to keep such a lonely secret. I’m—” Oh Christ. I was starting to cry. I sniffled then wiped my eyes. “I’m so sorry, Sam. I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell me. I’m sorry I didn’t know.”

  “It’s okay, Mom,” Sam said.

  But it wasn’t. It was my job to know. The only thing I had to do with my
life was protect my kids. And I’d obviously failed both of them.

  Sam said, “Please don’t cry because of me.”

  “I’m not crying because of who you are. I’m crying because I wasn’t there for you. I’ll try to do better. I promise. Just … do me a favor?”

  “Yeah?” Sam asked.

  “Just talk to me, okay? I promise I’ll listen and won’t judge and … I miss you so much, you know.”

  “I miss you too, Mom.”

  I felt like I’d been holding my breath, and I’d just let it out. That was okay. I could do this. “So … can I talk to your dad for a minute?”

  “He went to see his parole officer. I don’t know how long that’s going to take.”

  Probably all day, I thought. “What are your plans?”

  “Packing. I’m going to see Hayley in a little while. She’s … in an emergency shelter. Her dad beat her up.”

  “Oh,” I said. I hadn’t met Hayley, but Cole had told me he thought she was being abused.

  “After that, we’re planning to get going. We’ll take turns driving so we can get there quicker.”

  “I’ll see you in a few days, then,” I said.

  “And then we’ll find Brenna,” Sam said.

  I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t want to say I was beginning to lose hope. But I was. I’d been putting up flyers for days. Talking to people up and down the track. I’d ridden along with Melody as she questioned informants and visited what seemed like every business hotel in the city.

  Stan told me he thought they’d left Portland and moved on to another city.

  “We’ll try,” I said. “Just … Sam—it’s still a long shot, okay? I don’t want you to be heartbroken if we can’t find her.”

  “Mom, I’ve been heartbroken since the day she disappeared. This won’t change that.”

  Of course that was true. But I’d been too selfish to see it. I’d let Sam wander off into his own little world on the Internet while I drank and mourned Brenna. I couldn’t do that anymore. My kids needed me.

  “I know,” I finally said. “I’m sorry.”

  We hung up, and I got up to take a shower. That morning, I was planning to canvas the side streets a little further south of here, then in the evening, I would be visiting the strip clubs along Powell Boulevard. That was a long shot, but both Stan and Melody told me that sometimes trafficked girls ended up working in strip clubs at least some of the time. I’d take the flyers and show them to the dancers.

  I turned on the water, which never got really hot enough here, and stepped into the shower. As I washed my hair, I couldn’t help but step through so many memories. Sam and Brenna playing in the backyard, four and six years old, all of their stuffed animals lined up around them as they had a tea party.

  We’d been happy then. Not just the kids, but me and Cole.

  We could be happy again. After we found Brenna, and brought her home. She’d need therapy. Lots of it, I’m sure. I couldn’t imagine how traumatized she was. But we had hope. Jeremiah’s offer to transfer Cole to Atlanta, to a new restaurant—it was stunning. In Atlanta, the odds of me finding a decent job—maybe one with decent health insurance—were much better. We could build our family again.

  I missed Cole.

  I’d not thought about it in a long time, but I still remembered waking up on Christmas morning in 1994, just a few months before I was to graduate from Georgetown. I’d been sulking for days because Cole couldn’t come back to North Carolina with me for Christmas that year, and he’d been mysterious about his plans for Christmas. I’d wandered downstairs to find Lori already rummaging through her stocking and Mom and Dad making breakfast.

  “Hey, sweetie,” Dad had said, his eyes bloodshot. He looked and smelled like he’d already been hitting the pipe, no matter how early it was. “Got something for you.” It had been a card.

  I opened it, puzzled. The card was handwritten, in Cole’s handwriting. The message didn’t say Merry Christmas, or anything normal like that. It read: Go to the place where you keep your shoes.

  Weird. I had gone out to the front hall, where Mom and Dad had a plastic tray we kept shoes in. There was an envelope in there. It led to the shed out back. Another card led to the living room.

  “Do you know what this is about?” I’d asked Lori as I passed. She just giggled.

  I huffed and followed the next clue to the upstairs bathroom. This one said, “Close the door and count out loud to ten.”

  I shook my head. Bizarre. I did as the note instructed me.

  When I opened the door Cole was on the other side, down on one knee. I screamed a little, startled. But then he had smiled and held out a ring, and said, “My love. Will you give me the best Christmas present ever, and agree to marry me?”

  I’d told Brenna and Sam that story a hundred times when they were growing up. We’d gotten married in Raleigh, terrified that Cole’s dad—unrepentant racist—would collide with my godfather, James Redford, an African American sociology professor.

  Both of us had stared, fascinated, during the reception. The one thing the two men had in common was Vietnam service in the Marine Corps. They’d started a conversation about places I’d never heard of—Da Nang and the Mekong Delta and I don’t know where—and ended up talking the entire night over drinks. A lot of drinks.

  It was crazy, but the two men became friends. Seventeen years later, I’d woken up on the most desolate Christmas morning ever. My daughter had been missing and my husband was in prison. Sam was all alone, and I hadn’t decorated the house, or even gotten dressed, in days.

  I had no idea that James and Cole’s dad had hatched a plan. I’d told everyone to stay home, that we weren’t coming to visit anyone, that we needed quiet time, that we needed to be alone.

  They ignored me.

  Jeremiah and Ayanna had been the first to show up with the twins. Without warning, they’d driven up overnight to Virginia.

  I’d stared, dumbfounded, as they just came in the house and put up a tree. Sam cried, and the kids had decorated the tree together. Not long after, Cole’s parents arrived with James. My parents were next, then Lori.

  I’d cried in my sister’s arms, and she’d said, “You’ll never be alone, sis. We’re always there for you.”

  But I was too far gone. I’d forgotten what my life was like. I’d forgotten the love in Cole’s eyes when the two of us danced at our wedding. I’d forgotten watching him roll around on the ground wrestling with our kids as they giggled and laughed. I’d forgotten everything that mattered. By the time Brenna disappeared, all I could remember was the hurt and betrayal that he’d had an affair with that woman.

  I sifted through those memories that morning in the shower and I began to weep. I wept for my daughter who was missing, and for my son who might be a daughter. I wept for Cole, and the bitterness and loneliness I’d seen in his eyes for far too long. I wept for all of us.

  I wanted my family back. And I didn’t know if it was possible.

  Sam

  “I’m not allowed to give out the address at the shelter,” Hayley said. “That’s why I asked to meet here.”

  We were sitting in a booth at the Waffle House in Anniston. Dad had spent some of his time in training here back in the spring, but I’d never been in this one.

  “We make quite a pair,” I said. Her right eye was black and blue, though not quite as bad as mine. The waitress had stared at us both for an uncomfortably long time before she came over and took our orders.

  I hadn’t told Hayley yet.

  “So … what happened?” I asked.

  “Well, after you and your Dad dropped me off, my father, he…” She looked away. “He hit me. A bunch. I would have contacted you that night, or in the morning, but he took my phone. At school the next morning, Mrs. Mullins called me in. She said she had to call Child Protective Services.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. I didn’t want to say the next part, but I had to. Because even though it was already too late, I
’d betrayed Hayley’s confidence.

  “You should know—I hope you can forgive me—but I told Mrs. Mullins. It was too late, she’d already called. But I couldn’t keep it a secret. I’m sorry.”

  Hayley took my hand and said, “It’s okay. I-I needed to get out of there. I’m sorry I made you promise not to. Now … tell me about you.”

  “You probably saved my life,” I whispered. “Dad found me in time. But Cody cut my face with a knife.” I patted the oversized Band-Aid on my cheek.

  Hayley’s eyes widened. “Is it bad?”

  I shook my head. “I hurt everywhere, but the doctor says there shouldn’t be much scarring.”

  “I heard things are crazy at school today. The cops have been calling people in and they’re searching phones. They’re trying to figure out who all shared that picture that Billy posted.”

  I felt myself cringe. “How many people saw it? Do you know?”

  Hayley shrugged. Then she said, “It was on Twitter.”

  That meant everybody saw it. I whispered, “I don’t know if I can go back to school here.”

  Hayley tilted her head slightly to the left and studied me for a minute. Then she said, “Did Cody and Billy make you dress up that way?”

  I looked down at the table. I couldn’t meet my best friend’s eyes. But I shook my head and whispered, “I was already dressed that way when they showed up.”

  “That’s what I thought,” she said.

  Confused, I asked, “How come?”

  “Your makeup. They might make someone dress up like a girl to humiliate them, but they wouldn’t have any idea how to put on makeup. In the picture you looked scared, but you looked pretty.”

  The heat spread across my face instantly. I couldn’t look at her. But she reached out and grabbed my hand in hers.

  “Is it like being gay?”

  I shook my head. “No. It’s … Hayley…” I finally looked up at her. Her pale blue eyes were fixed on my face. “It’s not that I dress up as a girl sometimes. I am a girl. And I hate hiding all of the time. I hate pretending to be someone I’m not.”