I’m a little buzzed still. That’s probably why I see our sisterhood in every single interaction we share. I lie back on the chaise lounge. Max gets up at some point and goes inside, leaving Christina and me alone.
“Did your mom tell you about me?” I’m curious to know if Jessie told her little clone about my defunct marriage and abnormal ovulation.
“About you? Never. Not even that you were born. You two don’t do more than nod hello at each other. You’re saying you actually had a conversation with her?”
I catch the bitter tone in Christina’s voice. She thinks I’m too hard on her mother. I get that. She’s protective of the ones she loves. As she should be.
“I assumed since you two share so much, she might have told you.”
Christina scoots over on her side now and stares at me. “Okay, with that lead–in, you can’t leave me hanging, what did you two discuss?”
“How unlike her, I can’t have kids.” It just pops out of my mouth. I shut my eyes and smack my own forehead. Way too much alcohol tonight.
Christina gasps appropriately and gives me the usual sorry and how terrible. I nod and wave her off. “I found out a while ago. I keep thinking about it when I’m here. That’s probably because of my own paternity search, and that gets me thinking about adoption, and never mind… I’ve been drinking too much.”
“Yeah, you don’t give much away about yourself. But I get that. Max is a lot like that. I’ve learned to interpret the signs and translate what neither of you are willing to say.”
“Are you two serious?”
“Yes. Forever kind of serious. But we know we’re young and have lots of time. We intend to try and stay together through all of our separations and through all the obstacles before us. We’re committed to each other, but we also have goals and ambitions we both want to attain that are on slightly different paths. We’re not getting married anytime soon, or anything.”
“Good. You are very young. You can’t imagine how hard forever actually can be to live with.”
“Because things like not being able to have kids can happen?”
I sigh and squeeze my eyelids shut. Shit. How did I get into this depressing conversation? “Yes, because sometimes things you never expect can happen.”
“Is it something you and Sam fight about?”
My eyes pop open. No! No! Damn it! We never fought about it. Or talked about it either. We never dealt with it. I realize that as I stare up at the stars high above me. I try to swallow the lump lodged now in my throat. “No. We didn’t deal with it before; and now, I don’t know how to start.”
“I’m glad you came here, Natalie. I was scared the first time I met you, and mad you blew me off and when you decided to acknowledge me; but I’m really freaking glad now you found us.”
“Why?” I have to ask. What have I added to their lives? They didn’t need me. I’m not a bright ray of sunlight that inspires those around me. I’m grouchy, grumpy, competitive, tough to know, tough to even talk to. Like Max, I’m not warm and fuzzy. Why would this kind, energetic, well–liked girl be so glad to meet me?
“Because we’re sisters. I think that means something.”
“I have to admit it’s nice to just know more. I have some answers now. The things I didn’t know used to drive me nuts. I can deal with the truth. Even if I don’t like it. Even if it hurts.”
She snorts. “Says every person until they hear the worst news of their life. Then they wish for blissful oblivion and ignorance.”
I tilt my head and stare at her. It’s rare for her to speak with so much gusto, let alone, so much sarcasm. “What? What is that in reference to?”
“Oh, nothing. Nothing at all. I was just talking.”
She refuses to meet my gaze. I feel her concentrating harder on the sky. She is purposely not meeting my eyes for fear of what I’ll see in hers. She knows something more about me. I realize that with an almost tired jab of What now? What more do I not know about my life?
“Christina? You just lied to me. You just fed me bullshit. I’m not so buzzed I don’t know that. You’re buzzed enough that you slipped something out. So since you already have, what is it? What truth should make me grateful for blissful oblivion and ignorance?”
She slowly turns her gaze to mine in the fire–flickering dark shadows. She shakes her head just slightly as if to say she’s sorry. Her eyes are huge, and almost liquid in their intensity.
“Tell me,” I whisper softly. “Truth over lies.”
“Are you sure?” she whispers back. I like how she doesn’t simper, or waffle, or pretend she doesn’t know what we both know she’s hiding.
“I’m sure.” I stare right at her and nod. I sit up, swinging my legs around so I’m sitting on the chaise lounge, leaning my elbows on my thighs and waiting for her to spill it.
She does the same until we are facing each other and just a few feet apart. She clasps her hands and keeps folding and unfolding her fingers together.
“Mom. She… didn’t tell you the truth about how you were conceived. I don’t know if it matters. I don’t know if you should know. But I get what you said about secrets and stuff. I hate them. She thinks she’s protecting others from her story. I agree. Except… it would change how you think about her. It could totally change how you feel about her. And maybe, goddamn it, maybe I want that because it’s so unfair. You scorn and almost hate her and your disrespect is just a reaction to what you think is true. If you only knew how wrong you are. And how far she went to protect you. If you only knew what she really suffered.”
She meets my eyes finally, and nods her head just a fraction of an inch. I nod with her and shut my eyes. I get it immediately. My stomach heaves as the alcohol turns sour and Christina’s words stun my heart.
Rape.
There is no other reason for Christina to talk that way. I know for sure then that Jessie was raped and I’m the result.
I go numb. I don’t feel anything right now and I’m glad for that. I keep my voice neutral. “She told you?”
“My dad first told me. But I didn’t know about you then. Not until I dug further into it. But later, yes, I learned the whole story. I—it’s a bad story. But it will change everything you think of Mom. And that’s the only good that I can see in your knowing. But that seems huge. You could really use her in your life. Maybe not as your mother, per se, but as a friend. Someone you can trust. Someone who is your sisters’ mother. I hate how you resent her and dislike her so much. I just want you to know who she is and the truth before you judge her. It’s not what you’ve been told, which isn’t flattering. She did what she did, she lied, to protect you. She also tried to lie to protect me. But you should know the truth.”
“Tell me then.”
“I can’t. I found it out from some letters Mom had. I was never meant to know as much I know. You should hear it from—”
Right then, the rest of the Hendrickses funnel into the house. They all come storming out to the deck as soon as they notice the fire. They are smiling, chatting, and eager to talk to us, but something about our conversation must be evident, because they instantly fall silent. Christina and I barely spare them a glance. We continue staring at each other, unsmiling. Unhappy.
I hear Jessie’s sharp intake of breath before she says calmly, “Girls, why don’t you go off to bed?”
Will seems to take her cue and follows them, leaving the three of us. Jessie keeps her hands at her sides and her stance wide, but her voice is strained as she says, “You told her?”
“Just that things aren’t what they seem,” Christina whispers, plopping her head down in shame.
“No, they never are,” I finally mutter. I’m thinking of Sam. Of me. Of us having kids. Of us, period. I slowly rise to my feet, crossing the deck and leaving them alone. Maybe I’m not ready yet for anything else to not be what it seems.
Chapter Fifteen
Natalie
I stand here, gripping one of the posts that holds up the stall w
ith all my strength. The wood feels smooth and cool under my palm. The interior of the barn is gloomy, cast in shadows and smelling of mothballs, and lit by a single, bare bulb. Never in my life could I picture my retreat into a damn barn sounding good. But I doubt anyone would think it is where I’d be either. I’m hiding. Physically and emotionally. Before the last few weeks, I never hid from anything or anyone. But I can’t seem to regain my mojo, or my equilibrium. One thing after another keeps knocking me off the proverbial balance beam I keep trying to walk. That thing that makes me tough and cool, sometimes even cold under pressure? It’s not here anymore.
I am leaning against the stall. The horse outside nickers softly from the pasture. The barn’s strong scents singe my nose. Dried horse poop is just a few feet away from where I stand. I turn my back and fall onto my butt, my knees pointed skyward as I slump down. Christina’s words are echoing inside me. My entire life seems to be falling apart and even this turns out to be all a lie. I should’ve known it though, right? Jessie’s story didn’t add up to the woman she seems to be. Her love for her children, her daughters… I knew there was more to the story, I just didn’t want there to be. I didn’t want to be what I am: the product of Jessie’s rape.
A shoe squeaks on the floor. I know she’s coming after me. I’m surprised she finds me so quickly. I don’t look up. She steps forward. She waits a moment, but I don’t glance up to acknowledge her. She sits on a step stool just across the aisle, still wearing gray slacks and a white blouse.
“You were never going to tell me, were you?” I finally whisper.
From the periphery of my downcast eyes, I see her nod. “No, I was never going to tell you.”
“Christina and Max know?”
“They know. Christina found out by accident. It’s what made her come after you.”
Jessie’s back is straight, and she isn’t fidgeting. There is something resolute about her.
“The letters she mentioned?”
Jessie sighs. “Yes. They were never meant for her eyes. She stumbled upon them and read just the first one. Figured out some stuff, and here we are.”
“You were raped? I was the result?”
“Yes.”
“Was it anyone you knew?”
Her black hair flies around her face as she shakes her head. “No. No one I knew.”
I lift my head up to her. “Why did you allow me to go full term? Why didn’t you get rid of me before my birth?”
“That was never an option to me. I said it a few times, but never once looked into it. Then I heard your heartbeat, and that was it for me.”
“You never wanted to find me because I reminded you of it?”
“It was never that cut and dried. I was… not well at the time. I was not strong, or even sane, really. It wasn’t you, Natalie. It was me. And unforeseen circumstances.”
“You thought you couldn’t mother me without seeing him, didn’t you?”
She let out a strange, small laugh. “I wish I was sane enough then to have that clear of a thought. No. I was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. Only I didn’t know it at the time. No one really knew it, except maybe Will.”
“He was there for you?”
She nods. “He was there for me.”
“He doesn’t hate me?”
“No. He feels nothing but compassion for you.”
I stare at her and Jessie stares at me. “That’s why you act so odd with me, isn’t it? You can’t look at me without thinking about it again. Feeling it. And hurting.”
“Maybe. I can’t say. It was hard to look at you; and know I should have been better, stronger, and more sane. I could handle it now. If I had you now, I’d keep you. But back then… I could not. I would have ruined your life. I can’t even express to you how true that is, but it doesn’t excuse giving you up either.”
“I need to see the letters. I need to… know.”
“No. No, you don’t. No good will come from it. It will hurt you. Far more than you deserve. And you didn’t do anything wrong. You’re not responsible.”
“But my father is a rapist.”
“Yes. But he was never your father. Just as I was never your mother. So it’s just genetics. Nothing is different about you. Nothing has changed since the day you stepped foot in here. That is the only reason I didn’t want you here. I didn’t want you to know.”
I stare at her. She doesn’t flinch. “It’s that bad. Whatever happened to you was that bad, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.” She doesn’t keep speaking, or try to qualify the why or the how. Somehow, her simple, inexplicit answers tell me more about how bad it was than if she elaborated in a longer monologue.
“I’m a cop. I’ve seen a lot. I’ve had to witness a lot. I can handle it.”
“No. I’m sorry, Natalie, I won’t tell you anymore. You know the truth. I’m sorry for it. So very sorry for it. But I won’t tell you anymore.”
I’m hungry for details. And context. I want to know what she suffered. What she went through and how I came to be. I want to understand this woman before me, with whom I have a connection, although we can’t seem to ever connect.
“I’m asking you to tell me. I’m asking you to trust me enough to tell me.”
She shakes her head. “I won’t tell you. No matter how much you think you’re owed, or for whatever reason you think you should know. You know why I gave you up. That’s the truth. The rest? They’re just morbid details that won’t help you.”
We stare at each other. The light is bare and minimal. She is unyielding. I see it in the set of her jaw as I set mine. We might share one trait: stubbornness.
“I’m sorry. For whatever happened to you, I’m very sorry.”
Her head bobs up and down. “I am too. I’m sorry it happened. But then again, you wouldn’t be here. I never had a face to connect the baby to as the result of the rape that nearly ruined me. Seeing you now, I don’t know, Natalie. I’ve always wondered so much about why. Why me? Why do things like that occur? Could God really want that to be my fate? But then, here you are and I don’t regret it. It’s confusing. And I’m sorry. But it’s why I could not be and am not your mother.”
“You surprised me. You seem like such a decent one. A good one, in fact. I pictured so many reasons why you gave me up and so many different situations. I thought you were really despicable. Or sad and weak and broken. Or an alcoholic, a drug addict, or even married and living a life that dictated you deny you ever had me. I thought I was a mistake you buried and wanted no one to find out about. I once pictured you being raped. It occurred to me, of course. But you said, no, it was just a one–night–stand. That made me resent you a little more, but I was also relieved.”
“There is nothing about this that has ever been straightforward. It took me years to work that out. I basically tried to pretend the pregnancy never happened. I moved on from rape, and married Will and we made a life together and I was so grateful for that. But I did wonder about you. I had to believe, in my core, that whatever your life was, it had to be better than what I could have offered you.”
“It was, Jessie. I’ve had a good life. I don’t have any regrets. I think if things were how you say they were, you probably made the right decision. I didn’t find you because I wanted to replace my mom. No one could do that. She was and is my mom forever. She knew every little detail about me while growing up. She talked me through high school, and when Sam didn’t want to hang out with me as much when I was twelve, and he was starting to date girls his own age. She knew I hated onions and loved asparagus dipped in hot butter. She hugged me every night of my life. She—” Tears are filling my eyes. I didn’t know I felt so strongly about my mom. I let the tears fall. Jessie comes closer and slides down to sit nearer me. Not touching me. Just being there. I sniff in my snot. “I miss her. Maybe…. maybe I ran here because I miss her so much. And after what I saw Sam doing, I just really needed my mother.” The word mother and all its inherent significance, as well as all of the
pain represented by both of my mothers, makes my voice crack. My tears fall hotter and faster. I use the side of my index finger to wipe the wetness under my eyes.
Jessie nods. “Yes, honey, I think you need your mother. What about your dad? Is he still in the picture?”
“He has dementia. He stayed with us for a little while, but we both work and couldn’t keep him supervised. We put him in a small group assisted living home that is run by a husband/wife team who act as caretakers. There are five other residents, who all suffer from the same affliction. It’s clean and neat and homey, but they also provide the constant care he needs. He doesn’t know me anymore, or himself. So in a way, he died too, although I can still see him. And touch his hand. It’s very confusing.”
“Oh, Natalie, of course it must be. I think you are searching for an identity. Since losing both of your parents, you must feel like a leaf, drifting away from its tree.”
I glance to the side. “What would that make us even be? You have daughters. I had a mother. Mine is gone, but you still can’t be her to me.”
Jessie squirms around. “I wish I could honestly find a label for what I could be. I saw clearly, from the start, how easily you and the girls found a way to be sisters.”
“That’s why you encouraged this week to happen?”
“Yes. I think it started something for all of you. Something positive and better than what your lives were before then. But you and I? I don’t know what we are. Not mother and daughter, because I lost the right to know all those things your own mother knew and nurtured in you. Yet, you are still my daughter. I don’t know what that means.”
“But we’re mostly strangers.”
“Yes. But maybe we could start by being friends? I don’t know what else to do, or call it.”
I lick my lips. I agree. I have no urge to throw my arms around her, or hug her for comfort, neither hers, nor mine. But just as strongly, I have no desire to walk away from here and never see her again. There is something here, something more substantial than blind hatred or resentment. I’m interested in her, intrigued by her, but I don’t know how that will translate into a relationship. I feel genuine compassion for what happened to her when she was young. I now have a fuller understanding of why a woman would give away her daughter, her baby, her flesh and blood.
Leanne Davis - Natalie (Daughters Series #2) Page 21
