The First Day of the Rest of My Life

by Cathy Lamb

  My momma, Carman, Shell Dee, and Trudy Jo gasped.

  Carman said, “Dear Lord in heaven.”

  Shell Dee said, “My God.”

  Trudy Jo said, “Jesus help us!”

  “What?” Momma whispered. She had already been pale, but now she was the same color as the white wall. “What bruises? What burns? Where?”

  I knew what bruises and burns. Overwhelming guilt and shame torpedoed me. I was dirty. I was bad. I was a slutty girl. Now Momma would know.

  And Annie, my little sister. I was supposed to protect her, but I couldn’t do it. I had tried! I had pleaded with Sherwinn, Pauly, and Gavin. I had fought for her. The last time I fought for her, Sherwinn shoved me in a big dog cage in the back room and locked it shut.

  Carman and Shell Dee helped my momma up from her chair, as she could no longer walk. Even from my bed, through half-shut eyes, I could see my momma’s body rocking back and forth, her balance gone the second she saw her beloved daughters in hospital beds. The sheriff and his deputies, the nurses and other doctors crowded around Annie, who was still asleep.

  The doctor gently pulled the sheet back. My momma peered down at Annie’s beaten, bruised, burned, emaciated, naked body. My body looked the same. Carman, Shell Dee, and Trudy Jo released raw, primal moans. Sheriff Ellery semishouted, “Holy mother of God.” One deputy moaned and said, “Aw shit, Big Luke would kill if he saw this.” A nurse gasped and covered her mouth.

  My momma took one look and passed straight out.

  When my momma crumpled backwards, I sat up and screamed, believing she was dead. The attention was then on both of us, doctors and nurses rushing to help before my momma was wheeled out on a stretcher.

  “Madeline,” Dr. Hayes said. “I think we need to examine you, too, don’t we?”

  I shook my head. I said no, I didn’t want to. They lifted the back of my shirt, anyhow, then the front.

  I saw the grim looks on Dr. Hayes’s face and on the faces of the nurses.

  Did they think I was bad? They did, didn’t they! It was my fault! I wrapped my arms around my knees.

  One of the nurses held my hand. “I’m sorry, child. I’m sorry this happened to you.”

  The other nurse hugged me. “How about a Popsicle, honey?”

  Carman, Trudy Jo, and Shell Dee crowded around, hugging me, snuffling. Sheriff Ellery and the other officers stood against the wall, along with the doctors and nurses.

  Carman said, “Who did this? I will kill him.”

  Trudy Jo said, “This is killing me to see this, killing me.”

  I was so ashamed.

  “Who did this?” Shell Dee said, kissing me on the forehead. “You can tell us.”

  I felt so guilty.

  “You need to tell us. This bad person needs to be punished.”

  If I told, everyone would see the photographs! They would think I wanted to do them! They would think that I should have told to protect Annie! They would think I was a slutty, bad girl with curly hair—that’s what Sherwinn called me. “A slutty, bad girl with curly hair.” Momma would be so upset with me.

  Click, click, click.

  “This isn’t your fault, you know that, right, hon?” Shell Dee said. “This is a bad person’s fault. Whisper me his name.”

  I was tempted. I glanced over at Annie’s bed. She was so tiny, so fragile, I thought she was dead when she was on the stretcher.

  “No.” My voice cracked, the hot tears finally coming. “No, I can’t.”

  “But why?” Carman said. “We love you. We want to know who hurt you.”

  “If I tell,” I whispered, a vision in my head of that knife, “he’ll kill Momma.”

  A tense, electric silence shot through the room.

  “No, honey,” Sheriff Ellery said, standing beside my bed. “He won’t. We’re all here. We’ll keep her safe.”

  “He’ll kill her like he killed our hamsters! He killed Teresa and Mickey. He’ll kill Annie, too, and me. That’s what he said. That’s why I didn’t tell before!” I heard my voice pitch, high, all raggedy. “That’s why!”

  “But now is the time to tell,” Sheriff Ellery said. I heard a cold anger in his voice, but I didn’t think he was angry at me, because he held my hand. “Help us here, so we can help you.”

  “I can’t tell!” I put my arms over my head.

  Shell Dee held me close. “The only way to keep you and Annie safe, my love, is if you tell us who did this.”

  “No!” I said, broken and backed into a black, depressed corner.

  “Yes,” Sheriff Ellery said, his voice becoming very stern. “Madeline. We need the name. We need it now.”

  Sheriff Ellery had always been so chatty with me, smiling ear to ear, but that day he stood tall, in uniform, gun strapped to his side, and he looked imposing, intimidating. Later he told me he was sorry if he had scared me in the hospital. “The only way to help you, Madeline, was to go after the men who did this to you. They needed to be locked up, like animals, before they knew you were in the hospital and tried to make a run for it. I hope you’ll forgive me for scaring you.”

  Sheriff Ellery fixed me with his stare. “Right now, young lady. I’m not leaving until I have that name.”

  I glanced over at Annie, a tiny lump in the bed, her head to one side. I knew what was under that sheet. I knew what was under my sheet. I didn’t want this to happen to us ever again. “Will you keep them away from Momma and Annie?”

  “You bet I will,” Sheriff Ellery said. He was very mad.

  “Me too, Madeline,” one of the officers said.

  “We’ll make sure of it,” the other officer said.

  One more time I peeked at the tiny lump of Annie. If I didn’t tell, she might die, anyhow. That’s what I got down to: If I didn’t tell, Annie might die from the abuse.

  I told. I uttered those three names, then from somewhere in the hospital, someone started shrieking. Shriek, shriek, shriek. I didn’t know it was me for a long time.

  Sheriff Ellery wasted no time. He assembled a team from neighboring towns, and the team surrounded Pauly’s house. He’d thought to bring a fire trunk, which was very smart. As soon as Sherwinn, Gavin, and Pauly realized they were surrounded, they tried to set the armadillo-slouching shack on fire.

  It only partially worked.

  Many of the photos were turned to ash, but not all of them. All of the ones that were left were collected by the police.

  Sherwinn, Pauly, and Gavin were drunk, and stoned, so therefore easy to apprehend, which was unfortunate, as I heard Sheriff Ellery tell Granddad later, who flew in immediately with Grandma, “If they’d put up a fight, sir, we would have been able to shoot them on the spot. I would have enjoyed that. Yes, I would have enjoyed doing my part to eliminate scum from the earth.”

  All three men were read their rights, arrested, and later charged with multiple offenses.

  The police collected all of the photos of Annie and me, the whips, the cages, the outfits, the wigs, the school supplies. I was told that the police had to take turns going outside to breathe, they were so furious. Their wives/girlfriends/sisters all went to Marie Elise’s Beauty Parlor and news got out quick.

  I was a bad girl.

  “Can you tell us what happened, honey?” Sheriff Ellery asked me the next day. His face was red and tight, bags from lack of sleep under his eyes. Big guy, big heart.

  “No,” I said, snuggling into my momma on the hospital bed. In many ways, she didn’t look like my momma. No makeup, her skin grayish, thick black hair down and messy, clothes rumpled, mouth tight. “I can’t.”

  The doctors were in our hospital room, but there were a couple of police officers, too, and men in suits, who I later found out were attorneys. I had been fed, hydrated through tubes, and for the first time since Sherwinn bulldozed our lives and began his attacks, with my momma’s and my grandma’s arms wrapped around me, the imprint of their kisses on my forehead, I slept peacefully.

  “Sherwinn, Pauly, and Gavin
are all in jail, so you can tell us,” Sheriff Ellery said. “They won’t hurt you again.”

  Even their names scared me, and I pulled the sheet over my head. “No, I can’t tell you.”

  “Sugar, Sherwinn’s going to prison for a long time,” Sheriff Ellery said. “So are Pauly and Gavin.”

  “A long time isn’t forever,” I said, pulling the sheet down and glaring at the sheriff. “It isn’t forever! That means they’ll come back out!”

  I knew I’d hit a nerve, because Granddad turned away, his back bent, and Momma covered her face with a trembling hand.

  Grandma said, those blue-green eyes pleading, “You must tell what happened to you. They will go to jail, but we need to make sure that they have to stay a long time, that they’re punished. We don’t want them to hurt another girl, do we? We must protect the next girl.”

  I thought about that. I thought about my girlfriends at school, Theo, Jackie, Stella. I thought about Trudy Jo’s and Shell Dee’s daughters. I thought about the two-year-old girl who lived across the lake who always hugged me when she saw me and called me “Mad.” I did not want this to happen to my friends. And I wanted them to go to jail!

  Most of all, I thought about Annie. I looked at her under the blankets, still sleeping, a small and skinny lump....

  “He had a knife,” I started, instantly angry, scared, shamed once again. I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t have to look at their faces when I told. “And pliers. And cigarettes . . .”

  Over an hour later, when I was done, and I opened my eyes, one of the attorneys had his head in his hands. Sheriff Ellery’s eyes were so swollen he could hardly see when he left.

  Grandma was weeping, my momma looked half dead, my granddad, his shoulders down, head bent, glared out the window of the hospital.

  Click, click, click.

  The nurse gave me a Popsicle. It was green.

  I woke up in the middle of the night, one bright star white and glowing, its light reaching my hospital bed. Granddad heard me and came immediately to sit by me. He kissed me on both cheeks, held my hand.

  “I’m here, Madeline,” he whispered. “You are safe. Go back to sleep.”

  I closed my eyes and let sleep sneak on in and take me to oblivion, but before sleep could claim me completely, I heard my granddad, strong and indomitable, dissolve into heaving sobs. I am sure he thought I could not hear him.

  “I am sorry, my granddaughter, I am sorry,” he whispered. “I failed you, too, Madeline, and I am sorry. I should have protected you, insisted you come and live with us on The Lavender Farm. I am so sorry, I didn’t know, I didn’t know. . . .”

  Two hours later I woke up again and watched my granddad standing near the window, his shoulders slumped, his head bent, his life shattered.

  When we left the hospital and went home, there were many changes in our house by the sea.

  Everything of Sherwinn’s had been taken away, including his truck, which was later found exploded to the shell in a field. Pauly’s truck was in a lake, and Gavin’s car had been smashed by a tractor. “By accident,” Shell Dee’s husband told us.

  “These types of things happen sometimes. Bad wiring,” Trudy Jo’s husband said.

  “Babies.” My momma wept. “I am so sorry. So very sorry. This is my fault. Please forgive me. Forgive me.” We heard her say it a hundred times.

  Annie wasn’t speaking still, but eventually we started to heal, our grandparents’ and our momma’s love, attention, and care helping us every day.

  My momma never, ever forgave herself. Not for a minute, not for a second.

  Her apology to us? Those gunshots, as strange as it sounds.

  21

  “Tilt your head up, Madeline . . . to the left . . . turn to the side . . . too much . . . back . . . there we go.” The photographer shifted from one place to the next as I sat in my leather chair in my office. My smile froze, the click, click, click sending me to places I didn’t want to be. I felt myself start to sweat.

  “Smile, please, Madeline,” the reporter, Quinn, asked me. She was young. She was in a brown suit. She wore horn-rimmed glasses I bet she didn’t need but sported them, anyhow, to look smart.

  “I’m smiling.” I quit smiling.

  “No, you’re not. Lift up the corners of your mouth.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Are you ready, Arnie? I’m going to smile.” I pulled on the buttons of my black suit, crossed one leg over another, and tried not to rip my boring black heels off my feet and hurdle them.

  Click, click, click.

  I smiled, teeth showing, for ten seconds. “That’s it.” I quit smiling, stood up, the sweat rolling down my back.

  “What?” Arnie said, surprised.

  “We’re done.” My body wanted to heave and my breath was stuck in my toes, not moving.

  Quinn and Arnie exchanged baffled looks.

  “But, but, but—” Quinn stuttered.

  “What you got is good enough. One of those photos will work.” I wiped the sweat off my brow.

  “Okay. We’ll wrap it up. Thanks, Madeline.” Arnie bent to put all his fancy gear away.

  “Have a seat, Quinn.” I gestured to my leather couch. “I’ll be right back. ”

  I went to the bathroom in the hallway and splashed cold water on my face, ran it over my wrists, jumped up and down to move the air stuck in my toes, then leaned heavily on the sink.

  I so hate cameras. After the Cape, Annie and I refused to have our pictures taken, even at school. My grandma had to call in on picture day and tell them we were sick. We ended up making crafts with lavender on those days, hanging lavender bouquets upside down in the kitchen to dry, or riding our horses.

  No photos for us.

  Click, click, click.

  “Okay, Madeline,” Quinn said. “As you know, we’re doing an article on you to coincide with the Rock Your Womanhood conference coming up here in Portland, a huge event. So, my first question is . . .”

  And we were off.

  Q: What advice do you have for women, in general?

  A: Don’t screw up your life. Seriously. Think. Make sound, rational, unemotional decisions. Do not delude yourself into making a bad one. Men will try to drag you into poor choices. Don’t let them. Don’t spend a bunch of self-centered time studying the latest self-help book or new-wave religion to figure yourself out. Remember that most of the time you spend wallowing in “I don’t know what to do with my life,” or whining, is self-centered. Reach outside yourself. Help others, go back to school, travel, work hard, love hard, nurture healthy relationships, save money, and stay out of debt so your finances don’t give you a heart attack.

  Q: What advice do you have for men, in general?

  A: Same advice. But I’ll add one more piece: Don’t be a dick.

  Q: I know you specialize in relationships, so what’s the worst mistake people make about marriage?

  A: That it’s gonna be a blast. It’s not. It’s gonna be a pain in the butt sometimes and you will look at your partner and say to yourself, “What was I thinking?” Trust me, he’s thinking the same thing about you sometimes, too. So, in your mystification, go back to bed, roll around naked, take yourselves out for a pizza and beer, and get on with it. Work to keep your spouse in love with you. Don’t look for your spouse to fill all your needs. That’s impossible and unfair. Get interests and hobbies outside your marriage. No need to be locked at the hip. Have new adventures together, laugh, give each other one compliment a day. Fight fair and remember that the person who is meanest during the fight, even if they win, always loses. They shut the other person down. The shut-down person will eventually leave.

  Q: My sister and I don’t get along.

  A: What’s the question?

  Q: What can we do to be closer?

  A: Be nice?

  Q: No, really.

  A: That really was my answer. Some sisters are best friends, lovey-dovey. A lot aren’t. Quit forcing yourself to try to be close to someone when it’s not working.
You may never be close to your sister. Accept it. Call on birthdays and holidays, send cards or flowers, let her know you love her. Keep conversations short, noncontroversial. Don’t compete with your sister, don’t compare, don’t make snide remarks while smiling, don’t tell her she looks tired, don’t manipulate each other, don’t be passive-aggressive—that’s so annoying and people hate it. Embrace what you love about her, toss the rest, and be okay with not spending time with people, even family, who you just don’t like.

  Q: You talk a lot about fulfillment. How should women find fulfillment?

  A: A grateful heart goes a long, long way. Look around. What are you happy that you have? Be grateful for your health, be grateful you’re not being eaten by maggots in a coffin. Be grateful for your kids, ripe tomatoes, rainy book reading days, two legs, cherry blossoms, campfires, friends. You will, if you’re lucky, be ninety-one day. Make sure you can look back on your life and say, “I did that . . . I did that, too . . . I tried . . . I loved . . . I adventured . . . I dared . . . I sang and danced . . . I was kind and compassionate and honest. Have morals and stick to them. Do not hold yourself back. The person you are at ninety will hate you for not living more fully right now, in your youth. Buy a vibrator. And don’t wear ugly bras. Yuck. No beige. Never wear a beige bra.

  Q: Is there a man in your life?

  A: Hundreds. They’re called clients.

  Q: A special man?

  A: No.

  Q: What’s your dream date?

  A: A hot bath. Alone.

  Q: Truthfully?

  A: Yes. Men give me headaches.

  Q: Advice to young women entering the workforce?

  A: If you must work for corporate America, do not let it kill your soul. Do not base your confidence solely on your job. Have a huge life outside of work, so work is only part of you, not all of you. If you hate your job but must keep it, start stockpiling money, or working a second job, or work your dream job on the side, so one day you can release yourself from your corporate bondage.

  Q: What’s your advice for women who are sandwiched between aging parents and teenagers?