by S. R. Grey
A smattering of raindrops peppers the windshield, fat droplets that look like oversized tears. I think of the girl crying in the yard and feel like crying right along with her. Crying wouldn’t help. Nothing can wash away the sadness in my soul.
Saundra flips on the wipers, fiddles with the controls, and finally settles on delay. Sweeping a swath of curly brown hair over her shoulder, she tells me, “It won’t be long now. We’re almost there.”
We make a sharp turn at an abandoned paper mill and start a climb up a narrow gravel road that hugs the side of a heavily forested mountain. A scary ascent ensues, and I focus on the woods instead of the far side of the road, which appears to drop off to absolutely nothing.
Yeah, so the trees, let’s think about the trees, and not the possibility of accidental death.
The trees really are quite pretty. The branches are tipped in springtime buds, painting the forest in a filmy cast, like a light green veil has been thrown over everything.
When we slow to a crawl, I notice whole sections of the road have been washed down the mountain, forever lost. I shudder. It seems the closer we creep to my new home, the worse things become.
“I think we should turn around,” I blurt out. “Is it too late for me to go back to the group home?”
Saundra snorts. “Yes, I should think so.”
“Why?”
Aggravated, she replies, “Because it just is, Jaynie.”
“I think I might want to go back, though.”
Saundra stops the car right in the middle of the road. Doesn’t matter, no one is around.
“Listen,” she says as she twists in her seat to face me. “I am not driving you all the way back to Clarksburg. You’ll just change your mind again once we get there. I know it.”
“I don’t think that will happen,” I mumble.
“Oh, Jaynie…”
Saundra shakes her head and slips off her tortoise-shell glasses to rub her eyes. I’ve clearly annoyed her. “You have no idea what you’re saying. You spent one month in group. One month. That’s nothing. You think living in a group home until you’re eighteen is going to be better than living with Mrs. Lowry up on this beautiful mountain?”
“Maybe.” I shrug. “Group wasn’t that bad.”
She ignores me, puts on her glasses, and starts driving again.
I’m stuck.
Maybe she’s right. Group wasn’t completely terrible, but it certainly wasn’t great. The kids stayed away from me. Rumors abounded that I was weird. Okay, true, I don’t talk too much. And I wear way too many layers of clothing. But the biggest impediment to my fitting in anywhere is the one thing I’m trying like hell to overcome—I lose my shit if I’m touched by a guy. I’m not always great with women, either. That’s the reason for all the clothes. Leggings under skirts and big, bulky sweaters over long-sleeved tees offer a layer of protection if someone accidentally bumps into me, or brushes by.
I don’t want to live my life this way, and I don’t plan on staying screwed up forever. I want nothing more than to be normal, like I used to be. I was once a happy and fun girl. Touchy and feely, even. I hugged people all the time. But not anymore. The girl I used to be was ruined by one man.
I clench my fists, hoping Saundra doesn’t notice.
I refuse to give up on getting back to the real me, the one buried under the fear. I’ve been fighting every day to heal, and I’ve made some progress. Last week, my therapist was able to touch me. Just on the shoulder. And she’s a female. But still, it’s progress. I just need the right environment to take me all the way.
A few other things need to change, too. Like the flashbacks. They need to go away.
Lift up your nightgown, Jaynie.
Touch me where I put your hand.
Quit clenching your legs together, bitch.
If you scream again, I’ll fucking punch those pretty white teeth out of your mouth.
“Okay,” I whisper. “No more screaming, I promise.”
I start to shake. Don’t lose it here. Frantically, I smooth and smooth and smooth the long, black skirt I’m wearing over my gray wool leggings. I still feel overexposed. I can almost feel his hands on me, wrenching my thighs apart with one hand, while reaching for a condom with the other.
No, no, no.
Tugging my sweatshirt over my head, I place it over my lap. Another line of defense to my most secret place. “Try to touch me now, motherfucker,” I mutter.
See, I’m fighting to be strong.
Saundra glances over, concern in her eyes. She’s trying to keep her focus on the road, but how can she when the crazy girl next to her is having a meltdown.
“I’m fine,” I say, voice shaky. My eyes dart her way, then back to my lap. “I promise I’ll be all right. Just give me a second.”
“Jaynie,” she sighs. “I am so sorry we missed what was happening to you in your last home. It’s just that it was so good there for so long.” Her lamenting tone makes it sound like what happened at my last home hurt her more than it hurt me. “Who would have known, right?”
“Right.”
She either doesn’t hear, or ignores, my sarcastic tone.
“I should have been checking in on you more often,” she says, more to herself than to me. “I’m just so overworked, and I never thought something like that would ever happen in Mrs. Giessen’s house. She’s such a great lady. And her son wasn’t due out of prison for another year. Soon as I heard he was released early,”—she peers over at me meaningfully—“I started the paperwork to get you out.”
“Yeah, you did.”
I don’t add that it took her six weeks to get me out of that place. It wasn’t Saundra’s fault, though. The system is broken. And now, so am I.
Unfortunately, while the paperwork was tied up in processing, I remained stuck in Mrs. Giessen’s house. There was no immediate rush to pull me out. After all, I was told, Mrs. Giessen’s son (I refuse to let his first name cross my thoughts or my lips, ever) may have been an ex-con, but he wasn’t a sex offender…until he was. And, lucky me, I got to be his first victim.
Trust me when I tell you a lot of harm can be done in a month and a half, especially to a seventeen-year-old girl with no way to protect herself. I was at the mercy of a monster, a foul man who kept the things he did to me at night, when his mother was fast asleep, a horrid secret. A secret he told me over and over must be kept between us. God, the things he did to me as he told me that. And the worse things he promised if I did tell.
I squeeze my legs together as tightly as I can. The physical pain he inflicted on me has long passed, but the wounds on my psyche are far worse than the ones he ever inflicted on my body.
“He hurt me, he hurt me,” I chant.
When I start rocking back and forth, Saundra slams on the brakes. “Jaynie, calm down. Rog—“
“Don’t say his name!”
“Okay, okay. I was just going to say he’s not here. You’re all right, you’re safe.”
I nod. I’m glad we’re out of the town, past the ramshackle houses. I don’t need rumors starting up within the first ten minutes of arriving in this new place.
“Jaynie,” Saundra continues when the rocking slows, but doesn’t stop. “It’s okay. Everything is okay. I told you you’re safe now.”
We’ll see.
Finally, I stop rocking and cautiously, so cautiously, Saundra reaches over to comfort me…
…and that’s when I involuntarily jerk away.
Pressing my body to the passenger door, I whisper, “Please, don’t. I’m all right, I swear. Just don’t touch me. Not now, okay?”
“Okay, Jaynie, okay.” Saundra slumps back in her seat. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reached for you like that. I know better, I do.”
I feel rotten. “No, I’m the one who should be apologizing. I know you’re only trying to help.” I scrub my hands down my face, wishing I could disappear. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.”
“It’s understandabl
e you don’t want to be touched. It’s only been a little over a month since I got you out.”
“Yeah, but…” I lower my head. Saundra defending me only makes me feel worse.
After a few seconds, I try to explain. “It’s usually not this bad with women. I guess I’m just extra stressed with all the new stuff going on.”
She smiles over at me. “It’s okay, honey. Really, it is. There’ve been a lot of changes in your life recently. This is to be expected.”
“Yeah, but still…I’m sorry.”
She puts the car in gear, starts to drive again. “The system, Jaynie…it just sucks.”
That it does.
As we travel higher up the side of the mountain it’s like my meltdown never happened. There’s no more talk of returning to group; I am going to my new home.
And then we arrive.
At the top of the mountain, I cast a sweeping gaze over acres and acres of open land. It’s a striking landscape, like some bucolic painting that’s too good to be true. And maybe I am right about that assessment. The high gates at the front of the property, not unlike those found at a fortress, don’t exactly inspire confidence that this place will be a haven.
“This is it?” I ask warily.
Saundra nods as we creep closer and closer to the imposing entrance.
“Why such high gates?” I inquire.
Without missing a beat, Saundra says, “Those are there to keep bad elements out.”
“I thought you said the town was good?”
“It is.” She waves her hand, dismissing my concern like a pesky bug. “It’s just a precaution, Jaynie.”
Is that guilt I hear in her tone? What does she know that she’s not sharing?
“Listen, Jaynie,” she says, a little too quickly, a little too shrill. “Mrs. Lowry is very protective of the kids up here. She’ll keep you safe from everything. Focus on the good. There’s a lot of structure in her home, and you need that now more than ever. This is going to be such a good experience for you. There’s home-schooling to keep you busy and lots of voluntary work projects. And the home itself is quite lovely. Doesn’t that sound exciting?”
“Yeah, sure,” I lie.
“And don’t forget, you won’t be alone. There are four other foster kids living up here.”
I have to laugh. Saundra thinks more kids in the house will somehow ensure my safety. At the last home—which also happened to be my first, and only, placement after my mom took off, leaving me an orphan—I was the only kid. It was lonely sometimes, sure, but it was also kind of nice living with a lady in her late fifties who treated me kindly. If only things had stayed the same. I could have made it through the foster system unscathed. But my luck ran out when Mrs. Giessen’s thirty-year-old, ex-con son came home. His sentence ended and mine began.
Maybe this place will be a good home. I sure hope so. I was given a little background before I left group. Mrs. Lowry has only one daughter. No sons and no husband. Thank God for small favors. Anyway, she owns what used to be a dairy farm. The cows are long gone, but she still runs a business—a successful crafting enterprise. Well-known regionally and growing rapidly, Mrs. Lowry calls herself “Crafty Lo.” And, oh, how she is loved and adored in these parts. She’s the ex-school teacher, who reinvented her life when her husband died ten years ago and she inherited the family farm.
Mrs. Lowry’s twenty-one-year-old daughter, Allison, lives with her. She supposedly helps out with the family business. Although I heard rumors in group that it’s the homeless children Mrs. Lowry fosters who do all the work. Crafty Lo has a reputation for being this great benefactor of unwanted children, but the behind-the-scenes word is she works you hard for what little you receive.
Oh well, I’d rather work my ass off making useless crafts than be forced to do things no teenage girl should ever have to do.
When we reach the high gates, the rain comes to a sudden stop. I glance around. In addition to the fortress-like entrance, there is tall wire fencing sprouting from the heavy brush to my left and to my right. Though I can’t see the top, it looks as though the fence wraps around the full front of the property.
Huh. Is Mrs. Lowry really just trying to keep bad elements out? I don’t know, but it sure looks to me like she’s trying to keep something in. Like maybe the kids who live up here?
Carefully, I ask, “So, you mentioned four other foster kids. Do you know their names?”
The gates open slowly, like a yawning mouth, as Saundra says, “I’m not sure of their names, but I know there’s a set of twins, a cute little boy and girl.”
“Oh, how cool. How old are they?”
“Eight.”
We drive on, the heavy gates closing behind us, locking us in.
“What about the other two kids?”
“Well,” Saundra says, “the other two fosters are not exactly kids. Both are seventeen”—she smiles over at me—“like you.”
“Two girls?” I ask, hopeful.
“No. One guy and a girl.”
Great, we’ll see how well this goes. I hope the guy keeps his distance.
We proceed down a long driveway and eventually come to a stop in front of a spacious, red-brick colonial. The house looks a little too picture-perfect to me. The flagstone walkway leading to the porch is lined with tulips and daffodils, all in full bloom and evenly spaced. To the left of the walkway stands a large maple tree, the tips of its limbs covered in soft shades of pink. Pretty and welcoming, yes, but usually when something appears too good to be true, it is.
I scan around to uncover the “real” feel of this place. When my gaze lands on a large pole barn, constructed of steel, located across from the house and down a slight incline, I suspect I’ve found it.
“That’s the craft workshop,” Saundra says as she dips her head to follow my gaze. “Mrs. Lowry erected the barn not all that long ago in order to provide a nice, clean work environment. All her crafts are made in there.”
I might as well find out now if all the rumors I heard at group were true. “So, Mrs. Lowry and her daughter make all the crafts in that barn?” I say, baiting Saundra.
“Um…” She peers down at her hands, which are still grasping the steering wheel, even though we’re parked. “They do, but the kids help out a lot.”
“Wait, she has, like, no actual employees?” This could be worse than I thought.
Saundra shakes her head. “No.”
I stare at the barn. It doesn’t look like a sweatshop, but I’m suspicious.
“That’s enough shop talk,” Saundra says brightly as she pops open the driver’s door. “Let’s go introduce you to Mrs. Lowry. She’ll get you settled in and you can ask her more about the business then.”
“Whatever,” I murmur.
I make no effort to exit the car. Instead, I twist in my seat to peer out at all the rolling fields where I suppose the cattle used to roam. There’s another barn way off in the distance, a ramshackle structure of brown lumber that looks dark and wet. Beyond the fields there appears to be nothing but endless acres of thick forest.
A chill runs up my spine. Not from fright, but from worry. Forget the high entrance gates and the wire fencing. This place is a natural fortress. The high-up-on-the-hill location plus the miles of wooded land practically guarantees there will be no easy way out.
It’s all a little too claustrophobic, and I tell Saundra, “I don’t think I’m ready to go in the house just yet.”
I’d feel better if I could see the other kids. This place feels too disconnected from the town below. Not that Forsaken is much better, but there’s more than one way in. And more than one way out.
“No problem.” Saundra reaches over to pat my knee, but then thinks better of it. “Stay in the car as long as you like. I’ll go on ahead and talk with Lo… I mean Mrs. Lowry. Come on in whenever you’re ready. Or, if you prefer, I can come back out for you?”
“That’s okay. I’ll come in on my own when I’m ready.”
“Okay, h
oney.”
After she’s gone, I return to my perusal of what will be home for the next seven months. Again, it doesn’t look bad aesthetically, but I keep reminding myself appearances can be deceiving.
“Eighteen,” I murmur. “Eighteen and you are so out of here.”
From the corner of my eye, I suddenly detect movement over at the pole barn. The doors are sliding open, I suppose since the rain has stopped. Opening doors mean one thing, someone is inside. One or more of my new foster siblings? Probably.
A mix of fear and hope leaves me shaky. Too many raindrops have gathered on the tinted passenger window, casting my view in blurry tones of surreal blue. I roll it down. I need for this to be straight-up real.
It’s bright inside the pole barn, a contrast to the dreary day. There are long rows of tables that seem to extend all the way to the back. Most of the surfaces, at least the ones I can see, appear to be covered in crafts and craft materials. Two kids, a little boy and little girl, both quite pale and very similar in appearance—the twins, I assume—are working diligently at a table right by the entrance.
As I continue to watch, another person comes into view. The older girl, the one who’s my age. She leans over the table to help the twins with something. The girl looks a bit like me, auburn hair, fair skin, but even bent over as she is I can tell she’s taller than me. And, whoa, definitely way skinnier.
So here they are, three of my four new foster siblings, smack dab in front of me. I watch them closely, looking for signs of friendliness. God, I hope they accept me. There seems to be closeness among them which calls to my need to connect with someone. I’m tired of feeling so alone all the time. Watching the interactions of the girl and the twins, even viewed from afar, I get the sense they care for one another.
The little boy—skinny as can be and with a mess of black hair in dire need of a trim—peers up at the older girl with affection when she begins to help him with a craft. Auburn-haired Girl hands the little boy a seashell that’s as big as his hand. He sets it down on the table—awkwardly since it’s so large for his hands—and mouths a thank you. He then proceeds to paint something on the side of the shell, using a long, slender brush. When the older girl pats him on his shoulder approvingly, he beams up at her.
