by Angel Lawson
“I hope you found the house easily,” she asks.
“We did, thank you,” my mother says. “You have a beautiful home. Did you get that fixture at Horchow?”
I have no idea what a Horchow is but Martha’s face lights up. “I did—for a steal, too. I hit the post season sale—my favorite thing.”
I watch these two, trading compliments and shopping tips in fascination. Again, my mother manages to charm and relax her sources, no matter their social class. She truly has a gift.
During the conversation, my mother has taken her notebook out of her bag and had placed it on her lap. “I appreciate your willingness to talk to us. I can’t tell you how difficult it’s been to find people still alive or available to talk to about the horrific crimes Gaskins committed.”
Martha frowns and sets her glass on the table. “I was one of the lucky ones,” she explains. “I can’t imagine how our lives would be different if he had successfully lured me away from my car that night. Obviously, I would be dead, but my family…my parents had a hard enough time with the basic fact I’d encountered him. They did everything to make it disappear. It’s why I never testified.”
“Martha,” my mother says, “Can you tell us what happened that night?”
“You won’t use my name?”
“Of course not.”
“I was about your age.” She points to me. “My boyfriend and I were on our way back from Myrtle Beach. It was late summer and our friends liked to meet down at The Pavilion. Charlie had this old clunker, an Oldsmobile or something and it got a flat. Back then there was hardly anything on the road between Myrtle and Cherry Grove even though they weren’t really that far apart.”
“I remember,” my mother murmurs. “There’s nothing as dark as a deserted road in the middle of the country.”
“Oh you were down here then? Then you do know how the roads were pitch black and rough, hardly the main roads they are now. While Charlie changed the flat, I waited in the car.”
My mother has been taking notes but stops abruptly and leans forward to listen. I, too, am enraptured by Martha’s tale. Her voice has the smooth southern accent actors attempt to copy for movies but can never quite master. It’s different from Anita’s or Justin’s.
“A car zipped past us but I could see the taillights brake and then the headlights bounce when it turned around. I was glad someone cared enough to stop. Charlie was struggling a bit, it was the first flat he had changed on his own, plus it was really dark out. The lights from the other car would be helpful.”
She pauses and takes a sip of her drink. “When the man got out of the car I don’t think he noticed me at first. He walked right over to Charlie and asked him if he needed help. They talked for a minute, assessing the damage and then he saw me in the car. The moment we made eye contact, I knew we were in trouble. His eyes were mean.” She shudders. “I don’t know how, but if you’ve ever encountered evil you know the feeling. It’s like ice settles in your veins. That man was evil.”
“In the second between the two of us making eye contact and Charlie saying something to him, the man pushed Charlie out of the way and grabbed a tool out of his hand. He hit him across the head with a crack.” Martha stops and takes a breath, her hands shake in her lap.
My mother has been completely silent up to this point asks, “Are you okay? Do you need to take a break?”
Martha shakes her head. “No, I can do it. I knew Charlie was hurt, if not worse. I lunged to get to the door lock, but he beat me. That bastard already had the door open and dragged me across the seat and out of the car, before I could even think properly. He pushed me into the dirt and I had on this skirt and sandals that made it impossible to run—but even so, where would I go?”
“You always think you’d fight, but when the moment came I was paralyzed. He tore at my skirt, ripping the fabric. I remember thinking how mad that made me—I’d spend hours sewing it earlier in the week. I could see the car from where he dragged me, and I could see the lights from where he left the door open and I looked there instead of in his mean, evil eyes.”
I felt the nausea build in my stomach and rise in my throat. My mother also appears pale and I wonder if she feels sick, too. Her eyes are on set on Martha and I’m not sure when she last took a breath.
“He didn’t rape me. He didn’t get the chance. Another car drove up and by the grace of god they stopped. Gaskins must have known he couldn’t take on a group and bolted, leaving me on the side of the road in my torn, dirty clothing. The people that stopped piled us into their car and rushed us both to the hospital. Charlie had a concussion and I had some scrapes and bruises but it could have been much worse.”
My mother regained her composure. “I’m so sorry.”
Martha gives us a tight smile. “I’m alive. Married and have wonderful children. Donald Gaskins got out of the car that night with intentions of killing whoever he came across. Male or female. The fact Charlie and I survived is a miracle. Not only that, something good came from that night.” She stands and walks over to a framed photo and holds it up. It’s a wedding portrait. “He was in the car that stopped. I call my husband, Henry, my guardian angel. He said when they saw the two cars on the side of the road they almost passed but Henry noticed something and forced them to stop.”
“What was it?” I ask, speaking for the first time.
“He saw a glimmer coming from the field behind the car. It’s how they knew to look for me there. I’m not sure but I suspect it was the reflection of his knife from the lights.” She tugs at the front of her blouse and reveals a jagged scar. An uneasy sense of familiarity washes over me.
“Thank goodness they saw it. If they hadn’t they would have driven by and Charlie and I would both be another in the long list of kills by Donald Gaskins.”
What happens next is strange. My mother puts down her notes and gives Martha a hug. They cry together over the story and the past. Then, like magic, the mood lifts and my mother and Martha begin talking about their childhoods and possible familiar friends from the area. The horrible déjà vu moment is gone and the next thing I know I’m watching two women hover over a kitchen counter making chicken-salad sandwiches because my mom and I have been invited for lunch.
~*~
“Truth,” my mother says to me the instant the car door closes behind us and we wave goodbye to Martha.
It’s only one word, but it’s kind of a code between us. When you pull the truth card out and lay it on the table the other person has no choice but to comply. We made up this game when I was nine and my mother found a crumpled up note from my teacher buried under the bed. We made a deal then. Tell the truth and there would be no judgments. We would just figure out the best way to handle the situation.
“He was my teacher,” I say.
“Paige!”
“TA really,” I rush to add, as though it makes it better. It doesn’t. Neither does the next part. “He’s married. Or was. I don’t really know if he’s telling the truth.”
She says nothing but I see her hands clench around the steering wheel. She knows if she’s quiet enough I’ll spill; uncomfortable with the quiet. “We met in class, obviously. He helped me with some problems I had on a paper. Then later, I ran into him a couple times socially and it just went from there.”
“What does that mean? It just went from there? He’s your teacher and married!”
“I didn’t know he was married—not at first. Not at all until his wife confronted me in the student union at the end of the semester.” I look at my hands, unable to face her.
“Oh, honey.”
“Right.” I say because really how much worse can it get? Public humiliation? Broken heart? Trailer park show down?
“Why did he come here?”
“To get me back, I guess. He wants me to go to France with him.” I dare a glance and the hard, shocked look before has softened.
“What a jerk.”
“He is a jerk. When his wife confronted me, I had
no idea she existed. He snuck me around under the whole big secret of him being a TA and the rules about student/teacher relationships. That’s true, of course, and I agreed knowing it was wrong, but I was completely shocked when I finally met her.”
“So she knew?”
“Yeah, she knew. She was furious. I was eating lunch with Catherine when she came barreling into the center, calling out my name. She grabbed a drink out of Catherine’s hands and tossed it in my face.” The memory is painful to think about. Standing there, dripping sticky soda, stunned into silence.
“Then she dropped the photos on the table. She had followed us and the pictures were incriminating. There was no way around it.”
“Do I want to know?” Mom asks.
I shake my head. “No. Trust me when I say they were enough evidence to prove we were together. After she threatened to show the pictures to the Dean, I went back to my apartment. Mark showed up later that night. He cried and turned it into this drama being all about him and how she didn’t love him. You know. Blah, blah, blah, their marriage sucked anyway and all he wanted was me. It reminded me of dad. So I left.”
She jerks the car onto the side of the road and hardly has it in park when she leans over the middle and pulls me into a hug. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I ask into her hair. “This one’s on me, mom.”
“For giving you such bad role models for men in your life. For dragging you all over to research serial killers. Warning you off guys like Justin Hawkins, a little too late. I did a crappy job teaching you on this subject. Probably because I suck at it myself.”
I pull away. “Mom, you don’t suck. And I wasn’t looking for a guy like dad, it just kind of happened. He said all the right things and we had a lot in common. The one thing you taught me though, is cheating is a deal breaker. Once I found out I walked away, no matter how difficult it was.”
This makes her smile. “I guess I wasn’t a complete failure.”
“Not at all,” I say, hugging her again. She restarts the car and pulls into the road. My phone vibrates in my pocket and I know it’s Justin checking in. This prompts me to say, “And as far as Justin goes, give him a break. He’s not such a bad guy.”
“Sometimes they do mature, although it may take a decade or two.” It’s an odd thing to say but not an argument, so I let it go. We ride the rest of the way back to the house in silence, absorbing the emotional turmoil of the day.
~*~
My mother has on her writer face when we get back to the camper. Forehead creased. Pencil between her teeth. Loud, instrumental music playing in the background. She waves me off when I tell her I’m heading down to the water. I don’t tell her I’m meeting Justin—I don’t know why. I know he and I need to talk and I’m not really sure what the outcome of that event will be.
I’m stretched on my stomach when I feel his shadow overhead. “Hey,” I say, holding a hand up to shade the sun.
“Hi.” He dips down and kisses me, before laying his towel next to mine. He strips off his shirt and asks, “How was your day?”
“Exhausting.”
“I’m kind of beat, too, from being up so late.” He lays next to me and threads his fingers into mine. The minute his head hits the sand, he stifles a yawn.
“Take a nap,” I suggest. I don’t mind stalling the Mark conversation a little longer.
“You sure?”
“Why not? I’ve got my book.”
Typical of most guys, he’s out in a couple of minutes. I read for a while but find myself distracted by the pretty brown skin on his back, rising with each deep breath. I run my finger down the smooth surface of his skin, feeling the heat from the sun. Now that I’ve told my mom about Mark, I know I should be honest with Justin. Anita implied honesty is a big issue for him. Things have heated up between us, which means I should tell him before someone else does. I don’t know if he’ll care. I don’t know if he should. I’m trying to gauge his reaction when his eyes flutter open and a smile emerges.
Before I chicken out, I say, “The thing that happened yesterday—my ex came to visit.”
His eyebrows furrow and he asks, “Here?”
“Yeah, he just showed up and tried to talk me into going on the trip to France. I said no. He reacted like a complete ass and I asked him to leave, and he did.” The confession comes out in a rush.
Justin sits up and I can see his jaw clenching even though he hasn’t said anything.
“We had a bad breakup. I never told him to come up here,” I ramble, hoping to soften the information.
“You don’t owe me any explanations about old relationships, Paige, but I hate that he acted like a jerk.”
“I know, I just…” I grapple for the words. “I wanted you to know the truth and that what happened between us is over and that it was before you and I ever…”
That smile appears again. “Ever what?”
“You know…”
He leans over and kisses me soft on the lips. “Did this?”
“Yes.” My heart jackhammers around my chest.
He kisses me again, longer this time, fingers sliding down the edge of my bathing suit, finding a sensitive spot. “Or this?”
I shiver and look over my shoulder making sure the beach is still deserted. “You’re being naughty.”
He rewards me with a leering grin and laughs. “This is about you and me. That’s all I care about. I didn’t know you before you got here and you didn’t know me. All we can go on is what we know from here on. I have to take your word that you’re available.”
“I’m available,” I tell him, climbing over his body.
“Me too.”
Chapter Thirteen
I’ve got one hand holding back my hair and the other holding down the edge of my sundress while Justin’s Jeep flies down the road. The top is off and I can only imagine the rat’s nest my hair will be when we finally reach out destination.
“How far away is this place?” I ask.
“Not too far,” he answers. A car passes us and honks. Justin waves in return.
“Friend?”
“Richard.”
“Oh.” I turn and watch his small black car disappear down the road.
Justin adjusts his rearview mirror and says, “I think he has a date or something.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because he only takes the car when he has a work meeting or a date. Otherwise, he drives his truck.”
“How thoughtful,” I say, while losing a handful of hair to the wind.
We’ve passed the marina and the small cluster of restaurants, ice cream parlors and touristy shops bordering the beaches. Justin shifts gears and turns down a bumpy road, leading back down to the water, eventually stopping in front of a shack.
“There?” I ask, pointing to the ramshackle building. To its credit, there are lights strung over the porch and I can hear music filtering from the inside. A couple of girls in short skirts walk up the porch steps and go inside.
“Best kept secret in Ocean Beach.”
I’m still skeptical when we enter the building but the inside is cleaner than I predicted from the exterior. Plus, it’s a bar and not an arcade, which gives me hope. High top tables line the room and a tiny stage occupies one corner. There’s no band tonight but the music is loud anyway.
“I see Anita.” I wave to my friend across the room. She’s dressed up, which is funny because this is the crappiest bar I’ve ever been to. I guess going out is going out. Taking the lead, I pull Justin across the empty dance floor to where our friends are clustered. “I love your earrings,” I tell her. The swaying chandeliers almost graze the top of her shoulders.
“Thanks. You look pretty hot,” she says. From Anita this means I have a lot of skin exposed. I bought one nice dress for my trip to France and at the last minute packed it in my suitcase. Red and strapless. It was a good choice. I liked showing off my tanned arms and shoulders, something I’d never had before.
“
Doesn’t she?” Justin says, coming up behind me with two drinks and handing one over. His arm rests on my shoulder and his fingers brush against me gently. He likes the exposed skin, too. “Oh, Bobby’s playing darts. Sorry ladies, I need to go kick some ass.”
He squeezes my shoulder and walks off, already yelling jeers at his brother.
“So, Paige,” Anita says. Her eyes shift between me and Justin as he walks away.
I take a sip of my drink and scrunch my nose at the sourness. I wait for her to continue but she doesn’t. “So Anita…”
“I heard there was a little commotion on the front row yesterday afternoon.”
I make a face. “You heard?”
“Of course I heard. I also heard you came home reallllly early this morning.”
“Ugh.”
“In the same clothes.”
“Are you kidding me?” I hit my forehead with my palm. “Of course you aren’t. How else would you know? Great. What is everyone saying?”
Anita gestures to a back door. “Wanna go on the deck?”
“Please?”
I follow her outside, giving Justin a smile on the way out the door. Thank god I’d already told him about Mark. Obviously he’s heard by now anyway or would soon enough. “It’s not that big of a deal. My ex came to visit.”
She nods. “I suspected. What did he want?”
“For me to go back with him.”
“Did you leave with him?” Her eyes widen and she half-whispers, “Did you sleep with him? Is that why you came in so early?”
“No!” I shout. “No. No. No. I did not. No.”
“Fair question.”
“I wasn’t with him. I told him to leave and he did. I spent the night with Justin,” I confess.
“You spent the night with Justin!”
“Shhh!” I look around but we’re alone on the deck. Anita has a huge grin on her face. “Stop it! I didn’t sleep with him,” I tell her. I then admit, “Well, technically we slept.”
“All you did was sleep?” She hardly fought the shit-eating grin spreading across her mouth. “I know my brother-in-law. I doubt he restrained himself to just sleeping.”
