Perfectly Flawed

by Nessa Morgan

  “Hilary,” Kathryn, my father’s mother replies. She says my aunt’s name like a curse; I can see the hatred in her eyes that she has to stand so close to them; that she has to share this time with them. “Where is my granddaughter?” she demands, placing a hand on her hip.

  Hilary lets out a laugh, crossing her arms across her chest in a challenge. “She wasn’t up to visiting,” she responds, catching Grammy off guard. Her eyes widen as she looks to me. I send her a glare, trying to tell her that, right now, I am not Joey. “It’s still raw for her to be here.”

  “My goodness, it’s been eight years, Hilary,” Kathryn angrily snaps. Grammy walks over to my mother’s grave and places the bouquet on her headstone; covering the flower carved next to her. “Leslie.” Kathryn acknowledges my grandmother with more disgust than Hilary, spitting out her name like a spoiled food.

  “Kathryn,” Grammy grumbles through clenched teeth. I’m waiting for someone to say, Well, bless your heart.

  I follow Grammy’s lead and set the flowers in my hand, that now have broken stems, on Noah’s grave, covering the teddy bear carved by his name. Hilary places her bouquet on Ivy’s grave and backs away, trying to get as far away from Kathryn as she can.

  “I want to go home, now,” I tell my aunt when she walks close enough to me, whispering in the small amount of air between us. She nods.

  “Joey,” Grammy calls, letting my real name slip through her lips by accident. She clamps her hands over her mouth, angry with herself.

  “Joey?” Kathryn asks as she looks from Grammy to Hilary before her eyes trail to me. She takes a small step closer to me. “I thought you said your name was Harley?” She leans closer to me, her thick perfume clogging my nose as she examines my eyes, my face, everything about me.

  “Mom, let’s just go,” Hilary begs, grabbing my hand to tug me protectively behind her. I use her as a shield from Kathryn.

  “You know what, no,” Grammy says, crossing her arms across her chest. “That’s it. I refuse to let this woman keep me from visiting my oldest daughter’s grave, nor my grandchildren’s for that matter.”

  Kathryn snaps to attention, taking her focus from me and placing it on Grammy, trying to burn her, hurt her, with her glare. “I sent in a request to have her moved away from my grandbabies.”

  That does it! I think I might actually start a catfight in a cemetery with my grandmother. I pop my wrist, then my knuckle, ready to punch her fake teeth in.

  “You try that every single year, Kathryn,” Grammy begins, her voice growing louder, her accent thickening—which only happens when she’s angry, no, past angry. This is Infuriated Grammy, not a Grammy anyone wants to deal with, if they value their lives. “It will never work, you know. She’s their mother—”

  “Was.” Kathryn’s voice clips through the air. “The Bitch is dead.” Hilary squeezes my hand to keep me from leaping through the air, from charging and attacking this woman I don’t even know. I already hate her. “And she got them killed. She was a slut, we all knew it.”

  I sidestep my aunt. “MY MOTHER WAS NOT A SLUT!” I scream at the back of Kathryn’s head, hoping my words penetrate that thick skull of hers. She slowly turns around, malice in her eyes, looking at me as I feel my face heat up in a nervous flush. Despite my nervousness, I refuse to back down. “Don’t you dare speak of her that way.”

  Something softens in her eyes. “Josie?” Kathryn asks, her face splitting into a wide grin. It’s like she just saw me for the first time and everything, every hard emotion she just felt, disappears.

  Okay, there’s something seriously disturbed about this woman. There are either two wires in that miniscule brain of hers that aren’t touching or they’ve been crossed.

  “My name,” I begin angrily, speaking through clenched teeth, “is Joey.”

  “Oh, it is you,” she says with a long, drawn out sigh. When did we enter one of those cheesy movies? “I should have recognized those eyes.” Her hand reaches out tentatively. “Will you visit your father with me? Or will they”—she gestures to Grammy and Hilary—“keep you from him? I can take you to visit next week.” She’s rambling like a lunatic. “He would simply just love that.”

  I bark out a laugh. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” That, I make sure, is a promise.

  “At least tell me where you’re livin’ now,” Kathryn pleads, her hands clasping around mine in a vice like grip. “He writes you letters, dear.” I tug to free myself from her possessive grasp.

  “I get them just fine,” I spit at her.

  “Just think about visitin’ your daddy,” Kathryn begs of me. “He misses you so much, he loves you, Josie.” He should have thought about that eight years ago.

  I turn to my aunt, wrenching my hand from Kathryn’s grip. “We can come back here later, right?” I ask, trying to let Kathryn know that I’m done with her. I never want to see this psychotic woman again, so help me God.

  “We can come back here anytime you want,” Aunt Hil promises me, sympathetically.

  Grammy throws a protective arm over my shoulder and steers me away from the grandmother I never knew I had. “Come on, honey,” she whispers low enough that only I can hear her.

  My aunt and my grandmother both lead me to the car still idling on the street, slowly walking through the grass.

  “Like mother, like daughter,” Kathryn yells angrily after our retreating forms.

  I stop in my tracks, really wanting to turn around and charge the woman I’m instantly trying to forget. She has no right to speak of my mother in anyway, not even her name.

  “Don’t pay Kathryn any mind, Joey.” I try to follow Grammy’s advice as I slide into the back of the car. Grandpa tries to speak to me but I just wave him off, promising to talk with him later, when this has blown from my mind.

  How could anyone say such awful things about my mother, about anyone in my family? She was a beautiful person that loved Ivy, Noah, and me so much; I know that it hurt. She was a great mother, from what I hear, and she fought for her children to live. For some reason, I know that more than I know anything else. She was a fighter and a survivor.

  But how do I know that?

  ***

  I almost want to ask this woman where we are but that would mean actually speaking to her. I don’t like her—I’ve never liked her. Still, we stand in a long line, her wrinkled hand clasped around my tiny one in a vice-like grip so I don’t escape. She knows I’ll run when I get the chance. And I’m pretty fast, she’d never catch up to me.

  A loud pop sounds through the air and she pushes open a large, glass door, shuffling me through into a confined space, one small enough to terrify me, to wait for another pop and another door to open. I don’t want to go anywhere with her but she yanks my arm, tugging me painfully through the door.

  “Come on, Josie,” she snaps loudly. “He’s waiting for us.”

  Who’s waiting for us?

  I know I won’t like the answer if I ask the question. She pulls me painfully by the arm until we go through a second set of doors, a third set, and a fourth set. This all seems normal to her but I just want to go home. Wherever that may be.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Lucas,” a large man in a dark uniform says, nodding as we pass by him. The grip of her hand loosens and she smiles at him, feigning sweetness I know she doesn’t possess. I really hate this woman. “And who do we have here?” The man looks to me, a large smile covering his face. The kind all adults use with children when they want to seem nicer, kinder. It works for him.

  “My sister’s daughter.”

  That’s a lie.

  Why is she lying? I’m her granddaughter. She wants me to call her Nana but I don’t talk to her. I refuse to talk to her despite her efforts. I don’t want to call her Nana.

  “She’s adorable,” he tells her, still looking at me. He reaches out a large hand for me to shake. I don’t, he slowly pulls back, the smile falling. “He’ll be here in a moment,” he says coldly. I don’t think he likes whomeve
r we’re here to see.

  Nana pulls me into the room. It’s large, brightly lit, and filled with round tables. The tables are surrounded by people talking with other people, like the cafeteria at school. There’s food and drink everywhere; I can even smell popcorn.

  “Come on, Josie.” Nana yanks on my arm, pulling me so hard it hurts and I let out a loud yelp. I still follow her wherever she wants to lead me. If I obey and act nice, maybe she’ll stop tugging on my arm.

  She shoves me onto a hard seat, placing my hands on the table, neatly folded together, and we wait. But for what?

  After a few minutes of my silent speculation, a tall figure moves slowly against the far wall. I can see the movement in the corner of my eye but I don’t move and I don’t look.

  The air around me grows cold and a tremble starts in the base of my spine, shooting pain through my back. This can’t be happening, not here. They promised me. They all promised me. I shut my eyes tight, wishing for anything, anything else in the world, but it’s not working. I’m still here, and he’s still here, and no one can see me screaming.

  “Benji!” Nana gushes, standing from the table and rushing to hug… Daddy?

  “Josie, hang up the phone,” Daddy says using his loud scary voice, the one he uses on Mommy before he’s mean to her, before he hits her. I don’t want to listen to him, I just want my questions answered.

  “What’s wrong with Mommy?” my tiny voice squeaks in a shrill cry I don’t recognize. I start moving back, trying to get as far away from whatever he’s holding in his hand. It doesn’t look nice, it’s nothing good for me, it looks like it could be painful. I know it’ll hurt me and I know he wants to hurt me.

  “Nothing’s wrong with Mommy,” he growls at me, spitting on me as his words quickly leave his lips. “Do you want to see her?” he asks, stepping closer to me and looking at the bed. His head snaps back in my direction, twitching, jerking from side to side.

  Of course I want to see my mommy but she’s not here. I’m little but I know what lies in that bed is not my mommy, not anymore. She’s gone. I somehow know that she’s gone and I’m alone in this big house. Alone with the monster that stands before me.

  “I want my mommy!” I cry loudly. My tiny voice amplifies in the dark room, bouncing back to me from the dimmed white walls, as I cry louder and louder. I feel the tears streaming down my cheeks, dampening the thin fabric of my Barbie nightgown.

  Daddy lets out a long breath, sounding like a sigh, before he trains his angry gaze to me. “Stop whining, you little brat.” His face contorts into something mean, something evil. He’s someone evil, I realize. He’s something I haven’t seen before. He’s not my daddy anymore; he’s something else, something I don’t want to be around. His face splits into a wicked grin, bearing his teeth like a wolf before it attacks its prey. I saw that on a show a while back. It wasn’t pretty. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere—”

  “Josie?” Daddy says as he stands next to my chair. He looks down at me, his blue eyes wide and… happy? He’s smiling at me. He’s happy to see me. That’s different from the last time he saw me, the last time he even looked at me. Then, he was a monster, now he’s Daddy again.

  I bolt from my chair, knocking it over as I run to the door we came through, pushing past someone large standing by the garbage cans with all the strength my tiny body can muster.

  “Josie, damn it,” Nana calls after me as I pound my hands against the glass, screaming loudly, hoping the door will open. It never does. I tug on the handle, willing it to open, begging it to open.

  “What is wrong with her?” the large man asks as another man drops to his knees in front of me, trying to calm me down.

  “Hey, hey,” the nice man whispers quietly. He grabs my arms and gently tugs me away from the door, pointing me in the direction of Nana and Daddy. “Everything’s okay,” he tells me. I don’t believe him.

  Nothing will ever be okay again.

  My Mommy is dead. Ivy is dead. Noah is dead. They’re all dead and I’m still here waiting for something to happen, something bad I know, in my gut, will happen. Nothing good happens after everyone you love disappears.

  “I don’t—don’t want—YOU CAN’T MAKE ME!” I scream until I can wrench my body free from his grasp. I fling myself against the glass door again, hoping it opens, hoping I can escape to some type of freedom beyond these walls.

  “Can’t make you what?” the large man asks. He turns me around to face him, pulling me away from the door again. “What just happened?” he asks, turning his attention to my Daddy standing in the back.

  “Josie!” Nana announces as my breathing starts to calm. Looking at the nice man kneeling in front of me makes me feel safe. There’s something about him I should trust. I can trust this man. He can help me.

  “Don’t make me go back there,” I whisper quietly, my tiny hands gripping the sleeves of his shirt. “He wants to hurt me. Please, please don’t let him hurt me.” I’m begging.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Nana starts. She grabs my hand, yanking it away when I refuse to take hers. “That won’t happen again.” Nana begins to pull me away with such force, every move makes me cry out in pain, and I look to the man, begging for help with my eyes.

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” he calls, walking until he can stop Nana. “Why are you forcing her to go back there when she obviously doesn’t want to go?”

  “Because she needs to see her father,” Nana explains, not lying this time. She stands her ground, crossing her arms across her chest. This is a woman who won’t back down and she likes to get her what she wants. I learned that the hard way.

  The man’s eyes search the tables in the room, spotting the one in the far back Nana is taking me to. Something seems to dawn on his face, some recognition as he looks back to me.

  “Is her name Josephine Lucas?” he asks, but he already knows the answer.

  “No,” Nana says, knowing she screwed up, as I blurt out, “Yes.”

  “Now you want to talk, little brat?” Nana snaps at me.

  “There’s no need for that, ma’am and I’m sorry but you can’t take her back there.” The uniformed man pries my hand away from hers and leads me to a back office. I smile up to him, happy that he’s here, happy that he’s the one holding my hand. His grip is soft and tender, not tight like Nana’s.

  “I can do whatever I want,” Nana tells the man, fighting to reach my hand. “She’s my granddaughter.” She speaks like it means something, but it’s only words. Useless words pouring from her mouth like bile.

  “I don’t even know how you got her in here,” he mumbles, taking me into the back office and setting me in a soft chair. A chair softer than any other I’ve ever sat in. The cushions seem to swallow me whole, tugging me deeper within the plushy comfort, and I allow it, I allow it until I can’t see the room anymore, the guard is gone, my nana’s gone, and so am I.

  “Joey?” Grammy asks as my eyes adjust to the light streaming through the window. The blinds pulled back revealing the cloud covered sky. As I look, I can tell that the sun is setting, the clouds growing darker and darker as I blink. “You okay?” she asks. Her eyes are wide as she stares at me. I can see the concern etched within her porcelain features.

  I nod, not ready for words yet, sending her the only sign I’m reasonably okay.

  “Okay,” she answers, looking at me before she walks back into the kitchen. As she reaches the doorframe, she takes one long look at me before disappearing into the bright yellow kitchen.

  I’m lying on the couch beneath an old afghan, the television is flickering with a rerun of Gilligan’s Island, and Grandpa is snoring in his favorite chair. I must have fallen asleep after we got home from the cemetery.

  My phone vibrates on my stomach in the pocket of my baggy sweatshirt, tickling my stomach.

  Zephyr: So, I’m assuming you made it to Texas safely. I haven’t seen anything on the news about a plane going down.

  Crap! I knew I forgot to do something when
I walked off the plane. As I read his text, I tug the afghan over my chest to make myself more comfortable.

  Me: Sorry! I’m safe, I’m sound, just a typical basket case. Well, that, you already knew. I miss you, Texas sucks with you in Washington.

  Zephyr: I’d expect that :) I tend to liven up your life.

  I can count on him to be a bit cocky I just never expected for it to put such a giant smile on my face when I tried to picture the look on his face. I can picture his half smile and his hand running through his hair. If only we used Snapchat, I’d use less imagination if I could just see his face, even for only ten seconds.

  Me: I wouldn’t say that exactly…

  Zephyr: What would you say then?

  Me: Hmmm, let me think about that. I’ll get back to you on that.

  I might actually have to think of something to tell him, something snarky to text back but nothing comes to mind. My wit and sarcasm seems to be dwindling the more I’m in Texas.

  Zephyr: I’m counting down the days until you’re in my arms again.

  Me: I’m counting down the days until I’m in my own bed.

  Not exactly true, but it should make him laugh.

  Zephyr: Will I be in it with you?

  Or not. He might not laugh at all.

  I snort loudly, dropping my phone in case someone heard me and wants to investigate without my knowledge. Better to be safe than sorry in this house.

  Me: I’ll text you later.

  Zephyr: I love you :)

  Me: I love you, too!

  I sigh as I drop my phone on my chest, feeling happiness surge through me, heating me. I feel it coursing through my veins, warming me as I remember his goodbye kiss. I wish for us to have more kisses like that, but I’d be staying.

  “And how is Zephyr?” Hilary asks as she drops onto the couch next to me, a playful smile tugging at her lips.