“We should stay,” I decide. Everyone nods.
“If nothing good comes out of this visit, remember, we have Gramps waiting for us.” Hazel squeezes my hand, and her expression fills with unease and worry.
She shouldn’t be worried about me, she should worry about our mother who needs help.
Harrison claps. “Now that we all agree, it’s time to feed our Bumble Bee,” he says in a mocking tone.
She growls, narrowing her gaze. “I already told you, my name is Hazel.”
“That’s not what your parents called you, little buzz buzz bee.”
I laugh at Hazel’s annoyed face. Harrison winks at me, and I smile even more. This guy might say stupid things most of the time, but he does it to dissipate the tension.
Twenty-Nine
The more you live
The world is a big family, and we need to help each other. ~ Jet Li
Today, like the past days, has been exhausting but gratifying. Every day, I wake with the sun, get dressed, have some coffee and head to the construction site. From the moment we arrive, until the sun goes down, we dedicate our time to fixing houses. One by one, we are trying to add windows and doors and add a coat of paint. Mom taught us to help the less fortunate. These weeks I’ve understood why she volunteered so much. Donating money to a charity helps, dedicating our time to improve the lives of others is life altering. During my travels, I saw poverty. Instinctively, I handed over a few dollar bills or food. But now I want to help more—make a difference.
My brothers and I decided to do this more often, at least once a year. We’ll find places closer to home, too. Hazel brought to our attention that there’s poverty inside our country. People who need the same kind of help we are willing to give outside. Whatever we decide, it’s going to include the Beesley girls.
The creaky noise of the door opening startles me. It’s Willow wearing a pair of denim shorts and a loose tank top. She’s holding her toiletries, a small towel and a bucket of water. Not having indoor plumbing sucks. “Hey, I didn’t know you were here.” She closes her eyes shaking her head. “I didn’t mean to see that.”
I hurry cleaning myself with a towel. Soon I’m going to have to take Harrison’s offer to go to the next town to take a real shower. I put on my jeans. “We need a lock.” I point out the obvious.
This isn’t the first time someone has walked into the bathroom while someone else was using it. We laugh, I bet at the memory of Hazel running around the house demanding that she see Harrison’s dick since he got to see her boobs. An eye for an eye.
“How are you?” I ask since we only get to have some time alone at night. Only if we happen to be in the kitchen washing dishes. Most of the time we are surrounded by everyone.
Willow looks at me, one hand holding her stuff, the other in her pocket. Her stooped posture says it; they didn’t come today either. Her parents disappeared after the first day we saw them. The idea of staying just another day was starting to crack her heart. I saunter toward her, embracing her in my arms. For the past few days, I’ve seen the disappointment in her face, dark like tonight’s sky. They should’ve been here all along with their daughters. The sole purpose of our trip was for Willow and Hazel to talk to their parents, to be with them. The fuckers disappeared on them. Every morning they wake up hoping they’ll show; every night they go to bed hoping tomorrow will be the day.
I’m fucking angry at those fuckers. Their daughters came all the way to see them, and they don’t care. Hazel and Willow aren’t children, but for fuck’s sake, they have feelings.
“Tell me how to make this better.” I sway our bodies, cradling her as I soothe her.
“A part of me takes this personally. They don’t want to see me.” She puffs some air, twice. “The logical side is trying to find what triggered her anger. I believe she ran away to avoid showing us her nasty side. At least I find that as a good excuse. I want to forgive their poor behavior.”
“All possible scenarios,” I say sparsely. Who am I to judge? There’s no fucking way to know what is going on inside their minds. I only know that if my children were visiting me, I wouldn’t miss any second of their stay. “None of them are your fault.”
“The thoughts about my nonexistent children are like an electric hammer inside my head.” She wraps her hands around me. “If she can’t handle her children? Will that be me? Should I plan on not having a family? Why am I thinking about them when I can’t fathom having a family?”
“Your fears are valid, Willow.”
“They are?”
“Of course, you don’t like surprises as much as you hate planning. The future terrifies you, and maybe I’m wrong, but you’re trying to find a point of reference. A role model to learn from.”
“She’s no role model.” Her tone isn’t angry. It’s a fact.
“For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you. The determination to find a way to overcome your disorder. Facing what frightens you. You’re the bravest woman I know.”
Her head rests on my chest, and the fullness of the moment means everything to me. I enjoy this minute without fearing that it might be the last. Only knowing that, for now, we are enough for one another. We stay silent. I can hear her busy mind analyzing her feelings. She showed me the journals where she writes each emotion she felt during that day. The feelings and the best tool to prevent the turmoil. Every night she asks herself if it’s her presence, her existence, or is something else that made the disappear without a word?
“Laila is intangible and inexplicable.” Willow hides her face in the crook of my arm. “I want to know, to learn at least something about her. Then, we can leave. But our time is about to run out. We all have jobs and responsibilities waiting for us at home.”
“We will stay for as long as you need to stay.”
Grant Beesley, Jr. and Laila Richardson are a puzzle. Harrison knows they are close to the sea, staying with another couple. Everything about them is confusing. They have two daughters, but they aren’t married. According to Hazel, Laila doesn’t believe in marriage. Willow has some recollection of their father working, while Hazel had no idea that Grant has a degree in Political Science and a Master’s Degree in Business. Grant received a trust fund at the age of thirty. He used that money to support his family. The couple travels around the world with different missionary groups. According to the director of the current project, they donate their time as often as possible. He’s never met a couple so committed to one another and saving the poor. They’ve also promised when they have money, they will hand it over to the project.
Their daughters worry about their parents’ financial situation since they are giving away their personal money. They wanted to know everything. Do Grant and Laila have enough to support themselves for more than twenty years? How can the girls take their parent’s home? Harrison asked a friend to look into the financial information. A week ago, we found out that the trust that Grant senior set up was for life. The allotted stipend set was a fortune years ago. In a few years, it won’t be enough to live off of it.
Hazel is already planning for her parents future. My brothers and I offered to help when she knows what she wants to do. Willow said that as much as she’d love to do that, she’s just now getting out of debt. Once she has a solid career and enough money, she’ll be helping, too. Of course, before we assume any role or determine the next step to help, we have to talk to Grant and Laila.
“No matter how many breaths I take, the frustrations keep building. I feel like I’m going to explode.” Willow wipes away her tears. “Sorry, I’m always a mess.”
Kissing her eyes, I ask myself what am I doing with her? She needs this time to be with her parents and to get to know herself. I already had that time. Leaving, though, isn’t an option.
“Breathe, be about what’s going on with you. Run as many miles as you need. Lean on me when you feel like you can’t continue. I don’t want the perfect, happy version of you, Willow. I want every version. All. Of. You.” I tr
ace her lips lightly with the tip of my finger. They part, and I have such an urge to devour her.
Her gaze slides to the side and she takes a step back. I get the message, stay behind the line and only admire her.
Is that the message she wants to convey?
Or what she thinks is logical?
The air crackles with the electricity produced by just being close to her. I haven’t lived long, but I have traveled far and learned a lot in the past months. I know that the attraction between us isn’t something we can replicate. This emotion that started the night we met, it is us. It is her and me. I keep falling in love with her, repeatedly.
She smiles at the little kids that come to visit while she is working. She takes another piece of my heart when I see her playing with them and showing affection to the people of this town and asking if we can lend her money so she can help more. I fall more and more when she isn’t afraid to show her scars.
But I’ll give her the space she needs, believing when she’s ready, that her heart will know where to find me. That her mind will be clear enough to search for me. My biggest hope is that she’ll give us a chance.
“You’re beautiful, gorgeous, Willow Beesley,” I say, lifting the tension around us. I serve her with a wink and a grin. “You look exhausted. Maybe I should take you to the next town for the night. There’s a hotel with real beds and showers.”
“You insist on going to that hotel, Mr. Everhart.” She smirks, lifting her palm and patting me twice on the cheek. “I know your intentions. Keep dreaming.”
“Baby.” I capture her hand kissing her open palm twice. “Of course, I’ll keep dreaming. You’re the star in all my dreams.”
“Dinner is ready,” Hazel calls us.
Willow jets off leaving me behind.
Thirty
Learn from the past, don’t repeat it
The book of the past is over. Focus on what you plan to write today; it’ll affect the next chapter. ~ Anonymous.
Leaving Hunter with the excuse of wanting to eat was for the best. I can’t handle my feelings for him and my parents at the same time. Yet, at night when I think of happy things, he’s my first thought. Being near him lights me up inside. That sweet, gentle smile, those eyes radiating peace. I hate to think that he’s my favorite place in the world. The most exciting activity to do. My favorite person. Being close to him is overwhelming. Just now I was about to combust. His touch makes me nervous. His embrace arouses every cell of my body. I’m just not ready for all of him.
It never fails, when we are so close, we create a tingle of electric sparks. He creates a pandemonium of emotions inside of me. This time, I feel like I can handle most of them. But I’m not ready to prove my theory. Another day or another year when my emotions are under control and my life is organized. He deserves to have a strong woman by his side. I doubt I’m strong enough—not yet.
Slowing down my pace, I enter the kitchenette where Harrison and Hazel are talking too close to each other. I keep watching, waiting for something to develop between them. But nothing happens. Fitz told me to leave it alone, that men and women can be friends. Soul mates can be only friends. Understanding the mind of one person is a gift, not an affair. Is it?
“Should I leave the two of you alone?”
“No, join us.” Hazel waves her hand, then turns the phone she’s holding. “Say hi to Gramps.”
I wave frantically. He’s smiling at the screen, wearing his favorite shirt that Hazel gifted him. Who knew Gramps loved Iron Maiden? Hazel, of course. “Hey, handsome. How are you?”
“Missing my girls. How are you doing, Willow?”
Hazel and I take turns telling him about the projects we’ve been working on here. Hazel suggests donating money to the town to make a few more improvements. My grandfather surprises me once again by asking for more details about how she’s going to use the funds. He’ll send it as soon as he hears from her. The man has a big heart.
There’s a knock on the door, but we continue our conversation.
“Someone get the door,” Harrison yells after the second one. “I’ll take this before you start sexting my contacts.”
“It was one time,” Hazel defends herself.
Harrison gives her a hooded glare, locking the screen.
“That woman started it. It was spur of the moment. A simple, ‘what are you wearing,’ and boom, she sends me her very explicit, very naked pictures.” She rubs her eyes. “No amount of bleach will erase what I saw. None.”
“Willow, Hazel,” Hunter calls out. “There’s someone here to see you.”
We both hurry to the entrance, where Hunter is standing next to my father.
“Where’s Mom?” Hazel blurts, coming to a stop.
He shakes his head. Fuck, she’s not coming. Hazel gives me a we are packing soon glare.
“She’s still not well.”
“Wait, she’s sick?” Hazel’s voice carries her characteristic sarcastic tone. “I bet it’s daughteritis. Doctors recommend quarantining the patient far, far away from the patient’s daughter. I’m glad you always follow doctor’s orders.”
“Hazel,” I reprimand her.
She rolls her eyes and snarls. “We came to visit them. She shows up all cheery. Not even five minutes later, they disappeared leaving us without an explanation.”
Exhaling loudly, she closes the distance between our father and herself. “What is it, Grant?”
“Is it us?” I question before he leaves without giving us any other explanation.
“It’s them, Willow,” Hazel says. “For years I swore it was us, but after their display, I conclude it’s definitely them.”
“Please, girls. It’s not what you think.” Dad exhales. With a frustrated face, he starts to explain to us what he means.
It’s what we’ve been thinking all along. My mother is a passionate woman. She wears her heart on her sleeve and gives so much. He adores the woman. But unfortunately, she also has a temper. Little things trigger her anger. She can’t commit to one place, one job, one person . . . one anything. The exception being my father.
“I’m the luckiest man in the world. She loves me the most.”
“You’re saying she doesn’t love us?” I ask, holding Hazel’s hand tight. I’m trying to shield her from my question and the answer. My head pounds as I feel anger mixed with anxiety in my chest, waiting to take over.
“She loves you. Adores you is a better word. You are her little girls.” He rubs his forehead with the heel of his palm. “Laila has trouble showing affection. She tried so hard to be the best mother, but her emotions didn’t allow her to be what you two needed. It got to the point that I felt she’d do something bad.”
Sadly, I understand his concern. Clutching my sister’s hand, I feel some relief. During the days after my diagnosis, I read as much as I could. I visited forums and learned from people affected by BDP. Among the material I came across, there was an article about a woman who had five children, all by different men. She became an addict at sixteen. It was the best way to handle her feelings. Those children now live with their respective fathers, except the youngest. This woman was so passionate, so explosive and lost in herself that she killed her partner and her youngest son.
Is my mother in such a state that she could’ve done that to Dad, to us? Hunter’s hand reaches to mine. They interlock and my rapid breathing begins to settle.
“I’m here,” he murmurs in my ear, kissing the sensitive part behind it. It’s a simple sentence filled with so much. He’s my one stable force in this chaotic moment.
“You can’t say she adores us. Or tell us how much you love us, and think we’re okay with the way you’ve behaved for years,” I say. The words aren’t meant to hurt him, but he flinches. “Leaving wasn’t the answer. In a way, you chose her over us. You chose your relationship over the children you had to protect.”
Before I tell Dad my own story, I push the anger away for one moment and bare my soul to him. We discuss everything fr
om the abandonment I felt when they began traveling, to dealing with a broken mind. My father listens without interruptions. His face fills with grief and repentance. Once I finish, I prompt Hazel to do the same, to tell him how she feels. Her story is different than mine, but pain and sorrow can’t be measured or compared. We both suffered because of their neglect.
“Do you know that your father isn’t who you said he was?” Her voice is provocative, fearless. “Gramps isn’t a cruel tyrant who hates everyone. You could’ve left us with him.”
“Dad wanted to send Laila to a mental institution,” Dad says in a serious voice. His eyes flash anger. “She doesn’t belong there.”
“She needed help. We needed to be with our family,” Hazel retorts. “We were children. Small, defenseless children who needed their parents—at least one. You abandoned us.”
“I left you in good hands,” he retorts.
“The family next door was good hands?” I ask with indignation. “They had five children, how could you think it was the best?”
“The McFees tried their best, but they had a full house,” Hazel who adores that family agrees with me. “Did you ever care if they had enough money to keep their own children fed?”
“They loved you,” Dad says. It appears that his only answer to everything is love. “Karina was capable. I left you there because I love you.” His tone mirrors the frustration inside me. “Laila was using razors to hurt herself. She was snapping at you all the time. I feared she was a ticking bomb. I had to protect you from her. What else was I supposed to do?”
The blood, the cutting, the razors—I know the story too well. Some say it’s a way to seek attention, while others do it to release the burning feeling inside their chest. I did it right when my brain was on the verge of breaking. I covered my pain in more pain. My mother must have been desperate, lonely.
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