by Julia Kent
“It’s better.” He touched the healing wound lightly. “What’s going on here?”
“I won a lifetime’s supply of kitty litter. Or, at least, my mama did.”
“You only have two cats, right?” He chuckled, watching the guys haul and re-stack. “Where are you going to store it all?” He imagined Josie would have a mixed reaction, given her apartment’s clean, spare look.
“You got one?” She perked up. “Trevor, give Alex a bag.”
Oof! As if he were lifting a newborn baby, Trevor handed off a twenty-pound bag of litter. Alex’s knees bent at the weight and his hip screamed.
“Thanks,” he said, acting like it was no big deal. The testosterone level in the yard was up to his chin, and something primal in him made him man up. “But I don’t have a cat.”
“How about your mom? Your grandpa? Someone you know? Maybe take a few bags to the hospital and see if people want some?”
He set the bag down carefully. “No thanks, Darla. But it might come in handy this winter on icy walkways.”
“Oooh, good selling point.”
“Who are all these guys?”
“The band. You know Trevor and Joe.” Both grunted a “hello.” “And this is Sam, the drummer,” she said, pointing to the redhead. Deep auburn hair and the kind of skin that tans, rather than burns, with greenish hazel eyes. He was the only guy wearing a shirt, something from a geeky t-shirt store, and the quick eye contact and downcast eyes were more about shyness than anything else.
“Liam’s the guitar player.”
“One of them!” Trevor protested.
“The best one,” Liam crowed, reaching out to shake Alex’s hand. Liam and Trevor could have been brothers, both possessing a natural confidence and blonde surfer-dude look, though Liam was taller, looking down at Alex as they shook hands.
“So, this is the entire band?” Josie’s texts this past week had explained who Trevor and Joe were, and Darla’s relationship with them, as well as the Random Acts of Crazy band. Alex hadn’t heard of them, but then again, he lived in his own hospital-filled bubble.
Liam nodded. “We’re all here, moving kitty litter for Trevor and Joe’s puss—”
“HEY!” shouted the two guys, Joe throwing his shirt at Liam. It caught him on the side of his grinning face.
“You’re here, aren’t you?” Darla said, going right up to Liam and smiling. This was all good-natured, Alex could see.
“Where’s Josie?” Alex asked.
Darla just stared at him. No anger, no consternation, just an open look of evaluation. He wondered how different their fathers must have been, for Darla had untamed blonde waves and ocean-green eyes, with a fuller figure, while Josie’s features were dark, her body petite and slim. How interesting genetics could be. If he and Josie had a baby, it would have dark hair and dark eyes.
Even as he held Darla’s look, he paused internally. The thought of having a baby, of growing a family, with Josie filled him with a sense of protection and love.
Hope, too.
Waving him toward the door, Darla said, “Let’s go inside and talk. You want something to drink?” The guys were about halfway through their labor; Alex could see, now, just how much kitty litter you could pack into an entire pallet.
“You can call the local humane society, too, and donate some.”
Darla clapped excitedly as she entered the kitchen. “Great idea. Lemonade?”
Alex was itching to see Josie. “No, thanks. So…is something wrong with her?”
Blinking rapidly, Darla seemed torn. “She’s…not okay, but it’s not that there’s anything bad. It’s just that Josie, well, she’s—”
“Complicated,” they said simultaneously.
“You really are Dr. Perfect, aren’t you?”
He laughed. “I wish. If I’d let Josie see Dr. Imperfect a bit more, maybe we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“What are you in with her? She says you’re ‘somethinging.’”
“She’s something,” he said, grinning. They exchanged a knowing look, one that pleased him. How did two women come out of what Josie described as tragic circumstances only to be so fascinating, so down to earth and funny and intelligent? Darla was rough around the edges, and he knew Josie worried about her, but she’d be fine. Josie was fine. It made him wonder about her father, the librarian. What kind of man was he? His influence came through in Josie's intelligence.
Whatever made Josie think she wasn’t an exceptional person made his heart ache. He wanted to banish the roadblocks that got in her way, even as he knew that the only person who could really do that was her. Being supportive, walking down the road with her, standing on the sidelines while she navigated her way—that he could do.
If she let him.
But the hard work? If he tried to do it for her, he’d be cheating her out of an inner journey that made her who she was, made up the pieces of her that he loved.
Yes. Loved.
Last night’s fitful sleep faded to a subtle, then sharp, clarity as the first light peeked through his curtains. Everything with Josie was hard because he was experiencing something new.
True love.
Book learning wouldn’t cut it. He couldn’t watch an instructor and imitate. This very awkward, very flustered feeling was something he needed to get through and forge ahead to understand.
With her.
“You know,” Darla said quietly, “she’s the reason I’m okay. After our daddies died.”
Unsure what to say Alex just nodded sympathetically. “How?”
“I guess it’s more mutual than that. My mama lost her foot in the accident and couldn’t get around. We lived with the assistant librarian for about six weeks after the crash—Josie’s dad was the librarian. And when Mama came home, Josie moved in with us ’cause her mom was still in the hospital with a brain injury. I was only four, so the early years are hazy. I just remember my mama crying constantly and Josie taking me out to play. A lot.”
She sighed. Alex’s chest tightened. “Aunt Marlene wasn’t the same, from what Mama told me. I don’t know a different Marlene, so…” She shrugged. “But the one I do know is hard. The kind of woman you don’t want to get in a catfight with. And she hates Josie. Hates her.”
“No mother ever hates their child. Not deep down,” he protested.
“You haven’t met Marlene.”
Alex felt like someone gut-punched him. “Before, though, was she like this?”
“Not from what Mama says. She and Uncle Jeff were happy and loved Josie and wanted to have more kids but tried and couldn’t. Marlene stayed at home and Jeff worked. After, she got on disability, because she had—what’s the word? Not amnesia. The kind where the words don’t come out right?”
“Aphasia?”
“Yes! That, and a bunch of executive…something…problems.”
“Executive functioning?” The tight feeling in his chest intensified. Whatever part of the brain had been injured in Josie’s mother, it must have affected her personality as well as processing.
“Yes. Her mind still worked—she’s sharp in a lot of ways—but they’re the wrong ways. Like, she can manipulate the hell out of a person, but she has no conscience. It’s like she hit her head and turned into a sociopath. That’s how Mama explained it to me.”
Alex’s blood ran cold. “How did Josie cope?”
“She spent every bit of time she could at our house. Mama always let her. Marlene would get mad if Josie didn’t keep the house clean, or work enough babysitting jobs when she was younger to give her cigarette money. When she was sixteen she got a job at the library, and Marlene took most of the paycheck. So Josie worked and stayed away from home as much as possible.”
“Child services didn’t intervene?”
A derisive snort. “You ever seen child services do anything good for a family? Mama said she called once, and they told her unless Josie had bruises, they wouldn’t do anything.”
Alex swallowed hard. “Except
her bruises are on the inside.”
“Yep.”
“She told me once that her mother is the town barfly.”
Darla pinkened, opened her mouth, then shut it tight. On second thought, she appeared to reconsider. “Marlene’s the town whore.”
“Okay,” he said as he exhaled.
“Don’t judge Josie for that,” she said, narrowing her eyes with an accusing look.
“Of course I wouldn’t!” he objected. “Jesus, none of this has any reflection on Josie!”
“That’s the part Josie needs to figure out, Alex,” she whispered.
“How’d you turn out okay?” he asked.
She raised her eyebrows. “Alex, I finally moved out here after picking up a naked hitchhiker on the interstate, and then ended up in a threesome. The jury’s still out on whether I turned out ‘okay.’”
“I vote for a verdict of ‘okay.’”
“Plus, I didn’t have a mama who brought strange men home all the time.” The words came out in a hoarse voice. “Thank God.”
The implication of her words took a few seconds to sink in, and he stiffened. “None of those men ever…” Fists clenching, his insides shook with righteous anger on a young Josie’s behalf.
“I don’t think so. She’s never talked about it. Just that her mother would scream at her to leave. Or, once, made her watch.” Darla turned away as she said the words. “I think I’ve said too much.”
He reached for her wrist. “No. You haven’t. And this just makes me admire Josie even more.” A lump in his throat made his voice sound like wet gravel. “Anyone who can live through that and thrive as an adult is strong as steel.”
Darla nodded, tears in her eyes. “She is. Except all she knows is how to be strong, Alex. To make herself safe. Josie has no idea what it feels like to be weak and safe.”
“Where is she? It’s time for me to tell her that I want her to be all those things. That I love all those things about her.”
“She shot out of here earlier and said something about the library.”
Knock knock knock. Alex looked up to find Trevor in the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt, but we’re done and Sam and Liam need to take off.”
“Tell them to load some up for their families to take home.”
Liam popped his head in. “We don’t have a cat.”
Darla wiped one eye and laughed. “So what! Your neighbors have cats, right?”
“If I showed up at my parents’ house with cat litter for an animal we don’t own, they’d think I was tripping.”
Joe appeared. “Hey, I have to get to work.”
“Take some home! I know your mom has a cat!”
“My mom only uses some organic, lavender-infused stuff made from the shaved hair of reincarnated holy men turned into lambs or something like that. And it’s Fair Trade. No way she’d let me come home with this.” Joe sniffed.
“She realizes all the cat does is piss and shit on it, right? We’re not talking about an alchemy process that turns the kitty’s waste products into gold nuggets,” Darla said.
Joe shrugged. “Don’t argue with me—I’m not the one who buys that stuff.”
“Dissecting the elimination habits of pampered pets is a fascinating topic, but I have to go. Where’s the nearest library Josie goes to?” Alex paused, then smacked his forehead.
“Never mind. I know where she went.”
Chapter Fifteen
Josie hadn’t been to this particular library in a few months, but it was the garden that drew her in. Underneath an ivy-covered pergola, surrounded by overgrown Rose of Sharon bushes, every flower was in full bloom, and it felt like a little womb of blossoms. What she needed most right now was a sense of wonder and a place where no one else would disturb her. The library was closed; the garden was open.
Nestling herself on a bench, she took the clutched paperback and stared at the cover. Willing herself to open it, she found page one and began the slow process of unfuckupping herself.
It was a dark and stormy night, the book began, and she groaned. How ridiculously silly. And then…she just became the book.
Within a short time she discovered that Meg, the main character, had a missing father. Josie’s chest seized, a shocked sob stuck in it. Oh, shit. Had Daddy, just days before he died, given her a book about a pre-teen girl who loses her father?
Awkward, bookish Meg—like Josie. Annoying twin siblings and a curious, genius little brother—nope. Darla was the closest thing she had to a sibling, and while she’d call Darla clever, “genius” was a stretch.
An absent-minded but loving scientist mother who cooked dinner on Bunsen burners?
Hell no.
Meg’s father was a scientist, too, and he’d gone missing. The town believed he’d abandoned his family, but Meg and her little brother, Charles Wallace, came to learn he’d been exploring time travel. She gasped at the concept of a tesseract—folding time to travel to new planets. The battle between good and evil sucked her in, and soon she found herself so consumed with the story that everything around her faded.
Tears ran down her face when Meg worked to pull her brother from the clutches of a giant, soul-sucking brain called IT that sought conformity and mind control at all costs (a.k.a. Evil). Meg’s friend, Calvin, a popular but poor kid came to her rescue repeatedly, and the hint of a love interest tapped into a memory of a Josie who would have adored the storyline at eleven.
Oh, Daddy, she thought. You were so right. I wish I’d read this. I wish I could talk to you about this.
I just wish.
And then…Meg found her father. Saved him and her brother, with some help from Calvin.
If only finding fathers were so easy.
And then they were reunited with her mother, and…Meg, young Meg, had turned out to be stronger and more beautiful than she’d ever imagined.
Everyone around her saw it. Knew it, deep in their bones. Her secret weapon that allowed her to defeat IT was so simple: love.
Love conquered all.
Closing the cover, she heard the first raindrop before she saw it, for her eyes were shut. At first Josie thought it was a tear, for she was crying. Then she heard another, and another, and opened her eyes. The air had taken on a steamy quality, and in this little green sanctuary she felt cared for, loved like the furry creatures of the planet Ixchel in the book, the beings who showered Meg with unconditional love and caring. If only she’d had that.
Willing herself to stop being negative, she visualized all the people who had stepped in and shown love. Her mother (before the accident). Her dad. Aunt Cathy. Uncle Mike. Darla. Mrs. Humboldt. Teachers and professors and bosses and friends. Laura. Mike. Even Dylan.
And, of course—Alex.
So many people, when she thought it through, who had shown some caring for her. Isolated and alone all those years at home, as her mom paraded men through the house, using Josie as a servant, or kicking her out to go to Aunt Cathy’s. Narrow misses; gratitude flooded her for the times she’d been perilously close to danger with some of her mother’s bedmates, but had escaped unscathed. The coke powder on the coffee table, empty beer bottles ringing the house, and $5 cans of crabmeat for their cats—but no food for her.
For the past eight years since she’d escaped she had focused on all the wrongs. Where had it gotten her? Safe. Out of danger.
But alone.
Never before had she thought to focus on the people in her life who helped. Were there for her. Acted as role models or friends or just…gave her acts of kindness that sustained her soul.
Who had, collectively, helped her to reach this place of empowerment and love so that she could face an eighteen-year-old piece of baggage the size of a small paperback book.
She had done it.
Wasn’t this the part where she was supposed to feel changed? Altered? Free and relieved of all the crap she’d been carrying around all these years? Instead, she felt a touch of guilt for how she’d acted with Marlene, a much larger feeling
of relief for finally telling her how she felt, and an inner stillness.
Focusing on that, she closed her eyes, letting the occasional raindrop fall on her shoulders and back as she pulled her knees to her chest and just listened. Her own breathing filled her ears. Just her. That was all she needed.
Just her.
That was enough. Had always been enough.
Hot tears filled her eyes and throat, but this time through an enormous smile. For so long she’d felt unfinished. Damaged. The girl whose father died and whose mother…might as well have. The woman who came home to her after the car crash wasn’t her mother. Not her real mother. Josie had fantasized that somehow there had been a mix-up at the hospital and Marlene had really died and this woman, this thing that came home and called itself “Mom” was actually a spy who had plastic surgery and was infiltrating… Peters, Ohio?
That had been the part that even her eleven-year-old mind couldn’t grasp.
She laughed at her memory of it, simultaneously crying for her eleven-year-old self.
And yet…there was that stillness now inside. She could find it and be centered.
It had replaced the hole in her.
Alex remembered that Josie had mentioned a little garden spot behind an area library, and he felt a sense of kismet, a larger sense of pride, as he found her, curled up on a bench under a beautiful pergola, a flowering sanctuary like something from a 19th-century novel. A light, misty rain was beginning, the kind where raindrops seem coy, and flirt with dropping, but don’t quite commit. Josie had pulled her knees to her chest and appeared to be smiling as he approached her from the side and sat down next to her.
His presence seemed not to startle her, nor surprise her. It was as if his appearance were the most natural thing in the world.
“Hi,” he said gently. As she tipped her face up to look at him, he saw red eyes and tears pouring down her cheeks, dotting her blouse. Or perhaps that was rain. It was hard to tell.
“Dr. Perfect,” she whispered. In her hand she held a small paperback. He looked at it, then gasped.
“A Wrinkle in Time! Tesseracts and IT. I remember reading that in—what? Fourth grade?” He chuckled to himself. “I remember wondering if that was where my dad really was. On another planet, desperately trying to find his way back to me.”
