by Nancy Canyon
Alice walked angrily past her mother.
“Alice? I hope you’ll forgive me some day."
Yankee Doodle competed with popping firecrackers, spitting sparklers and squealing children. The air was hot as the coals glowing beneath grilling burgers. Alice looked forward to sitting on a blanket with Stephen, watching the fireworks light up the sky.
She headed west along Main Street, telling herself she wouldn’t look in the window of the Town Tavern as she passed. But her curiosity got the best of her. There at the bar, Stella Green hunkered over a drink. Alice wondered how many times Stella had chewed out Jim in front of the townsfolk, for not saving her father’s life. She guessed everyone in town knew the truth about the Sharps: that Alice was Carl Jefferson Dotson’s daughter, the only living heir to the town founder.
She picked up her pace despite the heat, realizing that the strange looks the townsfolk had always given Alice were because they recognized Carl’s dark eyes and red hair, not because they feared she’d turn out to be a drunken hothead just like Jim.
Climbing the wooden steps to the Lewis Cemetery, her legs felt as heavy as waterlogged beach wood. She pushed open a squeaky wrought-iron gate, reeling with the heat as she stumbled between overgrown rows of weathered crosses. She couldn’t shake the image in her mind’s eye of a boat sinking in rushing waters. Finally, at the very back of the cemetery, she found his name carved into weathered wood: Carl Jefferson Dotson. Her heart overflowed with sorrow.
She squatted before the grave, lifted the chain over her head, and clutched the cross in her hand. The image of her father’s body, gray and water soaked, floated toward her. Falling onto the dry grass, she cried out as she worked a hole in the hard dirt with her tender fingertips. “Here’s your cross, Daddy.” Crying harder, she lowered her head to the ground, letting her red curls fall over the mounded grave. She sobbed until she drifted off to sleep.
“Alice. Alice.”
She woke to a hand gently shaking her. Alice jerked upright, smelled Stephen’s familiar sweet scent and turned to him. “Stephen.”
“You okay?”
“I was sleeping. My face—”
“Your mother told me you were here.” He brushed dirt from her cheeks.
“I wanted to give Daddy back his cross,” she said, pulling the necklace out of the hole. “Life isn’t supposed to be full of so many secrets, is it?”
“Tough one,” Stephen said, holding her tenderly.
“I’ve decided to keep the cross with me always. There won’t be any more secrets, nothing to hide.”
He took the cross from her dusty fingers, fastening it around her neck.
Alice rested her head against his shoulder and gently traced a finger over the cross. “Here’s your cross, Daddy,” she said, feeling the tears spill down her cheeks again. “It’ll be with me forever. The river flowed from you to me.”
They sat quietly before Carl’s grave for a long time. Alice smelled hot pine pitch, heard distant fireworks, felt Stephen’s heartbeat against her side. But her own aching heart was what worried her. She knew she needed help finding her way through the darkness to the light.
As Alice descended the wooden steps from the cemetery to town, a change in mood passed through her like a flash flood. She appreciated Stephen showing up, but now she felt pissy, to use Gena’s word. She wanted to be alone. Stephen’s Converse high-tops squeaked down the steps behind her. A sharp cramp dug into her low back. In her mind’s eye her foot whipped out and kicked over the glass figurines on the gift shelf at Henry’s pharmacy. She’d been holding back her anger as long as she could remember. As loudly as the knick-knacks crashed through the glass shelves to the floor, she would demand an apology from Jim Sharp.
Turning to Stephen, she said, “I have something I need to take care of. I’ll see you tonight. Okay?”
“Walk you home?”
“I’m not going home. I’m going to the jail house.”
“Your place at eight then.”
Alice walked fast, squinting against the relentless glare bouncing back from the hot sidewalk. The photos were stuffed inside her sketchbook, the cross was around her neck, and her anger was freed like a murder of crows attacking an osprey nest.
For the second time that week she climbed the steps and entered the jail. Once her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she saw Officer Wise leaning over his desk, buried in forms.
Alice crossed the cement floor, her flip-flops slapping the concrete, her anger boiling beneath her summer clothes. She dropped her sketchbook on the polished wood desk. “I’m here to see Jim.”
“Miss Sharp,” Officer Wise said, dropping his pen and rubbing his hand over his face. “Visiting hours are over. Go and enjoy the celebration.”
“Please. I need to talk to him.”
“It’s a mistake, Alice,” he said, pushing back in his chair, and then rising up to his full height. “He’ll get to you. Trust me. I know his kind.”
Alice fixed her eyes on the officer’s. They were dark like her own. She could tell they weren’t likely to back down, but she didn’t look away. Alice Sharp wasn’t leaving the jail until she saw her abuser.
Officer Wise took off his hat, pushing his fingers through his thinning hair. He stared down at Alice for some minutes. His eyes softened. Wagging his head, he strode around the desk, taking the key from the hook. “Five minutes then. But that’s all, and,” he signaled her to follow, “it’s against my better judgment. You understand?”
“Yes,” Alice said, following the sheriff between the empty cells, holding her breath against the sickening odor.
The officer’s boots struck the cement and Alice’s flip-flops slapped it. Together, their sounds echoed off the walls like rocks tumbling down the bluff.
“Sharp. Look lively. Got a visitor.”
Jim jerked his head up, snorting once he saw her. “Get her out of here.” Hunching forward, he pulled his blue baseball cap lower over his eyes.
Now Alice covered her nose to block the smell of cheap whiskey and awful body odor like burnt onions.
“Use your manners, Sharp. Miss Sharp, stand back from the bars. I’ll be right over here,” he said, nodding to the waiting area. “No funny business.”
Alice nodded. She moved toward her step-father. “I came for an apology!”
Jim laughed, shaking his head. “What for, Angel?”
The heat flushed up her neck into her face. She reached for the cross at the same time he reached for an apple on the green plastic tray. She would not let him get to her. The scar she’d given him with the butcher knife blazed red. Tossing the apple into the air, he caught it neatly in one big hand.
He raised his eyebrows and said, “Came from lover boy’s garden. Want it? Wise won’t let me have a knife to cut it up.”
Alice swallowed hard. “You don’t scare me. I want an apology for the bad thing.”
“Drop the charges, Angel, or get out.”
“What happened to my dad?”
He stood suddenly. Leaning forward, he grabbed onto the door with his free hand. “Are you blind? I’m falsely accused and locked away.”
She pulled a photo from her book and held it up for Jim to see. “Mom gave me this. I know who my father is.”
Quickly, Jim banged against the door. Unnerved, Alice stumbled back. She caught herself on the cell behind her.
“Not afraid, huh? I’d never hurt you,” he said in a voice as sweet as mock orange. “You’re the vindictive one. You made the whole thing up to hurt me. Why, Alice, why?”
Officer Wise stepped between them. “Okay, back off, Sharp. Take a seat.”
“Unlock the goddamn door, Wise.” Jim shook the cell door again. “I’m innocent.”
“You’ll have your day in court.”
Alice looked from the towering officer to Jim’s white-knuckled hold on the black bars. Releasing the bar, he stared hard at Alice. “Carl’s dead.”
She put the photo away and covered her shaking torso with
her book. “You were there?”
“Yeah. Accidents happen. That’s life.”
Alice choked down the lump in her throat. “But you survived!”
“I said it was an accident; besides, there’s nothing anyone can do about it now.” Violently, he slammed the apple against the wall. The flesh smashed, splattering pulp across the bare cement like a sparking pinwheel.
“That’s it,” Officer Wise said, promptly taking Alice by the arm. “You’re out of here.”
Alice wrestled from his grip. “Wait. He hasn’t apologized.”
Jim held her gaze, cutting her with his steel eyes. “When hell freezes over.”
“Guess you’ll know when it does,” she hissed. Officer Wise pulled her toward the door.
It was dusk on the Fourth of July. The air smelled of cigarettes, gunpowder, cotton candy, hot dogs. Whispering Park was illuminated with strings of white lights and spitting sparklers. As the band played America the Beautiful, children shrieked, teens whooped, parents laughed.
Alice slipped her hand inside Stephen’s, following him through the maze of blankets toward the hotdog stand. He hadn’t stopped grinning since he’d picked her up at her apartment, a rolled up army blanket tucked beneath his arm, a freshly washed and showered look about him. He wore a blue plaid shirt, jeans and his Converse high-tops. As he wrestled his wallet from his back pocket to pay for the hot dogs and colas, his eyes danced with excitement.
“Where to?” he yelled over the noise.
Alice pointed to the edge of the bluff. Stephen followed her. She held the food tray while he spread out the green blanket. Her mouth watered for the salty meat and sour mustard. She felt intensely excited, alive, and hungry for a change.
“Good turnout,” Stephen said.
Alice nodded. “Over there. Gena must have made up with Sunstar.”
Stephen scanned the crowd.
“There,” Alice said, watching for Stephen’s reaction to their hippie clothes. He wasn’t at all fazed by their tie-dye T-shirts, cutoffs, and moccasins. Gena’s hair was braided with strips of leather, just like Sunstar’s. Alice smiled, imagining them fixing each other’s hair and drinking hot coffee while Country Joe and the Fish boomed and incense burned.
“Hey, hey, hey, Alice, cutie.”
“Hi, Sunstar. This is Pastor Smith. My apartment house manager, Sunstar.”
Stephen stood, reaching out a hand. “Call me Stephen.”
Sunstar grabbed it. “How’s it going, man?”
“Good. Great.”
“Far out!”
Gena kneeled down on the green blanket next to Alice.
“What’s new?”
“I found my father,” Alice said.
“You found him? Do you look alike?”
“He’s in the cemetery on the hill.”
“Oops, sorry.”
Alice shrugged.
“At least you know the truth now,” Gena said, leaning in close. “You two look perfect together.”
Alice nodded. She felt glad to see Stephen and Sunstar chatting easily.
“Cool dress,” Gena said.
“Thanks. Mom gave me this new white sundress. Guess she was trying to tell me something. Whatever makes her feel better about the whole ordeal. The best thing is that I’m free of him at last!”
“Nice,” Gena said, cracking her gum. “Super nice.”
Stephen scooted close to Alice on the blanket. “You joining us?”
“No thanks. We’ll let you get back to your dinner.”
“We’re dancing maniacs. See,” Sunstar said, pulling Gena to her feet to spin her under his arm.
Stephen wrapped his arm around Alice and hugged her.
“You’d better treat her right, Pastor,” Gena said, as Sunstar tugged her off toward the bandstand.
“Nice friends,” Stephen said.
“The best. It’s getting dark. Fireworks should be starting any minute.” Alice leaned closer to Stephen, though it wasn’t cold. Two boys wrote their names in the air with white sparklers while their parents looked on. Perhaps, she thought, it was possible to be cared for without being hurt. Alice turned under the weight of Stephen’s arm, breathing in his essence. She turned up her face to gently kiss his cheek.
A loud boom accompanied by a flash of light shook the ground. Orange sparks shot into the jet-black sky, exploding far above the trees in a series of bright shooting stars. The crowd cheered.
Alice relaxed her head against Stephen’s shoulder. He turned and kissed her hair. Fireworks exploded above Blue River in Whispering, Idaho.
EPILOGUE
Blue River’s established course continues trickling past Whispering, Idaho through late summer, revealing more and more mud and history. Alice knows the water levels will begin to rise come fall, freeze along its edges come winter, swell dangerously come spring and then coax burnt-nosed townsfolk into its refreshing bath the following summer.
Almost daily, Alice Sharp walks the river bank, untangling her feelings as patiently as the river meandering through its stages from abundance to drought, making its flow available to help repair her deepest pain. She knows that her healing will take time, a season or more. Stephen promises to wait, promises to be there for her. She thinks of him as a snowcapped mountain that will melt and feed the river and springs as long as they’re together.
Frequently, she visits the gift shop at the museum where her paintings are displayed as the work of the only living relative of Mathew Carl Dotson. She has studied his yellowed journals, knowing his courage courses through her own veins as blue whorls and swills.
She takes each piece of her life as it comes: the doctor exam, the trial, the family upheaval, Christie’s pregnancy, her mother and step-father’s impending divorce. She follows Gena’s mother’s suggestions for what she calls The Healing Journey, seeking her assistance when things get tough.
Like her ancestor Dotson, crossing rocky spillways and traipsing through thickets, swamps and overgrown woods, Alice Sharp leaves no stone unturned on her journey to steady, safe and free.
RESOURCES
Survivors of Incest Anonymous
World Service Office
PO Box 190
Benson, MD 21019-9998
410-893-3322
The Morris Center
PO Box 14477
San Francisco, CA 94114
[email protected]
The Courage to Heal
3rd Edition
Revised and Expanded: A Guide for Women Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse
By Ellen Bass and Laura Davis
The Right to Innocence:
Healing the Trauma of Childhood Sexual Abuse
By Beverly Engel, M.F.C.C.
Foreword by Eleanor Hamilton, Ph.D.
Repair For Teens: A Program for Recovery from Incest & Childhood Sexual Abuse
By Marjorie McKinnon, Michal Splho, and Sharon Wallace
The Sexual Healing Journey: A Guide for Survivors of Sexual Abuse
3rd Edition
By Wendy Maltz
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Nancy Lou Canyon holds the MFA in Creative Writing from Pacific Lutheran University. She is the author of the short-short story collection DARK FOREST. For more about the author see www.nancycanyon.com.
Cover Photo & Design by Nancy Canyon
Photo credit Kelli Russell Agodon.
