Coming Home Again (A Coming Home Again Novel Book 1)

by Lowe, T. I.

  “You’ve been in there a long time. Are you okay?” he asked through the door as the knob jiggled again. “Why’s the door locked?”

  “I’ll be out soon,” I stammered. I didn’t move until I heard him walk away. I quickly dressed and hesitantly peeped in the hall. It was clear, so I darted over to Julia’s door and knocked.

  “Julia. It’s me. Are you okay? Can I come in?” I asked urgently as I continued to eye the hallway for any sign of Evan’s return.

  “Just go to bed. Lock your door,” she said in a tired voice. I wanted to be locked in her room with her, but did as she told me.

  I locked the door before crawling in my bed and hiding under the quilt. I willed the nightmare to be over, but, oh no, it would not be that easy. Not even an hour had passed before it began. I lay in the dark room and listened to the doorknob jiggle around in protest to the lock, followed by a quiet knocking that I ignored. Then came the rustling sound of a tool being jammed forcefully into the lock. I jumped as though those knowing sounds had jolted me with electricity. All I could do was just lie there and wait. The nightmare was worsening, and there was absolutely nothing or no one to save me from the inevitable. Nothing.

  As the demons of fear danced around frantically, the door swung open with Evan filling the space. His bare chest heaved up and down with his excitement. The hall light filtered around him, and his face glinted in the unnerving nightglow, adding to the wickedness.

  “It’s our turn to dance, little miss,” he said in a slurred voice as he turned to close and lock the door behind him. He moved through the dark room and joined me in my bed.

  It was the first of many sick dances that night. He was like a ravenous beast on the prowl, in and out of our rooms. His perverted acts continued until the early hours of the sun began to rise. When his sick pleasures were finally satisfied, he gathered up our bloody sheets and hid the evidence of the innocence he savagely stripped away from my sister and me. Innocence that was forever stolen and normalcy completely lost.

  With the scent of pungent sin tinging the air, I staggered to the bathroom to begin an unrelenting, unsuccessful quest to scrub the feel of that monster off my torn body. It has never come clean.

  Julia and I stayed in bed the following week with the flu. Jean gave us ample supplies of her home remedy elixir after she returned tanned and rested from her vacation. Never did she mention finding the signs of what happened, but I have my suspicion she knew. Evan was never asked to come over again. Thankfully, by the end of the summer, he moved back to Chicago.

  Julia gradually left me too, and sadly, I never got her back.

  Chapter Eight

  Finally floating back to reality, I find myself sprawled face down on the floor of my bedroom. The aroma of lemon furniture polish surrounds me. The panic attacks very rarely escalate to the point of blacking out, but this one hit me hard. I lie here for a little longer and try to get my bearings. My bag is sitting beside me, so I dig out a halved Xanax and gulp it down without water, hoping it will chase the remaining remnants of the attack away.

  As I lay here waiting for the detached feeling to free me, I notice I have landed on my rope rug. I run my fingers along the woven material, softened in age. It was my bed for nearly a year after Evan raped me. I had refused to even touch the bed and would sleep on the floor every night. I requested an entire new bed and mattress set for my twelfth birthday and was relieved when it was delivered. Having that reminder gone helped some.

  I finally gather myself into a sitting position and am contemplating an escape, when I hear a knock on the door. After another impatient knock sounds, I slowly stand to answer it. I pull the door open and stare down at one of Jean’s short, pudgy friends. She is in her late sixties, maybe early seventies, and looks her age with gray hair and crow’s feet—unlike Jean. My mother is still blonde and wrinkle free. I didn’t inspect her closely to be sure, but I suspect a nip and tuck has occurred by now.

  This lady must finally decide I’m not going to speak because she stammers out weakly, “Sweetheart, I hate to bother you, but don’t you think you need to be making your way over to the funeral home?”

  “Why?” I look at her confused.

  “To make the funeral arrangements, of course.” She steps away from the door to encourage me to be on my way, but I just stand here, leaning on the doorframe for support. “Your poor mother can’t bring herself to do it. We all think it’s best for you to take care of it.”

  I stare at her, wondering just who in the heck are we?

  “And be sure to go to the florist too.” She bobs her head reassuringly.

  I roll my eyes at her. Who does she think she is? Really?

  Without saying a word, I grab up my bag and make a beeline to the front door. I make no eye contact, and the guests pretty much leave me alone. I do a quick glance around in the hopes of finding John Paul and roping him into going with me. Of course, he’s nowhere to be found.

  Alone. I have always done everything alone in this family. I guess this is no different. I point the car in the direction of the funeral home and set out to begin the task of burying my father—alone.

  The funeral home director knew dad better than I did, so he made the unbearable task as simple as he could. I was out the door in less than an hour, after picking a nice wood carved casket, writing an obituary, and setting the time and date for the funeral service. His assistant helped to put the memorial cards together. She had already received a photo from the family. When I saw it, I had to sit down for a spell. It was a picture of my dad sitting at the end of the Bay Creek Pier. It was early morning so the sun was rising behind him and sparkling vibrantly off the ocean waves. His salt-and-pepper hair was dancing in the breeze, and his grey eyes were squinted from laughing at something. My heart throbbed as I held it in a shaky hand and wished beyond wishing to have been there in that moment, laughing along with him. Oh how I wish I could hear that laugh just one more time. But time is up…

  I arrange to drop a suit off before crossing the street to the conveniently located florist. I know my dad wasn’t big into flowers, so I keep the choices simple. I order several beautifully potted beach grass plants and sea oats. I figure after it’s all said and done, these can be replanted at my dad’s pride and joys—the restaurant and seafood market. I know Jean won’t be pleased with this choice because it’s not grand enough, but I know Dad would have approved. And that’s who I want to please with this choice.

  I choose another route home. I’m in desperate need of some peace. If I can just see her, I know I can feel better. I know I will be able to get through this. My body is relaxed from my medication, but my soul is stirring and churning in a way that I can hardly stand it.

  Miss May is making her way out of her house, wearing her Sunday’s best with her silver hair freshly curled, carrying a covered casserole dish as I pull up. The sight of this round, petite woman is instant comfort. I have no idea how I have been able to bear being away from her for over five years.

  “Well… Just who is this standing before me after all these years?” She wraps her free hand around my waist.

  I stoop and return her hug, as I whisper, “Nobody hoping to see somebody.”

  “Nonsense.” She pulls away to get a good look at me. “This ain’t one of yo’ disappearin’ acts is it? I’m allowed to see you?”

  “No ma’am. Just a visit.” I stand here squinting from the sun.

  “I’m sorry ‘bout yo’ daddy, child.”

  “Me too.” I point at the dish in her hand. “I catch you at a bad time?”

  “Nope. Perfect timin’. You can accompany me to my church social.” With this, she hands me the warm dish and heads over to her car. She starts digging around in her gigantic purse.

  “Miss May? Don’t tell me you still drive?” I ask skeptically.

  “Child, I may be old as dirt, but ain’t nuttin’ wrong with my eyes.” She turns her attention to my car. “Fine. You drive us in yo’ fancy Mercedes Coupe.” She
walks over and starts climbing in the passenger seat.

  “Since when do you speak car?” I place the dish in the backseat and then climb in the driver’s seat. I’ve already made my mind up that I’m only going to drop her off.

  “Since all my great-grandson wants to talk to me about are cars. As long as that boy wants to talk to me ‘bout anything, I’m gonna listen.” She buckles her seatbelt. “Well now, let’s go.”

  “I’m not dressed for church.” I look down at my jeans and plain peasant blouse, which are wrinkled from traveling and the impromptu nap on the floor of my bedroom earlier.

  “Long as you ain’t naked, you dressed right for God.” She knows I’m reluctant about the whole church-going thing. “I ort to have whooped yo’ folks for not havin’ you young’un’s butts in church.” She shakes her head and presses her lips together firmly.

  “I... I go to church some.”

  “Just what kind of church might that be?”

  “Methodist.” I think… Or is it Presbyterian? Lucas goes most every Sunday, but I only agree to join him every now and then.

  “I suppose that’ll do,” she says with a sassy smile.

  I unenthusiastically put the car in drive and follow her directions to church. When we pull up, I notice her church brand of choice is Baptist, which is indicated on the sign by the road. We stow her dish in the fellowship hall and make our way to the church sanctuary.

  “I thought we were here to eat?” I whisper as we take our seat in a pew near the back—to my relief.

  “We are. First we get our spiritual meal, then our physical,” she whispers back.

  I lean close to her ear. “I’m just really in the mood for the physical. I think I’m going to pass on the first portion.” I make to stand up, but that little lady grabs hold of my blame arm and won’t let go. “Miss May, I don’t have this much free time. Jean will surely bless me out for this long disappearing act.” We are playing tug-of-war with my arm, and I wish I could simply disappear right now.

  “You takin’ me home. Now stop with all them excuses.” She keeps her vice grip hold on my arm, so I give up.

  The service opens with us singing who knows how many songs that are followed by a long, melodious prayer that actually lulls me to doze off until an elbow finds my side abruptly. I look over and Miss May sits there like she didn’t do what I know she just did. Rubbing the tender spot on my side, I focus my attention to the tall, portly man behind the pulpit, but cut my gaze one last time at Miss May. She still doesn’t acknowledge me, so I try to get comfortable for the long haul. A quick glance around confirms my suspicions. I’m the only white girl present with jeans on. Only in both aspects. Great.

  I hunch down as best as I can, but Miss May gives me a less powerful nudge in my side and says, “Sit up straight.”

  Trying not to sulk, I reluctantly sit up and focus on the preacher as he slides his glasses on and opens his Bible. Everyone else follows suit with the opening of the Bible thing when he announces he will be reading Jeremiah 1:5. Miss May tries to share hers with me, but I just brush her off with a slight nod and listen. She places her well-worn Bible on her short lap and follows along.

  “Before I formed thee in the belly, I knew thee; and before thou camest forth out of the womb I sanctified thee…” He stops here and takes pause as he scans the congregation. His gaze hits on me, and I know I stick out like a sore, bright white thumb.

  Sorry, preacher man. Don’t mean to distract you.

  He moves to the side of the podium and props his elbow there. “My brothers and sisters, don’t you realize, God created each one of us. And before we entered this world and took even our first breaths, He approved of us… People! There are no mistakes with God!” He shouts with long drawn-out pronunciations of his words and is rewarded with loud shouts of amen.

  The preacher moves back to his spot behind the podium, where he dabs the corners of his mouth with a folded handkerchief. He goes back to reading more scripture, but I don’t follow along. I’m stuck on the statement He just declared. I have always viewed myself as a mistake by God. You know, like he just had an off day when He thought it was a good idea to stick me in the Thorton family. However, this man just stood before me and declared me wrong.

  I stew on this but the preacher eventually gains my attention after a while. “We as humans are the ones to make the mistakes. God ain’t made no junk. Oh no, sisters and brothers! He ain’t in the junk making b-u-s-i-n-e-s-s. He in the miracle making b-u-s-i-n-e-s-s.” He punctuates each word by pounding the podium with his fist, exaggerating each syllable. More amens and shouts. “We the ones who make the mistakes. We make mistakes, and we let others’ mistakes make a mess of our lives.” Amens roar from the crowd some more. “Oh, but our heavenly Father gives us the choice. That’s right. He lets us choose if we gonna let them mistakes haunt us or we can let it go and live this life He has blessed to us!” The continuous pounding of the podium echoes his statements all around in the supercharged sanctuary and everyone is nearly shouting now.

  My arms are covered in goose bumps, and I feel the urge to bolt. Miss May must sense this because she places my hand in hers in another one of her death grips. I glance down at our interlocked hands and then at her, but she just keeps staring forward. I try to pry my hand free when I catch a slight shake of her head. Humph!

  “Jesus said that He came so that we can all have life and have it more abundantly. That means He desires us to be with great plenty. Of what, you may ask?” People shout out back, urging him to tell us. They have been having a conversation with the preacher, and I guess God too, the entire service. “It means He wants us to have a great plenty of… Peace! Happiness! Love!” More amens. “You live and love like you should. You lay them burdens down to Him and ask Him in.” He covers his heart before he proceeds. “You put down them demons haunting you from yo’ past. And all the good ‘n plenty can be yours!” He is shouting and walking back and forth across the small stage and is sweating profusely. I’m sweating too. I watch him enviously as he dabs at his forehead with the handkerchief, wishing I had one of them dang things too.

  Sitting in this unfamiliar pew, listening to these unfamiliar words, I’m right miserable. I’m so lost…I’m so confused…I’m worthless…

  “Don’t lose yo’ self in this world. Don’t let the confusion of doubt and past pains make you feel worthless,” he continues, and I’m beginning to think this sweaty dude has a direct line to my thoughts. It makes me nervous. He points directly towards me, and I near ‘bout faint. “God made you and He approved of you and don’t you dare let anyone, especially that devil, tell you no different!”

  ~ ~ ~

  I end up asking Miss May to find a ride home after the service. I’ve lost my appetite with everything pressing down on me. I just needed to be alone, and she seemed to understand. She’s always seemed to know when to push and when to back off with me. I’ve been taught many a lesson in my youth by Miss May. Whether it was a recipe lesson or a life lesson, I have always kept them stowed away.

  One of her last gifts to me before I left for college was a life lesson. It was the day I was to leave and was feeling pretty weighed down. I had earned a full academic scholarship to USC and purchased my first car earlier that year—a Volkswagen Beetle, powder blue with a black convertible top. It was old and well broken in, but I could call it all mine. Tips from waitressing and summer bonuses that I diligently saved for several years had allowed me it pay it off in full.

  I knew I should have been excited. And I was, but I felt all alone in that excitement. Bradley and Julia were long gone, and John Paul’s presence was scarce.

  I had just finished loading my stuff into my little car at the house when my mother walked past me to her own car.

  “I’m off to the salon,” she announced. She acted as though she was completely blind to the fact that I was leaving. I know it shouldn’t have hurt. Really. But it did anyway. Ever since that nightmare of a summer and then me defying her,
Jean had totally acted as though I did not exist in her world.

  “You have fun with that,” I said perky enough for her to cut me a look as she closed her car door. I stood grinning at her until she pulled away. I might have muttered a few choice words, but let’s not repeat that.

  I swung by the restaurant to say my goodbyes to my real family. The staff had been better to me than any blood relative ever had been. The family businesses were also the only fond memories I had of my dad. From having quick meals to helping him do invoices—it was our moments. Moments that I have to cling to now, because I am realizing how much I have cheated myself out of by running away.

  I remember walking into the quiet restaurant a little before opening time and was shocked when people jumped out from every nook and cranny to shout surprise! Both the staff from the seafood market and the restaurant crew, along with my dad, presented me with a cake and ice cream. We ate and laughed as they celebrated my departure.

  Nearing opening time, they began saying their goodbyes and presented me with various presents. First was from my dad. It was an envelope thick with hundred dollar bills. He hugged me and requested that we kept that between just the two of us. He disappeared into his office after that. Then I got completely overloaded with gifts. Most of the staff knew not to attempt a hug, so they presented me encouragements along with gifts. My arms became overfilled with a USC blanket, grocery bags of mac and cheese and peanut butter and other easy food choices, a USC sweatshirt, a USC T-shirt, a messenger bag, several phone cards, some more cash, and some other stuff I can’t remember. But it was a lot of stuff! My hands were completely full by the time Miss May walked up to me with a huge wicker basket full of baked and canned goods in one hand and a gallon of sweet tea in the other. She knew me well, that’s for sure.

  “There’s no way I can carry that, Miss May.” I laughed. It was just us two in the kitchen now due to everyone else having to get to work.