by Tina Sears
After I hung up the phone, Wendy yelled from the family room, “Chris, come here.”
No way. I didn’t want to feel the fabric of the couch as it scratched my bare skin and I didn’t want to see that damned photograph that burned my eyes out.
“No, Wendy. It’s time to go eat dinner,” Aunt Lori said. Then she turned to me. “Sweetie, I didn’t know you wanted to go home so badly. We’ll have a talk soon, okay?”
I nodded and I knew it shook Uncle Butch to death when he heard it because it shook me too.
Chapter Twenty Three
The River Runs Red
WE GOT BACK as the sun was setting. Aunt Lori didn’t bring up The Talk, so we went to the game room to meet up with our friends like we did most nights.
We played pinball while the guys played pool. The radio was on, but I wasn’t in the mood for music. It just seemed to break my heart now.
I had the right flipper and Wendy had the left as we tried to get that crazy silver ball back up to the top of the game to score more points. Lights were flashing and bells were ringing. I leaned into the game and moved my body in the direction I wanted that ball to go, but we still lost.
Julie was going to meet us after her job of life-guarding. She pushed through the screen door in a hurry. She was still in her red one piece bathing suit. “I guess you’re not worried about your uncle,” Julie said, panting.
“What do you mean? He’s at the cottage,” I said.
“Really? I just saw him walking toward the river. He had your kitten in his arms,” she said.
“Wait . . . What?” I asked. It took me a second to process.
“He was carrying Oreo.”
“But why was he going toward the river?” I asked. Oh God, he was going to get his revenge after all.
There was a short silence between us before reality hit me. I panicked. What if he was really going to drown Oreo? “I have to save him,” I yelled.
I raced to the river without waiting to see if the others followed. I ran like my mother, I ran like I was running a marathon. I would never forgive myself if I let Uncle Butch drown Oreo—just as I knew I would never forgive him for stealing home from me.
By the time I reached the top of the path that led to the river, Uncle Butch was returning. I ran directly toward him. The brush closed in around us and we were barely visible from the cottages. The sky was blood-stained and his face was pinned to the fireball hanging above us.
I broke into a thousand pieces, each fragment screaming. Okay, I say it. I give in. I say Uncle! Are you happy now?
“What did you do with him?” I asked, pounding my fists on his chest.
“Aren’t you a feisty one,” Uncle Butch said, grabbing my hands. He forced my hands behind my back. His hands were like chains against my skin, pulling me down. Then he kissed me on the mouth. His lips were wet, and his teeth scraped against mine.
I struggled, trying to release myself from his grasp, but he overpowered me. I leaned away from him, trying to pull him off balance. When that didn’t work, I was enraged. I squirmed and screamed, “No!”
He laughed at me, and I fought harder, but my strength was no match for his. I continued to squirm, determined not to let him have his way with me anymore. My anger was blinding me.
Suddenly, I fell back and my hands were free. Reds was standing behind Uncle Butch, holding a big tree limb. Evidently he had hit him with it.
I regained my balance and kicked Uncle Butch between his legs. “I’m going to tell everyone what you did to me!”
Then I saw it. The realization in Reds’ eyes. It only took a second, but I knew he had figured it out. I could see all his emotions: the hurt, the fear, the pain. He looked at me, and I was no longer the angel he saw during the fireworks. I knew right then that I would never fit into his perfect penny world. I would always be the flattened penny that my mom gave me, something different than what I used to be.
Reds held the tree limb like he was ready to swing a baseball bat. His face was the color of ripe tomatoes and his knuckles were white from holding the branch so tight. He swung the branch at Uncle Butch and I heard a whack as part of it splintered off and flew past me, just missing my head. He didn’t even notice the near collision because he was so focused on beating my uncle repeatedly across the back with the branch.
Every time Reds took a swing at him, Uncle Butch screamed, “No! Stop!”
The same words I had said to him.
A few minutes later, the rest of the gang appeared. Wendy saw me crying and her Dad bent over and beat up, I could tell her loyalties seemed divided.
Tommy took the branch away from Reds and pushed him back a little while the rest of the gang surrounded him, blocking him from Uncle Butch.
Oreo popped into my head. I ran as fast as I could toward the river, toward the horizon, leaving everyone behind in confusion.
I walked to the river’s edge and searched for Oreo.
I yelled for all I was worth. “Oreo! Or-ree-oh!”
I followed the line of the bank in case he washed up. It was empty. The water tempted me. Muddy and maddening, it had its own way of speaking to me.
The water lapped at the edge of the shoreline, pulsing in and out as regular as a beating heart. The waning sun painted the sky red and bled into the water. I heard the crickets hum in the warm summer air. It was quickly turning dark. My anxiety got worse as I searched for my kitten. I wasn’t a good mama any more.
I saw Oreo floating by, but as my vision became clearer, Oreo turned into a log. I was relieved, but still uncertain of his safety.
I walked to the river’s edge where I stripped my shoes and socks off. I put my feet in the cold water and my feet disappeared into the muddy bottom.
Tears filled my eyes and dropped into the river. The water absorbed my fear and carried it away, and the recent events washed from my mind. I turned, travelling with the current, letting it take me as I searched for Oreo.
I swam further out, and I reached down with my foot to see if I could touch bottom. A shooting pain entered me and crawled up my leg, burning. I stepped on something. I couldn’t get it out of my foot, whatever it was. I had to get to Slippery Rock if I was going to release it. I swam hard, fighting to get a grip on the moss-covered rock. Finally, I found a crevice to hold on to and I pulled myself out of the water.
I brought my foot up and pulled the thing from my heel. I had to pull hard because a shard of glass had lodged deep in my flesh. As I pulled it out, blood flowed from the cut and washed away in the current of the river. It felt good, this cut on my foot. I examined the glass, watching the dimming light reflect through it. If even a drop of his poisonous blood was inside of me, then I didn’t want it.
Before I could stop myself, I took the jagged edge of glass and put it against my arm. I heard Uncle Butch’s voice, “This never happened.”
I pulled down quickly, creating a deep cut. I watched the blood swirl in the current and then disappear.
It would have been enough for this to end the pain, but I cut repeatedly. It finally felt good to release the pain that was locked up inside of me.
I let go of the rock and let the water take me on its serpentine journey.
I remembered the morning I was baptized. Christianity came from the water, cleansing my soul. Now, in the river, I finally felt cleansed again as I floated first face up, then the current rolled me over and buried my face in the water. I surrendered to the river.
Then everything went black. There was no standing ovation, no applause. Just the curtain closing, and the fading into darkness.
Chapter Twenty Four
Free at Last
I HEARD A tapping sound. It sounded like nails being hammered into my coffin.
“Come in,” a woman’s voice said.
“Doc, glad you’re here.”
“Okay, Mary. Let me have a look here.” The doctor’s voice was calm, deep. He lifted my leg to examine the cut on the heel of my foot. Next, he examined my arm, wiping away the blood with
a wad of gauze. He put his glasses on and looked closer. “No way she got these from the river,” he said in a low voice, but I could still hear. “Only some need sutures.”
I felt the prick of the needle on the bottom of my foot, and then the liquid bubbled under my skin in a tight ball. When the numbness set in, I only felt a faint tingle as the thread was laced around the wound. I felt the same thing on my arm and I passed out again.
SLOWLY I WOKE to the smell of soap and lavender. I couldn’t feel the rhythm of the river any more. Long fingers of light reached down and teased my eyelids until I could no longer keep them shut. A white bandage was wrapped around the cuts on my arm and on the bottom of my foot. The tightness felt good, like it would keep me from splitting into a thousand pieces. I scanned the room and didn’t recognize anything, but I felt safe in its warmth. A blanket was tucked around me like a cocoon.
I entered the river a child ready to die, but was saved by the most unexpected angel.
Just as I thought about her, she entered the room with a serving tray full of food and hot tea. She sat the tray on the bedside table. I couldn’t believe how hungry I was.
There was hot tomato soup made with milk, not water, and a grilled cheese sandwich made with thick deli bread and real cheddar cheese. There was a cupcake with chocolate icing. A tea bag was draped over the side of a mug decorated with butterflies.
Comprehension came in a rush. “Where’s Oreo?”
“You needn’t fuss about Oreo. He’s a strong kitten. We found him washed up on the shore a few feet from you.”
“He’s alive?” I felt a rush of relief and guilt at the same time. Mrs. Weaver chose me to take care of him and I failed.
“Yes. He’s with his mother, resting. There’s nothing like a mother’s love to make one strong again.”
That was true and I felt horrible that I wasn’t a good mama to Oreo.
She sat on the edge of the bed. “Eat some soup while I talk to you. It’s been a good while since I’ve had company.”
I spooned soup in my mouth like I had never tasted food before.
I had a chance to look at her real good for the first time. She marked time through her wrinkles, deep thoughtful wrinkles on her face. She wet her fingers to tame her long cotton candy hair that was pulled back into a bun. She patted my hand with hers, and it felt like a velvet glove. The hair on my arm rose joyously at her touch. “You are a survivor, something I know a little about myself.” Before I could say anything, she put her finger to her lips. “Shhh, you rest. I’ll talk.” She seemed to be able to read my mind. “I know what everybody says about me. I know my nickname is Crazy Mary—”
“I’m sorry—”
“No, no need for apologies. I don’t mind it so much. A person gets used to things in order to survive. For me, the name signifies all that I had to go through to get to this point in my life. Before my husband died, I was just Mary, wife, and friend. I prefer the nickname because in a sense, Mary died and Crazy Mary took her place.
“I saw you on my porch, curious and fluttering around this place like a butterfly. I knew they told you about me, the rumors I mean, but you didn’t let that stop you. I saw you come every day with your cousins with food for the cats. I saw you clean the weeds out of my flowerpots and put flowers in them. I saw a spark in you.
“I feel . . .” I struggled to explain it. “I feel different.” I rubbed the bandage on my arm.
“Don’t worry, I don’t judge, honey. We all have our scars to carry with us. Scars are a sign of bravery,” she paused, “of survival.”
“I don’t know why . . . I mean, do you just ever feel like words aren’t enough?”
She smiled and the sparkle in her eyes matched the stars I saw in the river the first day I saw it. “Yes.”
“Does my cousin know I’m here?”
“Yes. She came by earlier to check on you. Said she told her parents you were okay.”
“I don’t want to ever go back to my uncle’s place.”
“I know. The doctor said you should remain here for a while, and I agree. I don’t know how much of this you want to keep private or how much you want them to know. But know this. If you let them, secrets can break you into a thousand pieces. You’re a strong girl and you will get through this. Understand?”
I nodded.
“Now, I guess you need to call your folks and let them know what’s happening.”
Oh God. Mom. How was I ever going to tell her what happened?
“I need to get to a phone. Not the one at my uncle’s house either.”
“Sure, honey. I have a phone downstairs in the kitchen.”
“What?” I thought of all those times I had to fight the monster just to talk to my mother. My stomach emptied out through my feet. “You have a phone?” I started sobbing. I couldn’t believe there was a phone so close. If I had known, I could have been saved. I could have called my mom and told her the truth. Told her to come get me without Uncle Butch listening in on my conversation and hovering over me and threatening me. I couldn’t stop crying.
“What is it? Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” I said between sobs, trying to breathe. “I . . . didn’t . . . know.”
“It’s okay. You call whenever you’re ready.”
“How am I going to tell my mom?”
“Set the truth free and you will be free too.”
“But what if I had told . . . ?”
“Don’t play that ‘what if’ game, it will drive you crazy. ‘What if’ I had been with my husband the day he died? ‘What if’ I had been there instead of him? Believe me, I spent years playing that game and I became the most miserable person you’d ever want to meet.” She took my face in her hands and looked directly in my eyes. “You didn’t do anything to cause this to happen to you.” She said it so sincerely that I started to believe her.
I got out of bed and immediately a pain shot up from the cut on my foot. I lifted my heel and walk-limped to her and hugged her. I had on a long nightgown which I figured belonged to Mrs. Weaver. It was as delicate as her touch, flowery and lacy. So unlike me.
She hugged me back.
“Okay, I’m ready to call.” I was broken and only my mother’s love could put me back together.
I followed her downstairs and into the kitchen, taking in all the rooms we passed. It certainly wasn’t a house of a crazy person and it didn’t seem haunted at all. It was a house full of love and light.
There was a yellow phone hanging on the wall that matched the wallpaper. It reminded me of lemons. Of my mom. Fresh squeezed lemons plus sugar and water equaled my mother. She always told me that if life gave you lemons, make lemonade. It seems my dad leaving gave us both a lot of lemons. Between us, we would be making lemonade the rest of our lives.
“I’ll leave you alone.”
I dialed the numbers that would connect me to my mother with trembling fingers. I was nervous. I hoped I could unearth my mother from her darkness. Make her understand.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Mom.”
“Chris? Why are you calling so late? Is everything all right?”
I filled my lungs with air to steady myself. Then I let out a deep breath. “No, Mom. Everything is not all right. I need you to come get me.”
“Oh my God. What is it? Are you hurt?”
“No. Yes. But everything is okay now. You just have to come get me.”
“Oh, honey. What is it?” She started crying.
“Mom, you’re just going to have to trust me on this. I need to come home.”
More crying. “Why? What is it?”
“I’ll tell you everything when you get here.”
She exhaled and sniffed. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
“Well, I had to have a few stitches for some cuts, but I’m okay.”
“Stitches?!”
“Yes, but please don’t panic. I’m going to be fine.”
“I’m so worried.”
“Will you
come and get me?” That was the question I wanted to ask her all summer.
I imagined her on the other end of the phone gathering her bravery. “Of course I will. You hold tight honey. I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”
“You have to pick me up at Mrs. Weaver’s house. The big house on the edge of Shady Grove.”
“Where?”
“Mary Weaver’s house.”
“Crazy Mary? The Cat Lady?”
I cringed. She was my savior and she certainly wasn’t crazy. It was just a horrible nickname Uncle Butch gave her. “Yeah.”
“Why are you there?”
I had to think fast. “It’s where the doctor stitched me up. I have a cut on my foot and it’s hard to walk.” I paused, thinking about my family tree and all that was left of it. A stump. “We’re going to be okay, Mom. We are family now, just the two of us. And we will survive.” I didn’t know who I was trying to convince more, me or her. But I held on to that belief.
“What do you mean? Where is your uncle?” There was a tremble in her voice.
“Everything’s fine. You’ve got to be brave for me now. Can you do that?”
She exhaled as if she had taken all the air out of the room. “Yes.”
I said goodbye and after I hung up the phone, I put my head against the wall to gather my strength. I couldn’t wait to see my mother again, but it was going to be bitter sweet. A few minutes later I limped back upstairs.
Mrs. Weaver came to the door. “Everything okay?”
I nodded. I was too exhausted to speak.
She turned off the light and a wave of lavender brushed across me as she left. I knew I was safe in her house and I felt at peace for the first time in weeks. I drifted into sleep with thoughts of being home.
“CHRIS, WAKE UP.” Wendy’s voice drifted into my sleeping thoughts.
In my dream, she had on a captain’s uniform and was steering the paddleboat, waving me on board.
“Chris, wake up.” She put a squirming Oreo on my chest. The tickle of his whiskers against my face woke me instantly.
“Hey,” I whispered.
“Heard you nearly drowned in the river, again. We were all so worried when you ran off like that.”
