The Scars I Bare

by J. L. Berg

  A pretty blonde emerged from the front door, waving as she walked up to our car. Either this was our hostess, Molly, or people around here really were that friendly.

  “Hi, you must be Cora,” she said, holding out a hand in greeting. “I’m Molly McIntyre. Welcome to By the Bay.”

  I took her hand, feeling its warmth and sincerity. “Thank you,” I answered. “I’m so grateful to you for doing this. I know it’s your busy time of the year.”

  She waved her hands in a dismissive gesture. “It’s no trouble at all, and it’s starting to slow down anyway. The end of August is always a transitional time for us. You’re the one doing me the favor honestly. Jake has been so crazy lately since Betty retired, and he’s been on his own at that clinic. He’ll be glad for the help, and I’ll be glad to have my fiancé somewhat back to sane.”

  I let out a small laugh. “Well, I’ll do what I can.”

  I was starting to feel tiny beads of sweat forming around my temples. I’d always been a fan of the heat, growing up in Texas, but even after seven years in Virginia, humidity was still new to me, and right now, I felt like I was about to melt all over the driveway.

  “Is there anything I can help you carry in?” she asked. “Jake is on his way. He got stuck at the clinic, but when he gets here, I’ll have him carry in your larger things.”

  I bit my lip, unsure of how I felt about the help. “I can manage,” I finally answered.

  “Okay, well, how about I show you to your rooms?”

  “Rooms?” I asked, not realizing we were occupying more than one.

  “Yes,” she answered as she joined me on the other side of the car. When her eyes met Lizzie’s, they lit up with joy, her face beaming back at my little girl as she continued to speak, “Jake and I moved out of the inn a few weeks ago now that our house is renovated. Since I haven’t decided what to do with the two empty family rooms, I thought it would be a nice place for you two. It’s hidden away from other guests, so you’ll have a bit more privacy, and your daughter can have her own room.”

  As I finished unbuckling Lizzie’s car seat and she hopped down, I turned to Molly, not quite sure how I was going thank her. “That’s extremely kind of you. But are you sure? I can’t pay you for the extra room.”

  She bent down to Lizzie’s height, giving her a little bop on the nose with her finger. “It’s no trouble at all. And no extra charge. But I do need someone around to take care of the place when I’m gone. Nothing major. Just keep an eye on the place and let me know if the guests need anything—that sort of thing. Do you think you could help me with that?”

  Realizing she was speaking to Lizzie, I kept quiet as her little head bounced up and down.

  “Yes!” she answered enthusiastically. “Is there really a beach in the backyard?”

  Molly laughed, rising to her full height before holding out a hand. Lizzie, so trusting in her youth, took it without thinking.

  “Let’s go find out. Come on!”

  Molly and Lizzie carried on toward the front door while I was left standing there, my gaze shifting between my happy young daughter and the car full of crap that needed to be unloaded. Letting out a sigh of defeat, I decided to let it go, realizing Molly had probably done this on purpose, knowing I’d follow Lizzie rather than trust her with a woman I’d only just met to cart in everything myself.

  I guessed it would all have to wait.

  Stepping into the inn felt like heaven—if heaven were a deep freeze. The air-conditioning made my skin prickle, but the lack of humidity was glorious. There was a faint floral scent in the air—maybe lilies or hydrangeas. It mixed with the fresh air, giving me a renewed spirit after the sweltering heat.

  “Mommy! Look! It’s an exact replica, right down to the coal-burning engine,” Lizzie exclaimed, running into the parlor where a small train set was displayed.

  “Lizzie!” I called out, giving my best silent apology to Molly. “That’s not yours, baby girl. You must ask first, remember?”

  Her hands, so tiny and curious, stopped mid-reach and retracted, hiding behind her back. “I’m sorry, Mama. I forgot.” The sincerity in her voice slayed me.

  “It’s okay. You’re not in trouble. Just a simple reminder, right?”

  She nodded, turning her attention toward Molly, who was watching our exchange with interest.

  “May I play with your train set, Miss Molly?” Lizzie asked, her hands fidgeting behind her as she waited not so patiently.

  “Of course, darling. You may play with it anytime you like.”

  She didn’t waste a second. Lizzie dived into that train set, taking each car off the track, one by one, to inspect them. Her fingers brushed over each painted color, every word and number, as if she were memorizing it.

  “She’s very curious, isn’t she?” Molly said as we quietly watched her play.

  “Very,” I answered. “She always has been. You’re just lucky you didn’t get a plethora of train facts. She must be tired.” I laughed.

  Molly seemed to approve. “It’s a good quality to have as a child.”

  I chuckled. “I agree with you most days, but every so often, that curiosity gets her into trouble.”

  “You must have some good stories.” She laughed.

  “Try a few dozen good stories. Do you have a solid week? I could start with the one where she decided to have a tea party with her pet fish.”

  “Well, that doesn’t sound too bad.”

  “Did I mention, he was out of the bowl? When I asked her why her very dead goldfish was sitting on her grandmother’s china, she explained her swim teacher had told her that humans could hold their breath for up to five minutes underwater, so naturally, she thought fish could do the opposite.”

  Another laugh as Molly led me toward the kitchen. “Well, I mean, it does sound logical when you think about it. You want to tell me a couple more over coffee? It will give us time to get to know each other while we wait for that fiancé of mine.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  With one last glance toward the parlor, I took a deep breath and let Lizzie out of my sight.

  For the first time since we’d left home.

  Because, for now, this was our home, and I had to start acting like it.

  It was late when Lizzie and I finally retired to our rooms for the night.

  Or room.

  Although she found the idea of having her own bedroom intriguing, the idea of actually sleeping in it didn’t appeal to her much, so for the foreseeable future, she would be in bed with me.

  I’d been awake for well over an hour, lying next to the active little nugget of mine, the one who kicked in her sleep, my mind a racing whirl of activity that I just couldn’t seem to shut off. I wasn’t surprised. It had been a busy day.

  But a good day.

  For the first time in a while, it had been a very good day.

  Perhaps the first of many.

  Jake had finally shown up, and just as Molly had promised, he insisted on carrying in all our stuff from the car. He didn’t allow me to lift one finger, assuring me that this was a service they did for all their guests.

  I rolled my eyes and laughed, seeing the beads of sweat dripping off him.

  No doubt, the other guests didn’t have near as much luggage as we did.

  But I stepped back, allowing him to help us even though everything inside me was screaming not to.

  After he safely delivered our things inside, we spent the rest of the night getting to know our hosts. Molly cooked a fabulous dinner of local crab and homemade hush puppies, and afterward, Lizzie finally got her view of the backyard oasis, complete with a mini beach. It wasn’t the ocean, but the gentle lapping waves of the bay suited her just fine.

  She’d gone to sleep a happy girl, and it made my heart swell to see her so content in her new surroundings. I only hoped it continued. Knowing I’d never get sleep with all these thoughts swimming around in my head, I quietly got up and headed for the small sofa chair in the corner.<
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  Pulling out the laptop, I was online in minutes and doing the one thing I hated.

  Lying to my family. But it kept them content, comforted with the security of my deceit.

  So, I kept doing it.

  I kept writing.

  I kept assuring them I was everything I was not.

  Happy, healthy, and carefree.

  Home from Vacation!

  Sorry I haven’t blogged for a while! After our vacation, I was completely exhausted and needed another week just to recover! Isn’t that crazy? A vacation to recover from your vacation? Ah, that’s the moment when you realize you truly have it rough, right?

  Anyway, the three of us had a wonderful time. Lizzie never tires of the beach—a water baby through and through. Although she’s not much of a baby anymore since our big girl will be starting kindergarten in just another week or so! It’s hard to believe! Mommy and Daddy couldn’t be more proud.

  Speaking of which, Blake and I are both great, and hopefully, we will have the house up and running someday, so we can have guests, but until then, we’re still knee-deep in renovations. I know, I know. Who said it was a great idea to buy a fixer-upper when we could have bought a brand-new house?

  But at least I get to pick everything out, right?

  Until next time, friends and family.

  Cora

  There were tears falling from my cheeks as I typed the last few words. After several years of this, I was now numb to the ease at which the lies sprang forth from my fingers. Numb to the comments from my parents and friends asking when they’d finally get to visit, followed by yet another excuse.

  Just numb.

  I’d created this blog to share my life with my family, and now, it was nothing but a tool to camouflage what I’d become.

  Nothing.

  I was nothing but an empty shell, and no one needed to see that, especially the ones I loved the most.

  Recovery Journal: Day Three

  I know, I know. I said I wouldn’t do this.

  But what else am I going to do? Have you actually ever watched daytime TV?

  It’s shit.

  Especially in a hospital that only provides a handful of channels.

  My family went back home. Honestly, I’m glad for it. None of them know what to say.

  And their eyes.

  It’s a constant game of Let’s Avoid Dean’s Stump!

  My mom is the worst. Her gaze will start to drift, tears will start to rim her eyes, and her lips will quiver as a wave of guilt washes over her before she suddenly jerks away.

  Ten minutes later, it all starts again.

  And then there are the hushed conversations. The ones with the doctors outside my room, which I’m supposed to pretend I can’t hear, when they talk about my mental health and well-being and what is and is not perfectly normal for an amputee like me.

  Amputee.

  The word feels vile against my tongue.

  The shrink says I should talk about it.

  I told him to go fuck off.

  In a private conversation, he told my mother it was all part of the process for me to lash out.

  Oh, good. I was worried.

  The overly talkative shrink also said it would be therapeutic—his word, not mine—for me to record memories from the night of the accident in this stupid book.

  He said I might not always remember them as vividly as I do now.

  Seriously, who is this guy?

  I might not remember?

  Ask anyone who was at Ground Zero what the air smelled like, and I bet, with how hard it was to breathe as ash fell from the sky, they could still describe it years later.

  In vivid detail.

  I wasn’t going to forget the night I nearly lost my life.

  I wasn’t going to forget the bloodcurdling screams as cars exploded and debris went flying.

  Or how my best friend, a man I hadn’t seen in years, went into life-saving mode like one of those real-life heroes you read about in the papers, shouting orders while making tourniquets out of his own damn clothing.

  While I sat there, in a state of shock, staring out onto the water that had been a best friend to me longer than any person on the planet. And I felt betrayed. I’d taken my first steps along the shore of the Atlantic. I’d learned to steer a boat before I could even ride a tricycle.

  I wanted to stand up and scream out into that black water and ask it, Why? Why me? We were buddies. We understood each other.

  And that was when the piece of debris sliced through my arm, and my life ended.

  Or at least, it should have.

  That night, I dreamed of the ocean—before it was the enemy.

  Before it had taken away my life and everything I had to look forward to.

  I dreamed I was on a boat, chasing the sunrise, both hands on the wheel, as my heart soared with such a happiness locked inside it, I thought I might explode.

  And then I awoke, trembling and covered in sweat.

  In that split second, when dream and reality still blurred in the twilight of morning, I felt it. Reaching up, I touched the place where my arm had once been, hoping, just hoping, that this one time, my dream might be reality.

  But dreams were for suckers and small children.

  And I was neither.

  Rubbing the tender skin right around where the piece of debris had sliced through my arm, I tried to will away the pain and ache of the dream.

  Phantom pain. That was what the doctors had called it. It was when a person still felt pain in an extremity they no longer possessed, like the body was mourning the idea long after the brain registered the information. Or maybe it was the other way around.

  It really didn’t matter what they called it. It sucked all the same. Because, as much as I tried to move on and forget, my body couldn’t. Every morning, it’d reach out for that missing arm, and when it couldn’t find it, it’d cry out in agony.

  And I’d be dragged back to the past. Haunted by the events of a singular night.

  Scrubbing a hand over my unshaven face, I took a deep breath and got out of bed. Looking over at the clock, I shook my head at the time.

  Shit, I need to get going.

  Racing to the bathroom, I took a quick shower and got dressed. Flopping down on the bed, I slid on my shoes and headed for the kitchen.

  I was in desperate need of coffee.

  Checking the clock once more, I let out a huff of air as my indecision ping-ponged around in my mind. Risk being late for a cup of coffee or arrive early but severely irritable?

  Coffee wins.

  Wishing I’d taken Molly up on her numerous offers to purchase me one of those fancy coffee machines that used the pods, I started the process of scooping out the coffee and filling the water. I could hear her voice in my head.

  “It’s no big deal, Dean. I’ll pick it up when I’m up the coast, getting supplies, the next time. Hell, I can even write it off as a business expense.”

  But it was a big deal.

  At least, it was to me. I didn’t need her favors. If I wanted a fancy-ass coffeemaker I’d go get one on my own.

  Eventually.

  While the coffee was percolating, I made sure my travel mug was ready to go and walked around the living room, picking up the journals I’d left out. My prosthetic arm was still on the floor, in the same place it had been left the night before, and I knew I needed to put it on.

  Thankfully, it didn’t take long at all, and by the time I was done, so was my blessed coffee. Pouring it straight into my mug, I didn’t bother with cream or sugar and instead took as many sips as I could without burning my tongue as I headed to the front.

  Stepping outside into the sweltering August heat, I thought briefly about walking to the clinic, but as beads of sweat began to quickly form around my temples, I quickly headed toward my truck, choosing air-conditioning over exercise for the time being. I’d get my workout in some other time.

  Preferably indoors or after the sun began to set.

/>   Growing up here, I didn’t mind the heat too much, but this August was a killer. With record-breaking heat and very little rain, the island felt like it was on fire the minute the sun rose from the horizon, and nighttime didn’t offer much comfort either.

  Opening the door to my pickup, I slid in and didn’t waste much time in revving the engine to life. With one hand on the wheel, I began my short journey to the other side of the island.

  The frigid air I’d cranked up to maximum capacity barely began to push through the vents by the time I pulled up to the small parking lot of the Ocracoke Medical Clinic. With only a handful of cars in the lot, I had no issues with parking my large truck and quickly made my way in.

  A tiny bell chimed the moment the door was pushed open, announcing my arrival. Just two people sat in the small waiting room, and both waved me over.

  “Dean Sutherland, is that you?” a tiny old woman called out from behind her magazine.

  Her silver hair and blue eyes were familiar, but that described about a dozen of my mother’s friends. Nevertheless, I did as I had been told and came forward.

  “Come sit down with me and chat. God knows, I could use the company!”

  Upon further examination, I recognized her wrinkled face as one of the women my mother played cards with. She was sitting next to her husband, who was fiddling around on an old iPhone, probably playing solitaire, as I took a seat next to his wife. She smelled like talc and cold cream. It was a comforting smell, soft and sweet.

  “How are you, Mrs. Joyner?” I asked, putting my best manners on display. If I hadn’t, I’d never hear the end of it from my mother.

  Did that mean I was scared of my old-fashioned Southern mother?

  Yes. Yes, it did.

  That woman could be as sweet as honey, but if you crossed her? Lord, you’d better run. Fast.

  “Oh, fine,” she said. “Well, as fine as an old broad like me can be. Dr. Jake does a good job at keeping this old heart ticking.”

  “He’s always been pretty good at keeping women’s hearts fluttering.”