My Name Is Rowan: The Complete Rowan Slone Trilogy

by Tracy Hewitt Meyer

  I could tell she wanted to hug me, and finally, she couldn’t resist. I was pulled into her arms with such force that I was powerless to resist. But I wouldn’t have anyway. I wrapped my arms around her and held on tight. To say I would miss her was an understatement.

  “Thank you,” I choked, tears swelling in my throat. “For everything.”

  “Sweet girl, you are so welcome.”

  “I love you.” The words surprised me but the fact that it was true didn’t.

  “I love you, too,” she said into my hair.

  SCOUT WATCHED me from the pillow, curled into a ball of fur. Delilah sprawled out at the foot of the bed looking bored and uninterested, though her large eyes were focused on my movements. Levi followed me as I walked around the room, going from the dresser to the closet and back again. Every few minutes he would lick my fingers and I would pet his head.

  This room, this house, had become my safe zone; Mike and his family my salvation. Where would I be if they hadn’t taken me in? Would I still be in that run-down home where the shadows of my childhood were a permanent fixture on the walls? Would I be in the hospital sharing a room with Trina, both of our wrists cut, bleeding, our souls dying?

  Emotions washed over me in a wave—gratitude, love, sadness, pain…gratitude. It came back to gratitude. It wasn’t the people who should have helped me through life—not my mom, Dad, sister. But it was someone else. And that was okay. Life didn’t have to look like a fairy tale for it to be beautiful.

  I ran a hand over the dresser where my things still rested—the ring and earrings Mike had given me, my hair brush, makeup Mrs. Anderson and Tabitha had taught me how to use. In the mirror that hung just behind it, I studied my reflection.

  My face, shoulders, and arms were still too thin. Maybe I always would be just a wisp of a girl. No, a wisp of a woman. But if that was me, wasn’t that okay?

  I tousled my hair and let it fall around my face and shoulders. The person looking back at me was beautiful. Tears welled in my eyes. Mike and his family had helped me see the beauty inside of me.

  And the strength.

  I could handle this. I was surrounded by people who supported me—Jess, Miss J., Mrs. Anderson, Gran, Janie, my animals. Life would turn out okay.

  Life may even turn out to be pretty darned good. My stomach was knotted with little flutters erupting in spurts when I thought about the changes coming my way.

  With a deep breath, I closed my eyes, put my palms together, and did something I rarely did—I prayed. I prayed to God, to spirits, to whoever rested just beyond my sight.

  I prayed for guidance and more strength. And then I did the most important thing. I said, thank you. My life could’ve turn out far different. True, it could’ve turned out better. But it could have also turned out worse.

  Thank you for all that I’ve been given.

  Chills ran up and down my arms like a ghost or a spirit had caressed my skin. I opened my eyes and gazed into the gray orbs in front of me. And I smiled. Then with a deep breath, I went into the closet and pulled out my old, worn-out suitcase, its edges frayed; the same one that Mike had packed for me when I moved into his home.

  I laid it on the bed and flipped it open. Soon the empty pit was filled with my clothes. That night even though I had two weeks until I could move into the apartment, I packed my things. It was time to move on, to move forward.

  “YOU DID it!” Miss J. hugged me tight. It was a warm day in May with the sun’s rays showering the football stadium in golden light.

  For a moment I was speechless. I looked around at my classmates, clad in red robes, red caps, and broader smiles than I’d seen during any day at school. Jess was nearby talking to Janie, Angel, and Mr. Sumners.

  Her stomach pushed against the cheap fabric of the robe and she rested one hand on the small of her back, but she was smiling, rubbing her belly with her other hand like she was searching for good luck. The baby was due seven days ago, but nothing had happened. Maybe she would have the baby tonight. The apartment was ready. She seemed ready. Now we just needed him to be ready.

  I looked at Miss J. “I can’t believe it, but you’re right—I did it.”

  She nodded. Even Miss J.’s smile was brighter than it had ever been within the dark halls of the school. “So, now what?”

  I knew now what but I wasn’t ready to tell. I would show her later. She did live in the apartment below me, after all.

  “This or that.” I waved a hand in the air. “I have a few errands to run.” A group of kids behind me busted out in a song and dance so awful it was perfect, and I laughed.

  She nodded. “Now that you’ve graduated and you’re no longer a student, maybe you and Jess can come down later and have a cup of tea.”

  My lips spread wide. “Great. We’ll be there.”

  “Perfect.”

  It might seem weird to start hanging out with my old guidance counselor but during my senior year, and especially after living above her for the past several months, I’d already started to think of her as a friend.

  I gave her a quick hug. “I’m going to head out now.”

  She nodded, and I started to walk away. “Hey, Rowan.”

  I turned.

  “You can call me Tanya now.”

  “ROWAN?” GRAN touched my shoulder and I turned.

  “Hi, Gran.”

  “Congratulations, honey. I am so proud of you.”

  I smiled and it wasn’t forced at all. “Thanks, Gran.”

  “I have a little something for you.” She handed me a white envelope. “Please open it.”

  With my thumb, I ripped through the flap and pulled out a check written for more money than I could’ve ever imagined. I thrust it back at her. “No.” I shook my head.

  She folded my fingers over the check. “Please.” Her voice cracked. “I have led a thrifty life. I don’t need this for retirement.”

  “I appreciate it, but this is too much.”

  “It’s not. There is still plenty left.”

  I shook my head again, not quite comprehending.

  “Rowan, you have overcome so much. I think you are an incredible person and if I can give you just a little bit of help, please let me do that. It doesn’t make amends for the past but maybe it can help with your future. And sweetheart,” she put a hand on my cheek, tears filling her eyes, “it’s going to be such an amazing future.”

  Speechless, I let her pull me into her arms where she held me for a long, long time.

  I SHIFTED on my feet, waiting at the counter of the small shop. The walls were painted red and covered in abstract prints of skulls, crossbones, dragons, and devilish imps. The floor was covered in checkered red and black tile. There were four large black leather chairs, two on each side of the room. Along the wall were waist-high cabinets with multiple drawers.

  “Can I help you?” A man nearly twice my height and three times my weight walked up to the counter on heavy feet.

  I tried not to look afraid, uncertain. This was the answer; the next step. If I was really ready to move on from the past, I had to deal with the scars. They may never heal, emotional or physical, but I could turn them into a powerful reminder of what I had overcome.

  “I’m here for a tattoo.”

  His eyes narrowed. “How old are you?”

  I pulled out my ID. “Eighteen. Old enough.”

  He grunted in reply and slid the ID off the counter into his beefy hand. He pulled it all the way up to his eyes, as if he needed glasses but wouldn’t wear them.

  “Doesn’t look fake but if you’re eighteen, then I’m the Prince of Wales.”

  I hardened my stare. “I’m eighteen. Are you going to help me or not?”

  “Do you know what you want?” He tossed the ID onto the counter.

  He was a bald man, wearing a white T-shirt that was pulled thin over his belly bulge and a black leather vest with silver studs on the shoulders. Tattered jeans hung low on his hips and a silver chain hung from one pocket.
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  I watched him as he watched me. Finally, I shook off my hoodie. Wearing short sleeves for the first time in years, I thrust my arm out. “I need to cover these. All of these.”

  He gasped, a strangely feminine sound from his thin lips. “My God, kid. Why’d you do that? Your mom not love you or somethin’?”

  I let my arm fall to my side. “No. My mom did not love me. Not in the way I needed. Nor did my dad either for most my life. And I have a sister who is psycho and a drug addict. Do you want to hear my life story or should we get on with it?”

  “We’ll get on with it. Come on.” He walked toward a black chair. “Let’s figure out what we can do to cover up those ugly scars.”

  I followed him and plopped down on the chair, scooting my butt back. The chair nearly swallowed me and my feet dangled off the end. He pulled out three white binders. He sat two on the small cabinet, pulled up a backless stool, and brought one binder to me. He opened it up and said, “Let’s see what our options are.”

  “I know what I want, and we won’t find it in those binders.”

  WHEN I left the shop, the sun was still shining bright overhead. My arm throbbed like I’d been stung by a hundred tiny bees but compared to the pain I’d put myself through those years of cutting, it was nothing.

  I glanced down. The inside of my left arm was covered in tattoos. When I walked in, my arm looked like a chopping block, now it was covered in black and blue ink.

  I could only see the underlying scars if I looked really close. I guess they would always be part of me. Part of what shaped me. But they no longer identified who I was.

  Along these cuts lay words now, words from my own heart:

  Always a light will shine

  Down upon my life.

  Always a hope will spring

  And my heart will be full.

  Always an angel will sing

  As he watches over me.

  Where the deepest cut was carved, where I had cut the A for my dead brother, blue angel wings were tattooed. Angel wings for my angel brother, Aidan.

  As I stood on the sidewalk, beams of sunshine warmed my upturned face.

  And I smiled.

  Whisper my name upon the wind.

  Tell me your secrets true.

  An angel’s wings have learned to soar.

  A little girl’s dreams have too.

  Life is a golden ray,

  Warming my face with light.

  Leaving me consumed with love,

  And mine own star shining so bright.

  ~ Rowan Slone ~

  SOMEWHERE IN the distance a baby was crying, fighting to lure me out of sleep. Every few wails there would be a moment’s reprieve, and I would plummet back into the sweetest of slumber. Then the high-pitched screech would begin again, yanking me back into the world of the unfortunately wide-awake.

  I flipped onto my stomach and pulled a pillow over my head. Stop! I wanted to say. Stop crying! But the little voice rose higher and higher, barely stopping for breath, until I was sitting up in bed running a hand through my disheveled hair.

  “Jess?” I tried to say except the dryness of sleep had swallowed my voice. I took a gulp of water as the crying took an abrupt break. “Jess?” I called out, louder this time. When I didn’t hear an answer I rolled out of bed, careful not to squish my cat, Scout, who slept on the pillow beside me. As soon as my feet hit the floor, I started for the door but hit my toe on the nightstand. “Ouch!” I jumped up and down as if that would take away the sting. “Jess?” I hobbled into the dark hall.

  “I’m sorry,” my best friend said. Her silhouette was barely visible in the dark. She was sitting in a chair in the tiny living room of the apartment we shared. “He just won’t quit crying. Again.”

  If tears had a sound, I could hear them in her voice. The clock on the wall read four in the morning. I had a big biology test in five hours and had only gone to bed an hour ago after staying up studying. Just as the bite of a complaint formed on my lips, I sighed. “Does he have a fever again?”

  Jess turned her head to the side and the nightlight caught the moisture on her cheeks. I was afraid that she would start wailing as loud as Jacob. That wouldn’t make our neighbors, already sensitive to his nightly rants, any happier. Jacob, at five-months-old, had spent the better part of his young life crying, the middle of the night his preferred time.

  Jess held him in her arms, his little fists pounding against her shoulders, his back as rigid as a board. “No.” Her voice quivered. “At least not the last time I checked. He feels warm now, but he’s been crying for thirty minutes. I’m surprised he didn’t wake you up earlier.”

  I shuffled the short distance to the couch and fell onto it. A yawn that started deep in my belly and refused to be stifled erupted out of my mouth. I blinked but fell back to sleep within a second. When Jacob erupted into another outburst, I jolted awake again.

  Jess flashed me a sympathetic smile that in no way reached her tired eyes.

  I didn’t want to yawn again and make her feel worse, although I couldn’t help it. “Sorry. I just went to bed.” Usually my dog, Levi, got up when the baby did, but even he stayed in my room tonight. We were all exhausted, human and animal alike.

  “Oh, that’s right.” Jess pushed off the chair and started to bob up and down. Up and down. Sometimes the motion calmed him. If it weren’t so early in the morning, Jess and I would’ve laughed about how strong our thighs had gotten since Jacob was born. “I’m sorry,” she continued. “I forgot about your biology test.” Up and down. Up and down.

  Jacob blasted into another long-winded, high-octave wail that sounded congested, as if the noise traveled past layers of phlegm while it whizzed through his chest and throat then out his mouth. I pushed off the couch. “Let me try.” I raised my arms and stepped forward. “Come here, buddy.”

  Before the last word left my mouth, Jess thrust him at me and darted toward the bathroom.

  “Guess your mama had to pee.” I began to bob up and down, my arms growing tired after only a minute even though Jacob was a small child. He had been almost seven pounds at birth but had grown meagerly over the past five months. I moved him onto my hip and ran a hand over his back. “There, there. It’s okay. No worries, right?”

  I bobbed a little harder. Then I started to bob and walk. On the third circle around the room his head fell toward my shoulder as little shaky whimpers wafted through the air. My thighs were on fire and I was wide-awake, but at least he was starting to settle. That didn’t mean it would last and I braced myself. Unfortunately, this was a common occurrence.

  Jacob was a fussy baby. He came out of the womb screaming and hadn’t stopped yet. Jess had asked the doctor at the free clinic about his trouble sleeping. He said that Jacob was prone to sinus and ear infections and gave Jess a prescription that did little to squelch his nightly awakenings.

  I had grown used to being woken up at night, but I had hoped that tonight, at least, he would sleep. The biology test counted as much as a final and courses were harder in college than high school—way harder. I was doing well but never well enough to secure a spot in veterinary school. That may be three years away, but I couldn’t let my grades slide. I bit my lip, butterflies of anxiety beating a familiar rhythm in my stomach. I had to do well on this test. It seemed that Jacob didn’t care too much about that, though.

  Jess hadn’t returned and soon he was sound asleep on my shoulder, making my skin sweat. I tried to close my eyes but found myself staring at the far wall, my lids wide open like they were being held in place with toothpicks. Even when I could feel my eyeballs start to dry out, I couldn’t close them. This did not bode well for my test.

  I ran a hand up and down his back and breathed in his familiar baby scent, a scent that was all too similar to my own baby brother’s. Even though Aidan died years ago, it still amazed me that I could remember how he smelled.

  Jacob reminded me so much of Aidan it often made my breath catch in my throat. I had loved my little b
rother with a ferocity that had surprised my ten-year-old self. And then the grief and the guilt over thinking I had caused his death left me teetering on the edge of insanity for the next several years of my life.

  I kissed the top of Jacob’s head and turned my stare to the window. The one and only streetlamp that illuminated the parking spaces had gone out, leaving the world beyond the window encased in black.

  I found out a few years ago that I wasn’t the one who had killed Aidan. My mother had—out of fury that my dad loved Aidan more than her. She was in jail now and probably would be for the rest of her life. Discovering the truth had pushed me off that edge of insanity, where I had already teetered unsteadily. But I had landed safely in the arms of my ex-boyfriend, Mike Anderson, and his family—safe enough to bounce back and work on putting the pieces of my life together. Why these thoughts were haunting me now, though, I would never know, other than Jess seemed to be struggling and I knew that feeling too well.

  Another kiss to Jacob’s head brought a soft sigh from his lips. When Jess walked back into the room, the light caught her tear-stained cheeks. She saw me staring, and with a quick swipe of her hand the moisture was gone.

  “You go back to bed.” She wrapped her hands around Jacob.

  I let her peel him off my chest and my skin cooled from the loss of his warmth. I ran a hand over his silky, dark hair and stumbled toward my bedroom. My eyes were closed before I even laid down but just as my head hit the pillow, a piercing scream shot through the apartment and I heard Jess release a string of curses. I shoved my earbuds in and turned on classical music, the soft melodic notes mixing with the now distant wails of my best friend’s son.

  “YOU LOOK tired.” Shane wrapped an arm around my shoulders. It was a cool, October day; the sky overcast, the breeze blowing gently over my face.

  I lifted to my toes for a kiss. “Jacob was up all night,” I said after his lips pulled back from mine.