The Legacy

by ADAMS, J.

  I finally stand and Ingo quickly follows suit. The sooner we leave the better as far as I am concerned. Pressing his lips to my temple, Ingo whispers, “Let's get out of here.”

  I nod. “Well, I guess we should head over to Mama’s place. I'd like to get things taken care of as soon as possible.” I turn to Velma. “Thank you for calling me. I really appreciate it.”

  Velma opens her mouth to respond, but Gladys cuts her off. Though Velma and I have never been close, we have always been civil toward one anther. In some ways I feel sorry for Velma. It must be hard having such an overbearing mother.

  “We didn’t have no choice but to call you,” Gladys booms. “We sure can’t afford to bury her. She was my sister and I loved her, but this is your responsibility.” The last words reek of accusation.

  Ingo again squeezes my hand. “It was good to meet you both,” he says and guides me toward the door, anger furrowing his brow.

  “It was good to see you, Aunt Gladys,” I say, making one last attempt to elicit a positive response. When there isn't one, I smile at Velma and again turn to leave.

  “I want to talk to you for a moment.” The softness of Gladys’ voice startles us both.

  “Okay.” I am wary, but I genuinely want to make some sort of peace with my aunt. However, one look at her face tells me that hope is also futile.

  “I want to talk to you alone, if you don’t mind.”

  Ingo's grip on my hand tightens as he leads me toward the door. “I’ll bet she does,” he murmurs. “I'm not leaving you alone with her.”

  Stopping, I press my lips to his ear. “Will you wait outside for me?”

  He clearly wants to say no, and is about to, but the pleading look in my eyes stops him. I want him with me, more than he knows, but I have to do this alone. I pray for strength enough to handle whatever my aunt dishes out at me.

  “I’ll be right outside,” he says softly.

  Taking in his expression, my heart aches, because this is equally hard for him. He has become so protective of me and I love him for it. No one has ever made my heart feel so safe. As he glances back at me, I give him a reassuring smile. He smiles back and leaves to wait at the car.

  Closing the door, I face my aunt, aware of what is coming. Despite having little contact with them, I have always been able to read Gladys and her brother Pete like a couple of books. The two are exactly the same and I dread having to see him just as much.

  Gladys leans back in the chair and lights another cigarette, and I take this moment to study her. She has always been a heavy woman, but now her arms and legs are so swollen, she looks ill. Her graying hair is a disheveled mess and her clothes looks as if they haven’t seen soap and water in a while. She truly looks unhappy, and for a moment I almost feel sorry for her.

  Almost. My aunt takes a long drag of the cigarette, blowing the smoke upward. “Girl, when you up and moved to that white state I thought you were crazy, but now I know you are. What do think you’re doing marrying that white man?”

  “I’m marrying that man because he loves me and makes me happy.” I am unruffled by her bluntness. I am used to it and well aware of her feelings of racial superiority. Her opinion has always been that people should stay with their own kind.

  Gladys laughs. “No, I don’t buy that, Cis. I can tell you the real reason you’re with him.”

  “Oh, really?” My attempt to sound amused is failing.

  “Really,” she continues as if ours is the most natural conversation in the world. “See, I think you’re with him because you’re trying to make people think you’re better than you are. You brought him here to show us that you’re moving up in the world. You think being with him is gonna make you look good.”

  I had known it was coming, but I am still appalled that she could think such a thing. I could never use someone like that no matter how down I feel on myself.

  Straightening my shoulders, I look at her intently. “Well, Aunt Gladys, if that’s what you want to think, then feel free. I know the truth. For the first time in my life I have someone who truly loves and cares for me. I have a good life in Utah and I’m happier than I’ve ever been. Just because I want a better life doesn’t mean I think I’m better. Anyone who wants something bad enough and goes after it can be blessed with it.”

  Velma is leaning against the wall, listening intently, never uttering a word. She never does when her mother is speaking, but this time she has no interest in her mother's words. Not that she ever has, anyway. She is only interested in what Cisely is saying. She has never been close to Cisely, but she truly admires the way her cousin has changed her life. Velma has made mistakes as well, and just like Cisely, Gladys never lets her forget them.

  She truly envies her cousin.

  “Good speech,” Gladys says, clapping her hands. “That was a good speech, but let me ask you something. How much does that man really know about you?” Wincing, I look away, giving her the added fuel she needs to keep going. “Does he know you’re used merchandise, probably fifty times over?”

  Struggling not to cry, the tears escape anyway. “That is all in the past. I am not–”

  Gladys rides over my weak defense. “Does he know about your druggie days? What about your drunkard days? And how would he react if he knew about your nights of sleeping in houses other than your own, waking up next to men you didn't even know?” She punches up the spite level with each word.

  I remain quiet as my heart revisits the despair I thought I'd left behind. It seems my emotional relief has only been temporary. I should have known better.

  Watching the triumphant smile spread across Gladys’ face, I wait for her closing remarks.

  “So you see, Cisely, you can never escape who you are. You can never escape your life. You are what you are, and you, Miss High and Mighty, are nothing more than a tramp trying to change something that can’t be changed.”

  I hastily brush the tears from my cheeks. “I’m not a tramp, and I’m not that kind of person anymore.” But even as I say the words, I don’t truly believe them. Surrendering to my belief that it is useless to deny it any longer, I quietly leave.

  Ten

  Ingo takes one look at Cisely’s face as she emerges from the house and knows she has been broken. He'd spent the entire time hoping she would be strong, that Gladys would not be able to hurt her more or break her spirit. She has done both, and those familiar sad eyes that had once broken his heart are back. Wordlessly, he pulls her close, pressing a comforting kiss to her brow.

  After a minute, she draws away, leaving his arms empty. He knows she needs his comfort, but she won't allow him to touch her, and he can only imagine what she'd gone through with her aunt.

  Ingo opens her car door. When he gets in, he puts the key in the ignition but doesn’t start it. “Talk to me, love,” he says softly, taking in her pain-filled expression.

  “I can’t right now.”

  “Cisely, I’m here for you. You know that, right?” “Yes,” she whispers. “Please, just drive.”

  Starting the car, Ingo blinks back tears. Swallowing his

  anger, he pulls away from the curb, silently praying he will be able to reach her somehow.

  The only words spoken between us are my directions to Mama's apartment.

  As we pull up in front of the old building, dozens of memories flood my mind. I lived in this building with my mother until I turned sixteen. Then I left and stayed with friends until I turned twenty and could afford a place of my own. Until today, the pain of those memories had faded, but now it is as fresh as ever.

  As I move to get out of the car. Ingo places a gentle hand on my arm.

  “I love you, Cisely.” There is so much emotion in his eyes and voice, I want to cry. “No matter what, I love you.”

  “And I love you,” I say back, longing to have him hold me, but feeling so unworthy of him. I know I need to get past these feelings and let them go, but right now everything is too fresh, the pain too intense. I just need some time
to sort things out.

  When we enter the apartment, I push everything down inside me and concentrate on what I need to do. Looking around the place a bit, everything is just as it was before I left, only cleaner. The insurance policy is on the kitchen table, just as Gladys said. I sift through the papers, surprised at the amount of coverage my mother had. I wonder how she had even been able to afford a policy this size.

  Two hundred thousand dollars! No wonder Aunt Gladys was so upset. This would keep her supplied in cigarettes and booze for a long time. Showing the amount to Ingo, he whistles and looks over the papers. I know it isn't a lot of money to him, but he understands why it is to me.

  Refolding the policy, I take a moment to look around the room a final time, memorizing little details I’d long since forgotten. Then realizing there is no comfort to be gained here, I slip the policy into my purse and we leave.

  At the hotel, Ingo sits next to Cisely on the sofa while she calls the funeral home and makes an appointment. He admires the way she is able to take care of the arrangements, and if he didn't already know her age, he would never guess she is only twenty-two. All the trials she’s faced in her young life have matured her fast.

  Later, as he sits with Cisely in the funeral director’s office listening to them discuss the arrangements, he can’t help watching her, and he allows his gaze to travel over her beautiful features. She seems like a different person since leaving her aunt’s house, but he knows the real Cisely is still in there somewhere. He just needs to help her remember how special she is. To him, she is the most amazing person in the world and their marriage can't happen soon enough.

  As he continues to watch her, longing flows through him. He aches to be alone with her, to feel her in his arms, her body molded against his, her breath on his face, and her lips pressed against his own. Never before has he ever needed the touch of a woman. Before meeting Cisely he’d never really given marital intimacy a thought. He had never been close enough to anyone to think that far ahead. But now things are different, and he is anxious to be married and share that intimacy with Cisely. They just need to get past this trial and get on with their plans.

  After the final arrangements are made, Ingo takes Cisely out to dinner. She says very little and he doesn’t push her to talk. He's determined to be there for her and assure her of his unconditional love. She will open up when she is ready. Until then, he will wait.

  Eleven

  I absently gaze through the balcony doors and take in downtown Asheville. The city lights are beautiful, blending into the gray darkening skyline.

  No matter how hard I try, the clutter of negative feelings will not leave my head or my heart. I've been trying nonstop all afternoon to let them go, but they have only become stronger. The conversation with my aunt did a number on me, and her hateful words have renewed the torment I thought I'd conquered. My new-found self confidence is gone now, and in its place is the all too familiar self doubt. Maybe the feelings hadn't gone away after all but had only lay dormant for a short season.

  Hearing a soft knock on the bedroom door, I turn. Ingo stands in the doorway, his features expressing as much pain as my own. I hate what this is doing to him, what I am doing to him. But I don’t know how to deal with this fear of not being good enough for him. I turn back to the city lights.

  I sense his nearness before he even touches me. His arms circle my waist and I am held close, the pounding of his heart against my back causing my own heart to race. Trying to fight the desire growing inside me is useless. Closing my eyes, I tip my head back against his shoulder, shuddering as the warmth of his breath fans the side of my face.

  “I love you, Cisely,” he whispers, brushing his lips against my ear. “Please say you love me.”

  Turning in his arms, I draw his head down, slowly brushing my lips against his. “I do love you.”

  As the passion of our kiss grows, his embrace tightens and I melt against him. My fingers are buried in his hair as his lips trail over my face, making a path back to my own.

  Lifting his head, he looks into my eyes, tears brimming his.

  “You are my whole life, love, my whole world. And we can't be married soon enough.”

  Dropping my eyes, I slowly turn away. I can’t think about marriage right now when my yesterdays are still taking over my life.

  “What is it?” His voice is pleading. “Please talk to me. Tell me what’s going on inside you.”

  Keeping my back to him, the wild thumping of my heart takes away my breath and I don’t respond. I can't.

  He tugs at my arm gently. “Please, Cisely, talk to me. I can’t read your mind, though I really wish I could sometimes.”

  Latching on to a small thread of anger, I whirl on him. “No you don’t! If you could, you wouldn’t like what you saw there and you would leave me as quick as you could!”

  “First, you can’t tell me how I would react because you won’t even give me a chance! And second!” He takes my arms in his hands. His voice softens, but his grip tightens gently. “I would never leave you, Cisely. Never. There is nothing you could say to make me want to leave. There is nothing in this world that could take me away from you except death, and I don’t plan on going anytime soon. I love you. Can't you understand that? I'm in this for the long haul.” Releasing my arms, he takes my hands, pressing them against his chest. “You are a part of me. If I ever left you it would be like leaving a part of myself behind, and I just can’t do that.”

  A painful moan escapes me as emotion bubbles to the surface, and the tears come hard and fast. Ingo pulls me into his arms, slowly rocking me back and forth, crying with me. After a few moments, I move back. Taking a deep breath, I decide to just get it over with. My confessions will decide my fate with him. I am risking everything, but it is a risk I know I have to take.

  Here goes nothing.

  Tentatively, I force the first words from my lips. “My father used to tell me I would only be good for one thing in this life. Each and every time he entered my room and had his way with me, afterward he would say the very same thing. “You are only going to be good for one thing in this world, girl.” And . . . he was right.” I pause. If I am going to tell him everything, I can’t look at him. I don’t want to see the pain my words bring etched in his handsome features. Fixing my gaze on a painting hanging on the wall over the sofa, I continue.

  “When I moved out of my mother’s apartment, I moved in with people I thought were my friends. They made me feel welcome and were willing to share all they had with me.” I release a humorless chuckle. “Well, all they had was a fridge full of beer instead of food, cupboards full of liquor instead of food, and last but not least, a medicine cabinet full of every drug known to man.” I shake my head at the visual. “At least the drugs were where they were supposed to be in the house.”

  Pausing, I glance at Ingo. He is listening quietly, his expression unreadable.

  “It wasn’t hard to get hooked, you know? It was like an all you can take and drink buffet. After a year it became my breakfast, lunch and dinner. I soon discovered the more I drank, the more I could numb the pain of the past. The more pills I popped, the more marijuana I smoked, the less pain I felt. And even though I found a way to medicate myself, it still wasn’t enough. It was never enough. Pretty soon I was so far gone, I completely stopped caring about anything. I mean . . . my father always said I was only good for one thing.” I stop, coming to the worst of it, and I don’t know if I can admit it out loud.

  Placing a finger beneath my chin, he softly says, “Tell me.”

  Taking a deep breath, I release it slowly as another wave of tears trickle down my face. I guess we are at the make or break point, huh? “I proved my father right. It turned out I was only good for one thing.” Wiping the tears away, I force myself to look into his eyes. “You’re getting used merchandise as my aunt so bluntly put it. I’m not pure. For that matter I don’t think I ever was. I’ve slept around, Ingo. A lot.” I release an inward sigh. There. I've s
aid it. It's all out in the open now.

  Ingo presses a hand to my cheek, wiping my tears. “I know, love.” His words stun me and I stare at him, disbelieving. “I’ve known from the first. But I needed to let you tell me yourself. I wanted to hear it from you.”

  “And now?” I am afraid to hear the answer, but I need to know where things stand between us.

  “Nothing has changed, except my love for you. I didn’t think I could love you more, but I was wrong.” He wipes at his own tears. “And by the way, you are very pure and I don’t ever want to hear you refer to yourself as used merchandise again. Ever.”

  “But . . . how can you say that? How can you still love me knowing what you know now?”

  “How could you think I would stop loving you? It's all in the past. It doesn't matter.”

  “But it does matter!” I cry, frustrated, mainly with myself.

  “Can you tell me why?”

  Closing my eyes, I rub my aching temples. My soul is weary and I long to explain what I feel inside, but I don't know how. I have lived with the secret of my dirty past for so long, it is hard to just let it go. My choices were terrible and unforgivable. My mind is conditioned to think it can’t be that easy to let go.

  Ingo sighs. “Let me ask you something. Do you want to do those things anymore?”

  Of course not. “No.”

  “Are you sorry about those choices?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you ever want to repeat them?”

  Sniffing, I wipe my face. “Never. I have too much respect for myself now and . . .”