Leaving Serenity

by Alle Wells

  LEAVING SERENITY

  By Alle Wells

  Edited by S. M. Ray

  Cover by James Junior

  Copyright 2012 by Alle Wells

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author‘s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademarks owners.

  Chapter 1

  1996

  My heart quickens as the black Mercedes-Benz comes to a stop. The 1960s’ ranch-style house looks shabbier than I remember, like Daddy’s old Lincoln sitting in the driveway. There’s an orange four-by-four pickup on monster wheels and a faded, black Volvo parked in the front yard. I slide my car snugly behind the smashed bumper of a blue Chrysler minivan parked on the street.

  I flex my tingling hands and listen to “Happy Days Are Here Again” introduce the morning stock report on NPR and pick up the phone. I scroll to my broker’s number. “Hey, Bernie…Yeah, it’s a long way from Nashville, but I made it…Yeah, I heard. Buy all of it…I know you’ll take care of me. You always do. Bye.”

  Deals worth millions of dollars don’t faze me. It’s just another day’s work. Sitting in front of this house that’s seen better days paralyzes me. After all this time, a stinging pain still lies deep in my heart. My anxiety level threatens to wipe out years of therapy. But I couldn’t get here fast enough, driving straight through the night after receiving Jeff’s call.

  “How did you find me?” I’d asked.

  “We do have satellite TV down here. Anyway, I called to tell you that Daddy had a stroke. It looks real bad. They don’t expect him to make it. He asked for you. Mama said that you should come home.”

  “Oh, God! Well, I’ll have to rearrange a few things, but I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  I hung up the phone, still reeling from hearing my brother’s voice after all these years. The thought of my father lying helpless and calling for me brought tears to my eyes.

  Headed eastbound on I-40, I called my assistant, my producer, and smooth-talked three major clients into rescheduling to visit a man I hardly know. I drove two hours to the state line, another hour through the Blue Ridge Mountains, and seven more hours to a dead town in the middle of nothing. Every hour, I asked myself why I’m doing this. The answer rang back, loud and clear. They want me, they finally want me.

  Now that I’m here, I can’t get out of the car. My mind races through dozens of possible scenarios that I may encounter inside. Remembering my life in Serenity makes me feel like I’m spiraling downward into a bottomless pit. I tell myself to get a grip and throw my latest Coach bag over my shoulder.

  Two children playing in front of the glass door run inside as I approach the front door. A freckle-faced little boy yells, “Mom-ma! Some fancy lady is here.”

  A heavy set woman with a mound of thick, dark hair steps around the gaping children. She reaches over them to open the front door. I haven’t seen my sister in over twenty years. Looking at her now, I wonder what happened to the young beauty queen I knew.

  She swings the door open. “Annette? Is that really you?”

  Her voice is sweet and recognizable underneath the years of added weight she carries.

  “Hello, Beth.”

  Beth wipes her hands on her red polyester pants and shoos the boys away. “Excuse my young’uns. Little Earl, you and Little Jeff go out back and play in the empty swimming pool.”

  She motions to me. “Come on into the house.”

  My sister’s careless dialect and the word, “howse,” remind me that I’m back in my hometown where everyone speaks the same language. Years of practice and expensive speech therapy have corrected my diction and inflection so that others can understand me. I remind myself that I have invested too much time and energy to fall back now.

  The children run through the foyer ahead of us. Family portraits cover the gold flocked wallpaper. In one, Daddy’s athletic shoulders hover over Mama’s small frame as she holds a strained smile. Cloaked in Carolina blue and clenching a scroll to his chest, the corners of Adam’s lips turn up smugly. Jeff kneels on green turf, hugging a football. Curly, golden-brown locks frame his boyish face. Beth looks angelic, her face shadowed behind Mama’s rosette appliquéd wedding veil. Twelve-year-old, pimple-faced Annette stares straight ahead a little bit cockeyed.

  Beth holds an arm out and guides me past the formal living room that’s hardly ever been used. “Come on into the den. They’re all visiting Daddy in his room. Who would have thought that a strong man like Daddy would have a stroke? It just don’t seem possible.”

  She bustles around, fluffing flattened, needlepoint pillows before we sit on the velour wraparound couch. “I just know that Mama is dying to see you.”

  My heart jumps with anticipation. My relationship with Mama has been a major part of my therapy and recovery. My therapist said that I’m ready to see her. I hope she’s right.

  “Is she, really?”

  Beth hesitates, holding a pillow to her chest. “Well, it’s been such a long time since you were here. Sure, she’ll be happy to see you.”

  I manage to nod and smile.

  Beth examines my face closely. “My word! You have the whitest teeth I ever saw!”

  Beth throws the pillow on a lumpy couch cushion and fidgets uncomfortably. “And that hair, well, you just look so different, is all. Why, Mama might not even recognize you.”

  I nod again but keep my mouth closed.

  Beth calls down the hallway, “Mama! Annette is here!”

  Mama peeks around the corner, cautiously. She’s smaller and grayer than the Mama I knew. Her skin looks wilted. Her blue eyes look rheumy and tired. A wave of compassion moistens my own eyes, so much like hers. I want to run and hug the woman who gave me life because she asked me to come. My voice catches in my throat when I speak.

  “Hello, Mama.”

  Mama lifts her chin and gives me a long, hard look. She looks at Beth. “Annette? That’s not Annette.”

  Beth wraps her arm around Mama’s shoulder. “Yes, ma’am. This is Annette. She’s just changed, is all.”

  Mama points a crooked finger and turns back from where she came. “That woman is no child of mine.”

  I follow her to the hallway entrance and call out, “Mama! I came to see Daddy. Jeff said he asked for me. I drove all night just to see him.”

  Mama stands at the door of the bedroom that she and Daddy share. She looks back at me with downturned lips. “I asked for Annette, not you, whoever you are. Now’s not a good time. Come back later.”

  When she closes the bedroom door, her bitterness strikes me like a snake bite. Feeling hopeless, I whisper into the air, “Why did I come here?”

  Beth touches my arm. “Oh, you know how stubborn she is. Don’t mind her. She’ll get over it.”

  “Get over what?”

  Beth jabs her fists into the front pockets of her calico smock. She rocks on her heels and talks to the gold shag carpet. “Well, we never hear from you, not even so much as a Christmas card. I guess she’s just a little hurt, is all.”

  I rub the moisture from my burning eyes. “Look, I’m real tired. Why don’t I get my bags and lie down for a while?”

  Beth looks relieved and follows two steps behind me. “That’s a fine idea. You�
�ve had a long drive. I’ll help you with your things.”

  I press the remote to open the trunk, grab the carry-on, and set the roll-about on the street.

  Beth stands back and checks out the car. “My, this sure is a nice car. Is it yours?”

  “Yeah,” I reply, closing the trunk. “I use it for business, mostly.”

  Beth places the heel of her hand over her mouth to hold back a laugh. “It’s nicer than Adam’s car, and he’s a lawyer.”

  I smile at her. “Now, that’s the Beth I remember.”

  Beth looks embarrassed and pulls the roll-about bag toward the front door.

  “I can’t say much. I reckon I’ll be driving that old van ’til the cows come home. I guess we’ve all changed. I saw you on satellite TV over at Jeff’s place. He’s the one who recognized you on the Nashville station. I never would have known you on my own. Do you know how I figured out it was you? It was your hands. I said, “Jeff, those are Annette’s hands!”

  I’m surprised and flattered that she watches my infomercials. “That’s funny. Well, you would know better than most. What do you do, Beth? I mean, do you work?”

  “I play the piano and direct the choir at church,” she says, with a smile that sinks into the folds of her face.

  “Grandpa Zeke’s church?”

  Beth answers, holding the front door open for me. “Uh-huh, the boys sit with Mama on the second row to the left. My Earl Junior works at the poultry plant with Jeff. Earl Junior and Jeff bought some land together, back off Millhouse Road. We have two doublewides side by side near the millpond. You know Jeff never did marry, so I cook and clean for him, and he helps out with the boys. It’s a real nice setup.”

  I try to picture my sister’s home in my mind and compare it to my plush four-bedroom condo in Brentwood overlooking Radnor Lake and the soft, rolling Tennessee hills.

  I feel sorry for her, but say, “That sounds nice.”

  I detect sadness in my sister’s voice as she we enter our childhood bedroom. “You can stay in our old room. It hasn’t changed a bit since you left. The same old beds with the pink canopies are still there. Sometimes I think that Mama just quit living after we left home. ”

  We plop my bags down on the fattened pink carpet. The small twin beds and white French Provencial dresser with a heart-shaped mirror look out of place in today’s world.

  “Well, call if you need anything.”

  Beth smiles weakly and closes the door, leaving me in front of a murky, full-length mirror. The image staring at me is my reward for the years of work I’ve put into becoming Nikky. Perfect ears pinned back and cropped by the knife. Silky cornflower hair colored with my hairstylist’s own special formula. Prominent cheekbones imbedded with silicone implants frame a perfect nose that took two breaks and two years to create. Slipping out of the silk camisole, I catch a glimpse of the ideally sized 36Cs. They are firm, full, and stay in place when I move. Changing my image gave my self-confidence a boost and elevated my career. No matter how many times they call me Annette, I’ve come too far to go back now. I am Nikky.

  I collapse onto the small bed that was Annette’s to sleep off the long drive. Dreams of my childhood in Serenity haunt me and hold me in a twilight state.

  ***

  My eyes pop open at the sound of Adam’s harsh voice. “What the hell is she doing here?”

  Jeff’s southern whine sings back, “I called her. I thought she might like to see Daddy before he goes. Besides, Daddy asked for her.”

  I hear the tinkling of ice cubes on glass. Adam replies, “She’s got no business here. Hell, Mother didn’t even recognize her. She’s a freak, is what she is.”

  A female voice that I think is his wife, Elise, calls out, “Adam! That’s unnecessary!”

  Glass clinks on the glass top of the wet bar I remember from my childhood.

  He mumbles, “Whatever.”

  Hearing my brother’s hateful comments remind me of why I left home. After all this time, nothing has changed. My mother and my brother still don’t want me here. The tiny room with its outdated, childish furniture starts to close in on me like a prison cell. I need to escape, just for a little while. I need time and space to build the strength I’ll need over the next few days.

  I pull on a pair of black Capri running tights, a form fitting tank with slashes of purple and yellow, a matching jacket, and a pair of purple Nike running shoes. The outfit screams Nikky. I glance in the mirror before I open the door and face Annette’s family.

  Seeing my siblings gathered in the family room is like stepping into a 1970s’ time machine. Jeff catches me looking from the doorway. My brother’s hair is shoulder length, layered in a 1970s’ style that reminds me of the Bee Gees. He heaves himself off the other end of the couch and walks toward me with an extended hand.

  “Welcome.” He speaks stiffly, like the cowboys who greeted the Indians on old westerns.

  I hesitate and then receive his hand to one side, avoiding his protruding belly. His calloused hand scratches my skin. “Thank you for calling me.”

  Adam looks shabby chic in a blue and white seersucker jacket, as he pours another glass of Scotch at the wet bar. He turns his back, sips the drink, and looks out the sliding glass doors at the outdated wrought iron patio furniture and brick barbeque pit next to the empty swimming pool.

  Elise sits on the couch, looking bored, and flipping through a Southern Living magazine. She glances over and nods. I silently admire her deep tan and strong, dark features. Adam’s wife is a natural beauty who never had to work at looking good. Her dark, straight hair and petite features remind me of the movie star, Ali MacGraw.

  Beth’s large body fills a recliner close by. She fans herself with a leaf of newspaper, even though the thermostat must be on sixty. Beth leans toward me and rolls her eyes upward and points her chin down, the way Mama used to do.

  “We’re real glad you came today, Annette. You are his favorite, you know.”

  Feeling tired and testy, I snap back at her. “I don’t know why you say that I’m his favorite when we haven’t spoken to each other in years.”

  Adam tosses a tumbler of scotch down his throat. “I don’t know why you say that, either, Elizabeth. Considering what a liar and a fake Annette –”

  I notice the gray highlights that sprinkle through Adam’s hair as he bows in my direction. Hate spews from his icy, cobalt eyes. “Oh, excuse me – Nikky is.”

  I don’t have the strength to match his stare. Instead, I turn toward the front door.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Jeff whines.

  “I’m going for a run.”

  Jeff hovers, a step behind me, slurring his words together. “You can’t leave. We can’t leave, so you can’t leave.”

  Jeff stands at the front door. I notice his red, puffy face and worn down teeth as he jabs his finger toward the ground, making a futile attempt at communication. “Look at her, always running away. No guts! No glory, little sister!”

  I don’t look back, but I feel my older brother watching helplessly as I hit the street and run toward the town I’ve spent a lifetime running from.

  Chapter 2The ’60s

  I breathe in the warm spring air of my hometown. Serenity lives in the minds of those who can remember. I sprint up the thick stone steps of my old church, unable to resist the temptation to peek at my old hiding place. From the top step, I have a bird’s eye view of the abandoned Main Street that was once alive with merchants and shoppers. My body feels lithe and young as I run past the red flagged parking meters reflected in the bare storefront windows. After a twenty-five year absence, I remember what it was like growing up in Serenity.

  Church

  The cross atop the steeple of the Christian Church sparkles in the sunlight. The church at the corner of South and Main is the place where the citizens of Serenity flexed their spiritual muscles. Family names were posted behind each wooden pew to make sure that everyone kept their place in the church and the community. Mama,
the only child of the minister at the Christian Church for forty-two years, sat in the coveted second pew on the left reserved for the clergyman’s family. Daddy played golf on Sundays and didn’t go to church. He left his children’s spiritual guidance to Mama.

  Grandpa Zeke didn’t yell or talk about going to Hell like some southern preachers did back then. He lectured about being a good person and showing kindness to others. When my brothers flicked a paper football across the wooden pew, Grandpa Zeke simply stared at them with a raised eyebrow. After being swooned to sleep by Grandpa Zeke’s sermon, my family walked to where Grandma Carrie waited with the best fried chicken in the whole world.

  Thin stained glass windows along the side of the church sanctuary portrayed Jesus holding a lamb, Jesus standing on water, and Mary holding Baby Jesus. I hid in the cloakroom behind a small red-paned window. My heart raced as I watched my brothers dig through the shrubbery around the church.

  “Did you find her yet?” Adam called out to Jeff.

  Jeff balled his fists and stomped his foot. “Nah, God-dang it!

  Beth propped her tiny hands on her non-existent hips. “I’m telling Mama you said that.”

  Jeff made a face at Beth and shook his head. “It just gets my goat, that’s all! We spend every Sunday afternoon looking for her but can never find her.”

  Adam threw a baseball in the air and grabbed it with his mitt. “Ah, who cares about her? Forget her! She’ll show up when it’s time to eat. Let’s play some catch.”

  Jeff tagged along behind Adam and snickered. “Yeah, maybe she won’t come back, and I can have her piece of chicken!”

  Beth stuck her butt out, making the skirt of her dress look like a tent. “I’m telling Mama you said that.”

  The Grocery

  The diagonal parking spaces along Main Street were filled with huge, gas guzzling cars in the 1960s. Mama parked our Chevrolet station wagon in the alleyway behind Earl Sneed’s grocery. I hung on to Beth’s hand as we rushed to keep up with Mama and the boys. The boys hopped up on stacked apple crates in front of the grocery and snagged fresh apples from the open bins. Beth and I followed Mama into the dark, quiet store. Up high, big fans moved slowly in the breeze that drifted through the open back door. The fat, wooden floor echoed the tap of Mama’s high heeled pumps.