Things Remembered (Accidentally On Purpose Companion Novel #3)

by L. D. Davis

  “And now let’s give a warm welcome to the founder of the Chrysalis Center, Mayson Grayne.”

  “That’s you,” Grant whispered in my ear over the sound of applause. “You got this, Baby Girl.”

  To my surprise, he stood up when I stood up, and quickly kissed me on the mouth. That small, simple kiss gave me the fortification I needed to make my legs move and to get me to the small, square dais. After climbing three steps, I shook hands with the congresswoman and thanked her in a low murmured voice for her support.

  When I got to the podium, I didn’t immediately look out into my audience. I made sure my notes were in place first and took a deep breath before raising my head. I almost cried out with astonishment when I saw several familiar faces in the crowd. Sitting with my parents and sister in one long line were Emmy and Luke, Donya and Emmet, and Tabitha and Leo.

  They came! They came to see me at one of the most important events of my life! I knew they must have made some sacrifices to be there for me, especially since they didn’t have any of their children with them. It made me wonder what poor soul got roped into babysitting all those minions and I almost laughed aloud.

  “Hello,” I said to the audience, but let my eyes linger a little longer on my family, letting them know that I knew they were there. “My name is Mayson Grayne and I am a recovering heroin addict.”

  I let that soak in with a dramatic pause before continuing.

  “I loathe substance abuse meetings and having to stand up and say any variation of that line,” I explained. “I used to believe that the premise of the meetings was ludicrous. How could one broken person fix another broken person? How could it possibly help me to know that someone else’s life was just as screwed up as mine? Well, to be honest, I still hate those damn meetings.”

  With my mischievous smile in place, a few people felt free to chuckle at my declaration.

  “Bear with me, because it’s going to seem that I am wandering off track. I promise you that I’m not.”

  I paused again and looked down at my useless notes. They were useless because they were formal and polite, but there was nothing formal and polite about the purpose of the center. I needed to be me. I needed to be Mayson, real and maybe a little harsh.

  “Twelve years ago while I was in North Carolina visiting with a friend, I got high with the wrong group of people,” I said, looking back out at the small sea of faces. “Several of them raped me. When I came out of my drug-induced stupor, I immediately went to the hospital. I endured the hours and tediousness and humiliation of a rape kit. I answered the mortifying, detailed questions that the police asked me. The staff and the police were all very kind to me that day, though, and I appreciate that, but that kindness did not last. You see, I was so…messed up that day, that I don’t remember much about the violation. I don’t remember faces, but I remember being held down. I remember struggling. I remember their laughter and some of the cruel things that they said. I remember waking up covered in the bodily fluids of those men. Furthermore, the rape kit held proof of injuries that were consistent with rape. I had been choked, bruised, and bitten. There were seven different samples of DNA found on and inside my body.”

  All traces of humor were gone. I heard a lot of sniffing, and a few people sobbing quietly. One of those people was my mom.

  “Late last year, I encountered a man that I suspected was one of my rapists, right here in Philadelphia. I could have just made a phone call, but I flew down to North Carolina to take what little information I had to the police precinct that had handled my case. The detective I spoke to told me that my rape kit had been destroyed. I had suspected as much before I arrived. There had been reports in the media about kits getting lost or destroyed. I was prepared to hear that news. What I wasn’t prepared to hear were his reasons why. It wasn’t a mistake. My kit wasn’t lost. It wasn’t just because there were no hits on any of the databases. This…man…” I said carefully, gripping the sides of the podium. “This…detective…a representative of the authorities, the very people who are supposed to serve and protect…after implying that I purposely injected ketamine with my heroin—which you may know as a date rape drug—told me that he didn’t understand how I was able to actually know what had happened to me since I was so confused. He said that my accused rapists could argue that I ‘like to get kinky’ when I’m high. When I told him about the clear evidence in the rape kit, he said that my kit was destroyed because my injuries could have been consistent with sex games. In other words, despite the pictures of my injuries, my torn clothes, and the DNA in my kit, this man and the people that trashed my rape kit didn’t believe me because I had been on drugs. They disregarded me as if I didn’t matter.”

  I inhaled a few shaky breaths as my eyes flitted about before my gaze finally landed on Taylor. She would be seventeen in a few short months. Several of the girls that had come into Chrysalis were around her age, one was only fourteen years old. I saw Taylor’s face every time I looked at those other girls, and it always made my stomach twist to think that it could happen to my baby sister, or to my Natalie when she is older, or any of the young girls I loved. Someone could violate them, and their claims could be thrown away.

  “I wish I could say that this was a rare occurrence, but the unfortunate reality is that this scenario is all too familiar in many cities around the nation. The problem isn’t just the lack of believing in the victims, there are many problems with the system for sexual assault victims. There is a serious lack of communication between all parties involved, which could lead to a severe delay in rape kits getting tested. There’s the fear and stigma associated with sexual assault which may prevent victims from reaching out for help or even pursuing a criminal case so that the kits can be tested. There is also the aftermath to deal with. How do you learn to put one foot in front of the other and walk with your head held high again? Without looking over your shoulder or distrusting every stranger you meet? Here at Chrysalis, we will assist victims with all this and more.”

  I cleared my throat and folded my hands in front of me.

  “In case you are unaware, a chrysalis is the protective barrier in which a caterpillar transforms into a butterfly. We want our clients to come here and to feel safe. We will do everything we can to get justice, but…sometimes there is no justice. Sometimes there is no closure. Those are sad truths. But…” I lifted my chin a little higher. “Take it from me. You can move on. You can grow and transform. You can learn to be happy again. You can be empowered. You can heal.”

  I took another deep breath and forced a small smile.

  “Now. Back to those dreaded meetings. On my journey to establish and open the Chrysalis Center, I met a lot of other women. Many times, we sat together and shared our experiences, and you know what? We were able to help one another. We were able to learn from one another. We all agreed that we are stronger for it. So, we will be incorporating meetings into the healing process here, except we won’t be introducing ourselves as victims.”

  I stood up straighter and spoke in a powerful voice that needed no microphone to carry across to my audience and beyond.

  “I am Mayson Grayne. I am a survivor.”

  After the ceremony, many of the guests reconvened at Lily’s, the restaurant Lily owned. She had not only donated the space for the celebration, but she had also donated the large banquet of food. The party was an unexpected surprise for me. Apparently, Grant, Lily, and Kyle had put the plan in motion as soon as they knew the date of the ceremony.

  I expected a lot of tension between Kyle and Emmy, and all my other family members that wanted to dismember him. However, by tacit agreement, everyone decided to put their differences aside. Luke later told me that he didn’t want to take anything away from my accomplishments by bringing his own grievances with him through the door. I believed him because there was no tension and no weirdness between Kyle and Emmy.

  Once I realized that there would be no brawls, I began to relax. I wasn’t sure how temporary the peace t
reaty was, but I wanted to take advantage of it while I could.

  “Can I have everyone’s attention?” I called out. Most people stopped talking and turned to watch me at the front of the room, but a few needed a little more encouragement. “Hey! Shut up for a minute!”

  When I was sure that I had everyone’s attention, I nodded with satisfaction.

  “I want to thank everyone for coming out today. It really means a lot to me. I don’t even have the words to tell you how good I feel having all of you here. I know many of you had to make some adjustments to get here. You have kids missing school and you’re missing work and leaving your businesses behind. You all know where I’ve come from and what kind of person I was and the obstacles I’ve had to overcome to reach this point in my life. I am very grateful that when I came through the other side that you all were still there, waiting for me to pull it together. I feel honored that I now get to help others. So thank you for being sneaky bastards and planning all this behind my back. I am really…” I nodded as I tried to find the words and not cry. “Really grateful,” I finished, swallowing hard.

  Everyone applauded. Finished with my second speech of the day, I started to walk away to rejoin the party, but Grant stepped up beside me and cleared his throat. I looked at him curiously before I realized that the entire room had fallen silent, except the smaller children whining or babbling. I looked around, noting that nearly everyone was either grinning or trying not to. The women—Emmy in particular—vibrated with muted excitement.

  My chest grew tight with anxiety as I looked back to Grant.

  “What the hell is going on?” I asked slowly.

  He smirked at me but did not answer me. Instead, he spoke to our captive audience.

  “I first met Mayson when she was just a twelve-year-old smartass kid,” he said, followed by some chuckles. “I saw her here and there over time, but one day I saw her many years later, and it seemed to me that she had grown up overnight. She had her problems, but I saw through all that. I saw a fighting spirit in her. I saw a fire in her that I had never seen in anyone before, and to this day, I still haven’t seen in anyone else. She was funny and intelligent and intriguing. She was still smartass, and she was gorgeous. There are children in the room, and her mother, so I’m not going to tell you the impure thoughts I had when I looked at her.”

  I rolled my eyes as others laughed. When Grant continued, he spoke more solemnly.

  “Mayson was all those things, but she was also tragic. Maybe a lot of you who knew her back then lost any hope that she could ever get better. Maybe some of you had to walk away for your own sanity and protection. But I was drawn to her, because even though she was struggling with addiction and barely able to tolerate herself, she always wanted more, and she tried very hard and more often than any of us knows. She was always trying to fix herself, to be a better person. Maybe it made me a tragic person, too, but it was a culmination of all the good things and all the bad things that made me fall in love with her.”

  Grant paused and looked at the floor for a moment as he tried to gather his words. I could feel eyes on us but I remained focused on the man beside me.

  “I left,” he said, so faintly that I was sure no one had heard him. He lifted his head and said it loud, his deep voice cracking through the air like a whip. “I left. After my sister Sharice died from a drug overdose on the same day that Mayson almost died, I decided that I couldn’t stay and watch her die, too. To this day, I still don’t know if I made the right decision. I can’t regret it because I did marry and have two incredible children. When I caught up with Mayson again, you probably won’t be surprised to know that she was ready to push me into traffic. She was not happy to see me and she had no problem telling me. Miraculously, she gave me a second chance, even after all the years that we had been apart.”

  Finally, Grant looked at me. The emotion on his face and in his eyes ran as deep as the waters of the Congo.

  “Mayson Mariah Grayne, I love you,” he said.

  It was as if those three words were a signal because in the next second music began to play. As one, my friends, family, and colleagues began to sing.

  Too startled to think clearly, I didn’t recognize the song until Luke spun Emmy to the center of the room, singing the first two verses of “All You Need Is Love” by the Beatles. Emmy sang the next two verses, smiling lovingly up at her husband. He looked at her as if she were the only other person in the room.

  Tabitha and Leo were next, gazing into each other’s eyes with electric zinging between them. Then for the chorus, the entire room sang out. I looked from singing face to singing face, astounded and laughing with a touch of hysteria.

  Emmet and Donya floated onto the floor, their voices carrying through the entire room as they sang the next verses. His fingers trailed over her face, and at the end of their part, he kissed her rapturously.

  As they sang, the party guests closed in on us, forming a loose circle. They clapped in time to the music, singing enthusiastically. Even my mother was singing and smiling at me.

  I looked at Grant, my astonishment still present. I still had no idea what the hell was happening, but that question in my mind was answered in the next instant when Grant dropped to one knee.

  My mouth—which couldn’t have possibly opened any further—stretched so wide that it hurt my face. I watched, frozen, as he reached into his suit jacket pocket and produced a black velvet box. He flipped the box open with his thumb and held it up to me like a sacrificial offering.

  The timing was perfect because the singing and music came to a soft end only seconds after Grant opened the ring box. When he began to speak, the room was once again quiet. Even the kids were relatively quiet.

  “Mayson, I tried to come up with a beautiful proposal speech, but I don’t have anything eloquent to say. I can be straightforward and tell you the truth of my heart. I love you, and Natalie and Alex love you. You have made us very happy, and we want you with us always. Stay with us, Mayson, and please be my wife.”

  Something inside my chest burst and bloomed. Sobbing and laughing, I nodded my head eagerly.

  “Yes,” I cried. “Yes!”

  Grant looked so relieved that I laughed again, but I began to sob loud and beautifully ugly again when he slid the platinum band over my finger.

  Everyone cheered and applauded. I heard women sniffing and crying, but I didn’t see who, because I only had eyes for Grant.

  He stood up, took me into his arms and kissed me. Our friends and family began to sing again. As I lost myself in the kiss of the man I just agreed to marry, I knew that what they sang was true. Love was all I needed.

  Epilogue

  “Are your eyes closed?”

  “Yes,” Grant and I said together.

  “Mayson, you’re peeking!” Natalie admonished.

  “I am not peeking. I was blinking. My eyes are closed. Come on! Hurry up before I fall asleep from boredom.”

  “Such a smartass,” Grant said under his breath.

  Smiling, I playfully bumped him with my shoulder.

  In front of us, Natalie, Alex, and Taylor shuffled around and whispered, but I could only catch a few words. Even behind my closed eyes, I could tell that the kitchen lights had been turned off. Just when I was about to complain again, Natalie spoke.

  “Okay. On the count of three,” she said. “One.”

  “Three,” Alex said, his tone dry.

  “Alex!” Nat shrieked, incensed.

  I opened my eyes, and Grant must have opened his at the same time because we simultaneously made sounds of pleasant surprise.

  “Happy Anniversary!” the trio called out.

  Natalie’s arms were outstretched, presenting us with the large cake Taylor held in her hands. It had white frosting with, “Happy Anniversary” written in red. Flames of three red and white striped candles flickered in the semi-darkness.

  “This is really nice, guys,” Grant said, emotion woven into his voice.

  “Aww,
” I crooned, getting to my feet. “Thank you, guys!”

  “You have to blow out the candles!” Natalie said excitably, bouncing on her toes.

  Grant put his arm around my waist and pulled me against him and we blew out the candles together.

  “Happy Anniversary, Repo Man,” I said, wrapping my arms around him. I tilted my head back to look into his handsome face.

  “Happy Anniversary, Baby Girl,” he responded, caressing my cheek with his thumb.

  We met halfway for a kiss, ignoring Alex’s gagging and Natalie crying out, “That’s disgusting!”

  “There are children present,” Taylor called out when we were still kissing several moments later.

  Reluctantly, we stopped and pulled apart so that we could enjoy our anniversary cake and some ice cream with the kids. Well, with the kids and Taylor. She wasn’t really a kid anymore. At twenty years old, she was a young woman with her own life.

  A few months before the ribbon cutting ceremony for the Chrysalis Center, Taylor had been accepted into the New York City Ballet Company. She officially danced for a paycheck, and not around a pole. Not that there was anything wrong with dancing around a pole, but I was glad that she wasn’t that kind of dancer. Taylor had real talent, and unlike me, she wanted to be a ballerina. She wanted that life, and she had it.

  We had grown close over the years, despite the fact that she had moved farther away. She visited as often as she could, and many times Grant, the kids, and I joined her in New York for a weekend or during the holidays. As she got older, our sibling relationship did grow stronger, but more importantly, Taylor became my friend.

  Natalie adored Taylor and emulated her as much as she could. Of course, that meant that she, too, wanted to be a ballerina. Naturally, I had my reservations in the beginning, considering all I had gone through as a kid—which in retrospect…wasn't really…that terrible…I will never, ever admit that to my mom. Anyway, I had my reservations, but Grant told me that I wasn’t my mom, and he wasn’t my dad. If he ever saw me becoming a dance mom, he would “handle” me. I wasn’t sure what that meant, and I was pretty sure I didn’t want to know.