by Anna Rezes
I blink, breaking the trance. “You!” I croak, as I brush his hand away. I clear my throat and start again. “You should leave!”
“You should eat.”
Looking at the food, I remember how hungry I am, but I turn to argue instead.
“Save your breath, love. I’m not going anywhere. I do have one question though. Where are all the pictures?”
“What pictures?”
“You have no pictures on your walls. Don’t you think that’s a little strange?”
“Really? You’re calling me strange?”
It’s true. It is strange not to have any pictures. I didn’t realize how odd it was until the guys pointed it out to me my junior year. My sister used to cover her walls with snapshots of her friends. I have one picture of my mom sitting on my nightstand, but as far as family albums go; those are kept hidden away on computer flash drives somewhere. I guess photos of our once perfect family are too painful for Dad to have sitting around, but I don’t tell Patrick this. In fact, I don’t say much of anything for the next hour with the exception of asking him to leave.
Patrick refuses to go. He is cordial. I might even go so far as saying he’s nice. He serves me food and tries to make pleasant conversation. It’s beyond strange. All of his actions are generous and sincere, but it’s a wasted effort on me. His unwelcome presence makes me feel like a hostage in my own home.
Patrick, the prison warden, is currently sitting at the opposite end of the couch ignoring my dad as he enters the kitchen from the garage.
I stand to face him as he walks into the living room. I call, “Hey, Dad.”
“Hey Em.” His eyes zero in on Patrick and then he looks to me for an explanation.
“This is Patrick. He’s Morgan’s cousin. He brought me Chinese.”
Dad eyes the open food containers spread across the coffee table and smiles at the tremendous assortment. “That’s a lot of food for the two of you.” His smile fades as he scrutinizes Patrick who is sitting with his back to us.
When Patrick stands, his whole demeanor changes from pleasant and attentive to cold and distant. I’ve never seen Patrick look like this before. Though he appears calm, I feel anger burning within him as he saunters around the couch and across the room to stand toe to toe with my dad.
“Patrick?” I question.
“It’s okay, love. Stay where you are.” Patrick’s soothing words are spoken directly into my mind, but when he speaks aloud to my dad, his tone is aggressive and frightening. “If you love her, how could you keep it from her? I don’t know how you’ve suppressed it for so long, but she’s already changing.”
He brushes past my dad on his way toward the front door. Hand on the knob, he turns to look at me. Unsure where to look, my gaze oscillates between the two of them before settling on Patrick. The concern I find in the depth of his blue eyes unnerves me, and I wonder how much he sees when he looks at me.
My fear evaporates as he no longer feels like a threat. I’m aware we’re staring too long, but I can’t tear my eyes away, and I sense a connection building between us. The door opens and a cool breeze fills the room.
“Happy Birthday, Emily,” Patrick says before he exits.
I’m left standing in the middle of the room staring at the door, as I try to piece together what just happened. There is silence for a long moment before I hear Dad approach me. I try to break my gaze from the door, but I’m frozen in place, lost in thoughts that threaten to drown me until I feel Dad’s arms wrap around my shoulders.
“Now I understand what’s going on.” His tone is weary. “Some boys are more difficult than others.”
I pull away watching his expression turn to guilt. Patrick told me there are things he’s keeping from me, but I didn’t believe him until now. “What’s going on, Dad? What did he mean, I’m already changing?”
He glances at the jumble of open food containers. “Let’s clean up this mess and then we’ll talk.”
I shake my head. “Dad, I need to know what’s going on. Please.”
He opens his mouth to speak, but it falls closed, and he purses his lips. His eyes are heavy with secrets, and his body is tense. I watch a dozen emotions pass through him. Minutes tick by before either of us speaks.
“Okay,” he concedes, releasing a deep breath. “Emily, your mom wasn’t ill. She was . . .” He gives me a wary look, pausing too long. I wait in silence as he puts his thoughts together. “She was never sick. She wasn’t crazy. We were trying to protect you.”
Needing the extra support, I lean on the chair behind me. I’m deeply concerned and wondering if my father is in denial about his crazy dead wife. “Dad, she was unstable. She heard voices. You, you’re the one who had her committed.”
“She made me, but she wasn’t sick. She was special.”
“Dad, I miss her too, but she was sick. She killed herself, remember?” As much as I hate what I’m saying, it’s the truth. And he knows it.
“Emily, it’s not true. She’s dead, but it wasn’t suicide, and she was never sick. Please try to understand. We had to protect you.”
“Dad—”
“I’m so sorry to keep it from you for so long. There is so much to talk about, but the first thing you need to understand is your mother was gifted. She had certain abilities. She could hear things, see things, feel things, and people loved her because of her alluring, mysterious ways. She captivated everyone around her.”
He’s lost, sadness oozing from every pour and I’m helpless to stop it. He’s mourning her all over again, and I cannot go through this one more time. I have to distance myself. I turn to leave, and he speaks my name. With a broken heart, he pleads for me to stay. Reluctantly, I turn to face him.
“It’s in you, Emily. She never wanted you to know. She was trying to find a way to stop it. She left so you’d be safe, and I know it hurt, but we did everything we could to keep you safe.” His eyes fill with tears. “But it’s happening. And that boy is right.” He glares at the door before turning to me and grabbing both of my shoulders. “There’s nothing I can do to stop it. You . . . you are changing.”
Pushing my emotions back, I blink at my dad. He looks so grave and a sliver of uncertainty slips through my mind. I try to make sense of what he just told me. Everything about him tells me he’s speaking the truth, yet his story is flawed and inconceivable.
I shake my head, trying to clear it. “I’m sorry. What?”
“The lies were to protect you. Everything we did was to protect you,” he exhales, looking away, shame heavy on his features.
His arms fall from my shoulders as I take a step back. I look to the front windows. Just beyond the porch, there are holes in the flowerbed where no flowers were ever planted. Then I look around the room at bare, picture-less walls. There are no family keepsakes or homey decor, just the bare essentials, just enough to make it a livable space. No wonder Samantha didn’t spend any time at home. We’ve lived in a shell of a house for years, and it’s been obvious to everyone except for me.
“Everything you did was to protect me? I don’t understand. You committed me after mom died. Are you saying that was to protect me?”
“Yes,” he says, taking a step forward.
I step back, just out of his reach, my composure cracking like the eggshells I’ve been walking on since the day my mother died. “Then you failed. Miserably. Those were the worst weeks of my life and you made me think I was mentally ill.”
“I promise you; there was a reason for all of it. You see, these capabilities—”
Shaking my head, I cut him off. “I can’t. I can’t wrap my head around this. If what you’re saying is true and Mom wasn’t sick, then how dare you lock her away from me. How dare you make me think she took her own life.”
He’s giving me the look I hate. It’s the “Poor Emily Burke, her mom committed suicide,” only he’s saying it was a lie.
“What could you possibly be protecting me from that’s worse than what I’ve been through? I
needed her! Do you even know what my life has been like?” I shake my head, not giving him a chance to answer. “No! No, because you’re never around!”
“Emily, I don’t think you’re grasping the severity of the situation. If I’m not around, it’s because I’m protecting this family. Your mother had to do unimaginable things to keep us safe.”
“Like what? Live in a mental institution!” I accuse, loudly.
“Emily,” he says, trying to reason with me.
“What happened to Mom? If she didn’t commit suicide, what happened to her?”
He blinks slowly before answering, “She wasn’t mentally ill, but death had been stalking her for a long time. Eventually, it caught up to her and she made me promise to keep you away, you and Sam. She didn’t want either of you to witness her death or suffer because of it.”
I shake my head. “That can’t be . . . it just . . . None of this makes sense.”
“She was—”
“No,” I breathe. “I don’t . . . I can’t handle this. I can’t be here right now.” On instinct, my body is moving without my conscious permission. A second later my hand is on the doorknob, and I feel the rush of cool air as I make my escape into the night.
I’m running. Running from the deception. Running from the pain. Running from the things I cannot escape.
nine
I have so many questions, but they feel trivial compared to the magnitude of betrayal I feel from my dad. So, I run, just like Ben says I always do. Maggie follows me out the door. We jump in my car and soon find ourselves in the park. We hike a trail in the nearly pitch-black forest which proves treacherous, leaving me with gashes and bruises. Each time I stumble, Maggie loyally sticks by my side, licking my face and silently encouraging me to pick myself up and continue.
When we arrive back home around four in the morning, Dad is in the living room waiting for me. He jumps out of his seat when we walk through the door. “Emily, my God! I wasn’t prepared to have this conversation tonight. Let me explain.”
I hold a hand out, motioning for him to stop. “I need some time, Dad. I can’t deal with this tonight.”
“Sure, I understand. We can talk in the morning. I’m relieved you came home safe, Emily.”
I go straight to my room without any intention of speaking to him in the morning. I lock the door behind me and change out of my filthy clothes before getting into bed. I stare at my ceiling until the sun creeps up outside my window. Lying beside me, Maggie rests her head on my chest. She lets out an exhausted sigh, and I wrap my arms around her wondering what I’m going to say to Dad the next time I see him.
I think back to our conversation.
“Your mother was gifted. She had certain abilities. She could hear things, see things, feel things, and people loved her because of her alluring, mysterious ways. She captivated everyone around her.”
I go over it a hundred times in my head trying but failing to make sense of it. He’s trying to convince me that the worst events of my life were to protect me. From what? My life has been a cruel web of pain and humiliation. Whispers plagued me in the school halls. Rumors spread like wildfire across social media forcing me to seclude myself from normal teenage activities. Bitterness boils up, spiraling into burning anger deep in my veins.
Family members are the people you’re supposed to count on to be honest and have your back. Dad has destroyed my trust, and I wonder if Sam is aware of the deception. But I know Sam wouldn’t keep that secret—not from me.
I don’t remember falling asleep, but my phone vibrating on the nightstand startles me awake.
“Hello,” I answer with a raspy voice.
“Happy Birthday!”
“Thanks, Sam.”
“Are we still on for three?”
Shopping is my sister’s favorite thing to do, and every year for my birthday she loves to drag me along and treat me like her own personal Barbie. The clock tells me it’s two in the afternoon and I’m still covered in dirt and dried blood from the night before.
“Three is perfect.”
“Yay, can’t wait. I’ll see you soon, Em. Bye.”
I struggle to sit as I gather my thoughts. Yesterday feels like a bad dream which I might believe, except for my sore, aching muscles and the mud-crusted clothes piled on the floor. On my way to the shower, I search the house only to discover my father is absent. Typical. Work is still his top priority.
Once I’m finished getting ready, I leave the house, unable to stand being inside for one more second. As I crouch to sit on the porch step, my phone vibrates, and I find a new text from Dad.
Happy Birthday. I know it’s a lot to take in. Please let me explain. Love you.
My phone is clasped in my hand as I contemplate my response. He had years to explain, but he waited until he was backed into a corner to talk to me. I feel betrayed, and I’m not ready to accept an explanation.
Let me have my birthday. We can talk another time.
My phone vibrates again, but this time it’s Ben calling. I think about letting it go to voicemail, but our friendship is already strained, so I hit the button and lift the phone to my ear.
I try to rally a cheerful voice. “Hey, Ben!”
“Happy Birthday!”
“Thanks.”
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
I guess I’m not very good at faking happy. “I had a fight with my dad. It’s nothing.”
“Since when do you fight with your dad?”
Dad and I have never had a normal father-daughter relationship. I don’t get in trouble, my homework is finished on time, my grades are good, and on top of that, I’ve held a steady job since I was thirteen. I’m responsible and don’t give him any reason not to trust me.
“Ben, let’s not talk about this right now. Tell me about Florida.”
“Let’s not talk about that either,” he says with irritation.
We are both silent until a car pulls up to the curb and I jump to my feet. “I have to go. My sister just got here.”
“K, talk to you later.”
Before I can say goodbye, Ben is hanging up.
When Sam gets us to the mall, I let her drag me into all of her favorite shops. Her Barbie-doll obsession over me becomes a needed distraction. Her infectious giddiness has a way of cheering me up. With all the wedding planning I realize now how much I miss having my sister to myself.
It’s seven o’clock by the time we leave the mall, and I wish I could hang out with Ben. Being around him makes me feel relaxed and secure.
“Oops, you had plans with Dad, didn’t you?” Sam says, looking at the time.
“No, we did our thing last night.”
“In that case, do you want to have dinner with Dan and me? We’re going to his parent’s house.”
I go with the first excuse that pops in my head. “Morgan is back in town, and we’ve been meaning to catch up.” At that very moment my phone rings. “Speak of the devil,” I say, before answering, “Hey, Morgan.”
“Happy Birthday, Emily!”
“Thanks. Are you free to hang out tonight?”
“Yeah,” Morgan says, “I’m at home right now if you’d want to come over.”
“Great, let me swing by my house and grab my car. I’ll see you in a few.”
Dad’s truck is in the garage as we pull up. I take a deep breath and turn to hug my sister. Hugs from Sam are one of the few comforting constants left in my life.
“Thanks for a great day, Sam.”
“It was my pleasure. I’m flying out tomorrow to the beach house with Dan and his family. I won’t be back until next week, so have a great Fourth of July.”
Retrieving my brightly colored shopping bags from the back seat, I say, “You too. Love you.”
“Love you,” she says before I close the door.
I’m relieved Sam doesn’t come in the house. I shove my goodies in my car before going inside. I head straight for my room and pull an overnight bag from the closet. After packing, I fl
ing it over my shoulder and head out. Maggie watches me longingly. I don’t want to leave her behind, but I can’t take her with me. I bend down, kiss the top of her head and whisper, “I’m sorry.”
“Where are you going?” Dad catches me before I’m out the door.
“I’m staying with Morgan tonight.”
“Emily,” he says my name the way parents do when they’re about to lecture.
“Dad, I can’t,” I say, as I turn and walk out the door.
ten
I pull off the country road onto the long gravel driveway that leads to Morgan’s house. It sits on several acres with a private lake. I park behind a very expensive white BMW that looks like it belongs in Ben’s garage next to his dad’s Ferrari.
I leave my things and walk to the porch. The frosted glass front doors are encased in a crimson border. The rest of the old Victorian style house is a variation of creamy colors, adding to the character of the intricate woodwork.
Morgan rushes out to embrace me. “Happy birthday, Emily! We have so much catching up to do. Come on.”
I fight my initial reaction to push her away and instead hug her back.
We venture upstairs, and it appears we’re the only people in the house. Once in her room, we get comfy on her big fluffy bed. She looks like she’s going to burst. “So, what’s going on with you and Ben?”
I should’ve expected it or at least been prepared for the subject, but I’ve had other things occupying my mind. My head falls into my hands. “I’m not sure it even matters anymore. The truth is; I really like him, but everything is so complicated. He called me earlier to wish me a happy birthday, but we were both upset because Ben is stuck in Florida with his family and I just got into a fight with my dad.”
Morgan’s face shows concern. “You got in a fight with your dad? That never happens. What can I do?”
“Actually, can I stay with you tonight?” I ask feeling guilty for inviting myself.
“Of course, you’re always welcome here. I hope you know that,” she says, and then more quietly she asks, “Are things really that bad?”
