by S. N. Garza
“I’m sure you can guess, Willow. You’re not that naive. I told you I was her first in everything.”
I can’t help but mutter, “Probably not in that.”
I didn’t think he heard me until he says, “I was, Willow. I was the first man to make love to her. I loved her more than you can ever know.” Then he shuts the door, silence reigning again.
More than I can ever know? I love knowing he loved my mother, but at what expense? He put her on a pedestal, and everything else has been second. I hope now, now we know the truth, we can both move forward. After this day, I never plan on coming here again. This man will never be a part of my life. He wasn’t in my past, and I don’t see him in my future.
I’m not particularly feeling good about wearing someone else’s underclothes, but when I drop the sweatpants onto the dresser, I open the top drawer, but they’re completely empty. She probably took them when she left. I look through the other drawers and there’s not very much in them either. Well, I’ll just have to deal with damp underclothes.
I walk to the ‘princess’ bed, canopy and all, and set the clothes down and see a photo of her and her mom on the nightstand. Her mother, my grandmother, looks hauntingly beautiful. It looks like mom is only four or five. When did her mother have her? A part of me aches to know everything. I want to know everything about them. The heartache they must have went through to survive must have been staggering. I pick up the photograph and see myself reflected in the glass. Two women I’ll never know. I know I look like my father, but I know I have her eyes. His eyes. A family trait, I guess. I can’t believe all this time, she hid a darkness so profound, that she’d rather keep it secret than expose him. What must have gone through her mind?
I turn and set the photo on the bed when the sweatshirt slips down to the floor. I quickly toe off my shoes and push down my leggings, and pull on the sweatpants which hang off me, but they’re better than nothing. I kneel down to grab the sweatshirt when I see a composition book peeking from just under the skirt of the bed.
I grab it and the shirt, and rush to change and pick up the book once more. On the front it read Eighth Grade, #4. Maybe a school notebook. I’m sure she was just as smart as Marcus said she was. I sit down and open it to a random page thinking it’ll be a school thing but no—
It’s something quite different.
“He came to my room again. I beg him to stop, just as I do every night. The things he does to me, I want those images out of my head. This feeling of utter helplessness... makes me want to vomit when he slides in the bed next to me.
I still haven’t told Marcus yet. He thinks the world of the man raising me. My grandfather. My… father. And he loves it when I called him that too. Daddy. He tells me it makes everything so much better when I call him that.”
Twenty-six
Willow
There’s more, but I slam the journal closed. My God. I get back down on the floor and I wonder if there’s more. And there is. Stacks of them. I grab one at the end and see Senior, #8. I look at a few of them and see there’s several numbers for that particular year… this is her eighth journal of her senior year.
I take a deep breath. My heart in my throat. My hands shake as I try and gather the courage it takes to open it and stomach reading what I know to be the darkest years of my mother’s life.
“I’m almost at the end of what I can stand. I tried telling someone. My teacher. Grandfather had them transferred and paid off. He owns this town and everyone in it. I think he’s got Marcus too. Marcus is so blind when it comes to him. But I know he doesn’t know the truth. I don’t let him see. I love Marcus. He’s all I ever wanted. But to be with him, means staying here. He has so many obligations that require him to remain here. He wouldn’t be able to leave and never come back. He’s the heir to his father’s company and fortune. He wouldn’t give that up. He can’t and I’d never let him. I can’t stay or I know I’ll end up dead.
There’s only one way for Marcus to forget me. Or to move on. To find him someone he can truly fall for. And I think I know. The way his eyes settle on her. The way he knows where she is at all times. He tries to ignore her. She’s so young, but I have a feeling she’s got an old soul. The first time he saw her in that Fall Formal dress, he sighed. Sighed the way a boy with a crush sighs.
It’s forbidden. What I’m begging Marcus to do. I can’t believe I told him to take her back to his apartment. It’s so wrong of me, but I need to give him something to focus on while I…
I’m making plans. Since he’s noticed her, really noticed her, he’s different. He’s more… I have a strong feeling it’s not my face he’s imagining when we have sex and he finds relief. And maybe it makes me a sick person to admit, but I’m happy about that. I don’t want him pining over me when I finally decide enough is enough. And I’m close. There’s only so much I can endure. I want to die. I know what he wants. He wants me to become my mother. God forgive me for the things I’ve done.
I did meet someone though. A stranger. Handsome. Older. Wise. An outsider. We met when he came here to judge artwork for the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo. I was a finalist. If there was ever such a thing as a long, tall Texan, Jack Mason was the epitome of it.”
I skip through some pages to see her drawings by free hand. My father. Several of Marcus. A few people I’ve never seen and some of her mother. Then him. And all the eyes are blacked out. Lifeless.
Cold, dead, blank eyes she left irisless. Scary to think my mother had this kind of darkness inside of her when I remember there was so much life, so many smiles and happy moments. To wonder what it was like when she was alone. Up in her hayloft and painting, purging those demons burned into her psyche.
I want these journals. I want to get to know the girl who lived in the horror, pain, and maybe found love and self-love as she found solace with my dad. See if maybe there was the woman I remember. The one who filled my life with smiles. I can’t leave this little girl in this place. I get down on my hands and knees and grab all the worn, bent, black and white composition books and pile them on the bed. I can’t let them stay here.
After all this time… she deserves freedom. Finally. Once and for all. He can’t keep her a prisoner any longer.
I take down all the pictures I see, the ones of her in her cheer uniform and I think, has he come in here and… done things as he looked at her photos? The young, vibrant girl in those photos is the girl in those journals. It doesn’t match, but she hid such incredible pain. Then I see photos of her and Marcus. She’s so happy. He’s so incredibly handsome and the way he looks at my mom, you can tell he’s completely besotted with her. Totally in love. The way he looks at her. The way she looks at him. It’s like a match made in heaven. He’s a little different than Gabriel, but they could totally be brothers right here in these old photographs and the resemblance is uncanny. This younger version though doesn’t have the ruthless, brooding nature Marcus has now. Which is a shame, but it surely hasn’t taken away his mystique. He’s still as good looking as ever. Makes me excited to see Gabriel in twenty years with grey at his temple. Which he already has a few, making him look even more sexy and dashing.
I grab all the photos I can and take a glimpse outside her window. The stormy weather has receded and it’s just sprinkling. Time to leave this behind.
I look around this room and see a girl who loved life outside of these four walls. Time to take her from her so she can finally be free.
There was so much love I felt in my life that this… to learn this?
I place the photos, medals, anything that looked as if it was important to her in the middle of the bed and went to look for a suitcase, duffle, anything. I get to the closet and see rows of her clothes hanging and see she was a preppy girl at heart. I see a gym bag on the top shelf and pull it down where a shoebox falls and out spills little pink and white sticks, and three bottles of pills. What is this? I get down on my knees and pick a stick up only to drop it like it’s on fire.
&nbs
p; A pregnancy test?
A positive pregnancy test. Holy shit. There’s four of them. I immediately get sick to my stomach. These can’t be… my heart lurches up to my throat and I pick up the pills, Levonorgestrel. Then there’s two other bottles, but they’re empty. Mifepristone. Misoprostol. What does it mean? I don’t have any siblings, so… did she miscarry? I mean, if he was the father… I wouldn’t want her to go through what her mother did. But also… that’s a human life whether it was forced or not. Maybe it was growing up the way I did. So… pro-life. But what would you do? Would I have done the same thing? Given the choice… I don’t know and I don’t know how to feel about this. I feel this crushing weight toppling on me as if the walls are beginning to close in.
I blink away tears because this must have hurt her something bad. If she didn’t have them, she must have had abortions. Did these pills help her? My stomach is doing somersaults at the thought of killing an innocent life. Even an unwanted one.
Everything falls out of my hands when there’s a firm knock on the door.
“WILLOW?”
“Coming!”
I gather everything up and carry it and the duffle back to the bed, stuff everything inside until it’s packed to the gills. There’s some other stuff I want to shove in there, but I want to get the hell out of here. Now.
I zip up the bag and rush to the door. I rip it open only to have Marcus almost falling.
“Whoa. Everything okay? What’s doin’?”
What’s doin’? That’s what he always says, and I can’t explain it, I can’t describe what I learned in that room right now. Maybe someday. Someday when the pain isn’t so fresh. Because yeah, I’d kill him, too.
“We’re leaving.”
“What’s in the bag, babygirl?”
“Proof. And… something I’m not going to talk about here. This place is one bad thing after another.”
He gives me a confused look, but he nods anyway and takes the bag from my shoulder. “You look weird wearing my number.”
“Uuuuuh… it’s your family’s number. So technically I’m wearing Gabriel’s number.”
“You’re not married to him, you know?”
“You haven’t said anything before now when I’ve worn it.”
“Because those are my clothes. You look—
“I know, weird. Just shut up and let’s go.”
“Your momma was never this sassy. You know that?”
“I wonder why.” That remark sobers him up and the small smile he had falls flat. “I’m sorry. That was—
“Don’t worry about it.” I stop him, pull on his arm and make him face me. “It was cruel. You didn’t know and I know you would have done anything to save her. I don’t think she was ready for you.”
“I am amazing, aren’t I?”
“Calm down, old man. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
That devilish smile returns and with a roll of his eyes, he gestures for me to proceed in front of him.
When we get back downstairs, Marcus is walking me out when Everett George appears at the study door, leaning against the frame, his bored, lifeless gaze pouring into me. The sketch in my mother’s journal is the perfect fit. And a statement he made earlier stops me.
“Wait.”
“No, Willow. Come on.” Marcus says, trying to steer me towards the door but it won’t dissuade me. I need to know.
“No.” I walk until I’m feet away from him. Looking at him brings it back and I have to know. “You said twice. My mother came here twice. When was the last time she came here?”
His eyes roam over me and it’s like an oily slug begins crawling over my skin. I don’t like the leery way he looks at me and neither does Marcus, because once again, he’s trying to stand in front of me, but I push him to the side. I’m not as scared as I was and something about having Marcus with me, gives me the strength, the courage, to get the answers. I know he won’t let Everett George hurt me and I’m grateful for it.
“Tell me.”
“The day she died.”
Marcus’s shoulders shudder. “What do you mean?”
“She came here. Her and that… man—
“That man was my father, you son of a bitch. Did you have anything to do with their deaths?”
“Hmmm… one can never know. Their plane did malfunction, didn’t it? How could I have anything to do with that? I was here.”
Marcus takes a short breath and he takes a step back, pushing me back. “What did you do?” There’s a vitriolic underlining in his tone and I know we both can kind of figure out that maybe… just maybe… he’s the reason why they’re gone. The reason I never knew my parents. The reason why they were taken from me.
“Only what I had to.” He throws up his hands nonchalantly and rolls his shoulders saying, “Nothing. I did nothing. She knew exactly how I felt when she left here. Both her and…,” he looks down to me, smiles and I feel it all the way to the bottom of my stomach where I almost want to throw up once more. “Jack Mason. They left. I stayed. Nothing more. Nothing less. Maybe she didn’t learn her lesson. Her mother did.”
“My God. Come on, Willow. Time to go.”
Marcus turns, takes a hold of my hand and pretty much drags me out of the house. I want to get the truth out of him. Didn’t learn her lesson? Everything is jumbling in my head and I can’t… I can’t… spots appear in front of my eyes. Oh, crap.
“Dammit.” Suddenly, I’m being lifted in strong arms and I can’t help it. I reach my hands around his neck and the sobs I’ve been holding in come out. The grief at knowing my mother was taken too soon; was hurt in the vilest way a girl can be hurt and by her own… father.
These heaving, wracking sobs rip from my throat and he holds me tighter. “I know, babygirl. I know. I could put you down and go back in there and do away with him. I wouldn’t think twice about it.”
I shake my head no. I can’t lose anyone else. “No. Please. Just get me out of here.”
He walks us to the passenger side door and sets me down, holding me close. His arm is wrapped around my shoulders and I feel him press a warm kiss to my temple. “He’ll never get close to you again. I promise you, Willow. And he will pay.”
I nod, feel the fading raindrops hit my face before he opens the door and settles me inside. His hands cup my face, turning it so I’m looking his way, but I’m not really seeing him.
“Willow?”
“What?”
“I love you, babygirl. Let’s get home.”
I need that. I need to feel something other than this frozen chill that’s beginning to seep into my pores. “I love you, too. And I know my mother loved you. Deeply.”
“I know.”
“No. She wrote it. It’s in the journals she kept. She must have always been writing and drawing. You were pretty cute when you were young. Gabriel looks so much like you.”
With a snort, he chucks my chin gently before smiling and saying, “I still am, girl. What do you say we get home and have a drink while we wait for your boy? I know he’s already on his way back and he’ll be frothing at the mouth.”
I play push him back and roll my eyes. “He does not froth. But I’m sure he’s probably going to punch you. He’s pretty protective that way.”
“Yeah, well, he’s one punch away from getting it back.” Then he steps away, shuts the door and walks around. As he pulls away, this gut feeling has my eyes turning to the front door where Everett George stands, an imposing, eerie, shadowy figure lurking in the doorway.
“Marcus?”
“What, babygirl?”
“What kind of pills are Levonorgestrel, mifepristone, and misoprostol?”
Suddenly, he slams on the breaks and my hands fly to the dash, keeping me from flying too hard forward.
“Excuse me? What did you say?” The way his head turns to me, this slow, horrified look in his gaze as his complexion ashens has me filled with apprehension.
“I—
“Where did you hear those words?
”
“I didn’t hear them. I read them.”
“Where?”
“She had bottles. Two were empty, the other one was levonorgestrel, and there was still a few in there.”
“Sweet Mary mother of God.”
His hands clenched around the steering wheel and his head falls to his knuckles. I see his body shake and my suspicions are confirmed. I hear him sniffle and I know he’s at his limit. I’m sure he wouldn’t want to cry in front of me, but when he looks back up, his eyes are filled with tears.
“They’re day-after pills, aren’t they?”
“Levonorgestrel is. The others… and I only know this because I remember her asking me about it once and I looked it up for her. I told her if she ever fell pregnant with my child, I’d take care of her. But I guess it wasn’t my child she was destroying, was it? I always wore protection. The other two are abortion inducing medications, Willow. How many?”
“I—
“How. Many?” The deadly calm in his voice brings tears to my own eyes.
“Four.”
Everything about him wilts and he leans back, scrubs his hands through his hair before taking a deep breath.
“Marcus let’s go. We both need a break right now.”
“I swear, he’s a dead man. You have proof?”
“Pregnancy tests.”
“Jesus Christ.” Another shudder runs through him before he shoves the car in drive and continues. This flat, impenetrable look on his face.
We’re both past our limits. We turn out of the gated driveway and make our way down the long hill road. He’s driving carefully, and I’m sure it’s for my sake. I’m sure he’d be back in that house killing him if it weren’t for me.
A lot has happened over the last few hours and all I want is Gabriel.
“I want Gabriel.”
“He’s already on his way back. About what you heard—
“I’m not keeping anything from him, Marcus. Right now, he’s the only one I trust.”
