The minute the tape is over my mouth, I can’t breathe. I hear Christian calling me, and I pray he gets here fast, because if he doesn’t, I’ll pass out. My nose feels broken, and I can’t get any air that way. I need Christian to get it off. I need him to call 911.
Christian heard the sound of glass breaking and ran faster down the stairs. Libby was home. He knew she was. If glass was breaking, it meant that she got hurt. His mom and dad weren’t coming home until suppertime so Christian knew it was up to him. They had to take care of each other, because that’s what friends did.
Very carefully, Christian looked in all the rooms. The family room had a plate on the couch with a pizza crust on it. Christian bit his lip. Emily used to leave messes at the apartment all the time, but she was better about it now. And besides, Emily wasn’t even home. Libby always cleaned up after herself. Christian started to worry and felt his heart beat faster inside him. What if a stranger was inside? Or a robber? What if they were the one who made that noise?
Turning back around, Christian ran upstairs and into his bedroom. It used to feel safe in there, with the green walls and big stuffed puppy on the bed. Really fast, he looked under the bed, and found what he was looking for. His baseball bat. It was made of the strongest wood. He knew because he hit a homerun with it last year when he played for the 7 and under team. He looked inside the kitchen and saw Snoopy had an accident and was barking like crazy. The kitchen still had the gate around it, and Libby always let Snoopy out right away. Leaning in, Christian picked up the dog, and took him with, too. He might help guard, and bark if there was danger.
Moving slowly, like he’d seen his dad do when he wasn’t sure of a situation, Christian crept back down the stairs. He checked out Libby and Emily’s room, the bat over his shoulder and Snoopy in his arms, shaking, just as scared as Christian was. Nobody was in the bedroom so he checked the bathroom. That was normal too. He peeked in the laundry room. Christian didn’t like it in there because it was dark, but he made himself check it out anyway, because that’s what a man would do, and he already felt like a man for years now. He was used to protecting his mom. He would protect Libby, too, because he had lots of practice.
Just as Christian was about to duck out of the laundry room, he noticed the door to the exercise bedroom was open a little ways. It hadn’t been before, because it was a surprise for Libby. With the bat over his shoulder and the puppy in the other arm, Christian kicked the door open. Then, he got dizzy and almost fell down.
Because there was Libby, all bloody on the cement floor. She had duct tape on her mouth and she was crying. She looked beat up bad, even worse than her mom looked when a guy robbed her. The window was broken and a cold wind was blowing. There was glass everywhere, and blood on the desk his dad was making for Libby. A chair was missing.
“Libby!” he yelled, running to her. He watched her jerk away and then remembered that he still had the baseball bat. Christian put it down on the ground and the dog, too. Somehow, Snoopy knew that Libby was hurt, even though he was just a puppy. He cried and started to lick her face.
It looked like Libby was having a hard time breathing because she was making a lot of struggling noise. She kept bringing her hand up to her mouth and trying to get the tape off, but it wouldn’t come.
“Here. Don’t move, I’ll do it,” Christian told her, shaking just as bad as Snoopy. He tried to get a good grip on the tape, but it was slippery with blood. He tried to pull, but Libby made noise as if he was hurting her. Then, she took the hand that didn’t look hurt, and moved it to her ear, in a sign for phone.
Right. Christian got all those supplies and forgot the most important one. Lucky for him, he knew just where Libby kept her phone now. “I’ll be right back, I promise,” he said, giving her a kiss in her hair, where she didn’t look that bad.
“Stay,” he told Snoopy, picking some glass off of Libby and setting the puppy on top of her. Just like a good dog, Snoopy laid down. “He’ll protect you until I get back.”
Then, Christian ran to the family room and dug under the couch cushions for Libby’s phone. He found it in three pieces, and quickly put the battery back in, and the little door on to keep the battery from falling out. Then he pressed the on button and waited for it to wake up.
Before he even got back to Libby, he dialed 911.
--
“Lamoille County 911. Do you have an emergency?”
“Yes,” Christian said in a hurry, he was running to get back to Libby. “My friend is hurt really bad!” When he saw her the second time, Christian felt tears coming and tried not to cry. But it was so sad to see Libby crying and bleeding and trying to breathe, and Snoopy lying on her and licking her face.
“What happened to your friend?” the lady on the other end of the call asked.
“I don’t know!” Christian sobbed. “I just got home from school and heard a crash, and then I found her lying on the floor! She’s bleeding a lot and has tape on her mouth!”
“Okay, calm down,” the lady said in a firm voice. “What’s your name?”
“Christian Walker,” he sniffed.
“Okay, Christian. How old are you?”
“I’m almost eight. Libby’s twenty-one. She’s my friend and my mom and dad’s friend. She was supposed to watch me after school,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Do you need my address?” he asked, petting Libby’s hair.
“No, I know where you are. Christian, does your friend know who hurt her?”
“Um. I don’t know. Libby, do you know who hurt you?” he asked, playing with the edge of the tape.
“She’s nodding. She knows, but she can’t talk! I tried to get the tape off, but it was hurting her so I stopped! She can’t breathe very good though! Is someone coming?”
“Yes, I have police on the way. How is Libby doing?”
“She’s bleeding a lot, from her arms and her face,” Christian passed along, worried.
“Okay, do you have a clean towel or something you can use to stop the bleeding?” the lady on the phone asked. “You need to press down on the bleeding areas. Do you understand? Wrap them up and press as hard as you can.”
Christian put the phone on speaker, laid it on the floor, and took of his jacket off. He wasn’t going to leave Libby again, unless the police came and made him. Christian wrapped his jacket around her arm very tight. Libby screamed behind the tape but kept nodding, as if he was doing the right thing. Then Christian took off his sweatshirt, and wrapped it tight around the other arm and hand. He used his tee shirt to clean the blood of her face. He was lucky it was very cold out and he needed a lot of layers.
Outside, Christian heard sirens and he was scared again. What if the broken window was how the bad guy got in, and he was still here? He said that to the lady on the phone. Then, he pulled his bat closer and laid his whole body across Libby’s.
“They’re coming,” Christian whispered.
Underneath him, he could hear Libby’s heart beating so fast, and the noise in her chest when she tried to breathe.
The door was pushed open, and he heard men’s voices. Feet on the stairs, because Snoopy was barking and giving away where they were.
“Don’t come any closer!” Christian screamed, hearing footsteps enter the room. He clutched the bat in one hand.
“Christian, it’s the police. It’s the good guys,” the lady on the phone was saying, but Christian was too afraid to look.
“Christian,” a man’s voice said that didn’t sound anything like his dad‘s.
“If you touch her, I’ll knock your damn head off, and that’s a promise!” Christian screamed, the same way he once heard his dad defend his mom when a tourist tried to take a picture with her, as if she was a sight on a sightseeing tour.
Then, the worst thing happened. Christian felt himself getting lifted up. “It’s okay. We’ll take care of her now. Christian, it’s me. It’s Lucky.” Finally, Christian peeked one eye open. It was Lucky. His favorite policeman ever, here to save the day. He came to Christian’s class in first and second grade to tell them about 911.
“Hey, we need to get this tape off her ASAP. Christian, do you have any vegetable oil?” the other policeman asked, talking softly to Libby, and giving Christian the puppy.
Christian ran as fast as he could up the stairs into the kitchen. His mom had the biggest bottle of vegetable oil ever and Christian knew just where it was.
“Hey, Christian! You got cotton balls?” Lucky called.
“In the downstairs bathroom! Libby and Emily have some in there!” Christian called back. He got the vegetable oil and hurried down the first flight of stairs. Seeing Lucky at the bottom of the second flight, Christian tossed the big bottle, and Lucky caught it in one hand. He was as big as a football player and Santa, mixed into one person.
--
When the police got the tape off her mouth, Libby dragged in a deep breath.
“Hey, Lib,” Lucky said, and she tried to smile at him. She recognized him from church. “You’re gonna be okay. The ambulance ought to be here in no time and we’ll get you fixed up. Do you know who hurt you?”
Libby nodded. “Where’s Christian?” she rasped, wincing as Lucky pressed his massive hands against her arms to slow the bleeding. He probed her nose, and she flinched.
“He’s with Bert,” Lucky said, indicating the other officer. “He’s okay.”
“It was my brother,” Libby admitted, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks, stinging the open cuts. She knew she had to tell. She didn’t want him beating her up again, and definitely didn’t want him around kids with his crazy side. “William Patrick Wright.”
“The kid from TV?” Lucky asked, incredulous. At the time, Lucky thought the kid had been nice enough, and even felt bad about what he had to endure. Now, though, seeing Libby with her lip split, her nose probably broken, with cuts and bruises everywhere, Lucky wanted to find him, kick his ass back to Minnesota and lock him up there.
“Yes,” Libby whimpered. “When Christian came home, it scared him and he left. He’s probably headed for the Manchester airport. Six feet, slight build, buzzed dirty blonde hair. Blue-gray eyes,” she gasped as she was lifted onto the stretcher. I bit him. His right hand, he was bleeding when he left. Brown jacket, gray knit cap.”
“Okay. Good, that’s good,” Lucky said. “We’ll find him, sweetheart. Don’t worry. They’re gonna take you and Christian to the hospital. Can’t reach Coby or Jess but as soon as we can, they’ll know.”
In the distance, Libby saw Bert carrying Christian out to ride along in the ambulance, wearing jeans and his fleece Patriots blanket.
--
Nate and Cary had just gotten in after taking Linus for a walk on the rec path. They heard sirens there, and noticed cop cars and an ambulance heading tin the direction of their house. Cary and Nate just looked at one another and took off toward the house, rushing around it, to see police cars and an ambulance parked in the drive of Jess and Coby’s house. The doors to the ambulance were just being closed. Nate could see Christian in the front seat.
“What happened? Who’s hurt?” he demanded of Lucky, the kind-hearted officer in front of the house.
Cary was right behind him. “Is Christian okay?”
Lucky turned to them, his face grim. He normally wouldn’t give this kind of information out if it wasn’t to family, but he knew these kids. They were as close as family. “It’s not Christian. It’s Libby. She’ll be okay, but she’ll need someone to take her home.”
Without a word, they both ran to their car and got in, Cary playing ambulance chaser, and Nathaniel on the phone, trying to reach Jess, Coby, Emily, Morgan and Jon.
--
Christian was sitting in room with chairs. A lady was trying to make him feel better, bringing him juice and a cookie, but Christian didn’t think he would ever eat again. He still felt so sick seeing Libby all beat up.
But when he saw Nate and Cary come in, he jumped out of his chair and ran to them. They were both dressed in big coats. Nate’s was blue and Cary’s was black. They looked very warm. Christian’s coat had Libby’s blood on it. So did his shirt.
“Libby got beat up!” he said, feeling his heart beat fast, as Nate took his jacket off, and put it around Christian’s shoulders.
While Cary talked to the woman in charge of Christian and reassured her that they were his neighbors and knew his family, Nate sat in a chair and held Christian on his lap. He let Christian talk, and asked if he was okay. Instinctively, Nate didn’t pry, knowing firsthand what it was like to endure a violent situation and feel pressured in the aftermath to give information.
“I tried, but I couldn’t get the tape off her mouth,” Christian told him sadly.
“You know what?” Cary said, “Nate and I have known you a long time. And I bet you did everything you could and you were so brave. Libby and your mom and dad and all of us are so proud of you.”
Christian ignored him. He didn’t feel like he did a good job. He turned to Nate.
“Who would want to hurt Libby?” he asked, shivering a little under Nate’s coat. “Is it the same guy that hurt you guys a long time ago?”
“No,” Nathaniel said firmly. “That guy died. He can’t hurt us anymore…and I don’t know who would want to hurt Libby.”
--
Libby was released hours later, after receiving countless stitches in her arms, having her nose examined, her right arm put in a splint, and being diagnosed with a concussion.
By then, Emily had heard about what happened, and come to the hospital to pick up Christian, so he wouldn’t see Libby looking bad anymore than he had to.
Nate and Cary were the first people she saw, and Libby begged them to take her home. She didn’t want to think about how much all this would cost. She hadn’t had a job until recently, and had no medical insurance. The whole thing was giving her a headache.
--
Jon got home that afternoon and didn’t bother checking his phone. He wanted peace and quiet. But the minute he walked in the kitchen, he could sense something amiss. A single butter knife was in the sink, smeared with various ingredients. He looked closer. Peanut butter. Honey. And Nutella. Jon grimaced. Morgan would never put all that on bread at once. And she would use different knives.
He investigated further, finding smears of peanut butter in the Nutella. Who the hell stopped in for a disgusting sandwich, and didn’t let him know? That made Jon search the rest of the house. The living room seemed fine. Nothing out of place.
Jon checked the bathroom next, and found Morgan’s tropical fish towel tossed haphazardly on the floor. He picked it up, grimacing. It wasn’t just wet, it was really wet, but it smelled like Morgan. He dropped it on the floor again, worry gnawing at his gut. Was she okay? Was she struggling? Was she gone?
“Jonathan!” Morgan hollered, pounding in the house.
Well, that answered that question.
“Morgan?” he called back. “You all right? Eating nasty food and middle-of-the-day showers would indicate no.” Jon met her in the living room and stared into her eyes. She did look upset, but it wasn’t personal. It was something else.
“Didn’t you check your messages, dude? Liam was here. In town. He came over to Jess and Coby’s, got Libby alone, and then he beat the hell out of her. She just got out of the hospital,” she flipped the TV on to show the news.
High City, Minnesota native, William Wright, recently seen on ABC’s Backward Glance, admitted to assault today, claiming, “I never should have laid a hand on my sister. But I did and I am deeply sorry. I will go to anger management. I will do whatever I have to do to make this right.”
Angrily, Morgan turned the TV off. “That son-of-a-bitch!”
“He was here, you know?” Jon said. “He made himself a sandwich and left the knife in the sink. He showered here and used your towel to dry off. Smelled like you.”
“Oh, hell no!” Morgan exclaimed, rushing through the house. She hurried into her room and checked for signs of scum. Immediately she could see her closet door ajar. The journal she shared with Jon out on her bed, and her laptop, which had been turned off this morning, plugged in and lit up. When she lay across her bed to look at the screen, and saw his status from 12:08 PM still on the screen, still signed in, Morgan felt sick and violated.
“Let’s go,” she said, grabbing her coat.
--
Libby walked unsteadily into the house. Nathaniel would have carried her, but she promised that if he did, she would scream. Her whole body hurt too much to even think about being picked up.
“Liam hurt you?!” Jess asked, in shock, as soon as she saw Libby. Her eyes, nose and lip were swollen. Her arms wrapped in gauze and one was in a sling.
“Just don’t worry about it, okay?” Libby insisted. “I just want to go to bed.”
“Jess, calm down…” Coby whispered, even though he didn’t feel calm in the least. That coward had come into their home, while they weren’t there. He waited until he knew Libby was alone and then tried to beat her into submission.
“I’m going to kill him,” Jess said under her breath, glad that Emily had taken Christian out for pizza, so he wasn’t around anymore of this intensity.
“Where’s CJ?” Libby asked groggily.
“He’s out to eat. He’ll be home later,” Nate said quietly sitting beside her in the doublewide recliner. Gently, he pressed cold compresses to her face.
“He did such a good job. He protected me. Scared Liam away. Tried to get the tape off me. When he had to go, he got Snoopy to stay with me,” she went on.
Jess busied herself getting the couch ready, insisting that Libby was not going to walk downstairs in her shape. “Do you need anything?” she asked, touching Libby’s leg, sad when she flinched instinctively away.
“I wanna paint…”
Nathaniel didn’t argue. He just got up and walked out the back door to Coby’s shop and gathered up her easel, paper and paints and brought it all inside. He set it up in front of Libby in the recliner, adjusting the height of the easel and setting the paints the brushes where she could reach them.
Libby took the brush in her left hand, painting awkward black lines until she got tired and gave up. “Will you?” she asked, looking at Nate around the ice he was pressing to her face.
Wordlessly, he took the brush and angled the easel toward him.
“Paint me,” she said softly.
“Okay, but you have to hold that on your face,” Nathaniel told her gently.
When she did, Nate obeyed, painting Libby as he knew she imagined herself today, covered in big, black fear.
“Now use red. Cover it,” she instructed, tired. Red was her self-worth, her fight, and Christian in his red coat, protecting her.
As her eyes fell closed, Libby gave a final instruction. “Title it: Superhero, and make sure it doesn’t get lost.”
“Promise,” Nate said softly. “Now you get some sleep.
--
There was a fierce pounding on the door, and Cary ran to open it. He found Jon and Morgan, looking furious, standing on the Walkers’ front step.
“Why the hell do I have 12 billion messages saying that Liam beat the shit out of Libby?” Morgan demanded lowly.
“He’s on TV already! Apparently, he put some kind of status update about how sorry he is, and how he’s at fault and he’ll go to anger management. Didn’t mention that he took a shower at our house, and used Morgan’s towel to dry his pansy ass. He was all over her bed and updated from Morgan’s computer!” Jon exclaimed, not bothering to keep his voice down.
Cary blocked their entrance and closed the door behind them, keeping Morgan and Jon outside. “Because it’s true. He beat her pretty badly. She’s got a concussion and cuts and bruises. She needed stitches. Her nose is broken. Christian came in at the end of it. Apparently scared Liam off. He called 911 and stayed with her. Lucky said he walked in there and found CJ bare-chested, his coat, sweatshirt and tee shirt wrapped around her arms. He threw himself over her body and said if they touched her, he would knock their damn heads off. He spent most of the time trying to get the tape off her mouth.”
Jon put an arm around Morgan and held her close, grateful beyond words that she wasn’t the one so badly injured, but angry, too, that Liam would dare raise a hand to a woman like that.
Cary’s eyes looked bluer somehow in the fading outdoor light. He was sober-faced, without the smile that Morgan and Jon were so used to seeing.
Just then, Emily pulled into the driveway. “Jess asked if you two wanted to take him for the night. If not Nathaniel and I will. Jess, Coby and Em are taking shifts with Libby tonight. The concussion and everything. They want to make sure she doesn’t get worse.”
“We can take him,” Morgan volunteered.
“All right. He’s not too comfortable with the hero label. Just a head’s up. I’ll run in and get his bag. Jess and Coby don’t want him seeing Libby like this.”
Cary excused himself, while Christian made a beeline for the two on the steps. “Hey, Jon and Morgan! I ate so much pizza tonight! Almost as much as Emily!”
Emily gave them both hugs and whispered how grateful she was that they all still had each other, and then excused herself, going inside to check on Libby. The sentiment was enough to make Jon a little misty, so, to distract himself, he studied the kid’s wardrobe. It seemed she didn’t only get him pizza but also a new winter coat, to replace the one he used helping Libby. It was exactly like of the one he had before. The tags were still on. When Christian caught Jon staring, he unzipped his jacket and showed off the new white tee shirt and Patriots jersey she had bought him.
“Bam!” Christian exclaimed. “Look at that. Awesome, huh? Emily found a good deal on it. It’s way better than the sweater I went to school with, but don’t tell Mom and Dad or they might feel bad.”
“Wow!” Morgan exclaimed, picking him up and spinning him around. “Hey, do you want to come and spend the night at our house? We can have a pirate party and watch Pirates of the Caribbean,” she offered, smiling.
She already had ideas. They would go on a treasure hunt. Maybe make a map. Eat popcorn and drink hot chocolate. They would sleep in sleeping bags in front of the TV. Maybe, Jon would pitch a tent for them, and they could have a real campout. It was everything Christian had ever asked for when he spent the night. And Morgan wanted him to have everything. Looking into Jon’s eyes, she knew he agreed.
“Awesome!” Christian exclaimed and then grew very still. “Is Libby okay?”
The door opened again and Jess stepped out, holding an overnight bag and a piece of paper. “Hey CJ. Is it okay if you have a sleepover with Morgan and Jon tonight?”
“Yeah, that’s okay,” he nodded seriously.
Jess reached out and hugged him. “You did everything right,” she told him, feeling pride and hormones making tears imminent. But she took a deep breath, steadying herself. “Here. Libby wanted me to give this to you. She told Nate to paint it.”
Christian took the picture, scrutinized it, and then asked Jon for a pen, because he always kept one behind his ear from work. Then, Christian turned his back, hunched over the paper, using his leg as a table.
Then, he shoved the picture back at his mom.
“Give that back and tell her to keep it,” Christian said, sounding stunningly adult. Then, he put the bag over his shoulder and walked to Jon’s car in the fading light with Morgan and Jonathan in tow.
As snow fell around her, Jess turned the painting over in her hands. It still pictured Libby, with Christian’s red coat over her, but now it said:
REAL MAN Real men don’t hit. Real men protect. Love CJ.
Superhero
Jess sighed. This was one of the million reasons why she loved her son.
He had perspective and was wise beyond his years. He didn’t hesitate to step in and help a friend, even when he was scared. He had integrity. He had strength. He had courage beyond what a child of nearly eight should possess. He was amazing.
She covered her stomach with one hand, waving to Jon, Morgan and CJ with the other, praying that this child would have all the qualities their big brother did, and praying that this child would never have to be as brave as Christian had to be today.
Once the car disappeared down the street, Jess let herself inside, preparing for a long night, but grateful that Coby, Cary and Nathaniel and Emily were all gathered quietly in the living room. Sometimes they prayed and sometimes they just sat. Cary, watched the TV on mute, being careful to keep it tuned to safe channels like Nickelodeon and Disney, so there wouldn’t be an inadvertent news report. Libby didn’t need that.
Once supper was made, Jess settled down beside Libby, so she would always know someone was nearby. Emily also hung around upstairs while Coby, Nate and Cary went to see what they could start repairs on the room downstairs.
Now, more than ever, they were determined that Libby have a place of her own to do her art. A place where she could have peace and not worry about anything. And Jess knew that with her husband and Nate and Cary on the job, it would get done.
And it would be beautiful.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Stowaway: Chapter 7
Today, I’m kind of sad. I have so many amazing paintings and nowhere to put any of them. I started setting them up around the perimeter of Coby’s shop. He says he doesn’t mind, but I can’t help thinking that someday soon, he will. Even though I have a job now, and I love being the receptionist at Community, I can’t help thinking it isn’t enough. I’ve started paying them rent, because I can’t shake the feeling that something will happen. They always give it back, but I always keep trying.
Liam watched Libby from a distance. He was parked down the street in his rental car, disguised in a gray winter hat and brown coat. Leave it to Jess and Coby to allow all their blinds up when they left home. Liam watched her write in her journal, close it, and grab the keys off the counter. It impressed and angered him that she had gone behind his back and learned to drive. On the one hand, she was showing some initiative and not being so lazy, but on the other, it was just plain dishonest. He was going to have to give her a talking-to, and then take her home. That was all there was to it. At least she and Emily had chosen the smallest town.
It hadn’t been that hard to track down Libby. Stowe was a tourist town, so not only did everybody know everybody, but also his rented red Honda wouldn’t stick out. He had stayed the last few nights at the bed and breakfast where Jess worked. That was purely by God’s intervention. It was perfectly planned, because it gave Liam the opportunity to follow Jess home, once Liam learned that his sister lived with the Walkers now.
However, Liam hadn’t made himself known yet. He was going to wait until he calmed down. He was still angry about the 200 dollars he had spent on a flight to New Hampshire, the 150 dollars he spent renting the car for a week and the money for the room. In addition, he had given Libby a lot of money for this trip and so far, she wasn’t even acting grateful. He was going to insist she pay him back. All that would have been bad enough, but Liam also had to factor in the time it was taking. He had to take off work for a week, leaving the small group leaders to lead youth group at church, and people who probably didn’t even care about the kids to make sure the Boys and Girls Club was running smoothly. Libby hadn’t even bothered to come home for Thanksgiving!
Liam took a deep breath, steadying himself. He knew from his interviews around town that Libby had just gotten a job as a receptionist at that local church that wasn’t based on sound doctrine. Liam knew because he had gone to their website. She worked until one o’clock in the afternoon, and then returned home.
He overheard a conversation in the driveway that morning, too. Coby had a handyman job that was going to last until at least six o’clock that night.
“Would you mind watching Christian until Jess gets home tonight?” Coby had asked out the window of his car. “I wouldn’t normally ask, but I’ve got a late job and I know Emily’s busy, and Jess won’t be home until around supper.”
“No, I don’t mind at all. I can go pick him up at 2:30.”
Liam made a note to himself:
1-2 PM window.
Then, he drove back to pack his things. On the way, he scowled seeing Nathaniel out walking a homely looking black and white puppy with that Cary. Word had it that after all these years; Nathaniel was still washing dishes like he had in college. Cary, appropriately, was working at some bar - encouraging drunkenness. Liam knew that if you opened yourself up to one sin, others would follow. He couldn’t imagine corrupting good people He didn’t know what Nathaniel saw in him. Sure, there were the freckles and the dark hair, and the blue eyes…not that Liam was gay or anything. He would never allow that kind of sin in his life. He would kill himself first.
But Liam smiled as he walked in the room, finding it neat and tidy. He imagined Jess unknowingly cleaning it. Folding his pajamas, making the bed, and replacing all the used towels with fresh ones. That made him feel so much better. Jess, despite her faults, always had been good at taking care of people. He packed a few things in his bag, but didn’t check out of the room yet, in case of unforeseen circumstances.
Since he had some time to kill before the magic hour, Liam decided to stop by the mercantile, incognito of course. He walked in, keeping his head down, and pretended to browse, just to be close enough to hear Morgan’s voice.
“Thank you, and have a nice day,” she said to a customer behind him. Liam felt his chest swelling with love and betrayal all at once. He wished she would say that to him. He wished she would say anything to him, but so far, she had been cold and rude. Not like her old self at all. He wouldn’t be surprised if she was back on drugs already. It was really no wonder that Jonathan drug tested her.
Their house hadn’t been hard to find either. Yesterday, after he got over his jet lag, Liam had Tour Day. He talked to the townspeople and found out where everyone lived, asking them not to say anything because it was a surprise. This morning, when Liam didn’t see a car in Morgan’s drive, he had invited himself in. Everybody in Stowe was either naïve or stupid. They kept their doors unlocked so that anybody could get in. Therefore, Liam made himself at home.
He made himself a sandwich and then walked through the house until he found the bedroom. Liam wrinkled his brow. This room looked like a man slept here. It was neat as a pin. Finally, he caught sight of Jonathan’s hat hanging on the bedpost. If they were already living together, why wouldn’t they share a room? Or maybe, Morgan did sleep here, but he didn’t let her keep any of her stuff where people could see it.
Liam scowled. Then he went in and checked the drawers in his bedside table. He found a day planner, with a random day in each month circled and the word, test written in small letters. Liam went to the restroom and opened the medicine cabinet. There were Jon’s migraine pills just sitting there where Morgan could steal them. Liam shook his head. Jonathan was a bad boyfriend. He not only tempted her, he didn’t even trust her to stay clean. Liam saw the at-home barbiturate drug test right in the cabinet and shook his head, disapproving it.
Then, he darted into the bathroom and smelled her Hawaiian Lei body wash. Since Morgan and Jon weren’t due back for several hours, he took a shower using the body wash and ignoring Jonathan’s Old Spice High Endurance. He used the Suave shampoo that seemed to be mutual, and then finished, using a modest amount of Morgan’s Kukui Nut conditioning shampoo with Pacific Mist fragrance. It would have been cloying on anyone else, but on Morgan, it was perfect. And on him, it was, too.
When he was done, Liam never felt cleaner.
Last, he had gone to Morgan’s room. The first thing he did was take a deep breath. It smelled like her, and made tears come to his eyes. First, he went to her closet and inhaled the scent of all of her clothes. Then, he lay in her bed, imagining her in it, too. He flipped through her journal, looking for any mention of him, but there wasn’t. Liam discovered this was a shared journal with Jonathan after a few pages. Then, he wanted to throw up.
He turned on her computer and updated his online status:
William Wright is really missing people right now and wishing things could be different.
He had added a sad face with a tear and was going to shut everything down when he glanced at his watch. He realized Jonathan would be home soon on his lunch break.
Now, he was stuck simply hearing Morgan’s voice at a distance.
“Can I help you find anything?” Morgan asked, approaching him, and Liam jumped.
“No, thank you ma’am, I was just leaving,” he answered in a gruff voice. He hoped she wouldn’t remember all the times that he imitated the antagonist from The Rescuers Down Under. Then, he hurried out to his car.
--
Libby was going to have to hurry if she was going to make it home in time to pick up Christian. Just her luck that Emily would need her to help hang posters in the youth room and Bernice the sweet elderly lady would stop by “just to chat” and end up leaving two hours later. That didn’t even count the phone calls she handled. There were appointments to schedule, an angry parishioner to calm and plenty of people who wanted to sign up for the Messiah Sing, which made Libby excited. Christmas was only a few weeks away, which meant the Messiah Sing was even closer.
She hurried home, driving carefully to avoid an accident on the snow-covered, slippery roads. Libby pulled in the drive and walked down to the mailbox. Christmas cards were arriving every day, with beautiful New England scenes. Libby pulled out a handful of letters, closed the box and started back toward the house.
“What are you doing back so late?!” a voice accused her.
Libby turned, shocked to see her brother standing behind her. This was her worst nightmare come true.
“What are you doing here?” she stuttered. She glanced down at her watch, and bit her lip. It was somehow only a quarter after one, and Libby wished it was later. Wished she had some excuse, like picking up Christian, to fall back on.
Somehow, she thought that after doing the interview for Backward Glance, Liam would look different to her. More duplicitous, after using their suffering to get his own face and message out to the public, painting himself as the hero and them as villains.
But he just looked so hurt by her reaction, staring at her as if it shocked him. That got to Libby. As often as they didn’t get along, she never liked to hurt people, intentionally or otherwise.
“I came to see you. I wanted it to be a surprise, so I asked around, and someone said you were going to be home by one.” he said, sounding disappointed in his own behavior. “Look, I didn’t mean to overreact, I just missed you. Can I come in? Can we just talk for a few minutes?”
“Sure,” Libby said, relaxing. If he had traveled all this way to say hi, the least she could do was to be hospitable. She unlocked the door and invited him inside.
“Do you want something to eat?” Libby said, inviting him downstairs. They were set up well, with a microwave and a small refrigerator. She did her best not to eat Jess and Coby’s food unless she was invited, even though they both told her it was no big deal.
“Sure. What have you got?” he asked, peering into the tiny freezer. “Ooh, California Pizza Kitchen barbecue chicken?! You weren’t saving this, were you?” he asked hopefully.
“No, don’t worry,” Libby laughed. “It’s yours. So how are you? When did you get here? Where are you staying?”
This once, Libby found herself glad he was here. She did love her brother, and even missed having him around.
“I’m good now,” Liam said, reclining on the couch that looked more like a porch swing. He heard something crack beneath him and lifted the cushion to see Libby’s cell phone in pieces. He put the cushion back. He didn’t want to ruin the moment by telling her he broke her phone. They were having a nice time.
She got out the pizza and put it on a paper plate.
“Do you want something to drink? Water? Mountain Dew? That’s pretty much all we have, sorry,” she apologized.
“No, Mountain Dew is great,” Liam insisted. “So, you girls have a nice set-up down here. Can I have a tour?”
Liam had eaten the pizza in less than five minutes. It was that delicious. Libby had done most of the cooking back home, and before that, Jon and Nathaniel. Lately, he had been too depressed to eat, with the anniversary and everybody leaving him.
He followed her from room to room, looking in the bathroom to see it clean and colorful, with a nautical theme like the family room. Libby and Emily’s room was like a beachfront resort, and he could see Jess’s personal touches everywhere.
“What’s in there?” he asked, looking at the closed door in the laundry room as they passed it.
Libby shrugged. “Nothing, just another spare bedroom Coby’s cleaning out. There used to be weights in there or something. See?” she asked, pushing the door open.
The floor was littered with sawdust and a big wooden structure sat in the middle of the room. Various random tools Libby didn’t recognize were scattered around. There were sawhorses and cans of paint, and pieces of wood everywhere. A full-length mirror was still mounted on one wall. Libby imagined Coby, Christian, and maybe even Jess, checking out their muscles after working out. The thought made her smile.
“I’m so glad we’re leaving tonight,” Liam sighed, relieved. It hadn’t taken long for Liam to realize this would be easier than he thought. Libby missed him. She was obviously sorry. He would take her home with him and welcome her back, just like the father had done with his prodigal son.
Libby turned slowly. “We, who?” she asked confused. “Who are you leaving with?”
“You,” Liam said, as if it was obvious to anyone.
“Liam, I’m not leaving,” Libby said, sure of herself. “I have a job here. I have a life. I’ve been here over a month--”
“--Which is long enough for you to find yourself, or whatever it is you’re doing,” Liam cut her off. “Now, it’s time to go home and face reality.”
Libby planted her feet. “This is my reality, Liam. I’m happy here. My friends are here. We can rely on each other, and I’m not looked at like some weirdo, like I was back home. Everybody who does is just passing through anyway. I need to be out on my own.”
Liam’s eyes narrowed. “You know, I wasn’t going to do this,” he said taking a step toward her. “But do you know how upset Mom and Dad were that you didn’t come home on Thanksgiving? That you didn’t even call? I had to tell them that you lied to me and were off on some journey to find yourself. Oh, by the way? I had better get every one of the two-hundred dollars I gave you for your trip!” he spat.
“What are you talking about?” she asked, backing up. “You said that was a gift.”
“Not if it was based on a lie!” he exploded. “You’re lucky I’m not asking you for the thousand dollars I spent on you! And more that I’m out by not going to work this week!”
Libby reached in her pocket for her phone, but couldn’t find it, and swore quietly to herself. Just her luck that the one time she needed it, it wasn’t here. “Okay, you need to leave. You’re acting crazy. I’m not going with you. End of story.”
She turned, intent on leading the way back upstairs, but before she knew what was happening, Liam had grabbed a handful of her hair and jerked her back into the room.
Libby fought the flashback that came every time her hair was pulled. The one of Buddy wrenching her out from under the table by her hair and pulling her to the front of the empty study room before he touched her. Before he slapped her. Before he tried to break her.
“You think you call the shots now?!” Liam screamed, shoving her into the wall. When she tried to run, he grabbed her hair again, yanking forcefully and landing a well-placed punch to her stomach.
“Stop! Please stop!” Libby begged, knowing even now that she would never say what he wanted to hear. She would never agree to go back.
“Are you going home with me?” he asked in a controlled tone. He didn’t make a move toward her, or raise a hand.
Libby shook her head, and didn’t have time to brace for the blow that knocked her head back. Blood poured from her nose as Liam continued to scream at her and berate her.
“You’re nothing but a little whore anyway!” His fist landed again and again. She felt the impact on her face, her stomach, her back. “And you wonder why that son-of-a-bitch hurt you? Because he could smell it on you! That you’d already been with somebody else!”
Libby didn’t have the breath to deny it. “I saw you, Libby! I saw him touch you when we played at his house! And those abusers?! They can tell when you’ve let it happen before!” With each word, there came another blow. “You were a little girl! He was a grown man! Do you know how wrong that is?!” With the last question, Liam heaved her up, and propelled her against a wall.
Libby didn’t see the mirror, but she felt it. It sliced into her arms as it shattered. Though she cried and begged him to stop, Libby drew strength from her friends. From Nathaniel who dealt with verbal and physical abuse his whole life from classmates, and from Buddy. From Morgan who offered herself in Nathaniel and Libby’s place. If they could take that, she could take this.
“You are not in charge!” Liam whispered breathlessly, twisting her arm painfully behind her back. “Are you?” he asked in her ear.
“Take your hands off me!” she screamed.
When he dragged her toward the door - one arm around her neck and the other hand over her mouth - Libby fought. She tried to scream, and when he pressed harder, she bit down on his hand until she tasted blood.
--
Now, Liam was angrier than he had ever been in his whole life.
“You probably gave me some disease!” he exclaimed, flinging her away from him, and ignoring when she into the scrap woodpile, striking her head on the floor.
Liam was about ready to really let her have it, when he heard something.
--
“Libby?” Christian called.
It was sure a good thing that he and his dad worked out who could take him home in case something came up, like forgetting on accident, or an emergency. He got a ride home from his friend’s mom. He nodded that it was okay for her to go, because he saw Libby’s car parked on the side of the driveway.
She was here somewhere, because he smelled pizza, and the mail flag was down.
“Libby, it’s Christian!” he called, in case she didn’t know.
He walked slowly down the stairs, smelling the pizza smell stronger and stronger.
--
Liam had to get out of here. The little kid was home. But he had to do one more thing.
With his injured hand wrapped in the bottom of his shirt, Liam made quick work of locating the electrical tape on the windowsill. He held it in his good hand, and ripped off a piece with his teeth, and then put it over Libby’s mouth.
She looked in bad shape. Blood was pouring from her nose and mouth. Her arms were bleeding through her shirtsleeves. She had bruises all over her face and under her clothes, too. One arm looked like it might be broken. If she told, then that would be the end for him. He would end up in jail. Not able to work at church or with children or anything. He knew because he remembered there being a specific question on both applications about ever having been arrested for a violent offense.
“Don’t you dare say a word!” he threatened, getting right in her face.
Libby whimpered, trying to move away from him. Tears tracked down her cheeks.
Since he heard the kid coming down the stairs, Liam did the only thing he could. He grabbed a chair and shattered the window. Then he climbed on the wooden structure in the corner and outside, running to his car.
The noise would scare the kid away, Liam thought desperately. It had to.
Liam watched Libby from a distance. He was parked down the street in his rental car, disguised in a gray winter hat and brown coat. Leave it to Jess and Coby to allow all their blinds up when they left home. Liam watched her write in her journal, close it, and grab the keys off the counter. It impressed and angered him that she had gone behind his back and learned to drive. On the one hand, she was showing some initiative and not being so lazy, but on the other, it was just plain dishonest. He was going to have to give her a talking-to, and then take her home. That was all there was to it. At least she and Emily had chosen the smallest town.
It hadn’t been that hard to track down Libby. Stowe was a tourist town, so not only did everybody know everybody, but also his rented red Honda wouldn’t stick out. He had stayed the last few nights at the bed and breakfast where Jess worked. That was purely by God’s intervention. It was perfectly planned, because it gave Liam the opportunity to follow Jess home, once Liam learned that his sister lived with the Walkers now.
However, Liam hadn’t made himself known yet. He was going to wait until he calmed down. He was still angry about the 200 dollars he had spent on a flight to New Hampshire, the 150 dollars he spent renting the car for a week and the money for the room. In addition, he had given Libby a lot of money for this trip and so far, she wasn’t even acting grateful. He was going to insist she pay him back. All that would have been bad enough, but Liam also had to factor in the time it was taking. He had to take off work for a week, leaving the small group leaders to lead youth group at church, and people who probably didn’t even care about the kids to make sure the Boys and Girls Club was running smoothly. Libby hadn’t even bothered to come home for Thanksgiving!
Liam took a deep breath, steadying himself. He knew from his interviews around town that Libby had just gotten a job as a receptionist at that local church that wasn’t based on sound doctrine. Liam knew because he had gone to their website. She worked until one o’clock in the afternoon, and then returned home.
He overheard a conversation in the driveway that morning, too. Coby had a handyman job that was going to last until at least six o’clock that night.
“Would you mind watching Christian until Jess gets home tonight?” Coby had asked out the window of his car. “I wouldn’t normally ask, but I’ve got a late job and I know Emily’s busy, and Jess won’t be home until around supper.”
“No, I don’t mind at all. I can go pick him up at 2:30.”
Liam made a note to himself:
1-2 PM window.
Then, he drove back to pack his things. On the way, he scowled seeing Nathaniel out walking a homely looking black and white puppy with that Cary. Word had it that after all these years; Nathaniel was still washing dishes like he had in college. Cary, appropriately, was working at some bar - encouraging drunkenness. Liam knew that if you opened yourself up to one sin, others would follow. He couldn’t imagine corrupting good people He didn’t know what Nathaniel saw in him. Sure, there were the freckles and the dark hair, and the blue eyes…not that Liam was gay or anything. He would never allow that kind of sin in his life. He would kill himself first.
But Liam smiled as he walked in the room, finding it neat and tidy. He imagined Jess unknowingly cleaning it. Folding his pajamas, making the bed, and replacing all the used towels with fresh ones. That made him feel so much better. Jess, despite her faults, always had been good at taking care of people. He packed a few things in his bag, but didn’t check out of the room yet, in case of unforeseen circumstances.
Since he had some time to kill before the magic hour, Liam decided to stop by the mercantile, incognito of course. He walked in, keeping his head down, and pretended to browse, just to be close enough to hear Morgan’s voice.
“Thank you, and have a nice day,” she said to a customer behind him. Liam felt his chest swelling with love and betrayal all at once. He wished she would say that to him. He wished she would say anything to him, but so far, she had been cold and rude. Not like her old self at all. He wouldn’t be surprised if she was back on drugs already. It was really no wonder that Jonathan drug tested her.
Their house hadn’t been hard to find either. Yesterday, after he got over his jet lag, Liam had Tour Day. He talked to the townspeople and found out where everyone lived, asking them not to say anything because it was a surprise. This morning, when Liam didn’t see a car in Morgan’s drive, he had invited himself in. Everybody in Stowe was either naïve or stupid. They kept their doors unlocked so that anybody could get in. Therefore, Liam made himself at home.
He made himself a sandwich and then walked through the house until he found the bedroom. Liam wrinkled his brow. This room looked like a man slept here. It was neat as a pin. Finally, he caught sight of Jonathan’s hat hanging on the bedpost. If they were already living together, why wouldn’t they share a room? Or maybe, Morgan did sleep here, but he didn’t let her keep any of her stuff where people could see it.
Liam scowled. Then he went in and checked the drawers in his bedside table. He found a day planner, with a random day in each month circled and the word, test written in small letters. Liam went to the restroom and opened the medicine cabinet. There were Jon’s migraine pills just sitting there where Morgan could steal them. Liam shook his head. Jonathan was a bad boyfriend. He not only tempted her, he didn’t even trust her to stay clean. Liam saw the at-home barbiturate drug test right in the cabinet and shook his head, disapproving it.
Then, he darted into the bathroom and smelled her Hawaiian Lei body wash. Since Morgan and Jon weren’t due back for several hours, he took a shower using the body wash and ignoring Jonathan’s Old Spice High Endurance. He used the Suave shampoo that seemed to be mutual, and then finished, using a modest amount of Morgan’s Kukui Nut conditioning shampoo with Pacific Mist fragrance. It would have been cloying on anyone else, but on Morgan, it was perfect. And on him, it was, too.
When he was done, Liam never felt cleaner.
Last, he had gone to Morgan’s room. The first thing he did was take a deep breath. It smelled like her, and made tears come to his eyes. First, he went to her closet and inhaled the scent of all of her clothes. Then, he lay in her bed, imagining her in it, too. He flipped through her journal, looking for any mention of him, but there wasn’t. Liam discovered this was a shared journal with Jonathan after a few pages. Then, he wanted to throw up.
He turned on her computer and updated his online status:
William Wright is really missing people right now and wishing things could be different.
He had added a sad face with a tear and was going to shut everything down when he glanced at his watch. He realized Jonathan would be home soon on his lunch break.
Now, he was stuck simply hearing Morgan’s voice at a distance.
“Can I help you find anything?” Morgan asked, approaching him, and Liam jumped.
“No, thank you ma’am, I was just leaving,” he answered in a gruff voice. He hoped she wouldn’t remember all the times that he imitated the antagonist from The Rescuers Down Under. Then, he hurried out to his car.
--
Libby was going to have to hurry if she was going to make it home in time to pick up Christian. Just her luck that Emily would need her to help hang posters in the youth room and Bernice the sweet elderly lady would stop by “just to chat” and end up leaving two hours later. That didn’t even count the phone calls she handled. There were appointments to schedule, an angry parishioner to calm and plenty of people who wanted to sign up for the Messiah Sing, which made Libby excited. Christmas was only a few weeks away, which meant the Messiah Sing was even closer.
She hurried home, driving carefully to avoid an accident on the snow-covered, slippery roads. Libby pulled in the drive and walked down to the mailbox. Christmas cards were arriving every day, with beautiful New England scenes. Libby pulled out a handful of letters, closed the box and started back toward the house.
“What are you doing back so late?!” a voice accused her.
Libby turned, shocked to see her brother standing behind her. This was her worst nightmare come true.
“What are you doing here?” she stuttered. She glanced down at her watch, and bit her lip. It was somehow only a quarter after one, and Libby wished it was later. Wished she had some excuse, like picking up Christian, to fall back on.
Somehow, she thought that after doing the interview for Backward Glance, Liam would look different to her. More duplicitous, after using their suffering to get his own face and message out to the public, painting himself as the hero and them as villains.
But he just looked so hurt by her reaction, staring at her as if it shocked him. That got to Libby. As often as they didn’t get along, she never liked to hurt people, intentionally or otherwise.
“I came to see you. I wanted it to be a surprise, so I asked around, and someone said you were going to be home by one.” he said, sounding disappointed in his own behavior. “Look, I didn’t mean to overreact, I just missed you. Can I come in? Can we just talk for a few minutes?”
“Sure,” Libby said, relaxing. If he had traveled all this way to say hi, the least she could do was to be hospitable. She unlocked the door and invited him inside.
“Do you want something to eat?” Libby said, inviting him downstairs. They were set up well, with a microwave and a small refrigerator. She did her best not to eat Jess and Coby’s food unless she was invited, even though they both told her it was no big deal.
“Sure. What have you got?” he asked, peering into the tiny freezer. “Ooh, California Pizza Kitchen barbecue chicken?! You weren’t saving this, were you?” he asked hopefully.
“No, don’t worry,” Libby laughed. “It’s yours. So how are you? When did you get here? Where are you staying?”
This once, Libby found herself glad he was here. She did love her brother, and even missed having him around.
“I’m good now,” Liam said, reclining on the couch that looked more like a porch swing. He heard something crack beneath him and lifted the cushion to see Libby’s cell phone in pieces. He put the cushion back. He didn’t want to ruin the moment by telling her he broke her phone. They were having a nice time.
She got out the pizza and put it on a paper plate.
“Do you want something to drink? Water? Mountain Dew? That’s pretty much all we have, sorry,” she apologized.
“No, Mountain Dew is great,” Liam insisted. “So, you girls have a nice set-up down here. Can I have a tour?”
Liam had eaten the pizza in less than five minutes. It was that delicious. Libby had done most of the cooking back home, and before that, Jon and Nathaniel. Lately, he had been too depressed to eat, with the anniversary and everybody leaving him.
He followed her from room to room, looking in the bathroom to see it clean and colorful, with a nautical theme like the family room. Libby and Emily’s room was like a beachfront resort, and he could see Jess’s personal touches everywhere.
“What’s in there?” he asked, looking at the closed door in the laundry room as they passed it.
Libby shrugged. “Nothing, just another spare bedroom Coby’s cleaning out. There used to be weights in there or something. See?” she asked, pushing the door open.
The floor was littered with sawdust and a big wooden structure sat in the middle of the room. Various random tools Libby didn’t recognize were scattered around. There were sawhorses and cans of paint, and pieces of wood everywhere. A full-length mirror was still mounted on one wall. Libby imagined Coby, Christian, and maybe even Jess, checking out their muscles after working out. The thought made her smile.
“I’m so glad we’re leaving tonight,” Liam sighed, relieved. It hadn’t taken long for Liam to realize this would be easier than he thought. Libby missed him. She was obviously sorry. He would take her home with him and welcome her back, just like the father had done with his prodigal son.
Libby turned slowly. “We, who?” she asked confused. “Who are you leaving with?”
“You,” Liam said, as if it was obvious to anyone.
“Liam, I’m not leaving,” Libby said, sure of herself. “I have a job here. I have a life. I’ve been here over a month--”
“--Which is long enough for you to find yourself, or whatever it is you’re doing,” Liam cut her off. “Now, it’s time to go home and face reality.”
Libby planted her feet. “This is my reality, Liam. I’m happy here. My friends are here. We can rely on each other, and I’m not looked at like some weirdo, like I was back home. Everybody who does is just passing through anyway. I need to be out on my own.”
Liam’s eyes narrowed. “You know, I wasn’t going to do this,” he said taking a step toward her. “But do you know how upset Mom and Dad were that you didn’t come home on Thanksgiving? That you didn’t even call? I had to tell them that you lied to me and were off on some journey to find yourself. Oh, by the way? I had better get every one of the two-hundred dollars I gave you for your trip!” he spat.
“What are you talking about?” she asked, backing up. “You said that was a gift.”
“Not if it was based on a lie!” he exploded. “You’re lucky I’m not asking you for the thousand dollars I spent on you! And more that I’m out by not going to work this week!”
Libby reached in her pocket for her phone, but couldn’t find it, and swore quietly to herself. Just her luck that the one time she needed it, it wasn’t here. “Okay, you need to leave. You’re acting crazy. I’m not going with you. End of story.”
She turned, intent on leading the way back upstairs, but before she knew what was happening, Liam had grabbed a handful of her hair and jerked her back into the room.
Libby fought the flashback that came every time her hair was pulled. The one of Buddy wrenching her out from under the table by her hair and pulling her to the front of the empty study room before he touched her. Before he slapped her. Before he tried to break her.
“You think you call the shots now?!” Liam screamed, shoving her into the wall. When she tried to run, he grabbed her hair again, yanking forcefully and landing a well-placed punch to her stomach.
“Stop! Please stop!” Libby begged, knowing even now that she would never say what he wanted to hear. She would never agree to go back.
“Are you going home with me?” he asked in a controlled tone. He didn’t make a move toward her, or raise a hand.
Libby shook her head, and didn’t have time to brace for the blow that knocked her head back. Blood poured from her nose as Liam continued to scream at her and berate her.
“You’re nothing but a little whore anyway!” His fist landed again and again. She felt the impact on her face, her stomach, her back. “And you wonder why that son-of-a-bitch hurt you? Because he could smell it on you! That you’d already been with somebody else!”
Libby didn’t have the breath to deny it. “I saw you, Libby! I saw him touch you when we played at his house! And those abusers?! They can tell when you’ve let it happen before!” With each word, there came another blow. “You were a little girl! He was a grown man! Do you know how wrong that is?!” With the last question, Liam heaved her up, and propelled her against a wall.
Libby didn’t see the mirror, but she felt it. It sliced into her arms as it shattered. Though she cried and begged him to stop, Libby drew strength from her friends. From Nathaniel who dealt with verbal and physical abuse his whole life from classmates, and from Buddy. From Morgan who offered herself in Nathaniel and Libby’s place. If they could take that, she could take this.
“You are not in charge!” Liam whispered breathlessly, twisting her arm painfully behind her back. “Are you?” he asked in her ear.
“Take your hands off me!” she screamed.
When he dragged her toward the door - one arm around her neck and the other hand over her mouth - Libby fought. She tried to scream, and when he pressed harder, she bit down on his hand until she tasted blood.
--
Now, Liam was angrier than he had ever been in his whole life.
“You probably gave me some disease!” he exclaimed, flinging her away from him, and ignoring when she into the scrap woodpile, striking her head on the floor.
Liam was about ready to really let her have it, when he heard something.
--
“Libby?” Christian called.
It was sure a good thing that he and his dad worked out who could take him home in case something came up, like forgetting on accident, or an emergency. He got a ride home from his friend’s mom. He nodded that it was okay for her to go, because he saw Libby’s car parked on the side of the driveway.
She was here somewhere, because he smelled pizza, and the mail flag was down.
“Libby, it’s Christian!” he called, in case she didn’t know.
He walked slowly down the stairs, smelling the pizza smell stronger and stronger.
--
Liam had to get out of here. The little kid was home. But he had to do one more thing.
With his injured hand wrapped in the bottom of his shirt, Liam made quick work of locating the electrical tape on the windowsill. He held it in his good hand, and ripped off a piece with his teeth, and then put it over Libby’s mouth.
She looked in bad shape. Blood was pouring from her nose and mouth. Her arms were bleeding through her shirtsleeves. She had bruises all over her face and under her clothes, too. One arm looked like it might be broken. If she told, then that would be the end for him. He would end up in jail. Not able to work at church or with children or anything. He knew because he remembered there being a specific question on both applications about ever having been arrested for a violent offense.
“Don’t you dare say a word!” he threatened, getting right in her face.
Libby whimpered, trying to move away from him. Tears tracked down her cheeks.
Since he heard the kid coming down the stairs, Liam did the only thing he could. He grabbed a chair and shattered the window. Then he climbed on the wooden structure in the corner and outside, running to his car.
The noise would scare the kid away, Liam thought desperately. It had to.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Stowaway: Chapter 6
It’s Thanksgiving, and we celebrated by having a Thanksgiving Madness at Jess and Coby’s. Thursdays are hard for all of us, so we decided to just be together. Jess made the turkey, after Coby wrestled it everywhere it needed to go, and stuffed it. He made the mashed potatoes, too. Christian peeled apples, because he wanted homemade apple pie. Nathaniel and Cary brought sweet potatoes and stuffing. Morgan and Jon made scalloped corn according to Emily’s instructions. And me? I made a quick batch of strawberry fluff, which is a dessert my mom always makes on Thanksgiving. But since Nate can’t have strawberries, I also made cookies and cream. Both are basically made with Cool Whip, vanilla pudding, and their main ingredient - either Oreo cookies or strawberries. After we ate, I decided to take advantage of the fact that everybody was off from work and introduce a project.
Libby had thought about making masks since Halloween, when she, Emily, Jess, Coby and Christian all wore corresponding-colored Mardi Gras masks. These, though, would be big enough to cover their whole face and have two sides. The front was going to be public perception and the back was to be their inner self. She had made her own mask already, as an example. So, before Morgan, Coby, Jon, Jess and Cary settled down to watch the Patriots play the Lions, and the rest spread out around the house to take naps, Libby intercepted them.
“Who wants to make a mask?” she asked as everyone was cleaning up.
“I want to make a helmet!” Christian said loudly.
“Too much fluff for you, kid,” Jonathan remarked.
“Well, I don’t know how to make a helmet, so do you want to make a mask?!” Libby asked, mirroring his excited tone.
“Sure! Come on guys! Let’s make masks!” he called.
Libby smiled to herself. Christian was her secret weapon. She knew if she got him on board, everyone else would follow suit. She knew they wouldn’t necessarily feel bad disappointing her, but disappointing Christian was another thing, altogether.
“I will,” Emily volunteered, and just as Libby thought, everyone slowly agreed.
Libby had already planned it out and asked ahead of time for permission to use the room off the sanctuary where Emily often waited to talk to congregants. So when they got there, she covered the floor with newspaper, and set out all her supplies. She’d had everyone take their I-Pods, and she had plans to play Christian’s favorite, Kidz Bop Halloween CD in the CD player she brought.
“This is the mask I did,” Libby said, showing the piece of card stock. It had holes for eyes, but everything else was drawn or painted. She showed the front side of her mask, which was decorated with pretty glitter-glue fractures. Red fabric indicated wounds, and blue bits of tissue paper were tears. She had drawn bad test scores to indicate her test anxiety and her brother’s obvious belief that she was stupid and needed to be watched.
“This side is my public face,” she said showing it, making sure everyone could see. “People in my life, my brother, my parents, the news, they all see me as broken. No matter how much strength I try to present, it doesn’t matter, they still see this. My eyes are hollow but they don’t notice because everything else is a distraction.
Then, Libby flipped the mask over. “This is my inner self,” she said quietly. This side of the mask was covered in stars, and music notes, peace signs and happiness.
“While I was making this, I thought back to when it started. To the first time she had needed a mask to go out in public, and it was earlier than I thought.”
It had been. She had been three years old and Liam had been seven. Even then, he had been charismatic and a bit of a troublemaker. They had just moved to a new house in a new town, and Liam was introducing her.
“This is my little baby sister,” he had said, even though Libby had known she wasn’t a baby. She could do all kinds of big-girl things, like play dress up. She knew all the words to I Love You, You Love Me, and He’s Got The Whole World In His Hands, but from that moment, no one cared about what she could do.
All of Liam’s friends and all of her parents’ friends she got introduced to didn’t say what a big girl she was. They said she was cute, and a few years later, when she was molested for the first time, that strong confident child really was gone forever. She was broken and it had taken years to put herself together again. She was different now, but she was whole.
She didn’t bother telling them that she had purposely waited until no one else was around at Jess and Coby’s so that she wouldn’t be overheard. That the entire time she painted her mask, she screamed profanities at her brother for the years of feeling inferior, and at her abuser for taking her childhood. She didn’t tell them what happened when she was done. That she had wept for close to an hour, remembering everything, good and bad. She didn’t tell them that after all that, she finally felt at peace.
Libby took a deep breath, trying to clear her mind. “So think about that as you do this. Think about the first time people judged you or saw you a certain way, or the first time you could take it off and be you.”
They got started, each at a different table. Christian insisted on sitting at the only desk in the corner of the room. “So, what do I do?” he asked, looking at his blank piece of card stock.
Across the room, he saw his mom and dad at a table. They were sharing the earphones of their I-Pod and it made him feel a little jealous that he couldn’t have one. But he guessed it was okay, because Libby gave him a CD player with his favorite CD inside.
“Okay,” Libby said, getting down at eye level beside him. “One side of this mask is going to be what people see when they look at you. What do you think people see when they look at you?”
“Like who?” he asked, confused.
“Just anyone,” Libby encouraged. “People at school. Your mom and dad. Us.”
Christian took a brown marker and made a line down the middle of the mask. “At school, they think I’m just a brown kid, and the teacher thinks I’m a troublemaker,” Christian said, his tone matter of fact. He colored in half the face brown, and in one corner, he made a horizontal black line with a small vertical line extending from it and a little blob.
He felt a little bad inside, even though the kids didn’t mean it in a bad way. It was kind of like that was the only thing about him, and that made Christian feel sad. He was more than brown.
“That’s the railing of the whiteboard, and that’s the piece of tape and me without any tickets left, because I didn’t do what I was supposed to.”
It wasn’t just that he didn’t have any tickets. It was that everybody else had all of theirs. That when he had to go take one off, everybody stared and talked to each other, and the teacher told them to get back to work. When they did, she came up and yelled at him in a quiet voice. It happened even when he was trying to do something good, like start his homework for reading group. “Nobody else was writing, they were listening,” she would say, in a voice that made him feel like crying. Christian blinked a bunch of times, trying to make the tears go away.
Lucky for him, Monster Mash came on the CD right then and Christian smiled. Then he started making the other side of his mask. He made a big red heart for how his mom felt about him. And another heart for how Coby felt. And then he counted all the people in the room. He made blue hearts for Nate and Cary. Green hearts for Jonathan and Morgan. Purple hearts for Emily and Libby. Last but not least, Christian made a brown heart for Snoopy and a black and white heart for Linus, because he felt bad leaving them out, and Christian was sure they loved him, too.
“Okay, that’s good. Now the other side is going to be how you really are on the inside,” Libby explained. When he said he understood, she left him alone to work.
Christian looked at his mom’s heart, which was the biggest, and took up the most room, and he remembered when he saw her heart note to him hanging on his bathroom mirror. He hadn’t talked to her about it, just read it, and thought about it for a long time. She said she was still scared, but that love made her better. Since his fear was yellow and his love was red, he turned the mask over and found some orange paint. He learned all about primary colors last year at school, and knew if you mixed them, they made other colors. So, he figured love and fear made orange, and that’s what he was inside.
--
Jess had come prepared. Actually, she was never without the things she brought with her, so technically, it hadn’t been on purpose. The thing was, she had lived so long with so little that was truly hers, Jess couldn’t let go of carrying the most important things with her at all times. She still lived as if she was scraping by financially, though she wasn’t. Living poor was a hard mindset to shake.
Honestly, though, Jess was excited about this project. She had gotten over her hesitance to create in the shed with Libby. Now, she couldn’t wait. So, after listening to Sweet Child O’ Mine (which had been a hot song, when she was one,) for a few minutes, she drew away from him and found her own corner of the room, sitting down on the floor and taking out her purse. Inside, she had her public face.
Carefully, Jess started gluing newspaper headlines to her mask.
LOST TODDLER FOUND WANDERING NEAR ANOKA THEATER
November 20, 1989
A child was found wandering outside a local liquor store near the Anoka Theater on Saturday.
She had found the article accidentally when she was nine years old. It was in the drawer of her dad’s bedside table. For a long time, Jess hadn’t even known what month it was when she had disappeared. However, it made sense now, how often she would end up ruining the Thanksgiving holiday with her starting a fight, spilling something or smacking someone. It made sense, but it hadn’t stopped. Though Jess’s heart hurt at the memories, she was also grateful to have grown up. Though she still had the feeling of being scared and out of control for days before Thanksgiving, she dealt with them. She talked to Coby. She cleaned house, and she parented Christian the way she wished she’d been. She disciplined him when he needed it, but she also encouraged him, read with him, and loved him fiercely.
SINGLE MOM, 20, CLINGS TO LIFE AFTER HIGH CITY SHOOTING
November 6, 2007
Jessica Gray, a single mother and student at High City University in High City, Minnesota, is still clinging to life after being shot in the head by Melville Hamilton, the gunman in the latest school shooting.
Jess shivered, affixing this article to the mask. She seriously had almost no clear memory until she had been at the rehab hospital for a few days, which meant there was a week of her life that was a complete blank. Jess was grateful there wasn’t a picture with this article. She felt confused and empty to this day, wondering who exactly this man had been, and why he wanted to hurt them.
SHOOTING VICTIM, JESSICA GRAY, RELEASED FROM HOSPITAL
December 1, 2007
A month after being shot in the head, High City shooting victim, Jessica Gray, is heading home.
Smiling, Jess put this one on, so that it covered pieces of the other two. She remembered this day clearly. Coming home to her girls, and her son. Visiting with Libby. Seeing Coby for the first time, and falling asleep on his shoulder. She remembered him carrying her to bed, and feeling safe in a man’s arms for the first time.
SHOOTING VICTIMS, JESSICA GRAY & JACOB WALKER, WED
May 16, 2009
A year and a half after the shooting that nearly took her life, Jessica Gray did something no one thought possible: she walked down the aisle, and said vows to her future husband.
Sighing happily, she held this article in her hands. At the time, it had annoyed her that their home newspaper felt the need to document every big moment of her life, but she was grateful for it now. For the kindhearted piece the journalist had written, for the picture, reminding her how handsome Christian had looked in his tux, walking her down the aisle. For the picture of herself and Coby, smiling, on the other side of so much heartache.
Her life, it seemed, could be measured in headlines. Her mother leaving her. Clinging to life after a brutal shooting. Getting released from the hospital. Getting married. Jess covered the front of the mask, placing the headlines and excerpts in a mishmash. A headline where her mouth should be, another across her forehead, a third across her eyes, etc. They covered her entirely. Jess highlighted words like Lost Toddler, Single Mom and Shooting Victim. Jessica Gray, she put in quotations.
Then, she turned the mask over, and pulled out her purse again. She began to paste pictures of herself - actual photos - not newspaper clippings - on the inside. The picture of her as a baby, all wrapped up and coming home, with her dad smiling down on her. A picture of her staring blankly at the camera just after her mom abandoned her. Her dad had been so happy to have her back. A picture of her and Legend dressed up as the genie and the lamp from the movie Aladdin at Halloween when they were six. Jess had been the genie, and Legend the lamp, because Jess wished she was all-powerful and could make magic happen, because she felt trapped, and because she only truly felt at home with Legend.
These pictures made Jess feel everything, but she was grateful she had them. Looking at her little self being held by her dad, she saw the love in his eyes. It was, in fact, proof that she had been loved once, even if she was too small to remember it. She could still remember staring at the camera just after her dad brought her home. How she had refused to say cheese or smile. How she didn’t know what she felt, only that it was too big. She had been happy with Legend, on Halloween, though. They had trick-or-treated and gotten candy that Legend’s parents had checked to make sure it was safe.
Now, Jess moved on to other moments.
Here was a picture of her at a party when she was 14, getting drunk and smiling too big for it to be real. At 15, pregnant and miserable. And at 16, holding Christian, and looking scared as she’d ever been, but with such obvious love in her eyes.
These were the difficult years. She barely remembered the parties, only feeling like death afterward. She remembered being high at breakfast and her dad not looking up from his eggs. She remembered giving into Christian’s father when he pressured her to have sex. He promised to always be there for her. He said he loved her. So, she had given herself to him. When she learned she was pregnant, Jess was sure that had been the biggest mistake of her life. She had been sick for months and was sure it was some kind of punishment for being so horrible that her own mother would leave her. However, Legend’s mom and dad had been there. They helped her stay clean, helped her get counseling, and prenatal care. By the time she had Christian, named for the change Jess had experienced in her life, Jess knew he was the best thing that could have happened to her.
Then there were the pictures from when they moved in together in college. All the girls and Christian, smiling at breakfast. Everyone at the first Monday Madness. A candid picture that someone had taken of Coby staring at her while she twirled her hair and tried to study. There they were when Jess was home from the hospital, when she had fallen asleep on Coby’s shoulder. There was Christian walking her down the aisle. There she was with Coby at the reception. In front of their new house. On their first vacation to a bed and breakfast in Stowe, where she now worked, cleaning rooms. Finally, she, Coby and Christian sitting in the yard full of leaves. This one would be their Christmas card.
Jess would cherish these times forever. This side of the mask, with all its pictures, made her proud to be where she was. Jess hoped that when Coby gave Libby her new studio, he would hang the masks from the ceiling, so both sides would show - a tribute to their healing and strength.
--
Coby felt heaviness inside him as worked on his mask.
On the front were carefully drawn red bricks. They extended to all sides and so it looked liked they went beyond the mask. He was Stowe’s handyman. He built and fixed things. But he was also firmly hidden behind his profession by a wall that he, himself had built.
He thought of all the moments when he hid himself: At thirteen, when his mom moved out. At sixteen when they got back together, and his little sister was born, because Coby knew the reconciliation wouldn’t last. His dad didn’t like fat women and his mom wouldn’t be bullied. She would leave, and she had. His dad kept custody of him, eight-year-old Blake, and new baby, Riley. But Coby had raised them. Coby who had taught them to swim. Coby who influenced Blake to make his own bad choices. And at twenty-four, Buddy had ripped his life apart. Instead of letting himself grieve it, Coby had lost himself in booze, only emerging when he realized he couldn’t hide anymore.
He turned the mask over, and there he drew the wall falling. Quietly, he interrupted Jess, asking her to trace her hand. He did the same with CJ. When Coby went back, he went to work transferring the images. He could have approximated the sizes, but he wanted them to be authentic.
The reason? His family had broken down the wall.
With only the base of the wall remaining, Coby worked on the hands. His own, and those of his wife and son. He added fingernails. Jess’s wedding ring. The scars on her arm that suggested she had once been burned. His own ring. Then he drew the bracelets. On his wrist, he carefully drew the black fabric band and the silver letter blocks. He did the same for Jess. Then, finally, he did Christian’s.
Coby wasn’t an emotional guy, but he wept like a baby when it was announced “that the minor shall henceforth be known as Christian Jesse Walker” and that Coby had all the rights and responsibilities of a natural parent. On the day they had gone to the courthouse and made everything official, Coby had presented Jess and Christian with their bracelets and he wore his own. Coby’s said FOREVER, Jess’s said FAMILY, and Christian’s said MIRACLE. They had yet to take them off. Coby knew for a fact that Christian and Jess showered with theirs. The hands met in the middle. Jess’s delicate but hard working, Coby’s callused and strong, and Christian’s small and perfect.
Becoming a husband had changed Coby’s life, and becoming a father had changed him even more.
Looking at the picture, Coby nodded, satisfied. His family was who he protected, and his family was who he could always count on.
--
Cary’s mask was the easiest thing he had ever made. On the front of it. He painted a huge red letter A, with red paint dripping off of it. If Libby read Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter, the meaning behind it would be clear enough. And if not, well, she might have to do some research. Cary drew so many blue men, holding hands with sad faces, that he lost count. On the inside, he painted the mask a midnight blue, to signify the endless night that only Nathaniel had ever seen. Cary remembered it like it was yesterday. It was only months after they had met.
Cary had sometimes wished for it to be daylight 24/7. That way, he wouldn’t be stuck enduring the nights alone. At that time, though, nothing was going his way, and that was just fucking depressing. He generally wasn’t a depressed person, but just lately every pressure Cary had seemed to be weighing him down.
Of course, he had Nathaniel. And Cary loved being with him. He liked being the protector. The one to take care of and shelter Nate when the demons he fought became too much to bear. But every once in a while, Cary wished that the roles could be reversed without him feeling totally selfish and stupid.
Nathaniel was the one who had gone through hell less than a year ago. He needed all the care and attention that Cary could offer. How is it that Cary could really go to him and say that everything seemed darker and more hopeless at night?
He tried going out more. Partying. But that only helped so much. Sure, it made him feel better for a few hours, but in the long run it did nothing but make Cary feel like the biggest loser there was.
Plus, Nathaniel was kind of shy. Though he liked social drinking, especially a nice glass of red wine with dinner, he wasn’t a fan of loud, dark parties, or bars where hands could grope in the dark. Frankly, Cary didn’t mind any of those things, and spent several evenings out, losing himself in the smoke and the alcohol and the men.
It was on one of these nights that Cary stumbled home long after midnight, intent on passing out on the bed, and sleeping straight through the weekend.
The last thing he expected to see was Nathaniel waiting up for him.
He was sitting on Cary’s couch, with a cookbook open in his lap, and he glanced up when the door opened.
Cary braced himself for the Where Were You lecture that Nate was fond of giving, followed by the Don’t Numb Yourself lecture that he learned from Cary himself.
But Nate said nothing, only looked at Cary with questions stirring in his brown eyes, and patted the spot on the couch beside him.
Still, Cary couldn’t let himself off the hook.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” he muttered, his blue eyes bright and cheeks flushed with the drinks he had consumed. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”
“It’s okay,” Nate answered easily, pulling Cary down, so his head was in Nathaniel’s lap. Quietly, Nate played with Cary’s jet-black hair, drawn to the strands with purple or blue. He paid special attention to those, twirling them through his fingers.
“What’s wrong?” Nathaniel asked softly, staring into Cary’s eyes. The pain in them was barely masked by whatever he’d had to drink at the bar. “You can tell me.”
“No, I can’t!” Cary exploded, sitting up so fast he got dizzy. Overwhelmed, he held his head between his hands. “I can’t tell you anything. I have to take care of you.”
“I can’t take care of you?” Nate asked honestly, scooting closer to Cary, and putting an arm around his shoulders.
“You shouldn’t have to…” Cary admitted, his voice breaking.
“What if I wanted to? Would you let me?” Nate insisted, taking one of Cary’s hands in his own and threading their fingers together thoughtfully.
“No,” Cary said harshly, biting off the word. “So, just leave me the hell alone.”
But Nathaniel held tight to Cary’s hand, letting himself be pulled into the bathroom, where Cary fell on his knees in front of the toilet and vomited hard.
“It’s okay… Whatever it is…” Nathaniel soothed, rubbing the back of Cary’s neck. “If something’s wrong, I want to know what it is, so that I can help, okay? So, I can be there for you?” he coaxed, as Cary was sick again.
Sweat had broken out on Cary’s face and it rolled down his back as he threw up. Nate was making this too damn hard, and it wasn’t fair, with him drunk like this.
When he was finally done, Nathaniel helped him up, and guided him by the shoulders until they were both sitting on the couch again. This time, Cary’s ear was pressed against Nate’s chest. Nathaniel draped a blanket over both of them. He stroked Cary’s hair and pressed gentle kisses into it.
“I can’t do this…” Cary objected drowsily. “I can’t keep being strong all the damn time…” Tears stung his eyes, and Cary moved to sit up. To angrily brush them away, but Nathaniel held him fast, so Cary was stuck listening to the heartbeat of the man he had grown to love more deeply than anyone.
“Listen to me,” Nate said gently, and Cary felt the vibration of the voice in Nathaniel’s chest. “You don’t need to be. Okay?”
“I feel like such a selfish asshole when things are bad for me,” Cary confided, biting his lip as his stomach lurched.
“Do you think I’m a selfish asshole when things are bad for me?” Nate challenged gently.
“No. You have a million reasons to be upset. Real ones. I’m just pissed because I got more literature from my parents…”
“What kind of literature?” Nate wondered, intrigued. He was practically living here, but never touched Cary’s mail, even if it looked interesting.
“…Trying to turn me…” Cary muttered darkly.
“Straight?” Nathaniel guessed, incredulously.
“Mmm…” Cary mumbled. “It’s over there.” He gestured vaguely toward the stack of papers and envelopes on the desk across the room.
Warily, Nate stood and crossed the room to the manila envelope with various scripture verses, programs, camps and personal messages from every member of the family implored Cary to be the man God apparently created him to be before Cary got rebellious and turned his back on the church.
“My brother and sister joined the forces in trying to convince me to change my lifestyle… ‘…A gay man is not a man…’” he quoted, remembering the picture that seven-year-old Avery had colored. A man drawn with pink crayon, then the message, then a man drawn with blue crayon. The pink man was sad. The blue was smiling.
“’Turn back to God. Be the man He meant for you to be…’ Archie gave me that little piece of advice. “He’s fourteen and he sounds like a sales pitch for their ridiculous church that prays the gay out of people. Or the demons. Or the sadness. Like it’s our fault, and not the way we were made.”
“How long has this been going on?” Nate wondered holding the drawing done by Cary’s sister gingerly. He wondered how parents could raise their children to hate.
“Seven years…ever since they kicked me out at sixteen…” Cary sighed. “But this is the first time they’ve gotten the kids involved…”
“I’m sorry…” Nathaniel murmured. “I had no idea…”
“No one does. I deal with it.”
“You shouldn’t have to,” Nate insisted, his eyes darkening. “This is a bunch of shit!” he exclaimed, shaking the envelope menacingly. “You know what this is?”
Cary sat up, always interested when his man let his temper show. “What?” he asked, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, despite the fact that he felt like absolute shit.
“This. Is confetti,” Nate decided, shaking out papers and ripping them in half, quarters, and eighths and throwing them into the air.
Because watching the colored paper fall to the ground made Cary dizzy, he closed his eyes, listening to Nate rip, littering the carpet with scraps.
When he didn’t hear anymore destruction, Cary opened one eye, watching, impressed, as Nate gathered up all the pieces, shoved them in the envelope and put it in the garbage furthest away from both of them, buried beneath the other trash.
Cary waited, silently, until Nathaniel came back. He gathered Cary in his arms, covering them both with a blanket.
Then, together, they waited for the dawn to break, to end Cary’s endless night. And Cary knew, at that moment. If Nathaniel loved the sinner his parents thought he was, and him at his weakest point, Cary knew Nathaniel was the right one for him. Because he loved both sides - red and blue, and everything in between.
Cary turned his mask to the blue side again, and added millions of silver stars shining in the sky. His inner self might have been dark and sad, but Nathaniel was like so many stars, lighting up his darkness, and making it beautiful.
--
JUST A PRETTY FACE.
This is what Nathaniel scrawled across the public perception side of his mask, in black felt-tip pen. He had heard it often enough when he was growing up.
“What a cute little boy you have,” people would tell his mother in the store, and Nate would press himself behind her.
And later, too. Afterward, on television programs, he heard the hosts speculating on why he may have been a target. Nancy Grace had been the first to say it, and then it had been everywhere:
“Everyone is asking why one male student, Nathaniel Barrett, was a target in this attack, and no one is being honest. Let’s just admit it. He’s too pretty. It’s the same reason the girls were attacked. The man couldn’t resist him.”
Nathaniel had made decision then to dress worse. Though he could manage to wear sweats and tee shirts instead of jeans and nice tops, he found that he couldn’t stop showering. That phase had not lasted long, but the comments always stuck with him.
On the back of the mask, he wrote:
I am Nathaniel
I am somebody’s husband, somebody’s son, somebody’s brother
I live in Vermont, where I choose to be.
I choose to surround myself with good people
I choose to love myself
I know what happened does not define me
I am more than a victim
I am more than a survivor
I am more than who I choose to love
I am more than what you say
I’m more than just a pretty face.
He didn’t decorate it. He didn’t have to. He just handed it to Libby and walked out, with his head held high, feeling somehow vindicated, and somehow set free.
--
Emily’s face was a broken mirror, with cracks from the center to the outside edge. It looked like a firework had exploded. In the broken pieces, Emily drew pieces of her features. Terrified brown eyes. Dark hair. Her jeans, knees to feet, the way they had been when she was cowering beneath the table. And, though she had not worn a red shirt that day, Emily cut a tiny red shirt out of fabric and attached obvious pieces of it all over her broken mirror. It looked like a strange Picasso style piece. All awkward features and no order, but that’s how everyone saw her. Too damaged to even attempt to set right.
When she had moved home, she was this way, one-hundred percent. Scared all the time. Hitting the floor when a car backfired or a door slammed. Having nightmares every night, to the point where she had to sleep with her parents. Those months were the worst of her life - almost worse than the attack itself because nobody tried to help. Nobody talked to her about anything. There were no rules anymore. She broke curfew all the time, and didn’t eat a normal meal for the entire time she was home. Instead, she subsisted on Mountain Dew and Swiss Cake Rolls because they made her feel good, in the moment, but sick for days. Emily added the word RULES to her broken mirror because they were broken. She felt her stomach twist with a familiar ache. She had lived with an upset stomach for months. Emily took a few deep breaths to calm herself down.
Then, she flipped the face over. Her private self included all the weird pieces, but now they were reassembled the way they should have been. The cracks were still there, but Emily was putting herself back together again. She drew The Beast in one corner. The church in another, and the window in the guest room that she liked to look out of and pray. In the last corner, around her put-together self, Emily added a dining room table, because she loved coming together with her friends.
Those were the most important things.
Now, she felt together. That was important, too.
--
Jonathan was listening to Garth Brooks play list. Right now, he was singing about Calling Baton Rouge.
“Operator, won’t you put me on through, I gotta send my love down to Baton Rouge! Hurry up, wont you put her on the line, I gotta talk to the girl just one more time!” he sang. He liked getting lost in the music so he didn’t have to focus quite yet on the intense art project. He liked the idea of healing but he wasn’t much into creative stuff.
Jon felt a sharp poke and looked up sharply to see that Morgan stabbed him in the arm with a feather. Apparently, her I-Pod wasn’t doing a good enough job, because she could still hear him. He grimaced at her, and she waved it again, meaningfully. He could read the look in her eyes clearly enough: “Shut up. Sing in your head if you have to sing.” She had told him often enough.
The next song started, and Jon got busy. His public self would be easy enough. He painted a huge red scar on one side of his face. While the paint dried, Jon got to work looking through the boxes of odds and ends until he found what he was looking for: black thread. This was how he looked after they had stitched him up. It was all he could see when he looked in the mirror the following day. Since he put so much stock into his looks back then, his reflection had pretty much crushed him. His girlfriend had broken up with him. His family wouldn’t even sit on the side of the bed where the scar was. For a few seconds, Jon let himself remember. While he watched the paint dry, he let himself feel the physical and psychological pain of his injury.
When his scar was dry, though, Jon moved on. He went to work, crisscrossing the thread over the scar, so it looked gruesome and freshly stitched. The pain of that had been horrible, even with the local, and Jon still couldn’t decide if it was getting the stitches or having someone right up in his face, like Buddy had been. Jonathan thought about adding something else, but decided against it.
How many times in the weeks and months afterward had come up and asked dumbly if that was where he got cut. If he knew it was coming. If it still hurt. At least here, people generally minded their own business. At least now, the scar had faded.
Carefully, he flipped the scar over, and on his inner self, he drew himself again. This time, Jon thought of what he used to draw as a child, when he had school assignments like this. He drew two eyes, a nose and a smiling mouth. Some yellow hair. There. That was him. And that was enough.
It had taken him a damn long time to get to this point, but he was glad to be able to look in the mirror and not see a scar, but a man, doing the best he could to live each day the best he could. Now that he saw that, Jon imagined that other people might too.
He breathed a sigh of relief, glad to be rid of this burden finally, and the power he had let Buddy have over his life. That was over.
Jon had the power now.
--
It didn’t take long for Morgan to realize that listening to music in here wasn’t going to happen. It was right around the time she stabbed her loving boyfriend with a feather so he would stop embarrassing himself and distracting her. Just the fact that this was a room with tables, walls and a closed door was enough to have Morgan angling herself in its direction. She always wanted a way out, and she wanted to hear what was going on around her.
After a few minutes, though, she settled down to work. Flashbacks and anxiety were never easy to deal with, but they were routine now. She breathed and counted and focused on who was with her and where she was. What she was in here to do.
It helped when she moved to a corner of the room, and sat on the floor. She wanted privacy and peace of mind. Down here, she would get it.
Morgan cut her mask into a Mardi-Gras style and covered it in brown feathers on the public side. She knew, to them, she was average and ruined, and dirty like those feathers suggested. Surely, Liam felt that way about her, and after his interview, Morgan was sure the rest of the people did too. She was dirty, used, and unreliable. An addict. A liar. Unremarkable.
Liam had said as much to her many times.
A recent text after his interview said: “Sometimes, I still wish we were married, because we would have been by now, if everything had gone right. But then I remember that I wouldn’t be your first. That pain is still immense and I wish it had not happened to us.”
Morgan had deleted the text and hadn’t told her friends. They were upset enough as it was. She knew that his behavior was a reflection on him, not her, and put her mind to focusing on other things. Positive things. She helped Coby move weight equipment out of the spare room. She helped Christian add three-digit numbers. She and Jon had a random dance party one night and sang karaoke style along with the songs on TV because they had closed captioning. She helped Emily at youth group. Morgan watched Linus for Nate and Cary when they went out on a date, dog sledding. And she sat down and listened when Jess needed an ear. She painted what Libby said was the most amazing representation of addiction she had ever seen, for Libby’s gallery.
It was a mirror, surrounded by tendrils of thick black smoke. But the mirror didn’t reflect her. Instead, there was a rainbow of pills. Marijuana. Alcohol. Each had a price tag attached: Jess’s Trust. Christian’s Safety. Jonathan’s Trust. My self-respect. My body. My life. Morgan had wept as she painted, remembering pieces of that horrible time. Stealing from friends and lying. Once she was kicked out, it was worse. Selling herself and nearly starving for her next fix. Libby had typed out a little label that read: Addiction by Morgan Davis and attached it to the painting. She promised to hang it up someday, when she had her own studio.
Morgan hadn’t given into her sickness, though. Instead, she poured herself into other people’s lives, but not at the expense of her own healing. Morgan was still working her program and had found herself counseling nearby. It was a little hard to swing financially, but Morgan made it work, since for her, this was an essential expense.
Thoughtfully, Morgan turned her mask over. She began gluing without hesitation. Vivid blue, purple and green feathers to her inner self.
There was a time when Morgan knew without a doubt, she would have reversed the colors, making her public self vivid and pretty, while her inner self languished - brown and disgusting. But Morgan knew that certain things were true now, after years of counseling and two turns at rehab. She was beautiful. She could transform her life.
And right now, Morgan knew one thing for sure:
She was a peacock: a symbol of beauty and transformation no matter which side was showing.
Libby had thought about making masks since Halloween, when she, Emily, Jess, Coby and Christian all wore corresponding-colored Mardi Gras masks. These, though, would be big enough to cover their whole face and have two sides. The front was going to be public perception and the back was to be their inner self. She had made her own mask already, as an example. So, before Morgan, Coby, Jon, Jess and Cary settled down to watch the Patriots play the Lions, and the rest spread out around the house to take naps, Libby intercepted them.
“Who wants to make a mask?” she asked as everyone was cleaning up.
“I want to make a helmet!” Christian said loudly.
“Too much fluff for you, kid,” Jonathan remarked.
“Well, I don’t know how to make a helmet, so do you want to make a mask?!” Libby asked, mirroring his excited tone.
“Sure! Come on guys! Let’s make masks!” he called.
Libby smiled to herself. Christian was her secret weapon. She knew if she got him on board, everyone else would follow suit. She knew they wouldn’t necessarily feel bad disappointing her, but disappointing Christian was another thing, altogether.
“I will,” Emily volunteered, and just as Libby thought, everyone slowly agreed.
Libby had already planned it out and asked ahead of time for permission to use the room off the sanctuary where Emily often waited to talk to congregants. So when they got there, she covered the floor with newspaper, and set out all her supplies. She’d had everyone take their I-Pods, and she had plans to play Christian’s favorite, Kidz Bop Halloween CD in the CD player she brought.
“This is the mask I did,” Libby said, showing the piece of card stock. It had holes for eyes, but everything else was drawn or painted. She showed the front side of her mask, which was decorated with pretty glitter-glue fractures. Red fabric indicated wounds, and blue bits of tissue paper were tears. She had drawn bad test scores to indicate her test anxiety and her brother’s obvious belief that she was stupid and needed to be watched.
“This side is my public face,” she said showing it, making sure everyone could see. “People in my life, my brother, my parents, the news, they all see me as broken. No matter how much strength I try to present, it doesn’t matter, they still see this. My eyes are hollow but they don’t notice because everything else is a distraction.
Then, Libby flipped the mask over. “This is my inner self,” she said quietly. This side of the mask was covered in stars, and music notes, peace signs and happiness.
“While I was making this, I thought back to when it started. To the first time she had needed a mask to go out in public, and it was earlier than I thought.”
It had been. She had been three years old and Liam had been seven. Even then, he had been charismatic and a bit of a troublemaker. They had just moved to a new house in a new town, and Liam was introducing her.
“This is my little baby sister,” he had said, even though Libby had known she wasn’t a baby. She could do all kinds of big-girl things, like play dress up. She knew all the words to I Love You, You Love Me, and He’s Got The Whole World In His Hands, but from that moment, no one cared about what she could do.
All of Liam’s friends and all of her parents’ friends she got introduced to didn’t say what a big girl she was. They said she was cute, and a few years later, when she was molested for the first time, that strong confident child really was gone forever. She was broken and it had taken years to put herself together again. She was different now, but she was whole.
She didn’t bother telling them that she had purposely waited until no one else was around at Jess and Coby’s so that she wouldn’t be overheard. That the entire time she painted her mask, she screamed profanities at her brother for the years of feeling inferior, and at her abuser for taking her childhood. She didn’t tell them what happened when she was done. That she had wept for close to an hour, remembering everything, good and bad. She didn’t tell them that after all that, she finally felt at peace.
Libby took a deep breath, trying to clear her mind. “So think about that as you do this. Think about the first time people judged you or saw you a certain way, or the first time you could take it off and be you.”
They got started, each at a different table. Christian insisted on sitting at the only desk in the corner of the room. “So, what do I do?” he asked, looking at his blank piece of card stock.
Across the room, he saw his mom and dad at a table. They were sharing the earphones of their I-Pod and it made him feel a little jealous that he couldn’t have one. But he guessed it was okay, because Libby gave him a CD player with his favorite CD inside.
“Okay,” Libby said, getting down at eye level beside him. “One side of this mask is going to be what people see when they look at you. What do you think people see when they look at you?”
“Like who?” he asked, confused.
“Just anyone,” Libby encouraged. “People at school. Your mom and dad. Us.”
Christian took a brown marker and made a line down the middle of the mask. “At school, they think I’m just a brown kid, and the teacher thinks I’m a troublemaker,” Christian said, his tone matter of fact. He colored in half the face brown, and in one corner, he made a horizontal black line with a small vertical line extending from it and a little blob.
He felt a little bad inside, even though the kids didn’t mean it in a bad way. It was kind of like that was the only thing about him, and that made Christian feel sad. He was more than brown.
“That’s the railing of the whiteboard, and that’s the piece of tape and me without any tickets left, because I didn’t do what I was supposed to.”
It wasn’t just that he didn’t have any tickets. It was that everybody else had all of theirs. That when he had to go take one off, everybody stared and talked to each other, and the teacher told them to get back to work. When they did, she came up and yelled at him in a quiet voice. It happened even when he was trying to do something good, like start his homework for reading group. “Nobody else was writing, they were listening,” she would say, in a voice that made him feel like crying. Christian blinked a bunch of times, trying to make the tears go away.
Lucky for him, Monster Mash came on the CD right then and Christian smiled. Then he started making the other side of his mask. He made a big red heart for how his mom felt about him. And another heart for how Coby felt. And then he counted all the people in the room. He made blue hearts for Nate and Cary. Green hearts for Jonathan and Morgan. Purple hearts for Emily and Libby. Last but not least, Christian made a brown heart for Snoopy and a black and white heart for Linus, because he felt bad leaving them out, and Christian was sure they loved him, too.
“Okay, that’s good. Now the other side is going to be how you really are on the inside,” Libby explained. When he said he understood, she left him alone to work.
Christian looked at his mom’s heart, which was the biggest, and took up the most room, and he remembered when he saw her heart note to him hanging on his bathroom mirror. He hadn’t talked to her about it, just read it, and thought about it for a long time. She said she was still scared, but that love made her better. Since his fear was yellow and his love was red, he turned the mask over and found some orange paint. He learned all about primary colors last year at school, and knew if you mixed them, they made other colors. So, he figured love and fear made orange, and that’s what he was inside.
--
Jess had come prepared. Actually, she was never without the things she brought with her, so technically, it hadn’t been on purpose. The thing was, she had lived so long with so little that was truly hers, Jess couldn’t let go of carrying the most important things with her at all times. She still lived as if she was scraping by financially, though she wasn’t. Living poor was a hard mindset to shake.
Honestly, though, Jess was excited about this project. She had gotten over her hesitance to create in the shed with Libby. Now, she couldn’t wait. So, after listening to Sweet Child O’ Mine (which had been a hot song, when she was one,) for a few minutes, she drew away from him and found her own corner of the room, sitting down on the floor and taking out her purse. Inside, she had her public face.
Carefully, Jess started gluing newspaper headlines to her mask.
LOST TODDLER FOUND WANDERING NEAR ANOKA THEATER
November 20, 1989
A child was found wandering outside a local liquor store near the Anoka Theater on Saturday.
She had found the article accidentally when she was nine years old. It was in the drawer of her dad’s bedside table. For a long time, Jess hadn’t even known what month it was when she had disappeared. However, it made sense now, how often she would end up ruining the Thanksgiving holiday with her starting a fight, spilling something or smacking someone. It made sense, but it hadn’t stopped. Though Jess’s heart hurt at the memories, she was also grateful to have grown up. Though she still had the feeling of being scared and out of control for days before Thanksgiving, she dealt with them. She talked to Coby. She cleaned house, and she parented Christian the way she wished she’d been. She disciplined him when he needed it, but she also encouraged him, read with him, and loved him fiercely.
SINGLE MOM, 20, CLINGS TO LIFE AFTER HIGH CITY SHOOTING
November 6, 2007
Jessica Gray, a single mother and student at High City University in High City, Minnesota, is still clinging to life after being shot in the head by Melville Hamilton, the gunman in the latest school shooting.
Jess shivered, affixing this article to the mask. She seriously had almost no clear memory until she had been at the rehab hospital for a few days, which meant there was a week of her life that was a complete blank. Jess was grateful there wasn’t a picture with this article. She felt confused and empty to this day, wondering who exactly this man had been, and why he wanted to hurt them.
SHOOTING VICTIM, JESSICA GRAY, RELEASED FROM HOSPITAL
December 1, 2007
A month after being shot in the head, High City shooting victim, Jessica Gray, is heading home.
Smiling, Jess put this one on, so that it covered pieces of the other two. She remembered this day clearly. Coming home to her girls, and her son. Visiting with Libby. Seeing Coby for the first time, and falling asleep on his shoulder. She remembered him carrying her to bed, and feeling safe in a man’s arms for the first time.
SHOOTING VICTIMS, JESSICA GRAY & JACOB WALKER, WED
May 16, 2009
A year and a half after the shooting that nearly took her life, Jessica Gray did something no one thought possible: she walked down the aisle, and said vows to her future husband.
Sighing happily, she held this article in her hands. At the time, it had annoyed her that their home newspaper felt the need to document every big moment of her life, but she was grateful for it now. For the kindhearted piece the journalist had written, for the picture, reminding her how handsome Christian had looked in his tux, walking her down the aisle. For the picture of herself and Coby, smiling, on the other side of so much heartache.
Her life, it seemed, could be measured in headlines. Her mother leaving her. Clinging to life after a brutal shooting. Getting released from the hospital. Getting married. Jess covered the front of the mask, placing the headlines and excerpts in a mishmash. A headline where her mouth should be, another across her forehead, a third across her eyes, etc. They covered her entirely. Jess highlighted words like Lost Toddler, Single Mom and Shooting Victim. Jessica Gray, she put in quotations.
Then, she turned the mask over, and pulled out her purse again. She began to paste pictures of herself - actual photos - not newspaper clippings - on the inside. The picture of her as a baby, all wrapped up and coming home, with her dad smiling down on her. A picture of her staring blankly at the camera just after her mom abandoned her. Her dad had been so happy to have her back. A picture of her and Legend dressed up as the genie and the lamp from the movie Aladdin at Halloween when they were six. Jess had been the genie, and Legend the lamp, because Jess wished she was all-powerful and could make magic happen, because she felt trapped, and because she only truly felt at home with Legend.
These pictures made Jess feel everything, but she was grateful she had them. Looking at her little self being held by her dad, she saw the love in his eyes. It was, in fact, proof that she had been loved once, even if she was too small to remember it. She could still remember staring at the camera just after her dad brought her home. How she had refused to say cheese or smile. How she didn’t know what she felt, only that it was too big. She had been happy with Legend, on Halloween, though. They had trick-or-treated and gotten candy that Legend’s parents had checked to make sure it was safe.
Now, Jess moved on to other moments.
Here was a picture of her at a party when she was 14, getting drunk and smiling too big for it to be real. At 15, pregnant and miserable. And at 16, holding Christian, and looking scared as she’d ever been, but with such obvious love in her eyes.
These were the difficult years. She barely remembered the parties, only feeling like death afterward. She remembered being high at breakfast and her dad not looking up from his eggs. She remembered giving into Christian’s father when he pressured her to have sex. He promised to always be there for her. He said he loved her. So, she had given herself to him. When she learned she was pregnant, Jess was sure that had been the biggest mistake of her life. She had been sick for months and was sure it was some kind of punishment for being so horrible that her own mother would leave her. However, Legend’s mom and dad had been there. They helped her stay clean, helped her get counseling, and prenatal care. By the time she had Christian, named for the change Jess had experienced in her life, Jess knew he was the best thing that could have happened to her.
Then there were the pictures from when they moved in together in college. All the girls and Christian, smiling at breakfast. Everyone at the first Monday Madness. A candid picture that someone had taken of Coby staring at her while she twirled her hair and tried to study. There they were when Jess was home from the hospital, when she had fallen asleep on Coby’s shoulder. There was Christian walking her down the aisle. There she was with Coby at the reception. In front of their new house. On their first vacation to a bed and breakfast in Stowe, where she now worked, cleaning rooms. Finally, she, Coby and Christian sitting in the yard full of leaves. This one would be their Christmas card.
Jess would cherish these times forever. This side of the mask, with all its pictures, made her proud to be where she was. Jess hoped that when Coby gave Libby her new studio, he would hang the masks from the ceiling, so both sides would show - a tribute to their healing and strength.
--
Coby felt heaviness inside him as worked on his mask.
On the front were carefully drawn red bricks. They extended to all sides and so it looked liked they went beyond the mask. He was Stowe’s handyman. He built and fixed things. But he was also firmly hidden behind his profession by a wall that he, himself had built.
He thought of all the moments when he hid himself: At thirteen, when his mom moved out. At sixteen when they got back together, and his little sister was born, because Coby knew the reconciliation wouldn’t last. His dad didn’t like fat women and his mom wouldn’t be bullied. She would leave, and she had. His dad kept custody of him, eight-year-old Blake, and new baby, Riley. But Coby had raised them. Coby who had taught them to swim. Coby who influenced Blake to make his own bad choices. And at twenty-four, Buddy had ripped his life apart. Instead of letting himself grieve it, Coby had lost himself in booze, only emerging when he realized he couldn’t hide anymore.
He turned the mask over, and there he drew the wall falling. Quietly, he interrupted Jess, asking her to trace her hand. He did the same with CJ. When Coby went back, he went to work transferring the images. He could have approximated the sizes, but he wanted them to be authentic.
The reason? His family had broken down the wall.
With only the base of the wall remaining, Coby worked on the hands. His own, and those of his wife and son. He added fingernails. Jess’s wedding ring. The scars on her arm that suggested she had once been burned. His own ring. Then he drew the bracelets. On his wrist, he carefully drew the black fabric band and the silver letter blocks. He did the same for Jess. Then, finally, he did Christian’s.
Coby wasn’t an emotional guy, but he wept like a baby when it was announced “that the minor shall henceforth be known as Christian Jesse Walker” and that Coby had all the rights and responsibilities of a natural parent. On the day they had gone to the courthouse and made everything official, Coby had presented Jess and Christian with their bracelets and he wore his own. Coby’s said FOREVER, Jess’s said FAMILY, and Christian’s said MIRACLE. They had yet to take them off. Coby knew for a fact that Christian and Jess showered with theirs. The hands met in the middle. Jess’s delicate but hard working, Coby’s callused and strong, and Christian’s small and perfect.
Becoming a husband had changed Coby’s life, and becoming a father had changed him even more.
Looking at the picture, Coby nodded, satisfied. His family was who he protected, and his family was who he could always count on.
--
Cary’s mask was the easiest thing he had ever made. On the front of it. He painted a huge red letter A, with red paint dripping off of it. If Libby read Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter, the meaning behind it would be clear enough. And if not, well, she might have to do some research. Cary drew so many blue men, holding hands with sad faces, that he lost count. On the inside, he painted the mask a midnight blue, to signify the endless night that only Nathaniel had ever seen. Cary remembered it like it was yesterday. It was only months after they had met.
Cary had sometimes wished for it to be daylight 24/7. That way, he wouldn’t be stuck enduring the nights alone. At that time, though, nothing was going his way, and that was just fucking depressing. He generally wasn’t a depressed person, but just lately every pressure Cary had seemed to be weighing him down.
Of course, he had Nathaniel. And Cary loved being with him. He liked being the protector. The one to take care of and shelter Nate when the demons he fought became too much to bear. But every once in a while, Cary wished that the roles could be reversed without him feeling totally selfish and stupid.
Nathaniel was the one who had gone through hell less than a year ago. He needed all the care and attention that Cary could offer. How is it that Cary could really go to him and say that everything seemed darker and more hopeless at night?
He tried going out more. Partying. But that only helped so much. Sure, it made him feel better for a few hours, but in the long run it did nothing but make Cary feel like the biggest loser there was.
Plus, Nathaniel was kind of shy. Though he liked social drinking, especially a nice glass of red wine with dinner, he wasn’t a fan of loud, dark parties, or bars where hands could grope in the dark. Frankly, Cary didn’t mind any of those things, and spent several evenings out, losing himself in the smoke and the alcohol and the men.
It was on one of these nights that Cary stumbled home long after midnight, intent on passing out on the bed, and sleeping straight through the weekend.
The last thing he expected to see was Nathaniel waiting up for him.
He was sitting on Cary’s couch, with a cookbook open in his lap, and he glanced up when the door opened.
Cary braced himself for the Where Were You lecture that Nate was fond of giving, followed by the Don’t Numb Yourself lecture that he learned from Cary himself.
But Nate said nothing, only looked at Cary with questions stirring in his brown eyes, and patted the spot on the couch beside him.
Still, Cary couldn’t let himself off the hook.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” he muttered, his blue eyes bright and cheeks flushed with the drinks he had consumed. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”
“It’s okay,” Nate answered easily, pulling Cary down, so his head was in Nathaniel’s lap. Quietly, Nate played with Cary’s jet-black hair, drawn to the strands with purple or blue. He paid special attention to those, twirling them through his fingers.
“What’s wrong?” Nathaniel asked softly, staring into Cary’s eyes. The pain in them was barely masked by whatever he’d had to drink at the bar. “You can tell me.”
“No, I can’t!” Cary exploded, sitting up so fast he got dizzy. Overwhelmed, he held his head between his hands. “I can’t tell you anything. I have to take care of you.”
“I can’t take care of you?” Nate asked honestly, scooting closer to Cary, and putting an arm around his shoulders.
“You shouldn’t have to…” Cary admitted, his voice breaking.
“What if I wanted to? Would you let me?” Nate insisted, taking one of Cary’s hands in his own and threading their fingers together thoughtfully.
“No,” Cary said harshly, biting off the word. “So, just leave me the hell alone.”
But Nathaniel held tight to Cary’s hand, letting himself be pulled into the bathroom, where Cary fell on his knees in front of the toilet and vomited hard.
“It’s okay… Whatever it is…” Nathaniel soothed, rubbing the back of Cary’s neck. “If something’s wrong, I want to know what it is, so that I can help, okay? So, I can be there for you?” he coaxed, as Cary was sick again.
Sweat had broken out on Cary’s face and it rolled down his back as he threw up. Nate was making this too damn hard, and it wasn’t fair, with him drunk like this.
When he was finally done, Nathaniel helped him up, and guided him by the shoulders until they were both sitting on the couch again. This time, Cary’s ear was pressed against Nate’s chest. Nathaniel draped a blanket over both of them. He stroked Cary’s hair and pressed gentle kisses into it.
“I can’t do this…” Cary objected drowsily. “I can’t keep being strong all the damn time…” Tears stung his eyes, and Cary moved to sit up. To angrily brush them away, but Nathaniel held him fast, so Cary was stuck listening to the heartbeat of the man he had grown to love more deeply than anyone.
“Listen to me,” Nate said gently, and Cary felt the vibration of the voice in Nathaniel’s chest. “You don’t need to be. Okay?”
“I feel like such a selfish asshole when things are bad for me,” Cary confided, biting his lip as his stomach lurched.
“Do you think I’m a selfish asshole when things are bad for me?” Nate challenged gently.
“No. You have a million reasons to be upset. Real ones. I’m just pissed because I got more literature from my parents…”
“What kind of literature?” Nate wondered, intrigued. He was practically living here, but never touched Cary’s mail, even if it looked interesting.
“…Trying to turn me…” Cary muttered darkly.
“Straight?” Nathaniel guessed, incredulously.
“Mmm…” Cary mumbled. “It’s over there.” He gestured vaguely toward the stack of papers and envelopes on the desk across the room.
Warily, Nate stood and crossed the room to the manila envelope with various scripture verses, programs, camps and personal messages from every member of the family implored Cary to be the man God apparently created him to be before Cary got rebellious and turned his back on the church.
“My brother and sister joined the forces in trying to convince me to change my lifestyle… ‘…A gay man is not a man…’” he quoted, remembering the picture that seven-year-old Avery had colored. A man drawn with pink crayon, then the message, then a man drawn with blue crayon. The pink man was sad. The blue was smiling.
“’Turn back to God. Be the man He meant for you to be…’ Archie gave me that little piece of advice. “He’s fourteen and he sounds like a sales pitch for their ridiculous church that prays the gay out of people. Or the demons. Or the sadness. Like it’s our fault, and not the way we were made.”
“How long has this been going on?” Nate wondered holding the drawing done by Cary’s sister gingerly. He wondered how parents could raise their children to hate.
“Seven years…ever since they kicked me out at sixteen…” Cary sighed. “But this is the first time they’ve gotten the kids involved…”
“I’m sorry…” Nathaniel murmured. “I had no idea…”
“No one does. I deal with it.”
“You shouldn’t have to,” Nate insisted, his eyes darkening. “This is a bunch of shit!” he exclaimed, shaking the envelope menacingly. “You know what this is?”
Cary sat up, always interested when his man let his temper show. “What?” he asked, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, despite the fact that he felt like absolute shit.
“This. Is confetti,” Nate decided, shaking out papers and ripping them in half, quarters, and eighths and throwing them into the air.
Because watching the colored paper fall to the ground made Cary dizzy, he closed his eyes, listening to Nate rip, littering the carpet with scraps.
When he didn’t hear anymore destruction, Cary opened one eye, watching, impressed, as Nate gathered up all the pieces, shoved them in the envelope and put it in the garbage furthest away from both of them, buried beneath the other trash.
Cary waited, silently, until Nathaniel came back. He gathered Cary in his arms, covering them both with a blanket.
Then, together, they waited for the dawn to break, to end Cary’s endless night. And Cary knew, at that moment. If Nathaniel loved the sinner his parents thought he was, and him at his weakest point, Cary knew Nathaniel was the right one for him. Because he loved both sides - red and blue, and everything in between.
Cary turned his mask to the blue side again, and added millions of silver stars shining in the sky. His inner self might have been dark and sad, but Nathaniel was like so many stars, lighting up his darkness, and making it beautiful.
--
JUST A PRETTY FACE.
This is what Nathaniel scrawled across the public perception side of his mask, in black felt-tip pen. He had heard it often enough when he was growing up.
“What a cute little boy you have,” people would tell his mother in the store, and Nate would press himself behind her.
And later, too. Afterward, on television programs, he heard the hosts speculating on why he may have been a target. Nancy Grace had been the first to say it, and then it had been everywhere:
“Everyone is asking why one male student, Nathaniel Barrett, was a target in this attack, and no one is being honest. Let’s just admit it. He’s too pretty. It’s the same reason the girls were attacked. The man couldn’t resist him.”
Nathaniel had made decision then to dress worse. Though he could manage to wear sweats and tee shirts instead of jeans and nice tops, he found that he couldn’t stop showering. That phase had not lasted long, but the comments always stuck with him.
On the back of the mask, he wrote:
I am Nathaniel
I am somebody’s husband, somebody’s son, somebody’s brother
I live in Vermont, where I choose to be.
I choose to surround myself with good people
I choose to love myself
I know what happened does not define me
I am more than a victim
I am more than a survivor
I am more than who I choose to love
I am more than what you say
I’m more than just a pretty face.
He didn’t decorate it. He didn’t have to. He just handed it to Libby and walked out, with his head held high, feeling somehow vindicated, and somehow set free.
--
Emily’s face was a broken mirror, with cracks from the center to the outside edge. It looked like a firework had exploded. In the broken pieces, Emily drew pieces of her features. Terrified brown eyes. Dark hair. Her jeans, knees to feet, the way they had been when she was cowering beneath the table. And, though she had not worn a red shirt that day, Emily cut a tiny red shirt out of fabric and attached obvious pieces of it all over her broken mirror. It looked like a strange Picasso style piece. All awkward features and no order, but that’s how everyone saw her. Too damaged to even attempt to set right.
When she had moved home, she was this way, one-hundred percent. Scared all the time. Hitting the floor when a car backfired or a door slammed. Having nightmares every night, to the point where she had to sleep with her parents. Those months were the worst of her life - almost worse than the attack itself because nobody tried to help. Nobody talked to her about anything. There were no rules anymore. She broke curfew all the time, and didn’t eat a normal meal for the entire time she was home. Instead, she subsisted on Mountain Dew and Swiss Cake Rolls because they made her feel good, in the moment, but sick for days. Emily added the word RULES to her broken mirror because they were broken. She felt her stomach twist with a familiar ache. She had lived with an upset stomach for months. Emily took a few deep breaths to calm herself down.
Then, she flipped the face over. Her private self included all the weird pieces, but now they were reassembled the way they should have been. The cracks were still there, but Emily was putting herself back together again. She drew The Beast in one corner. The church in another, and the window in the guest room that she liked to look out of and pray. In the last corner, around her put-together self, Emily added a dining room table, because she loved coming together with her friends.
Those were the most important things.
Now, she felt together. That was important, too.
--
Jonathan was listening to Garth Brooks play list. Right now, he was singing about Calling Baton Rouge.
“Operator, won’t you put me on through, I gotta send my love down to Baton Rouge! Hurry up, wont you put her on the line, I gotta talk to the girl just one more time!” he sang. He liked getting lost in the music so he didn’t have to focus quite yet on the intense art project. He liked the idea of healing but he wasn’t much into creative stuff.
Jon felt a sharp poke and looked up sharply to see that Morgan stabbed him in the arm with a feather. Apparently, her I-Pod wasn’t doing a good enough job, because she could still hear him. He grimaced at her, and she waved it again, meaningfully. He could read the look in her eyes clearly enough: “Shut up. Sing in your head if you have to sing.” She had told him often enough.
The next song started, and Jon got busy. His public self would be easy enough. He painted a huge red scar on one side of his face. While the paint dried, Jon got to work looking through the boxes of odds and ends until he found what he was looking for: black thread. This was how he looked after they had stitched him up. It was all he could see when he looked in the mirror the following day. Since he put so much stock into his looks back then, his reflection had pretty much crushed him. His girlfriend had broken up with him. His family wouldn’t even sit on the side of the bed where the scar was. For a few seconds, Jon let himself remember. While he watched the paint dry, he let himself feel the physical and psychological pain of his injury.
When his scar was dry, though, Jon moved on. He went to work, crisscrossing the thread over the scar, so it looked gruesome and freshly stitched. The pain of that had been horrible, even with the local, and Jon still couldn’t decide if it was getting the stitches or having someone right up in his face, like Buddy had been. Jonathan thought about adding something else, but decided against it.
How many times in the weeks and months afterward had come up and asked dumbly if that was where he got cut. If he knew it was coming. If it still hurt. At least here, people generally minded their own business. At least now, the scar had faded.
Carefully, he flipped the scar over, and on his inner self, he drew himself again. This time, Jon thought of what he used to draw as a child, when he had school assignments like this. He drew two eyes, a nose and a smiling mouth. Some yellow hair. There. That was him. And that was enough.
It had taken him a damn long time to get to this point, but he was glad to be able to look in the mirror and not see a scar, but a man, doing the best he could to live each day the best he could. Now that he saw that, Jon imagined that other people might too.
He breathed a sigh of relief, glad to be rid of this burden finally, and the power he had let Buddy have over his life. That was over.
Jon had the power now.
--
It didn’t take long for Morgan to realize that listening to music in here wasn’t going to happen. It was right around the time she stabbed her loving boyfriend with a feather so he would stop embarrassing himself and distracting her. Just the fact that this was a room with tables, walls and a closed door was enough to have Morgan angling herself in its direction. She always wanted a way out, and she wanted to hear what was going on around her.
After a few minutes, though, she settled down to work. Flashbacks and anxiety were never easy to deal with, but they were routine now. She breathed and counted and focused on who was with her and where she was. What she was in here to do.
It helped when she moved to a corner of the room, and sat on the floor. She wanted privacy and peace of mind. Down here, she would get it.
Morgan cut her mask into a Mardi-Gras style and covered it in brown feathers on the public side. She knew, to them, she was average and ruined, and dirty like those feathers suggested. Surely, Liam felt that way about her, and after his interview, Morgan was sure the rest of the people did too. She was dirty, used, and unreliable. An addict. A liar. Unremarkable.
Liam had said as much to her many times.
A recent text after his interview said: “Sometimes, I still wish we were married, because we would have been by now, if everything had gone right. But then I remember that I wouldn’t be your first. That pain is still immense and I wish it had not happened to us.”
Morgan had deleted the text and hadn’t told her friends. They were upset enough as it was. She knew that his behavior was a reflection on him, not her, and put her mind to focusing on other things. Positive things. She helped Coby move weight equipment out of the spare room. She helped Christian add three-digit numbers. She and Jon had a random dance party one night and sang karaoke style along with the songs on TV because they had closed captioning. She helped Emily at youth group. Morgan watched Linus for Nate and Cary when they went out on a date, dog sledding. And she sat down and listened when Jess needed an ear. She painted what Libby said was the most amazing representation of addiction she had ever seen, for Libby’s gallery.
It was a mirror, surrounded by tendrils of thick black smoke. But the mirror didn’t reflect her. Instead, there was a rainbow of pills. Marijuana. Alcohol. Each had a price tag attached: Jess’s Trust. Christian’s Safety. Jonathan’s Trust. My self-respect. My body. My life. Morgan had wept as she painted, remembering pieces of that horrible time. Stealing from friends and lying. Once she was kicked out, it was worse. Selling herself and nearly starving for her next fix. Libby had typed out a little label that read: Addiction by Morgan Davis and attached it to the painting. She promised to hang it up someday, when she had her own studio.
Morgan hadn’t given into her sickness, though. Instead, she poured herself into other people’s lives, but not at the expense of her own healing. Morgan was still working her program and had found herself counseling nearby. It was a little hard to swing financially, but Morgan made it work, since for her, this was an essential expense.
Thoughtfully, Morgan turned her mask over. She began gluing without hesitation. Vivid blue, purple and green feathers to her inner self.
There was a time when Morgan knew without a doubt, she would have reversed the colors, making her public self vivid and pretty, while her inner self languished - brown and disgusting. But Morgan knew that certain things were true now, after years of counseling and two turns at rehab. She was beautiful. She could transform her life.
And right now, Morgan knew one thing for sure:
She was a peacock: a symbol of beauty and transformation no matter which side was showing.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Stowaway: Chapter 5
Okay, it has to be said: I love this town. I love the tourists, which is weird. You would think I wouldn’t. I love going with Emily when she works at the church and being there to do projects to keep the kids busy if she is talking to their parents. I love the recreation path, and the secret patch of raspberries Jess told me about. I can’t wait until summer comes so we can take rollerblade to the old restaurant, Whiskers, and get some of those berries. It makes me sad it’s winter, because I really want to try them.
Morgan was ready for something new. As much as she complained about the damn parrot costume of Nathaniel’s, it had been fun to do. She and Jon got to do it together. Now that it was pushing mid-November, Morgan felt better and more like herself. So, Sunday after church, she caught up with Coby and asked if he had anything he needed help with. She had already asked everybody else, but they all said they were okay, or didn’t have anything going on.
The thing with Coby, though, was, he was the handyman. That meant he usually had a project he was working on. He waited until Jess and Libby disappeared down the hill toward the rec path and Jon had taken Christian to Ben and Jerry’s to taste the 2010 flavors that he hadn’t tried yet. Jon was having dreams about the Boston Crème Pie ice cream with its yellow cake pieces, fudge flakes and pastry cream. Christian was convinced he needed to try the Milk & Cookies flavor, which looked to Coby like Cookies & Cream to the extreme. CJ would be hyper the rest of the day.
“I could really use your help, if you wouldn’t mind,” Coby said as soon as they were out of sight. “I decided to remodel the spare bedroom off the laundry room. Turn it into an art studio for Libby. She’s been using my workshop and it’s so small and dark in there. I don’t like the idea of her going out in the middle of the night when she feels inspired or whatever. Plus, it’s not ventilated, and I think places like that need fans. I know I’m really busy, but I figured, maybe with a bunch of us helping, I could have it done by Christmas.”
“Sure, I’ll help,” Morgan agreed. “What do you think you’ll need?”
“It’s full of weights and stuff now. We never use them, so if it’s something you or Jon might want, you’re welcome to it.”
“So, we’ll just need to take all that out, sweep and clean the floor, put some kind of spill-proof flooring down, ventilate it and get some better lighting.”
“I can drive to Home Depot. Check out vinyl flooring and stuff. How big is the room?” Morgan wanted to know. She loved the idea of a long drive alone, thinking of nothing but details.
“I haven’t measured yet. But spread the word. Don’t tell Libby or CJ, but let everybody else know. Oh, hey, and can I use your garage? I think she needs a table in there, or a desk, and it would kind of give it away if I built it in my shop, since she’s in there all the time.” Coby pointed out.
Morgan bit her lip. “I don’t know. I’d have to see. I think our garage might not work. Jon’s got his car in there, and he hates to park it outside. But check with Nate and Cary. They might have space, and they’re right behind you.”
“Cool. Thanks,” Coby said, scanning the parking lot for either of his neighbors.
When he couldn’t find them, he decided to take a trip of his own to Home Depot, and anywhere else he could think of that might have good art supplies. It might take all day, but it would be worth it.
--
It hadn’t taken long, but Libby had made a decision. She was staying. And even though Jess had told her right away that she could stay as long as she wanted, Libby felt it was only right to ask if it was okay to live in their guest room and take over their downstairs.
Jess had taken it upon herself to give Libby a tour of town, which was when she took the opportunity to ask. Jess had just smiled and said of course she could stay, and that she and Coby and Christian would be glad to have them.
They were walking down the rec path and all Libby could do was look around and take in how pretty everything was, even in the winter. It was quiet and peaceful and it inspired her in every way.
Libby had been here almost two weeks and she loved it, even with the stares and questions. All her friends who already lived there said they would subside after a while, if she decided to stay. If she hadn’t already decided she would, Jess’s impromptu tour one Sunday after church definitely convinced her.
“Christian, Coby and I ride bikes here a lot during the summer,” Jess said as they walked over a small wooden bridge, the church at their backs. “It’s not too cold, now, see? The water’s still flowing under here.”
Libby shivered. She was used to cold weather, being from Minnesota, but 25 degrees didn’t strike her as “not too cold.” But she guessed things were different in Vermont.
“Jon and Morgan rollerblade here and right over here is the Depot Street Malt Shoppe. It’s Christian’s favorite place, but we don’t go there too often, since we’re trying to save money.”
“Who would want to go to a malt shop in the winter anyway?” Libby asked. “It’s cold enough.”
“It’s actually a 50’s style diner. It’s really cute, and the food’s good. It’s not too expensive, which is good for us. If we do go out, it’s usually here. The Stowe Free Public Library is behind the diner, down the street to the left, on the right side of the road,” Jess pointed in the general direction. “There are always sculptures out front made out of different things like metal or stone. They are different each year. Art is big in town. The post office is right behind the diner, just across the street, but perpendicular“
Libby nodded. She had seen the library and the post office, and most everything in town, by now, but it felt nice to have Jess point things out and explain a little more about them.
She was onto explaining about the parking lot next to the malt shoppe, which was apparently for a bookstore, which was one of the few places in town open late. “Here, that means about eight o’clock at night,” Jess said, a little apologetic. “It’s nice, though, and they have a big section of books all by Vermont authors. Chis Bohjalian is one of the more famous Vermont authors. Most of his novels are set in Vermont. Water Witches is set partly in Stowe and the towns right next to it.”
“It still sounds like all the fun stuff is in the summer,” Libby complained lightly. “It makes me wish we would have come in the summer.”
“We have an indoor ice skating rink and an indoor public swimming pool,” Jess said, optimistically, trying to raise Libby’s spirits. “There’s also The Messiah Sing before Christmas at church. Anyone who wants to can sing in it. They just sing until they run out of time, and then it just ends. “
“Okay, I need a translation. I’ve been in church my whole life and I’ve never heard of a Messiah Sing before,” Libby said, clearly confused.
“It’s like an opera or a musical. It was done by Handel and it had all these acts and scenes. It’s all music. Sometimes we sing along and sometimes there are soloists, and there‘s a 20-piece orchestra onstage. It’s really beautiful. My favorite is when we sing Hallelujah.” Quietly, Jess sang a couple lines and Libby found it wasn’t unfamiliar at all, but that she had heard it done as a choral piece in a movie when she was fifteen.
They were quiet a while, and sat down on a bench to rest. Someone jogged by with a dog on a leash and waved to Jess. She waved back.
“Christian, Nate and Morgan kind of stand out here, don’t they?” Libby observed, having registered that the lady walking her dog, as well as everybody in the church and in town she had seen were not minorities. At Jess’s inquisitive look, Libby elaborated. “I don’t mean to be rude. I totally don’t care, but I just noticed, you know? It’s not like Minneapolis or Chicago. Was it hard for Christian to adjust?”
“The schools are good, which was a must for us. At first, the kids at school asked him why he was brown, but they were just curious. Actually, the pastor’s Brazilian or something, so I’m hoping he’ll be a good example for Christian. Anyway, yeah. Coby and I thought CJ would feel safer in a small school where he knew everyone. There’s only two second-grade teachers in the whole school. Less than 300 kids. It helps that he’s familiar with everyone in town too.”
“Does he feel safer?” Libby wondered.
“He seems to, even though he still has issues sometimes,” Jess pointed out. “Hey, I was gonna ask you about that yellow painting he gave me…”
Libby watched as Jess gathered her long curly hair behind her and put a clip in it. It looked redder in the summer months. Now it just looked dark. Jess was so pretty though, even with her puffy white jacket and maroon stocking cap.
“What about it?” Libby questioned, curious. It seemed straightforward to her.
“I don’t know what to do about it,” Jess admitted. “He told me it was his fear. I mean, your son gives you a painting that basically says, ‘Mom, I’m scared.’ Most people aren’t that honest. I never was. I hid every emotion I ever had when I was growing up. My dad never helped me deal with them. Legend’s parents tried, but I don’t really know any other moms around here.”
Libby was quiet a minute. “What do you think you should do? What feels right?”
“I feel like I should be honest with him, but I don’t know if he could handle it. What would he do if he knew that I lived scared most of my life? That this kind of fear never really goes away?” Jess looked at Libby, questions in her eyes.
Libby put her arm around Jess, and rested her head on Jess’s shoulder. She knew about Jess’s past. They all did. They knew that she was abandoned by her own mother when she was three years old in a movie theater. Libby didn’t know all the details, but she knew Jess’s mom had disappeared after that, and that when Libby first moved in to the apartment with the girls three years ago in August, that she had nightmares.
“I think he would identify with you. I think he already feels better, realizing that you might know what he feels like. He’s already been through a lot in his life, so I don’t think you need to worry about this making him really upset. He gave his fear to you because he knows you understand it. He’s not sure anyone else does. If you feel like you should be honest, be honest. Answer his questions. You can even come to Coby’s workshop and do a painting of your own for him,” Libby invited.
“Maybe I will,” Jess said quietly.
--
The way Jon figured it, Christian was a good test-run, in case he and Morgan ever decided to have kids. Or if Nate and Cary got one, and he had to baby sit. But Christian almost wasn’t a fair estimate of kid-behavior because he was so awesome. Jon had always loved him, and volunteered to watch him whenever Jess or Coby got busy. Of course, with Libby and Emily living over there now, Jon figured his kid-time might be seriously reduced. So he took it upon himself to take Christian out whenever he could.
“This Boston Crème Pie is the best ever,” Jon moaned happily, taking a bite.
“Mm-mm,” Christian denied. “Milk & Cookies makes my life,” he said, taking a big bite.
“So, what’s up?” Jon asked. He really didn’t get much of an opportunity to check in now, and he missed it.
Christian shrugged. “I didn’t get my reading minutes done, so I’m going to be in big trouble tomorrow. I have to read twenty minutes a day and write it on this calendar thing. I’m way behind, and I don’t think I can catch up.”
“Well, what are you reading?” Jon pressed.
“Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing,” Christian sighed, and reached behind him, inexplicably producing the book from the waistband of his jeans.
“You smuggled your book into church in the back of your pants?” Jon asked, incredulous.
“In case it got boring!” Christian objected, smiling.
“Here, give it to me. How about if I read, and you listen? Does that still count?” Jon asked. Christian nodded and Jon searched for a bookmark. “Where are you in this?” he asked.
“The beginning,” Christian admitted, sheepish. He slouched in his chair and pulled his hat down lower.
But Jon just nodded and opened the book. “I won Dribble at Jimmy Fargo’s birthday party,” he read in a voice that made Christian sit up and pay attention. Jon made the book sound fun and interesting. Not hard, like sounding out all the words really was.
It was the middle of Ralph’s birthday party when Emily, Morgan, Nate and Cary came in. They didn’t say anything, just pulled up chairs around the table and listened to Jon read, too.
Emily had a Coffee Coffee Coffee BuzzBuzzBuzz milkshake, Morgan got a Life’s a Beach sorbet, Cary got a Chocolate Therapy cone and Nathaniel got a bowl of Imagine Whirled Peace. Christian knew all the flavors even without hearing them order, because he had been here so many times.
Jon got done with the chapter and looked around. “Well, my Boston Crème Pie is melting. Anybody want to help the kid rack up last-minute reading minutes?”
Morgan snatched the book and took over, reading in a very good voice, almost as good as Jon’s. Soon everybody took a turn, and Christian liked listening to them. Cary did the voices and Nathaniel put lots of feeling in. Emily would stop and laugh at the funny parts. It was the best day Christian had.
He wouldn’t get in trouble now. His friends were helping him.
--
Working with Jess on art was a lot harder than working with Christian or Coby. She was nervous, the same way Nathaniel had been right after she met him, and wanted to learn to paint. Jess was hesitant to put paint to paper.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea. I mean, what if there are fumes or something and I get a headache?” she asked.
“It’s all kid-friendly, Jess. None of it smells. Just go with what you think.”
“I’m not artistic, though!” she objected, startling Snoopy and Linus who were tuckered out in opposite corners of the workshop.
Libby came around the easel and stood beside her. “The point isn’t to be artistic, it’s to express yourself. Don’t think about it, just do it.”
“I can’t paint my feelings, though. There’s too many…” Jess sighed. This would have been less confusing before her brain injury, but Jess was also fairly certain that she had never been an artist.
“Can you paint one?” Libby asked and Jess nodded.
“Which one?”
“Paint what made you not feel afraid. Paint your answer to Christian. That’s why you wanted to do this, right?”
Jess bit her lip, thinking, and then, finally, dipped a brush in some red paint. With it, she drew the outline of a heart. When it dried, she filled it up with words to her son:
Dear Christian,
It felt really scary when I got left.
I didn’t know what to do.
I did feel scared and lonely and out of myself.
Sometimes I didn’t talk.
Sometimes I hid.
Sometimes I made bad choices.
I’ll tell you a secret:
I am still scared.
Sometimes the thing that happens to you
Is so big and scary you can’t get over it.
Sometimes I have bad dreams
And remember when my mommy left me on purpose.
But I will never leave you on purpose
Because you are my heart
And I can’t leave part of myself behind.
I learned to be brave by watching people who love me
And by learning to love myself.
Love is the opposite of fear.
Hang onto love
And you will be OK,
I promise.
Love,
Mom
--
Liam had just gotten home after a crazy day at church. There had been all sorts of confessions during the service. All sorts of people admitting sins they had committed, and it was a heavy atmosphere. Liam had cried more than he had, probably, in his whole life. He just felt so weighed down by God’s sadness. Well, that, and he couldn’t stop thinking of Libby. It had been two weeks and she said she would be home by now.
He had tried calling her phone but her voice mailbox was full and she wasn’t answering.
Finally, he decided to get a hold of someone else. He didn’t have any of their numbers in his phone anymore, but…yes! That list Jess made back when they first started Bible study was still taped to the inside of the cupboard. He knew Jess was out because she had only given her work number at the time and she obviously wasn’t local anymore. Morgan had changed her number after her stint in the drug world, but he could probably get it, with some creative thought.
First, he prayed for five minutes straight, asking for God’s intervention. Then, Liam took a deep breath and called Morgan’s home number.
“Hello?” a girl’s voice answered. She sounded young, like a preteen version of Morgan.
“Hi, is this…” Liam hesitated, going back in his memory. Morgan had two sisters. Kate was the older one, who was always in trouble and the younger one was… “…Alyssa?” he asked, the name finally coming to him.
“Yeah, who’s this?” she asked.
“I’m a friend of Morgan’s, Bryan Torres. I lost Morgan’s number and I wondered if you could give it to me again? I promise I’ll be more careful with it,” Liam said, praying that Alyssa would recognize Bryan’s name as someone Morgan trusted.
“Sure,” she said and giggled. “Hang up and I’ll text it to you.”
It had been that easy.
--
Morgan was walking up to Coby’s workshop, her arms full of small containers, and lugging a box fan. She figured these would be nondescript enough just in case she opened the door and found Libby inside the shop instead of Coby.
She kicked the door with her boot and pushed it open, finding Jess and Libby inside talking.
“Oops. Sorry ladies. Jess, I’ve got some junk for your husband. Any idea where I can leave it?”
“Why does he need junk?” Jess asked, a little irritated. “He’s supposed to be cleaning stuff out not bringing more in…”
“No idea, he’s your husband, dude. Not mine. Great. Hold on.” Morgan set down the fan and containers, and dug in the pocket of her jeans, pulling out her phone.
We might as well be strangers in another town.
We might as well be strangers in another town.
We might as well, we might as well, we might as well
Be strangers.
The song by Keane instantly set Morgan on alert because it was her ring tone for unfamiliar numbers. But something tugged at the back of her mind as she looked at the screen.
“Libby, is this your brother?” Morgan asked, showing her the number.
“What is he calling for?” Libby moaned, recognizing it instantly.
“Well do you have your phone with you?” Jess asked, cleaning up the supplies she used.
“No, it’s buried in the cushions of your couch. I was sick of him calling,” Libby admitted.
“Yeah, but what if something’s wrong?” Jess pressed, concerned.
Sighing, Morgan picked up the call. “Hello, this is Morgan Davis,” she answered coolly.
“Hey, Morgan, it’s Liam,” he said warmly, as if no time had passed since they had dated. As if he hadn’t outed her struggle with drugs on national TV. “How are you?”
“Do you need something?” Morgan returned matter-of-factly.
Apparently realizing he had no other alternative he asked to speak with Libby.
--
Libby hung up Morgan’s phone and then rushed to the house to find her own. Morgan only had two bars of service, and there was barely reception in the yard. Libby found the phone right where she left it and hid out in the Nemo bathroom downstairs to return Liam’s call.
“It’s been two weeks,” he said, as soon as she called back.
“So?”
“You said you would be back in a week or two. It’s been two weeks,” Liam insisted. “When are you coming home? Is there a snowstorm or something I don’t know about?”
“Liam, I’m not coming home,” Libby said flatly.
“What are you talking about?” he asked, his tone bewildered. “You can’t stay there. You can’t drive. You don’t have a job, a place to live, or anything! Did you lie to me when you said you’d be back?”
“Yeah, because I knew you wouldn’t let me go otherwise!” Libby exclaimed. “You control everything I do, Liam. The money. Where I go. Who I see. How the public perceives me. I’m not letting you do it anymore. By the way, I can drive, and I‘m looking for a job. I have a place to live, too.”
“I can’t believe you’d do this, Libby! Who’s going to take care of you? Who’s going to hire someone who can’t even show up to a college class on time? How could you go behind my back like this?!”
Libby gritted her teeth, and blinked the tears from her eyes. “I can take care of myself. I’m twenty-one. I’ve got this, trust me.”
“That’s just it! I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to trust you again! Not after a betrayal like this! I mean, is there even a church where you are? Must be like Sodom and Gomorrah with all those fags out there,” Liam laughed bitterly.
Libby’s mouth dropped open. She couldn’t hear that word now and not think of Buddy. After he had groped her and backhanded her, he told her to get Nathaniel, but he had used that word instead. To Libby, it was synonymous with hate crimes, abuse and ignorance. Liam knew it, too. He knew exactly what happened to her from the very beginning to the very end, and he still chose to use that word.
“Shut up,” she ground out.
On the phone, though, Liam was still talking. “How are Nathaniel and his wife?” he asked derisively. “They’d better not be thinking of adopting any children, because no kid needs to be influenced into living that kind of life… The only kids they should get are ones already dying of their people’s diseases. You know? They should just gather all of them up in Vermont or wherever, and ship them off to an island somewhere. They‘d die off eventually because they can‘t procreate.”
“You’re just as bad as he was…” Libby said lowly. She was talking about Buddy and they both knew it.
“Oh, come on, Libby! I’m angry, okay? Don’t I have a right to be?! You all left me alone up here! Not one of you called to see how I was! Do you have any idea how that feels? And I never laid a hand on Nathaniel! How dare you compare me to that pervert?”
“Bye, Liam. Don’t call again. I don’t have anything else to say to you.” Then, she hung up on him and went to talk to Morgan about how she changed her number.
--
Libby couldn’t find Morgan, so she went out back to Coby’s shop. It sat halfway between Jess and Coby’s and Nate and Cary’s houses. As Libby got closer, she saw the sock on the handle. That was weird. Coby was inside eating dinner. Furrowing her brow, Libby pushed the door open, and found Nathaniel at the easel, painting with sleeping Linus in his lap.
“I love you. You know that, right?” Libby said, before she could think better of it.
“I totally know that. And I love you. More than ever,” Nate said honestly, squinting straight ahead at his painting. “We stopped at Ben and Jerry’s after church and it made me want to paint.” Nate said, still not looking up from what he was doing. “I heard about your Emotions & Concepts Gallery,” he said without looking up. “I wanted to contribute.”
Stepping inside, Libby closed the door behind her.
She paused and watched Nathaniel. Not his work, just him. The way he sat, leaning forward on the stool. His forehead was wrinkled in concentration. The black-and-white puppy slept in his lap, covered in the red plaid blanket. Nathaniel was still dressed as if for church in a light blue button down shirt she recognized from their college days, but he had ditched the dress pants for dark blue jeans. His wedding ring was on his finger, and he turned it when he was nervous. He wasn’t nervous now. His milk-and-coffee skin, dark curly hair and deep brown eyes all painted a picture of beauty to her. In addition, Libby knew that inside, there was a heart so big and so loving. She wondered how anyone could hate someone like this. Nate never looked up, and Libby finally took her place on the opposite side of the easel.
“Who said I had a gallery?” she asked, securing her own piece of paper and squirting paint out to mix. She didn’t know why it bothered her, and figured it shouldn’t. So Libby let it go. She let herself dream of a gallery full of paintings done by herself and her friends. It sounded perfect to Libby. Too bad it was firmly outside the realm of possibility. Oh well. Someday.
“Like, everybody,” Nate said, shrugging. “Coby, Christian, Jess, Cary, Em, Morgan, Jon…And just so you know, everybody who hasn’t done something with you really wants to. So you should invite them in. They‘re probably intimidated by your talent and beauty.”
“I’ll do that. What are you doing over there?” she asked, curious.
Nate was always interesting. He had a creative process all his own and liked to work solo. He wasn’t a very willing student. Instead, he preferred to learn from his own mistakes and discover his own message. He wouldn’t have done well if Libby told him which emotion or thing to paint. Nathaniel needed the freedom to choose. And he needed to be able to complete something fully before he left it and moved onto anything else. Often, he was willing to share his work, but wouldn’t stay to see anyone’s reactions. His art was for him, just as Libby’s was for her.
“Painting Peace,” he said, sounding totally content. “My ice cream inspired me.”
“Imagine Whirled Peace inspired you?” she guessed, biting her lip and starting in on her own painting. If she had a gallery, she might as well contribute something. So she started. She would paint Tolerance.
Libby mixed different hues of paint in every color, squinting in the bad light. She blended them all in with each other, making the background a light yellow. Then she added the Chinese symbol for tolerance, which she had seen on a necklace Nathaniel owned, in dark purple. Then, Libby swirled the English word in the paint beneath the symbol.
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?” Nate asked quietly.
Libby leaned to the side so they could see each other and nodded her approval. Before she knew it, Nate was standing beside her, humming in approval and asking, “Can I add something?”
“Of course,” Libby nodded, taking Linus from his arms.
She watched, as Nate bent down and carefully picked up her purple brush. In one corner, he added two Mars symbols beside one another. In another corner, two Venus symbols, in the third, a Mars and a Venus symbol and in the fourth, two sets of Mars and Venus symbols interlocked, side by side. She recognized the symbols of male-male, female-female, male-female, and some version of intersex or transgender. Nate’s additions made Libby feel complete, and in a strange way, vindicated. Liam had not won. He would never win. No matter how much hate he gave out. He wouldn’t win because love was stronger.
“I like it so much better now,” Libby nodded, smiling her thanks.
“All right, well I should go. Cary’s got to go to work tonight and I want to see him before he goes. Thanks for the love,” he said and took Linus out into the cold night, heading for home.
--
When she saw it, Nathaniel’s painting stopped her in her tracks.
A beautiful autumn landscape leaped off the paper. Brilliant leaves in every color filled the border and most of the page. And there, in the middle, was the very church Libby had just attended that morning. The small white building was captured almost perfectly, the steeple rising high above the leaves. As Libby leaned closer to study it, she noticed that the edges were jagged with a painted black border, as if it were a puzzle-piece, or a very small fragment of a bigger picture.
Morgan was ready for something new. As much as she complained about the damn parrot costume of Nathaniel’s, it had been fun to do. She and Jon got to do it together. Now that it was pushing mid-November, Morgan felt better and more like herself. So, Sunday after church, she caught up with Coby and asked if he had anything he needed help with. She had already asked everybody else, but they all said they were okay, or didn’t have anything going on.
The thing with Coby, though, was, he was the handyman. That meant he usually had a project he was working on. He waited until Jess and Libby disappeared down the hill toward the rec path and Jon had taken Christian to Ben and Jerry’s to taste the 2010 flavors that he hadn’t tried yet. Jon was having dreams about the Boston Crème Pie ice cream with its yellow cake pieces, fudge flakes and pastry cream. Christian was convinced he needed to try the Milk & Cookies flavor, which looked to Coby like Cookies & Cream to the extreme. CJ would be hyper the rest of the day.
“I could really use your help, if you wouldn’t mind,” Coby said as soon as they were out of sight. “I decided to remodel the spare bedroom off the laundry room. Turn it into an art studio for Libby. She’s been using my workshop and it’s so small and dark in there. I don’t like the idea of her going out in the middle of the night when she feels inspired or whatever. Plus, it’s not ventilated, and I think places like that need fans. I know I’m really busy, but I figured, maybe with a bunch of us helping, I could have it done by Christmas.”
“Sure, I’ll help,” Morgan agreed. “What do you think you’ll need?”
“It’s full of weights and stuff now. We never use them, so if it’s something you or Jon might want, you’re welcome to it.”
“So, we’ll just need to take all that out, sweep and clean the floor, put some kind of spill-proof flooring down, ventilate it and get some better lighting.”
“I can drive to Home Depot. Check out vinyl flooring and stuff. How big is the room?” Morgan wanted to know. She loved the idea of a long drive alone, thinking of nothing but details.
“I haven’t measured yet. But spread the word. Don’t tell Libby or CJ, but let everybody else know. Oh, hey, and can I use your garage? I think she needs a table in there, or a desk, and it would kind of give it away if I built it in my shop, since she’s in there all the time.” Coby pointed out.
Morgan bit her lip. “I don’t know. I’d have to see. I think our garage might not work. Jon’s got his car in there, and he hates to park it outside. But check with Nate and Cary. They might have space, and they’re right behind you.”
“Cool. Thanks,” Coby said, scanning the parking lot for either of his neighbors.
When he couldn’t find them, he decided to take a trip of his own to Home Depot, and anywhere else he could think of that might have good art supplies. It might take all day, but it would be worth it.
--
It hadn’t taken long, but Libby had made a decision. She was staying. And even though Jess had told her right away that she could stay as long as she wanted, Libby felt it was only right to ask if it was okay to live in their guest room and take over their downstairs.
Jess had taken it upon herself to give Libby a tour of town, which was when she took the opportunity to ask. Jess had just smiled and said of course she could stay, and that she and Coby and Christian would be glad to have them.
They were walking down the rec path and all Libby could do was look around and take in how pretty everything was, even in the winter. It was quiet and peaceful and it inspired her in every way.
Libby had been here almost two weeks and she loved it, even with the stares and questions. All her friends who already lived there said they would subside after a while, if she decided to stay. If she hadn’t already decided she would, Jess’s impromptu tour one Sunday after church definitely convinced her.
“Christian, Coby and I ride bikes here a lot during the summer,” Jess said as they walked over a small wooden bridge, the church at their backs. “It’s not too cold, now, see? The water’s still flowing under here.”
Libby shivered. She was used to cold weather, being from Minnesota, but 25 degrees didn’t strike her as “not too cold.” But she guessed things were different in Vermont.
“Jon and Morgan rollerblade here and right over here is the Depot Street Malt Shoppe. It’s Christian’s favorite place, but we don’t go there too often, since we’re trying to save money.”
“Who would want to go to a malt shop in the winter anyway?” Libby asked. “It’s cold enough.”
“It’s actually a 50’s style diner. It’s really cute, and the food’s good. It’s not too expensive, which is good for us. If we do go out, it’s usually here. The Stowe Free Public Library is behind the diner, down the street to the left, on the right side of the road,” Jess pointed in the general direction. “There are always sculptures out front made out of different things like metal or stone. They are different each year. Art is big in town. The post office is right behind the diner, just across the street, but perpendicular“
Libby nodded. She had seen the library and the post office, and most everything in town, by now, but it felt nice to have Jess point things out and explain a little more about them.
She was onto explaining about the parking lot next to the malt shoppe, which was apparently for a bookstore, which was one of the few places in town open late. “Here, that means about eight o’clock at night,” Jess said, a little apologetic. “It’s nice, though, and they have a big section of books all by Vermont authors. Chis Bohjalian is one of the more famous Vermont authors. Most of his novels are set in Vermont. Water Witches is set partly in Stowe and the towns right next to it.”
“It still sounds like all the fun stuff is in the summer,” Libby complained lightly. “It makes me wish we would have come in the summer.”
“We have an indoor ice skating rink and an indoor public swimming pool,” Jess said, optimistically, trying to raise Libby’s spirits. “There’s also The Messiah Sing before Christmas at church. Anyone who wants to can sing in it. They just sing until they run out of time, and then it just ends. “
“Okay, I need a translation. I’ve been in church my whole life and I’ve never heard of a Messiah Sing before,” Libby said, clearly confused.
“It’s like an opera or a musical. It was done by Handel and it had all these acts and scenes. It’s all music. Sometimes we sing along and sometimes there are soloists, and there‘s a 20-piece orchestra onstage. It’s really beautiful. My favorite is when we sing Hallelujah.” Quietly, Jess sang a couple lines and Libby found it wasn’t unfamiliar at all, but that she had heard it done as a choral piece in a movie when she was fifteen.
They were quiet a while, and sat down on a bench to rest. Someone jogged by with a dog on a leash and waved to Jess. She waved back.
“Christian, Nate and Morgan kind of stand out here, don’t they?” Libby observed, having registered that the lady walking her dog, as well as everybody in the church and in town she had seen were not minorities. At Jess’s inquisitive look, Libby elaborated. “I don’t mean to be rude. I totally don’t care, but I just noticed, you know? It’s not like Minneapolis or Chicago. Was it hard for Christian to adjust?”
“The schools are good, which was a must for us. At first, the kids at school asked him why he was brown, but they were just curious. Actually, the pastor’s Brazilian or something, so I’m hoping he’ll be a good example for Christian. Anyway, yeah. Coby and I thought CJ would feel safer in a small school where he knew everyone. There’s only two second-grade teachers in the whole school. Less than 300 kids. It helps that he’s familiar with everyone in town too.”
“Does he feel safer?” Libby wondered.
“He seems to, even though he still has issues sometimes,” Jess pointed out. “Hey, I was gonna ask you about that yellow painting he gave me…”
Libby watched as Jess gathered her long curly hair behind her and put a clip in it. It looked redder in the summer months. Now it just looked dark. Jess was so pretty though, even with her puffy white jacket and maroon stocking cap.
“What about it?” Libby questioned, curious. It seemed straightforward to her.
“I don’t know what to do about it,” Jess admitted. “He told me it was his fear. I mean, your son gives you a painting that basically says, ‘Mom, I’m scared.’ Most people aren’t that honest. I never was. I hid every emotion I ever had when I was growing up. My dad never helped me deal with them. Legend’s parents tried, but I don’t really know any other moms around here.”
Libby was quiet a minute. “What do you think you should do? What feels right?”
“I feel like I should be honest with him, but I don’t know if he could handle it. What would he do if he knew that I lived scared most of my life? That this kind of fear never really goes away?” Jess looked at Libby, questions in her eyes.
Libby put her arm around Jess, and rested her head on Jess’s shoulder. She knew about Jess’s past. They all did. They knew that she was abandoned by her own mother when she was three years old in a movie theater. Libby didn’t know all the details, but she knew Jess’s mom had disappeared after that, and that when Libby first moved in to the apartment with the girls three years ago in August, that she had nightmares.
“I think he would identify with you. I think he already feels better, realizing that you might know what he feels like. He’s already been through a lot in his life, so I don’t think you need to worry about this making him really upset. He gave his fear to you because he knows you understand it. He’s not sure anyone else does. If you feel like you should be honest, be honest. Answer his questions. You can even come to Coby’s workshop and do a painting of your own for him,” Libby invited.
“Maybe I will,” Jess said quietly.
--
The way Jon figured it, Christian was a good test-run, in case he and Morgan ever decided to have kids. Or if Nate and Cary got one, and he had to baby sit. But Christian almost wasn’t a fair estimate of kid-behavior because he was so awesome. Jon had always loved him, and volunteered to watch him whenever Jess or Coby got busy. Of course, with Libby and Emily living over there now, Jon figured his kid-time might be seriously reduced. So he took it upon himself to take Christian out whenever he could.
“This Boston Crème Pie is the best ever,” Jon moaned happily, taking a bite.
“Mm-mm,” Christian denied. “Milk & Cookies makes my life,” he said, taking a big bite.
“So, what’s up?” Jon asked. He really didn’t get much of an opportunity to check in now, and he missed it.
Christian shrugged. “I didn’t get my reading minutes done, so I’m going to be in big trouble tomorrow. I have to read twenty minutes a day and write it on this calendar thing. I’m way behind, and I don’t think I can catch up.”
“Well, what are you reading?” Jon pressed.
“Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing,” Christian sighed, and reached behind him, inexplicably producing the book from the waistband of his jeans.
“You smuggled your book into church in the back of your pants?” Jon asked, incredulous.
“In case it got boring!” Christian objected, smiling.
“Here, give it to me. How about if I read, and you listen? Does that still count?” Jon asked. Christian nodded and Jon searched for a bookmark. “Where are you in this?” he asked.
“The beginning,” Christian admitted, sheepish. He slouched in his chair and pulled his hat down lower.
But Jon just nodded and opened the book. “I won Dribble at Jimmy Fargo’s birthday party,” he read in a voice that made Christian sit up and pay attention. Jon made the book sound fun and interesting. Not hard, like sounding out all the words really was.
It was the middle of Ralph’s birthday party when Emily, Morgan, Nate and Cary came in. They didn’t say anything, just pulled up chairs around the table and listened to Jon read, too.
Emily had a Coffee Coffee Coffee BuzzBuzzBuzz milkshake, Morgan got a Life’s a Beach sorbet, Cary got a Chocolate Therapy cone and Nathaniel got a bowl of Imagine Whirled Peace. Christian knew all the flavors even without hearing them order, because he had been here so many times.
Jon got done with the chapter and looked around. “Well, my Boston Crème Pie is melting. Anybody want to help the kid rack up last-minute reading minutes?”
Morgan snatched the book and took over, reading in a very good voice, almost as good as Jon’s. Soon everybody took a turn, and Christian liked listening to them. Cary did the voices and Nathaniel put lots of feeling in. Emily would stop and laugh at the funny parts. It was the best day Christian had.
He wouldn’t get in trouble now. His friends were helping him.
--
Working with Jess on art was a lot harder than working with Christian or Coby. She was nervous, the same way Nathaniel had been right after she met him, and wanted to learn to paint. Jess was hesitant to put paint to paper.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea. I mean, what if there are fumes or something and I get a headache?” she asked.
“It’s all kid-friendly, Jess. None of it smells. Just go with what you think.”
“I’m not artistic, though!” she objected, startling Snoopy and Linus who were tuckered out in opposite corners of the workshop.
Libby came around the easel and stood beside her. “The point isn’t to be artistic, it’s to express yourself. Don’t think about it, just do it.”
“I can’t paint my feelings, though. There’s too many…” Jess sighed. This would have been less confusing before her brain injury, but Jess was also fairly certain that she had never been an artist.
“Can you paint one?” Libby asked and Jess nodded.
“Which one?”
“Paint what made you not feel afraid. Paint your answer to Christian. That’s why you wanted to do this, right?”
Jess bit her lip, thinking, and then, finally, dipped a brush in some red paint. With it, she drew the outline of a heart. When it dried, she filled it up with words to her son:
Dear Christian,
It felt really scary when I got left.
I didn’t know what to do.
I did feel scared and lonely and out of myself.
Sometimes I didn’t talk.
Sometimes I hid.
Sometimes I made bad choices.
I’ll tell you a secret:
I am still scared.
Sometimes the thing that happens to you
Is so big and scary you can’t get over it.
Sometimes I have bad dreams
And remember when my mommy left me on purpose.
But I will never leave you on purpose
Because you are my heart
And I can’t leave part of myself behind.
I learned to be brave by watching people who love me
And by learning to love myself.
Love is the opposite of fear.
Hang onto love
And you will be OK,
I promise.
Love,
Mom
--
Liam had just gotten home after a crazy day at church. There had been all sorts of confessions during the service. All sorts of people admitting sins they had committed, and it was a heavy atmosphere. Liam had cried more than he had, probably, in his whole life. He just felt so weighed down by God’s sadness. Well, that, and he couldn’t stop thinking of Libby. It had been two weeks and she said she would be home by now.
He had tried calling her phone but her voice mailbox was full and she wasn’t answering.
Finally, he decided to get a hold of someone else. He didn’t have any of their numbers in his phone anymore, but…yes! That list Jess made back when they first started Bible study was still taped to the inside of the cupboard. He knew Jess was out because she had only given her work number at the time and she obviously wasn’t local anymore. Morgan had changed her number after her stint in the drug world, but he could probably get it, with some creative thought.
First, he prayed for five minutes straight, asking for God’s intervention. Then, Liam took a deep breath and called Morgan’s home number.
“Hello?” a girl’s voice answered. She sounded young, like a preteen version of Morgan.
“Hi, is this…” Liam hesitated, going back in his memory. Morgan had two sisters. Kate was the older one, who was always in trouble and the younger one was… “…Alyssa?” he asked, the name finally coming to him.
“Yeah, who’s this?” she asked.
“I’m a friend of Morgan’s, Bryan Torres. I lost Morgan’s number and I wondered if you could give it to me again? I promise I’ll be more careful with it,” Liam said, praying that Alyssa would recognize Bryan’s name as someone Morgan trusted.
“Sure,” she said and giggled. “Hang up and I’ll text it to you.”
It had been that easy.
--
Morgan was walking up to Coby’s workshop, her arms full of small containers, and lugging a box fan. She figured these would be nondescript enough just in case she opened the door and found Libby inside the shop instead of Coby.
She kicked the door with her boot and pushed it open, finding Jess and Libby inside talking.
“Oops. Sorry ladies. Jess, I’ve got some junk for your husband. Any idea where I can leave it?”
“Why does he need junk?” Jess asked, a little irritated. “He’s supposed to be cleaning stuff out not bringing more in…”
“No idea, he’s your husband, dude. Not mine. Great. Hold on.” Morgan set down the fan and containers, and dug in the pocket of her jeans, pulling out her phone.
We might as well be strangers in another town.
We might as well be strangers in another town.
We might as well, we might as well, we might as well
Be strangers.
The song by Keane instantly set Morgan on alert because it was her ring tone for unfamiliar numbers. But something tugged at the back of her mind as she looked at the screen.
“Libby, is this your brother?” Morgan asked, showing her the number.
“What is he calling for?” Libby moaned, recognizing it instantly.
“Well do you have your phone with you?” Jess asked, cleaning up the supplies she used.
“No, it’s buried in the cushions of your couch. I was sick of him calling,” Libby admitted.
“Yeah, but what if something’s wrong?” Jess pressed, concerned.
Sighing, Morgan picked up the call. “Hello, this is Morgan Davis,” she answered coolly.
“Hey, Morgan, it’s Liam,” he said warmly, as if no time had passed since they had dated. As if he hadn’t outed her struggle with drugs on national TV. “How are you?”
“Do you need something?” Morgan returned matter-of-factly.
Apparently realizing he had no other alternative he asked to speak with Libby.
--
Libby hung up Morgan’s phone and then rushed to the house to find her own. Morgan only had two bars of service, and there was barely reception in the yard. Libby found the phone right where she left it and hid out in the Nemo bathroom downstairs to return Liam’s call.
“It’s been two weeks,” he said, as soon as she called back.
“So?”
“You said you would be back in a week or two. It’s been two weeks,” Liam insisted. “When are you coming home? Is there a snowstorm or something I don’t know about?”
“Liam, I’m not coming home,” Libby said flatly.
“What are you talking about?” he asked, his tone bewildered. “You can’t stay there. You can’t drive. You don’t have a job, a place to live, or anything! Did you lie to me when you said you’d be back?”
“Yeah, because I knew you wouldn’t let me go otherwise!” Libby exclaimed. “You control everything I do, Liam. The money. Where I go. Who I see. How the public perceives me. I’m not letting you do it anymore. By the way, I can drive, and I‘m looking for a job. I have a place to live, too.”
“I can’t believe you’d do this, Libby! Who’s going to take care of you? Who’s going to hire someone who can’t even show up to a college class on time? How could you go behind my back like this?!”
Libby gritted her teeth, and blinked the tears from her eyes. “I can take care of myself. I’m twenty-one. I’ve got this, trust me.”
“That’s just it! I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to trust you again! Not after a betrayal like this! I mean, is there even a church where you are? Must be like Sodom and Gomorrah with all those fags out there,” Liam laughed bitterly.
Libby’s mouth dropped open. She couldn’t hear that word now and not think of Buddy. After he had groped her and backhanded her, he told her to get Nathaniel, but he had used that word instead. To Libby, it was synonymous with hate crimes, abuse and ignorance. Liam knew it, too. He knew exactly what happened to her from the very beginning to the very end, and he still chose to use that word.
“Shut up,” she ground out.
On the phone, though, Liam was still talking. “How are Nathaniel and his wife?” he asked derisively. “They’d better not be thinking of adopting any children, because no kid needs to be influenced into living that kind of life… The only kids they should get are ones already dying of their people’s diseases. You know? They should just gather all of them up in Vermont or wherever, and ship them off to an island somewhere. They‘d die off eventually because they can‘t procreate.”
“You’re just as bad as he was…” Libby said lowly. She was talking about Buddy and they both knew it.
“Oh, come on, Libby! I’m angry, okay? Don’t I have a right to be?! You all left me alone up here! Not one of you called to see how I was! Do you have any idea how that feels? And I never laid a hand on Nathaniel! How dare you compare me to that pervert?”
“Bye, Liam. Don’t call again. I don’t have anything else to say to you.” Then, she hung up on him and went to talk to Morgan about how she changed her number.
--
Libby couldn’t find Morgan, so she went out back to Coby’s shop. It sat halfway between Jess and Coby’s and Nate and Cary’s houses. As Libby got closer, she saw the sock on the handle. That was weird. Coby was inside eating dinner. Furrowing her brow, Libby pushed the door open, and found Nathaniel at the easel, painting with sleeping Linus in his lap.
“I love you. You know that, right?” Libby said, before she could think better of it.
“I totally know that. And I love you. More than ever,” Nate said honestly, squinting straight ahead at his painting. “We stopped at Ben and Jerry’s after church and it made me want to paint.” Nate said, still not looking up from what he was doing. “I heard about your Emotions & Concepts Gallery,” he said without looking up. “I wanted to contribute.”
Stepping inside, Libby closed the door behind her.
She paused and watched Nathaniel. Not his work, just him. The way he sat, leaning forward on the stool. His forehead was wrinkled in concentration. The black-and-white puppy slept in his lap, covered in the red plaid blanket. Nathaniel was still dressed as if for church in a light blue button down shirt she recognized from their college days, but he had ditched the dress pants for dark blue jeans. His wedding ring was on his finger, and he turned it when he was nervous. He wasn’t nervous now. His milk-and-coffee skin, dark curly hair and deep brown eyes all painted a picture of beauty to her. In addition, Libby knew that inside, there was a heart so big and so loving. She wondered how anyone could hate someone like this. Nate never looked up, and Libby finally took her place on the opposite side of the easel.
“Who said I had a gallery?” she asked, securing her own piece of paper and squirting paint out to mix. She didn’t know why it bothered her, and figured it shouldn’t. So Libby let it go. She let herself dream of a gallery full of paintings done by herself and her friends. It sounded perfect to Libby. Too bad it was firmly outside the realm of possibility. Oh well. Someday.
“Like, everybody,” Nate said, shrugging. “Coby, Christian, Jess, Cary, Em, Morgan, Jon…And just so you know, everybody who hasn’t done something with you really wants to. So you should invite them in. They‘re probably intimidated by your talent and beauty.”
“I’ll do that. What are you doing over there?” she asked, curious.
Nate was always interesting. He had a creative process all his own and liked to work solo. He wasn’t a very willing student. Instead, he preferred to learn from his own mistakes and discover his own message. He wouldn’t have done well if Libby told him which emotion or thing to paint. Nathaniel needed the freedom to choose. And he needed to be able to complete something fully before he left it and moved onto anything else. Often, he was willing to share his work, but wouldn’t stay to see anyone’s reactions. His art was for him, just as Libby’s was for her.
“Painting Peace,” he said, sounding totally content. “My ice cream inspired me.”
“Imagine Whirled Peace inspired you?” she guessed, biting her lip and starting in on her own painting. If she had a gallery, she might as well contribute something. So she started. She would paint Tolerance.
Libby mixed different hues of paint in every color, squinting in the bad light. She blended them all in with each other, making the background a light yellow. Then she added the Chinese symbol for tolerance, which she had seen on a necklace Nathaniel owned, in dark purple. Then, Libby swirled the English word in the paint beneath the symbol.
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?” Nate asked quietly.
Libby leaned to the side so they could see each other and nodded her approval. Before she knew it, Nate was standing beside her, humming in approval and asking, “Can I add something?”
“Of course,” Libby nodded, taking Linus from his arms.
She watched, as Nate bent down and carefully picked up her purple brush. In one corner, he added two Mars symbols beside one another. In another corner, two Venus symbols, in the third, a Mars and a Venus symbol and in the fourth, two sets of Mars and Venus symbols interlocked, side by side. She recognized the symbols of male-male, female-female, male-female, and some version of intersex or transgender. Nate’s additions made Libby feel complete, and in a strange way, vindicated. Liam had not won. He would never win. No matter how much hate he gave out. He wouldn’t win because love was stronger.
“I like it so much better now,” Libby nodded, smiling her thanks.
“All right, well I should go. Cary’s got to go to work tonight and I want to see him before he goes. Thanks for the love,” he said and took Linus out into the cold night, heading for home.
--
When she saw it, Nathaniel’s painting stopped her in her tracks.
A beautiful autumn landscape leaped off the paper. Brilliant leaves in every color filled the border and most of the page. And there, in the middle, was the very church Libby had just attended that morning. The small white building was captured almost perfectly, the steeple rising high above the leaves. As Libby leaned closer to study it, she noticed that the edges were jagged with a painted black border, as if it were a puzzle-piece, or a very small fragment of a bigger picture.
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