Enjoy the first chapter of my book Dirty Secret!
Serena
Honey, it’s when life seems darkest that you have to find the light.
It’s a stupid thing my dad used to say, and I have no idea why that popped into my head just now. I never really understood it, although he said it quite a few times just before he skipped out of my life, so maybe it was his cryptic way of trying to warn me as to what was going to happen? Well if it was, it was a really crappy way of doing it. But that was how he was. Somehow he knew he was charming, and he used it to get out of every little scrape in his life. There was nothing that was his fault. And when his mess became too big for his smile to get him out of, he took the coward’s way out, leaving my mom and I as the scapegoats.
Bitterness wells up in my throat, and I have to squeeze my eyes shut to force the feeling out. I swore that I wouldn’t let my dad make me feel that way when I left Herman Springs, but coming back here has brought all the memories back. I open my eyes, and the little town laid out before me comes into view again. I remember every little bit of it, from the corner store where I used to buy snacks on the way home from school, to the clearing in the woods where Harrington Asphalt’s gravel pits lie. Matthew Harrington, I think for a fleeting moment, before the stab of betrayal forces me to put him aside too.
I push back from the half wall of the parking garage and turn away from the view. I might as well get this over with as soon as possible. My hands automatically hit the lock button on my VW one more time, even though I know I locked it. I pull open my purse and recheck my mother’s room. Okay, enough stalling, I tell myself. It’s not like putting it off is going to make this visit any easier. This day isn’t the darkest, but it sure isn’t bright either. And I have no clue what light I could find in it. I hate hospitals, and I hate coming back here. I’m not sure if anyone will recognize me again. It’s been at least four years, but who knows. I know I look like my father, with his blue eyes and jet black hair, and a small town like this won’t forget traitors that easily. With every step I take towards the elevators and what lies ahead, my shoulders hunch up, my body and mind putting up the defensive walls I haven’t needed since I left.
The parking garage is only three levels, and it doesn’t take long for the elevator to arrive. I step in, sighing with relief that it was empty of people. Once it opens on the ground floor, I get out and quickly walk across the road towards the hospital. It’s on a hill, I guess so that sick people can have a nice view of the valley and the woods. There’s woodland all around, and beyond that down the road are the houses for the rich people of Herman Springs, including a prominent mansion I saw along the way with H’s on either side of it’s wrought iron gates. That wasn’t there the last time. I guess that the company must have grown into a bigger deal than I thought.
The hospital is a grey concrete building which has seen better days. I don’t know why they do that with hospitals, make them look hopeless and depressing. You’d think that they would try the opposite. I hurry to make the doors behind an elderly couple, the husband supporting his wife as they totter into the building. I skirt around them and head straight for the information desk. A slight kid, a high school volunteer probably, stands behind the counter.
“I’m looking for Irina Ellis,” I tell him, steeling myself for a snide remark or hateful gaze.
His face twitches in recognition, but he doesn’t say anything at least.
“Third floor,” he says. “Room 321.”
“Thanks,” I say, and leave quickly.
I keep my head ducked down as I walk down the hallways toward the elevators, using my long dark hair to shield people from seeing me. I did it all through high school, and though it didn’t do much then, it seems like nobody recognizes me today. The intercom buzzes as it calls doctors to various places, and the smell of disinfectant is strong enough to knock someone over. I fall in behind the crowd waiting at the elevators, and when the doors open, I squeeze myself into the corner.
We arrive at the third floor, and I’m not the only one who steps out. I think this must be the intensive care unit, because all I see are serious faces and hardly any activity. It’s as if bad news has dampened any noise on the floor. I turn right, following the signs on the wall. Room 321 is the second room, and I pause, peeking in through the window.
My mother lies on a bed, her eyes closed. Her skin is yellowish, her hair tangled up on the pillow. I try to look for signs of the woman that she used to be, vividly alive and beautiful, but I find nothing. She told me in her text message that she was dying, but I chalked it up to her being dramatic. Now I feel awful for putting off this visit. I knock on the door twice, before I push it open and step inside. The machine she’s hooked up to beeps serenely. I walk closer to her, seeing how dry her skin is, how frail she looks under the plain white sheets. She’s set up pictures on the bedstand, mostly of herself, I notice.
“Serena?” my mom asks, stirring. “Is that you?”
“Hi mom,” I say, swallowing hard. “How are you?”
She sits up, and I rush forward to help her.
“You came,” she said happily. “I’m so glad.”
“Sorry it took me so long,” I mumble. “Work’s kind of getting crazy. People want their big projects done before the holidays.”
“Of course,” she says. “I’m just happy you could make it. How long are you staying?”
“What’s going on with you?” I say, dodging around her question. “Your text made it sound pretty serious.”
She looks down at her sheets, smooths them with both hands.
“Cirrhosis of the liver. They won’t put me on the transplant list because I drink.”
Oh. Maybe that is something I should have expected. When my father ditched us with all the money he still had, my mother definitely did not find the light in the darkness. Unless the light was at the bottom of a vodka bottle. It wasn’t gradual either, because as soon as everyone found out what my father did, they basically shunned us. Whatever money we had went straight to alcohol. The only reason I had food was because I had a job at McDonald’s and ate there. Sure I put on like fifty pounds, and crazy acne, but it beat going hungry.
And my mom, who was used to being the darling of society, the one everyone envied, couldn’t seem to understand why nobody wanted anything to do with us, or refused to. So she found attention at the bar. Pretty soon she was bring back three or four different guys a week back home. And that’s when our reputation got worse. I was called all kinds of names at school, by guys who thought I would be as easy as my mom. And even though I never did, it didn’t stop the girls from thinking otherwise. My father might have made my life miserable with what he did, but my mom kept that misery going. She never once asked me about how I was. My only use to her was as a sympathetic ear to how unfair her life was. How horrible my dad was for putting us in this situation. Oh, and she found plenty of time to criticize me for not looking as beautiful as she did in high school.
“So there’s nothing that can be done?” I ask, sitting down heavily on the chair beside my mom’s bed. “You’re really going to die?”
She hesitates.
“I have to receive a directed donation. From family most likely.”
It hits me suddenly, why my mom has reached out after all this time. When I first told her I got a scholarship to an out of state college, she was devastated. As if she had been mother of the year and I was leaving her all by herself. She almost convinced me to stay too, but I knew for my own sake I had to get out of Herman Springs. I had to get out from my mom’s toxicity before it poisoned me completely. In return, I was given the cold shoulder treatment. I might as well have skipped out on her just like dad did.
“You want me to donate my liver,” I say, my voice flat.
“It grows back,” she snaps. “I’m not asking for much, considering all that I’ve done for you all these years.”
“Are you going to AA meetings? It’s not like donating a liver’s going to do anything if you still have a drinking problem.”
“I don’t have a problem.”
My eyes widen.
“I had to clean you up every day when I got home from school! There were nights when I would lie awake because I had no idea if you were going to come home or if you had choked on your own vomit in a ditch somewhere. I was your kid, and I should have been the one worrying you, not the other way around.” I’m so pissed. “And what, now you want me to give you half my liver so you can go out and trash that one too?”
I shove my purse up onto my shoulder and get up. Somehow I manage to put one foot in front of the other, making my way to the door.
“Wait,” she calls out, and stupid me, I pause.
I’m not sure what I expect. An apology? An explanation? Some responsibility taken for the fact that I basically lost two parents instead of one? Maybe even a ‘Please sit back down and tell me how your life is’ plea?
Nope.
“If you leave, you can forget calling yourself my daughter.”
“Don’t worry,” I say witheringly. “You’d have to actually act like my mother for that to happen.”
And with that I slam her door shut behind me. One of the nurses at the station looks up and gives me a dirty look. I don’t care. It’s momentarily satisfying, but then all the anger drains out of me and I’m just sad. We used to braid each other’s hair before bedtime, and shop, and talk about everything under the sun. I want to be her daughter again, more than anything, but it seems impossible. But maybe if I give her my liver…?
The thought torments me all the way on my trip back out of the hospital and across the street to the parking garage. I can’t make a decision now, not like this. But I know what I need to do. I need to call Carol. She was my one friend. Her parents homeschooled her and her brother, and we bonded over how crappy our manager was at McDonald’s. That’s what I’ll do, I decide. I’ll talk to Carol, and she’ll be levelheaded enough to help me figure out if I should do this. I walk into the elevator and punch the ‘3’ button. Pulling out my phone, I start writing a message.
I’m not sure what it is that makes me look up when the elevator doors open. A sixth sense maybe, or something else. Whatever the case, I lift my eyes up from the screen, and the hairs on my back stand up. Hazel eyes, square jaw, broad shoulders that fill out the suit jacket perfectly, a magnetic smile that sends an ache rippling through my body... Seriously I could go on and on. The years have been good to him. He’s got a little bit of silver in his hair, but that only makes him look more distinguished. A few frown lines, and I wonder how hard it must be to have to be head of a company and people’s livelihoods, as if I could have done something about that too. It’s absolute nonsense, but that’s what he’s always done to me. I thought I’d gotten over my crush, but suddenly it’s like the years have disappeared. He sucks all the air out of the tiny elevator, making me dizzy.
It’s Matthew, my dad’s best friend.
The only one who I’ve ever wanted, and whose abandonment hurt more than anyone else’s.
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