Present
THE RIDE TO WHEREVER IT was Violet was taking me was pure torture. If we were a normal family, I would’ve told her to hop in my rental car and take the ride with me. But normal was so far from what we were it was laughable. Instead, Violet vaulted her tiny, frail body into what I recognized as William’s ancient, red pick-up—I couldn’t believe it had any life left in it—and I sequestered myself to the Ford Focus and the solitude I was accustomed to.
During the fifteen-minute trip along familiar winding roads, my mind played tricks on me. And my heart—that thing I chose to pretend didn’t exist—drummed in my chest at the rate of a hummingbird’s wings. Soon I’d have to face Lennox. Seeing Violet was hard enough. As much as I loathed her for what she’d become, for what she did to me and Lennox, the sight of her in that condition made me long for the days when she was an impressionable little girl who looked at me as if I was her sun peeking through gray clouds.
“Eden, can you braid my hair in pick tails again?” She hopped up on my lap and let her head fall back, her ebony locks tickling my thighs.
“Pigtails, V. Like the animal.” I leaned down and snorted in her ear. “Oink, oink!”
Violet’s infectious laughter filled our small bedroom, shedding light upon the dark walls and dreary atmosphere that always surrounded us in this house. Moments like this erased all the bad. Moments like this kept me hopeful that one day everything would be as bright as Violet’s laughter.
Moments like that were gone. It was a wonder my memory bank still had the capacity to hold on to things like that. If it weren’t for recollections like those, I’d be forced to believe the little girl who once brought so much joy to my miserable upbringing was a figment of my imagination, an apparition I conjured just to survive. But the woman driving the pick-up heading down the pain-streaked memory lane of my past was very real, even if she was a far cry from the innocent, neglected child I once regarded as my saving grace.
Now she was the epitome of a junkie. A textbook version of a strung-out addict. Her once supple skin was sallow and blemished. The chocolate brown hue of her eyes was no longer flecked with golden life. Her hair was too long and unkempt, as if she hadn’t seen the inside of a salon for years. And her frame was so small, so undernourished, I had to presume whatever money she did have, she spent on vice rather than food.
I couldn’t say I didn’t expect this. That would be a blatant lie. I envisioned it rather clearly. But the reality versus the presumption demolished any hope I might’ve had that my baby sister wasn’t a total lost cause.
Violet came to a stop at one of our hometown’s busiest intersections. Being here was weird. Too familiar for my taste. I had no desire to reacquaint myself with anyone or anything in these parts. I was here for Lennox. Nothing else. No one else. I’d do the best I could to convince him to get help. Maybe even see him to the rehab facility of my sister’s choice, and then get the fuck out of here and back to my reality. It was that reality that had my hand yearning to put this car in reverse and peel out in the other direction. But before I could move the gearshift, the light changed and Violet made a right turn, en route to the one place I hoped I wouldn’t have to see while back here.
William’s house.
I couldn’t even bear to call it home. A home is a place you want to be. Where the heart is, and all those charming quotes fit to be framed and hung above your cozy fireplace.
Nope. Not for me. Home was hell.
I hated that house. I hated everything it represented. I’d burn that shithole and all its contents to the sinking ground it stood on if given the chance. I prayed and pleaded and tried to convince myself Violet was leading me somewhere other than the one place I loathed more than life itself, but I felt in my core: I was being beckoned to the dreadful place where it all began.
We pulled along the gravel path, rocks and pebbles crunching beneath our tires as some kind of welcoming committee. That sound brought on a flood of painful memories that overwhelmed me with debilitating force. I wanted to run before I could even step foot out of the car. But I knew if I tried, my legs would be useless. Like those dreams where you’re being chased and have lead for limbs.
I hadn’t been here since the day I left—without a goodbye. Without taking a single souvenir of the life I was finally leaving behind. I promised myself I would never return, and yet, here I was, betraying the one person I could count on. Myself.
I stole a modicum of courage and ignored Violet’s flailing arm, flagging me to join her up the walkway. I needed a minute. Maybe even more than a minute. Maybe I would sit here all fucking night until I was good and ready to face whatever it was behind that door that I swore I would never open again.
I held up my hand, refrained from flipping her the bird, and dug my phone out from my purse on the passenger seat. Within seconds I was connected with a voice that lulled my erratic breathing back to its natural rhythm.
“You okay, love?” Joy’s presence soothed me, grounded me, made me remember this stain in time was not permanent. Being here was temporary. I had a better life waiting for me.
“No,” I admitted without any buffer.
“Talk to me. Walk me through what you’re feeling.” Joy was wasting her time as a book publicist. She was meant to be a therapist. Or a saint for dealing with me.
“There are too many emotions to name, Joy. I’m flooded with them. Overflowing. Drowning. Lots of water analogies I can use here. You get the idea.”
Joy chuckled and then went right back to business. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, babe. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again . . . You don’t owe them anything. If this trip down memory hell is going to fuck with your well-being, skedaddle the fuck on home and don’t look back.”
That somehow charmed a laugh out of me and made the gravity of the situation disappear for a split second. Not long enough. “I’m here,” I huffed. “I may as well get it over with. How long can she actually imagine I’ll stay? I’ll do what I came to do and that’s it.” That sounded convincing enough, but I needed Joy to approve. “Right?”
“Only you have the answer.” I wasn’t happy with that. I needed her guidance now more than ever. I wasn’t too proud to admit this was one of those times I wished I had someone else calling the shots and giving me step-by-step instructions. Surely, one of my author clients had written How to Face Your Soul Shattering Past for Dummies.
“Ugh!” My head fell back against the seat and I closed my eyes. “Let me get this over with. Is it okay if I call you as soon as I’m done in there? You don’t think I’m a pain in the ass for bugging you every step of the way?”
“Are you kidding?” Joy screeched. “You better call me! I’m your best friend. I know how hard this is for you. If one of us didn’t have to be here holding down the fort, I’d be right next to you instead, holding your hand.”
That warmed my heart. I didn’t doubt the sincerity of her words. “I love you, Joy. Thank you for everything.”
“Love you, too, babe. You can do this. Remember, you’ve been through the worst already. The rest is just residue from your former life that you get to kick away with the filthy scum you left behind.”
I hung up, trusting she was right. I’d already suffered the most intense agony of my life. When you survive the death of your heart, any other pain feels as insignificant as a pin prick. That’s what I believed.
Only, it was a lie.
The one thing more painful than the initial wound was reopening it, messing with the scar tissue, and plucking at the gashes that never truly healed in the first place.