Isabella
Grayson holds my hand while the sun warms me through the front window. I’ve been sitting in Uncle George’s truck with my hand resting on the door handle for at least five minutes.
He leans over, cups my face, and kisses me. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” For the hundredth time I envision what is going to happen when I walk into Mike’s trailer.
What if he denies everything?
“You don’t have to do this alone. I’ll come in with you.” Grayson latches his gaze onto mine and I breathe in the strength he offers.
“I got this. It can’t be worse than getting shot at.” I snort out a laugh as I push down on the lever, jump off the truck, and walk up the stone path.
Mike answers almost immediately when I knock, looking way too old for a guy only six years older than me. He’s got a military cut, weather-worn skin, and deep creases beside his eyes.
“Hey Bella, you look great.” He tries to take me into a hug but I pull away, sweat rolling down my sides.
“I, uh, we need to talk.”
“Yeah, sure.” The inside of his trailer is military neat with nothing personal anywhere, not even poster art. He moves the partially folded laundry off the kitchen table and lifts a pot of coffee.
“Want some?”
“Ah, yeah. Milk, cream if you have it.” My fingernails bite into my palms as my heart thumps out of control.
Mike places a thick white and blue mug on the table in front of me, then sits at the sixties, Formica-topped table. “Before you say anything, I want to tell you how really sorry I am.”
Wow.
My voice comes out as a hoarse whisper. “Why in God’s name did you do it?”
“I was really messed up back then.”
“But I was only, like what? Ten?” Tears roll down my cheeks as I think of the betrayal, the childhood lost, the years of holding onto this horrible secret.
“I know, I know. But don’t you remember? You looked a lot older.”
I squeak out, “That makes it right?”
With elbows on the table, he buries his face in his hands. “No, no. You asked me why and I’m trying to explain, not excuse it. Shit. This is hard for me, too.”
He looks up, his eyes full of pain. “I was only twelve when I babysat you. Just two years older than you. I thought you were my girlfriend.”
Whoa. Stop. No. Oh fuck.
“Remember, Bella? I was big for my age and, hell, not all too bright and… there were drugs. My therapist said they did something to my inhibitions. I must’ve left you hundreds of messages but you refused to answer. Shit. I know I probably messed up your life and you got no reason to forgive me but I really, really am sorry.”
A crack appears in my pent-up anger allowing long-forgotten memories to flood into my brain. “My God, you were only a couple years older than me? I had no idea. Then, after that, you moved away…”
Oh fuck. He was young, much younger than I recalled. Somehow, I needed him to be older to make me feel less guilty, less complicit.
I’m sobbing as I walk over and hug him and we just bawl like that for a long time. It doesn’t change the fact that I was abused as a kid but just knowing the how and why of it gives me closure.
“Never think this is your fault, Isabella. It was all me.”
“All this time… I was so angry and now I’m just so damn sad. Our parents should have been watching us better.”
I want so badly to stay angry but it’s time to let go and be free. I stand and wave out the front door and Grayson waves back. “My fiancé is probably worried.”
Mike gives a weak wave, as well. “Does he know?”
I nod.
“Who else have you told?” Standing behind me, Mike’s voice is tense, maybe even angry but mine is even more so when I answer.
“No more secrets. That’s my deal. We’re going to let people know.” I turn to him and bravely stare until his gaze drops to the floor.
Defeated, he slumps down at the table. “Let’s do this. Invite him in.”
“Can I ask you one more thing?” I take a deep breath; not sure I even want to hear the answer.
He nods and I ask what’s been burning in my gut for years. “Did you mess with anyone else?”
Suddenly, his face goes dark and his mouth drops open. “God, no. I swear on a stack of bibles. I don’t get off on little girls. You can even call my therapist. Hell no.”
I’m pretty sure I believe him but how can I be sure? “One more thing. Will you come to New York and meet with my group.”
“If I do, we’re good? You forgive me?” He quickly wipes away a tear in his eye and I don’t know how I feel but I nod, anyhow.
“Thanks, Bella. We can do this.”
Unable to trust myself to speak, I text Grayson.
Me: Can you come in?
Gray: You okay?
Me: Yeah. I did it and he said he was sorry.
Grayson hops out of the car with his jaw set and eyes cold and narrowed. He walks up the stones while I stand with the screen door open and give him a weak smile.
“Mike, this is Grayson, my fiancé.” They shake hands civilly then I turn to Gray. “Mike wants to tell you something.”
My cousin clears his throat, his eyes darting around then resting on me. “Ah, I’m not sure what she told you.”
“Enough.” Fists clenched, jaw ticking. Gray crosses his arms,
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea but we need to move forward, all of us. “Grayson, he was twelve when it happened. Not sixteen.”
“Not sure that makes a difference.” He sits and Mike quickly sets a mug of coffee in front of him.
“I know, sir. It’s no excuse but we both were just kids. I was older and I shouldn’t’ve done what I done. She’s accepted my apology.”
A familiar steel gaze locks on my cousin with eyes narrowed. Somewhere in the kitchen, a clock ticks.
“I’d understand if you took a swing at me.”
Gray continues to eye Mike with hooded lids and shakes his head slowly. “I won’t do that. What are you two going to do, now?”
“I told her I would ’fess up.”
I call this Gray’s CEO-mode. It’s cold and calculating and forces people to think. “What do you hope to gain from it?”
When I thought my cousin might have abused other young girls, I was sure that letting my family know was the right thing to do. Suddenly, I’m not so sure. It would kill my Mom, ruin her relationship with Mike’s dad, and maybe even make her see me in a different light.
“Maybe, we should think about it some more.”
Grayson nods, sips his coffee, and we explain our past from different perspectives. It’s so uncomfortable that I cry a whole lot. For years, I wanted to be the victim, but in a way, Mike was too. We were two pre-teens left alone at night by unthinking relatives.
“My mom will take the blame for this.”
Mike scratches his head, “So will mine.”
I turn to Gray, “But not telling people feels like I’m still keeping secrets.”
“Maybe there will be a right time.” He gives his phone to Mike and says, “You make an appointment with your psychiatrist and we’ll be there. I want to be damn sure you’re not some psycho child molester.”
“Yes, sir.”
We chat about what Mike’s been up to and family stuff for a while. Then, I clear my throat and stand. I need some time to process all this.
The men shake hands and I give Mike a loose hug. Maybe this will all turn out okay.
“I’m real glad you stopped by, Bella.”
“Me too.”
Goodbyes said, I leave my emotional baggage in his pristine trailer and walk away a different person.