CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
This is only the third funeral I’ve ever attended. I’ve buried my mom, my dad, and now Annie. I’m not sure which is the hardest. Everyone wants to know why this happened. How something like this could happen. Truth is, it’s not the trauma that kills us—it’s the treatment we get afterwards. Are we nurtured or ignored? Do we speak or go mute? This happened to Annie for one reason, and one reason only—silence killed her.
Thankfully, Vicki had enough sense to stay away. She probably wouldn’t step foot in this cemetery anyway. My mother is buried here. When my father died, Vicki had him buried in a cemetery across town. There was no way she’d have my parents laid anywhere near each other for all eternity.
The foyer of the funeral home is bursting with people. My hotel staff all loved Annie. I wish I could’ve shut the place down so that they all could come, but that wasn’t possible. Still, everyone that could be here is. Albert even tried to bring the dog to pay his respects to Annie. Did Annie know how loved she was when she was alive? Did I tell her enough?
I see her parents across the room. Their pain is too great to control, both of them sobbing. No parent should ever have to bury their child. My eyes fly to Sutton’s belly, no evidence of our child present yet. How can something so little change everything?
And Annie’s not here to see it. I never got the chance to tell her. Would her knowing I’m going to be a father have changed what happened? I’ll never know. Just like she’ll never know my child.
I reach into my pocket, feeling her letter to me, still sealed. These are the words. The words she needed to say to me for so long. I won’t silence her any longer.
Slowly I open the letter, Annie’s last words floating off the page.
Pierce,
You must’ve finally made it to the storage unit. I know you avoid these memories at all costs. The things that have haunted me are the things you long ago buried, but you buried them alive. I know they are coming back, and when they do, I want you to be ready. You need the whole truth—my side of the story.
You wonder why I stuck around for so long instead of pursuing my art, my dreams. I hate to blame it all on my guilt. It wasn’t just that. I was waiting for someone like Sutton just as much as you were, only I knew it. I was waiting on the woman that would step in and protect your heart, the parts that are damaged, the parts my love can’t and won’t ever be able to fix.
I hope you’ll tell Sutton the whole story. I can only tell you mine, having long ago promised not to share yours.
It was another party at your dad’s house. I loved it. My parents were such prudes. The loud music, the smoking, the drinking, the random hook-ups, the drugs—it was everything that appealed to my wild side. Your wild side was non-existent, but I was hell bent on changing that. You hadn’t kissed me since that day on the levee, and that was years ago. Since then, my crush on you had grown huge. I planned on making you realize your crush on me, no matter what.
It seemed like every other week your dad and his bandmates threw a party. The fact that you were living with him didn’t seem to slow them down one bit. He’d just gotten back from touring, so this one was really huge.
I walked into their kitchen before making my way up to your room. I knew you wouldn’t be downstairs. You hated these things, not that I knew why. I never knew what your problem was. I thought Vicki and Ashton were the coolest, even considered Vicki the mom I wish I had.
Looking around, I took a bottle of whiskey and shoved it into my purse, thinking no one would miss it. Vicki walked in on me and asked where you were. I answered with an innocent-looking smile, but the look on her face let me know that she knew what I was up to, and she was cool with it. Just one of those don’t ask, don’t tell things. Besides, I knew they were the type of parents that would rather you drink in their house than outside of it.
I looked down, checking my outfit, and Vicki ran her fingers through my hair, telling me that you were shy, but she was sure you liked me.
“Am I that obvious?” I asked.
She started to gather some snacks together. “Of course not,” she said. “Just one girl to another.”
I wasn’t sure you knew I was a girl, but I hoped the Madonna-inspired bra top would do the trick. Vicki handed me an assortment of cookies, brownies, and Rice Krispies treats then said, “This will be our little secret.”
I thanked her, hoping whiskey plus chocolate would equal a kiss, then made my way up the stairs to your room. Opening up the door, I watched for any indication that you noticed my “here comes trouble” uniform, but none came.
I opened the bottle of whiskey, cocking my head to you in a little dare. I probably should’ve started you off with beer, but you accepted my challenge, grabbing the bottle and taking a huge slug. It must’ve burned like a mother going down because you started to cough and choke. I tried not to, but I laughed and took a longer slug without so much as a hiccup. Not to be outdone, you picked up a brownie and shoved the whole thing in your mouth, your nose wrinkling up.
“Where’d you get these?” you asked. “They taste funny.”
No way would I tell you they came from Vicki. You’d probably burn them. You hated her so much. I took a little nibble, discovering they were weed brownies.
At the time I wondered if Vicki knew. If that was what she meant by “our little secret?” But I figured, her loss was our gain. Now I’m convinced she knew exactly what she was doing.
But it was too late to go back. You have no idea how much I wish we would have. How much I blame myself. Everything about that night was wrong. I should’ve never left you. Because when I came back, everything was different. We were never the same.
You drank and ate so much of that stuff, and I did nothing to stop it. I barely had any of it. I wanted to remember if you did finally kiss me. I didn’t think about the consequences. I didn’t even think about how wrong it was. I just thought we were partying and having fun. God, that was the most terrible thing I’ve ever done, and I did it to you—the person I love the most.
I’m sorry.
Tell her. Tell her everything!
Love, Annie
Walking toward the center of the foyer, I stare at the painting we chose for the service. It’s the painting Annie gave me—the tiny speck of light in the chaos. When Annie first gave it to me, it made me think of Sutton, but looking at it now, I wonder if the speck was Annie, and the darkness finally overpowered her. She was always the light to my darkness. I snuffed her out without even realizing it. Every time she asked to talk, I shut her down. Every time I knew she was upset, I ignored it.
I look over at Sutton, talking to Dylan. Her eyes catch mine. I’m doing the same thing to her. She needs to talk about this, not fuck it away, which is what I do. What she let me do the other night. She smiles, but it’s one of those sad fucking smiles people give at times like this—full of pity and heartbreak.
She’s pregnant. Shouldn’t she be glowing? I walk over and take her hand, leading her outside.
“The service is about to start,” Sutton says, motioning back inside.
“I’m not going,” I say.
She places her hand over my heart. “I know it’s hard to say goodbye to her, but you’ll regret it if you don’t.”
“I can’t think of a better way to honor Annie than this,” I say, sitting her down on a bench amongst some flowers.
If I’m going to talk about my old ghosts, what better place to do it than a cemetery? I will not do to her what I did to Annie. She needs me to talk, so I want her to hear it all. I don’t want there to be secrets between us, but I’m having a hard time starting, my throat dry, my mind blank.
“Pierce, I know enough. You don’t . . .”
“You don’t know what I’ve done. You don’t know what’s in my head.”
“I know what’s in your heart,” she says.
And with that, the words fall from me with a freedom that I hope Annie has now. So as Annie’s body is being laid to rest, I lay my sins at Sutton’s feet. I tell her things I’ve never told another living soul—every dirty detail I can recall about that night, along with the ones Annie provided. She holds my hand the whole time.
Just when I expect her to walk away, she squeezes a little tighter, encouraging me. I only wish I’d done this sooner, and maybe Annie would still be here.
I let out a deep breath when I’m done. “So now you know everything.”
“I don’t know how to help you,” Sutton whispers. “The right things to say.”
“You want to think I’m innocent in all this, but . . .”
“You are,” she says firmly.
“I never said no.”
“It doesn’t matter. She took away your ability to. Don’t you see what happened to you?”
“I know what I did. How disgusting . . .”
“Pierce, what happened was not your fault.”
“Maybe that works for women, but not for guys.”
“Why, because you were hard?” she asks.
“Yeah, I had to want it.”
“That’s not true.”
“I came,” I bark. “Do you think that means I didn’t want it?”
Her blue eyes don’t fall from mine. “I think it’s irrelevant.”
“You only think that because you love me. Because you want to think the best of me,” I say, my voice harsh and cold. “I was fifteen years old. Old enough to . . .”
“Tawny’s fifteen. What if someone provided her with drugs and alcohol then crawled into bed with her?”
“I’d kill him. But this is different.”
“It’s not. The only difference is that you were a teenage boy.” She leans forward. “I’m going to say something to you. Something that’s going to be hard to hear. Something you’ve resisted for years because it was easier to believe in your own wickedness.” She pauses and takes a deep breath. “Pierce, your stepmother raped you.”
“No!”
“Why? Because you’re a man? Men can be raped. It’s still something we don’t talk about, especially when women are the predators.”
“Stop!” I bark.
“It’s easier to call yourself bad than to call yourself a victim. It’s easier to take the blame than accept what happened to you.”
“I’m not a victim.”
“You were a child. Even if you were stone cold sober, she was the adult. She held all the cards, all the power.”
Hearing her say that hurts. Hurts because she loves me so much that she wants so badly to believe that. Hurts because I don’t believe it’s true. The old adage, “Hate the sin, but love the sinner” has never been more true.
Shaking my head, I say, “I’m fine. I’ve made a good life for myself.”
“You have. You’ve heard of functioning alcoholics? Well, there are functioning sex victims, too. Those who hide their scars just like alcoholics hide their liquor. They go to work, have friends, families and on the outside, everything looks just fine, but on the inside, they are numbed out. Alcoholics use the bottle—you used sex. Both use the very thing that is destroying them to try to survive. It can work for a long time—until it doesn’t.”
“Or until an old lady puts you on a sex diet.”
“Exactly,” she says, touching my hand. “You’ve told yourself for fifteen years it was your fault. That feeling isn’t going to change overnight, but it does need to change. Maybe we should go see Dr. Lorraine.”
“I told you. I don’t need to tell her.”
“Vicki doesn’t think she did anything wrong. She thinks you got lucky,” Sutton says, pulling me closer. “We have the truth. We could take Tawny and . . .”
“I don’t want this out in the open.”
“That’s what Vicki’s banking on. That you’ll feel so ashamed that you’ll stay quiet. You like control. Take it back.”
“I like to take care of the women in my life more. Tawny can’t know. It would crush her.”
“So you’ll just let Vicki get away with it?”
“What would you have me do? Go to the police? Over a decade later? With my word against hers? After they laughed in my face, they’d tell me I had no case.”
“What if there are others? What if she did this to other boys?”
“She didn’t.”
“How do you know?”
“I know.” She says my name softly. So I tell her what I know. What I’ve always known. “It was my fault. That’s how I know.”
“Did you go to her bed?”
“No.”
“Slip under the covers with her? Tell her you were someone else?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer. “You were wasted, asleep, in your bed alone. She came to you. How is that your fault?”
“Because I let it happen. I was stronger than her. I could’ve . . .”
She shakes her head at me. “And any other night you would have. She set this up.”
“No, she was partying, too.”
“Deep down, do you believe she didn’t know it was you? Didn’t know what she was doing?”
Vicki’s voice saying my name echoes in my bones, haunting me, blackening my soul. I know she wasn’t mistaking me for someone else.
“Other than that night, did she ever . . .”
“No, never,” I say, gripping her hand. “I stayed gone from that house as much as I could. Working at the hotel, school stuff, Annie’s house. And when I was there, I locked my door.”
Her eyes dart to mine, knowing it’s still a habit of mine to lock my bedroom door. “Why’d you start locking your door?” she asks.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, if this was your fault, then why lock the door?” she asks, eyeing me. I don’t have a good answer to that, and my heart starts to race. “You locked the door to keep her out,” she says and gently cups my face. “Because you were scared.”
The delicate control I have starts to slip, unable to hold up against her logic, reason, and love. “Why would Vicki . . .” I start to ask myself aloud then shake my head.
“You wouldn’t ask that question if this was a stepfather raping his stepdaughter,” she says. “You’d call him a sick fucker and want to pulverize him.”
Music starts to fill the air. I’d recognize the strum of Tawny’s guitar anywhere. Taking Sutton’s hand, we walk inside and lean against the doorframe, watching her. Not sure how Annie’s strict Catholic parents feel about Lynyrd Skynyrd being the farewell to their daughter, but “Free Bird” seems the perfect choice to me.
Tawny makes it to the very last line before her voice cracks. And this time the tears aren’t from stage fright. Sutton wraps her arms around me from behind. “She took control from you. You never wanted to feel that way again. Tawny can handle the truth.”
“No good can come from Tawny knowing. This is the stuff that rips families apart,” I say, shaking my head and stepping away. “I won’t make Tawny choose between her mother and me. I won’t do that to her.”