by Leanne Davis
Suffering from low self-esteem and bad judgment, I became impulsive and promiscuous. I tried lots of things, any temptation to make me feel better about myself and my downward-spiraling life. Rachel taught me how to be strong and to stand up for what I wanted. She said if I wanted to drink or do drugs, then I should, as long as it was my choice. She said I should do things only because I want to, not to cover up something bad that was gnawing inside me. She taught me how to refuse temptations and to quit saying yes because I sought the approval of other people or wanted them to accept me. My bad behavior included all of the above but not because I wanted to do it. That was the most stunning, life-changing revelation I ever considered.
With Rachel’s guidance, when I turned eighteen, I was not pregnant, or a junkie, or a drunk. At sixteen, I was headed there or worse.
When you’re eighteen, the foster care system considers you an adult. You are ready to make your own decisions, get a job, and support yourself. Just like that, voilà! They are done with you. Good luck. You are no longer the state’s concern. You are now on your own.
I’ve always seen myself as somebody else’s problem.
I didn’t think they’d just kick me clean out of the system. I didn’t expect to be left all alone with no more access to assistance or the shelters where I stayed in foster care. I was eighteen with a handful of dollars and nowhere to go. With no family to speak of and a long history in foster care, I felt completely alone. The friends I made in the schools that I transferred to were long gone. I lost contact with them when I moved on to the next family. I found a few true friends in the group homes. Wesley. Wesley Abbott, but now he’s gone and traveling around the United States. I can envision him hitchhiking and walking with his giant backpack. Free of the system… and the rules… and all the problems… and everyone else. He’s not available for me to stay with, that’s for sure.
Wesley Abbott is just a year younger than me, but a huge guy for his age and he always was. He moved into the same group home as me when he was twelve. He stopped some assholes from picking on me, and we stuck like glue to each other in that house. Always, he was there to help me. Wesley hated bullies and was unlike any other guy I’d ever dealt with. Wesley never, ever leered at me, or tried to kiss me or worse. He never even mentioned the word sex. He didn’t act like I ever owed him anything. For that, he became my most trusted friend.
I wished he were somewhere I could call him. I also wished he had a space where I could stay with him. Second to Wesley was Bobby, Wesley’s friend. Wesley introduced us before he took off for his wandering lifestyle. I thought Bobby would let me stay with him. The foster care dismissal surprised me, and I had nowhere to sleep. No shelter for the night. Okay, a motel room for a few days, but hell, that’s not a sustainable solution.
So I ended up staying with our mutual friend, Bobby. It’s not long before I decide to sleep with him, and he assumes he owns me. He suspects me of cheating one day and goes after me, punching me in the face and trying to strangle me. That’s enough. One time is all it takes for me to know I have to get out and away from Bobby. It feels too familiar. Too similar to what I saw happening to my mom by all of her boyfriends.
The type of behavior I’m sure Rachel would say was once too often.
I’m lucky Bobby stops and let’s me go. I get away, gasping and writhing for fresh air, ready to pee my pants from ragged nerves. I believed if I stayed he would kill me. Instead of waiting around for it, as soon as I regain my breath and stand up, I run to my room. He’s gone off again, grumbling about my behavior and falsely believing I’ll stay in there. I’m always such a good, obedient doormat and punching bag. I’ve been that in the past.
But Rachel changed everything, and her influence pretty much ended up saving my life. I realized I couldn’t stay there as his whipping post, and I didn’t deserve that. I could do better for myself. Rachel explained how people controlled others through repetitive acts of violence. Something she didn’t want me to ever feel comfortable with.
And because of her and her intervention, I didn’t want that either.
So now, on this day that I got choked, barely all of nineteen years old, I grab the envelope with money Wesley sent me. I’m so glad Bobby never discovered that I reached out to Wesley. Bobby the asshole took all the money I earned as a housekeeper at a flea-bag motel. Because of Wesley’s generosity, I can finally get away. Without it, I don’t even have bus fare. I pack up my stuff and sneak out the window, clutching my money and the address.
Surprisingly, Wesley isn’t that far from me. Only a few hundred miles away according to my GPS. He could have been in Arkansas or Alaska, for all I knew.
Silver Springs. Never heard of it. Looks awfully tiny on the map. I type the name into the search engine and get a swift briefing. Small? Yeah. Like only a thousand people. Ugh. Columbia River. On a dam. Wow, none of this seems like anywhere Wesley would choose to stay. His note said he planned to be here for a few weeks. Another first.
But hell, at least it’s far away from Bobby. I rub my sore throat underneath a sleeveless turtleneck. Too bad it’s summer, and I can’t wear a scarf to cover it. I camouflage it for the casual passersby, but nothing alleviates the bruises that still hurt. And fuck! Do they hurt! What is wrong with someone who could inflict so much harm on another human being?
I get off the bus in Silver Springs. The grimy Greyhound lets me off before belching out a plume of smoke from the tailpipe. I feel like I’m in the opening scene of a sad movie about a girl intent on finding herself. Cue soft violin music. I cringe. Oh, the narrative of my own pathetic life is so right fucking on. Here I am, clutching my bag of pitiful personal items. All I own in the world sits in a bag on my back. My future lies in the address on the envelope I have tucked away. It’s the first time Wesley ever used a return address when corresponding with me. Destiny brings me here.
Or desperation.
But here I stand, watching the bus leave as I stare around me. The evening shadows and twilight plunge the world into softer colors. Not another soul at the bus stop, which is midway down the street. The town has a few storefronts. A bank, two bars, a post office, a florist, some other offices. Six streetlights illuminate the wide, well-spaced sidewalks, exit lane, and highway. I can count the lights of the cars. I have a five-mile hike down the road. Lord, help me. I hate to walk or exercise, and with a duffel bag filled with stuff and a backpack it’s even worse. I’m not Wesley. With a sigh, I start down the road. Every time I hear a car, I duck and hide in the trees that flank the sides of the street. No way will I hitchhike. Not like crazy Wesley. I cannot imagine getting into a car with a stranger. That’s an invitation to rob me, rape me, kidnap me, and murder me. That’s my vision of the risks in hitchhiking. I’ve tried to convince Wesley to stop, but he puffs up his chest and walks like Arnold Schwarzenegger, posing in a swimsuit contest. “Who’s going to mess with me?’
Cue me to roll my eyes and point out the obvious. “I don’t know… a gun?”
He doesn’t like my answer and usually rolls his eyes back at me. But he has no real comeback.
I smile, thinking of some of our faux arguments. I annoy him so much at times, but only in the best way. I can’t wait to see him. Who knows where he’s staying? I figure he probably found a hostel or something comparable. They are rare in this state, but I’ve heard of a couple. What else could it be for Wesley to write down the address? I hope it’s not just an empty field he’s sleeping in. I recall his small, coffin-like tent, and I groan. No. I can’t think of that right now. I have nowhere else to go, and I won’t return to Bobby-the-fucking-strangler. So, if Wesley is staying in a tent tonight, so am I.
I try to dismiss the attempted strangling and black eye, considering it a transient event I accidentally experienced. I try to keep it away from my heart. I compartmentalize it like it didn’t happen and was no big deal. Now I’m moving past it. That’s the only way I can deal with it. I have to do this. I can’t lick my wounds and talk to Rachel anymor
e or articulate my feelings. There is no more Rachel and no more backup for me. There is no Mom either. I haven’t seen or heard from her in three years. There is no other family that I am aware of. My dad, at least the man my mom claims was my dad, OD’d when I was three. I no longer have any access to group homes. I no longer have access to a foster family. There is no one available to help me. Unlike Wesley, my experience in the system worked out well for me. And now that I’m without it, the safety net I relied on is gone. The strong pressure in my heart area remains constant. Or maybe it’s my throat. Depends on how much adversity I encounter. Anyway, this ball of pressure appears whenever I make the realization that I have nowhere to go. If something goes wrong, I have no one to help me. There is only Wesley. A tenuous form of assistance since he has no money and refuses to stay in a place long enough to call it his address. So, he’s more like a floating safety net. When I need it most, he will probably remove it from under me.
Except this time is the worst time and the time I need him most.
So again, maybe it’s a sign.
Chapter 2
WYATT
It’s only a few weeks after Wesley and I almost got into a fistfight when I’m sitting on our deck and spot my girlfriend on the deck stairs at a family party, making big eyes at him. And yet, that’s not why I am aching to rip this guy’s head off his neck. No! It’s his close proximity to my mom. And because he’s living in our house. His interest and friendship with Dani doesn’t bother me. He talks more to her than I do at this point. So what if Dani found someone to hang out with who just wants to talk and smile? I don’t. Not anymore.
Oddly enough, that feels easier. I don’t have to hurt her. Not as long as Dani is with Wesley. Which is so fucked up. Like I’m glad the guy is scheming on her and planning to take her away from me? It doesn’t make any sense to me, so how could anyone else try to understand it? She matters to me, yes, but pretending that the feelings and connections I no longer feel are still there can be hard to deal with.
All of a sudden, out of the shadows caused by the lengthening twilight emerges a woman. She calls Wesley’s name and he turns, leaping to his feet and sweeps the woman into his arms while exclaiming, “Jacey!”
They embrace for a long moment and soft words are quietly exchanged. Their close intimacy and familiarity with each other is apparent even to me, although I hate to give Wesley any credit for feeling something decent. He turns towards us, his gaze fixed on Dani and says, “This is a friend of mine, Jacey Walker. She… she’s…”
“The friend you helped?” my mom inquires from behind Dani with a welcoming smile on her face. I hold my groan inside. Mom already has the warm fuzzies towards the newcomer. I can tell just by the gleam in her eyes. She assumes if Wesley deemed this girl worthy of his help, then hell, she must be worthy of my parents’ help. I’m positive of it.
Wesley confirmed that she was why he robbed the old lady when he first came to town, and he said he intended to send the money to Jacey. Mom fawns over both of them before ordering them to catch up with each other. Dani and I stare at Wesley and Jacey, who head towards the beach, their heads bent together in intimate conversation.
“What do you think that’s all about?” I ask Dani. If my tone seems annoyed, it’s mostly because I have a gut feeling that my mom and dad plan to allow this wandering, wayward, and most likely, deeply troubled girl to live at their house, just as they allowed the wandering, wayward, and very troubled Wesley to stay in it.
Dani’s irritated answer is sharp, and she mentions something about Wesley hiding a girlfriend who’s a hookup. Then we both all but groan at each other agreeing the new girl will undoubtedly be invited to stay. Dani watches them recede into the darkness, her heart in her eyes. She is staring at Wesley and her jealousy of the gorgeous, hot woman that Wesley is retreating with is very visible. Interesting. Who is she? I can only wonder why I don’t even care that Dani is jealous? Despite my ordeal this summer, I’m still aware of what’s going on around me. I’d have to be clueless not to see her connection to Wesley.
I’m pretty sure my bleeding-heart mother plans to let whoever this girl is stay with Wesley. In my house. As our guest. Another unexpected stranger I have to cohabitate with. And not an hour from the time Jacey Walker shows up does she start living with us. She is only “staying temporarily” with them according to their claim. Currently nineteen years old, she was released from the custody of Washington State when she turned eighteen. Her first choice to live with a guy wound up by her getting punched in the eye. She ran here to find Wesley, her childhood “friend.”
I’m sure it must be far more complicated than that, although neither of them give off any signals that it could be more. There’s a distinct familiarity as they talk quietly to each other. Soft laughs escape from them now and then, but nothing hot or steamy seems evident between them. I sit for a while, surprised when I discover I like to talk with the newcomer, Jacey, and observe her curious relationship with Wesley. My antennae should have gone on alert when Dani appears much more jealous of Jacey’s presence than I am over Wesley’s interactions with her. It’s almost a joke to me now. I sit back watching, listening, and realizing Dani doesn’t want Jacey here. But I do.
It’s another way to fill the empty void that seems to be expanding between Dani and me. I don’t have the strength or the motivation to even try to fill it. I can’t pretend it’s not there.
JACEY
I walk up to the farmhouse and see lights glimmering at the front along with the soft sounds of people talking. I hear their laughs and calls, small kids screaming out with the background murmur of songs from an old radio. It’s so far from where I expect to find Wesley. I stop dead. My bag drops to my feet. Wesley? Attending a… family party? I can’t be in the right place. He must have already left. He couldn’t still be here. There is no way the Wesley I know would stay here. I skirt the house, hiding behind trees and lurking in the shadows until I am on the backside of it. Colorful balloons are strung in an arc and floating from the deck rail handle. Food platters and party paraphernalia decorate the deck and fill the tables. People are milling about. It’s casual and relaxed and like nothing I’ve ever seen in such a large group of people. Calmness. Fun. Laughter. Families. Why? Did they actually like each other? Huh. Odd. Weird.
Wesley. There he is. Wow. He’s sitting amongst two others who seem to be his age or thereabouts. A guy and a girl. A pretty, pixie-like girl with wild, crazy curls that cascade in a gorgeous array down her shoulders and back. I stare at her for a moment. Holy crap, Wesley obviously likes the girl. I don’t miss the tender, soft look when he stares at her profile while she talks to someone else. She doesn’t even realize it. She might not realize how he feels yet. I rock back on my heels. Damn. I always believed Wesley was asexual. He didn’t look at, much less leer at any girl (or guy) I’d ever seen him around. So he wasn’t like most boys. It seemed as if he never developed those hormones.
Obviously, he managed to hide it. Until now.
Because he sure looks like he has them now. He is all but caressing the girl as she talks, and his eyes glimmer with undivided interest and total absorption. It warms my heart, sure, but it also freaks me out. What if he doesn’t want me here? Of course he won’t. Who would? I chased him like a frightened rat, scurrying off a sinking ship. Naturally, Wesley knows there are no other boats for me to board. There is only his boat for me.
And that’s because he’s way better at taking care of his boat than I am.
Well, shit, look at the place he found. It’s so pretty. The big house and lush land and rural area. The people are also nice. To each other. I see black and white family members all intermingling in harmony. More kids’ voices and again, more laughter. And then I see that girl. She’s studying Wesley while he’s turned away, and oh, hell, yeah, it looks mutual. Their attraction, that is. Maybe it’s still undeclared? I’ve always enjoyed watching people; it’s a survival thing for me. I’m usually not wrong in my conclusions, eith
er.
My gaze follows the woman and I strain to see whom she is talking to. I straighten up. Wow. He’s easily as hot as Wesley. But I can’t think that Wesley is hot because it feels incestuous to me, even though we aren’t related. We both love each other as we are and were. And that’s the only reason I feel comfortable following him here. I just expected I’d find some kind of Wesley-type of situation. A motel or a freaking tent in a forest or a room he’s temporarily renting or a barn he’s working in for room and board. It was not uncommon to hear he was lodging on big places like this, doing grunt work or whatever was required. From sheds to garages to long-term quarters. But this? The family-like camaraderie is very unusual. Never happened before to either of us. I recognize it immediately despite my pathetic life, and never being a part of it. Of course I saw it on sit-coms and cute dramas on TV. I’ve read about it in books, too. But seeing it up close—ha!
Does Wesley live in this warmth and comfort?
I mostly remember nothing but uncomfortable situations throughout most of my life. So instead of slinking away like I kind of want to, I surrender to my needs, my desperation, and the idea that this is where I have to be in order to survive. With some hesitance, I say his name out loud. “Wesley?”
He immediately recognizes me, and he jumps up and rushes to me with his arms open wide. I’m securely enveloped in his big, manly arms, and for the first time since being discharged from the state’s custody, I relax and embrace my sense of comfort and security. Wesley was always my backup plan, and I feel renewed hope, like maybe I won’t end up starving to death. If I did starve to death, at least I’d know Wesley would notice and care. Wesley really gives a shit about me. I know that much.