Dear Tabitha

by Trudy Stiles

  “Cara, so nice to see you, as always.” She frequently mingles Italian words when addressing Tony and me. He does the same as a show of respect for his mother. She’s told me that cara means ‘dear’. It’s odd to me that I’m dear to her, but I go with it.

  “Marta,” I whisper. She places her hand on my back, causing me to wince. I’m afraid to look at it myself, but I know that I have the mother of all bruises at the base of my spine. Two days ago, Tony thought it would be fun to kick me repeatedly in my lower back. This was in retaliation for choking on the semen I had just taken in my mouth after he forced me to give him a blowjob. Sadly, I’ve gotten used to these kinds of things.

  “Are you okay?” she asks me.

  “Yes, just a small bruise. I didn’t see my shoe on the floor and slipped and landed wrong. You know how it is.”

  She knows I’m lying.

  “Of course, cara. Clumsiness is certainly one of your downfalls.” Clearly coming here is my biggest, but I shrug it off.

  Dante enters the room, carrying two plates of food. His smile makes me want to vomit. He places my regular meal in front of me. Grilled cheese with tomato and French fries. As soon as he places it in front of me, I actually do feel like I have to puke.

  “Excuse me.” I barely get out before I dash to the bathroom. I throw myself on the floor in front of the first stall and proceed to throw up my entire breakfast and lunch. Shit. I wait for the nausea to pass and wash my hands and face. I hate being sick.

  After I rinse out my mouth with water, I rejoin Marta at our table.

  “What’s wrong? Stomach flu?” she asks as she takes a bite of her eggplant parmesan. I suddenly feel sick again and run back to the bathroom. All that’s left in my stomach after the last round of puking is bile, and I watch that come up endlessly. I feel weak.

  I’m lying on the cool tile, trying to calm my stomach, when I hear the door open.

  “Cara, let’s get you upstairs.”

  I don’t want to go upstairs where I’m alone and that bastard can come in whenever he wants. I’d rather stay here and sleep on this dingy bathroom floor.

  “I’m okay now,” I lie. “Let me have a few minutes then I’ll rejoin you for dinner. Okay?”

  “No, sweetie, get up. This disgusting bathroom will only get you sicker. C’mon.” She lifts me up from underneath my arms. I wobble a little in front of her. “Now wash up and let’s go,” she commands.

  We’re back at our table when Dante comes back. “Not hungry, Tabitha?” He gestures to my plate.

  “Just not feeling well today. Can I have some ginger ale?” I ask.

  “Sure. Be right back.” He winks at me. As creepy as I thought he was when I first came here, he’s nothing compared to Tony. For one, Dante would never lay a hand on me. He certainly likes to ogle my body, but that’s as far as it goes.

  “Tabitha, how long have you been sick like this?” Marta asks.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t felt myself for a few weeks, but this is the first time that I actually threw up.” Maybe I can get out of here. Maybe I can beg to see a doctor and escape.

  She nods her head and excuses herself. I watch as she walks over to Hollie, one of the other waitresses, and whispers in her ear. She looks at me with pity and leaves the club. What did Marta just say to her? Hollie is my friend, I think. She taught me the ropes here and keeps me sane while I’m working. What on earth was that all about? And where did she just go?

  I look down at my grilled cheese and push the plate away. There is no way I can eat. Dante brings me the ginger ale that I asked for. “Feel better,” he says and walks away.

  Marta returns to our table. “Do you mind if I eat while you sip your soda?” she asks.

  “No, please. Go ahead. I’m sorry that I’m not much company today.” As if I am ever? Our dinners usually consist of her telling story after story of Tony and her husband. How sweet Tony was when he was a little boy. Her husband was another story. She isn’t shy in telling me all of the criminal activities he was into that eventually got him killed. Prostitution, drug running, loan sharking. You name it. If it was seedy, her husband did it. I don’t know how much of this stuff Tony is into, but if I were to guess, I would say all of it.

  “Are you proud of Tony?” I don’t know why I just asked her that.

  “Of course I’m proud of my Tony. He’s followed in the footsteps of his father to become a very successful businessman. He does well for himself. No?”

  I wouldn’t know honestly. Sure, I see money change hands here like paper and the room is always filled with customers. But I don’t see the fruit of his success. He doesn’t live in opulence as far as I know. He also doesn’t share his success with others. Or with me.

  “Sure, he does well,” I answer casually. I started this conversation. Now what? I’m curious about his life outside of this place.

  “Where do you live?” I ask her.

  “Now someone is being too nosy for her own good.” She gently scolds me. “My home is on Lake Oswego. It’s peaceful, just like this beautiful city. And secluded. My husband bought me my home when I was pregnant with Tony. It’s spacious enough for a dozen children. Unfortunately, Tony was the only child that we were able to have together. But, it is a beautiful place. A wonderful home for Tony to grow up in and become a man.”

  I wonder what he learned in that house that made him the monster that he is today. His father must have been a beast, and in a twisted way, I admire Marta for staying strong through it all.

  “I’d love to visit your home. If you’d allow me to.” I need to get out of here. Maybe a road trip will give me the opportunity to escape.

  “Tsk tsk little girl. You should know better than to ask a silly question like that. Tony won’t let you leave here. You know that very well, don’t you?” She reminds me of my place.

  “Yes, but I–” I’m unable to finish my sentence.

  She cuts me off. “No buts, cara. We all know the rules and we need to adhere to them.”

  I lower my eyes to the floor in defeat. My nausea is back, so I take another sip of the ginger ale.

  “I’m back, Mrs. Constantino. Here’s the package you asked for.” Hollie hands her a paper bag and places her hand on my shoulder. She clearly feels sorry for me for some reason, and I’d like to know what’s going on.

  “Thank you, Hollie.” Marta nods to dismiss her.

  She turns to me. “Let’s get you upstairs so you can rest, okay?”

  I slide out of my chair and walk toward my cage. The locked tower. Marta grabs her keys and lets me through the doors.

  When we get upstairs, all I want to do is go to sleep, curl up in my bed, and forget today. Forget every miserable day that I’ve been here.

  “Here, I think you should take this into the bathroom.” She pushes the paper bag toward me.

  “What’s this?” I ask. This bag is for me? Maybe she sent Hollie out to get me some medicine for my nausea. “Thank you,” I say.

  “Go on. Don’t keep me waiting too long,” she says vaguely.

  I’m very confused by her words and actions, but I head into the bathroom anyway.

  I close the door behind me, open the bag, and look inside. I gasp at the contents. It’s a pregnancy test! Actually three of them. What the fuck? Pregnant? She can’t possibly think…

  Holy fuck. I feel like I’m spinning in place as I think about what Tony has done to me. Every time that he’s forced himself on me, I honestly don’t know if he’s used a condom. By the time he penetrates me, I’m usually in another place in my mind. A distant place that keeps me from feeling what’s happening to me. This is actually possible. I could be pregnant.

  I fumble with the first package. My hands are shaking and I’m terrified to use it. What will this mean? What will happen to me? What will Tony do? I suddenly have hope. Maybe if I’m pregnant, the beatings will stop. The sex and the fondling will stop. Maybe. Please. I suddenly want to be pregnant, if for nothing else than to protect myself
from him.

  I open the foil and pee on the stick. When I’m finished, I place the stick on the counter while reading the directions. Three minutes.

  Three minutes to find out if a baby will free me from this fortress. From the abuse. My eyes tear up, and I choke on a sob. I can’t believe what I’m wishing for. I close my eyes and wait.

  There is a soft knock on the door.

  “May I come in?” Marta asks.

  “Just a second,” I reply. I pull myself together and open the door. We both reach for the stick at the same time.

  “Oh, sorry. I thought you already looked at it,” she says.

  “No, not yet.” I’m nervously clasping my hands in front of me. “Please, tell me what it says.” My heart races in my chest. My hopes are up. And I can’t believe I’m thinking like this.

  She lowers her eyes to the stick and her jaw drops. She looks worried and hesitates to make eye contact with me again. “I’m sorry, Tabitha. I’m so sorry. You’re pregnant.” She reaches out, touching the side of my arm.

  I’m pregnant! I’m going to be free! I may be thinking irrationally at this point. In fact, I’m sure that I am. If I can’t escape Tony entirely, maybe I can go live with Marta in her huge home that’s meant for dozens of children. Maybe she’ll help me raise my baby. Maybe she can teach me how to be a mother. I can learn from her.

  “Oh! I’m pregnant!” I say, smiling. “Wow!”

  She shakes her head in disapproval. “This is not good. Not good at all. This should not be happening. Not to you. Not to anyone. He shouldn’t be having children. He doesn’t want them. Never did. He hates children. He will not be happy about this. Oh, cara, I’m so sorry. This is just not good.”

  Oh my God. What is he going to do to me when he finds out that I’m pregnant? Is he going to beat me senseless until I miscarry? Is he going to force me to have an abortion? Oh God. My plans are swirling in my head. How am I going to escape from here now? How?

  “What do I do, Marta? If what you are saying is true, he’s going to be very unhappy with me.” I pause. “I’m scared.”

  She places her hand on my cheek. “You poor, beautiful girl. I see so much of myself in you. You’re a fighter, and I admire you. I will do what I can to protect you from his anger. I’ll tell him about the baby. He’ll listen to me, and I’ll try to make him understand that this was meant to be. It’s God’s plan.” She wipes a tear from my cheek. “I’ll handle this, okay?” She stands up to leave. “Go, lie down. Get some rest. You need to take care of yourself and that baby.”

  This tender side of Marta is completely foreign to me. I’m not used to her doting on me. Touching me. Caring about me. Our weekly dinners are typically cold and boring. Today I learned more about Tony and his family than I have the entire time that I’ve been here. Maybe this is still a good thing. Marta wants to protect me. Protect the baby. Her grandchild.

  My heart swells at the possibility of Marta taking me under her wing. “Thank you,” I whisper.

  “Goodnight.” She turns and leaves the room. The familiar sound of a lock latching no longer makes me flinch. I’m used to it.

  I crawl into my bed to consider the possibilities that lie ahead. Could I live with Marta? Can I raise this baby with her help? Can she protect me from Tony?

  I place my hand on my belly and smile.

  This baby is going to save my life.

  Present

  Age 24

  WHEN THE door slams behind Alex, my legs give out and I fall to the floor. My lungs beg for desperately needed oxygen. The pressure threatens to crush me until finally, I gasp for air. Realization sets in that I’m alone. Truly and utterly alone.

  He’s gone.

  Again.

  I can’t believe Alex finally knows everything. No more lies. No more secrets. I sob into my hands and let the tears flow freely.

  I can’t bring myself to believe that it’s officially time for both of us to move on. I’ve finally purged these sins, these secrets I’ve been hiding for so long. I’m relieved but so devastatingly sad. Now, he knows the truth, and it’s up to him to decide how he’s going to process it all. He just learned that he might have a daughter, and it’s going to take some time to comprehend all that that means. He needs time to grieve, to feel the anger that’s going to consume him. Will he be able to heal from this? To move on? I expect the worst and fear that he will never forgive me.

  I’ve been able to come to terms with my decision to give up Emily. I have already forgiven myself for everything that I’ve done. He knows the truth. Now it’s up to him to choose what path to take next. If he can choose understanding and forgiveness at some point, then I’m going to be here waiting. But somehow I doubt that he’ll ever walk through my door again. I am truly alone.

  But I can handle it.

  I take a deep, cleansing breath as I scan the bare room. I need Emily’s pictures back out in the open where they belong. I never should have hidden them. I spot the photo that Alex threw. Shit, I hope it’s not broken.

  I crawl toward the picture, and what I see beneath the end table stops me in my tracks. The crumpled letter from Marta. With all that has been going on, I completely forgot about it. I pull it out, lean against the wall, and attempt to smooth out the wrinkles. The time has come to read this letter, to exorcise all of the demons in my life.

  Please, God, don’t let her tell me that Tony is coming after me. If Marta is warning me, then this time, I’m finally ready to fight. I’m not scared of him anymore or afraid of what he can do to me. Yes, he’s hulking and creepy. Yes, he’s a criminal. But I’m stronger now and can handle anything he tries to throw at me. I won’t take any shit from him ever again. He can no longer control me. I’m free and have been for quite a few years.

  I close my eyes, and breathe deeply, preparing myself to make it to the end of the letter this time. I start over from the beginning.

  Dear Tabitha,

  I don’t even know if you are going to read this. I hope that I sent this letter to the right address. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Please forgive the intrusion into your life, but I need to tell you that I had a private detective looking for you for the past seven years. I sent this to the address that he finally found. He tracked down one of your employers, Kirsten Holden, and found out that you are still employed at her bookstore. So I’m sending this letter there in the hopes that it finds you. I’m sorry that I couldn’t find you sooner.

  But he wouldn’t let me.

  Oh my God, I hope I’m doing the right thing.

  I’m sure you remember me, Marta, Tony’s mother.

  I have so much to tell you and not a lot of time to do it. First, you need to know that Tony is dead. He was murdered in prison. I won’t go into details, but he was convicted of many horrendous things. Things that he deserved to go to jail over. But he didn’t deserve to die the way that he did. I hope you can say a prayer and forgive him in your heart for some of the things that he did to you. He was ruthless and caused you great pain, but he was my son and I miss him dearly.

  The next thing I have to tell you will cause you great distress, sadness, anger, and possibly even joy. I beg you to forgive me before you read what’s next. I have so much that I need to explain to you, so please contact me when you have read this letter.

  Your daughter, Sara is with me. She’s been living with me since her birth. Tony lied to you when he told you that he didn’t want the baby. He just didn’t want you to have her. He wanted to give me a granddaughter that I could raise as my own child. He wanted me to have the larger family that I always dreamed of having. He falsified documents, making you believe that you were signing adoption papers. They weren’t real. I didn’t adopt her. I raised her and she is perfect. Beautiful. She looks just like you, cara, exactly like you.

  I need you to understand all of the reasons behind the decisions that Tony and I made about Sara. But that will come. I need to speak with you urgently. I need to make arrangements for you to take Sara from me. She
is your daughter and there is nothing standing in the way for you now to raise her yourself.

  To be her mother.

  I have told her all about you. She knows what a wonderful and strong woman you are. She can’t wait to meet you and to come live with you. She is ready and is as prepared as any seven-year-old child can be given the circumstances.

  Please contact me at the number on the back of this letter immediately. Then you will understand why this is so urgent.

  With love and begging forgiveness,

  Marta

  My hands shake as I read this letter two more times. Then a third. Oh my God! Sara. My baby! She has her. She wants to give her back to me? I can’t even begin to process what I’m reading. What I’m feeling. This is all so crazy and surreal. My child wasn’t given to some nameless, faceless family. Marta has had her this whole time? Living in the family compound outside of Portland? Growing up with Tony and his mother?

  Rage builds up in my chest. I reach for a cushion, and press my tear streaked face in it to muffle my incoherent screams. Screams for all the years they stole from me. Screams for time with my precious daughter ripped from my arms at birth. Screams for the years that Tony had with her as her father. I pray she never witnessed the side of him that I knew all too well. I’m so angry that he’s dead. That I can’t lace into him for what he did to me all of those years ago. That I didn’t get to kill him myself for stealing my daughter, for raping me, violating me in ways that I refuse to remember.

  I mourn the lost years and all of the choices I’ve had to make since.

  I flip the letter over, but my hands shake so badly that I struggle to read her number. I need to calm down before I make this phone call. I need…

  “Yoo-hoo. Is anyone home?” Kirsten says from outside my door, sounding chipper as usual. Thank God, she’s here. I need her. She opens the door and sees me on the floor. “Oh, no! Honey, what happened?” She drops her purse and rushes toward me.

  “No. I’m fine. This isn’t what it looks like.” I swipe the tears from my cheeks.