by Willow Rose
"You sure you're okay?" Sarah asked, concerned.
Shannon took in a deep breath, then grabbed the guitar, pressing the pain back and forcing a smile.
"Yes. And if you'll excuse me, I have a show to do."
Sarah smiled back, a sense of relief rushing over her face. "Break a leg."
Chapter 7
Cocoa Beach 2007
He was the most amazing man in the world, his father. He wasn't handsome—at least mom said he wasn't—but he was big. Tall and strong, so strong that the boy was certain he had to be the strongest man in the entire world, maybe even the universe. Standing six foot eight and two hundred and fifty pounds, the boy had to bend his neck all the way back as far as he could even to look up at him and see his face.
And he did just that, look up to him in every way possible. Everything his father did was awesome. Especially when he was fixing the car, and the boy helped by bringing him the tools he asked for. Those were the most amazing moments of his entire childhood. If he fixed the drain in the kitchen or the bathroom, it was the most incredible thing in the world for the boy. To just watch his dad as he grunted and groaned, used the tools to make things better for Mom.
And as his dad explained to him early on, that's what it was all about. Making Mom happy and hopefully keeping her that way. Because if she was happy, then they all were.
So, the boy tried his best to make her happy as well, even though it was a tough job. More often than not, she would yell at both him and his dad for not doing things properly. Like for making a mess or for dragging in dirt with their shoes. Or for eating with their mouths open, or for leaving the lights on in the bathroom, or for dragging their feet across the floors. Anything they might do wrong. Which, apparently, was a lot, whereas his baby sister apparently could do nothing wrong. Not even when she kept all of them awake at night by crying and screaming.
And the boy watched as his dad just took the yelling and never even tried to yell back. Not even once. The boy didn't understand why his dad didn't even try and defend himself, especially when Mom yelled at him for not having emptied the dishwasher when she had just asked him to clean up the garage. Or even worse when she would tell him he wasn't holding baby sister correctly and pull her out of his hands. She would call him irresponsible and all sorts of bad names that the boy didn't like.
But dad just took the yelling and so did the boy. Because that's what they did, the men of the house. Every now and then, the boy would see his dad clench his fist while the yelling happened, and once he even did it so hard that blood dripped from the palm of his hands onto the carpet from the wounds where his nails had dug in.
But he took the yelling. He stood there and took it, and that was how the boy learned to do the same. He learned how to bite down on his lip to not talk back at her because that would only make her even angrier. Even though it meant the boy constantly had sores on his lips from biting them. Sores that would hurt at night when he went to sleep, waiting for his mom to tuck him in like she used to do before his little sister came into their world, but she never had time to anymore.
"You're a big boy now," she had told him a few weeks after the baby was born. She had said the words without stroking his hair or kissing him gently on the forehead like she usually did. "Big boys don't need their mommas so much anymore."
The boy had then asked his dad if being a big boy and four years old meant his mother didn't want him anymore, but his dad replied that Mommy was just exhausted from taking care of the baby, that was all.
"It'll get better for all of us once the baby is a little older. Until then, we men must make sure to take care of everything else around here, okay?"
"Okay," the boy had answered firmly, pressing back the tears piling up in his eyes. If there was one thing he knew about being a big boy, it was that they didn't cry.
Chapter 8
August 2018
The line to get into the school was ridiculous. We all had to go through the front office if we wanted to walk our kids to class on the first day of school. And most of us had to since we were carrying huge bags of supplies that the children couldn't carry themselves. I had an extra reason, and her name was Betsy Sue. She had never been in school before, and I wanted to walk her to the classroom to make sure she was all right and that she would get the best possible start to the school year. The three A's, Austin, Abigail, and Angela knew their way around, but for Betsy Sue, this had to be a shock of monumental proportions. Up until now, she had lived her entire life inside a crazy woman's house after being kidnapped as just an infant. The past two years, Shannon and I had hired a private teacher for her to bring her up to speed with the other kids and ease her into her new life, but now we had decided it was time for her to go to a real school along with the other children. And Betsy Sue seemed to agree. She was looking forward to meeting the other kids. She would begin sixth grade, the last year of elementary school. I had already spoken to the school about her situation, and they were going to take really good care of her, they had promised me.
A sign on the side of the fence asked us to donate to the Alondra Browning Foundation, and the sight of it made my heart skip a beat. Alondra Browning was a young girl who was killed before the summer break when ten little girls had gone missing from Roosevelt Elementary. Unluckily, only one of them had ended up in a body bag. I had handled the case for Cocoa Beach Police, and it was after that tragedy that they realized they needed my help fulltime. They needed someone like me on their team, Weasel had said when asking me to take the position.
"Welcome back. Ready for a new school year?" the lady behind the counter asked as she took my driver's license and scanned it. She was new, and on her name tag, it said, Mrs. Meyer.
"Not really," Abigail answered her. "I already miss the pool."
"I am kind of looking forward to a new year," Austin said.
He received a look from his twin sister. "Why do you have to be such a dork?"
"Am not," Austin said.
"So are," Abigail argued.
"All right, that's enough," I said, knowing how the two of them could go on for hours on end. Especially Abigail who never got out of the way of a good argument. Like me, Austin hated arguing and usually would just agree to anything his sister said, but I was beginning to see a new tendency in him as he was starting to speak up for himself more lately. It was a development I welcomed since I didn't want him to be run over by his dominating sister constantly, but it also meant a lot more fighting in our house and I, for one, couldn't wait to get the both of them shoved into the school and leave without them. Tyler was fussing and wanted me to pick him up, but I couldn't since I also had to carry all the supplies. Angela and Betsy Sue were both behaving so nicely as usual. Betsy Sue was holding a small coin in between her fingers that a raven had brought to her outside while we were waiting. It didn't happen as often as it used to, but she still had a way with those birds, just as she still talked to ghosts and believed that her friend Billy the ghost with the yellow skin had moved down with us when we brought her from Savannah. I had a feeling she just needed him to stay with her to make her feel safe and to have someone to blame things on if she had done something wrong.
The doctor had told us she would eventually let him go, once she felt more at home here, but after two years, he was apparently still with us, and I had to be careful where I sat down at the house since she would often scream and tell me I had sat on top of him.
The door buzzed open. "All right, kiddos. You're on your own," I said.
"Me first," Abigail said and rushed to the door and opened it first, Austin right behind her. They stormed into the hallway, yelling loudly, and I just knew they were going to get yelled at on the first day. I wondered if that was some sort of record.
"All right, Angela, you know where you need to go, and Betsy Sue, you come with Tyler and me. We'll walk you to your classroom after we drop off all the supplies."
Chapter 9
August 2018
"Hi th
ere. Welcome to the neighborhood."
The woman, who had stopped in front of Diane's house, sniffled and reached out her hand. Diane was sitting in a chair on her porch when she walked by.
"My name is Jean. I live a couple of houses down the street. Number two-thirteen."
"I'm Diane," she said and shook Jean's hand.
"So, you just moved in, huh?" Jean said.
Diane wiped sweat from her forehead. She was dirty and gross from the intensive cleaning.
"Yes."
"You renting?"
Diane shook her head and sipped from her water bottle. She couldn't stop sweating. She wasn't really used to this type of heat anymore.
"Nope. Bought the place."
Jean looked surprised. "You bought it. Really?"
"Yes, I know it doesn’t look like much, but I think I can make a decent home of it."
Jean looked at the house, then back at Diane. She was holding a Yeti cup in her hand, and Diane suddenly noticed her breath smelled a little like alcohol. Diane pulled back so that she wouldn’t smell it.
"If you say so," Jean said, grinning.
"I do. Me and Misty—that's my cat—will create a nice home for ourselves here."
Jean sipped from her Yeti, then nodded. "I am sure you will. Well, I just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood."
"That's awfully ni…" Diane stopped talking as a car pulled up to the curb and the window was rolled down. A man wearing a uniform stuck his head out. He seemed tall even though he was sitting down.
"Hi there."
"This is Dennis Woods," Jean said. "He lives right across the street from you with his wife Camille and two boys, whose names I don't remember. What are they again?"
"Lucas and Trenton," he said and kept looking at Diane. It made her slightly uncomfortable, the way he looked at her. "I’ve seen you around," Dennis said, smiling. He had one of those faces that was pleasant to look at. His eyes were nice, but Diane also knew from experience that true psychopaths had a way of looking just like that. Her ex-husband had looked like that. At just the mere thought, Diane put up her guard. On the other hand, she thought, it was good to have someone big like this Dennis-fellow close by, should it be needed. If he was as good a guy as he seemed, that was. Diane was naturally suspicious of all men.
"Welcome. Let me know if you need anything, okay?" he said. "I live right over there and can keep an eye on you from my windows. And I am quite the handyman. My wife will testify to that. You just come knocking if you need help with anything. Anything, all right?"
"Thank you," Diane said.
"No problem. Now I have to go. I’m late for work," he said and took off.
"He's a security guard," Jean said when he was gone. "Works for some big security company taking care of houses in the gated communities, you know rich folks, the ones that can afford to protect themselves. But he's good to have around. Makes us single gals feel safer."
"That's good," Diane said.
She looked at the house next door when a couple walked out, obviously fighting loudly. The sound of the man's voice talking harshly, even though he was trying to keep it down, made Diane squirm. She clenched her fist so hard it hurt where her nails dug into her skin.
"Those two are your neighbors, Tim and Tiffany. They're always at it, fighting, but both of them are nice. She'll badmouth him all day long, and he'll yell at her, but I think they love each other in their own twisted way if you know what I mean."
Diane didn't. Fighting and hurting each other had nothing to do with love. Diane had learned that much in her life.
"Now, your neighbor on the other side is a little trickier," Jean said and pointed at the house to Diane's right. "Mr. Fogerty is a little creepy if you ask me, at least most kids around here think so, but personally I don't think he'd hurt a fly. His wife died ten years ago, and he never remarried. He's only sixty-five. He could still get some gal, if you ask me, and have many years left with her, but I don't know if he's even interested. It doesn’t seem like it. He's also a dogcatcher and knows every corner of town if you ever need directions."
"How did she die?" Diane asked absentmindedly.
"Who? His wife? Heck, I don't know. It happened before he moved here, so you'll have to ask him that yourself. But I have a feeling something bad happened. He doesn’t like to talk about it. Oh, by the way, we're having a block party in two weeks. We decorate the houses, and then the kids come to our doors and get cake or candy, while the adults get a drink, any drink you come up with. I usually make Jell-O shots, so you might want to steer clear of those. But it's fun and a chance for you to get to know everyone. Anyway, I should get going. If you need anything, I'll be right down the road."
Diane smiled. "I'll remember that. Thank you so much."
Jean gave her a look that Diane for one second thought was concern, then waved and walked on. Diane stood for a few seconds, watching her as she walked—almost swayed down the street. Diane then shook her head and turned around to walk back into the house. Misty sat in the doorway, looking up at her.
"All right, Misty. Now, we've cleaned out the living room. What's next? The kitchen? Yes, let's do the kitchen. We need to get it nice and ready so that we can cook.”
Diane walked inside and looked around at how much she had accomplished so far. It was beginning to look better, but there was still a long way to go. Diane felt how tired she was, but there was no time for a break. She had to be done as soon as possible so she could start searching for jobs. She had spent all her money on the down payment for the house and didn't even have enough left to buy furniture, so she slept on an old mattress that someone had left in the living room. She had left most of her stuff back in Massachusetts when she left, and only had one box of personal belongings and two suitcases with clothes. That was all. The little she had left in her bank account after buying the house would be spent on food. She was in dire need of a job, and she knew exactly where, or at least who, to ask for help.
Chapter 10
August 2018
I dropped Tyler off at the daycare center, then drove back home. I was planning on going to the station today and finishing the latest report on our investigation of the woman who had kidnapped the girls back in May. We were almost done with the case and about to close it, but I still needed to add one report from the forensics' department. It was no big deal, but I had kept postponing it, and it was all we needed to be able to close it and move on.
But as I had looked out the window of our beach house this morning, I had seen waves so big and glassy; there was no way I could ignore them. Besides, all the kids were out of the house. I deserved some me-time.
I drove down A1A, past my parent's motel by 35th Street, and parked in my own driveway. I turned the engine off and sat there for just a second, enjoying the silence. It had been a tough couple of months, being all alone with all those children, and I couldn't remember the last time I had experienced real silence.
I closed my eyes with a deep sigh, then got out and walked inside the house. Through the sliding doors in the living room, I could see the waves crashing on the shore. They had to be at least shoulder to head-high.
Just what I needed right now. A little sea-therapy.
I rushed up the stairs and into my closet to pull out my trunks when I heard the TV blasting from the bedroom next door.
Emily.
I held the trunks between my hands, then put them down while still hearing the waves outside my window, luring me out there.
But I couldn't. Not yet.
I walked to Emily's bedroom, then knocked, taking in a deep breath. I had hardly seen her all summer and, every time I did, I found it harder and harder to talk to her. I didn't want us to fight, but that seemed to be all we did lately.
She didn't answer, so I ended up opening the door anyway. I peeked inside with a smile.
"Good morning, sweetie."
She was lying in her bed on her stomach, staring at the TV. I could see her spine through her shirt.
Her bony arm was holding the remote. The sight of it made me feel sick with worry.
She didn't even look at me. I walked inside anyway. "So, what are you up to today?" I said and pulled the curtains aside to let in the sun. Emily complained and turned away from the sun.
"Jack, please stop it."
Jack. I hated—no loathed it when she called me that. I had adopted her when she was just a young child and my partner—and her mother—had been killed. I had been the only adult in her life since then. That made me her dad, and I had tried to explain to her that she should call me that. She did for some years when she was younger, but since her teenage rebellion had started, we were back to just Jack. Adopting her and becoming her parent had proved to be a lot harder than expected. We came from very different backgrounds, and there was so much I didn't understand about being black and growing up in a white home. Her mother had been born here in the States, but her grandparents had moved to Florida from the Bahamas back in the day.
"Emily," I said with a deep sigh. "Please tell me you have plans to get outside of this room today."
"Why?" she asked, still without looking up at me.
"Because you can't stay in here for the rest of your life. Dang it, Emily, you're nineteen. You should be out there in the world, having some fun, and getting on with your life."
She shrugged and continued to watch the TV. I grabbed the remote and turned it off.
"Hey!" she complained.
"Emily, you can't keep doing this. You stay in this room all day; we don't hear a word from you, you don't even come down to eat."