“Do you ever give any other answer than, ‘fine’?” Stacie asked, rolling her eyes.
“It was an interview, Stace. Boring. Routine. It was...fine,” I said shrugging.
As I walked past her, my heart tugged a little at the lie, but I didn’t want to talk. I needed to run. I changed quickly and pulled on my shoes as she stood in the door frame watching me curiously.
“What…are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m going for a run.”
“A run? You? Is that what you’ve been doing each morning before I’ve gotten out of bed?”
“Yep…sorry, I’ll try to be quieter,” I said slipping past her into the hallway.
“No, that’s not my point.” She turned and followed me as I made my way down the stairs. “When did you start running, Tori? You hate exercise, you hate sweating…I don’t even think you like nature!”
That’s the point.
“People change, I guess,” I said as I reached the front door.
“Well, I’ve been meaning to tell you that your body looks really great,” she called after me.
Stacie was known for her innocent quips and positive nature. Opening the front door, I shook my head and smiled sadly. I could picture her standing in the entryway trying to figure me out.
Give it up, Stace. You’ll never figure me out.
I can’t even do that.
I started to jog, throwing my shoulder-length brown hair back into a ponytail. I could see a few rogue pieces poking out of the side in my peripheral vision as I re-adjusted my sunglasses. I picked up the pace. The September heat filled up my lungs and burned my skin with its unforgiving rays. Texas was brutal, but so was Arizona. If I could run there, I could run anywhere.
I rounded the corner near the man-made pond in the middle of the neighborhood and saw a group of children laughing as they ran through sprinklers. In the northern states, trees were already losing their leaves, but in Texas, kids would be enjoying pool days for at least another month. I watched the kids play and shove each other over the water stream and instantly I was there again, sucked into the dark places of my mind which blinded me from the present.
I can feel her limp body in my arms, her small frame sagging under the weight of her blood and rain soaked clothing. I see her mother stumbling out of the car in shock as she moves toward me. She gasps for breath and then sinks to her knees, unconscious. I push harder on the gaping wound that used to be the side of her abdomen—once smooth, skin-covered, and normal. I won’t let go, I can’t let go. I know how to help her! But then I’m lifted up—pulled away. The hands on me are too strong and I am too weak to shrug them off. I struggle, screaming something...and then it fades to black.
It is always the same, always.
Every pore on my body was sweating.
I pushed on, propelling my feet forward. I wouldn’t feel that pain again; I couldn’t feel that pain again.
Why did Dr. Bradley have to stir all this up? What is the point?
I was doing fine—managing.
I had been an excellent employee and she knew as well as I did that none of this would interfere with my job—I would never let it.
I didn’t even need her recommendation!
I sincerely regretted asking her for it now.
She spent all that time gaining my trust, watching me work…only to sell me out to a shrink to “fix me” in the end.
I slowed my pace, wiping perspiration from my eyes. I realized the irony of that simple, automatic gesture. Most people burdened by pain wiped away tears, but my pain would only ever yield sweat.
I no longer had tears to cry.
As I stood in front of Stacie’s large, rustic front door, a reflection caught my eye within its framed glass. For a moment, I couldn’t even place who this red-faced, athletic impostor was. And then I saw it, the five inch scar that traced the side of my forehead and curved its way down below my left temple: a permanent identification mark.
“Mom called you again, Tori,” Stacie said the second I pushed open the front door.
I grabbed my water bottle off the kitchen counter and chugged it until I had no breath left at all. Stacie walked in.
“Dear God, Tori! You look like—I don’t even know what! I don’t think running in this heat is healthy.”
“Its fine…I ran in…Arizona…I can…run…here…too,” I said, panting.
I leaned over the sink and poured the excess water on my face and head.
“Well, okay. Just be careful. Dehydration is a real thing, you know?”
“Really, Nurse Stacie? Please enlighten me on the body’s response to dehydration.”
“Fine, sassy pants, but don’t say I didn’t tell you when you drop dead from heat stroke one day.”
I smiled at her to make nice, though we both knew who would win this battle of wits. “Well, in that case I’d be dead, so I probably wouldn’t be sayin’ too much. What did Mom have to say, anyway?”
Stacie rolled her eyes at me as her hand rested on her growing baby bump. “She said we are invited to a dinner at their place tomorrow night. There will be a few friends, lots of cook-out food and the pool, of course. I may have accidently told her that you weren’t scheduled at the hospital until Monday…which kinda turned into an accepted invitation. I’m sorry, but she has called three times already! I couldn’t keep making excuses for you.”
Stacie sheepishly bowed her head. She lifted her eyes slightly to peek at my face, preparing herself for a verbal beating. I was simply too spent to give her one, though. I laced my fingers together and gripped the back of my neck, exhaling hard.
It was time.
I had been dreading seeing my parents since the day Stacie asked me to move back. She was right though. I’d been home for almost a week and hadn’t yet made time for the inevitable guilt trip I’d receive when I saw them—as if I didn’t carry enough guilt for one lifetime already.
THREE
Hefty Bags gone, boxes unpacked and paint swatches chosen, I was beginning to feel a bit more settled while living in Stacie’s brick mansion. A big part of me was still in denial that my perfect plan to stay in Phoenix forever had failed. I had liked working in the number two trauma city in the nation. But, perhaps, I had liked the distance even more. Maintaining relationships had been off my priority radar for some time now.
If there were an upside to living in Dallas, it certainly wasn’t the close proximity to certain family members, but rather the promotion to first place on the trauma rating scale. The work would keep me busy and the busyness would keep me sane—I hoped.
I sighed, thinking again about the therapy sign off with Dr. Crane. If anything would bring into question my level of sanity, it would be the hours of talking with her. I wasn’t much of a socialite. Talking seemed useless to me, unless there was a patient involved. That, at least, had a purpose.
I pulled on my jean capris and black tank top and brushed my hair back into a low twist. I secured it loosely with a few bobby pins. Glancing in the mirror, I surrendered myself to the help of my makeup bag that often sat unused. This was merely an attempt to ward off the “Tori, you-look-too-tired” speech from my mother. I had never been a girl who cared much about makeup or fussed over the perfect accessories, handbags or shoes. Powder, concealer, eyeliner, mascara and lip-gloss were about all I owned in the makeup department.
My brown, slightly auburn hair, was almost always worn up in some simple style that was quick and easy. I applied the concealer under my eyes and dusted the powder over my face to set it. The contrast of my olive skin tone to Stacie’s fair, almost translucent skin had been a running joke in my family for years. Born five years after my sister, I questioned for nearly a decade if I had been adopted.
My mother could have been Stacie’s twin in practically every way, including their matching blond hair. My eyes were dark green while theirs were a brilliant blue. It was yet one more area I didn’t fit the Sales’ mold.
Stacie’s car was already run
ning in the garage with the air conditioning blasting. Pregnancy had given her less tolerance for heat as it had been a relentless source of nausea during her first trimester. Her job as the Marketing Director for the Sales Real Estate Company our parents owned had been flexible enough, allowing her to work from home during the worst part of the summer. That also explained why her house was an unchanging 69 degrees inside.
“You ready to go, Sis?” Stacie asked in her usual perky tone.
Is a cow ready for slaughter? No…not ready, just hopeless.
In the twenty-minute drive to our parents’ house, Stacie filled me in on the latest news regarding our family friends. She also included the nicknames that she and Jack had made up for the people they could never remember names for. I laughed lightly and saw her smile at me, knowing the feelings she couldn’t hide. She was glad I was here with her.
My mind slipped away as she gave me an update on the family company. She explained how business had started to pick back up again after the industry had slowed due to a recessed economy. Her bubbly personality was the perfect match to any kind of depression one might face in life. Whether it was economical or emotional, Stacie was unrelenting in her positive vibes.
We passed the acres of farmland and corn stalks that were as tall as a full grown adult. A memory of Stacie and I running in such fields flooded my mind. We had loved to play hide-and-go-seek in the fall just before it was time to harvest. Farmer Johnson, who lived next to my parents, had given his blessing for us to play in his fields as long as we helped sell his corn on the side of the road for a couple weeks after school was out. He had even paid us, although I was sure we took home more corn than any monetary wage we might have earned during our two week employment. There was nothing tastier than fresh, sweet corn on the cob.
One fall in late September, Stacie called to me just a few feet into the stalks. Her voice was high-pitched and frantic. A jack rabbit lay on its side, very still, breathing slow quiet breaths. It had obviously been hopping for a long time with the trap attached to its right hind-leg, and was too exhausted to keep up the fight.
Our dad had never been a hunter or trapper. He was too involved in the business world to have a hobby like that. Yet somehow, I figured out how to release it.
Stacie was crying and stroking the wild rabbit, beside herself with grief. Once the rabbit was freed I told Stacie we needed to find it a place to rest so it could heal. I carried the rabbit home and then found an old cat carrier in the garage to put him in after wrapping the bloody leg with gauze and tape. Salad scraps, water, and some newspaper were put inside its new shelter.
Our dad was very proud of our efforts with the rabbit we eventually named Snowcap, but felt it needed extra medical attention. After a visit to the vet, antibiotics and lots of rest, Snowcap was ours to keep. Stacie and I had bonded that day as more than just sisters, but as partners. We had worked together to save a life.
Stacie reached for my hand as we pulled into the driveway.
“Tori, I know this is…difficult, but I am so happy you are home. Jack would have never agreed to go overseas this long if you hadn’t decided to come. I’m...I’m just so-”
Her eyes welled up with tears.
“It’s good to be with you too, Stace. Let’s go in and get this over with, okay?” I said, not wanting to be stuck in the car with an emotionally-charged pregnant lady any longer than I had to be.
**********
If Stacie’s house was a mansion, than my parent’s house was a kingdom. Right in the middle of twenty acres stood an enormous estate. It featured: six bedrooms, four baths, an in-home theater, chef’s kitchen, three formal dining areas, a driving range and a large outdoor swimming pool and spa retreat. The land was meticulously maintained and manicured down to the minutest detail.
There were rocks, plants, small bridges, koi ponds, outdoor grills and patio furniture to seat an army. Japanese lanterns were strung everywhere. It was a spectacle for sure.
The home was built for a magazine cover, not for real life. But that was my mother: proud, pretty, and perfect, a southern woman through and through.
I saw her immediately as I stepped outside onto the patio, my breathing paused with apprehension. I looked across the yard at the huge crowd that had apparently been invited to this intimate affair. A glass clanged in the distance and my mother floated over to me in her A-line skirt and heels. She hugged me dramatically in front of her guests. My eyes darted to Stacie who mouthed, “I’m sorry,” as she hid behind the food table.
Apparently, I’m in this alone.
Awesome.
“Everyone, everyone, may I have your attention please! Our guest of honor has arrived. Please help us in welcoming our daughter home from Phoenix and in congratulating her on her new job at Dallas Northwest,” my mother said. Her voice had carried over the crowd that filled the patio and yard. People I hadn’t seen in years and some I had never seen clapped and hollered, “Congrats!”, while I stood there completely speechless.
I turned to my mom, who wore pink pearls and a silk sleeveless blouse, and stared blankly. She pulled me in for another hug. This time I felt weak in the knees. I hugged about as much as I went on coffee dates with my girlfriends— never.
“Victoria, can you say something to the crowd please? They all came here for you dear,” she whispered.
Does she really believe I’m that stupid? These people don’t even know me! Inside I shook with anger, embarrassment and shock…yet somehow, I managed to speak.
“Uh, wow. Thank you everyone…for coming out this evening. It’s...nice to be back.”
I forced the last of the words out of my mouth. What I really felt was quite the opposite. I wanted to be back in Phoenix, alone in my small cramped apartment, the apartment that was only large enough to fit me. If I could click my heels and be transported, I would have in a heartbeat. I heard the toasting and cheers and within seconds I was headed inside, the unmistakable sound of my mother’s heels coming after me quickly.
“Were you surprised darling?” my mother asked.
Calm down. She doesn’t understand me. She will NEVER understand me.
“Yes Mom…pretty surprised,” I said, feeling flushed and shaky.
“Well, I know you don’t like people fussin’ over you, but I thought it would be so nice for everyone to get a chance to see you. It’s been so long since you’ve been back, Victoria, and people ask about you all the time,” my mother said through her southern grin of hospitality.
I’m sure they do, Mom. Most people don’t know many child killers, especially one who is the daughter of two wealthy, church-going realtors.
I took a deep breath, searching for the words to say, when I saw my dad walk through the doorway. At the sight of him I wanted to crumble. He had always been my rock, my pillar, my calm within the chaos of the storm that raged inside the Sales house. As such, he had made the rare effort to understand me for who I was. He seemed to understand that although I wasn’t a show-stopper the way my mom and sister were, with their high dramatics and socialisms, that I still held an important place in this family—or used to, anyway. He smiled hugely as he neared, never taking his eyes away from my face.
He shook his head slowly in admiration, “Tori…I’ve missed you baby girl.”
He waited for my silent permission before extending his long lean arms around my shoulders, pressing his cheek to the top of my head. In that instant, the anger I held toward my mom vanished.
“Hi, Dad.”
Emotion filled me in a way it hadn’t in over a year. I swallowed hard to fight it back down.
“Your mom was pretty excited about seeing you tonight darlin’ and throwing this big bash for you and all. I hope you can take one for the team here, Sis,” he said. He winked at me as he spoke. He was always respectful of my mother, even when he knew she was over-the-top.
“Yes, of course. Thank you, Mom,” I said, obediently.
“Great, well let’s get you back out there then.�
�� She gave me a playful shove and said, “And Victoria, you look real good sweetheart.”
And there it was: looking good was worth far more than feeling good.
That’s the magic ticket around these parts.
For the next couple of hours, I was surface deep with three types of people: those who knew me before the accident, those who knew my family and heard the reports of the accident, and those who were curious about how a twenty-three year-old girl survived one of the most well-known tragedies to happen in this small town just east of Dallas. I could feel my panic surfacing with each new face that approached me during the evening, but no one mentioned the accident (thank you Dad for laying down the ground rules).
I heard a loud splash followed by rounds of laughter as I watched several young men dive into the pool. I didn’t hesitate for a second at the crowd’s distraction. I barreled quickly through the yard glancing around briefly for Stacie. I found her alright. Feet propped up—laughing hard—with a cup of ice on her lap.
Note to self: Drive my own car next time.
I looked for an escape and saw a hint of my beloved bridge to the far left of the house. I walked swiftly and with purpose, doing my best to avoid a probing parent or nosy neighbor. I needed to sit, decompress, and get centered—whatever that meant. As I approached the bridge, the dusk lighting shifted around a tall shape. At first I thought it was a tree, but it didn’t move like a tree. I got closer and realized my idea for finding peace was not that original. I was not the first to make a claim on this bridge tonight.
“Oh-” I said startled, “Sorry, I was just…uh-“
WHAT? What was I just?
“Leaving,” I said.
I started to turn; embarrassed as the man I thought was a tree stepped into the shadowy light. His features were strong and he had piercingly dark eyes, which, like his hair, shimmered in the glow of the moonlight.
All For Anna Page 2