I search the cabinets for the air popper. Makayla has never liked microwavable popcorn, she says it’s not crisp enough.
Seriously, I don’t see what the big deal is. The only popcorn I keep at home is microwavable, it’s less of a hassle, but I will never serve her something she doesn’t want.
The popper is in the cupboard next to the stove. It doesn’t take long to get it set up. While the kernels are warming up, I pull two Cokes from the fridge. The smell of popcorn fills the room and my mouth waters. I’m not sure how long it’s been since I have eaten any, probably the last time I went to the movies, which was four or five months ago.
Unplugging the popper, I add the melted butter to the bowl along with salt. I’m not sure how much salt to add so I carry the shaker along with the bowl and drinks back to the living room.
As I come around the corner to the living room, I notice two things. One, Makayla is sitting ramrod straight, and two, her face is fiery red. The sight of her and the thickness of the atmosphere sends shivers down my spine.
I want to go to her, to comfort her, but my gut tightens with a warning. So instead of going to her, I stay put and watch her struggle. Her fist tightens, and her body shakes with nervousness or anger, I’m not sure which.
In a flash, she rears her arm back and chucks the television remote.
The hard piece of plastic sails through the air, right toward me. I lean to the side just in time to miss being hit in the face.
The remote hits the wall behind me. Glancing down, I see the back of the remote next to my foot, the pad of buttons not far from me, and the black piece of plastic is in two pieces next to the wall.
“I’m sorry.” Those words are so soft-spoken I barely hear them. Makayla doesn’t look at me, her eyes are on the floor. I take a step toward her but she stands quickly and runs from the room, dashing out the front door like the fires of hell are chasing after her.
It’s only now that I glance at the television and see what has upset her. What I see sets my blood to boiling. No wonder she ran out of the room like a bat out of hell. Her own personal hell was being flaunted right in front of her eyes.
The scene playing on the television shows a girl sprawled out on the grass with ripped clothing, a cut on her upper lip, bruises forming around her eyes, and her pants around her ankles. There are two men standing above her, laughing and passing a bottle of whiskey back and forth.
Setting the popcorn and drinks on the coffee table, I push the off button on the television then pull the curtain back to see Makayla pacing on the porch.
How in God’s name am I supposed to handle this?
This is not familiar territory for me. Do I go to her and comfort her or do I stay put and wait for her to return? My stomach is in knots with worry. Makayla stops pacing and leans against the railing of the porch, resting on her arms with her head hanging down.
Throwing all caution to the wind, I decide to just go out to her. What is the worst she can do, send me home? She can sure as heck try. I am not going anywhere until I know she is okay. Let her hate me, I don’t care.
Stepping out onto the front porch, I join her, leaning my hip against the railing. “Kay?”
Her breathing hitches at my voice but she doesn’t look at me.
“You okay?” I don’t know why I asked. It’s a stupid question and I immediately feel like an idiot for asking.
Couldn’t I have thought of something better to say than that? Jeez, I’m such a moron.
“Yeah.” Her shoulders slump further and I know she is lying. “No.” Wiping her eyes with the collar of her shirt, she continues. “Will these feelings ever go away? Every time I turn around there is something to remind of what Brandt did to me.” She sniffles. “It’s like the harder I try to forget, the more I’m reminded of it.”
Makayla is hurting and I don’t know how to make it better. It doesn’t matter what I say, I’m afraid whatever leaves my mouth will set her afire so I settle for a simple truth. “Have you tried forgiveness?”
She sucks in a breath, the air hissing through her teeth. Pushing away from the railing, she spins around to face me. Eyes hard as stone, she jams a finger into my chest. “Are you flippin’ kidding me, Eryc?” Pushing her finger harder into my chest, she advances on me until my back is arching over the railing. “This isn’t church, don’t push that load of crap down my throat. That monster does not deserve my forgiveness. What he deserves is a life sentence in hell.”
I can’t argue with her there. Brandt does deserve life in hell for his transgressions but that is not for us to determine. Ultimately, God is the only one with the authority to sentence Brandt to such a fate.
But forgiving Brandt wasn’t what I was referring to, she needs to forgive herself before she can begin to heal.
“I was raped. How am I supposed to forgive that?” Taking a step away from me, she gazes off into the distance. A grunt leaves her throat before she speaks again. “You know what? I’m tired after all.” Walking to the front door, she stops on the threshold. “Stay. Go. I really don’t care.” With that, she disappears into the house, slamming the door behind her.
“Well, that went well,” I whisper into the night. Not sure whether she locked the door, I turn the knob.
It opens with a slight creak. Fighting against the urge to go inside and keep watch, I reach inside and lock the knob before shutting it and heading across the yard in nothing but my socks. I will see her tomorrow when she has had time to cool down.
I will wait until then to get my shoes.
Plopping down on my sofa, I slam my hand against the cushion. I hate that Makayla is suffering and there is nothing I can do to ease her pain. God, why did I have to go to Dallas for the summer? It’s not like my parents needed me to help them move. I should have stayed and protected her.
Christian values aside, I would have beaten the snot out of that crazy fool for assaulting her. I still may beat the crap out of him the next time I see him.
Oh sure, if I had beat him up, then people would have talked crap about me because I am a preacher’s son.
People always pick on me because of what my father is. They would have taken my actions and used them as an opportunity to quote scripture to me, saying something along the lines of, “What about turning the other cheek?”
Turning the other cheek?
Ha. Truth be told, that particular Bible verse is referring to religious persecution and not protecting yourself against predators. Turning the other cheek? No, I would have beaten his sorry butt if I had been here.
My hands tighten into fists, I’m itching to punch him in the throat just sitting here thinking about it.
Even as my brain rambles on, I know the truth. My being here during the summer would not have made a difference. Makayla would have still hung out with the popular crowd and I would have still hung out with my less than popular friends.
I’m not sure how long I have been sitting on the sofa, contemplating what-ifs, but when my eyes become too heavy to keep open, I pull my socks off and toss them in the laundry room then head toward my bedroom.
With heavy lids and a deep yawn, I slip under the covers and immediately fall asleep.
Dreams of running a touchdown on the field and Makayla cheering for me in the stands morph into something much darker.
In place of my happy fantasy, I am suddenly left with images that my brain conjures of Makayla and Brandt. The words I have read in her journal play on a loop in my dreams and I feel myself tossing and turning. Occasionally, I open my eyes, breathing heavily and my blood boiling with anger.
Now, I am staring at the popcorn ceiling. My eyes are as dry as the Sahara Desert and blinking is almost painful. The sun is up and beaming through the window, streaking across my neck and chest. Thank God it’s Saturday, because there is no way I can stand spending the day in school. My body is worn out and my brain is fried.
The sound of a fist pounding on the front door startles me. I jump out of bed, worrying that i
t is about Makayla. My sweet girl has been through enough, I hope she is alright. Plush carpet squishes between my toes as I jog down the hallway toward the door. The pounding grows louder with each hit of the fist.
Unlocking the deadbolt, I swing open the heavy wooden door to find Thaddeus with a scowl on his face and his fist up, ready to pound into the door for the umpteenth time.
Crossing his arms over his chest and widening his stance, he yells, “What in the heck happened last night?” He doesn’t give me time to answer his question. “I woke up this morning to my TV remote smashed to smithereens, popcorn spilled all over the kitchen floor, and a glass shattered in the sink.”
“What?” I knew Makayla was upset when I left but I had no idea she went on a crazy popcorn throwing spree.
Thaddeus shifts and before I realize what he is doing, a hand shoves against my chest and I stumble backward, hitting my shoulder on the doorframe. “I swear to God, if you hurt her in any way, I will wring your neck like a soggy dishrag.”
He thinks I’m responsible for Makayla’s outburst? Yeah, not by a long shot. I thought he knew me better than that. Gaining my composure, I step aside and wave him in. Thaddeus’s eyebrow raises and the scowl he wore when I opened the door is still in place but he walks over the threshold.
Shutting the door behind me, I take a seat on the sofa and motion for him to join me. He is hesitant at first but sits on the edge of the coffee table directly in front of me.
“Look, I am not the source of Kay’s anger.” She needs to see a counselor, I want to say but don’t. “After you went up to bed, we were both wide awake and decided to watch a movie. I left her to surf the channels while I made her popcorn. When I came back into the room, I nearly lost an eye due to the flying remote.”
Thaddeus leans forward, lines crease his forehead. “How in the world does that explain the destruction left in my house?”
Leaning forward, I rest my arms on my knees. “Thaddeus, I know we’ve never been good friends but I thought you knew me well enough to know that I would never hurt Kay. I’d die before I let her get hurt.”
Our faces are close enough I can feel his puff of air when he exhales. “Then explain.”
Scrubbing my hands over my face, I lean back. “I have no idea what movie she stumbled across but when I got back to the living room she was livid. The scene was of a girl lying on the ground with ripped clothing and two men standing over her, laughing. It was apparent that they’d sexually assaulted her.”
Thaddeus runs a hand through his hair and lets out a long whistle. “Well, holy crap.” Standing, he takes to pacing and chewing on his thumbnail. “You know, I hate Brandt Taylor.” Ceasing his pacing, he looks at me. “I could kill that sorry boneheaded SOB for what he did to her. I wish it had never happened.”
“That makes two of us.” I stand and stuff my hands in my pockets. “Sadly, though, it did happen and now it’s up to us to help her recover.”
Thaddeus nods in agreement. When he looks up at me, his face is one of misery. Maybe it will be all up to me to help Makayla recovery from her tragedy. Thaddeus reaches in his front pocket and pulls out his keys.
Nodding to the keys in his hand, I ask, “What time are you supposed to be at the hospital?”
Thaddeus is staring at his keys like they hold the answers to the universe. “I’m meeting with mom’s doctors in twenty minutes.” He tosses the keys up in the air and catches them. “After seeing the mess Makayla left behind, I didn’t want to wake her up and endure her wrath.”
“Smart move.” I give Thaddeus a half smile. “She needs her rest, she hasn’t been getting enough.”
Thaddeus doesn’t speak but rather grunts his agreement.
“Don’t worry about Kay, I’ll shower really quick and then head back over.”
Thaddeus tosses his keys again before turning his blue eyes in my direction. “You’re good for my sister, don’t tick her off and mess things up.”
Like he needs to tell me that. I would rather chew my leg off than sever this newly formed friendship. “I don’t plan on it.”
His eyes soften and he nods before spinning on his heel and walking out the door.
Freshly showered, I grab my keys from the hook in the kitchen and leave through the back door. Dew from the grass causes wet spots to form on the toe of my shoes as I walk across our yards. Makayla’s car is sitting in the driveway and a black cat is perched on the hood. As I pass in front of her car the cat’s ears pull back and he slants his eyes at me.
“Relax, kitty, I’m not here for you.” The cat mewls, stands and turns in two complete circles, then sneezes before resting his head on his paws.
Attached to the side of the garage door is a padlock opener. Sliding the cover upward, I press in the six-number code and the door slides up. Once I am inside, I press the button on the wall to close the door and I enter the house through the kitchen.
Just as I suspected, Thaddeus did not clean up the mess Makayla made last night.
Popcorn not only covers the floor, but it is also on the countertop and island. This room looks like a tornado came through and scattered fluffy kernels in its wake.
The plastic bowl is under the table, upside down. “Okay, it looks like I will be cleaning up this mess before I do anything else.”
Retrieving the broom from the pantry, I set about sweeping the floor.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Makayla
Warm water beats on my neck and shoulders, releasing some of the tension from my achy muscles. Whoever came up with the term, morning sickness, was obviously not a woman who has gone through a pregnancy like mine. I cannot even count the number of times I have hugged the toilet since Eryc left last night. It’s a constant make-you-feel-green nausea. I am so ready for this crap to go away so I can feel human again.
Leaning forward to allow the water to wash over my face, I groan at the thought of sitting in the hospital all day. To be honest, I’m not sure I will be able to stand that horrid sterile scent that overwhelms my nose every time I walk through the doors of Saint Francis. I love my mom, don’t get me wrong, but my stomach cannot handle any additional dry heaving. My abdominal muscles already feel like they have been through a meat grinder.
What was once a nice steamy-hot shower is now cooling to a slightly chilly temperature. I reach out to turn the handle fully to hot but it’s already there.
“Seriously?”
Honestly, I’m not sure how long I have been in the shower, I know I stepped in right after I heard Thaddeus slip out the backdoor. That could have been half an hour ago for all I know.
Speaking of Thaddeus slipping out the backdoor, I knew he was on his way to Eryc’s house to chew him out for my temper tantrum last night. I should have told him that Eryc had nothing to do with my childish behavior but I just didn’t want to face my brother and own up to my tantrum. It was a stupid move, I know. Hopefully Eryc will overlook my idiocy and forgive me for allowing my brother to storm over there all hot tempered.
Shutting off the facet, I grab my towel off the hook and step onto the cushy mat to dry off. Pulling my Twenty One Pilots T-shirt over my head, I slip into my jeans and open the bathroom door.
The instant I step over the threshold, a sweet maple fragrance wafts toward me. Surprisingly, this is one scent that does not cause my stomach to twist in knots. In fact, my tummy rumbles at the promise of sweet yummy goodness.
A laugh escapes me. “Eryc has got to be here because my brother cannot cook to save his life.”
Jogging down the stairs, my mouth waters more the closer I get to the maple goodness. I’m wearing socks so my footsteps land silently on the hardwood floor. Eryc is standing next to the sink with his back to me. Two plates have been laid on the table, each with two pancakes.
Eryc turns around with a coffee cup in each hand. When his eyes land on me, he sucks in a breath and takes a step back. “Oh, you scared me.” Crossing the distance, he hands me a steaming cup. “How are you feeling thi
s morning?”
I’m not sure what it is about Eryc, but I find that I rather enjoy when he asks how I’m feeling. Had it been Thaddeus that asked, I would have rolled my eyes and grumbled an answer.
“I’m feeling better now, just a little tired.” He raises his eyebrow in question so I explain. “I didn’t sleep well after I went up to bed. I’ve been a little on the sick side.”
“Ah.” Pulling out a chair, he motions for me to sit, so I do.
Looking around, I see that my mess from last night has been cleaned up. I know Thaddeus did not clean it and now I feel ashamed because I know that Eryc took the time to clean up after me. I take a deep breath and apologize. “Eryc, I’m really sorry about last night. I had a sucky attitude and I shouldn’t have blown up at you like that.”
“No worries, Kay.” He tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “There is absolutely no reason for you to apologize for that outburst.” He pulls out the chair beside me and sits. “You suffered a traumatic ordeal. For you to feel overwhelmed at what you saw on TV is perfectly normal and understandable.”
“I love you.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I squeeze my eyes shut and groan. “That is not what I meant. I mean…it is…but it’s not…ugh. Never mind, just forget I said anything.”
Eryc raises one brow, a glint of humor in his brown eyes. “I understand what you mean.” He sips his coffee, those beautiful brown orbs never looking away from me. Pointing to the cup in my hand, he asks, “Is there anything I can get you? Creamer, or something?”
Looking down at the dark liquid in my cup, I cringe inwardly. I love coffee, a lot, but the last few times I tried to drink it, bile rose in my throat. Eryc pushes his chair back and stands so I say, “No. This is fine, I’m just nervous about putting anything in my mouth considering—” I point to my stomach to indicate the pregnancy and the morning sickness that goes along with it.
Understanding shines in his eyes and he shoves his hands in his jeans pockets. “Would you like a glass of milk instead?”
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