A Girl Like Me

by Ginger Scott

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” she says, sitting on the bed’s edge, her small suitcase open on the floor near her feet.

  “All right…well…goodnight,” I say, my eyes lingering on hers as she says the words back. I turn to leave through the door, but before I enter the hall completely, I give in to temptation.

  “What can he do?” I ask, turning to face her swiftly. Her head jerks up and her brow furrows. “At dinner. You told Wes you knew what he could do.”

  She chews at her lips for a few seconds, almost as if she’s deciding whether or not I can be trusted with this information.

  “I didn’t know him well. I mean, I wasn’t around that much, and you both were very young.” Her voice lifts at the end, and her brow bunches again as she drops the nightshirt back into her open suitcase. “You two were glued at the hip,” she continues, grinning slightly, her eyes set on something invisible to the side of me. “I can’t say it was you more than him, or the other way. We all thought it was this adorable first best-friends thing. But I do remember one thing that really stood out.”

  I lean back, looking down the hallway, seeing my dad’s arm now resting in his favorite chair. Mumbling comes from the TV, which means he’s distracted. I look at my grandmother again, her gaze beyond me one moment, then on my eyes the next.

  “It’s like he could predict the future,” she says, her voice almost laughing out the words. She waves her hands and stands again, lifting her nightshirt from the ground. “Oh, it’s just silliness.”

  “No…I don’t think it is,” I say. She turns to look me in the eyes again, slowly. I shake my head with tiny movement, my eyes flitting to her hands then back to her face. “What made you think that he could see things? Before they happen…”

  Her breathing slows, and I notice the way she swallows, a glassiness forming over her eyes. Instincts tell me to brace myself against the wall near the door, so my hand grips the doorway behind me, holding on.

  “Your mom…she had troubles, which I told you about,” she says, and I breathe in deeply, holding it as if I know somehow whatever Grace says next is going to choke away the rest of my air. “I was parked out front, waiting for her to come home from a doctor’s appointment she had taken you to with her. Your dad was at the school, so I was just standing out front, talking to that nice man who lived next door...the one in that picture.”

  “Shawn,” I say, the sound barely audible.

  My grandmother smiles as she nods, but her eyes aren’t smiling at all. They’re red and the first tear slides down her cheek just before she quickly swipes it away with her palm, trying to erase it existed.

  “He and I were talking about nothing, probably the weather that day. I don’t even remember what we were saying, but I will never forget when that little boy came running out of the house and tugged on Shawn’s pant leg then patted on his cane to get his attention,” Grace says, sliding her right palm to the center of her chest, a heavy breath leaving her nose. “He told us that you were in the garage next door, and that your mama was in there with you. He said you were sleeping in the backseat and your mom was sleeping in the front. And then he told us that he saw it in a dream, two nights before. In his dream, Shawn and I were standing out in the yard talking when he came running up. He said that’s how he knew he was right, because everything in his head looked just like this.”

  My gut twists as I add the facts to the only sickening conclusion. My mom was trying to kill me; she was trying to kill us both.

  “I had left my car running at the curb, even though I parked, and I couldn’t hear the engine in the garage,” Grace says, falling back to a sitting position on the edge of the bed, her hands needling at the shirt. “That boy ran to the garage and began banging on it, and when Shawn didn’t know how to get it open…Wesley jammed his fingers underneath and lifted, bending the bottom panel near the ground until he could slide more of his hands underneath and lift the garage door completely. I told the police he was the one to save you, but Shawn laughed it off and told them he had made the discovery and lifted the garage. Even with his lack of mobility and muscle coordination, it was far more likely that the adult did the rescuing…but I knew better. I knew better.”

  Through it all—my life—I have never felt as hollow as I do right now. No heart beats inside of my chest, and my lips are numb and cold, which is all right since I’m speechless, too.

  “Your mom wasn’t well, Joss. And you were so young, there’s no way you would remember,” she says, her words rushing to fill the quiet. She’s speaking normally, and I don’t even care if my dad hears any of this now. “Your dad and I thought it was best that this was something you didn’t learn about. Your mom got help after that, and for a while, she was better.”

  “She literally never wanted me…” My eyes are wide, but I can’t really see anything. The room is all a blur, and Grace is sitting motionless, not sure whether she’s supposed to hold me or wait for me to accept and move on, all on my own.

  “This is what my life is,” I whisper, and my grandmother shakes her head, her brows lowering, questioning what she heard. “I’m sorry…I was…coping.”

  I crack a laugh, and the sharp sound burns my chest. I stop breathing again and feel the pain.

  “She wasn’t well, Josselyn,” she repeats.

  “I know,” I nod, still not looking Grace in the eyes.

  “That was the last time Shawn and she spoke, too. He moved away, and I don’t think they really kept in touch,” she says.

  “He wrote her a letter,” I say, almost in a trance. Without thinking, my eyes act on their own and my gaze locks to Grace’s. I stare at her in silence through several breaths, my inner voice repeating over and over “Shawn was in love with her.” I never once say it out loud.

  I leave Grace, promising that I’m okay, despite being the farthest from okay I think maybe I’ve ever been. When I get to my room, I close the door gently, overcompensating for the urge to slam things and punch holes with my fists. I remain calm, and lay down on my bed with my phone in my hand. I try to figure out whom I need to talk to—who can make this hurt go away.

  Kyle will listen and enable. Wes will try to fix. Taryn won’t understand, but she’ll sympathize.

  Several minutes pass and none of my options ever feel right, so I make the only choice I have left—I call Shawn. I find his number quickly, and he answers within the first few rings. He isn’t surprised to hear my voice at all, and it’s either because he’s intuitive or because he’s an exceptional faker. I think, maybe, he’s a little of both.

  “Wes is the one who sees things,” I say, and his only response is silence.

  His silence is enough.

  Eighteen

  I didn’t call Wes with the latest revelation I learned about his life. I simmered on it, spending hours trying to make sense out of everything Grace said. It isn’t so much the part about Wes as it is the part about what my mother tried to do.

  When Grace came into my room to comfort me, I let her. I acted the part—broken daughter who is trying to understand that her mom wasn’t well. The only thing I really understand is why nobody told me. I’m glad they didn’t, but I’m also glad I know. I think now was the right time for me to find out. As much as it hurts, it slides so many of my puzzle pieces in place, and the picture of me and my mother that was fuzzy for so long is so much clearer.

  None of this was me. It wasn’t that I wasn’t wanted, or that I was some experiment to see if my presence would fix all of the broken things in my parents’ relationship. Nothing was going to fix things for my mom. She would never be happy—her mind and body simply wouldn’t let her. And as much as I mourn the joys I missed out on because of it, I feel this odd sense of closure on all of those painful wounds I carried around for so long.

  None of it was my fault.

  I slept; I think because of the peace. I dreamt of things that didn’t make sense—a new candy machine in the school hallway, a speech I was supposed to give in English
that I wasn’t prepared for, and some chalk drawing in my driveway that looked like hopscotch. In my dream, I had both of my legs, and I hopped all the way into my garage.

  Even now, as Wes pulls up to the curb and I finish the last bite of my Pop-Tart, I don’t feel anger or resentment. This is my life…and that was my mom’s. Neither could be helped.

  “Your dad’s back in the gym today?” Wes asks as I climb into the passenger seat.

  “Life as usual. That’s how we do things in the Winters house, we just mow right through the crap and pretend we never saw it,” I laugh, buckling my belt as Wes pulls away.

  My phone buzzes just as I’m bending forward to tuck it in my bag, so I bring it back to my lap and see Rebecca’s name. Wes turns his stereo down so I can hear.

  “Hey, it’s me,” I say, pulling the phone away from my ear for a second just to check the time. “Were we supposed to work out this morning?”

  “No, and I know it’s early. I figured you’d be on your way to school?” she asks.

  “I am,” I say.

  “Good. Do you have your equipment?” I glance to Wes and he slows the truck down as I hold my finger up.

  “I’m right by the house, so I can get it,” I say, swirling my finger in the air and asking him to turn around.

  We’re back at my house in seconds, so I get out of the truck and continue to talk while I gather my things from the garage. There’s a new stain on the concrete in the middle of the ground, and I stop to stare at it while Rebecca explains that the magazine wants to get some shots today of me working out at the field. She says she’s cleared it with the school. I respond with automatic “okays” and “uh huhs,” but my focus is on that stain. It’s oil from the car I owned for less than a day. The last bit of proof that my dad’s gift to me was parked right here before police hauled it away as evidence.

  “Do you think my dad can be in the shots with me?” I ask, snapping my focus back to Rebecca. I’ve interrupted her, and I’m not sure what she was saying. “He’s just been an important part of my progress. People should see the value of family.”

  I spin it for her to sell to the magazine, and it works. She agrees and we hang up as I shut the garage and carry my things out to Wes’s truck. I didn’t ask because of the family element to the story. I asked because my dad is trying so hard, and because I want to show him that I see it—I feel his love, and I love him back.

  So very much.

  “Sorry,” I say to Wes as I climb in after dropping my things in the back. “The magazine is going to take some shots today out on the field.”

  Wes grins on one side of his mouth then looks to the road, shifting and pulling us forward. “That’s awesome,” he says.

  “My dad’s going to be in the photos with me,” I say, my eyes watching his face for a reaction.

  Wes’s lips rest in a slight smile, and the longer I watch, the deeper his dimple becomes. I mimic his expression, and we don’t talk about it anymore. Wes is proud of me for this, but that’s not why I did it. I did it because at the end of the day, my dad’s earned it, too.

  At least a dozen times during our drive, I try to find a natural way to bring up what Grace told me to Wes. There really isn’t a natural way to tell someone you found out your mom tried to kill you when you were little, though, much less add in the part that your superhero boyfriend had a vision and stopped it. By the time we pull into the school parking lot, I’m giggling at the very real absurdity of it all.

  “All right, what’s funny?” Wes asks, resting his left arm on the wheel as he turns to look at me. I glance to his hat, the way it’s slightly crooked, shading his left eye from the sun, and just to tease him, I reach forward and tug it down low, over his eyebrows.

  “You sure you can’t fly?” I ask.

  He punches out a short laugh.

  “Pretty sure,” he says, twisting the other way and fixing his hat as he leaves the truck.

  I leave, too, knowing I need to talk to Wes about what I’ve learned, but deciding now isn’t the time to dissect more of Shawn’s lies.

  Taryn and Wes’s brothers haven’t gotten to the gym yet, so Wes goes to work doing the exercises he doesn’t need a spotter for, and I grab a jump rope from the wall. My dad is flipping through a stack of papers at his desk in the corner, and he doesn’t notice me when I walk up. I glance at them, upside down, and recognize the name of our insurance company.

  “For the car?” I ask, and my dad jumps a little in his seat. He sets his pen down and leans back in his chair, scratching at his chin.

  “Yeah, looks like we’ll be able to replace it. Picking insurance plans is the one thing I didn’t screw up,” he says, shaking once with a laugh before he lets his palms fall flat on his desk as he stares up at me.

  “You didn’t screw up a lot of things,” I shrug. His eyes hold onto mine for a few seconds before he responds.

  “Thanks,” he says, quiet so only I hear.

  My pulse picks up, not from nerves, but more from anticipation. I glance around to make sure we’re alone enough to talk without obnoxious football players eavesdropping. I notice Zack isn’t here, and I’m pretty sure he got suspended for yesterday’s fight with Wes. A few of his friends are here, and they’re watching Wes while whispering, I’m sure just waiting to text Zack about how the golden boy got off easy. What they don’t realize, though, is Wes really is made of gold—light, and gold, and something more. I’m not entirely sure he’s human sometimes, but I don’t care.

  “Speaking of things you’re good at,” I say, sliding into the open chair at the side of his desk.

  “Well this list oughta be short,” he chuckles, turning in his swivel chair and folding his arms over his chest. My dad reaches into his middle drawer and slides it open, pulling out a pack of gum. I see about a dozen half-ripped open packs in there. He takes out a stick and holds it out for me to take one. I shake my head no, but smirk as he puts the pack back in his drawer.

  “I know, it’s a lot of gum,” he says, leaning back again as he unwraps his stick. “They don’t like me spitting seeds in here.”

  I nod and smile while he pops the gum in his mouth and begins to chew.

  “I haven’t had a chance to tell you about something,” I start, and my dad’s head tilts to the side, curious. “It’s a good thing. I know my track record might make you think I’m about to tell you I’m failing, but I’m not. My grades are pretty good so far, actually. I mean…it’s early still, but…”

  “Screw track records,” my dad says, snapping his gum before smiling through tight lips.

  “Exactly,” I say, laughing lightly. I glance around once more, satisfied that the few people in here with us are absorbed in their own worlds. “I’m going to be in a magazine.”

  My dad’s eyebrows raise and his hands loosen around his chest as he sits up a little straighter.

  “Yeah,” I smirk, my cheeks blushing with pride. I look down at my hands, twisting nervously in my lap. As much swagger as I claim to have, having someone see something in me still feels extraordinary.

  “When? What for? How many copies can I buy?”

  My dad’s face has never been so bright. He scoots his wheels closer to the desk and rests his elbow on the top, propping up his head as he stares at me with what looks like wonder.

  “I’m sure they’ll give me copies, but you can buy a hundred,” I joke.

  “Done,” he says fast.

  Our smiles settle on each other and I let his eyes dazzle around my face for a few seconds, warm under his glow.

  “It was going to be a story on Rebecca at first,” I say, pausing to raise my eyes and suck in my lips, still not used to the idea that I’m somehow important enough to do something like this. “She told them she knew of a better story…or not better, but just…”

  “Horseshit, your story’s better,” my dad says, a little too loudly. A few people in the gym look over, but they go back to their workouts quickly.

  “The story is going to b
e on her post-injury work as a trainer, and on me as her client…athlete…I’m not sure what they’ll call me. Client sounds so weird,” I say.

  “They’ll call you amazing,” my dad cuts in fast.

  I blush again and let my head fall to the side.

  “Thanks, Dad,” I say softly.

  “What’s the magazine called?” he asks.

  “Girl Strong. You’ve seen it,” I answer.

  “You’ve gotten it,” he confirms. I nod yes.

  My dad lets his hand fall flat on the desk again and he continues to stare at me, his smile never shrinking this entire time.

  “There’s another thing,” I say, butterflies back in my chest. I’m excited for this, and I hope he’s okay with it. My dad nods at me again, ready for more. “They’re coming to shoot my workout on the field today. My workout…with you.”

  “With…me…” His head cocks slightly, and his lips twitch, uncertain what I mean.

  “I could not have done any of this without you, Dad. The photos need to be with me and you. You’re part of this success story. Pushing me to be my best…it’s something you’re good at, turns out.”

  My dad’s mouth closes, a hint of a smile on his lips, and he swallows hard, his eyes misting. His breath hitches, stuttering through his nose, and after a few seconds, his eyes close in a slow blink. For a moment, I think he might not open them, but he does. Leaning close, he reaches his hand toward my head, his palm caressing the side of my cheek and hair, covering my ear. He pulls me close and I bend forward as he kisses the top of my head.

  “I’ll be there. Right after school. With whatever you need,” he says, his voice cracking halfway through his words.

  He backs away and stands, flashing me a quick smile and holding up a thumb before he steps through the door, letting it swing closed behind him. He’s gone for a walk, to be alone. I let him, because I know he’s outside reveling in what a win feels like, and not the kind he’s earned thousands of out there on the field, but the kind he’s fought for with me…for months. Perhaps even for years.