“Michael killed her.” As I said it I realized that I didn’t really mean it, but the compassion I suddenly felt for Mirinda compelled me to state the accusation in her defense.
“Actually, it may have had more to do with Brett.”
I blinked, then refocused my eyes and noticed Graham’s clenched jaw. I was almost afraid to breathe. And definitely afraid to ask. “How?”
Graham spoke quickly, as though the words had been torturing him for months and he was now able to spew them from his mouth. “He molested her. When she was young.”
Rage bubbled inside me, but just as quickly, it dispersed, and I wondered if my body could no longer generate strong feelings—even when provoked by something so repulsive—for Brett Ross. Gradually, the clues began to piece together. Mirinda struggled with self-esteem even though she was beautiful, she hadn’t joined in family gatherings for years, and she had become incredibly nervous just before Brett came home for the reunion. “How old was she when it happened?”
Graham looked up at me then, and even though his eyes were dry, they were rimmed with redness. “It was when you were pregnant.”
My ears filled with sounds I had heard over the years. Memories. Ava’s first cry, the tinkling of a mobile above her bed, the angry voice of my husband, my own desperate cries of sadness and insecurity. My eyes slowly closed. “What did he do to her? Mirinda was just a child at the time. Maybe twelve.”
Graham’s voice grew calmer and soft. “He touched her, but he didn’t sleep with her. But as far as I know, Brett isn’t into kids.”
“She developed early.” My eyes opened. “He was attracted to her as a woman, not as a child.” It made so much sense now. “From the moment she matured physically, she began to lose the people that mattered.”
“Yes.” Graham sounded so tired. “When Brett told her he was coming home, Mirinda’s insecurity snowballed, and at the reunion, his indifference put her on the brink of suicide. I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t, and she appeared to be handling it.” His chest seemed to collapse. “Now I know she wasn’t being completely honest with me, and at the last, she manipulated me so she could accomplish what she wanted. If I had known how bad she was feeling, I would have had her hospitalized.”
I lifted his hand and held it in mine, stroking his fingers.
He nodded once, and a tear slid down his cheek. “I failed, Cecily.”
“No.” I knelt before him. “You didn’t fail.”
He looked at me then, peering into my eyes as though desperately searching for confirmation of the horrific place in which he had found himself. The nightmare. My heart hurt in a way it had never hurt before, and I slipped my arm around his back and patted his shoulder, then gripped it, digging my fingers into the muscles. My other hand went to his ear, where his hair was matted with dried sweat, and I gently pulled his head down to my shoulder. I held him, rubbing his back and stroking his hair and crooning words of comfort.
At first his muscles were stiff, but then he nestled into the crook of my neck, and inhaled deeply, his body relaxing against mine. He said nothing, but he didn’t have to.
I kissed the top of his head as he buried his face in my chest and sobbed.
Epilogue
Text from Shanty to Cecily: Those who look to him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame. Psalm 34:5
Cecily: Nina was right. You’re a Bible-thumper.
After the accident—everyone was calling it an accident—I continued my unofficial counseling with Graham, and several months later we settled into a comfortable friendship. And somehow . . . it was enough for me. Gradually, I learned to focus my life on something greater than myself—which, of course, was the key all along. Everyone had always told me I was fearfully and wonderfully made, but it wasn’t until I broke the cycle of my negative thoughts and emotions that I could finally rest in that knowledge.
And rest I did.
It had been a full year since I sat in the kitchen, talking to Dad over bacon and eggs. Now I sat in the same chair, but this time, it was pulled up next to the piano where Gage Espinosa dutifully played the C major scale.
He smiled up at me. “Is that good, Miss Ross?”
I wasn’t Miss Ross, but I didn’t correct him because I wasn’t quite Mrs. Ross either. “That’s perfect, Gage.”
Really, I was just Cecily—but Shanty wouldn’t allow Gage to call me that.
He opened his book and began picking out his piece of the week, slowly, almost painfully. He was better than last week, and learning was a slow process. That’s what Graham would say. Graham said a lot of things.
He had been a mess after Mirinda’s death, and together we had talked through a lot of his issues, which were surprisingly similar to my own. I was insecure about my looks, and Graham was insecure about his abilities. I was haunted by my decision to date and marry Brett, and Graham was haunted, always, by his past drug use. I had been hurt by my husband and—now I could admit it—by my mother too, and Graham had been damaged by his father’s expectations. We found we could empathize with each other.
Gage finished his piece, and I clapped my hands and had him start his last song. Through the window I could see Dad and Olivia, who had finally started spending time together outside of work. They were pulling a half-finished table out of the garage and into the yard. Before Gage got to the end of the page, the shrill of the sander could be heard through the thin walls, and his eyebrows lifted.
“It’s just a power tool,” I said. “And perfect timing too because I see your daddy driving up.”
“Thanks, Miss Ross.” Gage bounded across the room, leaving the door open as he left.
I settled back in my chair, listening to the sander and the voices in the yard. Olivia talked to Al over the racket, and Dad hummed the tune he had just heard Gage playing. And I was happy. Content. Pleased with myself and my life and my situation. Things could still improve, but I had determined not to dwell on the negative. Instead, I focused on the best thing that had come out of all the heartache: we were keeping our property.
Michael Divins had begged Dad to allow him to pay off Mom’s medical debts. Michael couldn’t bear the thought of buying the property without Mirinda, and he said if he wasn’t going to start his family there, he wanted to be sure it stayed in ours. Dad refused at first, but in the end, Graham talked him into it, saying it would help Michael if he was given the opportunity to help someone else.
I could see the wisdom in that.
Gage and Al drove away as Graham pulled up, and I smiled at the happy flurry in our yard.
Graham had finally convinced me to take him rappelling, and Dad had prepared the gear for us that morning. Probably my dad would’ve enjoyed teaching him more than I would because the two of them were spending more and more time together lately, working on projects around the house while they discussed everything from politics to sports.
The front door was still open, and as I sat on the couch and tied my tennis shoes, a soft knock prompted me to look up.
Graham stood on the porch, watching me. “Mind if I come in?”
“Sure, but I’m almost ready.”
He took a step over the threshold, then hesitated. “Actually, can we talk for a few minutes before we go down to the canyon?”
“You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”
He smiled widely. “No, I just have a question for you.”
“Have a seat.”
“I’d rather stand.”
He took my hand and pulled me up from the couch.
“What’s this about?” I asked.
Silently, he drew me to the side of the room where Mom’s antique mirror hung on the wall, then he turned me so that I was looking at my reflection with him standing behind me and peering over my shoulder.
I lifted my eyebrows.
“What do you see?” he asked softly.
“Me.” I shrugged. “And you.”
“What else?”
“My new and impr
oved sleeve?”
He lifted my left arm and inspected the ivy that now covered it. A high-priced tattoo parlor in Amarillo had transformed my barbed wire into curling green ivy with tiny white and yellow flowers. It was still pink around the edges, healing. “Nice,” said Graham, “but what else?” He directed my attention back to the mirror.
He was smiling at my reflection with an open-mouthed grin, so I stated the obvious. “You’re happy.”
“Yes, but what else?”
He wasn’t looking at my reflection now. He had leaned forward to look at my profile, and his gaze traveled up and down my face. When his eyes found mine again in the mirror, I knew what he was getting at.
“I’m . . . not ugly?”
He sighed, an exaggerated demonstration of patience. “Rephrase.”
Rephrase. Rephrase. Rephrase. It had become his latest keyword in our happy-thoughts regime. But positive self-talk was still difficult for me. “I’m . . . all-right looking.”
“Little stronger.”
“I’m pretty enough, I guess.” I swallowed. “Okay, I’m beautiful.”
He grinned. “Did you hear that, Cecily? You just looked in a mirror and said you were beautiful. You know what that means?”
“Does it mean you’ve gone crazy?”
“It means you’re so, so much healthier than you were.” He stepped between me and the mirror, and when he looked down at me, his grin softened. “It means you’re happy and well adjusted.”
“So?”
He chuckled. “We should start dating again. It’s time.”
I couldn’t speak at first, but then I sputtered. “But I thought . . . I thought you didn’t want a relationship.”
His eyes widened. “Why would you think that?”
“After everything happened, you pulled away.”
“No.” His head slowly moved back and forth. “When we broke up I just wanted to take a break. You needed to heal, and I was pushing you. It wasn’t healthy.”
“But I thought—” It seemed like so long ago, and so much had happened right after, that I couldn’t seem to remember any of it clearly.
“You—” Graham squinted. “You still want me, right?”
I stared at him, not believing what I was hearing, but desperately wanting what he had offered. “Yes.” I smiled. “I still want you.”
And this time I wanted him for the right reasons. So I could help and support him too, not just so I could be supported. I wanted us to be a partnership, not a hero saving a damsel. I wanted him for life.
When he took my face in his hands and gently kissed my lips, desire welled inside me, but when he pulled me into a hug, I felt the peace I’d been longing for my entire life. We were right together, and I didn’t need to see our reflection in the mirror to know it.
THE END
SHANTY’S BE YOU CHALLENGE
Make a list of things you like about yourself. Name at least five.
Write and tell yourself you are beautiful and amazing. Then tell yourself why.
Write about a mistake you made and how it impacted your life in a positive way.
Make a list of people who have committed offenses against you. Then forgive them.
Write about a time in your childhood when you didn’t feel good about yourself.
Close your eyes and think about self-esteem for a while. Write whatever comes to mind.
List things for which you are thankful. Keep going until you can’t think of any more.
Jot down the names of three people who could use a hug today.
Draw a picture of YOU, being as kind to yourself as you would to your best friend.
Write about something that made you happy in the past year.
NOTE TO THE READER
To my knowledge, there has never been a suicide at Palo Duro Canyon, though there have been a handful of deaths due to falls while hiking. To the friends and families of these victims, I offer my heartfelt condolences.
Even though I only lived in the Panhandle for a few months during my freshman year at college, the region has become a favorite setting, mainly due to the fabulous views at the canyon and the open expanse of the surrounding farmland. Because it’s been a while since my college years, I’m sure many details are skewed (some accidentally and some intentionally). So to the residents of Canyon, I apologize for the inaccuracies, which I’m sure irritate you beyond distraction. Midnight Oil is actually the Palace Coffee Company, and several other shops were invented from my imagination, but what a nostalgic square you guys have! Any author would be inspired to set a story there.
Writing about the canyon brought me great joy, and I hope I managed to take you on a mental sightseeing trip where you could envision the jagged cliffs, feel the breeze in your hair, and hear the eagle cawing overhead. My goal was to contrast the glory of nature with our culture’s warped definition of physical beauty.
This book was difficult for me to write because I’m fighting my own battle with self-esteem, and as you can probably tell, I don’t have all the answers. However, I have a jumble of tools, and Cecily and I will continue to work the plan. If you share our struggle, I pray this story has helped you in your journey and that you are soon able to look away from the mirror and see the rest of the world out there. A world that needs you.
Clearly I am not a counselor. The knowledge that Graham Harper and Shanty Espinosa bestowed on my characters came from several excellent books: Boundaries, by Dr. Henry Cloud and Dr. John Townsend; Forgive and Love Again, by John W. Nieder and Thomas M. Thompson; Every Heart Restored, by Fred and Brenda Stoeker; Who Switched Off My Brain? Controlling Toxic Thoughts and Emotions, by Dr. Caroline Leaf; Healing for Damaged Emotions, by David A. Seamands; Untangled, by Carey Scott; Taming Your Gremlin, by Richard Carson; and The Healing Choice, by Susan Allen and Brenda Stoeker.
Find me online at www.VarinaDenman.com or on social media. I’d love to hear from you.
Thanks for reading!
Varina
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It turns out I don’t know as much about the Texas Panhandle as I thought I did, and I’ve picked the brains of many family, friends, and strangers who are now avoiding my calls and emails. Someday I will learn to write stories about things I’m more familiar with . . . maybe.
I owe a huge thanks to the McNeill family of Happy, Texas, for figuratively loaning me your property on the rim of Palo Duro Canyon and for giving me a glimpse of the love you have for the region, your passion for family, and your affinity for stories of life in the Panhandle. This book would not be the same without your influence.
Thank you to Jeff Davis, park interpreter at Palo Duro Canyon State Park, for answering a bajillion questions about the day-to-day responsibilities of a park ranger, for giving me a written tour of the gatehouse, and for pointing me toward that sheer cliff on the CCC trail. I suppose this means you’re partly responsible for Mirinda’s death.
Thank you to Kelsea and Drew for tutoring me on the code of ethics for professional counselors, for telling me all the crazy things Cecily could be experiencing, and for driving up and down the streets of Canyon, snapping pictures and recording videos, so I could create a more factual story for my readers.
Thank you to Dustin Hahn for giving me a crash course (pun intended) on the various bike trails at the state park, for sending pictures that helped me feel as though I were back at the canyon again, and for mentioning that our favorite dentist once flipped over his handlebars. But most of all, thank you for sharing your love of the sport, which helped me to write not only a better setting but also a better character.
Thank you to Amy Elkins and my other friends for holding me steady on my journey and for inadvertently helping me figure out what to do for Cecily in the process.
My most heartfelt thanks goes to my husband, Don, for your tireless, unquestioning, and much-needed support; and to my kiddos Jessica, Colton, Drew, Kelsea, Dene, Micah, Jillian, and Janae for putting up with my distracted conversations, my absence
at family functions, and my ever-diminishing cooking and cleaning skills.
Thank you to my agent, Jessica Kirkland, for encouraging me through the writing process once again, and to all the folks at Waterfall Press, for bringing Cecily’s story to life.
BOOK CLUB GUIDE
In the beginning of the story, Cecily feels unattractive and depressed. What events lead up to this status? Could she have avoided falling into despair? How? Can you empathize with her?
Soon after her return home, Cecily goes out with Michael Divins. What motivates her to make this decision? What happens during the date to cause her depressive episode later that night?
Cecily is so disgusted with her appearance, her life situation, and her past that she deliberately cuts herself. Can you explain her actions? How does she feel afterward? Fortunately, her self-abuse prompts her to seek help, but what might have happened if she hadn’t?
When Cecily is alone in front of mirrors, she thinks negative thoughts. Some people might call this “the voice inside her head” or “bad memories” or “Satan’s influence.” How do you look at it? What causes Cecily’s mind to wander in that direction? What steps does she take to silence the voice?
When Cecily goes to the support group, it isn’t what she was expecting. How do Shanty and Nina compare to Cecily’s expectations? Is she surprised when they eventually help her? What else surprises Cecily about her new friends?
Cecily’s dad has his own set of problems, which affect Cecily indirectly. What kinds of emotional problems is he facing, and how do they work for or against Cecily’s struggle? How do the two characters grow closer as they walk along their journeys?
Shanty assigns Cecily several homework projects, one of which is to journal about herself. Do the assignments help? Why or why not? What is most difficult for Cecily? What helps her most?
During the demonstration at the mall, Cecily grows more confident as she watches Shanty and the way the crowd reacts to her. Why do you think the event affects Cecily in that way? Do you think Cecily would ever want to do a demonstration? Why does Shanty do it? How does it affect Shanty’s self-esteem?
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