My mom barrels through the crowds with flowers in her hands, looking for me. I laugh to myself and stand up. When she finally sees me, she rushes over, flushed and out of breath. “Honey!” she wails. “Oh, honey!” She sets the bouquet of flowers down and throws her arms around me. “You’ve gained weight! You look great.”
Self-consciously, I pull my shirt down. In the years after Cade, I lost quite a bit of weight. Not eating and being scared for your life will do that to a person. So, in mom’s eyes, weight equals healthy.
Oh…if she only knew.
“Thanks, Mom.”
She takes her constrictor grasp away and holds me at arm’s length. This is always the part I hate the most. It’s easy to hide from her over the phone. But, when she’s right in front of me, she can see through my façade of bullshit and call out my every secret.
“Is it Jennings?”
I step away from her and pick up my bag. “No, Mother. I told you. Jennings and I are over.”
She picks up the flowers and walks next to me as we exit the airport. “I know, honey. You just—you look like you haven’t slept in days.”
“Gee, thanks, Mom,” I deadpan.
She gives me a look. You know the one. The one that only a mom could give. The one that says, “you need to get it together before I kidnap you and force feed you some Benadryl in pudding.” She’s always been the type of mom to let me do my own thing. Even as a teenager, she trusted me to do what was right.
A lot a good that did me.
But, when I screwed my life up, and she never once made me feel like I did wrong. She recognized that even though I unintentionally turned my world upside down, I needed someone to understand, not someone to yell and judge me into a five-year grounding. I was my own worst enemy, anyway. I judged and mutilated my soul into submission that summer, the summer that Cade left me. I covered up every mirror and shiny surface in the house because I couldn’t stand to look at myself.
Mom, though, she helped carry me back to the land of the living. She pulled me from the trenches of my own mind and found the key to the darkness.
“You know what I mean. You need to sleep, sweet Whitley.”
“I know, Mom. I will. Hopefully when this is all over.”
She pats my shoulder and I heave myself inside her truck. Out here in the sticks, no one drives a car. If you drive a car, you are not real country-folk. So, my poor Sue Civic would probably be TP’ed if I decided to drive her here.
The grumble of the engine starts and Mom heads toward our little town. The rolling hills and sprawling prairies are nowhere to be seen because the only way to see those is to hop off of the freeway and explore. Kansas has some of the most beautiful land I’ve ever seen but as Mom cruises down the highway, talking at a dangerous speed, I can’t see anything but flat land. The pit stops and fast food restaurants we pass are unchanged. Old Radley’s Corner Store still sits on the corner of Twelfth and Oak. The shops down Main Street were mutilated after a nasty tornado ripped through five years ago, but the construction looks about the same. Tattered wood and chipped paint, I’d be surprised if they didn’t use all of the same colors.
Mom drives by my old high school. The same one that I wasn’t able to graduate from because I was serving time for what Cade had me do. I watch as the kids sit outside and eat their lunches, not having a care whatsoever. They meander around, eating their food, talking on their phones, joking around all while having no idea of the monster that lurked their halls just ten years prior. They haven’t the slightest clue of the sadness Cade brought when he transferred.
“Quit staring,” Mom says sternly as we turn the corner. “It doesn’t matter what happened there, it’s over.”
I begin to feel my traitor eyes start to water and I take a deep breath, willing myself to stop. “I know.” But not really. If it were over, I wouldn’t be here right now.
“What time do you have to be at the Courthouse?”
I breathe through my nose and open the email to check the time. “Eleven.”
“Then what are you going to do? When—when it’s over.”
If it’s over.
I’m almost positive she wants me to stay a while and take some time. To do what, hell if I know.
My life is a clusterfuck at this very moment and I’m lucky to be able to put the correct size shirt on every morning.
“I’m going home tomorrow, Mom. I don’t want to be here.”
She huffs, but she’s not annoyed, she’s unhappy—for me. “I wish you could love this place again. Plus, it’s Thanksgiving this week.”
“I can’t, Mom.”
“I know, honey.” She taps my leg. “I know.” She changes the subject. “Dad is coming over tonight.”
I turn my head to look at her. “Umm, what? Since when?”
She drums on the steering wheel. “What? We get along now.”
I have entered the twilight zone.
I repeat, “Umm, what?”
She gives me a stern look. “I’ve officially become a proper adult.” She smiles my way. “Your dad and I are good, now. He and Ben even went golfing last week.”
With my jaw on the seat of the truck, I stare, speechless. “Who are you? And, what have you done with my Mother?”
She cuts me another look. “Hush.”
“Wow,” I stress.
“So, dinner at the steakhouse tonight with your Dad, yeah?”
“Yeah.” I pick at my nails. “Sure.”
“Sound a little more upbeat, daughter. Or I’ll make you milk the cows in the morning.”
My hands tense in recollection and that changes my mood. “Oh, wonderful!” I say with too much pep.
“Better,” she compliments. “But cut the shit.”
I bite my lip, attempting to hide my smile.
Well, then.
We pull up to the steakhouse and for a Tuesday, it’s hopping. Like, maybe we should turn around and go home because I don’t want to see anyone, hopping. This was a bad idea.
“Mom,” I start complaining.
“It’s fine,” she says, straight to the point.
Like a stubborn child, I stick my tongue out from the back seat and cross my arms.
What am I? Twelve?
“Stick that tongue out again and I’ll cut it off, Whitley Jules.”
Damn Mutant Mother being able to see me even without turning around. It must come with having children.
I keep my thoughts to myself and open my door, exiting into the cool November air. The leaves have changed already and with the holiday just around the corner, it looks like Thanksgiving threw up on the town. Turkeys and pumpkins adorn every surface while real and fake orange and yellow leaves hang on every windowsill. Leave it to Scarsdale to overdo it on the decorating.
“Buttercup,” Dad calls from across the parking lot.
I look up and find him jogging my way. His hair, still blonde with speckles of grey throughout, he hasn’t changed. Unlike Mom, I haven’t actually seen him since I moved. We talk on the phone every week, but he hasn’t grasped the concept of Skype or FaceTime.
I hurl myself into his arms and breathe in his scent. Wood and faint cigar smoke. “Dad,” I sigh.
“Hi Jules,” he greets, his eyes shining.
Dad has always called me by my middle name. When I was younger, Mom agreed on Whitley and Dad chose Jules. He always told me my name was beautiful, but Jules fit me better.
He wraps his arm around my shoulders and we walk into the restaurant behind Ben and Mom.
The hostess leads us to a table and when we are all seated, all three of my parents look to me.
“What?” I raise my hand to my mouth thinking I have something in my teeth.
Mom is the first to speak. “We’ve missed you.”
Dad grabs my hand. “Yes, we have.”
Ben smiles and grabs Mom’s arm. “It’s good to have you here with us.”
“One big happy family,” I quip.
It’s an odd feeli
ng. The only emotions I’ve experienced with my Mom and Dad in the same room have been anxiety and annoyance. They always fought and bickered at each other. It drove me crazy. But now we’re here, in the same room and they look like—friends. Friends?
Twilight. Zone.
The meal consists of the three of them asking about everything from my non-existent job to where I want to travel. The conversation is pleasant and I don’t mind answering the questions they have to ask.
“I forgot to tell you that I applied for an internship with the European Society for Learning.”
“Oh? That sounds interesting,” Mom speaks up. “When is the program supposed to start?”
“The beginning of next year.” I dab my mouth. “It’s not easy to get into. I doubt I’ll get it, but wouldn’t it be fun? Traveling around Europe teaching children the English language.”
“Sounds great,” Dad agrees.
“Is it paid?” Ben asks around a mouthful of steak.
“Thankfully, yes. I’ll move around from family to family for a few months. All I have to provide is money for food.”
“That sounds like a good deal, Buttercup.”
I take a bite of broccoli. “I could use the time away from California.”
“Oh?” Mom says, again. I don’t like this “oh,” though. “Why is that?”
Did you hear that? I just hit the Jennings wall.
“No reason,” I evade, looking away from Mom’s penetrating gaze.
She doesn’t touch the Jennings subject, and I’m grateful. “When is your last class?”
“My two classes end just before Christmas.”
“And, Holli? We got the invite in the mail last week. The wedding is right before?”
“Actually,” I say, taking a drink of water. I haven’t talked about myself this much since Jennings and I got to know each other over the phone.
Jennings…
No.
Stop it.
“I graduate the week before the wedding.”
“And where was our invitation for that, Whitley Jules?”
She keeps middle naming me!
“Mom,” I scoff. “There are three of you.”
She pouts. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want an invite.”
I pull my phone out and punch the screen.
Mom’s phone beeps and she spurts wine all over the table.
“You did not.” She looks at me amused. “She just text messaged me an invite.” She shoves the phone into Ben’s hands. “Look at this.”
Ben laughs and hands the phone to Dad. He chuckles and returns it to Mom.
“Good?” I challenge.
Mom huffs and digs into her salad. “Invites aren’t expensive.”
“Ma,” I caution. “They come in packs. Packs of multiples. Must I reiterate? Three people. What am I going to do with the other ninety-seven?”
She doesn’t look up, but shrugs her shoulder. “Scrapbook.”
I snort and finish my dinner.
We’re just about to pay the check when a young woman approaches the table.
“Umm, hi,” she says, timid. “My name is Leila.” She sticks her hand out and I shake it, giving a look to the rest of the table.
“Hi.”
“I’m sorry.” She tucks her long brown hair behind her ear. “Are you Whitley Hayes?”
Dad moves in his seat while Mom and Ben move closer.
“Yes.”
She squeals. “Oh my God. You’re Whitley Hayes! You’re Jennings’ girlfriend.”
I shake my head and my eyes watch as the entire restaurant turns toward our table.
“You’re so gorgeous. Why haven’t you been photographed with Jennings lately? Where do you get your clothes? Is Jennings as hot in person as he is on TV? Oh my God, I didn’t know you were from here. Do you live in California or in Scarsdale?”
She rattles off the questions and I can’t keep up.
“I’m sorry, Leila, but now isn’t a good time.” And why the hell haven’t you forgotten about me? I haven’t been in the papers in months.
She stops her tirade and it’s now that I see she isn’t much younger than me.
Yikes.
“Oh,” she stops. “Sorry. It’s just—you’re so pretty. So much better than all of the other girls he’s been with. I want to be just like you.”
Ew.
I play nice and smile. “Thanks?”
“I’ll see you around,” she says, waving to the table.
When we are alone, my parents are looking at me wide-eyed and confused.
I shake my head, again.
“What the hell was that all about?” Dad urges.
Mom laughs and Ben tries to hide his smile.
“Dad,” I groan.
“What?” he protests. “Who the hell is that woman? Why does she care who your ex-boyfriend is?”
Mom sputters, “Scott, Jennings is an actor.”
“So?”
He really doesn’t know who Jennings is? Jesus, I’ve talked about him before, I figured he just didn’t care.
“A famous actor,” Ben clarifies.
“How famous?” Dad narrows his eyes.
“Academy Award winner,” Mom whispers behind her hand.
“Well, shit. Had I known that, I wouldn’t have been so on board with you dating him, Jules.”
I roll my eyes. “And how exactly would that have stopped me?” I test.
Dad squares his shoulders. “You may be a grown woman, but I’ll put the hurtin’ on him.”
“Dad,” I laugh. “We broke up.”
“Damn straight you did. My daughter isn’t going to date no celebrity playboy.”
I stammer. “Dad! He isn’t a playboy.”
He rolls his head. “With a name like Jennings Cohen, I should have known. Damn California and their movie stars,” he mutters.
“Really, Dad. He’s a good guy. It just didn’t work out.”
“I’ll still kick his ass,” he promises.
I slap his back. “I know.”
“You sure you want to go alone?” Mom asks as we sit around the kitchen table the next morning.
I didn’t get much sleep last night. My impending meeting with Cade floated around my head all night long, making my stomach churn at treacherous speeds. Every scenario and situation I could come up with only made my worry heightened.
“Not really, but I think I need to go alone.”
Mom accepts my answer and pours me another cup of coffee. “So, you’ll take the truck?”
“Yes, thank you, Mom.”
She kisses my head and returns to the sink to clean the dishes.
The Kansas City Courthouse is in the middle of downtown Kansas City and the drive from Scarsdale is far too short for my liking. I didn’t get any time to stew over what’s about to happen and burden my mind with ridiculous possibilities.
But now that I’m here, waiting to be called into the courtroom, I can’t stop thinking about what will happen with I finally see Cade. Will he be so tormented by the many years in prison that he’ll shove over the table to strangle me? Will he sit in his seat and sneer at me with his wicked eyes? Will he mouth appalling, foul things at me while I’m on the stand?
My thoughts have run wild and I don’t hear my lawyer, Lenard Acklade, call my name. He ushers me to the grand courtroom where a jury of twelve people sit.
I look to him confused. “I thought I was reporting to a Board.”
He gives me a gloomy expression. “I’m sorry, Miss Sanders, but with Cade’s strong conviction, the judge thought it best to have a full out trial.”
My heart stops. “Again?”
“Yes.”
I blink back tears. “Why?”
Lenard pulls at his coat. “New judge. New jury. We’re trying to get him a tougher sentence.”
A tougher sentence? That could be a good thing.
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry, but this could go longer than we thought.”
My mouth
thins. “How much longer?”
Mr. Acklade looks somber. “There’s no way to tell. It’s all up to the jury.”
“Do they have all of the previous information? From the last trial?”
“No,” he breathes. “They picked these jurors because they didn’t know about the case before.”
I grunt under my breath. This isn’t exactly how I saw this happening. “Okay, then. Let’s get this over with.”
It’s not until the second day that I get called to the stand. I didn’t even see Cade the first day. He wasn’t able to appear because he had the flu. Police and forensic specialists were called up, but the defense wanted to wait for my testimony. Why, I have no idea.
So, now he’s here, and even though I haven’t seen him face to face yet, I can feel his stare bore a hole in the middle of my back.
Shackled around his wrists and ankles, Cade walks into the courtroom and I hold my breath. He looks broken down. Apparently age and drugs will do that to you. The scar I gave him on his left eye is still there, looking jagged and angry. All these years, being in prison, not being able to properly treat it, hasn’t helped it heal at all. His dark brown hair is just fuzz on his head. Someone probably buzzed it for him. It’s not like the TV shows, he isn’t in an orange jumpsuit, he’s in an over-sized three-piece. It looks two sizes too big and his pants drag on the ground as he hobbles to his seat in front of the judge. When I finally look to his eyes, I don’t see the hate I thought I’d see. He seems almost relieved.
The blood pumps to my heart and I swear I can hear it in my ears. All other sounds drown out as we sit staring at each other. The young teenager is gone, but a broken man resides, taking residence in his body. He nods his head and Mr. Acklade steps in my view.
“Alright, today, both the defense and prosecution are going to call you to the stand.”
I nod my head.
“They are going to grill you. They claim Cade has found religion.”
Oh God.
“I don’t think they’ll get him to be released on parole, but it’s a possibility.”
Oh God.
“Do your best.”
As opposed to what? My worst?
“Okay,” I gulp.
When the judge enters the courtroom, we all sit down and wait for the defense to present their case.
Anyone but Him Page 27