by Lisa Unger
Claudia should probably be punishing Raven. Shopping, breakfast out, and then an unscheduled trip to the city to see Ayers (the preferred parent) was not exactly a hard consequence for bad behavior. The guilt was making her soft. Claudia had moved Raven out here against her will, taking her away from her friends and her life in the city, so that Claudia could pursue this idea she had. Not just because of that. The city—it was such a crush, such a drain of energy and finances. Claudia had been struggling. And those friends of Raven’s? Some of them were real trouble. Claudia had found a dime bag of marijuana in Raven’s backpack, a slim package of rolling papers. It sealed her decision. Now Raven had to adjust to a new life while she was struggling with this big question of her identity.
And, really, who was Claudia to keep her daughter from this knowledge?
Claudia was all about the truth, speaking her pain, putting it out there, not just for herself but to help others who needed a voice. Soon after her attack and before Raven was born, Claudia joined an online support group; she shared her story and read the stories of others. Monsters thrive in the dark, she believed; if you dared to shine a light on the ugly things, they often shrank to nothing. Rape victims so often hid from what happened to them, blaming themselves, drowning in shame, suffering depression, PTSD. She didn’t want to hide what happened to her. Admittedly, Claudia never even thought about what it meant to be the child of a rape victim, one who wasn’t certain whether she was the product of that rape or not. Claudia never once, never once, allowed herself to think that Raven didn’t belong to Ayers. It wasn’t even an option. The universe just wasn’t that cruel; that’s what she told herself.
You told these people everything that happened to you? About Raven? Ayers had stammered when he first found out that she had joined an online discussion group. (That was right when things started to go bad between them, when he first got that she wasn’t just going to forget, just get over it.) And that was even before the internet was what it is today, a huge barfing mouth of everybody’s over-sharing. Now there was no more secret shame; it was all out there. But back then, those internet discussion groups still had the illusion of privacy. Typing in the dark, nothing lighting the room but the glow of the screen, sharing with anonymous other victims, baring it all. There she was just LostGirl—she could rage, she could whine, she could worry that she’d never be whole again. It was cathartic. It was the only thing that had helped her step back into the world of the living, knowing that she wasn’t alone. She would look at other women she saw on the street and wonder, What is your secret shame?
Eventually, she started her own blog, more of an online diary about how she was moving forward. She posted weekly essays about motherhood after rape, everything from learning to be alone in the apartment again, to walking home at night without Ayers—really everything. It was a stream of consciousness. She had nothing to hide. That blog, Aftermath.com, grew to have lots of followers. The daily mail she received from people it was helping—well—it helped to heal her.
The new blog Makeoversandmeltdowns.com was about all about shedding skin, moving into the next phase of her life, single mom, victimhood behind her. She was even working on a book proposal with an agent. She was helping herself; she was helping others. She was all out there.
“You have three new sign-ups today on your newsletter,” said Raven. “Your post with the video of mounting those photo shelves got a hundred likes and was shared thirteen times. That’s pretty good.”
Raven helped Claudia with social media, took pictures, helped with some of the work in the house (when she wasn’t complaining about it or sulking in her room blasting angry music) and technical aspects of the blog—like laying it out, linking in pictures, linking to older, relevant blogs; Claudia paid her ten dollars an hour. Raven didn’t resent it, even seemed to enjoy it—especially the social media stuff.
Even though Claudia had regrets about all the sharing she’d done, she was also proud that she had taught her daughter not to be ashamed of what had happened to Claudia, of who Raven was or where she may (or may not) have come from. There was nothing more corrosive than secrets. If Raven had discovered later that Claudia had hid Raven’s origins, it would have broken trust, introduced shame. She’d raised Raven as openly and as honestly as she’d done everything else. Except for that one thing, the one thing that wasn’t supposed to matter, but did.
“Okay,” said Claudia. She knew when she was beaten, when she was wrong. She didn’t believe she’d started out wrong, but somehow her decision was wrong now. That was such a trick of parenthood, knowing the line between protecting and smothering, the line between loving and clinging.
“Okay?” asked Raven, glancing over sideways. She sat up a little in her seat, a kind of brightness coming onto her face.
“Okay,” said Claudia. “You can have the test.”
• • •
AFTER DROPPING RAVEN AT THE train, Claudia stopped at the hardware store for a few basics, then drove back to the house. Exhaustion suddenly pulled at her eyelids, pushed down her shoulders. She sat in the truck for a minute, stared at the gaping hole where the barn door used to be, at the big gray beast of a house. They stared back at her like members of a rival gang, ready for a rumble.
“You will not beat me,” she said, pulling herself out of the defeated slouch into which she’d fallen. “You will not.”
The sun dipped behind a swath of gray clouds.
Ayers had come out here with her the first time, when she’d just had the initial idea for the project. They’d left Raven with her grandparents and driven out together.
“Okay,” said Ayers, as he pulled the Range Rover to a stop. “Wow.”
“Amazing, right?” she’d said.
“That’s one word for it.”
“What?”
“Claudia.” He had this way of saying her name that made the first syllable sound like “cloud.” “Do you know how much work this is going to be? How much money?”
He pointed up at the roof that sagged, where so many shingles were missing it looked like a design choice. “The roof alone.”
He shook his head, blew out an amused breath.
She thought she knew—how much work, how much money. She was up to it. She always believed that; that she was up to any task, no matter how daunting, that lay before her. “But it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
He watched her with his blue-gray eyes, with that sad, sweet expression he still had when he looked at her.
“Yes,” he said, putting his hand on hers. “It is.”
The tug back to him was still strong, so many years passed and still.
“How’s Ella?” she asked. It was mean; but it worked. He drew away from her. Why? Why did she keep pushing him away?
“Oh,” he said, looking back at the house. “You know.”
“Sophie must love her,” said Claudia. “She’s so upright, so—proper.”
“Sophie hates her, and you know it.”
“I’m surprised,” said Claudia. “They’re so alike.”
“Stop it.” She saw the smile turn up the corners of his mouth just slightly. She felt that energy of laughter that never died between them. The universe was a joke, and just the two of them were in on it.
They went inside that day; she used the new video camera Martha had sent her. It was her first blog post about the house: A New Start in an Old Place.
Why did it seem so long ago?
• • •
INSIDE, SHE CLIMBED THE CREAKING stairs to the second level, then up the slim back staircase that led to the room where she’d set up her office. A tiny square of a space, with a quirky round window that looked out on to the woods. She called it level two and a half, since the room was suspended between the second floor and the attic. The engineer thought it was an addition, not original to the house, something created from a storage space that dropped down from the attic. It was a perfect office.
At her computer she went through the posts to find that fi
rst one, to remind her what she felt that day. The video was shaky and amateurish. And too dark; the lighting was bad.
“Uh,” said Ayers on the video. He leaned in and inspected the banister, pulling lightly at one of the dowels, which broke off in his hand. He regarded it with dismay, held it up to her and they both started laughing.
“There is literally not one thing in this house that doesn’t need repair. I mean—Claud, it’s a gut job.”
“Are you kidding?” she said from off-camera. “Look at this wainscoting.”
It had been original to the house; it restored beautifully. “And this chandelier.”
She panned to it. It had been grimy with dust, some of its glittering crystal teardrops missing. It too had come back to life with the help of her friend Blaire, who restored antiques. They were even able to find some crystal pieces online that matched almost perfectly. Today it shimmered over the dining room table.
She’d pointed the camera back at Ayers. He ran a hand through his thick, dark hair, then rubbed at the stubble on his jaw. She loved his hands, which were big and strong but still soft, gentle. “Well,” he said. “If anyone can do it. You can. You’re the strongest person I know.”
She remembered feeling embarrassed; it was so far from true. She wasn’t strong at all. She was a shivering wreck most of the time.
“I’m in,” he said. “Whatever you guys need. I think it will be good for Raven. A project, the country, distance from the city.”
The video ended when she tripped, the camera flying and landing in position to catch Ayers helping Claudia up.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” she said. They both cracked up again. She cut it there.
• • •
THE POST HAD BEEN UP there for a while, got a lot of views and comments.
So, that’s your EX husband? If my ex looked like that, I’d have held on tight.
You get that he still loves you, right?
Your ex is a hottie. He can restore my wainscoting any day. Wink, wink.
Can I get the name of the friend who refabbed your chandelier?
She watched the video a couple more times, thought of calling Ayers but didn’t. Sometimes talking to him just reminded her how much she wanted him here, helping her. How things were so much easier when she didn’t have to do them on her own. But she’d chosen this path. And she had no right to ask him for more than he already gave.
She checked the post about the fallen barn door, then wrote a few sentences about her plans to call Just Old Doors and have someone come out. She was rewarded with a swath of encouraging comments
Then she girded herself and headed downstairs, ready to rumble.
seven
Raven waved to her mother from the train window. She imagined that her mother was a stranger, someone she’d never seen before—a pretty lady, not old, not young, stylish in rolled-up jeans and oversized white shirt, red ballet flats, and big, glittery bag over her shoulder. Her blonde hair was up in a let’s-get-to-work messy bun; she had her sunglasses up on her head. She’d spend a minute when she got into the car looking for them before she remembered where they were. Ditzy, but smart ditzy. Take it easy on your mom, was her dad’s constant refrain. She’s been through a lot. Even Ella, whom Raven’s mom despised, was always ready to jump to her defense. We never understand our mothers until we are mothers ourselves. Until then, we should try not to judge. But, of course, we all judge them terribly.
Her mom was smiling bright and happy, but Raven could always tell when her smile was fake. Her eyes were sad, and Raven felt it, that horrible twist of wanting to stay and wanting to be away all at once. She pressed her palm against the glass, and her mom blew a kiss, gave another big wave before walking back to the truck. She thought about getting off at the next stop and going back. Maybe she would.
What’s up, buttercup?
Weird that her dad was texting her at exactly this moment. Like a poke in the ribs from the universe.
Not much. How’s St. Lucia?
Better than biology class. Lol. You’re on your way to class now, right?
He prided himself on knowing her exact schedule.
Yep. On my way there right now.
This was one of the little loopholes—and there were quite a few. One: Dad and Ella were having a long weekend in the Caribbean; they left after work last night. Mom didn’t know because it wasn’t supposed to be Dad’s weekend with Raven, and Dad would never tell Mom about it (unless Mom said, “Hey, what are you and Ella doing this weekend?” and she never would). Two: Raven showed her mom an old text, so Claudia never questioned that Raven was going where she said she was going. Three: Her mom and dad only communicated directly about scheduling when there was (a) something wrong or (b) coordination was required beyond texts and email. So there were all kinds of ways Raven could game the system to find a little freedom now and then.
Her parents didn’t hate each other—far from it, they actually seemed to like each other. It was more like it hurt too much for some reason to be near each other. Her mother had a very particular soft, apologetic tone that she used only with Ayers, and, likewise, Ayers treated Claudia like a bird he was trying to get not to fly away. Neither one of them had ever said a negative word about the other. And four: Raven had begged her mom not to tell her dad about the quasi-suspension. Usually, there would be no chance that Claudia would keep something like that from Ayers but this time, for some reason unknown to Raven, Claudia had agreed. Maybe because Claudia was trying so hard to make a fresh start, she didn’t want to admit that it wasn’t going as well as she’d hoped.
Study hard.
Mom said I could get the test.
There was a long pause where Raven looked out the window, watching the blur of buildings give way to a blur of fields and trees, to a blur of concrete walls, then buildings again.
THE test?
Yeah. She’ll probably change her mind. But she said okay.
Why? What happened?
Nothing. It’s just—time.
The station where Raven had considered turning around came and went. There were other points ahead, though, where she could change her mind. The sky outside grew darker, thick gray clouds floating together.
When I get back we need to all sit and talk. This is a big decision.
What? she thought. That was so like a grown-up. Why were they both so flip-floppy?
You said you were okay with it.
It’s still something I want to talk through as a family.
As a family, she thought. What a crock.
Ella said she thought it was time.
Ella, whatever her opinion, is not part of this.
Oh, snap! There had been a bit more of that from her dad, sort of a hard shutout of Ella on bigger-picture things. Maybe there was trouble in paradise—maybe Dad didn’t love being a vegan yogi as much as he said he did. Maybe Ella found out that he and Raven still scarfed down cheeseburgers and ice cream sundaes when they were alone together, lay around on the couch binging on television shows Claudia would never let her watch like Game of Thrones and The Walking Dead. It was hard not to like Ella (in theory) because she was so nice, so always, always kind. But, really, Raven wished that she’d just go away. Just float away, skinny yogini, on your magical mat made of recycled materials.
Fine. We’ll talk. But my mind is made up. You can’t stop me forever.
Don’t do anything without me.
Duh. How could we?
Uh, yeah. Right. When did you get so smart?
She was far from smart. Ayers and Claudia were both smart in different ways—maybe not math or science geniuses but creative and sharp. Raven struggled—always, with everything—with reading, with math, with people. She was always behind, even had to repeat kindergarten. Her parents changed schools, hoping that she wouldn’t notice that she had to do kindergarten again, but she noticed. Even now, even working hard, she was just a solid-C student, with the occasional B. She got A’s in art and theat
er sometimes. But the rest of it was a constant challenge of attention and effort.
I had trouble in school, too, her mom said. Creative people don’t always do well in a traditional school environment.
But Raven knew it wasn’t true. She’d seen her mother’s yearbook—she’d been beautiful and bright, editor of the school paper, most likely to succeed, homecoming queen. Your mother couldn’t pay attention, her aunt Martha said, because she was always thinking about boys, parties, and fashion. That’s why she had a hard time.
Another text from her dad:
Remember that you are my daughter in every real and significant way. Nothing can take that from us. No matter what. I love you, Kitten.
But it wasn’t true. It just wasn’t. She was either his biological daughter, or she was the daughter of a sociopathic criminal who raped her mother and left her for dead. There was no way to pretend that it didn’t matter which. And lately, she felt it. She felt apart from them, different. Ayers and Claudia were one kind of person, and she was another. There was a darkness in her, an anger that was foreign and alive. Like yesterday, the girl that dumped that tray—yeah, on purpose—was not the girl who had been sitting quietly reading with her lunch just moments earlier. She was dark and mean and lived inside Raven, just waiting to be invited out. And when she was out? There was always trouble.
I know, Dad. I love you, too.
I’ll call your mom next week and we’ll all get together.
If Raven were smart, she probably wouldn’t have told him about the test until he got back. What if he called her mom to talk right away? But he wouldn’t. Because then he’d have to tell her that he was in St. Lucia with Ella, since not telling her while he was calling her from the beach with a cocktail in his hand was the same as lying. Which her dad would never do. He was chronically honest. So, he’d mention where he was, try to make light of it. And, though her mom wouldn’t say anything, it would hurt. (And no one wanted Claudia to be hurt any more than she already had been.) But the reminder that Ayers had happily moved on with his life wouldn’t hurt as much as realizing that Raven had lied and was on her way into the city on her own to do who knew what. A shit storm for all involved would ensue.