“Or it could be the unraveling of your sanity,” he mumbled.
“At least it would give me a better understanding of many things. It may even explain why my Grandmother hates me,” she said.
“She doesn’t hate you, Zelda,” he said.
“Well, her kind of love you can keep. When I become a Mom, I am going to be so much better at it than either of them,” she said, freezing where she stood.
“Zelda?”
“Our mother hated me, too,” she said softly, her eyes going to his face. She squinted her eyes as a flash of an image came to her. Iris Fitzsimmons in her face, spittle spraying her, then a slap. Zelda jumped, blinking furiously. “She hated me.”
“Sis, no she didn’t,” he started. “There were so many factors, so much happening in our family which was broken, she was broken...Daddy was broken. You were not.”
“So, she tried to break me,” Zelda said softly, her bottom lip quivering.
Michael had nothing to say because she was right. Iris did try to break her spirits but she couldn’t. He wouldn’t let her. Michael wouldn’t let either of them break his sister’s uniqueness.
“I wouldn’t let either of them distort or harm you. Opening these boxes is going to fracture your mental well-being and what you are trying to build with Scott,” he told her.
“Or opening these boxes will help me heal so I can have a loving relationship with a man other than you,” she said.
The rain beat on the roof like Polynesian Tripura drummers before a feast. The words he’d wanted to tell her over the years hummed about his brain but now wasn’t the time. She walked past him, full of determination as she had when she was 11 with her tiny suitcase ready to run away from home. Her back was as rigid then as it was now. Determined.
Zelda Fitzsimmons was always a determined woman. That determination to save the boxes of dairies was going to shake everything she knew, believed, or trusted about life and her brother. Grandma Lula, as mean as a snake covered in righteous indignation, often had sage words of understanding about men.
“Men will try to protect women from themselves in an effort to make life easier for them,” Zelda thought as she walked back to the house in the rain, carrying two of the boxes. Michael trailed behind her carrying the two more, one of which whose bottom was soaked by rain water. There was no doubt the journals in the base of the boxes were ruined. She only hoped to salvage some of the contents.
Grandma Lula waited inside the door with large scratchy towels she still dried on the clothesline. Zelda, setting her boxes down, accepted one of the towels, drying her hair and face. The rough cotton felt like a loofah being dragged over her soft skin.
“You have some clothes in the other room–both of you. Go get changed before you catch your deaths from cold,” she urged them. Her eyes were on the boxes as Zelda watched her closely.
Instinct made Zelda pick up the dry boxes she’d brought into the house to take with her to the back bedroom.
“You can leave it here. I’m not going to bother it. I haven’t bothered them in 20 years; why would I harm them now?” Grandma Lula asked.
“For twenty years, I never knew they were here. Now I do. Whatever is in them will be an eye opener for me,” Zelda said.
“Baby, you came into this world with your eyes open. You have seen things, details or nuances, most human eyes couldn’t pick up. A child having that kind of insight was scary to most people. It scared me. I have prayed over you since you were but a babe, hoping, pleading with God to show you His mercy,” Lula said, looking at her with a never-before-seen tenderness.
“He has shown me His mercy. The rain guided me to these boxes so I can open up my past in order to have a great future, Grandma. I have met someone and I am getting married. His name is Scott and he will be here in three weeks to meet you,” Zelda said.
“Okay,” Lula replied.
“Just okay, Grandma? Are you saying you don’t want to set me over in a tub of hot water to boil away my sins? You don’t feel the need to lock me in a closet all night to repent for my sinful thoughts? Yes, those memories I still have of you bringing me to Jesus,” she said.
Michael’s eyes were wide in shock.
“You sent me over to this house of Hell to get me away from Mama. You took me from the hot bed of insanity to place me in with this trumpeter of atrocities. Where do you think Mama got all of her crazy? She inherited it from her!”
“Zelda, I did the best I knew how, considering,” Lula said.
“Considering what? Your daily conversations with Satan? There is no way you talked to God and he instructed you to be mean and spiteful. You preach of His love yet you have none in you and you instilled none in your daughter,” she said, still holding the boxes. “I’m going home.”
“What about dinner?”
“Two o’clock in the afternoon is lunch, Grandma. I don’t want any. I only want to get out of here,” Zelda said.
“Are you coming back next week?” Lula asked.
“No, Grandma. If I had my way, I would never come back into this house, but Scott wants to meet you. I am regretting it already, but he needs to see my whole life and why I am the way I am. You are part of my nightmare, so he needs to meet you as well,” Zelda told her.
“You think I am a nightmare?” Lula asked in shock.
“No, I think you are worse. Grandmothers are supposed to be loving and defenders of your dreams. They bake cookies and teach you family crafts and trades. The only thing you have taught me is how to pick and choose scriptures to manipulate people,” she said.
“Zelda, I never knew you felt this way...,” Lula started.
“That is because you scared the passion for life out me, but no more. I am going to be a good Mom. A loving mother of children created with a man who loves me,” she said.
“Baby, I want you to be happy,” Grandma Lula said.
“Great! Glad to hear it. Let’s see how genuine you are when Scott comes to this house. If you are acting like a raging preacher of doom, then I will know to never, ever, bring my children around you,” she said to her Grandmother.
“You would deny me time with my own Great-Grands, Zelda?’
“If it weren’t for Michael, I would deny you time with me,” Zelda said. Calling to her brother over her shoulder, she said, “Mike, I will be in the car.”
There was nothing left for her to say. She’d spoken her mind for the first time in her life and now she was tired. Wet, hungry, and not wanting whatever sat in that pot with a pig part in it for seasoning. The last time she stirred the pot of greens, a pig tail popped up and that did it for Zelda. Her Grandma’s cooking was just as warped as the old woman.
In the car, the smelly boxes sat on the backseat like an unwanted passenger holding a gun to her head.
“I will open you two when I am good and damned ready. Not today, not tonight or anywhere in between,” she said into the rear-view mirror.
Michael joined her in the car a few minutes later, adding his two boxes seated on the back seat with the others. Rain pelted the car as brother and sister sat silently in the front seats of the sleek vehicle. The anger obvious in his sister, but her stomach grumbled loudly; food would be her next priority.
“We are soaked to the bone, but I am hungry. The good news is, we can get a table at Smoky Joe’s Rib House since everyone will be at home because of the rain,” he said. “Zelda, you love that place.”
“You don’t though. You don’t even like eating out. Mike, you are convinced people put boogers in your food. So, not today. Maybe when you get off work tomorrow,” she mumbled.
He was quiet as he gathered his next words.
“Zelda, there is a lot to tell you,” he said softly.
“Yes, there is. However, I am holding onto one undeniable truth, Big Brother,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“Everything you have ever done in your entire life has been to protect and safeguard me. I am convinced that whatever you did
, no matter what, has been to keep me safe, whether in my own head or from their hands. For that reason alone, I have no animosity towards you for keeping these dairies from me, but I have one question. What did you do to my memories?”
He lowered his head in shame. Toying with his thumbs, he told her one of the many secrets he held about her life. When she was ready, he would share them all.
“I had them suppressed. After our parents died, you were too happy. The change in you was almost euphoric and we had to go to court. It wouldn’t have looked too nice to see you dancing around the grave site, singing the wicked witch was dead either. I didn’t want anyone to think we had killed them to get the insurance money, plus they were horrible people, Zelda,” he said, his bottom lip quivering from the emotions. Tears stung at his eyes. “I wasn’t going to let the courts take you from me for you to grow up in some weird person’s home, or worse, with Grandma. So, I took you to see a hypnotist.”
The tears rolled down his cheeks as his body shook from the tears, the burden of their lives suddenly weighing him down as they sat in his car in Grandma Lula’s driveway.
“Michael,” she said softly touching his hand. “Did we kill them?”
“Zelda, my God no!” he said.
“But you could have prevented it right?”
His face contorted as more tears ran down his face. “Yes. I could have hidden the keys that night, but it was raining like this. She was furious at you, he was drunk as usual, throwing a tantrum, and he took off out of the house. Mama jumped in the car with him and I closed the door and went to sleep. As drunk as he was driving the car that night, I knew they wouldn’t make it back, and for the first time I slept better than I had in years,” he said.
“Okay,” she said to him.
“Okay what?”
“You have the first part off your shoulders, now we have to get down to the rest of it. I am going to take my time going through the dairies. When and if I have questions, then I will ask, but until that time comes, we go about our lives,” she said.
“We can’t just pretend there isn’t an elephant in the room, Zelda,” he said.
“Why not? The smelly bastard has been in the room our entire lives. I need to roll through this slowly and I will. I can’t thank you enough for everything you have done for me, but I am grown now. I have to face my demons in order to have a good life. Mike, I am going to have a good life with Scott, but none of this shit is moving with me to Kentucky. Between here and Vegas, I am unpacking these containers and burning each book when I finish reading it. By the time I get to the last diary, I will either be standing tall or a bucket of mush, but I am moving forward,” she said.
“Whatever you need from me, Sis,” he said.
“Nothing. I don’t need or require anything else from you, Mike. You did your part and got me this far. The rest of the journey, I set out on my own. I will be okay,” she said squeezing his hand.
“I have no doubts about that at all,” he said as the rain ceased its downpour to an unimpressive drizzle. Grandma Lula stood in the window, watching as Michael cranked the car and slowly backed out of the driveway. She said a prayer of thanksgiving for the storm which washed away a layer of secrets she had been holding in that building. So many secrets.
Too many lies.
“Everything in your time, Father,” she said.
Time was up for Zelda. All the pieces of the puzzle would come together or unravel, depending on who was writing the story of her life. Soon, it would all be revealed whether she was ready for it or not.
Chapter 3 – Boxcar Willie
Unable to sleep, Zelda got up from the bed and started a pot of coffee. It was nearing five and Michael would be awake soon, heading out for work. Since she was up, Zelda packed him a lunch of leftovers from the dinner she’d whipped together when they’d gotten home from Grandma Lula’s. The boxes of diaries were stacked and sat in her common room in the corner. The wet diaries, left out to dry, were soaked through and through. Even when they dried out, the pages would be stuck together. The cheap ink which she used to pen the words would more than likely fade.
She hoped the same would be true for her pain once she read her own truth about her life and childhood. The smell of bacon brought Michael into the kitchen, surprised to see her about so early. He grabbed a slice of the bacon, snacking on it as she poured him coffee.
“You’re up early,” he said, accepting the cup.
“Couldn’t sleep. I have loads to get done before Scott arrives and before I head off to Vegas,” she said, passing him a plate of scrambled eggs.
He lowered his head to bless the food, all the while keeping a close watch on her out the side of his eye. He knew the look. Zelda was working out something in that head of hers. The need to encourage her to spit it out waned as he enjoyed the meal.
“Mike, I was thinking, you know, since I went to Kentucky and met all of Scott’s friends, it would be nice when he got here to meet ours. I mean, it would be nice if I met your friends, too,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because Chandler thought it was significant for me to meet the people who were important in his life so that when I move there I would have some friends. I am thinking it is important for me to know that when I leave here you won’t be alone and I will know who is around you when I am gone,” she said. “I know you are seeing someone. I want to meet the potential Aunt to my children. Scott will want to know who we are leaving our babies with when we go on vacation.”
“You are going to leave your hairy little circus babies with the Nanny or take them with you,” he said flatly.
Zelda swatted playfully at his arm. “My babies are going to be gorgeous,” she said.
“I don’t know how you equate gorgeous with bucked teeth and hairy eyebrows, and your son is going be born with sideburns and a five o’clock shadow. He is going to know how to shave before he even has teeth,” Michael said, laughing as he held his coffee cup to his mouth.
“Funny, but stop trying to change the subject. You are a very heterosexual man and I know you are seeing someone. I am ready to meet her. As a matter of fact, I am also ready to meet some of your fraternity brothers, co-workers, and friends. We never have anyone over anymore,” she said.
“What do you mean anymore? They don’t come over because I don’t want them in my damned house. I work with them. I don’t need to see them on the weekends, too. That is my time,” he said with a frown.
“Well, it’s time for us to be a bit more social. I think we should have a cookout that Sunday night when we leave Grandma’s. Some cool cocktails, cold beer, hot meat, my famous potato salad, some beans, corn, simple stuff,” she said patting his arm, yawning. “I am going back to bed.”
“I didn’t agree to any of that, Zelda!”
“I will make you cinnamon rolls this evening if you do,” she said, winking at him.
“Bribing me with food, Sis? Is this what this has come down to?”
“No to the cinnamon rolls?”
“Yes, I want the damned cinnamon rolls. Can you add some raisins to them as well?” he asked.
“Of course. How many people from your office, I say one or two of your closest co-workers, maybe two of your frat brothers, and that dude from the gym with all the muscles,” she said smiling. “When you include your lady friend that is a nice round number.”
“Who are you inviting?”
“A couple of people from the office, Jinny, screw Margo, and maybe a few other people I know,” she said.
“Are you sure about this?”
“Yep, let’s do it. I can make some invite cards if you want,” she said.
“Sure, that would help,” he said.
“Have an awesome day making my money,” she joked.
“Zelda,” he called. “I’m not seeing anyone seriously.”
He left for work with that idea floating about in space. He’d wanted it to be more serious, but the woman of the moment was empty. As often as he tried to
have a conversation of sustenance, it always came back to what she was wearing or wanted to buy to wear. His search would continue, but right now, the main woman in his life was Zelda. A co-dependent weird dynamic which prevented him from making the wrong choice based on good sex.
She, in the Colonial styled home with the large front porch, climbed back in her bed with the intention of sleeping in, but she remembered a ten-a.m. meeting she had when the alarm went off at 8:45.
“It is going to be a shitty day. I can feel it already,” she said, scrambling to find something to wear that did not require ironing. The day was going downhill in flames on a pair of snow skis as she realized her office bag was still in Michael’s car. She located her purse, grabbing the keys, almost tripping over on her own feet as she entered the garage, only to find that her car wouldn’t start.
Wilkie Bautista stood on his front porch with a cup of coffee in hand. Any moment now, Zelda, running late, would burst out of the garage, backing up way too fast, headed off for work. He could almost set his watch by her. She usually waved and gave him two toots of her horn as she pulled away.
Leaning over the railing on his front porch, he noticed the garage door on the Fitzsimons’s home was up, but no Zelda. Concern propelled him forward, peering around the corner to see her standing there, hands on hips, the hood up on the old Honda, looking at the engine.
Willkie cleared his throat.
“Oh, hi there, Mr. Bautista. My car won’t start this morning and I am so late. I may have to call me a Lyft,” she said.
“No, no. I will take you to work. You should not get in the car with a stranger with a sticker in his window. You never know who these people are,” he said to her.
“I can’t put you out like that, Sir,” she said with a half-smile.
“Zelda, I am retired. Where would you put me out to – pasture?”
“Okay, but I am running late,” she told him.
“You are always running late. The beauty of life is slowing down to really see what is around you. Appreciate it, if you can,” he said, jangling his keys. “Do I need to call the Auto Club for your car?”
A Saucy Sunday (The Zelda Diaries Book 4) Page 2