The Tattered Gloves

by J. L. Berg

  Where to?

  It didn’t matter.

  MY LIFE HAD come full circle.

  Once again, I was at the back of a bus, reading lights blazing, as I attempted to stay awake all night, untrusting of everyone around me.

  Even the nice old lady who had tried to offer me the blanket she packed wasn’t worthy.

  I didn’t know how long I sat there, watching the trees fly by, as the freezing rain pecked at the windows. These country roads that had felt so foreign just months earlier now felt like home.

  As we ventured farther into more populated areas, I felt the jostling of the bus as the tires fell into potholes and rolled over old asphalt.

  These used to be my streets.

  The battered and broken.

  But, now, I just felt lost.

  The bus rode into the night, moving down to the very edge of the state, before I had to step off and figure out a new plan. After grabbing a map from the bus station and a cup of coffee to keep warm, it didn’t take long to figure out my next destination.

  Charlottesville. It was in the opposite direction, but in the grand scheme of things — I had nothing but time now. After all, that was where my family had originally fallen apart. Might as well discover it for myself.

  But how to get there?

  I’d already used my phone data and my debit card. Could I be tracked by that? I had no idea. All I had to go on was a series of late-night crime shows, and unfortunately, none had an episode on how to successfully run away without being caught.

  And that was when reality set in.

  I was a runaway.

  The tears I’d managed to keep at bay since leaving Sam threatened to spill over, right there in the middle of the deserted bus station, but I kept them back.

  I’d chosen this.

  I’d deal with the consequences.

  Fighting the urge to power up my cell phone, knowing it was probably filled with frantic texts and dozens of missed calls, I took what little cash I had and went to the counter.

  A friendly old man greeted me. “Can I help you?”

  I smiled brightly. “One ticket to Charlottesville, please.”

  A bit of hesitation flashed across his kind, wrinkled face as he quickly assessed my appearance. “One way?”

  I adamantly shook my head. “Oh no. Round trip, please,” I replied as my stomach lurched, knowing that would double my cost. “I’m visiting my grandmother for the weekend, and it seems she only bought half the fare. When they dropped me off here, I was so confused. I’ve been trying to figure out where I am since then.”

  He was still wary, but his fingers began to move across the keyboard. “I’m from Charlottesville,” he said, obviously attempting to sound casual. “Lived there half my life. Lovely city. What part does your grandmother live in?”

  “Near the university,” I replied, knowing that wasn’t much of an answer.

  Everyone in this state knew the University of Virginia was in Charlottesville.

  “Off of Rugby Road. Do you know it? Within walking distance to the college. ‘A blessing and a curse,’ my grandmother always says,” I said with a fake smile, thankful for all those nights I’d spent doing research for Mrs. Landers class.

  Google Maps and I had become fast friends as I found myself wanting to know more and more about the Fairchild family of the past.

  “Oh, yes,” his tired voice replied. “Been down that way many times. I was a maintenance worker for many years.”

  More typing, more chatter.

  But, after a few minutes, he seemed sufficiently pleased with my story and handed me my golden ticket. “You take care now, and next time… check your ticket beforehand.”

  I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  With the jolt of caffeine and the wave of nausea I had from lying to an old man, I boarded the bus a few minutes later and headed east.

  BY THE TIME the first rays of sun hit the pavement, I arrived in Charlottesville.

  Homeless, alone, and scared.

  I had no idea what I was going to do here, but I guessed there was no time like the present to find out.

  With my trusty map I’d grabbed just a few hours earlier, I began walking.

  And walking.

  I walked for miles with that stupid duffel bag on my shoulder until I finally found what I had been looking for.

  The Short Stack.

  It hadn’t changed much since my aunt and Sam’s mom had worked here. Or at least I didn’t think it had based on the stories Addy had told me. When I stepped inside, it smelled like pancakes and fryer grease. The wallpaper was in serious need of an upgrade, but the booths were soft and comfortable.

  Especially after traipsing halfway around the world to get here.

  “Hey, sweetie. What can I get you?” the waitress asked.

  She was young, sweet, and energetic, and I found myself liking her instantly.

  “Coffee,” I replied, knowing full well my stomach would demand more.

  But I’d counted and recounted the money I had left in my pocket on the way here.

  And coffee was all I could afford.

  I hoped my belly would be okay with surviving on free cream and sugar.

  The waitress was swift, returning with a large mug of hot coffee almost immediately. “Anything else?”

  I shook my head.

  She didn’t seem to mind my tiny order, smiling wide as she went to check on the few other customers. It was well after the morning rush. Mostly everyone had already made their way to school or work while I was getting here.

  I had nothing but time.

  Wrapping my hands around the cup, I let the warmth melt through the tattered strings of my gloves, all the way down to my bones, as my mind caught up with the exhaustion the rest of me was feeling.

  I sat there for what felt like hours, sipping my never-ending cup of coffee, as my gracious waitress continued to refill it long after she should have.

  I didn’t know what I’d expected to gain by visiting this place… by coming to this city. Sitting here, in this diner? I didn’t feel any closer to Addy. I didn’t feel like I was suddenly walking in her footsteps, reliving her early years to a bigger, brighter future of my own.

  If anything, it only made me miss her more.

  And I regretted the pain I must be causing her this very minute.

  Knowing I’d outstayed my welcome, I threw what little I had on the table for my bill and tip and said good-bye to The Short Stack. My feet ached the second they made contact with the ground, but I had one more stop to make before I figured out what to do next. Unfortunately, it was on the other side of town.

  When my aunt had told me she’d left her old life behind, moving across town to seek out something new, where no one could find her, a part of me had thought that perhaps she was being overly dramatic. I mean, how far could she really go?

  A lifetime, it seemed.

  The farther I walked, the more the city changed. It morphed into something grander. Even though cars whizzed down the streets and people walked past, chatting on their cell phones, I could somehow still picture how it must have all looked when the roads had been full of dust and horses carried rich old men to business meetings across town.

  The architecture was ornate and detailed, reminding me of my one and only field trip to the Lincoln Memorial in fourth grade. It was the only time I’d ever seen it up close.

  So many years in D.C., yet I’d been the only kid still mesmerized by the enormity of it all.

  It had taken most of the day to get to the area of Charlottesville I’d described to the old man in the bus station. I hadn’t completely lied.

  There was just no one waiting for me.

  Walking down the tree-lined street, I wandered from house to house, wondering what it must have been like to grow up here.

  It didn’t take long to find the place. I’d spent way too much time stalking it on the Internet and knew every detail — from the elegant columns to the formal brick entry. My au
nt had told me their house was the smallest of the Fairchild dynasty, a punishment from my great-grandfather to his less-than-reliable son. Standing in front of it, however, made it hard to believe. The place was massive, encompassing nearly half a block, including the lush gardens that surrounded it.

  After the diner, I’d given up on the idea of finding any comfort here. I couldn’t picture my aunt running around the yard, young and carefree. I couldn’t see my mother chasing after her.

  It was just a house to me. A big, beautiful house.

  People passed by me, joggers and moms with strollers. Maybe they thought I was a stray or the one teenage girl in America obsessed with historic architecture.

  But I didn’t care. I just stared up at the big house until someone finally came out. Ducking behind a tree, I watched a young girl around my age walk the garden, a phone glued to her ear. Even from this distance, I could see the dollar signs painted all over her, right down to her leather riding boots and plaid scarf. It was chilly out, but she hardly seemed to notice as she prattled on and on to someone on the other end about this and that, waving her hands around as she talked.

  Soon, the front door opened again, and someone else appeared. With gray hair and a long dark coat, he looked like half a dozen other men I’d seen today.

  All business.

  He looked left and right until he spotted the girl walking through the garden that I was sure was even prettier in the spring.

  She didn’t notice him until he yelled.

  Even I jumped a little.

  “I told you, no phone, Alexandria. Not until you pull your grades up.”

  “Like that’s ever going to happen, Dad. I’m not you. I don’t want to go to college. I don’t want to run a company!” she hollered right back.

  “So, you’re just going to spend your life on the phone, hanging out with your friends, with no regard for the future?”

  “At least I have a life!”

  It was like watching a soap opera or a horrible accident on the interstate. I just couldn’t look away.

  The father, obviously frustrated, grabbed the phone from her hand. A sharp, shrill scream followed.

  “No phone,” he said with force.

  “I hate you!” she screamed loud enough for the neighbors and all of Virginia to hear. “I hate you so much. I wish I didn’t live here. I wish I could just run away.”

  What was the old saying… if wishes were fishes, we’d all cast nets?

  I’d heard my mother say it a million times when I begged for new clothes or a trip to the zoo. “If wishes were fishes, Willow…”

  For Alexandria’s sake, I hoped she never got her wishes.

  It didn’t take long to find a bus stop after that. Being close to the university provided plenty of exits.

  The only problem?

  Where would I go from here?

  I thought about the girl who now lived in our old family home, convinced her life was over simply because her phone had been taken away. Part of me had wanted to stomp up those old brick steps and shake her until some sense settled into that crazy head.

  She had parents who loved her and a warm, inviting home to sleep in… and she wanted to throw it all away?

  Sitting on the park bench as the sun began to set, I realized I wasn’t much different.

  I’d had all of that, too, and I’d given up everything at the first sign of danger.

  When the perfect little world I’d created for myself suddenly didn’t seem so perfect, when the old and new parts of my existence crashed together, I’d run away faster than my legs could carry me.

  Picking up my phone, I finally gave in and turned it on.

  Ignoring the texts, I went straight for the voice mails, needing to hear the sound of something familiar.

  There was a message from Allison, demanding I come home this instant. She started off sassy and full of spunk and then lost her steam about a minute in. She cried over how sorry she was — that she didn’t see it, that she didn’t know.

  Next was Addy. Her message was simple and heartfelt. All she wanted was to know I was okay and to see my face again.

  And then Sam’s rich voice filled my ear.

  “Remember when I told you I hired you because I was curious?” he started out. No hello. No pleading to come home. Just a one-sided conversation he’d hoped I’d eventually listen to. “Well, that was true… but there was more,” he went on.

  “I hired you because, after seeing you in that office, peeking up at me with those sad, slightly annoyed eyes of yours that I’ve grown to love, I knew there was more to you, and I think you’re the only one who doesn’t see it. You say you aren’t brave, but look at everything you’ve accomplished. You went through one of the worst things imaginable, and rather than give up, you fought. Every day, you fought. If you come back — no, when you come back. Because I know you will. Because this isn’t the end of us. So, when you come back, we will be here for you, side by side, ready to battle this war with you… not for you. Because you are brave, Willow. You truly are.”

  A chill ran down my spine as the sun fell into the horizon. Darkness settled in Charlottesville as I waited for the bus to arrive.

  I hated the darkness.

  Just as much as I hated that man and everything he had done to me.

  He’d taken something from me I could never get back, and now, I’d allowed him to take even more. My home, my family, and my friends.

  Sam was right. I was brave.

  I’d known it all along.

  And, now, I had a life to fight for.

  IT WAS LATE when I finally walked up to that familiar doorstep, tired and hungry.

  Every bit of me was engulfed by Addy the second I pushed the door open.

  “I don’t care if this is too close,” she sobbed into my shoulder. “Please don’t do that again.”

  It was the first time we’d ever hugged.

  After four months.

  It was long overdue.

  The hugging party didn’t end there. After Addy came Allison, who held me tight and swore she’d never let me go.

  But she eventually did. Only because Sam was getting antsy.

  “I knew you’d come back,” he said with a tired smile.

  I could see dark circles under his eyes… ones that probably matched my own.

  “Always so sure of yourself,” I replied as he reached out for my hand.

  “Well, what was out there for you anyway? I’m right here.”

  I took the first step, or maybe he did. But, within seconds, his big, strong arms were around me. No more witty humor or silent apologies.

  I was just glad to be home.

  “You said I was brave,” I whispered.

  With my head resting against his, I could feel his mouth curl into a smile, as he knew I’d listened to his message.

  “The bravest.”

  Pulling back, I turned, still clinging to Sam, but I needed to see Allison and Addy again.

  “I want him to pay,” I finally said. “I want what happened to me to never happen here. Not in my school. Not in my town. I never want another girl to feel this way because of him. Will you help me?”

  Addy nodded, a visible wave of relief washing over her. “Always.”

  I wanted to get started right away, call everyone we needed to, so I could settle into bed, knowing I’d done something good. But then my family saw the blisters on my feet and the way I wavered like a falling leaf while trying to hold myself up, and I knew I wasn’t going to get anywhere tonight.

  “You need food,” Addy said, taking my hand.

  “And rest,” Sam added as I was led to the couch.

  “And maybe a shower?” Allison chimed in.

  I nodded, giving in to the feeling of being cared for. It made me think back to the girl in the garden. I hoped she’d made up with her father. Maybe they were sitting together on a couch in that great big fancy house right now, laughing over their outburst and wondering what the neighbors must have th
ought.

  Safe and happy.

  Just like me.

  Addy went to the kitchen to whip me up a grilled cheese sandwich and soup while Sam kept me company.

  Allison, having already called her parents to announce the good news, was heading home. I didn’t blame her. Everyone was tired.

  “I’ll be here first thing in the morning,” she said after bending down to give me a brief hug.

  “What about school?” I asked.

  “I’m not going back there with that creep. Not until he’s behind bars where he deserves to be.”

  I looked at both of them. “Neither of you went to school today?”

  They both shook their heads.

  “Side by side, remember?” Sam said.

  I agreed, “Side by side.”

  After Allison headed off to bed, Sam and I were left alone for a while, the house filling with the smell of butter and melted cheese. He played with my messy hair while I stared at the Christmas lights still twinkling on the tree.

  “Do you remember that conversation we had a while back about the scale?” I asked, still fixated on the lights.

  “And the bags of flour? Sure.”

  “I realized something tonight as I was sitting alone on a park bench, listening to your message. I always told myself it was my fault. I opened the door that night. I disobeyed my mother. It was my decision, so the consequences that followed fell on my shoulders. My decisions… my flour, right?

  “But, tonight, as you explained all the reasons I wasn’t this weak person that I’d convinced myself I was, I realized… it wasn’t my decision that night. It was his — his bags of flour. Not mine.”

  He nodded. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Everyone always says that, but I don’t think I really got it until tonight on that street corner. It wasn’t my fault — what happened that night — but if I chose to leave my family and my home, knowing that this evil man was still here, possibly doing the same thing to other girls… or even my best friend? That would be on me. That would be my tipping point.”

  “And so you came home,” he said. “Ready to fight.”