Good Girls Stay Quiet

by Jo Cassidy

  "Thanks.” I hurried out before he could ask any other questions.

  My main worry as I left was why Mr. Mendoza had called me in. Out of all the students in the school, had he really come across my file and decided to search? Or had the person who had my journal tipped him off?

  Or, had Mr. Mendoza found the journal himself?

  Chapter 7

  Everything sat in its proper spot on the kitchen table. The polished silver gleamed under the light. Both glasses were filled with water, with two ice cubes for me and none for Daddy. He liked his water at room temperature. Easier to digest, he’d say.

  I’d made sure to remove the Band-Aid Brendon had placed on my finger from the paper cut. Daddy would be furious if I got hurt at school, and completely livid if he found out Brendon had held my hand while gently bandaging it. My cheeks flushed at the very thought of his skin brushing mine.

  I’d chosen my mid-calf, light pink cotton dress and white cardigan for dinner wear that evening. I stared down at the exposed part of my legs, grateful no one could see me. I’d never thought about shaving until I saw girls at my school with no hair on their legs, or even in their armpits. Daddy had never given me the option. My dresses were the only times my legs showed, so I hadn’t cared until recently. Thankfully, I wasn’t allowed to wear my dresses to school.

  We were to dress nice for weekend dinners. It was the only time Daddy smelled like aftershave instead of sweat, grease, or shampoo. He allowed me to do a fishtail braid on the weekends instead of the usual three-strand braid, so I’d opted for that. It was the fanciest I’d ever get.

  The smell of garlic wafted from the kitchen. I’d prepared penne with alfredo sauce, broccoli, Caesar salad, and garlic bread for dinner. I wasn’t a fan of alfredo, but it was one of Daddy’s favorite meals. On the weekends, he wouldn’t lock me in my room if he went on short errands. That way I could cook dinner. He’d installed a silent alarm on the front and sliding glass doors that would alert him if I left the house. Most of the windows had an alarm that would trigger if it opened wide enough for a person to fit through – that way we could still open it to let in a breeze, but I couldn’t escape.

  Outside, Daddy’s van rumbled into the driveway. He’d gone to run an errand at the home improvement store. He wouldn’t tell me what he was getting or planning on doing. He never did. It was always a need-to-know basis for him.

  I’d cracked open the family room window so I’d be able to hear when he arrived. Rushing to the room, I quickly shut and locked the window before heading back into the kitchen. I removed the foil covering the serving bowl of penne, set a piece of garlic bread on a separate plate next to the glasses, and placed the bowl of broccoli perfectly in-between us.

  “Smells delicious, angel,” Daddy said from the doorway. He kept the door hinges greased so I’d never know when he was coming or going. The only times I dared open the window to hear his arrival were when I’d be close enough to shut it before he came in the house.

  I waited patiently while he went and changed into his dinner attire. My hands stayed clasped in front of me so I wouldn’t fiddle with them. To Daddy, fidgeting was a sign of anxiety, which meant you were lying about something.

  When his footsteps sounded down the hall, I spoke in the sweetest tone I could muster. “It’s all ready.”

  As I smoothed out my dress, I noticed a small, straight line running down Daddy’s knife. Fear wove through my body, almost choking me. I had no idea how it could’ve gotten scratched. I hand-washed all the dishes and handled them with care.

  Daddy came around the corner and smiled at me. He wore a nice, button down shirt that had been perfectly pressed. His tie was a plain green – he didn’t like anything flashy. “See, I wasn’t gone long, now was I?”

  I swallowed, forcing my eyes to stay on Daddy and not wander to the ruined knife. “Nope. Barely noticed you were gone.”

  “I always miss you when I’m away.” His icy hand landed on my cheek. “You mean the world to me, angel. I wish my dad had been as nice to me as I am to you.” He kissed me on the forehead, the coldness sending a chill down my spine. “I’m starving. Let’s eat.”

  “There’s a message for you on the counter.” The words tumbled out of my mouth. Gripping the sides of my dress, I took a breath to calm myself. “Mr. Anderson called while you were gone.” I'd only answered the phone because I saw on the caller ID that it was a client I knew and Daddy had preapproved me answering calls from them. Otherwise, I wasn't allowed to answer the phone without his permission.

  He had been about to sit down in his seat but stood and went to the kitchen at my declaration. “Never a day off, right?”

  “Uh huh.” I made sure Daddy’s eyes were focused on the message before I quickly traded our knives, putting the scratched side down. All I had to do was make sure not to use it and discard of it after dinner.

  “I’ll call him back after we eat.” He joined me at the table. “We wouldn’t want this meal you’ve prepared to get cold, now would we?”

  “No, Daddy.” I forced a smile and sat down a second after he did. Since he was the authority figure at the table, he sat and left first.

  Daddy reached his hand out toward his plate, and his smile quickly vanished. The gray in his eyes turned dark, drowning out the blue. “Where are the napkins, Cora?”

  Heat rushed to my face. How did I forget them? “I left them in the dryer. So sorry, Daddy. I’ll go get them right now, if that’s okay with you.” My body itched to leave the table, but I had to wait until I was excused.

  After an excruciating minute, my fingers drumming the seconds under the table, he gave a slight nod of approval. I calmly walked into the laundry room, took the cloth napkins out of the dryer, and folded them nicely. When they were arranged how Daddy liked them, I brought them back and placed Daddy’s on the center of his plate.

  The storms in his eyes had died down. He took the napkin, unfolded it, and tucked it in the top of his shirt.

  “All better, Daddy?” I asked, grateful for the calm in my voice.

  “Yes, Cora.” He opened and closed his fists a few times. His tone dropped. “Don’t let it happen again.”

  I swallowed, trying to quell the fear. Too many mistakes and I’d end up in the basement. “I won’t.” I moved toward my seat, but Daddy stopped me.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” He pointed to his cheek.

  I gave it a kiss and then went to my seat, tucking my own napkin into the top of my dress.

  We ate in silence for a good five minutes. Daddy was so focused on his plate that I didn’t want to interrupt his thoughts. I didn’t want to anger him again. I hated making him mad. It was never intentional. Seeing him smile gave me joy. Peace. Something I never had before I came to live with him.

  He patted his lips with his napkin when he finished off his penne. “How would you feel about piano lessons?”

  I almost dropped my fork but thank the stars it stayed in my hand. “Like, go somewhere, or someone would come to our home?”

  Only Daddy and I were allowed in the house. Not even a delivery man had crossed the threshold.

  “I repaired a clock for a lady the other day,” he said. “She played the piano. It got me thinking how nice it would be to have my angel girl playing melodies in our home.”

  I carefully set my fork down next to my plate, making sure not to clink it against anything. “We don’t have a piano.”

  His chin jutted out. “Not yet. I was going to go look for one tomorrow.” His cloudy eyes stared at me, waiting, hoping for an excited reaction.

  “I’d love that, Daddy,” I finally said. “Thank you for giving me this opportunity to learn something new.”

  He tugged on his cuffs. “I’ll let Ms. Simms know of your desire to have lessons, and we’ll get something set up.” He stood and reached out to grab my plate.

  I placed my hands on it. “I’ll clean up, Daddy. You’ve had a long week. You should relax.”

  Before h
e could respond in the negative, I took his plate and mine, plus the silverware, to the kitchen.

  Daddy’s eyes lingered on me, so I hummed a Beethoven song as I cleaned, one I knew he loved. His shoulders relaxed, and he wandered into the front room and turned on the TV, settling on the news like he always did.

  I shoved the scratched knife into the bottom of the trashcan and covered it so it couldn't be seen. It seemed rather silly to have to throw a perfectly good knife away over a small scratch, but Daddy didn't like his things ruined. I was to treat them with the utmost care and respect. To him, destroying something he owned was a personal attack. Unfortunately, there were too many things in life I couldn't control, no matter how careful I had been.

  Stealing a peek at Daddy to make sure he was still occupied, I let out a deep breath and went about cleaning the kitchen. Everything inside me shook with nerves and excitement. Having someone come into the house was new territory. I’d have to make sure I was on my best behavior. If I said or did anything out of line, Daddy would terminate my lessons.

  Learning the piano didn’t really pique my interest – I’d rather learn the guitar. A neighbor at one of my foster homes would sit out on his porch and play. He’d let me sit there and listen to him. It always spread a peace through my heart that I’d never received anywhere else.

  But the thought of making a new friend and having someone else to talk to in Daddy’s home intrigued me more than anything, so I’d learn the piano.

  It took me forever to fall asleep that night. I shook in anticipation of what the following weeks would bring.

  Chapter 8

  “Cora!” Daddy’s gravelly voice bellowed down the hall, waking me from my restless sleep. The thud of his boots thundered toward my door. I’d barely pulled back my canopy when the latch on the outside of my door was forced open, and Daddy burst into the room.

  “What’s wrong, Daddy?” I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and held back a yawn. Noah fell from my arms and landed softly next to me on the bed. My shirt was saturated with sweat from another nightmare.

  Daddy held up his hand, and I shrunk back in fear. The scratched silver knife. My nightmare had become a reality. His body shook, eyes and jaw tight, and his fists clenched. “I found this in the trash as I was taking it out.” He crossed over to the bed in moments, wrapped his callused hand around my arm, and yanked me out of bed. “First I tried to figure out why you would throw away something so valuable. Then I saw the scratch.” His hand squeezed tight as he shook my body. “How could you let this happen?”

  Tears formed at the corner of my eyes, but I fought them back. I wasn’t allowed to cry. “It was an accident. I’m not sure how it got there.”

  He held the knife in front of my face, the small nick taunting me. “Well, the scratch didn’t magically appear on its own, did it? You must have been careless.” His voice was deep and rough, making me shiver.

  “It won’t happen again, I promise.” I forced the words through gritted teeth. His hold on me burned.

  “Do you think I’m made of money, Cora? That I can just replace valuable silverware any time I want?”

  I hated the quiver in my tone, but I couldn’t stop it. “No, sir.”

  His raspy voice grew louder. “Should we just switch to plastic knives like we’re poor so you can be as reckless as you want?” Fury seeped out of every pore. His whole face turned crimson, veins bursting from his forehead and neck. “Do you want a childhood like mine?”

  A yelp escaped my mouth when his grip on my arm twisted, causing the pain to grow. If it hadn’t been for my long sleeve shirt, it probably would have burned as well.

  “You want to live like that, Cora? After everything I’ve done for you? I’ve provided you a home, a nice room, clothes, and food – all the things I never had.” He pushed the scratched side of the knife into my cheek, the cold making me shudder. “This is how you repay me?”

  “I’m sorry!” The words flew from my mouth.

  “Sorry?” He dragged me out of the room and down the hall. “Forget the piano. Forget lessons.”

  My fingers slid along the walls as I tried to grab onto something firm. The tips of my fingers finally settled against the door frame to Daddy's room. My arms stretched as far as they could go. He yanked me away like a ragdoll, my arms falling from my last resort. I fought from his grip, but he held on firm. “Daddy, please don’t do this.”

  When we got to the stairs leading to the basement, I wrapped both my hands around the banister. The wood burned against my skin as Daddy threw his arms around my waist and pulled my body farther down. Both hands slid along the banister, the shrill sound of my palms on the wood filling the air.

  “Let go, Cora,” he growled. Spit sprayed onto my neck. He hadn’t been that furious in a long time. I knew he’d get mad about the silverware, but not this mad.

  “I don’t want to go down there.” The basement was chilly and lonelier than the solitude of my room. At least I had Noah in my room. Plus, with my sweat-dampened shirt, it would only make it colder.

  Daddy tugged at my body until he pried me away from the railing. “I don’t want to make this longer than I have to, but if you don’t stop, you’ll be in timeout for a long time.”

  Letting my body go limp, I allowed him to drag me into the cold basement. He tossed me on the ground near the thin, lumpy mattress – the one that had been his as a child. He liked to remind me that I was lucky to have a real bed in a real room.

  “Cora, you need to learn to respect my property.” He had his hands on his hips, his eyes in a full-on storm. The dark gray whipped around, any trace of blue nowhere to be found. “You can’t take for granted what I give you. Show me gratitude, that’s all I ask.”

  If I fought back, he would extend the time. To be set free, I had to confess to being wrong, truth or not. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I shouldn’t have ruined the silverware you bought for our family with your hard-earned money. I will treat your things with respect.”

  His tension slightly released. “Good.” He started toward the stairs. “Three days.”

  “I’ll miss school.” I said it out loud because I was used to talking to Noah. It wasn’t meant to be rude or whiney.

  “Make it five.” Daddy stomped up the old, wooden stairs, slammed the door, and locked me in the dark basement. He’d taken out the only light bulb years before so I could “soak in my sins.” A part of me had appreciated the darkness so I couldn’t see the filth or unwanted insects around me at night.

  In the top corner of the room, the only window let in a fraction of light. I crawled over to the mattress and lay down. The smell of sweat and urine immediately filled my nose.

  I gripped the side of the mattress tight, remembering when I’d first come to Daddy’s house. He kept me locked in the basement until I made the adjustment and promised not to run. Or scream.

  It had taken over a year. Almost four hundred days of living in the basement with minimal food and a litter box to go to the bathroom. He made me clean it myself. Once a week he’d let me have a sponge bath.

  I finally let the stubbornness go. Gave in to his demands. Acted how he wanted. Said what he wanted to hear. Did everything he wanted me to do.

  It beat the alternative of being homeless. I had no family and no one looking for me. I probably wasn’t registered on any missing children list.

  At least I had food and a roof over my head. For the most part, Daddy could be nice. Every now and then his temper would flare. But the storm always ended, replaced by a nice summer breeze. I needed to do a better job at keeping him happy.

  The only problem with being locked in the basement was that I couldn't investigate my stolen journal. It would have to be put on hold, and I'd have to hope that no one would come forward during my timeout. If they did, the basement could become my permanent home.

  Five days. I curled into a ball and fought the tears. I was strong. I was smart. I would live to see another day.

  The night of my transfer haunt
ed my dreams. Most of my life before that night was fuzzy. Apparently my parents abandoned me. Left me at a hospital in the middle of the night. I was thrown into the foster system since they had no record of who I was. I bounced around from house to house.

  Warmth had filled the air the night he took me. The heat in the house was stifling, so I had snuck out to sleep under the stars. I had on a pink nightgown and floral underwear. No shoes. The backyard held two large dogs, so I slept up front.

  As I lay on the grass, I heard a muffled noise come closer. A rusty door opened, then loud footfalls. Suddenly a man towered over me. He had bent down and placed his hand over my mouth.

  "Don't scream, angel," he'd said in a soothing voice. He’d stroked my hair with his other hand. "Daddy has come to take you home where you belong." He’d picked me up in his strong arms. The overwhelming heat had made me weak and drowsy. Even if I’d wanted to scream, I probably couldn't have.

  Something about Daddy had made me feel safe at the time. He’d gently placed me in the back of the van and put a blindfold over my eyes.

  "Why are you doing that?" I’d whispered.

  Daddy had rubbed my arm. "Because where I'm taking you, it's a surprise. You’d love a surprise, wouldn’t you?" He’d tied the blindfold around my head. I lay down, my eyes fluttering, wanting to sleep. I could vaguely feel him tying up my legs and arms. Before he had started the engine and left, I was sound asleep on the floor of his old van.

  Chapter 9

  Every muscle on my body ached when I woke in the basement the morning after Daddy found the silverware in the trash. The thin mattress did nothing. I was practically sleeping on the cement floor.

  Being without a blanket, and only wearing thin pajama pants and a wet shirt had left me cold all night long. It led to a fitful sleep. My mind dragged me into horrid nightmares of Daddy beating me, being torn from me, and losing the only family I’d ever had.