Accept Me

by J. L. Mac

  I stare numbly at the beige rotary phone on the nightstand. I should be on the phone with my mom right now, I think as it starts ringing. I hope she isn’t worried. I hope she never knows what has happened to me. What has become of me? Fresh tears spill from my swollen eyes at the thought of how this would kill my family. My older brothers would want to kill Ed and I wouldn’t stop them if I knew they would get away with it. My mom would be heartbroken and Dad—well, I’m not sure what he would say or do but I do know that I don’t want to find out. Ever.

  Ed’s heavy breathing is louder now that his body has slowed. I hope he stops. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. I can’t stop praying to myself. I just need to get through this and shower. I need to wash it all away. I need to wash him away. I need to wash the memory of this night away. He lifts himself off of me and with one excruciating jolt of pain, he’s out of me. I squeeze my eyes shut. I’m not sure why. Whether out of fear or relief, it doesn’t really matter.

  “See what happens to stupid little sluts who mess with a man like me?” he snaps at me, only an inch or two from my face.

  A faint mist laced with tobacco and liquor lingers over my skin, sending my stomach into an uproar. I gag so hard that my battered side cracks in response. A broken rib, no doubt. My eyes open wide as alarm bells resound in my head. I can’t hold it down this time. I’m going to be sick with this rag shoved in my mouth. A new fear comes over me just as my stomach heaves violently. As I focus on not choking to death, I see Ed grimace in a drunken haze. He does nothing as he escapes the way he came. He left me bound, beaten, and ready for death. But I don’t care. He’s gone.”

  I don’t even know what to say. I stare blankly at her for what feels like minutes.

  “I found out that I was pregnant with Damon three weeks later,” she murmurs just loud enough for me to hear. I left my doctor’s appointment and stopped at The Diner to spend my last few bucks on lunch. Joanne Bynum was my waitress. I remember looking at her and feeling sorry for her. She was middle-aged and working in this restaurant, on her feet all day. I remember thinking to myself that I never wanted to end up that way, working my tail off for a few bucks in some mediocre diner.” She pauses and shakes her head with a bemused smirk. “When I was a dollar and twenty-seven cents short to buy lunch, Joanne gave me a knowing look and said I could eat lunch for free if I was an employee. I had nothing else, no other options, so I took the job. I never left. I became that middle-aged woman running herself ragged for next to nothing. They hired me even though I was bruised and homeless. And I was grateful for it.”

  Noni’s story leaves me speechless, my face sodden with tears I didn’t even know I shed. She spoke as if she was going through it all over again. As if she’s still there. As if she’s never left that night in a cheap motel room. Her eyes focused on that point and time in her history and she was gone from the present. I know exactly how she feels.

  I’m not sure what to do at this point. I feel like sobbing. I feel like I should hug her. I feel like fighting. I feel like finding Edward and scratching his fucking eyes out for Noni and Damon.

  I inhale the silence between us and scoot my chair so that we’re thigh to thigh. She’s sitting quietly beside me with her hands in her lap. Her eyes are still fixed to the focal point that she found at the beginning of this story. I place my hand on top of hers and just sit. It’s a small gesture, but I pray it speaks volumes to her. I want her to know that I’m here. I hope she understands that this is me sharing this burden with her. This is me accepting part of the weight that she has carried for so long. This is me accepting her as she is. My sweet friend deserves so much better than what she’s been given.

  Noni’s eyes finally drift, breaking her daze. Her tortured brown eyes lock with mine and it’s evident that she’s at her breaking point. Her lip quivers. Her eyes fill to the brim with more than thirty years of tears. In a flash, she sweeps her arms outward and falls, crumbles, disintegrates, her head landing on my shoulder with a thud. Tears wrack her body violently. Shoulders, arms, legs, all of her is trembling against me. My arms automatically enfold her and I do my best to gather her up against me. I’ll be her leaning post if it’s what she needs.

  I like to think that I’m pretty tough, that I’m pretty thick-skinned, but right now, I’m not. Being in love with Damon has softened my heart more than I’d like to admit and with Noni falling apart against me, all efforts at keeping my shit together are futile.

  “Oh, Noni,” I croak out, pulling her tight against me like a mother holds a child, and crying with her. “I’m so sorry.” The apology that I’ve always detested so much slips over my lips before I can stop myself. I’ve always hated how apologies feel. I’ve heard them so much throughout my life and always felt like they were never sincere—no one could ever really, truly feel regret or sadness on another’s behalf. Or so I thought. Until Noni. Until right now.

  I ache for her. I feel such disgust for what was done to her. I can’t think of anything but how sorry I am for her, her situation, her life… everything.

  “It’s okay. It’s okay,” I repeat over and over, rubbing my hand across her shoulder blade.

  After what feels like hours, but I’m sure has been mere moments, her trembling eases and her tears slow. I release my grip on her. She sniffles a few times and rights herself in her seat beside me. The dish rag that she’s been carrying all day is still in her lap. She brings the soft cotton material to her tired eyes and blots away the last of her tears.

  It’s right then, in this very moment, that I realize that Damon is bound to find out about this at some point, and it occurs to me that my Big Man will be utterly blindsided by this information. I know he’ll be surprised about Noni and frustrated with me for going behind his back (and I’ve been preparing myself for that backlash), but the reality of the matter, that he’s here because that asshole raped a teenager… that’s going to kill him. It’s an alarming realization that sets my mind spinning with various scenarios on how to break the news to him, none of which are ideal.

  “What about Damon?”

  Noni eyes me warily as if I’ve just pointed a gun at her. “I-I don’t know if I’m ready, Jo. I—he…” she trails off.

  “We need to talk to Grams. Grams will know what to do. Grams knows everything,” I ramble on.

  “Jo, I’m not sure I can.”

  I grasp Noni by her shoulders and square myself with her. “Listen to me. Grams’ is a safe place to start. We need her in our corner in case Damon finds out. When Damon finds out,” I correct myself because there’s no hiding anything from Damon. Not for long anyway. He’s going to find out at some point and having Grams there for support is going to be crucial.

  Noni slouches forward, cupping her head in her hands. “Beatrice is a good woman, but I’m afraid,” she admits feebly.

  “I am too,” I confess, knowing that any attempt I make to sound tough right now would be completely transparent. Anyone in this position would be scared. I’m no different.

  Nerves are a funny thing. My experience with anxiety is limited. I’ve never had the luxury to be scared or apprehensive until recently, really. It was always do or die for me, which left no room to be timid. Being timid was a good way to be targeted by someone with less than good intentions. Being timid would have meant being too weak to take what I needed when I needed it. I trained myself to be brazen and for the most part, it has been my favorite character trait, but right now I’d pay top dollar for some gumption to navigate this disaster. Loving people has given me anxiety, I think. I have people to disappoint now. How am I supposed to tell him? Should I tell him? How’s he going to take it? What would he do to Noni? What would he do to Edward?

  When I turn off the main road and into the driveway to our new place, my mind is still reeling with what Noni has revealed to me. No amount of preparing myself could have prepared me for that. Noni is fragile right now but my own sense of morbid curiosity has me wondering how she must have felt during her pregnancy
with a child who was a product of her rape.

  Before tears over Damon’s violent conception surface again, I extinguish any thought of it. With one deep, cleansing breath, I switch off my SUV, scoop up Hemingway, and slide out of the driver’s seat. Damon’s truck is parked right in front, so I’m sure he’s here unless he took his BMW today. A tiny part of me hopes that he isn’t here. I’m not quite ready to face him knowing what I know.

  Once inside, I walk straight through the house and out the back door. Grams apartment is a short trip down a walkway made from decorative pavers. Her personal quarters like a miniature version of the main house, matching exterior paint and all. I set my eyes on the small front porch and hurry to it. I need to see Grams. I ring her doorbell and shake my head, remembering how tickled she was to have a doorbell. She’s a wonky old bat.

  “Come on in!” I hear her chime from inside. I open her door and come to a stop when I see Grams sitting in her La-Z-Boy with a roll of utility tape, a flashlight, and her walker, her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose.

  “What in the world are you doing?” I can’t hide the amusement in my voice.

  “I need a headlight on this thing,” she answers as she peers over the top of her red reading glasses at me. “Grab some scissors, will ya?”

  I hurry to her kitchen and scoop the poultry shears from the utensil caddy beside her stove. “Here.” I thrust them towards her.

  She juggles the roll of tape and the flashlight precariously while trying to get her wrinkled fingers into the handle of the scissors.

  “Here. Let me,” I insist. I lay the walker down on the carpet and kneel down on the floor to help her. “Why exactly are we putting a flashlight on your walker?” I ask as I wrench a segment of tape from the roll.

  “The walkway is dark at night. I need a headlight so I can see where I’m going.” It’s a simple enough explanation, so I just shrug in concession. I have to admit, the woman is as practical as they come.

  “That’s a good idea, but I think Damon was going to have the walkway lined with outdoor lights.”

  “This works just as well. Why waste the money?”

  “I’ll let you discuss that with the Big Man,” I suggest with a smile, knowing Damon will get a good laugh out of Grams’ new invention.

  “I will,” she assures me. “Though I might patent the thing if it works out well. I can give you a cut since you did the real work.”

  Someone knocks lightly on the door. Speak of the devil. Damon swings it open and takes one look at the shit on the floor then at the two of us and shakes his head.

  “Might I ask what you two are up to?”

  “Pimpin’ Grams’ walker,” I answer just as plainly as Grams explained to me.

  “I see.” He nods and holds back a smile, stuffing his big paws into the pockets of his pants. Damn, he’s beautiful. It’s the greatest kind of irony looking at my Big Man. He’s beautiful in every way, charming and driven and generous, yet he was born out of pure evil.

  I’m quick to chase away that train of thought. I eye the tape closely as I wrap it carefully around the flashlight, fastening it to the front rail of Grams’ walker and tucking down all the sticky pieces. Two more strips and it’s done.

  “There.” I smile at Grams and set her walker upright in front of her. “Now you’ve got a headlight.”

  “Beautiful!” Grams declares. “I’ll call it the One-Eyed Beast.”

  “Please don’t,” I quickly respond, choking down a giggle.

  Grams smiles slyly and sits back in her chair thinking up better names, no doubt. I look to Damon, who is leaning against the wall casually, looking like typical Damon. Sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, top two buttons undone exposing that delectable dip at the base of his neck, gunmetal gray slacks clinging deliciously to the hips that I so frequently have my legs wrapped around.

  “It’s a good idea, Grams, but the groundskeeper will be installing lighting down the sides of the walkway,” Damon explains.

  Grams’ scoffs and looks up to my Big Man. “Well, that’s just a waste. Cyclops will work just fine. No need for extra lights.”

  “Cyclops? That would be a great name if you two would have just gone with a headlamp versus… this.” Damon eyes our invention speculatively.

  “What? And mess up my hair? Never,” Grams explains, waving off Damon’s suggestion.

  Laughter erupts from Damon; it’s a beautiful thing. I love seeing him so carefree and happy. It’s a reminder that he deserves to laugh. He deserves to be happy. He deserves so much and I plan on seeing that he gets it.

  He takes a few steps my direction and pulls me to him as his laughter slows. “Thank you for helping her with everything.” His whisper is feather light on my ear, causing goosebumps to pepper my skin. My eyes slip shut and I breathe in his incredible scent. Soap, and laundry, and Damon. “I love you, baby.”

  “I love you too,” I whisper, feeling flush and a little dizzy on my feet.

  His cell phone rings from within his pocket, breaking the enamored trance I was in. He fishes it out and screens the call. “I have to take this.” He swipes the screen with his index finger and turns to walk away. “Mike, what do you have for me?” he asks into the phone as he shuts Grams’ front door.

  “Who’s Mike?” Grams asks the same thing I’ve been wondering.

  I shrug dismissively and get to my feet, flopping down into her new couch. This is the time to talk. I know it, but I struggle with finding the right words. “I’ve got a question for you, Grams.”

  “I’ve got an answer,” she quips, setting Cyclops to the side.

  Spit it out, I admonish myself inwardly. I have to get this over with. “What would you say if I told you that I found Damon’s mother?” My voice is small. Much smaller than I’ve ever heard myself. My anxious eyes meets Grams’ crystalline blue ones and all joking, jibing, and wit has abandoned her.

  “What?” she whispers.

  It’s a rare occasion to see her so serious, but this is one of those times. I shrink marginally into the couch.

  “You found her?”

  A nod is the only response I can offer.

  “Have you met her?” Grams’ voice hasn’t gone above a whisper.

  “That’s the… complicated part,” I confess, wishing I could take it all back, wishing I could go back in time and forget seeing that birth certificate. But even if I could, it wouldn’t change the fact that I’ve known Noni for years. We’d all be connected in some twisted way or another regardless of whether or not I learned the truth. Life can be one screwed up bitch.

  “Pray tell, Jo,” Grams chides sternly, tapping her foot. She’s edgy now and I can’t blame her. She raised Damon for the most part and he’s always been hers to protect, and here I go searching out his real mom.

  I inhale deeply and ready myself for the difficult story waiting to be told, but before I can say anything, Grams eases out of her seat and shuffles to her door. She cracks it open and peeks out into the backyard, looking toward the house.

  “I think he’s inside, but if he touches that doorknob, mum’s the word. Got it? I mean it, Jo. He can’t hear anything about this. He isn’t ready.”

  I nod. She makes her way back to her recliner and settles in then looks to me expectantly. Here goes.

  “I know her,” I admit quietly, looking at my hands. “It turns out I’ve known her for years.”

  Grams watches me carefully, nodding for me to go on.

  “Grams, my friend, Noni, the one I hired, is Damon’s mother. I saw his birth certificate and I thought that finding her would shed some light on things, but I’ve known her all along. She met Damon when we first started seeing each other and recognized his name right away. I didn’t know who she was until the day he proposed. Her real name is Beverly Da—”

  “Child, hush!” Grams orders.

  I snap my lips shut and arch my eyebrows, shocked that she would talk to me like that.

  “I know who she is, Jo. I’ve al
ways known. I’ve kept tabs on that girl since she came to my front door pregnant with Damon. Beverly Wynona Davis. I didn’t know that you knew her, but I knew the rest. I’m old, not daft.”

  For the second time today I’m rendered speechless. She fucking knew?! “I-I thought you said you knew her first name and that was it?”

  “I lied,” Grams hisses. “I did a lot of that to protect Damon.” A look of dismay mars her wrinkled face and I feel terrible for what I have to tell her next. She takes a deep breath before she continues. “When a little boy asks why his daddy hates him, you’d be surprised how easy it is to lie rather than tell the ugly truth.” The expression on Grams’ face speaks a million truths. I can only imagine how difficult it has been to be sandwiched between her grandchild and her belligerent son all these years. “Eddie hated him from the moment she handed him over to me,” she says, shaking her head. “That sweet baby was the straw that broke the camel’s back where his marriage was concerned, so I know part of the reason he’s always resented Damon was because in his twisted way, Eddie blamed him. For the breakup, I mean. I just never understood why he resented him so much. It never added up for me.” She clicks her tongue, still shaking her head. “It’s not the child’s fault that Eddie cheated on his wife and impregnated someone else. Poor Damon is as innocent as they come. Sins of the parents and all that.”

  “There’s more, Grams.” The weight of knowing is heavy. The weight of having to be the one to tell Grams what her son did to an innocent girl is unbearable.

  “Of course there is.” She shakes her head, obviously exasperated. “There’s always more to every story, now isn’t there?”

  “I want you to come with me to the store tomorrow to talk to her, but not before you hear what she told me.”

  “Okay…” Grams says tentatively, clearly waiting for me to go on with my story.