by Autumn Grey
Mom steps in front of me and lowers her small frame to the coffee table, then reaches forward and takes my hands in hers. I can’t stop looking at our joined hands, marveling at how much hers have worked tirelessly to provide me—us—with food and safety. Gratitude spreads through me, warming my chest as I raise my eyes to meet hers, and her tired, wet eyes soften.
“I love you so much. You’re a miracle, Gracie. My miracle.”
Tears burn the corners of my eyes, terrified of what she’s about to say. “You’re scaring me, Mom.”
Was I right last night? Is she sick? Oh my God. Is she dying? How would I survive without her?
For as long as I can remember, I’ve always feared being abandoned. Some nights I’d wake up from a nightmare screaming and scrambling out of bed in a panic. I’d dash into the living room where my mom slept on the pull-out couch worried she, too, had left me like my father had left us. I was convinced the feeling would eventually go away when I grew up, but I guess I was wrong.
Mom’s hands squeeze mine gently, and she murmurs in the same calm voice that made everything better. “Breathe, Gracie. Just breathe.” She repeats the same words until my breathing has calmed.
“I need to tell you some things about me. But first, I hope you forgive me for what I’m about to say. I did what I did to protect you because I thought it was the right thing to do.” She swallows hard, then clears her throat. “I still think it is.”
I nod and brace myself for whatever she’s about to say.
“It’s about your father. He didn’t leave like I told you. He and I were never together, nor were we in love.” She stares down at her lap and blinks several times.
“He didn’t? Where is he?” I ask, my heart beating faster than it was before.
“I-I don’t know, sweetheart.”
I wipe my sweaty palms on my sleeping shorts, then place them back in hers. “Just tell me, Mom. I’m eighteen. I can handle it.” My words are much braver than what I’m feeling.
“When I was eighteen, something happened to me.” She pauses, the muscles in her neck moving as she swallows. “I’d just graduated from high school almost a month before, and one of the guys from school threw a party. Sort of a get-together. I’d gotten a ride from my best friend to the party. So when I realized it was past my curfew, I went to check if she was ready to leave, but she was too drunk to drive. And she wasn’t in a hurry to leave anyway. So I left, opting to call a cab.”
Her gaze drops to our hands but not before I see tears gather at the corner of her eyes.
“There was construction on the road leading to my house, so it was closed temporarily for repairs. The driver dropped me off about one block away from my house, so I had to walk the rest of the way. A man appeared out of nowhere as if he’d been waiting for me and—” She sucks in a deep breath.
No, no, no! It can’t be true.
My heart is beating so wildly, it’s about to burst through my chest. I know what’s coming even though my brain is refusing to accept it. I know what she’s about to say, but I can’t find the words to stop her because I think I’m going to throw up.
“I tried to fight him, but he was stronger than me.” She closes her eyes, her features twisting in pain as if she’s going through the same thing she did eighteen years ago. “I tried to get away, but then he threatened to kill me, and I could see it clearly in his green eyes that he meant it.”
Bile churns in my stomach, boiling up my throat. I thought I could handle hearing the story, but it turns out I was wrong. I slap a hand over my mouth and bolt for the bathroom. Vomit spews before I even reach the toilet, and I fall to my knees. My head hangs over the porcelain as tears burn a trail down my cheeks. Just when I think I’ve nothing left inside me, I throw up some more. Acid burns my throat from throwing up.
I feel a presence next to me before my mom joins me on the cool marble floor and puts her arms around me, hugging me tight. I cling onto her as she rocks us back and forth.
I can’t stop crying. I’m not breathing right. I need fresh air. I need to leave this house and just go. Run. I don’t know. I just want out. Disbelief has given way to rage. I’m so angry, my body feels as if it’s about to splinter open.
I wiggle out of her arms and jump to my feet.
“Grace—”
“What happened to him?” I wipe my hand under my nose, trying hard to hold it together. Hatred like I have never felt before burns through my veins in spades. “Did the police catch that . . . monster?”
She nods, her red-rimmed eyes begging me for something. I don’t know what. Never in my eighteen years on this earth have I ever thought I’d be calling my own father a monster.
A coward? Sure. But a rap—I can’t bring myself to say it. To even think the word.
My heart breaks in a million pieces, and I can’t catch them all quickly enough before they crash to the floor and break in a million more.
Shattered pieces of hope all around me. If I try to move, they’ll cut through the soles of my feet and leave scars I don’t ever want to bear.
I can’t believe this.
I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.
“He was in prison until eight years ago.”
I greedily suck in air to feed my lungs, to clear my head, to clear the anger rolling like a tsunami, then close my eyes, trying and failing to stop this feeling, this ugly feeling of betrayal, from consuming me. Because what happened to my mom is bigger and much worse. The pain thrashing inside me breaks loose.
“You told me he abandoned us when you were pregnant. I hoped and prayed he’d come to his senses and come home. I held on to the idea of a man I thought you’d loved. I believed I wasn’t enough for him, that I wasn’t worthy.”
“Gracie,” she says, voice low, appalled and saddened at my words. “You’re more than worthy. It’s him who isn’t. I wanted to tell you, but I was so ashamed. I was trying to protect you.”
I swipe my cheeks with my palms, the need to flee so strong. But the way my mom is looking at me, so terrified, I’m glued to the spot by the fear in her eyes.
“I’m so, so sorry.”
“God, Mom. Please stop. Stop apologizing for something that was out of your control. It wasn’t your fault, okay?” I throw my arms around her, hugging her tight.
My words are her undoing, and the dam breaks. This strong woman, my best friend and protector, has kept this secret for eighteen years. How did she not break from the weight of it all?
I kiss her hair as pieces of my life start to fall in place; the self-defense classes, birth control pills, her trips to Port Elizabeth every year for the meditation retreat, how sad she gets every June. Her telling me that sex is one of those things that gives you the power to choose who you want to give yourself to. She wasn’t given a choice. It all makes sense now.
“Thank you for telling me. I know it was very hard, but I want you to know I’m glad you told me.”
We end up on the couch, holding each other. Once she falls asleep, I untangle our bodies, grab a blanket from her room, and cover her. Then I scribble a note for her to let her know I needed to get some air and not to worry. I’ll be back soon.
I quickly change my clothes, favoring jeans shorts and a baggy T-shirt, then stumble to the door and shove my feet into a pair of sneakers.
Once I’m outside, I forgo the elevator and descend the five flights of the stairs while blinking hard to keep the tears at bay. Once I reach the lobby, I dash out the main door and into the light of the early morning, the pieces of my broken heart trailing after me.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been walking; all I know is the sun is already glaring in the middle of the clear blue skies. My feet are numb, and sweat beads on my forehead.
I glance around, trying to pinpoint where I am, but all I see is the sea on my right and a row of buildings on my left. My throat is parched, and my mouth feels weird. Like it’s full of sand.
Someone yells my name, but I’m too tired to look for who it is.
The person calls out again followed by the sound of tires crunching softly on the gravel. A car door opens and slams shut, then a tentative, “Grace?”
I stop and look over my shoulder. Ivan jogs in my direction, his face a mask of concern.
“Jesus. Where the hell have you been?” He drags a hand through his well-groomed dark hair, his usual calm demeanor gone. “Are you okay? Where’s your cell phone? We’ve been trying to reach you.”
I run my fingers through my disheveled hair. “I’m fine.”
He eyes me up and down. “You don’t look fine.”
I shrug weakly and give him my back as I turn to inspect my surroundings with detachment.
“Your mom’s worried sick. Come on, get inside the car so I can take you home.”
I shake my head and force my feet to take a couple of steps forward. I’m not ready to go home. I need time to get my shit together.
He curses under his breath, and I hear footfalls crunching gravel behind me, then a hand gently tugging my wrist. “At least hop in and get out of the sun.”
We walk back to his car. He waits until I’ve snapped my seat belt on, then slams the door shut and jogs around the car and slides onto the driver’s seat.
“How did you find me?”
“Luck, I guess.” He restarts the car and slowly drives away. “Your mom called Sol to check if you were at our place. He got worried and called me. We split up hoping to find you quicker. We’ve been looking for you for the past four hours.”
I’ve been gone that long?
“Sol’s worried out of his damn mind. You’re going to drive that poor boy crazy one of these days.” He cracks a smile but quickly clears his throat and looks away when I don’t return it. Then he pulls out his phone from his pocket. “I’ll shoot him a text to let him know you’re okay.”
I haven’t seen him in so long, and I’m not sure if I want to. Not when I’m such a mess.
“Where are you taking me?”
“I need to run a few errands before midday. I could take you to our place.”
I cringe, wondering what Sol must be thinking of me. Did my mom tell him what happened? I don’t think I could face him right now.
“Is MJ home?”
He shakes his head. “She left for New York this morning and won’t be back until Monday.”
I sigh, closing my eyes. “I could stay in the car while you run errands.”
“No can do, Grace. Look. I’m taking you to my place, all right? If you don’t want to talk to him, then you won’t need to, but please, your mom needs to know you’re okay.”
I nod begrudgingly, allowing my body to sink back into the seat. I’m physically and mentally so exhausted that my mind shuts down, lulled by the soft music drifting from the car speakers.
A gentle shake of my shoulder jolts me awake.
“We’re here,” Ivan says, holding the car door open.
Then he leads the way toward their apartment complex.
Ivan lets us in with his key, then stands back so I can walk in first. I’m still blinking, trying to get my eyes accustomed to the lighting in the room, when strong arms close around me. My body tenses, and I don’t return the hug immediately. Then the distinct scent of oil and that special smell that only belongs to Sol fills my senses, comforting me. I sigh into his chest and wrap my arms tight around his waist.
“You’re okay,” he murmurs while stroking my hair repeatedly with his fingers. Ivan announces that he’s leaving and will be back later and closes the door behind him. “I thought I was going to lose my mind, Grace.”
“I’m so sorry for worrying you,” I mutter into his chest.
Sol pulls back and takes me in, concern furrowing his brows. “When did you last eat or drink anything?”
“Last night, I think.” Or was it this morning? Did I even drink any coffee?
He sighs before leading me into the living room and ordering me to sit down. He heads to the kitchen and returns with a bottle of water and hands it to me before leaving the room.
“Could I use your phone? I need to let Mom know I’m okay.”
“Sure.” He pulls it from his pocket and gives it to me. “I’ll be right back.”
“Sol? Is she okay?”
Hearing her voice and the concern dripping from her words causes a lump to form in my throat, and my eyes burn with tears.
I clear my throat to stop my voice from shaking. “Mom?”
There’s a long pause filled with uncertainty before she says, “Sweetheart?” She sounds almost scared to speak now. “Are you okay?”
Am I okay? Not really. I’m still trying to process everything. I don’t answer. Instead, I say, “I’m so sorry for worrying you. I needed air, and I lost track of time.”
“It’s okay. You’re all right, and that’s all that matters.”
I press my eyes shut to keep the tears at bay as questions burn the tip of my tongue, but I hold them back. I don’t really feel comfortable asking them on the phone. Instead, I ask, “Are you . . . can we talk?”
“Yes. Of course,” she answers, sounding hopeful. “Come home whenever you’re ready, sweetheart. I’ll be waiting for you.”
I nod. “I love you.”
After telling her I’ll see her soon, I end the call.
Moments later, Sol walks in carrying a large plastic dish filled with soapy water and a towel in one hand.
“What are you doing?” I ask when he crouches on the floor and takes one sneakered foot in his hand.
“You’ve been walking in the heat wearing these”—he taps the shoes—“for hours. Just want to make sure everything’s okay.”
“I can do that—”
His hand tightens on my ankle, his eyes meeting mine. “I’ll just take a quick look.”
He’s being too sweet. And didn’t he, like, disappear on me for days on end? I can’t find the energy to ask him or be mad at him. I let him check my feet, carefully peeling off my sneakers.
He starts to clean my feet, working diligently without lifting his head to look at me. He doesn’t ask me what happened. My breath is caught somewhere in my throat, and once again, tears fill my eyes as he continues to take care of me. Sol is going to make a wonderful priest, and that fact makes my heart hurt even more.
“Everything looks okay,” he murmurs, examining my feet after drying them with the towel. “But you need to put your feet up for a few hours to keep the swelling down.”
I reach for him, running my fingers through his hair, urging him to look at me. He does, and the worry in his eyes sucks all the air out of my lungs. “Thank you.”
He stands and nods, then strides out of the room, taking the towel and plastic dish with him. I gulp down some of the water, not realizing how thirsty I am until it’s empty.
“I’ll whip up something quick for you to eat,” Sol says as he reenters the living room and heads to the kitchen. I want to tell him not to bother, that I’m not hungry, but I don’t have the energy to stop him.
I nod, closing my eyes and letting my head fall on the back of the couch.
The next time I open my eyes, Sol is sitting on the couch next to me. He sets a plate on my lap and another bottle of water on the table. “Eat, then we can talk. Uh, I mean if you want to talk about what’s going on. Or I’ll take you home, or you can stay here. Just let me know what you want to do, okay?”
“Thank you.” He’s being so sweet, and it’s taking all my strength not to crawl in his lap and let him hold me. Instead, I take a small bite of the sandwich just as my stomach growls loudly. “I didn’t realize I was so hungry,” I say between bites. “This is really good.”
He smiles, but it’s bleak and worry lines crease his forehead. I polish off the rest of the sandwich in silence. I feel his gaze on me every few seconds, and the silence is just getting awkward.
Sol takes the plate and sets it on the table, then scoots closer, lifting my legs and resting them in his lap. Then he grabs his phone and headphones from the table and hand
s me one of the earbuds. He shoves the other one into his ear. Within seconds, hard rock music streams into my ear.
“Sweet,” I say, appreciating that he’s still not pushing me to talk. “Who’s this?”
“12 Stones.” He taps his screen a few more times, then sets his phone down between us. “This one is titled ‘World So Cold.’ They’ve gotten me through some very difficult times.”
I squeeze his hand in thanks, then stare at the ceiling, going over the conversation with my mom in my head. I can’t even begin to imagine what she went through, the moment . . . that moment when she felt trapped. God.
A shudder wracks through me. I try to push that memory from my mind and focus on the lyrics of the song playing.
“Why do people do bad things?” I ask rhetorically. “Why do some people hurt others?”
The couch dips as he shifts his weight, and I feel the intensity of his concern from his eyes on me. I turn to meet his gaze head-on.
Inhaling deeply, Sol entwines my fingers with his. “Sometimes I think it’s a cry for help. Maybe no one was there for them when they needed help the most. Maybe they needed some sort of guidance to set them on the right path. I don’t know. I wish I knew the answer, Grace.”
“Or maybe they were born evil.” My tone is dark and biting.
“No one is born evil.”
I mull over his words, when suddenly I feel like I’ve been sucker-punched. What if I’m carrying that gene, and it’s transferred to my kids or something?
Oh my God.
Pulling my feet from his lap, I bolt upright and bury my face in my hands. God, please let this not be the case.
“What is it?” Sol asks from beside me.
I’m not sure I can face him right now or tell him what’s going on. I can’t bear seeing disgust or pity in his eyes.
“Talk to me, please.” He grasps my hands and gently tugs them down to reveal my tear-streaked face. “Tell me.”
Even though my vision is blurred with tears, I see the lines of worry on his face, and my resolution melts away.
“Today my mom opened up to me for the first time ever. I can’t remember how many times I’ve asked her who my father is, but now I wish I had never insisted on knowing.” The song ends and the next one starts, filling in the silence and giving me the time I need to collect my thoughts. I have no idea where to start telling him what happened to Mom. Will he look at me differently? I sure as hell feel different, dirty, guilty.