Underestimated

by Jettie Woodruff

  “Morgan?” my first cousin, Bobby said, and then grabbed me up into a big bear hug.

  “Where the hell you been chica?” he asked, grinning his missing teeth smile.

  “Oh, around,” I replied. “How the hell are you? You grew up,” I stated. Bobbie must have been about fifteen when I had left. He was a scrawny little, pimpled face kid the last time that I had seen him.

  “Is that your fancy ass car out there?”

  “No. I just borrowed it for a few days. I drive a 1993 piece of shit.” It wasn’t a complete lie, and with my cut off jean shorts and my ace of spades t-shirt, I thought that I could pull it off.

  “It’s sweet as hell,” he exclaimed. “How long you in town for?”

  “Just passing through, I’m not sure why I even came here to tell you the truth.”

  “Well, I’m glad you did,” he smiled.

  I talked to my cousin who really was no relation at all now that I knew that my dad wasn’t my dad, but I wasn’t about to tell him that. I hadn’t been around him in years. I didn’t trust him at all. We walked around the trailer poking around. There wasn’t really anything there that I wanted. It was all pretty much trash. I did find a couple of pictures that had seen their better day. I took them and placed them on top of my tin box. I didn’t open the box yet. I decided to wait until I was alone for that. I really couldn’t even remember what was in it.

  “Do you know where my dad is Bobby?” I asked, plundering through a drawer in my parent’s room. There was nothing there, some old bills, a penknife, and a container of KY.

  “He lives in town now, over top of the Laundromat. He married Connie Patterson, you remember her?”

  “Yeah, she worked with my mom,” I replied. I knew exactly who she was. She was the truck stop whore. She’d broken the record for the most times being in the bunk of a semi-truck.

  “Where’s your mama?”

  “She lives in North Carolina now. I don’t talk to her much anymore.” That wasn’t a complete lie either. Okay, I was a liar.

  “You gonna go see your pop?” Bobbie asked.

  Fuck no…bastard sold me.

  “Nah, we didn’t really split on good terms,” I smiled.

  Bobby walked me out to my car, carrying my treasures.

  “You sure you don’t want stay the night. We’ll probably end up over at Booner’s later on.”

  I had no clue who Booner even was, and there was no way in hell I was staying there.

  “I’m meeting a friend. I can’t, but thanks for the offer. It was good seeing you.”

  Please don’t hug me.

  “You come back and see me now, hear?” Bobby said with a big brawny hug.

  “I will. You take care.”

  I had decided before I backed out of my old drive that I wouldn’t go all the way that day. I didn’t think I would go far at all. I felt dirty, and was kind of grossed out from walking around my abandoned, childhood home. My head itched, too. I knew I was just being paranoid, but I wanted a shower. I was hungry and wasn’t about to touch food until I had one.

  I drove for eight hours. Not what I had planned on doing at all. I was so hungry I almost perished. I drove all the way to Point Harbor. All I needed to do was take the ferry to I-165, and I would be at my mother’s. I got a room at a rather expensive hotel. There was no reason for it to be that expensive, except for the fact that it was a tourist trap. I knew I didn’t need to be concerned with a hundred and seventy five dollars. I could drop that all day long and never put a dent in how much money I had. That part would probably never change. When you grow up on dented cans of donated baked beans, you tend to ration a little.

  I used lots of antibacterial soap and washed the nastiness away from the tin. I smiled remembering the scene on the top and around the sides. I had sat on the couch with Justin when he was probably three or so. We were alone and trying to stay warm. We sat on the couch and ate the stale cookies as we observed the Norman Rockwell painting.

  “And we’ll live in this house, and play in the barn, and walk along the dirt road by the stream.”

  “And go pishen in dat pond,” Justin explained, pointing his little finger to the painted pond.

  I smiled running my fingers over the scene, the scene that his little fingers had touched. I could hear his little voice as plain as day. God, I missed that little man. I still hadn’t opened the tin, and decided to shower and find some food before I really did perish.

  I walked along the sidewalks and tourist trap vendors. I laughed when I saw the abundant amount of jewelry hanging from hooks from one of the street vendors. It was necklaces, bracelets, key chains, you name it, and anything that could be hung from a chain, this guy had it.

  “Would you like a cheap piece of history,” the guy asked.

  “History?” I smirked.

  “The finest sea glass around,” he smiled.

  I couldn’t help myself. I had to do it. “Buddy, there is not one thing here that is real sea glass.”

  His expression changed. He knew that I knew my shit. “Well, it was found on the beach,” he assured me.

  “Yeah, from a spring break party maybe,” I replied, and kept walking. I heard him ask the next naïve lady the same question. I looked over my shoulder and smiled, shaking my head when the lady pulled out her wallet.

  Stupid lady.

  I had the best shrimp and lobster I had ever had in my life, sitting at a quay restaurant. I loved the ocean. I decided at that moment, wherever I ended up, it was going to be by the ocean. The ocean and I had become friends. We had an understanding, a bond that in some way counseled me. The sea was full of emotion. The ocean knew my moods. It could hate, love, it knew my dreams, my fears, my happiness. I told the ocean more secrets than I had ever told anyone in my life, without a word spoken, and it understood.

  It was still pretty early, and I wasn’t tired at all. I should have been after the long drive and the roller coaster ride from going back to my old roots, maybe I was tired and had too much on my mind to relax. I still hadn’t opened my time capsule. I wasn’t sure what I was waiting on. I knew there wasn’t anything worth a damn in it. I still couldn’t believe that neither one of my men had called to check on me. I hadn’t talked to either one of them in two days.

  I had to pry the tin lid off because it was so rusted around the edges. I broke a nail in the process. That pissed me off.

  Mother fucker…

  The first thing I saw brought a happy smile to my face. It was a faded green Christmas tree, cut from construction paper. Justin made it in kindergarten. It didn’t say, I love mommy, or I love daddy. It said I love my sissy. I held my finger through the red piece of yarn. I then took out the love letter from Polecat. That wasn’t his real name. His real name was Billy Sweeny. It seemed like everyone in the hills had a stupid nick name. It was dumb. I used to think that I was in love with Polecat. He was a tough guy, always in fights and drinking beer. He had gotten his first amateur tattoo when he was only thirteen.

  I read about two lines of the childish love note and tossed it to the paper can. A week after he had written it, he broke up with me to go out with Missy Glass. She put out. I didn’t. I picked up the picture of my Grandma Joyce next. She was sitting on her porch, where I picture her, the most. She always sat on that porch, rocking for hours.

  I picked up the tarnished, cross necklace next. It had been a gift from my grandma. I think it was for my birthday or maybe Christmas. I was sure that it came from Avon. I used sit on her porch and circle all the things that I wanted from the little catalogue. I had three tarnished rings, as well. I remember thinking how rich I felt when I had worn my little pink diamond to school, showing it off to my other poor friends. I kept the Christmas tree, the cheap jewelry, the two dollar bill, the picture of my grandma, and the newspaper obituary from Grandma Joyce. The rest I left in the tin and tossed it to the paper can.

  I lay in bed, thinking about reconnecting with my mother. I should have kept my mind on that. I t
hought about how I would feel when I saw her. I was angry, and carried a lot of bitterness, not that I wasn’t grateful for getting away from that hell hole. She sold me, just like my dad had. She let the almighty dollar come before her own flesh and blood. How could she just go off and start another family when she left us behind. Why didn’t she take us with her? I already knew the answer to that. Randal Callaway was going to make sure that she disappeared. Money does talk, no matter who it hurts.

  I thought about Dawson and Drew next, wondering what the hell I was supposed to do about them. Maybe I really did need to start thinking about moving on without either of them, but I loved them. I loved both of them. Could I ever love like that again? I just had to go and think about having sex on the peak with Drew. I moved my hand to the small of my back. The bruise still felt a little sore when I pressed on it. I could almost feel him entering me as I closed my eyes and visualized our love making on top of the world. Of course my vagina had to go and stick her nose in it too. I felt the throbbing between my legs.

  I knew my body and my betraying female parts all too well. It wasn’t going to shut the hell up until I gave it what it wanted. I moved my fingers between my wet folds. Talk about being fucked up. My mind went from Drew to Dawson. They were both fucking me as my fingers pleased my aching core. Dawson was on his back. I was on my hands and knees with Dawson in my mouth, and Drew was giving it to me up the ass. Maybe I did need therapy. I writhed beneath my fingers, frantically bringing myself to a much needed orgasm, shaking my head in disbelief at myself as I came down.

  ***

  It was a very hot summer day. I was sticky from walking from my room to my car. I wore a sundress which let the ocean breeze braze my skin.

  I was starting to get nervous as I drove to the ferry that would take me to my mother. What if she didn’t want to see me? What if she told me to leave? What if her new family didn’t know about me? It didn’t matter. I had to do this. This was one of those parts of my life that would never be laid to rest if I didn’t. I wouldn’t stay long, just long enough to give her my two cents of what I thought about her and what she had done.

  I stood outside my car and watched the waves swirl around the ferry as we crossed the bay. I was running on pure adrenalin and my stomach was in knots. I realized that I had forgotten to go down for the continental breakfast like I had planned. Why the hell did I always forget to eat when I was anxious?

  It took almost forty five minutes to reach the dock, and then another forty five from Kitty Hawk to Rodanthe.

  “Shut the hell up,” I yelled at the robotic GPS as I waited my turn to drive my car off the ferry. “If I turn right, you’re fucking going swimming,” I spoke to the car. I knew it was nerves.

  The forty five minute drive took five minutes. I swear I was there five minutes after I had gotten off the ferry. The road that I was driving on was something that you had to experience to even know what I am talking about. I had ocean on both sides of me. It was almost surreal, and I felt like the ocean was carrying me. I just wasn’t sure what it was carrying me to. The ocean was its own, god, its own boss. Nobody manipulated the ocean, and it could bring you the upmost peace or your worse wrath. I just hoped that we had gained enough respect from each other that it was taking me to a happy place and not the vehemence that was terrifying me as I drove over top of it.

  The gray beach house was beautiful with decks sticking out from all sides and angles. It was massive, almost as big as the mansion in Vegas. It was pretty secluded, and I could barely even see the closest house to it. I hated the house. I felt like it took the place of me and my little brother. It did.

  I parked and walked up to the massive deck in the back of the house. I knocked on the door with my knees knocking louder, underneath my pale yellow sundress. Nobody came. I realized that I was supposed to open the door and walk into the lobby. I did, and stopped at the desk and rang the little bell on the counter.

  Breathe, Morgan, breathe…

  A nice looking middle-aged man walked out drying his hands on a white dishtowel. He smiled at me.

  “Morgan?” he asked.

  I frowned. Who the hell was this guy, and how the hell did he know my name.

  “Do I know you?” I managed to get out.

  “No. You don’t. I’m Jason, your mother’s husband,” he offered with his hand.

  I cautiously took his hand. She talked about me. He knew who I was. I wasn’t expecting this. I was expecting to hear that she never told him about me or Justin. How did he know from looking at me who I was? She must have pictures. I didn’t speak. I couldn’t speak. I was speechless. No words would come out.

  “You have no idea how happy you are going to make your mother,” he smiled.

  “Is she here?” I managed.

  “No, she had to take Caroline to the dentist this morning. She won’t be long. Are you hungry? We were just getting ready to have brunch. Would you join me?”

  “Sure.” What else was I going to do? Sit outside and wait for her?

  He led me to the front deck facing the ocean. There were two families, three other couples, and two tables with pairs of women. We sat at a table, and a lady wearing shorts with a palm tree on the right leg asked what we would like to drink. I’m not sure why I noticed the palm tree or why it was even significant. I just noticed. I asked for coffee. I hadn’t had any yet. Jason got an iced tea.

  “How did you know who I was?” I asked Jason. He smiled.

  “I will show you after we eat,” he answered.

  We didn’t talk about anything personal. Jason explained life at the beach house. He told me that they had eight rooms and were booked most of the year. He explained that they closed up for four weeks every year, two in the winter to celebrate the holidays without company, and two in late summer to vacation by themselves. I guessed that you would have to do that to keep your sanity, working where you lived twenty four seven.

  I had a delicious Reuben on toasted French bread with Jason. I hate to say it, but I liked him. He talked about seven year old Caroline. He was a proud pop, and I envied the little girl who had a family, a real family.

  “She looks a lot like you,” he said. “You can definitely tell that you two are sisters.”

  Sisters…

  I hadn’t thought about her like that, but she wasn’t my real sister. We had different dads. Wait. Justin and I had different dads, and I couldn’t imagine loving him anymore. That wasn’t fair to Caroline.

  Jason led me back into the house and to a side of the house that I was sure was off limits to the guests. It was its own little house inside of a house. There was a small living room, opened to an eat in kitchen with a small table. There were three other doors that I presumed were bedrooms and probably a bathroom. I was mesmerized when I looked around at the wall of fame. The whole wall was plastered in pictures of not only Caroline, but Justin and me, as well.

  I watched my little brother grow up in pictures on the wall. I brushed my finger over one of him sitting in front of a birthday cake with seven candles and a happy, toothless smile. It made me smile, but made me wonder, as well. Every last picture of me on the wall lied. If you didn’t know it, you would have thought that I too was the happiest girl on earth. Most of the pictures of me were when I was all fancied up and at one of Drew’s functions. There were several of the two of us, and the one that I thought that I looked beautiful in brought back the after party memory. I had stayed locked in the empty gym eating fruit, naked for three days.

  I felt a little better when I moved to the next picture of Justin. He was just a little guy and riding on the shoulders of a man who I presumed to be his dad. He was happy and the beautiful woman pushing him on the swing in the next one must have been his new mother.

  “Morgan?” I heard my mother say. I knew that voice before I ever turned around. My heart took a plummet right to my stomach.

  I cautiously turned to see her holding the hand of a seven year old mini me. I again was speechless, and couldn’
t think of one God damn word to say. She let go of Caroline’s hand and embraced me. She cried. She really cried. She did miss me, and probably thought about me more than I had thought.

  “Oh, my God, baby. I can’t believe that you are here.”

  Baby? She never called me baby.

  “Yeah.” That was it. That was the only word that I could think of.

  My mom let go of me and walked back to Caroline. She squatted to her level and held her hand out for me to come.

  “Caroline, do you know who this is?” she asked as she took my hand. I squatted too. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do.

  “My sister,” she smiled. I held out my hand and took her little hand into mine. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said.

  I shook her little hand and smiled. “It’s very nice to meet you too, Caroline.” I fucking loved the kid, right off the bat. I fucking loved the little girl that I hated and resented just five minutes earlier.

  “Come on kiddo, let’s go batten down the hatches,” Jason said to Caroline, wanting to give us some time.

  “There’s a big storm coming,” Caroline informed me.

  I only smiled. I didn’t know what was wrong with me, but I suddenly had no words in my brain.

  Jason kissed my mom before taking Caroline’s hand and leaving us alone. She was happy, and I was happy that she was happy. I’m not sure why. I hadn’t felt like that before I had gotten there. I hoped that she was miserable.

  “Can you bring Morgan’s things in?” she asked, kissing him back as she hooked his fingers with hers.

  What? I’m not staying…

  “Sure thing. Can I have your keys?” he asked.

  I gave him my keys.

  “Do you want to take a walk?” my mother asked.

  I shrugged. “Sure.”

  This was strange. This was not the mother that I had grown up with for almost eighteen years. My mother was a loud mouth drunk with the vocabulary of a drunken sailor. This woman was soft spoken, well kept, and very loving. She was pretty with the same dark hair as mine, manicured nails, painted in a light pink to match the toes sticking out from her sandals. She looked healthy and in shape. My mother wore slutty clothes and didn’t keep herself up at all.