by Nessa Morgan
Sixteen
When I woke up, I packed up all the letters, shoved them back into the bin and took it to the garage. I didn’t need it in my room anymore. I also couldn’t bring myself to burn or destroy any of the contents. So it’s sitting beneath an old box holding this large stereo that we haven’t tossed yet. I know that stereo is going to stay in the garage, guarding that bin until we decide to clean the place out or the house burns down—whichever comes first. Either way, I’m in no hurry to rid myself of his words and lies. In a strange way, it helps me, it grounds me, and I understand things differently than before.
Zephyr and Milo weren’t lying when they said they were willing to try being friends for me. We all started hanging out together—they even started hanging out together. One would change plans with me for the other, and I didn’t mind, I was happy they were getting along.
“So, dinner. My place. Saturday night.” Milo crashes into his seat, Zephyr sitting on the desk in front of me, one eyebrow raised.
It’s as if they’re planning something.
Do I want to go to this?
“What’s the occasion?” I ask, setting up my notes. I decide on using an orange pen today.
“My Mom saw my phone,” Milo answers. “She knows I have friends—plural—and wants to meet them.”
I shrug a shoulder. “Will Alexia be there?” Along with Milo, we got Alexia—which wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be. We’ve been hanging out a some, also. Sometimes I’d call Harley, Kennie, and Ksenia over—and then I’d call Alexia. It was awkward at first but a friendship bloomed. Now, Harley doesn’t want to kill her as much as before. Good thing, I’m not sure I know what to do with a dead body.
I never thought I’d see the day where Alexia Cavanaugh was my friend.
“She’s out of town, some cheer thing,” Milo answers. “So it’ll just be you and Zephyr.”
Me and Zephyr—there’s a sentence I love saying. Not just that one, Zephyr and I is another good one too.
I look to my boyfriend, grinning wide and happily. “Consider me there, Milo,” I say.
Walking through the door, Zephyr’s hand clasped within mine, Mel rushes into me, wrapping her skinny arms around my waist. I don’t tense as I used to, Zephyr’s helped me calm my anxiety. Now, I release my boyfriend’s hand and wrap my arms around Mel, returning the hug. “Hello to you, too,” I say as her grip tightens, stealing the breath from my lungs.
“Do you know what it’s like just talking to Milo?” she murmurs, pulling away. She tips her face up, hazel eyes staring at me. “He’s annoying.”
“I heard that!” Milo yells from another room—I think the kitchen.
Mel turns her head. “You were meant to,” she yells back.
Laughing, I peel my jacket from my arms, draping it over the arm of the nearest chair. The house smells delicious and my mouth waters when I wonder what’s for dinner. Whatever it is, I am ready for it.
Milo walks into the room, cleaning his hands on a white towel, smiling when he sees us in his living room.
“Hey, man,” Zephyr says, walking to the couch to take a seat, tugging me in the open spot next to his but Mel tugs me, pulling me toward her side.
Mrs. Simms, their mother, walks into the room, smiling. “Hi,” she says. “It’s good to see you again, Joey. Zephyr.”
“Nice to see you, too,” I reply.
She sits in the seat across from the couch, folding a towel in her lap. “How’ve y’all been, it’s been awhile since you’ve been to the house.”
And it had. Milo had been spending the past few weeks either at my house or at Zephyr’s. We’d been studying, trying to catch him up on schoolwork—and we’re almost there.
Mrs. Simms waves her hand through the air. “Don’t pay me no mind, the point is you’re here now.” She grins, looking like Mel and Milo. “So tell me about yourself, Joey?” she says curiously.
“Okay, Mrs. Simms—”
“Please,” she interrupts. “Call me Candace. Mrs. Simms is my mother-in-law.”
“Sorry.” I blush, looking to the carpet as everyone in the room giggles at my mistake.
“It’s okay, honey,” she tells me, smiling. “I want to know your life story.” I lean back, shocked. That might have to wait, Candace. You won’t like it and I doubt you want to hear when I have to say.
“There’s really nothing to tell,” I say with a shrug. No parent wants to hear about their child’s closest friend’s near death experience. While every mother at the bake sale gossips about me, this one doesn’t and that’s a lovely change of pace. Let’s face it, she doesn’t know—I’d like to keep it like that.
“Doubtful, honey. Milo tells me that you’re from Texas”—damn it, Milo—“Were your parents from there? And where?”
“Uh, Dallas, and I believe so, I don’t really know much.”
“Well, how can you not know? Don’t y’all talk in your house?”
“Mom,” Milo says from where he sits. “Stop.”
“I just want to know about your new friend, Milo, baby, let me ask questions.”
“She doesn’t want to answer your questions.”
This is about to get then kinds of awkward.
“No, I don’t mind, Milo.” I say. I take a deep breath to prepare myself. “Uh, my mom died when I was seven. My father went—well, he, uh… he killed her. And my brother and sister. He tried to kill me, but I guess that didn’t work. So…”
“Oh my God,” Candace covers her mouth politely with her hand. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry, I was just being nosy.” She wraps her arms around me in a tight hug.
“It’s all right, Mrs.—I mean, Candace,” I tell her. “It was a long time ago and my aunt moved me away from where it happened, so I’m trying to move on.” That’s a stretch—I’m just trying to live my life as best I can.
“This happened—this happened back in Texas?” she asks, a curious look covering her features..
“Mom,” Milo warns.
“Yeah, in 2004,” I answer.
Candace narrows her eyes. “Who was your mother, maybe I knew her.”
“Keisha Lucas.”
Her eyes widen and she backs away from me. She looks scared. “Never heard of her,” she clips out, slapping her hands against her thighs before she bounces up from her seat, saying, “I think it’s about time I check on supper, wouldn’t y’all say?” She leaves the room.
“That was weird,” Mel says, following her mother. “I’ll be right back.”
“That was weird,” Milo whispers, agreeing with his departing sister.
“It was,” Zephyr agrees.
“Surprisingly, not the weirdest thing I’ve been a part of,” I add.
“You’re exempt from weirdness, Jo,” Zephyr tells me.
He’s right. Everything is already weird around me.
“You two look alike,” Zephyr whispers once Mel’s left the room. “A lot alike, it’s scary.”
“We do not,” I whisper back. “She looks like Milo.”
Zephyr narrows his eyes. “You look like Milo. When you smile, you two also look alike.”
Now that you mention it.
I blurt out a laugh. “I’m done talking to you now.”
“Just look at that picture, Jo.” He points to a photo on the mantle of Mel and Milo. She’s latched around his neck, holding on. Her hazel eyes are shut while her brother stares at her. I stand and walk closer to the picture, to all the pictures lining the mantle. Zephyr’s right, Mel looks like me. Milo, although slightly, looks like me. But these are only slight similarities.
“God, I hate that picture,” Milo says as he walks in, taking the picture from my hands, he laughs at it. “Of course, Mom had to frame it and put it up here. But Mel looks so happy.”
“Where’s your dad?” I blurt without thinking. It’s something I’ve wondered, just never asked. He mentions him—but barely.
Milo turns to me. Zephyr walks up. “What?” Milo ask
s.
“I’ve met your mother; I’ve heard you talk about him but only about him. Where is he?”
“He’s back in Texas. Why?”
I don’t know where I’m going with this but I have a feeling. “Do you have a picture of him?”
“Yeah.” He grabs another picture from the mantle, one hidden behind another. “My parents haven’t divorced if that’s what you’re asking. His job is in Texas, that’s why we’re going back when my Mom’s done up here.” He hands me the picture of his father.
Hazel eyes stare back at me from the frame in my hands, hazel eyes and a gap-toothed grin. Glasses cover those eyes. The man’s hair is curling in front of his forehead.
It’s all so…
“Jo, hey.” Zephyr wraps his arm around my shoulders. “You look worried.”
“Milo, tell me about him,” I beg.
“Well, his name is Owen and he was this big football star. He was always upset that I didn’t follow suit I’ve never done well with contact sports. And the man could sing, he could sing better than anyone I’ve ever heard. He’ll be up to see me graduate but he’s taking care of my grandparents down in Austin.” He smiles. “Why do you want to know about this?”
“Are you okay?” Zephyr asks.
“I don’t think so.”
Freckles dot the man’s nose. And I can’t start staring at those hazel eyes. Because they look exactly like mine.
But that can’t be true. My father, he’s in jail. My father is a murderer. I am the daughter of a murderer. Right? I have to be. Because if I’m not, if everything they’ve been telling me for the past ten years, is wrong then I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself.
I turn, barging into the kitchen, holding the picture at my side. “You knew my mother,” I say to Candace as she stirs something in a large pot. “You knew her. When I mentioned her name, you got this look on your face as if you knew her. You knew her.”
“Joey, honey—”
“Please, you know something. You have to. Because everyone knows something and they don’t tell me.” I hold out the picture. “This is your husband. Why do I look like him?”
“What are you talking about?” Mel asks from where she sits on the counter. I didn’t notice her when I walked in.
“I’m not saying that he cheated. Or maybe I am, I just need answers. I’ve lived the past ten years believing I’m destined for nothing but horror. I just need to know. Please, tell me I’m crazy, tell me I’m wrong. I just need to know the truth.”
“This is crazy, Joey, there’s no way my dad is your dad?” Milo says.
“It’s true,” Candace says.
“What?” Milo and Mel shout.
“What do you want me to say, kids?” Candace drops her arms, leaving the dinner preparation unattended. “Mistakes were made early on in our marriage, one of the biggest made by your father. I love him, I will always love him, and I loved your mother, Joey. She was my best friend.”
I shake my head, not understanding what I’m hearing. “What happened?” I ask quietly.
“Your mother, Keisha, she came to us for help. And help her, we would.” She takes a deep breath. “But she and Owen, they became very close during this time.”
“Daddy didn’t do it,” Mel shouts, defending her father. “You’re wrong. You have to be.”
Candace looks to her daughter. “But he did, honey.” Her sad eyes cast to the floor. “Joey, I met your mother in high school, I met her through Owen. They were neighbors—or what you can call neighbors there. We became very close and she was like my sister. But she started dating Benjamin.”
My father? But not my father?
A hand clasps mine, squeezing tightly, letting me know he’s here for me.
Not my father, not my father…
“Benjamin—he wasn’t the greatest guy, not even in the beginning, but your mother was drawn to him. She was so infatuated. I never understood it.” Candace takes a deep breath. “When they got married immediately out of high school, we all thought she’d gone crazy. But she loved him—with everything she had, she loved that man.” She looks to me. “The fighting started immediately, followed by the abuse. Your mother would come to my house covered in bruises. We’d talk about her leaving him but she knew that would never be enough. She knew she had to disappear. Running was her only option. We planned it perfectly. But then she said she was pregnant and it all got harder.”
Ivy.
“One baby became two and she said they were working on their issues. We wanted to believe her. We did, we believed her and continued with our lives. I married Owen, we had Milo, and things seemed to be going well.” I can hear the but before she says it. “But then she knocked on the door, one eye swollen shut, unable to move her arm, and we had to get her out of there. So Keisha stayed in our guest room with Ivy and Noah. It was nice knowing she was safe.
“I started working more hours, taking on more shifts, as did Owen, because we needed to get Keisha out of the country. We knew that was the only to protect her and the kids. We knew we could send her to Owen’s parents in Winnipeg until she could figure out where to go from there.”
“Where I was born,” I say to myself.
Candace nods. “I should’ve seen it. I should’ve paid attention to the looks. They were different. Owen and Keisha were different around each other and around me. But now, as I look back, it wasn’t different because they were in love—they’d always loved each other, just like I loved Keisha—but because they knew the mistake they made. They knew…” she trails, composing herself. “They knew that if I learned about what they did, that I’d kick her out and the only place she’d have left to go is back to him.” She whispers the last word like a curse. “After she died, I felt so horrible, because that’s exactly what I did. Owen and Keisha told me, because they couldn’t keep their secret any longer.
“I screamed at him. I screamed at her. I placed everything she and the kids owned on the front porch and locked the door. Luckily, Owen gave them money, called his parents, and sent her up to Canada where you were born five months later.” She shakes her head. “I should’ve recognized you. You look so much like her, it’s uncanny. But you also look like Owen.” She sits on a stool. Everyone in the room is silent. “I’ve never forgiven myself for what I did. Maybe if I just… I don’t know, but if I did it, maybe she’d still be alive. Ivy and Noah would be here, and you could have your family.”
“Mom,” Mel says, walking over to Candace and wrapping her arms around the older woman’s shoulders.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I tell her, knowing it to be the truth. Benjamin would have found a way. Looking to the picture in my hand, staring at the man who is my father, I feel the urge to smile but it’s hidden beneath the need to escape.
Reaching out my hand, I hand the picture to Milo. He takes it slowly.
As much as this is good news, it’s also horrible.
I release Zephyr’s hand and back from the room, grabbing my coat and bolting through the door. I think I hear someone call my name but it’s drowned out by the roar of thoughts swarming through my mind. Taking in gulps of air as I make my way through the neighborhood, walk toward the main street. It’s not far to my house. There’s a trail through the trees I could take, and I do. The thick scent of rain and pine comforts me, soothing me, and helping me think—helping me to clear my mind. I step on soft earth, my steps silent as my thoughts race through my mind. My father isn’t my father. It’s a happy discovery but it’s still a lot to take in.
I find a fallen log and I take a seat, tucking my hands deep in my pockets and breathing deeply. Inhale. My phone vibrates in my pocket. I press the top button, knowing it’s Zephyr—I just need a moment. Exhale. Another vibration, another push of the button. Inhale. Exhale.
She’s our daughter, Keisha. I remember that from my dream. The fight I witnessed in a dream.
She’s my daughter, my mother’s rebuttal. It makes so much sense now.
Walking through the front door, I close it quietly. I sent Hilary message telling her I was fine. I know Zephyr called her, she even told me as much, but walking alone made me feel better. Zephyr hates it when I go off-grid. I rarely do it but in order for me not to push him away, I need time to make sure I don’t anything stupid.
And I do a lot of stupid things when pressured.
Speeding up the stairs, I peel my jacket from my arms, and push open my door. I turned off my phone at some point during my walk, so I now need to face the music and check the messages. Eight from Zephyr, eleven from Milo, three from Mel, one from Hilary, and an unknown voicemail. Intrigued, I dial my voicemail.
“Joey, it’s Candace,” the message begins. “I know I’m probably the last person you wish to speak to, and I know what you learned today was quite a shock, but...” she trails, sighing into the phone. “I’m not sure even how to say this. The last person I expected to see was you. That’s hard to hear, I know and I apologize, but I just want to talk to you again. I need to clearly explain myself clearly and I—I mostly need to apologize. So, you can come over, you can call me at this number, you can send an email, I don’t know what you prefer. I’ll, uh, I’ll wait.”
I pull my phone from my ear, checking the time. It’s not too late, so I hit redial.
Walking into Starbucks—we both didn’t think it appropriate to have this discussion around Milo and Mel—I spot her sitting at a table in the back, a steaming cup of coffee in front of her. I walk over, dropping my bag into the nearest chair.
“Hi,” I say quietly, placing my keys on the table. After last night, I called Zephyr and apologized for running out on him. He gave me a speech, I was worried about you, Jo, don’t do that again, and then apologized for the number of messages he sent me. I didn’t want to tell him about this meeting.