The Art of Going Home (The Art of Living series Book 1)

by Nicole Sorrell

  In sullen silence, I pondered her words.

  ~~~

  I came to awareness slowly, bleary and disoriented. I’d gone to Zac’s room for a nap shortly before he was due home. Despite the long rest, I was drained. Remembering my conversation with Tabs made a weight settle inside my head. I wished I could sleep forever.

  I had to pee. Ugh. Half-awake, I shuffled to the door with my eyes closed and bumped into the wall. Not wanting to come fully alert, I left the lights off and felt my way along the sink in the bathroom then sat on the toilet in the dark. I rested my head in my hands.

  There was a quiet knock on the door. “Huh?” was all I could manage.

  “Are you okay?” Zac called.

  “Yeah, fine,” I mumbled.

  “You hungry? I picked up a pizza from Nuzio’s for dinner.” Right on cue, my stomach growled loudly. Jeez, way to go, Madisen.

  “I heard that,” he chuckled.

  “Pizza sounds good. I’ll be right out.”

  I turned on the lights and blinked. I washed my hands and face and combed my hair, noticing my eyes were dull and red. When I sat at the old dining table where Zac had placed three huge slices of oven-warmed pizza on a plate, heavenly smells of Italian sausage, pepperoni and tomato sauce filled my nose. I dug in.

  After a few bites, it lost its appeal, and I wasn’t hungry anymore. Zac was sitting with me at the table, drinking a glass of iced tea. He noticed I wasn’t eating with my usual enthusiasm.

  “Do you want me to fix you something else?” he asked. “I’ve got some Hamburger Helper. Or I could go out and pick up something. Anything you want?”

  “No. Thank you for offering. I guess I’m not very hungry after all. Just thirsty.”

  He brought me a glass of cold water, saying, “I picked up a pint of that coffee ice cream with pieces of toffee candy. I can get some for you.” It was my favorite flavor. I gave him a small smile and shook my head.

  I drank a swallow, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly as I stared at my hands in my lap. Without raising my head, I looked into his eyes.

  Chapter 29

  “IT’S HARD TO BE ANGRY with you when you’re being nice to me, you know.”

  “I’m making it as hard for you as I can,” he said. “To stay mad at me, I mean. Is it working?”

  “Maybe,” I conceded.

  “Well, baby steps,” he said philosophically.

  I was so worn out, I couldn’t call forth the energy to argue with him about taking me to the hotel. I said good night and retreated to the bedroom.

  As tired as I was, I found myself unable to sleep.

  Eventually, I sat up on the bed and stared into the dark room that was sparsely furnished with a barely visible side table, king bed, and big dresser. Minute after long minute, all the sorrows that had been brought to the forefront over the past two and a half weeks coalesced into my core. I brooded over Angeline with my new understanding of all she’d undergone and everything she’d done to protect me from what she was suffering.

  Tears started to leak from my eyes as the lack of Aunt Ceci’s comforting touch left me longing for someone who could console me with a mother’s love. I’d have given anything to see her, and it stung knowing I could never have her arms around me again.

  When I thought of Mother, I started sobbing. As a child, it was no small thing for me to ask for her attention. Her insensitive rebuffs taught me to lock away the hurt she’d caused without complaint. I’d learned to hide within myself. I shuddered to think of what she might have undergone in her life to make her treat her own child that way.

  Mother, Angeline, me. We all pretended we were okay, as our needs for affection went unfulfilled. We never spoke of it, the better to deny our pain. I couldn’t forget anymore. The sadness seemed to drill itself into my chest where it pulsed.

  So I cried. I wept for them and for myself, a woman harboring a child inside who yearned to be cared for and yet was ashamed of such vulnerability.

  Slowly, the door opened, and Zac walked hesitantly into the room. Saying nothing, he sat and gathered me up. I let him, neither accepting nor rejecting his support. I simply sat in the circle of his arms, resting my head on his shoulder, and was. I let myself experience all the pain life had hurled at me.

  Once I’d finally exhausted my apparently bottomless reserve of tears, I climbed off the bed. I was still in the jeans and tank top I’d put on earlier. I listlessly found something to sleep in. I thought a shower might be relaxing and trudged to the bathroom, too exhausted to make the effort to speak.

  After I dozed off leaning against the wall under the water, I got out. Feeling like a zombie, it was a struggle to dry myself, dress in pajamas, and stumble to bed.

  ~~~

  Friday. It took me a minute to remember what day it was. I lazed under the sheet, marveling at how long I’d slept. Eleven hours! It was a little after one o’clock. Without much desire to escape the cool bed, I stretched my stiff muscles. Closing and scrunching my eyes, I realized they were so tight, they must be swollen. That’s because you bawled for hours. Coming out the bedroom door, I almost ran into someone. I suppressed a cry of surprise.

  “Jesus! You almost gave me a heart attack,” I told Tabs, my hand on my chest.

  “I was getting worried about you,” she said. “You’ve been asleep for such a long time I was afraid maybe you were in a fever or something.”

  “No, I’m fine. Really tired.”

  “I’ll get some coffee started if you want to take a shower.”

  “Thanks,” I replied. Looking into the bathroom mirror, I saw my puffy eyes were worse than I’d supposed. I was a wreck. I decided to forego the usual scalding water and stood under a cold spray. It helped wake me up and soothed my skin. I wished I could go for a run. I could have used a big dose of endorphins.

  I skipped drying my hair and threw on some shorts and a T-shirt. Tabs met me in the living room with a cup of steaming coffee and my antibiotics and pain pills. I was grateful for all of it.

  “Is your wound hot or anything?” she asked, sitting by me on the sofa and checking my temperature. “You don’t look too good. No offense.”

  “I’m fine. I just had a long night.” At her inquiring look, I conceded, “I had a gigantic cry-fest.”

  “Did it help at all?”

  “Hmm.” I shrugged as I took a gulp of caffeine. “I think it might have.”

  “What brought it on?” she asked.

  “I guess everything hit me at once. I was missing Aunt Ceci, feeling bad for Angeline, mad and sad about Mother, sorry for myself and ashamed of everything.”

  “Madisen Chandler, you listen here,” she said. “I’m fixin’ to get madder than a mule chewin’ bumblebees if you don’t stop saying that. You have nothing to be ashamed of and have a right to mourn your sister and Aunt Ceci. And your mother, since she was never there for you. You’re not feeling sorry for yourself.” Tabs gave me a look so stern, I sympathized with her future children. “Repeat this,” she said. “I have nothing to be ashamed of and have a right to my emotions of hurt and anger.”

  I contemplated her dumbly.

  “Go ahead,” she insisted. “I want to hear it out loud.”

  I exhaled. It was no use arguing. “I have nothing to be ashamed of and have a right to feel hurt and angry,” I parroted.

  “I want you to repeat that out loud as many times a day as it takes for you to believe it. And remember not to take your anger out on the people who love you. Okay?”

  “Okay.” I smiled. “Any pizza left?”

  She grinned back at me and got up to go to the kitchen. “I’ll get it while you drink your coffee. I know what a bear you are without it.”

  Sitting down at the table, I let her wait on me since I wasn’t very peppy. I asked, “Have you heard anything about Father? Have they found him?”

  “No. He must have got himself a good hidey-hole because no one’s reported seeing him.”

  “Oh, that’s great,�
�� I said sarcastically. “Hopefully he won’t come back to finish me off once and for all.”

  “Don’t even think something like that could happen,” she warned.

  After I ate, Tabs and I watched TV while she gabbed about the cute new shoes she’d ordered online. It was nice listening to her talk about something ordinary; things that weren’t sad and horrible.

  By seven o’clock, Zac wasn’t home. I sent Tabs off to Randy after I’d eaten the hamburger, rice pilaf, and salad she insisted on fixing, and promised I’d go to bed by ten. As it turned out, I didn’t last much past nine o’clock. I was expecting my energy level to be better, but I was very fatigued. I splatted onto the sheets and immediately fell asleep.

  Waking early the next morning, I finally felt somewhat rested. Being quiet so I wouldn’t rouse Zac in the other room, I fixed coffee and turned on the TV, keeping the volume low. Nothing on was any good, and I was fidgety. I decided to take a walk. I quickly put on my running shoes and headed out.

  It was a beautiful July day. The unusual abundance of rain during the prior few weeks had left everything green. It was early enough to be cool, and the birds and insects were blithely chirping and buzzing. A lawn mower droned from a good distance away, despite the heavy dew that would’ve made cutting difficult.

  Taking a short course along the neighborhood streets that would circle back to the house, I started with a brisk pace. About a third of the way into my route, a car slowed to drive alongside me. It was Gwen Hayes. She was a rotund woman with a seventies-style teased hairdo that she mistakenly believed made her look taller and helped hide her extra pounds. She was a close friend of Caroline Van Horne’s, which meant I automatically disliked her. Just what you need right now. I kept walking.

  “Hello, Madisen! What brings you to this neighborhood?” she called from the open passenger window.

  I refused to take the bait. I knew she was fishing for confirmation that I was staying with Zac. Like she didn’t already know. The grapevine would have spread it all over town by then. “Hello, Mrs. Hayes,” I answered tightly.

  “How are you doing? Is it wise to be out for a run this soon after the incident?” Her tone insinuated “the incident” was something too dreadful to mention aloud.

  “My recovery is coming along nicely. I’m taking an easy stroll for some fresh air. I should be going back now,” I answered as I turned and moved in the opposite direction, so she couldn’t follow, walking with as much dignity as I could. As she rolled up the window, I heard her loud harrumph.

  At the nearest cross street, I turned to cut my walk short, having no more enthusiasm for exercise. When I opened the front door, I could hear Zac talking on the phone in the kitchen. He sounded frantic.

  Chapter 30

  HE FELL SILENT WHEN he heard me come in. I stopped short when he rushed into the living room and stared at me with apparent relief.

  “Never mind,” he said into the phone. “Maddie’s come back.” He paused, said, “Okay,” and ended the call. “Where were you?”

  “I wanted to get some fresh air. That okay with you?” I asked irritably.

  “Sure,” he answered, looking flustered. He’d clearly rolled out of bed only minutes before. He wore no shirt with his jeans. I wondered if he was naked under them. His feet were bare, and his hair was adorably mussed. I caught myself licking my lips as I stared at his ripped abs. His body was mouth-watering.

  Is it all right if I take a shower now?” I said, tearing my eyes away.

  “Of course,” he replied much too brightly.

  When I turned off the water, I heard voices. I couldn’t understand what was being said, and I decided it was the television.

  Was I ever wrong.

  I dressed and headed out of the bedroom for another cup of coffee. I halted when I reached the living room. Sheriff Rey was sitting on the sofa. As soon as he saw me, he stood up. We stared at each other for a long time in silence before he opened his arms wide. I rushed into his embrace.

  After a long hug, I whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, mi’ja,” he began. He cleared his throat, blinked a few times, and started again. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. I know how upsetting it must have been to remember what happened. I want you to understand we did what we felt was best for you at the time. I admit I was very angry when we couldn’t visit you in the hospital.

  “Zac explained how shocked you were by everything. That you were ashamed because we knew you’d been subjected to something so demeaning. I hope you don’t still feel that way.”

  To my surprise, his straightforward words summed up my feelings exactly. Some of my confusion cleared. “Yes, you’re right.” I sighed. He sat on the sofa, drawing me by the hand to sit beside him. “It’s also that, well, I should’ve protected Angeline. And I hate for people to think I’m pathetic.”

  “You’ve never done anything to make us think that.”

  “What made you suspect the abuse?” I asked, as I took the cup of coffee Zac offered and brushed my fingers with his. I met his eyes; they were filled with compassion. He’d put on a shirt while I was in the bathroom and sat on the floor as Sheriff Rey began his story.

  “Do you remember the time I came across you and Angeline walking on the other side of town and drove you home?” I nodded. “Angeline tried to convince me not to take you back to your father. I guessed it was because she didn’t want to be alone with him. The week before, I’d received an unofficial call from old Dr. Clark. He told me your father dropped you off at the hospital one evening because you were hysterical, and had to be sedated. The doc was concerned about you, especially when you wouldn’t tell him what had made you distraught. He suspected you were hiding something or had suffered something so traumatic you’d forced it into your subconscious.”

  “Father said he would punish me if I said why I was upset. I should’ve told Dr. Clark what happened. Father would’ve been stopped from abusing her.”

  “You can’t know that for sure,” Zac said. “Your father would’ve found a way to discredit your story. You were very young, and he would’ve claimed you were mistaken or simply making it up. Also, he might have taken it out on you and Angeline. Don’t keep blaming yourself.”

  “When I brought you home that evening,” Sheriff Rey went on. “I asked Clyde what you two were running away from.” Sheriff Rey pronounced Father’s first name like it left a bad taste. “He refused to discuss it, saying that if I valued my job as a deputy sheriff, I would mind my own business. He was so quick to threaten me, it made me even more suspicious.”

  My eyes grew round at hearing this. As a criminal defense attorney, Father often challenged the integrity of law enforcement personnel. He could’ve pulled some strings in an effort to get Sheriff Rey fired or, at the very least, targeted him to make him appear incompetent, and shredded his reputation.

  “Without proof, I couldn’t make any official inquiries. Even unofficial questions would’ve gotten back to your father,” Sheriff Rey continued. “I was determined not to let it go. The one alternative I had was to ask Cecilia for help. She already lent a hand around your house a couple days a week. I asked her to go more often. I wanted her to prevent you girls from being alone with him and be alert to any signs of abuse. Thank God your mother agreed to her coming every day. Though your father obviously knew I was behind it, his hands were tied. He couldn’t object too strenuously without having his motives questioned and possibly exposing himself.

  “Cecilia volunteered to stay overnight at your house. He put his foot down to that, saying there was no need for it. As your mother’s drinking grew worse, she came to rely on Cecilia even more to look after you girls and take care of the household.

  “When Angeline died, and the autopsy report confirmed recent sexual activity, along with previous vaginal trauma and scarring, I was sure it had to be Clyde. Her death put your parents in such a state of grief, they easily allowed Cecilia to step in and become your surrogate mother. She protected you.
We were never sure if you’d been abused, or to what extent, and if you’d repressed the memories.

  “José and Marie grew curious, asking why Cecilia always seemed to have you away from your parents, so she told them. Not that they ever minded you becoming part of the family. They understood Cecilia loved you like the daughter she might never have. Teresa and Linda Marie were told last year when they questioned why you didn’t return for Teresa and Josh’s wedding.”

  A terrible sense of responsibility flooded me, and I could barely put my fear into words.

  “Did… did taking care of me prevent Aunt Ceci from marrying again?” I asked. I think Sheriff Rey understood how much this disturbed me.

  “No! Of course not. After William died, she never found anyone who could measure up to him. As time went on, she stayed alert for signs you’d been sexually abused. You never indicated anything had happened. She didn’t want to push it, afraid she might do more harm than good if she provoked your father’s anger. Of course, asking him to allow professional counseling was out of the question. We trusted her decision not to discuss it with you, knowing she was doing what she believed was best.”

  My resentment flared again, and I beat it down. I remembered what Tabs had said. It wouldn’t do any good to be mad at Zac, Sheriff Rey, or any of the Redondos.

  “We can see you’re hurting, Maddie,” Zac said. “We wanted a chance to explain what had happened, so you had the whole story before you judged our actions.”

  “I’m annoyed I wasn’t told,” I confessed. “I know you all were trying to help. I suppose it’s my father I should be angry at and the whole awful situation. I’m sorry I took it out on you all.”

  “We understand, mi’ja,” Sheriff Rey said, stroking my cheek lightly. “It goes without saying we forgive you. I’ve got to get going and let you rest.” He kissed me on the top of my head and said goodbye.